Practice and repetition, the tall lanky doctor muses to himself, his usual cold demeanor betrayed by the skip in his step succeeds where memory fails. The concrete halls of the compound echoed his every step. His mind races with possibility for months of careful breeding and some minor genetic tweaking has made the perfect stock for as test subjects. For there’s no place for soft pliant flesh that would give way like warm butter. Or bones so brittle that they’d be crushed by their own weight. Nor minds so dimwitted that even the most basic concepts would appear alien to them.
They will be faster, stronger, greater than anyone could’ve ever imagine. For he demands it as it requires no less to survive his experimentation so as to push it all even further. Before he could muse these ideas further his mind snaps into focus as he finds himself facing a set of dull grey double doors.
It’s handles gleams a cloudy refraction from constant use. The terminus before the gates of hell, he thought to himself pushing the doors open as humid air greeted him when he enters the tiled room. Lockers at his sides as if on attention then turning onto his personal locker. Well maintained compared to the others as they showed signs of constant use. Donning his white hazmat suit and rubber boots and gloves he keys his ear piece to the local network buzzing with radio chatter before tuning to his frequency.
He then faces to another set of double doors, dull red yet foreboding. Steeling himself he pushes the doors open as waves of musky smells blows back against him. Cries of thousands upon thousands of fluffy souls wails in their cages, greeting him in a cacophonous chorus. He took a moment to take in the vast expanse that he entered. Rows upon rows of fluffy cages stretches far up into the ceiling seemingly fading into an endless void. All held by great steel beams and concrete pillars that acts as monuments to their bondage. As metal walk ways cuts between them in uniform levels. Busied by menials that tends to the fluffy’s basic needs while carting foals by the kilos in stacking crates for processing.
He collects himself lest be consumed by its vastness. Walking in sturdy steps as the flooring is ever caked in fluffy feces. A slipping hazard that warrants constant power washing that wages an endless battle that sees no end. In practiced steps he tours his chosen row as sorrowful eyes looked on to the odd human who stood taller than the menials that tended them. Many who could still stand squish their fluffy faces onto their grates. Calling out to him as if he were deliverance.
“Pwease… am soon mummah… nee’ huggies, nee’ wuv huuuhuuu”, one voice spoke. “Nu wan, nu wan mowe babbehs, nee’ wittew mummah huuuhuuu” spoke another. The desperate pleas of the dams only added to the sorrowful chorus however. His travel towards his colleague would take a good hour as the perpetually shit caked floor renders most motorized travel far to hazardous. Might as well relish in it, the doctor muses to himself switching to classical radio as the wails of fluffy suffering fades away into white noise.
You feel safe under the pile that is your siblings, their breathing added a soothing rhythm that reminds you of the warm place. A gnawing hunger grows within however waking you restless. Pushing yourself away from the fluff pile as your siblings tumble and peep. Taking no heed of your siblings’ desperate chirps you crawled towards the miwkie place aching to sate the pit in your tummeh.
With eyes shut tight you relied on your smell, the sweet scent of miwkies beckoned as your tummeh growled impatiently. Eventually your snout bumped onto tit flesh then a familiar pull made you latch onto the nipple. Taking in the nutritious nectar in gentle suckles as the empty feeling eventually fades.
Burping out your fill then collapsing onto your own heap as the feelings of warmth returned. This has been your routine for a few forevers, the loss of the warm place is a faint memory now. But the hate remained, the hate for the voice, the noise by your siblings… and her.
Every time you went and slaked your hunger the voice… her, coos her songs and speaks her taunting words. A searing heat would burn at the pit of your belly which swells and swells until you scream. You scream at the voice, you scream at her, how dare she took you from the warmth, the safety that once surrounded you. How dare she offer these when it was she who took them away. You let the heat spill out as frantic peeps and cheeps at the horrid voice. Making your anguish known so to never let her have the satisfaction of you giving in.
“Huuu nu wowwie babbeh sniff mummah am hewe”, C-33 spoke as she hears the desperate cries of her foal.
“Babbeh nu nee’ for chirpeh ‘af meni miwkies fow ‘ou nu cwy”, the dam tries to console it but it peeps and cheeps franticly, almost accusingly.
“Huuuhuuu” she cries, defeated her strength has yet to return to even try to reach her brood. So, she lays there as the chirping grew louder as her other babbehs are roused from their sleep.
She mumbles to herself tallying the days harvest of foals while scratching over a column of ID numbers, marking the number of dams ready for slaughter. Humming a mirthful tune, she wonders to herself on tonight’s special. She’s been craving for Weggie™ Burgers or Meatfoal, all with veggies hopefully. Hydroponics promised vegetables last season and couldn’t stand eating only meat and wheat for long lengths of time.
Bored out of her mind she reclines back while tapping her heel, then a pneumatic hiss can be heard behind her. Facing with her left side to the source of the noise she lights up as a tall figure steps out of the steam.
“Dr. Yudkowsky, what do I owe the visit” she beams towards him, him being the one of the few colleagues that appreciates her work in Immunology. She makes her way towards him as she offers a seat at the lounge.
“Dr. Brown I hope I’m not interrupting anything”, he replies turning to a rack to hang his labcoat to elevate the heat from the airlock, maintaining his impassively cold face throughout. Then turns to her breaking into a smile.
“To answer your first question, we finally did it, batch twelve made more than double the projected brood”. A tinge of excitement slips from Dr. Yudkowsky’s words.
Dr. Brown lights up from the news as she quickly contains her excitement, taking pride in her professionalism.
“Finally,” she cheers then “I can finally leave this dump for something I’m actually great at”. She relaxes as she receives the only bit of good news for the day.
“Oh?” Dr. Yudkowsky sneers “I thought you’d enjoyed lording over all these hardworking satyr’s”. He then reclines his seat musing on. “I made every effort to make them as compliant as they are adorable”.
“As much as I like ordering them around” Dr. Brown crosses her arms. “It never feels right with me, no matter how I see them, it’s still slavery to me”, she frowns deep in thought.
An awkward silence fell upon the two doctors, a quiet agreement formed between them. Moments past until Dr. Brown broached a question.
“So, you’re not here only to share your latest breakthroughs are you Dr. Yudkowsky?”. Eyebrows raised.
“Y-yes”, he stammers “I need to borrow one of your spare sorting rooms and some crates for the newly birthed foals”.
“Of course,” she exclaims “my facilities are at your disposal”. Then gestures a playful bow.
“When I have them over would you like to observe the procedure?”, Dr. Yudkowsky asks, making an excuse to have Dr. Browns company.
“I appreciate the invite but I’ll pass, fluffies being sorted to their inevitable doom I have that plenty here”, she chides.
“Fair enough,” he wonders to himself. “Once I get them sorted, I’ll have the lab prepped for you”.
“Likewise,” she smiles then said. “Would you want me to send someone to transport the crates for you?”.
“No need, I need to make them secure myself anyway and a sterile environment if you have for the rooms?”, He says, emphasizing “sterility” with urgent necessity.
Dr. Brown thinks to herself, “give me by tomorrow morning and you’ll have them squeaky clean”.
“Marvelous”, he then gets up from his seat and extends his hand towards her. “It’s been a pleasure working with you Dr. Brown”.
She stands in turn and firmly shook his hand. “As to you as well Dr. Yudkowsky,but now I need to see you out as I’m needed else where”. She frowns her usual optimism replaced by a sternness.
“Right,” he says as both doctors made their way to the airlock.
One after the other they donned their white hazmat suits and left the suboffice, the heart of her operations here. After she locks the doors she called for the nearest menial. Trotting towards her with its hooves it stood on attention and was ordered to escort Dr. Yudkowsly and attend to his needs. They wave each other goodbye as they make their separate ways. With him and his short companion towards the storage units and Dr. Brown to oversee the factory floor.
You are a fluffy mare who lost her latest brood of foals. They were about to open their see-places until they were taken away by not-hooman mistahs. You heard them cheeping for you but you don’t have the strength to reach for them.
You’re just tired, so tired for so many forevers that you don’t even feel saddies no more. Only the tummeh feels, the biggies poopies and the heart-hurties, all knowing that your babbehs will be gone. You can’t remember that you even have weggies. You have feelings that you should run, play, hug and wuv but you can never imagine these things. The cold sowwie boxie was all you’ve ever known, the icky smells have long since numbed your sniffer and the cries of other fwuffies wailed in their anguish. Sometimes it would get so loud and so high that it would snuff out all thinkies from your thinkie place enough that you’ll scream out in response adding your scream to the terrible chorus.
Throughout all this you always wondered why you’re here. Where were they taking your foals? Why is everything so scary. You ask yourself these questions trying to rationalize the waking nightmare that has been your routine… your everything… your life.
Until something was off. You should feel the stingy-burny-hurties rubbing on your no-noes and miwkie-places. To feel your miwkies being drained by not-foals. But nothing happened, you simply lied there. A moment past, then a forever, then the forever stretched on till the anxiety begins to build within you. Only realising that the wailing fell silent save for the gentile sobs near her cage and the wails of distant fluffies.
“Hello Block 3-5; F0” in a loud jubilant yell “are we gonna make some nummies or what?” You shiver to your core as you recognize that voice Mu-mu-munstah!. Your body squirms and fidgets as instinct demands that you run away. But the wailing returned louder, more frantic as you hear fluffies begging and pleading incoherently until something dawns on you. It’s getting closer, then an audible clang followed by the cries of another fluffy.
“Nu pwease, huuhuu, no wan gu, no wan, no wa-” You hear a loud smack followed by a “ScreeeEEEEEE”. It was so loud you didn’t notice the grate to your box opened.
Small hands reach to your sides that gripped you firmly, snapping into attention when you feel your own weight sagging from being lifted. You struggle and squirmed against it but it’s far to strong for you to shake loose. Then a blinding light assaults you as you leave your boxie for the first time, now face-to-face with a not-hooman mistah.
You stared at the not-hooman mistah and it stared back with cold, dead eyes. He has an unkept, jet-black head of hair with bangs that almost covers his eyes. With its pointed furred ears dropping low. You resigned yourself at his grip, head hanged low and sobbing.
“What’ya got there Oliver?” says Dr. Brown, eyeing the short satyr menial carrying a pillowed fluff away from him like a mewling infant.
“One of the pillowed fluffs ma’am” the satyr said, trying his best to not show his disdain towards the particular fluffy.
“Cool! What’s the story on this one?”, Dr. Brown asks, fascinated.
“We caught her trying to keep the foals to herself ma’am”, he then hefts the fluffy to his right side, using his free hand he inspects the ear tag. Reading a chain of numbers before settling for the last three digits.
“ -434, now I remember, she tried to fight back, bucking and biting but all she did was make a mess out of her foals”. He moves to a wheeled cart inspecting its contents. Almost at full capacity of crying chirping fluffy dams. Just enough so that they don’t suffocate each other or get crushed by their own weight.
“Dammit, full”, he turns to the closest cart currently being manned by another satyr.
“Yo, Jerry, do you have space for one more?” Oliver asks.
Jerry peers at his cart then gave him a nod in a negative then immediately pushes his cart. Joining with others in a line, forming a caravan. Oliver fidgets, almost hopping in place, unsure what to do but wouldn’t want to be left behind. Dr. Brown however was amused by Oliver’s mannerism, deciding on doing him a solid.
“Why wont you carry that one fluffy, I can push the cart for you”, she smiles.
Before Oliver could protest, Dr. Brown bounds her way towards the cart, joining the caravan. Taking their haul of fluffy dams to their inevitable fate. Oliver resigns himself in carrying the sniveling dam behind the line, trying his best to keep her steady. He’s by no means weak but the dam was simply too big and too heavy for him. Forced to hold her on his chest, then supported her weight with one arm under her, caking it in shit.
It has been a forever since you’ve been taken from your sorry boxie, the not-hooman mistah carries you in his arms. You’re in a place that you can’t describe, in a long grey thing that goes on and it goes up high with bright things glaring down. Hearing nothing else but the taps of his hoofies and the gentle cries of other fluffies. The quietest you’d ever had. And for the first time you let yourself relax, enjoying the brief comfort that felt like a salve to an already broken heart.
He’s like a little daddeh yet not little. You want to hug him but you don’t have weggies to give it. So instead, you tried to speak your adoration for him. But your worn throat chokes on your words. You instead sighed, whispering these simple words, hoping that it’s enough.
“Wuv ‘ou”, then it stops, you don’t hear the tapping of hoofs, the faint cries of other fluffs that slowly fades into the distance.
Suddenly you’re pulled away from the embrace, locking eyes with the not-little daddeh. Whose eyes looked back in nothing but contempt for you.
“No, no, nononono, we’re not having that”, he says as his disdain is making itself known.
“Wu-wut?”, you said as a wave of disbelief wash over you. Why would he be so mean? He took you away from the scary place. You only wanted thank him for simply that. And maybe ask him if he can take you in where it’s safe and warm.
“Now I already know what you’re thinking”, the not-little daddeh says his eyes fixed on yours still burning with contempt.
“I’m not your daddeh or your fwen or anything else” he says his voice growing more and more angry.
“What I’m doing is feeding you to the big metal teefie munstah”, his face turned into a wicked grin.
Your eyes grow wide in shock
“But before that we wash away your fluff in burnie wawas”, his head tilts to one side.
Your mouth gapes in horror.
“And after all that you come out as nummie sketties for me and my friends”, he grips you tightly, you feel his fingers pinching into your skin.
You broke into sobbing. Sagging limply as the nightmare continues to its final stretch that was forever-sleepies. Crying and chirping like a foal for it’s mummah.
“If you keep quiet for the rest of the journey I might throw your head in first”, the not little-daddeh says shaking you as if to make you decide.
But you only chirped, chirping for mummah, to lick you clean and wake you up from this nightmare.
Pfft, he scoffs, “fine by me, I’m having fun at least”. He then continues walking, the taps of his hooves echo the tunnels. Dr. Brown however heard all this, only stopping a little way away. Guilt fell into the pit of her stomach as embarrassment bloomed upwards. Choking on her words she continued with her march while keeping distance with the satyr behind her. Hearing only the frantic chirps that is calling out to no one.
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