You are FV-0446, and you’re playing what the nice mister your daddy is friends with calls the ‘special-friend’ game! You just become bestest friends to play it!
“Eff-ay-zewo-seven wan chek on housie-fwiend? Peep!” You question, as they nod and you both toddle upstairs.
“Mummah wub babbehs, babbehs wub mummah… Oh, it am sickie-babbehs. Wha babbehs duin’?” Princess asks, interrupting her song to speak as her rubs her stomach with her not-hand.
“We am pwaying speshew-fwiend game! Dad-dee Joesep say su! Peep! Squeak!” Your friend smiles, holding your oven-mitt hand and giggling.
“Oh-tay, sickie-babbehs. Soon-mummah hab tu sweep nao, it am ‘powtant fo’ tummeh-babbehs. Bai-bai, sickie-babbehs!” You hear as you walk out the door, seeing the nice mister standing outside.
“How’s Princess? She’s getting bigger than normal, so I expect those babies to come sooner than I thought.” The nice mister grins, ad you smile up at him and proceed to tell him how she’s doing.
“Wha 'bout fwuffy-baybees pawentaw vi- fwuffy? Peep! They nu cawe 'bout bay-bees? Squeak!” Your friend ponders, as the nice mister takes you both downstairs.
“Hewwo, fwuffy! Squeak! Fwuffy wan be hou-” You ask the red and orange fluffy the nice mister brought you to, trying to be put down so you can give them a hug.
“Daddeh Joesep, wha’ da fuk am dat? Wai it speek wike a fwuffy, but at da same tiem, it nu speek wike a fwuffy?” The fluffy questions, pointing at you with its not-hand and squinting.
“It’s a Bestest Sickie Friend, Crimson.” The nice mister answers, patting you and your friend’s not-heads.
“Can Cwimson enf it?” The fluffy asks, scaring you quite a bit as you involutarily back away slowly. You have no idea what that means, but something tells you it’s not made for Bestest Sickie Friends…
“No, Crimson. Enfing a Bestest Sickie Friend would basically be enfing a oversized virus, because that’s what they are. Bestest Sickie Friends are oversized, sentient viruses with the ability to talk. They’re a project by Hasbio used to control the feral fluffy population after they realize they fucked up bad.” The nice mister explains to the fluffy, as it starts to look a bit cautious of you both.
“Oh, fuk nu. Cwimson nu enfed enough fings tu gu foweba-sweepies yet.” The fluffy gasps, scooting away from you both in its cage.
“When housie-fwiend bay-bees come? Peeep!” You question the nice mister, as he pauses and answers.
“Hmm… Soon, I hope. Now, help Mister Josef take some notes.” The nice mister responds, as you both waddle over to his note-taking table and begin to watch him write.
About 2 weeks later
You are Princess, and you feel like you have to make poopies. Really big poopies. Really, really big poopies. In fact, these might just be the-
“BIGGESH POOPIES!” You yell, squatting over your litterbox in the assumption that they are, in fact, poopies.