"Harder, Sweater, Faster, Stronger" by NobodyAtAll

Note: read “I Can Do Anything!”, “Not Always Working” and “Books, Brains, Bananas and Beef” first.


Uh, hi.

My name is… well, it doesn’t really matter, because these days, everyone calls me Ugly Sweater Guy.

I owe my new nickname to the ugly, itchy sweater that I am unable to take off.

scratch scratch

A few weeks ago, my life was turned completely upside down.

I used to live in Detroit, and this may sound hard to believe, but I’d do anything to go back there now.

So, uh, I used to be a shitra-- fluffy abuser. Although, I was never as bad as those Abuse Syndicate weirdos, they were really obsessed with it.

I just figured, fluffies are fun to kill, they breed like rats on Viagra, who cares if I put a few bullets in ferals.

I wasn’t dumb enough to fuck with house fluffies. Too much hassle.

There I was, in an alleyway, about to shoot another feral, and suddenly, I was on goddamn Mount Everest, my gun was a bag of Peppermint Patties, I was wearing this fucking sweater–

scratch scratch

–and a jester told me that he’s Chaos and drenched me in hot chocolate.

It was really hot, too.

And then, when Chaos said that he was sending me home, he lied to me, and sent me to fucking Korkeaopolis instead.

I can’t leave. I tried. I ran for miles, but woke up back in the city the next morning.

So now I’m stuck here, with Korkea and all of his hugboxing ChaotiX friends, in a city where my favorite hobby is extremely illegal, wearing an itchy sweater I can’t take off.

And that’s not even the worst part.

The sweater keeps getting itchier with every passing minute, and I’ve learned that hurting fluffies makes it even more itchier.

No way it’s just ten times itchier.

But I’ve also learned that there’s a way to make the sweater less itchy.

scratch scratch

I have to… urgh… be nice to fluffies.

Hrk.

Yeah. Asshole couldn’t just put a shock collar on me or something, noooooooooo, he had to get creative.

I’m honestly still not sure that I didn’t freeze to death on Mount Everest and end up in Hell.

It feels like my sins are crawling on my back.

And my front.

And… everywhere else, really.


As you can imagine, I’m not happy about any of this.

But what am I supposed to do? I can’t run, I can’t take this damn sweater off–

scratch scratch

–and there’s no way I can fight my way out.

Let’s be real, I couldn’t win a fight against Korkea. So I definitely can’t win a fight against Chaos.

I tried taking the coward’s way out, too.

Jumped off a tall building, landed on a giant rainbow-colored Jell-O pudding that wasn’t there when I jumped.

Jumped off a bridge, a rainbow-colored dolphin caught me and carried me back to dry land. And I’ve never heard of river dolphins.

Bought a black market gun and tried to eat a bullet, ate bubbles instead.

Clearly, not even death is an escape, which only really leaves me with one option:

Roll with it.

I’m not very enthusiastic about this, but the only way I can escape the nightmare I’ve found myself trapped in is to clean up my act.

If I simply wash my hands of fluffies altogether and start ignoring them, my sweater problem will still keep getting worse. It won’t get itchier as quickly as it would if I was actively hurting fluffies, but it will still get itchier.

And just donating to fluffy charities, to do some second-hand good, that doesn’t help either. It doesn’t count unless I do it myself.

So, if I want to save myself from unending itchiness, I don’t just have to stop abusing fluffies, I have to be making an effort to be as nice to them as possible.

Hrrk.

And maybe, just maybe, I can earn my freedom, go home, and burn this damn sweater.

scratch scratch

God, this is going to suck so hard.


Right now, I’m cruising the streets of Korkeaopolis in my car, a black Pontiac Aztek, which Chaos was gracious enough to bring here for me.

He cleaned it for me, too, and I think he also tuned it up and filled the tank.

Yeah, I haven’t been taking the best care of my car, but in my defence, it’s a Pontiac Aztek.

I’ve gotten in the habit of driving with one hand on the wheel, so I have a hand free for scratching.

scratch scratch

In the back seat, there’s several shopping bags full of fluffy toys, from Flufftopia. Getting them was an ordeal.

Now, I used to live in Detroit, and it’s not the safest city. I’ve had my tires stolen more than once, and got screwed by more crooked mechanics than you can shake a wrench at.

But since I involuntarily moved here, I haven’t had anyone mess with my car once.

Which is good, because I’ve been sleeping in my car a lot. Hey, I can only afford so many nights in a hotel room.

I don’t know if it’s just because this city is safer, or because someone, and I can guess who, is protecting my car for me.

Either way, I’m not complaining about it.

By now, I’ve become something of a celebrity in these parts, and there’s people snapping pics of me wherever I go, and saying things along the lines of “Hey, it’s Ugly Sweater Guy!”

I tried covering up my face. Went into a store, bought a baseball cap and sunglasses, put them on, and the moment I stepped out of the store, they were gone.

I was pleased when I later found the exact amount of money I spent on them in my back pocket.

Then I took a closer look at those bills and coins, and noticed a suspicious absence of presidents, and a distressing abundance of jester.

So yeah, that was a waste.

On the plus side, I’ve had a few people donate me their old fluffy toys to pass on to the ferals.

But my rep back home is probably shot.

I’m keeping an eye out for fluffies, glancing into every alleyway I pass.

Eventually, I see a stallion, dragging an angel food cake in a bag along the street with his teeth.

Fuckin’ finally. Okay, let’s do this.

I pull over, rolling my window down.

“Hi there. Boy, that cake looks tasty.”

He drops the bag, looking up at me.

“Sowwy, but fwuffy nu can shawe. Speciaw fwend nee deez nummies, su can make miwkies fow babbehs.”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to ask for a bite. I, uh, was actually going to ask you if you wanted some toys.”

I gesture at the bags in the back.

Please don’t ask why, but I’ve got an excess of toys on my hands, and I’m giving them away to fluffies like you. Would you like some?”

“Wut am a ecks-ess?”

“It means a lot. Do you want some toys or not?”

He starts suspiciously glaring at me.

“…Am dis a twick? Dis feew wike a twick.”

Ah, feral fluffies. See, that’s another reason I preferred hunting ferals over house fluffies. Ferals are more suspicious of humans, so it was more satisfying to lure them into a trap.

I mean, they’re still kinda dumb, but a little bit of challenge is better than no challenge.

A lot of house fluffies are a bit pampered, they don’t really have any reasons to not trust humans.

But feral fluffies who are too trusting of humans tend to die young at the hands of guys like… well, me.

So I completely understand his suspicion.

And I know that it’s because of people like me that ferals are so wary around humans.

Y’know, I never really believed in karma, but considering my entire situation…

I try to give him a reassuring smile, hating every second of this.

“No, no, it’s not a trick. If you don’t want some toys, just say so.”

So I can move on, and find some more fluffies to give toys to.

scratch scratch

Come on, take some damn toys! I feel like I just rolled around naked in nettles!

The little bast-- stallion shrugs.

“Otay, fwuffy wiww take sum toysies.”

“Alright! Thank you! Here, I’ll carry them for you…”

That should count as a little extra niceness.


So I get out, grab some toys from the back, and let the stallion lead me through the alleyways to his home.

I decide to carry the cake for him too, just to be sure.

Part of me is feeling a sick thrill, from convincing a stallion to show me where his mate and oh-so vulnerable offspring live so easily.

I’m gonna have to be careful not to slip back into old habits.

We find the mare and two foals, a colt and a filly, in an old television box, filled with bits of blanket, old newspapers, and chunks of fluff that presumably came from the mare.

Jeez, feral fluffies love cardboard boxes more than Solid Snake does.

“Speciaw fwend, fwuffy am back! An fwuffy gut nummies, and toysies tuu!”

“Toysies tuu? Wow!”

“Yus, dis nice mistah gabe dem tu fwuffy!”

“Fank yu, mistah!”

The foals both start dancing their stupid little dance, that’s barely a dance at all.

“Wook! Babbeh am dancie babbeh fow mistah! Peep!

“Fank yu, mistah! Chirp!

As I carefully put the toys and cake down by the box, fighting the ingrained urge to stomp on the fragile, fragile foals, I feel the sweater getting less itchy.

It never stops being itchy entirely, no matter how hard I try.

Maybe Chaos is trying to tell me something.

“Oh, that feels good. You’re, uh, you’re welcome. Is there anything else I can do to help? Otherwise I’m gonna split. Got a lot to do today.”

Because if I’m not trying hard enough, I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

The stallion shakes his head.

“Nu, we am gud. Fank yu, foh.”

He hugs my leg, and it makes me throw up in my mouth a bit.

They can just be so nauseatingly saccharine sometimes.

gulp

“Again, you’re… you’re welcome. Okay, g’bye.”

I turn around and sprint back to my car before my old habits take over.


Once I’m back in the driver’s seat, I take a breath, looking at myself in the rear view mirror.

I actually broke into a sweat, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’m wearing a sweater on such a balmy day, or because I was struggling that hard to suppress the abuser instinct.

“Okay, see, it’s not so bad. You can do this. Just keep giving those toys away. Dunno what I’m gonna do when I run out. I’ll probably have to buy some more. Goddamnit, I’m gonna bankrupt myself getting out of this, aren’t I.”

Then a cheerful, flamboyant voice chimes in from the passenger seat.

“Well, you could just get a job. I don’t know if FauCorp would hire you, but they always need someone to scrub the toilets at Taco Bell.”

I turn, seeing a milkman sitting next to me.

“It’s you, isn’t it.”

“Yes, it’s me. Your ol’ pal Chaos.”

“Why are you a milkman now?”

“Because I sometimes work as a milkman on the side. See? Even I have a job, boyo.”

“Okay, but why a milkman? I didn’t even think that milkmen were still a thing.

Chaos shrugs.

“I’ve always had a passion for dairy. People need milk, butter, buttermilk, cheese, yogurt, ice cream, and I’ve been branching out into eggs, too. Daring, I know. And I’m always right on time, 7 AM on the dot. It’s easy, when you can be wherever and whenever you want to be. Plus, I’ve got the perfect sword for keeping everything nice and cold.”

“You keep milk and eggs cold with a sword?

“Not just any sword. A sword with imaginary velocity, negative energy, and positive cold. It’s so cold, it makes the frozen planet of Glace look lukewarm. I have to keep a furnace burning so my sword doesn’t make things too cold.”

“Why are you here? I’m sure it’s not just to talk about dairy products and cold swords.”

“No, I also wanted to see how you’re doing. And you’re doing well, boyo! Better than some of the other mortals I’ve been keeping tabs on.”

“Are they wearing itchy sweaters too?”

“Nope. Just you. But I’ve been thinking of a way to quantify your progress. Well, actually, Cal gave me the idea. From now on…”

He points at my ugly sweater, and the number 0 appears on the sleeve, around the wrist.

“You can earn points by keeping up what you’re doing. For every fluffy you help, you get one point. If you start slipping back into old habits, you’ll lose a point for every fluffy you harm. And if you save up enough points, you can trade them in for rewards. Let’s call them… well, I was going to suggest Chaos Points, but the acronym is CP, which is kinda dodgy…”

“Hold on. Why do I start at zero points?”

“Because I’ve preemptively spent all the points you saved up on your next reward. If you head to the Faucheuse Hotel, you’ll find that a room has been prepared for you. Not a big room, not the best one they’ve got, but still a step up from sleeping in your car, and it’s completely free of charge as long as you’re staying here in the city.”

“How did you pull that off? With your… your Chaos voodoo?”

“Nope! I just asked Cal to ask Suzy to put it together.”

He sniffs, and wrinkles his nose.

“Between you and me, boyo, I mostly did it because you’re starting to reek.”

“I haven’t had a lot of opportunities to shower. And keep in mind, I have to shower with this sweater on.”

“Well, you could buy a brief reprieve from the sweater. Let’s say, one point buys you one minute of sweater-free time?”

“How much to take the sweater off for good?”

“Doesn’t matter, you can’t afford it right now.”

“Fair enough. So, uh…”

scratch scratch

“What are the other rewards I can get?”

“Well, you could also pay to expand your range of movement.”

“Which means…”

“Which means you could leave the city. How about ten points per mile? Or sixteen points per kilometer, if you prefer the metric system.”

“Either way, I’d need a lot of points to get back to Detroit.”

“Why do you even want to go back to Detroit, anyway? This city’s a lot nicer.”

I notice a human and a fluffy wreathed in golden fire, flying overhead.

“I don’t feel comfortable with all of those ChaotiX crawling all over the place. It’s like being a black guy in Alabama, or a Jewish guy in Nazi Germany.”

“Not really. They can’t help being what they are, but you can. Or were you born an abuser?”

I stop and think about it, scratching myself.

“No. I had a pretty normal childhood, actually. Parents divorced, but amicably. Graduated from high school, dropped out of college.”

“So when did you start abusing fluffies? Why did you start?”

Huh. Those are actually good questions.

scratch scratch

I was doing it for so long, sometimes it felt like I had always been doing it.


I can just barely remember the first time I abused a fluffy.

Because I was drunk at the time.

Very drunk.

I was on my way home from the bar after a night on the town, and about 3, 4 in the morning, I stumbled into an alleyway to relieve myself.

Beer goes right through me.

Then I saw a family of ferals, sleeping soundly in a box.

And I just… had the crazy idea to…

zzzzzip

psssssssss

Piss on them. I dunno why.

It was just one of those stupid ideas that comes to you when it’s the middle of the night and your blood alcohol is closer to embalmed than drunk, and makes perfect sense then.

Naturally, the golden shower quickly woke them up.

Bwaaaaaaa! Deez sky wawas taste weawwy nu-pwetty!”

“Speciaw fwend, fwuffy nu fink deez am wawas…

chirp peep peep chirp

And I started laughing, like a madman, all the way home.

I was laughing so hard, I almost forgot to zip up first.

It was exhilarating.

So yeah, I didn’t start with shooting fluffies.

I started with pissing on them.

Then, as I was drenching a feral herd (after drinking several bottles of water and eating as much asparagus as possible), the smarty started mouthing off at me, so I kicked him away.

“Wai am dummeh hoomin–”

WHAM

snap

ghk

I wasn’t trying to kill him, and I didn’t realize it until I zipped up, and looked around, seeing the piss-covered fluffies sobbing.

And when I saw the smarty’s corpse, and saw his mate crying over him…

It felt good.


Like a drug habit, things spiraled out of control from there. The fact that fluffies weren’t protected by the law in Michigan at the time just encouraged me to escalate.

Back then, people in a lot of places turned a blind eye to abuse. Fluffies were considered toys, and feral fluffies were considered vermin.

Back then, a lot of people thought that guys like me were alright, even if they would only admit it behind closed doors.

But a lot’s changed since then. More and more people started caring about fluffies.

And guys like me were left scratching our heads, trying to figure out why things changed.

Then abuse started being banned, and abusers started going to prison for it.

Those of us still walking free tried to keep it that way, without giving up the thing we do.

But then there’s fucking Korkea, with superpowers out the fucking ass and an entire legion of people with powers working against us.

Obviously, the abuser community doesn’t like the ChaotiX. FluffChan’s abuse board will permaban you for posting anything pro-ChaotiX.

Deep down, the truth is… we’re all scared of those guys. They’ve been busting abusers across the entire planet, and none of us know who’s going to go down next.

But we try not to show it. We try to put on a brave face, and act tough, because an abuser who admits to his buddies that he’s scared of Korkea will never live it down.

I have seen internet tough guys on FluffChan insist that they could take him.

Sometimes, Korkea actually replies! He tells them that they’re welcome to drop by the School and spar with him at any time. They usually shut up after that, and delete their post.

At least, I think it’s the real deal. If it is, I’m not surprised that he’s keeping an eye on /fa/. It’s one of the biggest hotspots of abuser activity on the internet.

And he’s probably got something to do with the occasional pro-hugbox spamming on /fa/ too. The spamming of threads with ChaotiX logos and “CALVIN KORKEA WAS HERE” or “HUGBOXERS RULE, ABUSERS DROOL” was the smoking gun.

I don’t know how he keeps ban evading. He must be behind a million proxies.

Point is, it might be spite holding the abuser community together at this point, or stubbornness, or just sheer stupidity.

And our numbers keep shrinking. Most abusers either go straight and atone before the ChaotiX gets them, or they keep doing it until they wind up in prison or worse.

To be completely open with you…

I’m not sure if I’d take prison over this.


scratch scratch

“I guess… I guess I just… lost control of my life at some point. I got wrapped up in the thrill of it. But I was never as bad as those Syndicate nutters, was I?”

“You were still pretty bad, boyo.”

“You know, I had a few friends who joined the Syndicate. They told me, bro, you should totally join too, you’re already killing shitrats, so you might as well get paid for it.

“But it was more of a hobby to you, wasn’t it?”

“A hobby… a way to blow off steam after a bad day… and a guy’s gotta go somewhere on the way home from the bar. Also, I didn’t really know a lot about the Syndicate, or who was in charge. Once the news broke out that they were busted, I felt like I dodged a bullet, because anyone with an A.S. tattoo was being treated like a terrorist.

“Mmm, yes, you’re certainly blessed. You said it yourself, this isn’t so bad, right?”

“I mean… this is kinda like parole, but without going to the slammer first. Instead of an ankle monitor, I have an itchy sweater.”

“I’m giving you a fighting chance, here. This game wouldn’t be very fun if you literally couldn’t win.”

“You see this as a game?

“Yup! And you done goofed bad to be playing this game. Don’t get me wrong, I like mortals, precisely because they’re so chaotic. But mortals like you take things too far. You might think you’re special, because I chose you, out of all of the mortals in the world, to play this game. You’re not special. You aren’t the first person I’ve played this game with. And I haven’t lost yet.

Chaos ruffles my hair.

“You see, I win no matter what. If I can make you become a better person, I win. If I can’t, I still win, because I’ll take you to one of the fun parts of my domain. Full disclosure, you’ll have to leave your sanity at the door, and you won’t get it back.

He chuckles at me.

“So don’t forget that it’s possible for you to go below zero points. You don’t want to go too far into the negatives.”

“I don’t suppose I could get a list of the rules or something?”

“You could, but you won’t. You’ll just have to be careful, boyo. You’ll have to think before you act, and ask yourself if you’ve really chosen the right course of action.”

I put my key in the ignition, starting up the engine.

“At the moment, I just want to get all of those toys out of my car. We’ve spent too long just sitting here.”

“Hey, you’re the one who stared into space for ten minutes. But I’ll get out of your hair now. I’m sure you want to see that hotel room.”

“Hotel room? Oh yeah, sure, thanks for that.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Cal and Suzy.”

“Let’s not get crazy. I’m doing this to get the sweater off and leave this city, I’m not gonna start kissing Korkea’s ass.”

“He’d tell you to keep your lips to yourself, anyway. As long as you’re not hurting fluffies anymore, I will deem any outcome acceptable. If you want an outcome that you would deem acceptable too, you’ve got a general idea of what you’ve gotta do. I’ll see you around, boyo.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

I drive away, resuming my search for feral fluffies to give these toys to.

scratch scratch

God, there’s gotta be an easier way to–

Wait. Hold on.

He said that I get a point for every fluffy I help.

But he didn’t say that I can’t get points by helping the same fluffy multiple times.

And the easiest way to do that would be to…

I can’t believe I’m thinking this…

To…

Adopt a fluffy.

Hrrrrrk.

I mean, it’s not the first time I’ve brought a fluffy home.

However, they never stayed for long, and usually left via the incinerator in my basement.

Fluffy ashes make for a surprisingly good fertilizer.

Actually adopting one as a pet, though… I’ve never done that before.

And helping ferals is one thing, I’m not asking all of them to come live with me.

On the other hand, it would be convenient to have an easy source of points at hand.

scratch scratch

First, I need to see this hotel room. I don’t even know if they allow fluffies, but it’s a FauCorp hotel, so they probably do.

Maybe I can trade some points in for a bigger room? I didn’t ask.

I can’t afford to upgrade to a better room with money, that’s for sure.

The best rooms at a Faucheuse Hotel tend to be really expensive.

When I see a couple pushing a stroller with a trio of foals in it, I pull over again, the window still rolled down.

“You guys want some toys? I’ve got plenty.”

“Hey, honey, look! It’s Ugly Sweater Guy! Sure, we’ll take some!”

“Can I snap a selfie with you?”

I sigh as I grab some foal toys from the back seat.

“Only if you promise me that you won’t upload it anywhere. Please, I’ve been through enough humiliation.”

snap

The woman snaps a selfie with me as I hand her partner the toys. She’s smiling, I’m not.

“C’mon, you don’t have to be so down! You’re doing a good thing here! People should know that!”

And the man places the toys in the stroller, the foals squealing in delight.

“A guy in an ugly sweater giving toys away to fluffies isn’t really that weird, compared to some of the other people around here…”

Which does relieve my itching again. Even though I’m not directly giving the toys to the foals.

I check my wrist like one would normally check a watch, and the 0 on my sleeve is now a 3.

Chaos is making the rules of this game, I know that now.

The woman nods.

“We’re on our way to get lunch at a restaurant owned by a Martian. Our downstairs neighbour teaches at a magical college. Our mailman is a vampire, and the convenience store around the corner has a werecat working behind the counter. When you live here, you get used to all of the weirdness sooner or later.”

The man strokes the foals’ heads with a finger, making them coo.

“And we bought these little guys from a half-demon and a rubber man. I think fluffies were the first sign that things were gonna get weird. Well, we won’t keep you. I’m sure you’ve got a lot of fluffies to help.”

“Good luck with the whole thing, Ugly Sweater Guy!”

I drive off, the couple waving goodbye as I go.

It’s strange, but I feel a bit better about this now.

I thought that people were just making fun of me because of the sweater, but they’re actually noticing what I’m doing.

I’m getting approval from people who aren’t other abusers for once in my life.

Now that I think about it, the abuse community is kinda toxic. Full on crab mentality. I don’t think I’ve known a lot of abusers who were genuinely happy.

I know it didn’t make me happy. It amused me, but now I see that there’s a difference between amusement and happiness.

Maybe I can actually do this.

Maybe I can actually become a better person.

Or maybe I’m kidding myself.

Maybe I’ll always just be a bad person, being kept in line with the threat of punishment.

Maybe, if Chaos let me take the sweater off, I’d go right back to abusing fluffies.

I don’t trust him, and now, I don’t trust myself.

My life was simple before this. Get up, go to work, abuse fluffies, go to bed.

Now I’m a plaything of Chaos, trapped in an unfamiliar city, surrounded by literal superheroes, wearing an ugly, itchy sweater, no choice but to play a game of which I don’t know all of the rules.

At least I’ve got a vague idea of the win condition, and the lose condition too.

If I earn enough points, I can buy my freedom.

If I lose enough points, I’m fucked.

scratch scratch

Because I don’t think the fun parts of Chaos’ domain are very fun at all.

At least, not for me.

8 Likes

Nice story. It would be cool if the MC finds a way to bend the rules and abuse them while getting points

2 Likes

This is one of those things that just sort of happened on its own. I wasn’t even planning to bring Ugly Sweater Guy back after “I Can Do Anything!” (that’s when he got the sweater, if you want the full story), but then he rapidly evolved into a recurring character and I decided to give him his own starring role.

So I have no idea how this is going to end, and it could go in any direction, which is par for the course for any story with Chaos in it.

1 Like

I’m gonna need confirmation on whether or not that sweater is made of fluffy fluffy. And whether or not it’s actually growing on him.

1 Like

i LOVE THIS!! i wana see more of ugly sweater guy!!

1 Like

Maybe. Maybe not. Definitely keeping the idea in mind, though…

If you want to see his first three appearances, read the stories mentioned in the note at the start of the story.

That’s… why the note is there.

1 Like

well yeah, though i wana see how he progresses! I wana see if he ever gets off the sweater, or if he finds a fluffy he likes!

1 Like

Oh sure, I get it. But I think you might also enjoy his appearance in “Not Always Working”. That’s when he got all of those toys.

That was another thing that just sort of happened. I decided to have him appear, then I went “Wait, he lives in Detroit, how can he be here?”, and trying to explain that lead me to this.

1 Like

Cool and unusual punishment

1 Like

Thats a bit of a scam, considering a mile is 1.6 km. Maybe chaos just hates the metric system because of how ordered it is, that seems like it would bein character

1 Like

Well, Chaos is a trickster. He’s probably wondering if Ugly Sweater Guy is smart enough to see through it.

1 Like