Chief Constable McAllister sat stiffly in his office, eyes firmly latched to the door. His replacement would arrive soon.
He’d served in the Greater Glasgow Police for just over 41 years, and had been its leader for the last 8, conveniently promoted to the position the same day that the city council instated Hasbio’s “Flufftropolis Scheme”.
Obviously, he was a Hasbio puppet- and he knew that, too. From day one, his primary job was to ignore or cover up the megacorporation’s intrusions while ensuring public harmony with the city’s Fluffy-centric restructuring. Thankfully for his conscience, McAllister only had to appease Hasbio’s demands a few dozen times, and never actually meet their administrators… which made the waiting now all the worse.
Outside, the rest of the police headquarters was quiet. He could still hear a few people shuffling about, sometimes saying something he couldn’t quite make out, but it was otherwise calm.
He wasn’t the only person losing his job here today.
A single bead of sweat dripped down his wrinkled forehead, and he finally relented for the sake of his aching muscles.
Reclining back in his chair, he let his gut stretch out over his belt and readjusted his square glasses over his large nose. His green eyes rolled over the accolades and medals decorating the wall beside him, and he began to reflect on his long career that was about to end.
All those boring patrols in the cruiser, those drunk pub brawls he had to break up, even the mountains of paper work, the press conferences, and those awful meetings with the Superintendent’s Association. He genuinely missed them now. If only there was a way to know that you were in the good times before they ended…
The arrival of the Fluffy into society changed everything.
By that time, he was a Chief Superintendent, so much of his work was in the offices already, but he could never forget the first time he met a Fluffy.
Up until that point, he thought it was a load of crap. Mini talking horses? Bah, fuck off… but then, during what began as a routine raid on a heroin den, there it was; a little orange ball of fur in a cage at the back of the dealer’s living-room, squeaking and shitting at the invading officers not to “hurt its daddy”.
Every officer in attendance was shocked. Mainly at how bloody loud and smelly the thing was, but still: a miniature, talking fucking horse!
From there, things quickly spiraled out of control seemingly across the whole world as Fluffies overran everything. McAllister’s job went from stopping and solving crimes to simply trying to keep the peace.
When the infamous Cleveland Disaster happened at the peak of the early Fluffy chaos, it was clear to all; Pandaemonium Reigns!
But then, from the flames rose Hasbio again. The very origin of the fires had come to extinguish them.
It didn’t take a genius to recognize how convenient it was, but the world was desperate, and only Hasbio held the genetic keys to their little monsters. Ultimately, nobody could argue with the order and stability that they swiftly returned, albeit at a high price.
As the newly promoted Chief Constable in the freshly Fluffy-friendly Glasgow, McAllister’s job had been significantly less intensive than any of his previous positions. Hasbio’s unseen administrators did most of the paper work, and, just as those same administrators had promised, crime dropped down to its lowest levels since records began.
They proclaimed that Fluffy interaction was, in fact, healthy for Humans both mentally and physically, and that was why the crime had dropped; people would become less aggressive, less dishonest, less iniquitous with Fluffy companionship. They had all kinds of studies and statistics to “prove” it, too… hilarious in hindsight.
McAllister was one of the privileged to know that the real cause of the drop in crime was because people committed most of them against Fluffies now and, legally speaking, it was next to impossible to commit a crime against the Biotoy.
A knock at the door broke the Chief Constable from his reminiscence.
“Yes?” he solicited with a sigh.
“The Administrator’s arrived, sir” a young man’s voice called.
“Right… Send him up,”
McAllister rubbed his thinly-haired temples. What was he going to do with himself now? The only other job he’d ever had was as a shelf-stacker at Tesco when he was barely 18. The world had changed so much since then, he didn’t even know where to begin finding a new job.
Maybe he could use his Hasbio connections to get an easy job at one of the foal factories or something.
The thought of foals turned his gaze to the other side of the room opposite his awards. He had a microfluff display standing there, and could make out a few of them skittering around their enclosure.
The glass of the display was one-way, so he could see them but they couldn’t see him. Furthermore, the enclosure was mostly dirt and rocks he had placed inside with a few plants and plastic play sets; with no nutri-gel for the microfluffs to eat, he had to feed them with crushed up kibble through a small pipe on the top and refill the water bottle on the side. Oh, and he had to clean out the poop-tray too, though that only needed to be done maybe twice a month.
It was a small thing, but he liked that these little creatures unknowingly relied on him completely. Watching them go about their silly little lives, basking in the warmth of the UV light above them, it all helped him to visualize how his decisions as a police chief might affect the city. He was like an unseen god for these Fluffies, and their destiny was his up to his pleasure.
Not that he did anything cruel; the irony of this little ritual was not lost on him, for he was also (in a manner of speaking) trapped in an enclosure controlled by unseen beings far above him… Only, unlike his microfluffs, he was about to meet one of the controllers of his destiny.
Another knock at the door recaptured his attention. It was time.
“Enter,”
Through the door slipped a pale, thin man covered from head to toe by a black suit and trench coat with a little Hasbio Administration badge pinned to its left breast- a small silver image of a cartoonish, smiling Fluffy with “ADMIN” emblazoned below it. He was bald, but had a thick, mostly-grey beard, and had a pointed nose with two beady eyes that felt like gun barrels aimed at McAllister.
“Good afternoon, Chief Constable,” the man said with a sly, raspy voice that had only the hint of a vaguely north-American accent. He closed the door neatly behind him and stepped over to the desk with nary a sound, “no doubt you are aware of why I am here,”
“Aye,”
“Then first, I would like to assure you that this changing of hats is not an insult to you, your force, or all of your work here,” the man continued to stand, staring, “however, in light of recent developments, Hasbio must take necessary steps to fully restore control,”
McAllister had heard something similar said before, to the man who was Chief Constable before him.
“I’m nae takin’ it as an insult. I just dunnae git why Hasbio needs my Police tae be a part o’ it. We deal with Humans, nae Biotoys, and Humans aren’t the problem,”
“Ah, but that’s just the thing,” The Administrator’s voice had softened slightly, as though he were almost delighted to explain the intricacies of his work, and induct someone else into the know, “Hasbio does not require your police to handle our Fluffies, rather: we need your help with a Human… a priority interest,” he produced a handful of papers from his coat, delicately placing them on the desk.
McAllister skimmed over them, the Administrator’s shadow looming over him. These papers were highly classified, stamped with all sorts of Bureau-this and Agency-that, and they had redactions all over as well, but enough was legible that he could understand.
Hasbio had been mentioned in or associated with many scandals over the last decade, though nothing usually came of it- people like McAllister made sure of that- but there was one scandal that Hasbio was the sole star of; the infamous PETA Leak.
Everyone knew the story of the animal rights activists breaking into the original Hasbio lab and releasing the Fluffy into the world for the first time, Hasbio themselves had even admitted to it.
However, rumors had swirled ever since about the fate of the bioengineers who had worked inside the lab. Allegedly, Hasbio had ordered them all killed the same day the Leak happened in a futile attempt to keep the Biotoy secret- only, some of them, it was claimed, had survived.
Now, here in McAllister’s hands, was confirmation that it was not only true, but Hasbio also believed that one of these survivors, a man called Hamish Mcgonagall, was here, in Glasgow, for reasons redacted.
“As you can see for yourself, Chief Constable, we do in fact require a more Human-focused hand in this matter,” McAllister glanced back up at the Administrator, “there are those above myself who believe greatly in the authenticity of these findings, and they would very much appreciate your cooperation in the matter- under our supervision, of course,”
McAllister internally breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t losing his job after all. If only they were aware, his microfluffs would be overjoyed that they were not longer destined to be thrown into a bin and forgotten.
The Administrator finally sat down in the chair opposite, “No doubt you have noticed the recent increase of Fluffies within Glasgow, Mr McAllister?”
“Callin’ it just an increase is bein’ a wee bit charitable,”
“…Indeed. Obviously, this is a concern for Hasbio’s interests, and while I can assure you that we will soon re-establish order, the man detailed in those papers is a hindrance to our efforts. We believe he is responsible for the recent Fluffy increase,”
One man responsible for all this? McAllister found that dubious, but he could detect the hint of irk in the Administrator’s tone as he uttered ‘increase’. He clearly did not want to be corrected.
“So you want us tae find and bring him in?”
“Not quite,” The Administrator subtly adjusted his position on the seat, “this man is in possession of highly sensitive materials and is extremely dangerous; you and your force would be at risk of great harm if you were to come into contact with either. Your sole objective will be track him down. We will handle his… arrest thereafter,”
McAllister sat back.
What kind of man could cause this level of chaos single-handedly? What kind of man could hide from the largest corporation in history that essentially has government level powers depending on the context? More importantly, why would said corporate megapower need the help of the comparatively small Greater Glasgow Police?
“What can you tell me aboot this man?”
“Hamish McGonagall was the project leader of Brain and Sensory Organ Development in Hasbio’s original Fluffy research programme. Like all of the original researchers, he is supremely intelligent, and likely has sophisticated technology stolen from Hasbio assisting him. As for his past and personality, I can only tell you what is in the report that you have already seen,”
“I see,” McAllister sat back forward in his chair, “and if you da mind me askin’, Administrator, why exactly is Hasbio asking fer oor help? You have the jurisdiction and resources tae do this alone, so I-”
The Administrator replied before McAllister had even finished talking, “I’m afraid that information is classified,” he paused to clear his throat- his response had been a tad hasty,“I hope you can appreciate why,”
“Finding your wee manny’s gonnae be difficult if my data and resources are restricted and classified,”
“You will be supplied with as many Hasbio resources as you require, which will include our full repertoire of information about your target and an expanded government budget as well. Also, your force will be provided legal liberty to do as you please for the duration of your investigation- although this will naturally come with the limitation that your force will only be investigating this and nothing else,”
“Hang about- you want us tae ignore any other crime in the city too?”
“When I said that finding Mcgonagall will be your sole objective, I meant it. He could cause far more harm than any petty criminal in your city ever could,”
The pair sat in silence for a few seconds before the Administrator rose from his chair in a single, smooth movement, detecting that the conversation had achieved its purpose, “A full briefing will be delivered to you tomorrow, Chief Constable. Please closely read the report I have already given you to prepare,” he said as he turned to leave.
McAllister also rose from his chair but with less grace, his belly bumping the table on the way up, “wait, hold on- who do I talk tae if-” once more he was interrupted.
“No Hasbio personnel aside from myself and a limited number of other Administrators will be involved in this, for safety reasons. We will be relying on you to perform this task efficiently. If you have further inquiries, I will be available, though in discreet fashion; the briefing tomorrow will include everything you will need to know to begin your investigation,” As he opened the door to the office, he spoke one last time, “you may wish to tend to your microfluffs, Mr McAllister,” and with that, he disappeared behind the door.
It took McAllister a second to process the last sentence, but when he realized what had been said, he glanced over at his microfluff display.
Two of the Fluffies were standing over another, stomping it into the gravel below as it flailed and shitted for mercy, while several of the other microfluffs nearby engaged in making more foals with each other.
Walking over to the display, McAllister sighed. Sometimes the micros would have little tantrum fights when they were hungry after he forgot to feed them, but he’d never seen them doing this foul shit before.
As he lightly shook the display, watching the tiny idiots within screech in fear and confusion, he wondered exactly what kind of situation he had just been dumped into.