“The conspiracy theories I subscribed to in my youth…who would have ever thought they were correct? No, not about the hidden hand of the Rothschilds, the Freemasons, or the Illuminati. Smokescreens, all of those, breadcrumbs of the truth to make the lies more believable. There are two players, the Committee and their servants, and the rest of us. And I fear that despite my best efforts to stop them, they will succeed, and the yoke they have put on us will grow ever tighter…May God forgive me for my failure, and my sins.”
-Excerpt from the confiscated diary of Dr. Matthias Johnson, deceased Director of Project Eden, Hasbio.
“No! You don’t understand, you don’t know what are you doing, stop!” the haggard middle-aged man with graying hair in the labcoat shrieked over the sirens of the alarms that blared throughout the facility as he threw himself in front of the final glass door to the storage cages defensively. Behind the doors, one could hear the frantic chirping, cheeping, and terror of the specimens, who would never be able to comprehend the significance of what was about to occur.
“Step aside, ‘doctor’,” the burly young man in urban camouflage complete with a balaclava hissed menacingly, shoving the barrel of his pistol squarely against the man’s chest “you’ve already done enough harm with your inhuman experiments…we’ve seen the tapes, what you have done to them, what you plan to sell them as. How could you? Knowing they are sentient? You’re a monster.”
“I did what I had to do, to buy time! You don’t know who you are…”
“Last chance, doc.”
“Listen, you think you are doing the right thing, but-”
The distinct cracks of two shots, and the sickening thumps that followed as the bullets impacted impacted flesh, tore through the laboratory. The doctor struggled for a moment, steadying himself against the door in one last desperate, futile act of resistance, before being thrown aside. He let out a pained grunt as he struck the linoleum floor, blood staining the tiles in broad red smears as his body skittered across it. When he came to a halt against one of the walls, he could only just manage to tilt his head up enough to watch the disaster and the end of all his hopes happen before his eyes.
“HUHUHUHUHU nu wike bad noiysies HUHUHUHU!”
“Eeep! Upsies nu gud for soon-mummah!”
“Pwease nu huwt gud fwuffy famiwy! Am gud fwuffies!”
“Eeep! Cheep! Chirrp! Mummah! Hewp bestest babbeh! Am gud babbeh!”
“Rucifew nu wike nyu hoomins…it am sketties day…and nu sketties…nu can twick smawty! Nuuu! Nuuu huwt! Wha…no mowe sowwy box? Am ‘fwee’…wat dat mean…?”
And many more such statements echoed out from the room as dozens of fluffy ponies and their foals were taken from their cages by the contingent of PETA extremists that carried them outside into the waiting vans. With each of his specimens that e scaped, the doctor felt his waning heart sink more and more, until he could bear to look no longer, shutting his eyes against his tears. He had somehow done both. He had failed both them, and humanity.
“D-daddeh? Wai hab boo-boo juice? Wai hab wowtest heawt huwties…?” a concerned, child-like voice peeped as he felt the unmistakable soft fur of a fluffy nuzzle against his face.
“Adam…” He said, opening his sea blue eyes for a moment to look at the concerned, snow white earthie stallion looking at him with an expression bordering on panic with his own chocolate eyes, before desperately trying to lick up his daddy’s blood as if he could somehow prevent what was to come.
“Huu…nu wike boo-boo juice…but if gib enough wickies…daddeh nu gu foweva sweepies…”
“Adam, stop that, it’s too late for me now…” He whispered weakly through his pain, putting one bloody hand on the stallion’s head and petting him softly, and to Adam’s credit, he didn’t recoil at all. “You…remember when we talked about being a good fluffy…about the difference between a good smarty and a bad one…”
“Yus daddeh…” The stallion replied, looking to be on the verge of tears himself. “A gud smawty wooks out for da hewd o famiwy and wubs aww fwuffies an hoomins…a bad smawty wooks out for himsewf an nu wike otha fwuffies…”
“Good…boy…” the man replied, giving him the last smile of his life as he closed his eyes for the last time. “Now…go. Be a good fluffy, and a good fluffy daddy to Eve and your foals…”
“Huuuu!”
And with that, Dr. Johnson, a man whose achievement rivaled that of God himself, yet who would never be in any of the history books, passed away, watched by none but the first of his creations…
“Is it done, then?” The shadowy figure behind the television screen asked in a distorted voice, the speaker’s irritation positively oozing through the speakers as he or she leafed through the report.
“Yes, your Excellency,” replied an equally cloaked figure standing before a camera. “Only our dear doctor and a few expendable guards were casualties, as was planned. Those PETA fools know not what they have done, nor what will happen when they reach the rendezvous. The subjects have been exfiltrated from the facility, and will be taken to an ideal location to reproduce until we have reached the necessary numbers. Then we shall progress on to the next stage of the plan…”
“And what of Johnson’s interference? Can it be undone? It threatens the viability of the entire operation…”
“Unfortunately no, your Excellency. It is woven so thoroughly into their genetic code that removal would render them entirely non-viable. However, the doctor was not entirely successful in his sabotage. Only a minority of them will show such traits…and those can be dealt with when the facilities come online…”
“And the research for the HDP?”
“Secured and uploaded offsite, thanks to our associate in his lab.”
“At least we will get some return on our investment, then. Very well, Agent. Contact our friends in the media and spin this as you have been instructed, then prepare the response of our little corporate drones. None will suspect our involvement.”
“Yes, your Excellency…”
For a brief moment, one could catch a wide smile through the distorted screen before it clicked out.
(Just a little prologue for a longer story I am writing for my “anon6161455verse”, on the origin of fluffies and their true nature and purpose, relevant for some future comics with Grrm_1).