Inspired by an old story from the booru.
“Gon be bestest mommah, geh best sketties fow bestest miwkies fow bestest babbie.”
Sang the scrawny and dirty pink mare with a bright yellow mane, five foals riding on her back, and one big and energetic red, orange and yellow foal running at her side as she walks and sings.
You watch from your notebook as she approaches the current foal4skettie test model.
“good fluffies get sketti! Put good babies in the fun slide and get sketti! Good babies go in fun slide and good fluffy get sketti!”
The new jingle is less focused on mothers giving up their babies, but instead it’s meant for all fluffies, to capitalize on the fluffies that would steal babies from others to put in the machine themselves.
“Hewwo sketti munstah! Mummah nee sketties fow bestest miwkies, take poopie babbeh and give sketties.”
The mare reaches for a small brown foal on her back.
“peep Mummah give upsies? Babbeh nee miwkies, hab wostest tummy owchies, nuh hab miwkies fow wongest fowevers.”
“Dummy poopie babbeh, miwkies onwy fow bestest babbeh, othew babbies an onwy nummie babbies fow bestest mummah.”
You cough as you try to stiffen a laugh as you sip your coffee, the foals start to peep and cry, begging not to be eaten, uselessly asserting that ‘babies are for love and hugs, and that they need love and milk’ and blah blah blah.
You love your job.
The mother ignores the cries of her meal tickets and raises herself, the foal dangling above the slide opening, it seens she is surprised by how it looks, the old model was merely a metal chute, usually covered in shit, it’s now a bright green plastic slide surrounded by blue walls and smiling clouds, the top is only slightly inclined, giving the foal a slower and less panicked descent.
“Bwotah hewp, nuh wan be nummies.”
“Mummah! Make wazy poopie sissie be nummies fastew, bestest nee sketti miwkies, am tiwed fwom wunning.”
…
Your munstah mummy drops you down, and you feel yourself sliding down until you pass through a soft wet wall that makes you feel like when mummah still gave you lickie cleanies, you relax as you drop on a cold floor that feels like it’s moving, just like when mummah had you on her back just now.
…
You watch from the internal cameras, they are only there for the test model, and you’re glad for them allowing you to see what will happen to the foal, of course, only for the quality control of the internal mechanisms (And not, as the HR lady said, to satisfy your sick cravings).
The old conveyor passed through a furnace, the hot metal burning the foals as soon as they fell in, making restrains unnecessary, unfortunately this made the screams of pain noticeable too soon and close to the wall, this stopped most fluffy mothers from putting more foals inside, some using it only to dispose of poopie babies and alicorns, so you had to make a separate belt for the “entrance”, you had vied for stunning the foals with an electric shock, but it increased the cost of the machines and made many foals die too soon, so the team opted for a simple narrowing tunnel to keep the foals in place before they are “sorted”.
The brown thing is dragged and dropped into a a circular drainage platform, warm water is splashed on it as it spins and shakes to clean the brunt of the dirt and encourage the foals to empty their bowels, not that this one had anything in it.
The walking and talking piece of shit didn’t even notice when one side of the floor started to lift as she complained about the water.
The platform tilted before going down again, rolling her into a scale and sensors, it took her weight, type and colors into consideration, and outside the machine blurted out:
“This is poopie baby. Small. Earthy. Brown baby. Poopie babies only give poopie food. Only good babies give good sketties, monster babies give bestest sketties.”
This would ensure the machines would perform as intended instead of acting as a reward for fluffies wanting to dispose of runts and chirpies. There were complaints that pairs with best babies from up to four different generations would throw whole litters into the machine before mating them and there to make more meal tickets, this was unacceptable.
Now the machine would give only gel pelllets of a non nutritious bitter mixture if it detected “bad colors”. Fluffies would only get sketties if the sensors detected “good colors”, and it would be dispensed based on the weight of the foal.
This one unfortunately for you would go straight to disposal, you hope the next one will be better.
A spring rod launched it like a pinball into the waste disposal area. The brown foal can do nothing but die, if it was lucky it would land on its head, you designed the waste bin to be just beside the alicorn saferoom, if there was alicorns inside, the poopie babies would have a nice scene of them playing with toys, drinking milk and eating spaghetti.
Everyone believed it was going to be very hard to convince the higher ups of the one way glass, but you knew you just had to say it was faster and cheaper, it would allow cleaning staff to see if there was a valuable fluffy inside as soon as they cleaned the waste bin instead of needing a display, saving cost and space inside the machines.
…
“Wawa bad fow babbeh, mummah! Babbeh nee hugs and wawmies, am suu cowd, nuh wan fowever sweepies.”
You cry before the mean wall kicks you away, you roll and feel a sharp pain from your leggies.
“‘peep peep peep’ babbeh has wowsted owchies, why weggies huwt babbeh? Nee huggies fow owchies.” You try to get up and look for mummah, but all you manage to do is hurt your legs worse. “'Eeeeeep’ waww munstahs why huwt babbeh? Am onwy widwe babeh, nuh am fow huwties, am fow huggies an miwkies.” You want to suck on your hoof to help with the pain, and it hurts even more when you bend it into your mouth, all you can do is suckle on your hoof and cry as each sucking motion brings more pain than comfort.
…
“Stuppie poopie sissy nuh give sketti? Why nuh wove mummah and bestest babbeh? ‘huuuu’”
“Othew babbeh bes give sketti, ow yu get wowstest huwties.”
The mare says before lifting another foal into the opening.
You watch as this one repeats the same path it’s sister did before, until it reaches the sensors.
“This is good baby, Small. Earthy. Blue. Good babies give good sketties. Small babies give less sketti. Monster babies give best sketties.” You hope the reinforcement makes fluffies more likely to put the alicorns in the machines instead of killing them.
Instead of pinballing the foal, a gentler spring rod pushes the foal to another conveyor belt.
…
You’re so cold and afraid, your mummah said you’re only nummies, why was she being a meanie? Did she not know babbies are for hugs and love?
You feel something pushing you to the side, you stumble into another moving floor, you huuu as you shake from the cold, before you’re covered in warm foam.
“Hehe, nyu fwend give babbeh wawmieee? ‘screeeeeeee’ Why fwen give sowwy buwnies? Wostest buwnies wostest buwnies in see pwaces mummah hewp mummah ‘chirp chirp chirp’”
You feel water again, it scares the mean white monster away, but when you look at you legs, there is no fluff, only raw skin and red, you hurt all over, your tears burn your eyes and face where they fall.
“‘screeee’ whewe fwuff? Owchies aww over mummah mummah ‘chirp chirp chirp chirp’ babbeh nuh can see whewe mummah?”
…
Your have tears in your eyes as you try not to laugh.
In the older machines the furnace would burn the alcohol sprayed fur away, but it was a bitch to clean, it used too much gas and the holes got covered in fluffy grease and hair ash, so now you’ve decided to use the cheapest hair removal foam in the market, the chinese stuff that would leave you bald for life and give you cancer but who cares if it eats away the epidermis, blinds them and burns their lungs? They are going to be alive far less than it would take for the side effects to kill them.
The foam gets red, and after five seconds of the foal rolling around and screaming, water is circulated on the small chamber to remove the foam, leaving a chemically skinned foal crying and bleeding on the wet conveyor belt, it’s the funniest shit ever, and knowing countless foals would go though this instead of an instant death in a furnace only makes it sweeter, you really are making a change for the better in this company.
The other fools in the design team, they made some interesting things, humanly killing the fluffies before laser-skinning them (this one did give you some great ideas you will admit), using soy protein or other meat substitutes instead of feeding babies to their parents and siblings (this one was too cruel for your tastes, you wouldn’t feed that crap even to a fluffy) and painlessly euthanizing the foals with gas, the four eyed hugboxing bitch even make an automatic neutering machine that would just make the fluffies unable to reproduce while keeping them alive (the higher ups left her crying after that one, she was so lucky to have you to comfort her, and you’re so lucky she has nice tits and low self esteem).
You however, knew exactly what to do, inflict the worst suffering possible under the smallest budget (the bosses only care about that last part, the first one is just part of your code).
You watch as the foal is dropped into a puddle of hot tomato sauce, it’s last coherent words?
“‘sniff’ sketties?”
You bite your lips so hard you’re bleeding, the crying woman next to you looks with sad understanding behind her round glasses, she hugs your arm (very unprofessional), her breasts pressing against your body make you pop a boner (just a natural reaction out of your control).
“Beth, you can go help the others with the archiving, I’ll finish the trial reports myself.”
“Bu”
“‘shhh’ It was my idea, I deserve to watch it alone.” She seens to understand somehow, and hugs you again before leaving (extremely unprofessional), her boobs pressing on your chest (extremely hot).
The foal can’t drown, but the warm acidic sauce (you choose one with a touch of lemon) is like lava to its exposed skin, it runs around, splashing the liquid all over itself, it can’t even shit at this point, and now the best part:
There are small holes on the floor, most of the sauce is actually bellow that first floor, why? It’s a foal grater.
The floor starts to move from one side to the other, the foal drops belly down at the sudden movement, he is unaware of the ceiling falling down as he screams in pain, only noticing it after it starts pressing his head down.
You watch as the foal is squeezed into the holes, the ceiling dropping as slowly as you could justify, unfortunately, there was no way to prevent the head from being flattened while keeping the thing, quote on quote, “reasonable”.
On the outside, the little song stops as the cannibal sketti is finished and deposited on a small paper plate.
The mare devours it ravenously, but the portion from a small foal is not enough to fill her stomach, so she reaches for another foal…