“It can affect humans.”
The four words drop like bombshells.
“Are you certain?” Deston Faucheuse says, with a look of dread on his old, but mysteriously unwrinkled face. His brother nods. There is another man in the room, but the revelation has briefly left him with nothing to say. Deston’s brother, brilliant scientist and CEO of FauCorp, had called them into his lab, saying he had made a most unpleasant discovery. Neither of them were expecting this.
“Reasonably. Apparently, a small percentage of the human population is susceptible to Pheromone 53. But it doesn’t affect them the same way it affects fluffies.”
“How so?”
The other Faucheuse brother pulls up a video.
“Well, when a fluffy is drawn to the source of the pheromone, they go berserk. They just want the source to die, as quickly as possible. It’s not unlike the instinctual hostile response to alicorns, programmed by Hasbio to,” a scoff, “maintain their artificial scarcity.”
The two brothers, and their companion, watch a video of three fluffies tearing another fluffy apart, then forgetting what they’ve just done after the victim is dead.
“And when a human is drawn to the source?”
“They still want to kill the source, but they’ll take their time. They’ll kill the source slowly, and as painfully as possible. Sometimes they might not even bother finishing it off, leaving it to die an even slower death. The terrifying thing is, most of the humans affected are otherwise normal people, with friends and family they genuinely care about. Only a small percentage of humans susceptible to the pheromone are sociopathic enough to enjoy hurting innocent creatures without P53’s influence.”
A longer video plays during this explanation, a montage of a man viciously torturing a fluffy to death, then going about his business as if nothing had happened, covered in bloodstains.
“So, in layman’s terms, it turns good upstanding citizens into sadistic psychopaths, and then it turns them back?”
“Yes. This is a dire situation.”
“Forgive me,” says a third voice, “but is dire really the right word? It’s driving people to kill fluffies, and that’s horrible, but–”
Deston interrupts.
“Xavier, you don’t seem to understand just how dangerous this is. Think about the implications. What happens if someone sprays P53 on humans?”
Nothing is said for a few moments as the penny makes its inevitable journey to the ground.
“Oh.”
Both brothers roll their eyes.
“Yes, oh.” the other Faucheuse dryly remarks. “There’s any number of crime syndicates, terrorist organisations and dictatorships that will love this, and they’ll learn about this eventually if we’re not careful. A perfect way to have anyone they don’t like killed, that can’t be traced back to them. Because anyone could just accidentally,” finger quotes, “bump into someone on the street and accidentally sprinkle some P53 on them. Then the poor bastard runs into the wrong person, and it screws two people over: the victim, and the person who kills them for no apparent reason. And it wouldn’t just be organized criminals that would enjoy this. Even two-bit crooks and serial killers could, to use the common vernacular, bump off their rivals and targets at minimal risk. And then there’s the potential military applications…”
All three men stop to shudder, all knowing about the horrors of war.
“But you said only a small percentage of the population is affected, would that really work?”
“You’ve got to keep in mind that we’re a few years away from a population of nine billion, and a small percentage of that is still a lot of people.”
“…Jesus fucking Christ, it’s gonna be a catastrophe.”
“Yes, Xavier, I do believe I said something like that already.”
“But how are we going to stop this?”
Deston speaks up.
“Well, we already have an advantage. We’re the only three people who know about this. Syndrome-P53 itself is publicly documented, if not common knowledge, but nobody knows that the pheromone affects humans yet. We just have to make sure nobody else finds out. We can’t keep it under wraps indefinitely, but we can buy ourselves time, while we work on a permanent solution. Once we’ve found a way to immunise fluffies, we can work on immunising humans too. Hopefully, by the time the truth comes out, it’ll be too late for anyone to weaponize it.”
“That means I have to get back to work.” says the other Faucheuse.
“Y’know, I’ve always wondered…”
“Yes, Xavier?”
“How do you find the time to do all this science… stuff, and run FauCorp?”
The other Faucheuse actually chuckles.
“That’s one of my best-kept secrets. Maybe I’ll tell you some day. And now, I believe you two have other affairs to attend to.”
Deston nods. “I’ve got an interview in a hour, about my new book. Fluffies Around The World is looking to be another bestseller.”
Xavier, still reeling from what he’s just learned, nods too. “And I’ve got to get down to the studio. We’re shooting the next episode of Captain Fluffy, and I need to approve some new merchandise designs.”
“I bid you adieu, gentlemen. I have a lot of work to do.”
After the two men have left, the doctor walks into another room. In the saferoom, soundproofed, and airtight when sealed, like the room the test subjects are stored in, with its own air supply, a silver alicorn with a cyan mane and tail, is moving blocks, and, impressively, announcing to the room in general what letters are on the blocks, and actually managing to spell out words. Another alicorn, a gold mare with a black mane and tail, is making good poopies in the litterbox.
“Dis am wettew hay-chuh, an dis am wettew ayy, am dis am wettew tee, an dis am say, um…”
The doctor silently waits.
“Dis am say… hat!”
“Very good, Nikola!”
The silver alicorn turns around.
“Daddeh! Nikowa am su happeh tu see yu!” he chirps, hugging his daddy’s legs.
“As am I, Nikola. Are you and Audrey doing alright?”, the doctor asks, picking up Nikola and gently hugging him.
“Aww am otay, daddeh. Nikowa an Awdwey am weawnin how tu speww!”
After checking on his sister, and hugging her as well, the doctor leaves the room, promising to be right back.
In the lab, he walks back over to the screen, and makes a call. A man’s face appears on the screen. His hair is brown, his face stubbly and scarred, his voice rough and gravelly.
“Ah, Victor. Glad to see you’re still alive. I’ve got another job for you.”
“What is it this time, Pierre?”