-Author’s note-
Commence
On a cloudy day, in the middle of a vacant patch of grass, itself surrounded by a desolated lot of asphalt and pavement, a silvery machine shunts its legs along in a slow and deliberate march. It cannot feel, nor does it tire, but there is a weariness to the sight.
Its servos whir and whine with the effort.
The machine is almost out of power. Its depleted batteries cannot continue driving basic locomotion. As it is, the AMU bot is too far from its supporting units to be retrieved.
After taking a few more jerky and unsteady steps, the odd contraption came to a halt and bowed its head. Its four red eyes grew dimmer as it entered a power-restore state. It would take some time, but the robot would begin to draw upon its radio-thermal generator. The tiny supply of radioactive fuel would give the sufficient jolt to get the machine back into the fold of fluffy-slayers.
The only requirement was time.
An inert robot had nothing but time. So long as it was not disturbed, the ampule of material stored within would undergo its natural decay. The resulting heat would then be converted to storable electricity, and revive the machine once a sufficient charge was reached.
In the time that the machine spent asleep, strays came upon it from the urban wilds. The stray fluffies were not privy to the horrors committed against
their kind by the metal horde, for the robots were stealthy things under optimal conditions. Their methods often exploited the unwitting nature of fluffies to lure the verminous creatures to their doom.
That same unwitting nature prompted the herd to investigate the odd figure that appeared in their lowly grazing pasture.
“Scawy fing!” one of the fluffies complained. “Wook wike mistew, bud weiwd!” Perhaps the inclination to consider the robot’s figure to be masculine stemmed from the fact that it lacked hair and other conventional features fluffies relied on to address the people they came across.
It was a common occurrence for fluffies to fall on the wrong side of those who upheld the gender spectrum.
Alas, the small group continued circling the robot. They considered it from afar, then up close. They sniffed at its metal body, and were perplexed when their most keen sense returned no insight. Eventually, one of the fluffies decided it knew what the newcomer was.
“Dis am jus, hooman toysie! Wike da dawkies-wight an’ gweenie-hoomans in da pawk!” proclaimed the little creature, referencing street lights and park statues respectively.
This elicited "oooh"s and "aaah"s from the rest of the group as they peered upon the strange figure with their oversized eyes. Some of the more imaginative ones eagerly insisted the robot’s appearance was a sign that the people of the city would turn their refuge into a pretty new park, where they would happily be among the fluffies in the company of their children.
“Widdow daddehs an’ mummahs wiww takie fwuffies into wawm housies an’ wub fwuffies foeba!” one of the fluffies was overjoyed to yell out. It was so happy, the fluffy wrapped its forelegs around itself while imagining the tender affection of a child’s hug.
“Wan’ huggies too! Wan’ wub!” giggled another fluffy.
“Wets aww be gud fwuffies, soz dat fwuffies ged nyu pawk-homesies!”
Thus, the notion that the fluffies should be nice to the odd fixture on the sallow grass was born into being. The omen of good tidings deserved all the love that the fluffies could offer, so that the best people would come to their aid and make their park-paradise flourish! Or, so went the reasoning in the fluffy mind.
“Fwuffy bwing bestest nummies fo’ pawk fwend!” one of the herd members reported. Much like a ‘smarty-friend’, the robot had taken up an integral symbolic role to the congregation despite its inactivity.
The fluffy dropped the mostly-eaten apple at the taloned feet of thd automaton.
“Num appwe fo’ gwow big an’ stwong!” The fluffy giggled and trotted off.
Over time, the herd had amassed a respectable pile of food for the robot. They did not have much to begin with, but their faith in the silvery idol was such that they did not mind. A couple expecting mothers were allowed to eat from the offering pile when they needed to, with the understanding that the park-friend would understand that babies needed food to grow big – and strong!
The days went on and on, forever segmented into cycles of bright and dark. People flitted up and down the streets according to their own lives, and vehicles rumbled along the blacktops every so often. All of them went on with life as though the fluffies did not exist. That was fine, though! Things were always changing in ways that fluffies could not understand. For all they knew, the park was already coming into existence.
Even though the empty lot and the rundown buildings around it looked as they always did, if not worse with time.
If there was one thing that fluffies had enough of a grasp of in order to fully appreciate, it was the weather. When the weather was rough, fluffies died. Simple as that. So, the herd played their games of tag, ate their lackluster grass along with whatever they could scrounge up discarded on the sidewalk, and enjoyed the cool and dry days for what they were.
All the while, the fluffies were oblivious to the interactions of neutrons flying free of their nuclei, gradually stirring the motions of electons within cable-veins and microchip brains.
It was the coming of dusk one soon-to-be grim day.
The fluffies piled together near their metal patron. They felt safe in its presence, complacent in its unchanging ways. They drifted off to sleep, but shortly after they were all taken by dreams, the unit awoke from its radioactive slumber.
The last of the sunlight burned away in the high clouds while the robot’s four eyes gleamed scarlet in the overcast darkness on the ground, uneffected by the lengthening shadows. All at once its sensors blipped, marking the positions of each of the fluffies in the herd.
Its energy reserves were still low. The unit requisitioned the necessary percentage to pulse a beacon to other nearby bots for support. With this measure taken to assure future operations, the automaton advanced upon the fluff-pile.
The fluffy at the top was an adolescent, older than a foal but not nearly full-size. Being the topper of the fluff-pile was a perfet role for it, but it was a damning role all the same. The AMU’s claws clamped around its head and its motorized strength wrenched the fluffy into the air.
It barely had enough time to open its eyes and squeak in terror before its neck was snapped. Its defecation and urine dribbled weakly from its limp body. The fluffies underneath the filth squirmed uncomfortably, but did not wake.
The robot discarded the first casualty with an indifferent toss over its shoulder. The second victim-to-be was larger, and snuggled too closely with its peer. The AMU could not tug this one away to end its life. Without pause, the robot extended its toothed bayonet from its sheath and shoved it into the back of the fluffy’s head, right at the base of the neck.
The fluffy jerked, as expected. One hoof struck its cuddle-partner in the ensuing dying throes. “Stahp givin’ sowwy hoofsies! Din’du nuffin!” the effected fluffy mumbled drowsily as the other fluffy siezed. After the passing of a few more seconds, it fell still.
In the next moment, the one that spoke had its throat slit open. Its eyes flew apart and its attempts to scream out brought forth a horrid high-pitched gurgling as blood and foam poured from the fluffy’s mouth. Panic urged the fluffy to buck and writhe, but when the impulses reached its muscles, the fluffy was too weak to do much more than attempt to flop and wiggle languidly. It died not long after.
With the literal dead weight pinning the rest of the herd down, the robot brought its gun-for-a-limb to task. Its aim was set.
And then it sprayed.
A hail of metal bearings smashed into the fragile bodies at point blank range. Bits of fur and meat were sent flying every which way, with a bodily thump with every high-speed, rapid-fire impact.
The quickly enacted execution was far from merciful. Though the gunned down fluffies were broken in many terrible ways, many of them were living, still, gasping from their agonizing injuries, and quickly descending into despair.
The pain.
The dark.
The four red eyes staring blankly upon their dying figures, and the vague shine outlining the silver body.
“W-wai… pawk-fwend…? Iz… weawwy… bud…” one of the fading fluffies rasped.
"Wai gib mummah wowstest owies!? Am bad mummah!? Tummeh babbehs! Sowwy… huu huu huu… sowwy tummeh babbehs… mummah wuz bad fwuffy, an’ now hab – "
The overly talkative dam had her head decisively crushed by a swift stomp to the temple. Her small brain squelched and oozed through her destroyed skull.
The quieter fluffies were left to anguish as they died.
A single fluffy yet had the strength to attempt an escape. She dragged herself along by her one good foreleg. The effort was awkward and strenuous. The bulk from her pregnancy was not easy to manage, and her muscles screamed from exertion.
She felt a sharpness shoot up her spine as her tail was yanked. She hadn’t gone even a foot. The defeat of her progress being undone was as despiriting as anything else, nonetheless. The fluffy rolled onto her side to look at the monster squarely, tears streaming down her face.
“Wai, munsta? Wai huwt mummah pwetty taiw? Wai huwt fwuffy hewd?” Sobs shook the mare as she meekly said these things to the uncaring slayer clad in steel.
The robot tasked its blade to finish the herd. It sliced open the quivering mare’s stomach, and spilled her premature offspring out into the cold, nestled amidst her steaming guts.
“Babbehs… go backsies into mummah, babbehs… huuuuu huu…” the fluffy cried. She squinted her eyes shut, coughed, and then was dead as well.
With its deed completed, the AMU hung its head and returned to its low-power idleness, surrounded by blood and corpses.
It would be retrieved shortly.