NexTech Bio-Industries parts 9 and 10 by Dildofarmer

[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 1 and 2 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 3 and 4 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries Parts 5 and 6 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 7 and 8 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 9 and 10 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries parts 11 and 12 by Dildofarmer]
[NexTech Bio-Industries Parts 13, 14 and Epilogue by Dildofarmer]

NexTech Bio-Industries
9 Exercise Day: Night

You are Muffin. You are a dark red fluffy with a purple tummy. When you were dragged out of the Shewta Pwace, you thought you would get a daddeh who would take you home and give you the best nummies and petties. You have met a lot of humans, but only one of them wanted to be your daddeh - and he went away when he learned that you made bad poopies and fibbed that it was your babees. You made biggest sorries, but he called you a bad fluffy and gave you the biggest heart-hurties and left. Every other human has been mean, especially James. James gives you owwies just about every day. You try to be a good fluffy, but he is crazy and keeps telling you to do different things.

You have one red babee who is a pointy filly, and one babee that is an orange wingie colt. The red pointy is the one you blamed your bad poopies on. You feel like a bad fluffy about that even though you said you were sorry.

Your babees are getting good at walking, but they can’t talk as much as Spring’s or Hazel’s. When you were a babee, you talked to your mummah a lot before the Shewta Humans took her away. You told her how pretty your tummy fluff was and how much you liked milkies and huggies. Your babees don’t do that, at least not yet.

Spring, the purple fluffy next door, seems to know a lot about babees. She says that you have to talk to your babees so they learn to make good talkies, and that you should let them play with the ball even though you are better at it. You have tried, but it’s pretty boring when they always say the same words and fall down when they play ball.

You like giving your babees milkies to num. This time, however, you feel a little strange when you lay down and raise your back hoofie. Your two babees toddle over and put their mouthies on your milkie places like usual. They put their little hoofies up and make babee-squishies, and you smile down at them and sing a little mummah song:

“Mummah wuv babees, babees num miwkies. Wuv, wuv, wuv.”

Suddenly your song is interrupted by a sad noise. You look over, and you see that all three of Hazel’s babees - brown, blue and green - are looking at you through the bars. The green wingie one peeps a little, and the brown one gives it huggies. The blue one talks.

“Huuu, wan’ miwkies. Hungwy.”

Your little orange wingie babees turns around and looks at them, with a little bit of milkies dribbling from its snoutie.

“Miwkies!” it squeaks. That makes you giggle.

Then you remember: James spent all day making you and the other fluffies run around, and Hazel tried to run away. You are still tired from making runny leggies so long. James made the biggest angries ever, and then he put Hazel in the meanie wawas place and stole her milkies! She cried and made the biggest huuhuus. That was a long time ago during the brighty-bright, and it’s deep in the darkie-dark now. Her little babees hadn’t had any milkies to num since then, because James stole them all.

The thought of having your milkies stolen makes you shudder, which makes your orangie babees peep and turn back around. It must be awful. Just thinking about it makes your milkie places have hurties and your mouthie make scaredy huffies. Milkies are for babees to num, and babees are for playing and giving huggies. Are you even still a mummah if you can’t give milkies to babees?

“Yu nu haf miwkies, yu hungwy babees,” you point out to Hazel’s three foals. The little blue pegasus starts crying and holding its tummy. Suddenly, the cloudy purple mare in the other-side housie - Spring - calls out in the darkness. It scares you and you make scaredy huffies.

“Hazew! Hazew, pwease tawk tu fwuffy? Hazew?” she says. She looks even more saddies than usual. She is standing in the back of her housie, trying to look all the way through yours to where Hazel is huddling under her blankie. “Hazew?” The lavender mare reaches up and puts a front hoofie on the wires.

You hear a big saddies noise from Hazel. She is shivering and making huuhuus a lot, but you can tell she is trying to say something out loud.

“Huu… huuu… Hazew wemembah… in cowd times wif white wawas-fwuff… mummahs nu haf enuff nummies. Huuu! An’… an’… nu haf miwkies fo’ babees. An’ babees hungwies. Babees haf tummy owwies.” comes the voice from under the blanket. Her talkies are rough and scratchy-sounding. “Huuu, babees… babees cwy an’ make foweva sweepies…”

“Miwkies! Pwease!” squeaks her brown earthie. It walks away from the bars and pokes its nose under its mummah’s blankie. You hear it try to num milkies from her milkies place, but pretty soon it stands up again. It can’t get any num-nums, so it toddles around to its mummah’s snoutie. “Mummah, wan’ miwkies! Hungwy!” It sounds upset.

Hazel just makes saddie eyes at the babee, and pretty soon her other two walk up and try to num milkies too. It’s like they can’t believe there are no milkies until they all try each milkie place a few times, even though you already figured it out. Who’s a dummy now?

Then the brown filly makes angries at Hazel, and makes little grumbling noises and tries to make angry stompies. The sight of a little babee being fierce makes you giggle, which the babee doesn’t like either.

“Wan’ miwkies! Nu miwkies?” peeps the little foal.

“Sowwy, babees… James stowe aww miwkies. Hazew am… am bad mummah. Am bad mummah.” she whispers, and starts crying. Then her brown filly scuttles away and starts crying too, while the little pair of wingie babees watch with big scaredies in their eyes.

It makes you feel saddies, and your babees are done numming anyway, so you get up and look for your ball. There it is! Your ball was hiding in the front of your housie. You go over and bat it, and it bumps back and forth between your tummy and the front of your cage. That gives you funny giggles!

“Muffin wuv baww!” you tell the ball. It hisses at you. Wait a minute, Ball can’t hiss!

“Sss! Muffin!” It’s Spring from the housie-next-door. She walked up to the front and is hissing through the bars.

“Whaaa?” you say.

“Muffin, hewp Hazew! James stowe hew miwkies!” You turn a few steps around and look through the darkness at your other neighbor. She’s just huddling under her blanket and sobbing. Her babees are curled up next to her. You pivot back around, confused.

“Muffin gif huggies?” you ask.

“Nu! Nu can gif huggies fwoo housie w-” she stops whispering and makes little angries. “Hazew haf scawedies an’ huwties, nu pway baww an’ make woudies!” You can dimly see the lavender wingy mare scrape the floor with her hoofie. “J-james nu shud haf stowe miwkies. S-steaw miwkies is meaniest fing eva. Poow babees.” she says sadly.

“Hazew twy to wun ‘way! James haf biggest angwies! Good fwuffies nu wun ‘way.”

The normally quiet mare makes bigger angries. “Nu! Nu faiw to steaw miwkies! Even if fwuffies aw bad! Huwts babees, gifs mummah an’ babees saddies. Yu tawk to Hazew, teww poor mummah… teww…” you see Spring thinking in the darkness. She makes sad huffies. “Teww Hazew nu be scawed. Teww fwuffies wuv hew. Teww… would gif miwkies if could.”

You toss your head so your mane flops around and snort. You wouldn’t give her any of YOUR milkies! Your babees need your milkies! Even thinking about it makes your milkie places feel funny. You shuffle over to the Hazel-side of your housie and press your snoutie against the bars.

“Hazewww,” you call. “Nu haf saddies! Fwuffies wuv yuuu!”

The piebald earthie mare doesn’t answer. You look closely, and you see that she is still huddled under her blanket, with one front leggie wrapped around her green wingie babees. The little babee’s face is scrunched up, and it is trying to wrap all four hoofies around its own tummy. Then it opens its mouth and shakes its little head from side to side, and lets out a little chirp.

“Tummy huwties! Huwties!” it peeps, and then chirps again. The cute blue wingie crawls out of Hazel’s fluff and tries to hug its brother, but then it chirps and holds its tummy, too. “Pwea’ miwkies! Nee’ miwkies!”

Hazel flinches away from her crying babees, but she can’t back up any more or hide any deeper under her blankie. She opens her mouthie and closes her eyes, and shakes her head while making biggest saddies. Then the biggest babee, the brown earthie foal, toddles back over and starts begging for milkies too.

“Gif miwkies, mummah! Why nu miwkies fo’ babees?” It is halfway between making angries and making saddies. Then it gives tiny babee huggies to its brudda and sissy while glaring up at Hazel. “Nee’ miwkies!”

“Huu, huu, nu wike! Nu wan’ hungwies fo’ babees!” moans the sad mummah. She closes her eyes and shakes her head, and then clambers out from under her blankie. In a flash, she has galloped to the front of her housie and is banging on the bars - first with her hoofies, then she seems to be hitting her snoutie against them.

“SOWWY! HAZEW SOWWY! GIF MIWKIES BACK! GIF MIWKIES BAAACK! PWEEEEASE!” she howls into the darkness. You think she’s being silly. James never comes back after he makes it dark and leaves. She falls down and starts sobbing, rolling onto her back and trying to rub her milkies places with her hoofies. Now her foals are all crying in a little saddies fluffpile.

They keep it up for a long time, but after a while you feel sleepies and curl up on your blankie.

NexTech Bio-Industries
10 Infection Day

The dim light of dawn appeared around the cracks of the lab’s front door and steadily grew. The round porthole window made of wire-crossed glass glowed like a blue eye, staring into Hazel’s face and judging her as she sat slumped in the front of her cage. Her foals had cried themselves out hours ago and gone to sleep with furrowed brows and tear-streaked little cheeks. The exhausted mare knew they would be hungry when they woke up, and her udders still ached.

None of this was lost on James when he arrived at ten before nine with his usual tall coffee and backpack. He kept his headphones plugged in while cleaning the litterboxes, but couldn’t fail to notice that Muffin and Spring shot him haunted, fearful looks while going through their adorable yawning and stretching routine or that Hazel sat slumped in the front of her hutch, watching him with dull eyes. When he was done with the litter, he popped open the tub of kibble and suddenly rounded on Hazel’s cage, stooping over to glare at her foals through the wire.

“Oh, nooo! Are you wittew babies hungry? Haven’t you had any tasty milkies?” he said loudly down at them. The two pegasus foals - green and blue - peeped in fear and hid, while the umber earthie whinnied.

“Huu, hungwy!”

“Well, maybe if your MUMMAH gets some NUMMIES she can make MILKIES for you. Do you want your mummah to have nummies?” The human turned to sneer at the piebald mare in the front of the hutch. “Don’t you think, little baby?”

“Pwease miwkies, mummah!” squeaks the brown filly.

Hazel shivered and flinched as James trotted over and waved the tub of kibble in front of her. Fluffy ponies don’t play poker, but she could read the cards just fine and didn’t think James was bluffing. Even though her body had worked to replenish her udders a little during the night, her understanding was dim - she knew that regular food for her was the only guarantee of regular food for her foals. Memories of crying mothers in cold dens and tiny, colorful, still little bodies flooded her mind.

“What do you say, fuckface? You want to get fed?”

Hazel opened her mouth to answer, but was taken by a brief shuddering spell.

“Yef. Hazew sowwy. Sowwy fo’ twy to wun ‘way. Pwease gif nummies. Nu… nu moaw be bad.”

“Glad to hear it. But let me tell you this: Doc Hopkins is coming to give all you shitrats a shot, and you had better be on your VERY - BEST - BEHAVIOR or I’ll drain your tits again before lunch, I swear to God.”

“H-h-hazew sowwy. Nu be bad. Nu gif twubble. Pwease.”

“Good. Now beg me for food and tell me what a shitty mother you are.”

“P-p-pwease… gif nummies. Pwease. Hazew am bad m-m-mummah. Bad fwuffy. Wiww twy to be gud, pwease. Wiww be gud fo’ num-nums.” Mumbled the piebald mare.

“Hmmm… OK!” James popped open the front of her cage and noisily dumped a scoop of kibble in the red dish. “But think about this: If you actually ever manage to get me fired, I promise you that stomping your foals will be the last thing I do on my way out the building.”

Hazel stayed slumped against the wall until James had moved down to Muffin’s cage, but then she shuffled up and began scarfing the crunchy brown nuggets with desperate speed. She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears of relief ran down her stubby muzzle into the food.

Muffin and Spring ate quietly, except for the lavender mare’s usual feathery “Fankoo.” Of the three fluffy pony mothers, only she was keen-witted enough that morning to wonder what a “shot” was and whether or not it would harm her foals. After breakfast, Muffin trotted over her litter box and grunted out a few logs of shit. Hazel gobbled all her food and slumped down in the middle of her cage with her hind leg lifted. Gnawing hunger had made her foals weak, but they still had the energy to fight over her teats. Unfortunately, it would be a while before her body put back what was missing, so the brown earthie and the blue pegasus only won a mouthful each. They began to cry again, but quietly and to themselves - they had learned.

James slumped down at his card table and began to type on his laptop and flip through his hefty textbook. The whole lab seemed to take a breath and shake off some of the morning’s tension and jangled nerves.

Hazel’s hungry brood lay down and stared into space while their stomachs growled. Their mother did likewise, daydreaming that she could make her teats produce faster. In the middle cage, burgundy Muffin was noisily playing with her foals. They giggled and blurted out cheerful sentence fragments.

Spring had begun to think of Hazel as a friend, and so she was relieved that the wild mare would be able to keep feeding her brood. It took away some of the guilt when the time came to nurse her own. They suckled blissfully while she cooed, but the dam was anxious after hearing that Doctor Hopkins was due to visit.

Before too long, the door boomed open and a familiar shape lurched through: Marcus was back with another cart and another igloo cooler still oozing mist from the freezer.

“Coming through!” boomed Marcus in his usual mode. “Ohhh! I remember. James in the pharm lab with three mommy fluffs!”

“What’s up, Marcus?” asked James, walking over for a firm handshake. “You been delivering stuff this whole time?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty bad, man. Senior tech and there’s nothing for me to do but wait for an order. There’s gonna be LAYOFFS!” He pantomimed gripping his own head in terror and shaking.

“That must be the virus.”

“Yeah, it says right here - ‘Infectious Agent - Handle with Care.’ Doc said he’d be down in a while. You know, I never thought I’d say it, but I miss seeing these things every day.” Marcus walked over to the rack of hutches.

“D-Daddeh? Daddeh?” squealed Muffin, slinking to the front of her cage. Hazel was busy slinking to the back of hers.

“Umm, I’d rather not have them throwing a fit when Doc Hopkins shows up…”

“Oh, yeah? You still having problems in here?”

“Christ,” snorted James “The ugly one made a break for it, and ran right into Doc Frank. Shit on the floor, too. He chewed me out a bit.” James’ simmering anger over the incident was obvious.

“Daddeh? DADDEH?” squalled Muffin, rearing up and banging her front hooves on the cage. Marcus had sidled up close, and with practiced hands he snapped the front of her hutch open and grabbed her roughly.

“You NEED… to be QUIET… when people are TALKING.” Marcus shook the burgundy mare with every emphasized word.

Muffin squirmed and looked up at Marcus with tears growing in her big green eyes. She desperately tried to wrap her stubby legs around his forearm, but he gave her the slip. She started to babble. “Buh… pweese, daddeh… pwease wub Muffin an’ gif housie! Muffin wan’ daddeh!”

“You’re a bad fluffy, I can’t be your daddy!”

“Nuh… nuuu! Huu, huu! Muffin am gud fwuffy! Muffin am pwetty an’ gif huggies!”

“You were a bad mommy fluff last time I was here, Muffin! Don’t you remember?”

Muffin squirmed again, and her little brow furrowed as she thought hard. She remembered Marcus being here. She remembered being on the table and her foals crying, and Marcus saying she was a bad fluffy. After that, it was like trying to catch smoke with bare hands.

“M-M-Muffin nu wemembah,” she sobbed, “Sowwy fo’ be bad mummah! Sowwy! Muffin haf big sowwies! Pwease be nyu daddeh? Guh- gif nummies? An’ wuv?”

“Nope! But if you’re a good, quiet fluffy, I’ll think about it. Now shut the fuck up and go lay down.”

“Buh -” started Muffin. She was answered by Marcus’ practiced hands flicking her on the snout with the speed and power of a pit viper.

Pop! “I said be QUIET!”

Muffin clapped both her front legs over her snout and gasped in a great breath, but Marcus was ready. He batted her soft hooves out of the way and pinched her muzzle shut between his thumb and knuckle. It was excruciating. The mare could only get out a spitting noise and a high-pitched pig squeal. The pain made her convulse, and a jet of piss sprayed out of her hindquarters and onto the carpeting.

“Shut up! Shut up or I won’t be your daddy! Not another sound!” Marcus rapped. Muffin’s eyes snapped up to his, and he saw the comprehension crawl across the panicked fluffy’s face. Only then he let her go. She thudded down to the cage bottom, inadvertently sopping up her piddle with her belly fluff, then turned tail and ran for the back of the cage.

“Nuu-huu-huu, bad peepees,” she gasped, then fearfully looked up at the looming human to see if he had caught her slip. Instead, he was standing back on his heels, chuckling to himself at the creature’s built-in goofiness. Next, he peered down at Hazel, huddled in the back of her cage, and looking up at him with a scared, sad expression.

“And this one ran off?”

“Yeah,” grunted James, as he opened the Igloo cooler and peered at the rack of syringes inside. Three big ones, eight little ones. Each held a tiny dose of a cloudy red fluid. Beads of condensation were forming on the cylinders. “Hopkins wanted them exercised, so I came up with the bright idea of tying a cat bell to their collars and having them run laps. I figured I could get some studying done. Instead, that pain-in-the-ass waits until I zone out and makes a break for it.”

Marcus cackled and shook his head. “Ha, ha! You ran for it?!” he half-yelled at Hazel. The noise made her flinch, and she lowered her eyes and ears and turned away from the dark-skinned man. “Ohhh, you eeeevil little fluffy. What did you do then?”

“Okay, you gotta understand, this little shit has been giving me no end of trouble. So I beat her ass a few times. Well, then Doc Frank tells me he doesn’t want me roughing up the subjects, so I remembered something about fluffies I read a long time ago.”

“Huh?” Marcus looked at Hazel with renewed interest, looking for some sign of injury. James came over and stood next to him and both of their gazes settled on her like a ton of sand.

“Tell Marcus what I did to you, Ugly.” Both humans stared down at Hazel. She shuddered and shut her eyes as tears stung them.

“J-j-james… James steaw miwkies.” Even with her cute, cartoony whisper, the humans could hear the horror and shame.

“Stole her milk?” Marcus asked, clearly baffled.

“Yeah, I fuckin’ wrung her tits out over the drain. I had read that stealing milk is real serious business for shitrats. Especially feral ones. I mean, their foals go hungry for a little, but it’s worse than that. Like drinking blood or something. Weird, right? Anyway, she’s been all sorts of cooperative so far this morning. Haven’t you, Ugly?”

At the mention of her stolen milk, Hazel turned away and sank down to the carpet as a wave of utter defeat and exhaustion rolled over her. In between “huu-huu” noises, she heard something that stopped her cold and brought her head up again.

“Nu mummah cwy! Nu meanies!” piped her brown filly foal as it shuffled up to the bars and confronted the humans. With cheeks puffed out, it resembled nothing so much as a fat little chipmunk with stubby legs, pacing back and forth, trying to figure out how to appear threatening. Its soft, perfect eyes glared and it stamped its tiny pink hooves. “Steaw miwkies! Haychoo!”

Marcus and James both laughed, but in Hazel’s ears it was like the noise of an extended car crash. She chugged over and clamped her teeth on the brown foal’s tail and pulled, her rump heaving back and forth awkwardly in reverse gear. The already-upset earthie filly burbled out a few squalls of protest before Hazel was able to pounce on it.

“Nuuu! Owwies! Nu huwt babee-! CHIRP! CHIRP!”

“Nu, babee! Nu gif angwies!”

Hazel was huffing in fear as she flopped over and forced the foal’s head down to her crotchboobs. It was upset, but instinct took over and the little foal cried silently as it greedily sucked down the brief ration of milk its mother had produced since breakfast. Hazel sobbed.

“S-s-sowwy, babee! Sowwy! Nu yeww! Huu-huu-huu! N-n-num m-m-miwkieeeesss! Huu-huu-huu!”

Her two pegasus foals had been hiding in the bunched-up blanket this whole time, and they began weeping and hugging each other, too.

“Yeah,” growled James. “This is going to look real good for the Doc.” Marcus chuckled, thoroughly amused at how the morning was turning out.

“How about this one?” Marcus asked, walking around to Spring’s cage and peering in with a grin on his face. The lilac pegasus dam flinched a little and ruffled her wings, but sat up attentively. She wouldn’t meet Marcus’s gaze.

“Oh, that fluff’s the best. Never gives me a lick of trouble. No, she’s from the basement. Best fluffy ever. Whatever y’all did down there worked.” drawled James as he tidied up the table.

“Is that true? You from the Breeding Unit? Do you recognize me?”

Spring glanced timidly up at Marcus “…Yef.”

He cackled again. “Yeah! Good to see you again, girl! What have you been up to?”

“N-n-nice mistew… wha in yu wed boxie?” This brought the human up short.

“What did you say?”

“Nice mistew… pwease wha in yu boxie? Offa dewe?” She gestured with her front left leg towards the cart and the Igloo cooler.

James glanced up and harrumphed meaningfully. Marcus chuckled again. “Ohh, that some magic juice stuff that keeps fluffies from getting sick! The Doctor is coming soon to make sure aww da wittew fwuffies get their medicine!” he said in a mocking sneer.

“Buh, fwuffies nu haf sickies…” she mumbled, but was too afraid to press the question.

“Hey, aren’t you the one that almost got turned into a pinata, and then at the last second -” Marcus was interrupted by the door brushing open, which caught everyone’s attention. Tall, skinny Doctor Hopkins appeared at the portal and blinked a few times behind his glasses as he took in the scene.

“Morning, Doctor.” said James, shuffling over for a classic Dr. Hopkins awkward handshake.

“Good morning! How are things, James?”

“Doing good. Marcus showed up a little bit ago with the samples.”

“Mm, yes. Good! Hello, Marcus. Yes, the inoculation should have taken hold by now. I’m quite eager to administer the viral agent and see if the subjects’ immune systems fight it off. We’re trying out four different strains of rhinovirus. Unless one of you gentlemen wants to test your own immune system?”

The rare joke caught James and Marcus off guard, and they responded with over-loud chuckles. In short order, Marcus was across the table opening up the cooler, Hopkins was standing ready like a surgeon with purple latex gloves on, and James was unsnapping the front of Hazel’s cage. He glared straight into her eyes.

“Let’s see your foals.”

Hazel huffed, her brain squeezed between the fear of angering James and her innate horror of giving up her foals to him. When James shifted his stance to square off with her, a shiver ran down her fluffy flanks. She was almost relieved to surrender.

“Nuuuuu!” squealed her little brown earthie. It was furious, and the ration of milk had restored its vigor. When Hazel picked it up by its neck scruff, it began thrashing and yelling with such anger that she dropped it in surprise. “Nu! Nu wan’! NU WAN! BAD MUMMAH! - OOF!”

The little filly puffed its cheeks out and darted left and right, looking for a way to slip arounds its mother’s wooly legs. When that seemed hopeless, it reared up and made a clumsy swipe at her pink nose. Hazel was shocked, and was not in a good frame of mind to begin with.

“Nu! Nu say bad mummah!” she barked at her foal. “Nu twy gif owwies to Mummah! Bad babees!” Hazel planted one hoof on her foal’s tail and reached down to grab its scruff again. The foal wasn’t done, however, and flexed every muscle in its body to curl like a shrimp in midair and spray a thimble of diarrhea out onto its mother’s chest and left front leg.

“Bad mummah sowwy poopies! Huu-huu-huu!” it peeped as it broke down sobbing. Hazel made a growling noise with her lips still clamped on the filly’s mane. She shuffled up to the front of the cage and dropped the foal roughly. It chirped on impact and rolled up into a crying ball like a pill bug.

“Bad babee! Nu gif poopies tu Mummah!” grated the angry dam. “Gif yu owwies!” She had become oblivious to the trio of humans who were startled, almost embarrassed, by the carrying-on.

“Christ, take it easy.” interposed James. Hazel backed off, huffing, at the sight of them - suddenly, she couldn’t fathom that she was about to hurt her foal. Her heart turned to cold lead as she watched James pluck up her filly and turn away.

The foal jammed its hooves in its eyes and pissed itself on James’ hand. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, but managed to wipe most of the liquid off on the foal’s hindquarters. Then he pinned it down on the table left-handed while Dr. Hopkins stooped and lined up the little needle with a dose of ruby liquid inside. One sharp chirp later and it was done.

Hazel was waiting at the front of her cage with her green pegasus foal. It didn’t struggle, but only lay there crying. It was still hungry, but there was no time.

“Hey. And bring me the blue one, too. And clean this one up.” seethed James as he dumped the brown foal onto the carpet and picked up the pegasus. Hazel huffed in fear again, but just like she had seen Spring do in the past, obediently waddled back and fetched her last foal. James whooshed away again like Hermes, and she was left licking the bitter urine and gobbets of shit off her brown foal’s hind end. She felt like she deserved it.

Both her pegasus foals were back in a flash, each sporting a tiny red dot on the haunch. Her udders ached to feed and comfort them, but it was her turn. She looked up at James sadly, then lowered her head. The mare flinched at the familiar sensation of him grabbing her collar, mane, and nape and heaving her over to the table.

Her rump slammed down and her belly and crotchboobs bulged as she was folded over almost in half. James’ fingers stabbed her in the belly, and she didn’t manage to get a full breath before her diaphragm was paralyzed. Her eyes bugged out helplessly, and her wandering back hooves started to kick right before her guts clenched up and spewed shit down into the sink, followed by a trickle of urine.

“We think this one was a feral,” said James as he plopped the panting mare down in front of Dr. Hopkins scarecrow frame and held her. “She’s got a bunch of funny behaviors. Foals do too.”

“Mmm, yes, I expect we’ll see more and more ferals now that we have no, ah, internal method of supply.” Hopkins gracefully poked the fourth syringe into the skin on Hazel’s hip. She shook, and a tiny, pitiful chirp escaped her lips. “Mmm, can you believe we used to use rats and rabbits?”

“I was just thinking that the other day.” chuckled James.

“These doses are warming up,” said Doctor Hopkins. “Let’s see how quickly we can finish. Marcus, I wonder if you would get the next one for me?”

Marcus had been daydreaming while watching the procedure, so it took him a few seconds to catch up.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

He opened Muffin’s cage. She waddled forward timidly. “D-d-daddeh?”

“I’ll only be your daddy if you’re very, very good and quiet.” stage-whispered the grinning lab tech.

“O-otay! Muffin gud fwuffy! Nu be woudies!” promised the little biopet.

“Oh, good!” He swept Muffin up, but pulled his hands away teasingly when she tried to hug his forearm.

“Muffin wuv daddeh! Pwease take Muffin tu nice housie an’ gif nu -bhuuuu!”

Her burblings were snuffed out when Marcus plopped her down and executed the pressure point technique on her belly. The sewage went into the sink and was reduced to a gasping huddle in seconds.

“Hmmm, yes. Very good,” murmured Hopkins as he squeezed the plunger on Muffin’s needle. She let out a thin wail which continued until Marcus dropped her back on the beige carpeting of her hutch and swiped her two crying, confused foals.

“Now, then” he started to drone, “The rhinovirus should take hold of their upper respiratory systems quite quickly. We will see which variant of the inoculation performs best. James, if you could please draw blood from all eleven subjects tomorrow before you leave?”

“You got it.” responded James. He adjusted his glasses and opened the front of Spring’s cage. Before he could talk, she lifted her muzzle to him.

“Nice mistew?”


“Wha am nice Doctow do tu fwuffies?” she asked shyly, then lowered her muzzle and rubbed her hoof against the carpet. She was trying not to shake, but couldn’t keep her wings still.

“He’s, ummm, giving you medicine.”

“Fankoo, nice mistew, buh babees nu haf sickies.”

“What?” The tech was caught flat-footed again. Unlike Hazel or Muffin, he simply wasn’t in the habit of being brusque or short-tempered with the quiet, timid lavender mare.

“Pwease nu medefin fo’ babees? Babees nu haf sickies. Spwing am gud mummah.”

“Umm,” grumbled the human, shaking his head ‘no’ unconsciously. “No, sorry, you all need to take it.”

“Nice mistew, pwease? Gif medefin fo’ babees tu mummah?”

“No, okay? Sorry. Come on.” James glared at the mare and his voice hardened enough to make her flinch. For just a second, she thought about trying to be brave and tough like Hazel, but she knew it would never work. She shuffled forward to the front of the hutch within easy reach of the human and shut her eyes.

“Did you shit?” he asked, with more calm.

“Yef.” she said. She huffed in fear a little as he heaved her over to the table. Once there, cowering in the bright light and staring up at the incredibly tall doctor, her reserve melted away. “Pwease, nice smawty man, nu gif medefin tu babees. Pwease.”

“Okay, Spring, that’s enough,” growled James.

The Doctor chuckled a bit. “Mmm, yes. Well, rather, no. This isn’t really medicine, this is a virus culture. It’s intended to MAKE you and your foals sick.”

Marcus immediately cackled with laughter. “Doc, I don’t think tha-” said James, but the fluffy cut him off.

“Nuu, pwease, nu gif sickies to babees!” Spring said, her normally feathery voice growing shrill. She tried to clamber to her feet, but James was still holding her down, so she just ended up awkwardly bending her spine and bumping her porky front leg on the table. “Pwease, Spwing du anyfing! Nu g-eeeep!” She chirped helplessly as Hopkins slid the needle under her skin.

A heartbeat later, she was being swung through the air by her collar and the nape of her neck. Whatever the humans had done seemed to burn under her skin. She landed in her hutch just in time to see Marcus gathering up her foals. He was gripping the sandy-colored unicorn colt and the green earthie in one hand like a pair of billiard balls, and holding the cloudy grey-blue colt up in a painful neck-scruff pinch. It paddled all four little twiggy legs and chirped while squirting out a burst of shit.

“Ugh, now I remember why I didn’t like these things,” he gnashed.

Spring moaned and reached up towards her foals with both front hooves, but Marcus just turned away in a rush of air. “Nuu, pwease! Nu gif sickies tu gud babees! Mummah wuv babees! Nu du anyfing bad!” She yelped as she anxiously trotted back and forth. Marcus had left her hutch door down, and she couldn’t get too close to the yawning edge without getting dizzy.

James scowled, and he silently pointed a finger straight at Spring. The irritation on his face and the direct threat finally drove the lavender pegasus back into her cage. Three sharp chirps rang out like tiny bells as Hopkins injected Spring’s foals, and they were soon dumped onto her hutch’s carpet. She moaned as she hobbled up and embraced them. Business tended to, Doctor Hopkins staged his escape.

“Hmmm, yes. In any case, blood samples are on the schedule for tomorrow. In addition, could you see to it that they are allowed some time to interact freely?”


“Umm, yes, you know. I’d like to have them play together, as if they were sharing a home or shelter or what-have-you. If we can tire them out and cross-contaminate their viral loads, it will help speed things up.”

“Okay, Doc, I’ll do my best.” said James, but inwardly he was groaning.


That Doctor seems like an unhelpful, self-centred knob


Seems like the last thing you would want is for your experimental groups to interact but still loving the story, keep it coming pls.


Yess! This is my favorite series on FC right now! Wherever you get your inspiration from, keep doing it!


Ya know, it would be hilarious if this was all somehow a test of humanity and empathy on James. He’s not really doing so well on that side.