Abuse ahead, be warned
Nick considered himself a crusader of sorts. Day by day he would hear of a new town being overrun by the disgusting shitrats known as Fluffies. Across both East and West coast, the creatures had taken hold, infesting alleys, parks, drainage pipes and the likes. From reports he heard, Cleveland was just about overrun by the disgusting abominations. But not his town, not if he could do anything about it.
Slowly driving through the town in his beat up old truck, Nick used his set of night vision goggles to check between the few alleys he came across. The night vision goggles had been an expensive investment, but well worth it. The old town had limited streetlights reserved only for the large streets the intersected the townâs center, but the numerous off branches were pitch-black at night, only illuminated by the moon and stars. And these dark alleys were the perfect place for a herd of ferals.
Spotting a scuffling of papers in the alley behind the old bowling alley, Nick quietly pulled off to the side of the road; Nick crept up to the alley, pulling out his smartphone. Attaching the cheap thermal imager to the phone, Nick flipped on the camera function. According to the visible heat signatures, there were at least four fluffies, not accounting any possible foals. As he approached, he saw two of the creatures feeding on cold nachos and chili dogs from a split trash bag by the door. Nick scowled.
He had tried to warn the small town businesses to place trash in a secure can, recommending the basic steel one with lid, even printed flyers he anonymously left in mailboxes, but to no avail. He was sure they wouldnât even bother to listen until they were neck deep in shit and fluff. They underestimated just how many of the fuckers there were.
Most of them came from runaway strays. The town was filled with old people who moved away from the city for small town living. In an attempt to lessen loneliness, their kids would bring them fluffy foals. Once the fluffy reached breeding age, they would inevitable get the urge, for babies or sex. Their owners would refuse, and then they would book it out the door at the first chance they got. Their kids would bring another, rinse and repeat.
Currently, Nick estimated the average town of his size had around twelve strays on average. Usually they would die off quickly, either of starvation or predation. But should they find a secure spot, they could survive months. And if it was a breeding pair, they would start pumping out babies like machines. A feral could easily give birth to four foals at a time. Those foals took around two weeks to be fully weaned, reaching breeding age after only a month. Unchecked, they could easily over run a town. Nick was glad he found the nest early, the steady supply of congealed cheese product and hot dogs would easily sustain a herd long past the point he could easily take care of it.
Pulling out a small pellet gun, Nick aimed for the head of the one currently in the box. The pellet easily tore through the skull of the fluffy, instantly and painlessly killing it, which was more than it deserved in Nicks opinion. The noise was loud enough to startle the two eating, but in the darkness they couldnât spot Nick. Luckily for him, the alley was a dead end, making the job of cornering the fluffies far easier.
Holstering the pellet gun, Nick walked out into the open, startling the three remaining creatures. The three fluffies remaining were relatively nice colors. The red and blue unicorn spoke first. âDummeh hooman gib skettis anâ housies nao ow get wowstesâ huwties anâ sowwy poopies!â Nick smiled. He had hoped to get a candidate for the Lab, and smarties were just the most fun to work with. Pulling out a syringe, he quickly grabbed the smarty by the mane, injecting it into the small creatureâs stubby neck. âOWWIES! Why dummeh hoomin gif huwties to⌠fwuffyâŚâ The fluffy trailed off before going limp in Nickâs hand.
Setting the creature behind him, Nick reached towards the closest fluffy to him, the green and red earthy with white mottling, obviously a Christmas special. The fluffy, panicking, bit at Nickâs hand, its smooth, soft teeth sinking into his glove. Nick was surprised. Usually, they would resort to shitting in fear or flailing their soft, doughy hooves at him. If Nick wasnât wearing a pair of thick leather welding gloves he might have actually felt something. Instead he gripped the jaw, twisting it and tearing it from the head of the fluffy, knocking it onto its back.
Nick held the fluffy down as its throat began to fill with its own blood, its gurgling audible over the screaming of the last fluffy. It uselessly flailed against Nick, who held it to the ground as its throat, then lungs, filled with its own blood. âWUN SPECHUL FWEND WUN!â the remaining fluffy, a lavender pegasus, was uselessly attempting to jostle the corpse of the fluffy in the box. It screamed in horror as its hooves came away covered in blood. Close up, Nick could see the fluffy in the box was a pregnant mare. Shame, she couldâve provided a lot of foals for him to test on.
Turning back to the fluffy under his grasp, he watched as the struggling slowed and stopped, its wide eyes gazing blankly at the sky. Sure, there were easier, and faster, ways to kill a fluffy, but Nick was off work tomorrow, so he had all night. He snapped its neck, a pointless gesture but he kind of enjoyed the popping noise it made if you do it right.
Standing up, Nick walked towards the last fluffy, who screamed and ran towards the end of the alleyway, trailing a river of shit and piss. Cornered at the end of the alleyway, the fluffy began to chirp and sob, clutching its tail to its body in fear as Nick approached. âPwease wet fwuffy go munsta, fwuffy am nu fow huwties, fwuffies am fow-â its sentence was cut off as Nickâs boot caved its face in, turning its head into a coarse paste on the brick wall of the alley. Nick walked back to his truck, stomping the head of the dead fluffy in the box to be sure of its demise.
Slinging the red and blue smarty into the mostly empty bed of the truck, Nick began the drive home. The cocktail of drugs he gave the unicorn was enough to keep it comatose for four hours at least. He would have plenty of time to make it home and get the shitrat set up in a cage. Whistling as he drove, Nick looked forwards to the day ahead of him, excited to further his research.
Glory woke up in an unfamiliar location. The cool, rough asphalt of the alley he lived in had been replaced by an icy-cold steel floor. He tried to stand but his leggies wouldnât listen to him, and all he could do was lie there.
He heard a door open in the distance, followed by thick, heavy footsteps approaching him. Suddenly, the monster from the alleyway was in front of him, his dark brown eyes looking at the fluffy with sheer disgust. âGood morning shitrat, sleep well?â âGwoby itthin a thitbwat!â His entire mouthie part felt so weird, like it was there but wasnât his, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, motionless.
Nick reached over and flicked the fluffy on the nose, hard. The fluffy didnât react, but a slow trickle of blood flowed from the wound before quickly stopping. Nick was always impressed by the speed at which they clotted. He had found that unless all the major arteries were cut at the same time, a fluffy wouldnât die of blood loss. He had learned many things about fluffies in his two years of âresearchâ. His psychological experiments usually revealed that fluffies were dumber than horse shit, but his vivisections revealed much more.
Picking up a scalpel he had ordered online, Nick made four cuts on the fluffies upper leg, severing the tendons. He found that having their legs completely removed led to them growing depressed and unresponsive after extended experimentation, but disabling their legs gave them the illusion that one day their legs would listen to them again and allow them to run away, leading to them being much easier to work with. Quickly Nick worked his way through the remaining three legs, the last cut eliciting a dull groan of pain from the fluffy.
Nick gave the fluffy around thirty minutes to regain his faculties before the first phase began. Grabbing a heat lamp he pointed the light at the face of the creature, the fluffie wincing in pain at the heat. âIâm going to be asking you some questions shitrat. Answer only yes or no, do you understand?â The fluffy blew a raspberry at the teen. âGwowy am nu sitwat, Gwowy am smarteh fwuffeh, gib munstah wowstest sowwy hoofsies.â The fluffy strained against the table for a moment before realizing his legs werenât moving.
âWhy weggies nu wowk? Mobe weggies, MOBE!â The fluffy began to scream at his legs, bouncing up and down in rage, as Nick pulled out a pair of nail clippers. Reaching over to the stallion, he clipped the tip of the fluffies ear. The creature screamed in pain, covering the steel table he was perched on in fecal matter. âANSWER MY QUESTIONS OR IT WILL GET WORSE, UNDERSTOOD?â Nick bellowed at the fluffy, his voice cracking in the middle of his yelling.
The fluffy, momentarily shocked into silence, stopped screaming, instead beginning to chirp sob in pain. âIf you understand me, say yes.â The fluffy sobbed a bit, tears, snot, and congealed nacho cheese matting its filthy face. âYe-peep⌠Yes, fwuffy unerstan âou.â Nick smiled. Even the fluffy knew it wasnât a good smile. âPerfect. Now Iâm going to ask you some questions, only answer yes or no unless I ask you tell me more, understood?â The fluffy nodded.
âThere were only four fluffies in your heard, correct?â The fluffy perked up. âGwowy hewd haf fouw fwuffies! Dewe was Quiwty, anâ Jewwy anâ-â The fluffy screamed as Nick leaned over and clipped its ear again, the scream cut off as Nick wrapped his hand around its muzzle. âYES OR NO ONLY!â The fluffy chirped a quiet âYes.â
Nick made a note on the sheet he carried. He liked to keep a file on the interrogations to keep track of things. âWhen you escaped your owner, did any other fluffies escape with you?â The fluffy peeped in fear but didnât answer until Nick reached for the clippers. âNo.â Nick checked the âSole Runawayâ box on the fluffy information sheet. âWere you in that alley for more than four days?â
Glory looked confused and terrified for a moment before Nick sighed. âWere you in that nestie for more than four bright times?â The fluffy relaxed, answering in the affirmative. Nick swore. If he hadnât come by when he did, they couldâve had a population explosion on their hands. He made a note to regularly check behind any establishment that served food.
Nick went down the list of questions, clipping the fluffies ears a couple more times when it didnât answer fast enough. Finishing the interrogation, Nick put the sheet in the filing cabinet along with the eighty other sheets. Retrieving a different form, Nick began his favorite part, the âexperimentationâ.
Nick grabbed his favorite pair of pliers, as well as the pneumatic drill from his tool wall. He brought the stallion on the âvivisection tableâ which was just the old wooden workshop table that he had covered in quarter inch stainless steel sheet metal that had been fitted with a head pedestal, leather restraints, and a large desk lamp. Placing the fluffy with its head on the pedestal, Nick strapped him down. Retrieving a bite block from a drawer labeled âDentistryâ, Nick swiftly fitted it into the mouth of the fluffy.
Pulling out a small drill bit, Nick locked it into the pneumatic drill, turning the desk lamp on and maneuvering it into position. He winced at the rancid breath, breathing through his mouth as he began to drill into the molar.
Had Glory been able to scream properly, he most certainly would have. Instead he was relegated to a dry hiss as the drill punched through the thin enamel directly into the soft, tender nerves beneath until it reached the bone of the jaw. Nicks switched to reverse and backed the drill bit out of the biotoys mouth, chunks of nerve and bone caught in the threading.
Glory had gone unconscious as the drill was removed, the explosion of pain worse than anything he or most anyone else in the world had experienced. Nick took this chance to drill the other molar; by the end of it he had two holes directly to the clusters of nerves in the fluffies teeth.
ââAn die.â The faint voice from the fluffy caused Nick to swear and throw the drill to the floor. Keeping a fluffy from the âwan dieâ stage is tricky business, and in this instance he had failed. Nick sighed and began to put away his tools. There was no reason to go past this point. Nick had done extensive research into the âwan dieâ stage already, and his findings had all pointed to one thing.
The âwan dieâ stage was the end stage of severe trauma. There was no point past it, bringing a fluffy out of the stage was possible but only leads to loud and constant screaming. He had theorized it was a defense mechanism, a mercy setting programmed in by Hasbio at some point, but its function was unclear, as Hasbio had no way of knowing that these creatures would be subjected to such treatment when they were being created as a luxury pet.
Nick debated just tossing the fluffy into the ditch out back with the rest, but decided to get as much use out of it as possible, bringing it back to the table and turning the heat lamp back on. Setting it so as to evenly bake the creature with its light and heat, Nick walked back upstairs to fix a sandwich and watch some sports, lamenting the loss of a test subject.
Nick returned a couple hours later. To his surprise, the fluffy turned to meet him with a smile. âThe fuckâŚâ Nick turned off the heat lamp. The fluffies fluff had begun to melt together, forming a coarse matt on the back of the creature. The fluffy smiled at Nick, its tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth. âHebbo neese mistah, can fwubby hab hubbies?â Nick poked the fluffies side inquisitively, the fluffy giggling dumbly. âDaâ tikwes mistah!â
Nick instantly knew from the slurred speech and memory loss that he had derped the fluffy, but he had never known it was an actual state a fluffy could be reduced to, believing the stories about the condition to be more from a lisp than from brain damage. He grabbed a spare sheet of paper as the fluffy blew raspberries, giggling at its own antics. Nick didnât even care it was a mare pregnancy form, writing down his observations in a flurry, the fluffy giggling as he asked it questions.
Suddenly the fluffy retched, throwing up a pool of congealed cheese, tortilla chips, and blood, then collased face first into the puddle. âSHIT, NO!â Nick grabbed the fluffy, pulling its head from the vomit, but he could tell it had already died. Nick cursed his luck. He had managed to derp a fluffy, a rare occurrence. The so called âderpedâ stage was far less understood than that of the âwan dieâ stage, some people thinking it didnât really exist. He had been one of them, but this âderpedâ stage was clearly the result of some sort of brain damage.
Nick was both elated and enraged. He had made a breakthrough in his âresearchâ but his negligence had lead him to lose his only specimen. Nick carried the corpse out back and threw it in the ditch, the corpse landing among the rest of the rotting fluffy carcasses with a cloud of horseflies. As he walked back to his house, a thought struck him. If he had made one by accident, it couldnât be too hard to derp one on purpose. Filled with energy, Nick began to plan the next nights prowl, eager to begin.