There was a long time between videos.
The Abuse.net forum speculated on the creator of the videos, the location of the filming, when the next video would appear.
Eventually the conversation moved on, the threads slipping further and further down the site, ready to be forgotten entirely.
And then there was a comment. A link.
Playpen4-1.mp4
You happened to be there moments after it was posted, the thread jumping to the top of the forum piquing your curiosity. The link was from an anonymous account, as always, and had no information beyond the title. The black thumbnail gave you no hints as to what was within.
This time you were alone in your home, so no need to protect the screen from curious eyes.
You fullscreened the video and hit play.
A grainy security camera looked down the side of a building, faded paint peeling off the rotting wooden siding of an abandoned house. A bit of movement caught your eye, a tan fluffy carefully picking her way through the overgrown weeds surrounding the building. She pauses against the side of the house, looking around cautiously. The camera swivels slightly as she slowly makes her way around the building, eventually losing her as she rounds the corner.
The video feed speeds up, the sun moving across the sky until it begins to set, sending long shadows across the overgrown lawn. The feed returns to normal speed as the weeds begin to part, the camera lifting to show a small herd of fluffies trampling down the plants as they marched up to their new home.
The tan fluffy led the pack, chattering soundlessly to a pale purple unicorn stallion behind her. The camera tailed them as they made their way around the building before cutting to an internal shot of the fluffies working their way in through a broken vent in the floor.
“- an’ am wawm!” The tan mare’s voice was audible on the much higher quality camera as she popped out of the hole in the floor, dirty blue mane catching on the rough edges of the vent.
“Hmph. Am diwty.” The purple stalion snorted, struggling to pull his bulky body through the hole.
“It… am a wittow diwty.” she admited. “Buh hab’ wotsa guud nestie tings!”
The purple unicorn popped out of the vent, shaking out his orange mane. “Hewp west ob fwuffies inside. Thistwe take toughies an’ wook ‘wound.”
An orange earthie squeezed through the hole next, a thinner dark blue unicorn right behind him. They followed Thistle closely as he trotted out of the room.
The camera shot changed to show the dilapidated living room, garbage littering the floor and various tags spray painted over the beige walls. Looking very out of place was a modern TV on the mantle, glossy and clean among the filth and damage. On what remained of a couch was a dark green fluffy, sleeping with her head on her hooves.
The purple unicorn marched into the room, looking around at the mess with a sneer. He made his way over to the couch, peeking under it for a moment before jumping up on the cushions. He lept nearly out of his skin when the green mare lifted her head.
“Who yu?!” he shouted.
“Mandy.” she replied with a yawn. As she stretched you could see a bulky black collar around her neck with multiple boxes and wires attached to it.
“Wai Mandy in Thistwe’s housie?!”
“Dis nu am yu howsie.” Mandy was calm, taking the time to stretch out every limb as she got to her hooves.
Thistle snorted angrily, standing up on the tips of his hooves to look as big as possible. “It am nao! An’ dummeh mawe is in Thistwe’s hewd!!”
“Nu am.” She replied. “Housie an’ Mandy am Voicey Fwend’s. Voicey Fwend nu wike fwuffies tuch tings dat nu am deiws.”
“Nu cawe ‘bout dummeh fwend, mawe du wha’ Thistwe say ow get sowwy hoofsies!!” He reared up, lifting his hooves up to stomp down on the smaller mare.
Mandy lifted her head, her collar shooting an arc of liquid out of the black box under her chin. It nailed Thistle in the face, sending him reeling back and stumbling off the couch and onto the floor.
“SCREEEEEEE!! BUWNIES!! HEWP SMAWTY!!” Thistle wailed, holding his hooves to his eyes as he tumbled off the couch.
“Towd yu.” Mandy said, sitting down and watching the flailing stallion impassionately.
The toughies rushed to their smarty, the orange standing protectively over Thistle as he sobbed about his eye pain while the blue jumped onto the couch to confront Mandy. He lowered his head, pointing his horn at her, she lifted her chin to point the black box at him.
The standoff was interrupted by the tv turning on, loud static making every fluffy in the room jump.
“Hello, fluffies. Welcome to my playpen.” The static slowly formed the vague shape of a human face, features ever shifting with the scattering static.
Thistle stood slowly, facing the TV with his cheeks puffed and irritated eyes flowing with tears. “Nu am fo’ yu! Am Thistwe’s housie nao!”
“No. This is my house, and that is my mare.” The modulated voice replied.
Thistle growled at the TV as other members of his small herd wandered into the room.
“Thistwe gib wowstest huwties tu nu-body dummeh!” he spat.
“I’m willing to give this house to you if you can win my games.”
Thistle frowned, blinking the remains of the mace from his eyes. “Wai dummeh wan’ pway gamesies?”
“I like games.” the modulated voice replied. “How about this? If you agree to play my games, I’ll let you and your herd stay here the whole time. If you win all my games you get to keep my house.”
Thistle thought for a moment, looking between his toughies. Glancing up at Mandy, he narrowed his eyes. “Smawty wan’ mawe tuu.”
“The mare can be yours as well, if you agree to the rules.” Mandy’s eyes widened as she was offered as collateral.
“Den Thistwe win dummeh’s gamesies!” His chest puffed, head held high like a tiny war horse.
“Alright. First, my mare is not to be harmed. Her collar will protect her, as you have already seen.”
Thistle rubbed at his still irritated eyes, shooting a dark look at Mandy.
“Next, there are litterboxes in every room, I will not be cleaning up any accidents that happen out side of them. Use them or don’t.”
Thistle waved a hoof dismissively. “Nu dummehs in hewd, make poopies ou’side.”
“That will be an issue, as there will be no leaving during our games.”
With a loud metal whirring noise the camera cut to the shot of the air vent the herd entered through as a grate slid over the entrance.
The tan mare ran into frame, hooves slamming into the grate just as it shut. She pounded on it for a moment before running out of the room.
“Nu!” Thistle shouted, stomping his hooves into the stained wooden floor. “Dummeh! Hewd nee’ gu get nummies ou’side!!”
“No need to worry. The reward for the first game is enough food for all of you.”
The camera angle changed to show a different view of the living room. On one wall was a rusting metal contraption, a long metal pipe connected to a platform on one side with a ramp going up to it over a large metal box. The other side disappeared behind a curtain.
“One side of this toy is up in the air, the other end holds a lot of good food for you.” The curtain lifted to show a glass box loaded with kibble, the other end of the bar connected to a platform under it.
“If you push down one side, the other rises. I must warn you though, greed will be punished. Good luck.”
The tv turned off, leaving the fluffies in silence. Thistle stomped his hoof again. “Nu, dummeh! Gib nummies!!”
The blank TV didn’t reply.
“DUMMEH!!” He shouted, stomping towards the TV. “NU GU WAY! AM TAWKIES TU YU!!”
While he shouted at the unresponsive TV, the tan mare waddled her way up the ramp towards the food. She put her hoof experimentally on the platform, feeling it shift slightly under her weight. When she stepped on it entirely, it lowered and lifted the food platform slightly, spilling a handful of kibble onto the floor. A few of the herd fluffies darted past their angry leader to get a mouthful of kibble while you watched the gears turn in the tan mare’s brain. A fat blue mare shouldered her way to the front, practically kicking smaller fluffies aside as she scarfed down the scattered kibble.
“YU AM SCAWDY BABBEH, NU BODY DUMMEH!! YU NEE’ CUM BAK AN’ TAWK TU SMAWTY THISTWE!!”
“Smawty!!” The mare called. “Nummies!”
Thistle spun to direct his rage at the tan mare. “HOO SAID YU HAB GUUD NUMMIES?!”
The mare’s ears flattened against her skull as she cowered from him. “Buh… get nummies fo’-”
“NUMMIE THEEF!!” he spat. “GET ‘WAY FWOM GOOD NUMMIES, POOPEH FWUFFY!!”
The tan mare stepped off the platform and hurried down the ramp. “Sowwy Smawty…”
“Dat wite.” He shouldered her aside as he stomped his way up the ramp. “Guud nummies awe fo’ bestest fwuffies.” He hopped onto the platform expectantly, staring at the kibble.
There was a long silence in the room as nothing happened.
“…Wai nu nummies fo’ Smawty?” He stomped his hooves on the metal plate impatiently.
“Uhm, fwuffy tink wen dat gu down, nummies gu up.” The tan mare explained. “Fwuffy tink nee’ heaby tingie tu go dewe, mabbeh fin’ sumting-”
“SHADDUP!!” She flinched as Thistle cut her off. “Smawty twyin’ hab smawty tinkies!”
Thistle put his hoof to his head, brow furrowed in concentration. The tan mare sighed and wandered off towards the rest of the house, sending a small curious glance at Mandy on the couch as she left.
His orange toughie made his way up the ramp to him, stepping on to the platform but jumping back as it lowered slightly. A small amount of kibble came out the other side, landing directly on the blue mare.
“Smawty get spechow fwend nummies!!” The blue mare cheered, spinning around in circles as she ate it off her own back.
“Ah-HA!” Thistle shouted as he jumped up. “Smawty knu wat du! Nee’ wotsa fwuffies on dis, den get wotsa nummies!” He lept off the platform and over the metal box, landing in the middle of the room. “Oddah fwuffies get on dewe!!”
“Buh… nee’ nummies!” A scrawny pink pegasus protested.
In a flash the blue unicorn was on him, raining hooves down onto him. “Nu tawk backies!! Du wat Smawty Thistwe say!!”
“Sowwy!! Sowwy!!” he squeaked, stumbling over his hooves as he ran to the ramp. He leapt onto the platform, his weight barely enough to even move it.
“Yu!” Thistle pointed at another fluffy, a large red mare. “Yu gu dewe!”
She didn’t complain, ears flattened to her skull as she waddled up the ramp. This was enough weight to release a little more kibble, and the smarty shouldered the blue toughie aside to scarf it down before anyone else.
“Mowe fwuffies mean mowe kibbow!!” He shouted, jabbing his hooves at the surrounding fluffies. “Gu get mowe nummies!!”
A few more of the herd made their way up the ramp and onto the now crowded platform. Mandy chuckled from the couch, which caught Thistle’s attention.
“Wha’ dummeh mawe waffin’ at?!” he spat. “Gu get nummies fo’ Smawty!!”
“Nu can, Voicie Fwend say nu can pway gamesies.” She rested her head on her hooves once again. “An’ gweedy fwuffy nu am win.”
Thistle rolled his eyes. “Dummeh mawe knu nuffin.”
With every additional fluffy on the platform it sagged lower, shaking as the fluffies repositioned to make room for others. Kibble poured from the other side while Thistle, his toughies, and his special friend gorged themselves.
“Nu eat aww nummies!” The last fluffy up the ramp, a yellow colt, protested.
“Oddah fwuffies eat wen ‘powtant fwuffies am dun!” Thistle shouted, spraying kibble crumbs as he spoke. “Nao GU! Or yu nu get nummies!!”
The colt had to step on the back of the red mare, apologizing as he did. As his last hoof left the ramp there was a soft click and then screams as all of the fluffies fell into the metal box below them.
“Mandy towd yu.”
Before Thistle could retort there was a loud grinding noise and blood and viscera sprayed out of the opening of the box, coating both the living room and the remaining fluffies in it. Thistle stared slack jawed at the carnage while his special friend ran in panicked circles. The machine ground to a halt, wet noises overcoming the grinding of metal on metal before falling silent.
The fluffies stared at the box, unsure. You thought the feed may have frozen before the tan mare came running into the room
“Fwuffy hewd woud-” she froze as well, seeing the gore.
Her arrival seemed to shake the purple unicorn from his stupor. Jabbing his hoof into the side of the orange toughie, “Gu sabe hewd!!”
Reluctantly he made his way up the ramp, hooves tracking blood the entire way. He hesitated at the top, slowly peering over the edge to look within the machine.
The camera angle changed, showing the orange stallion from above as he slowly leaned over the edge of the ramp.
In front of him were the teeth of an industrial grinder, half inch wide metal blades dripping with fluffy blood. Chunks of unidentifiable organs and colored hair dotted the gore. The toughie began to shake as he looked over the mess, a yellow hoof sticking out from the far corner as if to reach for help.
The orange toughie stepped back slowly. “Nu can sabe.”
The camera angle changed back to a shot of the living room, Thistle and his mate still sitting in front of the large pile of kibble. He shook his head sharply, as if to clear it, and turned away from the grinder.
“Mowe nummies fo’ guud fwuffies, den.”
His voice betrayed his fear almost as much as his tail pressed tightly between his legs.
