Sam Attends a Hearing (Turboencabulator)

Sam Attends a Hearing

By: Turboencabulator


Record of a public hearing, taking place July 17, 20XX, Indianapolis Courthouse, Hearing Room
B, on the subject of the impact of Bill 3183-D. Chairing the panel is Governor Tom Harrowgate,
panel members are Dr. Sarah E. Sizemore of Indiana University, Doug Greenblatt, mayor of
Indianapolis, Gang Wu, Secretary of Agriculture, and Lauren Hobart-Wynn, Assistant Director of
Public Works for the state of Indiana.

This excerpt begins after the first recess, returning at 10:15 AM. Prior testimony from The
Fluffy Friends Foundation, representatives from Alenix Industries, and recognized fluffy
experts was heard before the recess, the transcript of which is available upon request.

10:17 - Governor Harrowgate gavels the hearing returned from recess.

Gov. Harrowgate: Alright everyone, now that we’ve had time to decompress from that, let’s get
back into this. I understand Secretary Wu has scheduled an expert but I don’t have a name
associated with their entry in the list.

Sec. Wu: Governor, the person in question runs the only terminal shelter in the state, and as
such has requested anonymity until his attendance. However, he is recognized as an expert in
fluffy biology and genetics by multiple institutions.

Gov. Harrowgate is passed a sheet of paper from Sec. Wu.

Gov. Harrowgate: The panel will now hear from Mr. Sam Carroll.

Mr. Carroll takes the guest podium.

Mr. Carroll: Good morning.

Gov. Harrowgate: Good morning Mr. Carroll. If you could provide your background and skills to
the panel before we get started.

Mr. Carroll: Of course. I am a graduate of the University of Chicago with double majors in
Chemistry and Computer Science and a minor in Economics. Two years ago I was granted an
honorary doctorate by Carnegie-Mellon University in Computer Science for my work in the
analysis of theoretical computational structures of self-optimizing wetware neural networks. I
have been working with fluffies as both a source of ethical experimentation subjects as well as
natural interest for several years, and have created protocols for limb and organ transplants,
documented methods of genetic manipulation, and developed some fourteen different medicines for fluffies, four of which were later developed further in medicines for humans. I also run a
medical clinic for fluffies in my area and occasionally consult with Alenix.

Dr. Sizemore: That’s quite a background, Mr. Carroll. Is there a reason you do not go by
Doctor?

Mr. Carroll: Personal preference only.

Gov. Harrowgate: Well sir, let’s press on. What’s your opinion of the Bill in question?

Mr. Carroll: If you’ll excuse my phrasing, it’s the dumbest thing I’ve heard since I was forced
to attend the National Lampoon Musical.

Gov. Harrowgate calls for order over laughter and chatter.

Gov. Harrowgate: Well I can’t fault you for not making your opinion clear at least. Please
explain?

Mr. Carroll: In short, it is a needless hampering of shelters because, if you’ll pardon the
term, the hugboxer groups are getting their undies in a bind because every fluffy isn’t getting
a personalized solid gold litterbox. I’m not one to argue for the kind of squalor you see in
mills but this is a shelter system, not a boutique chain of fluffy stores.

Mr. Greenblatt: How is this specifically hampering? It requires fluffies to be kept in better
conditions.

Mr. Carroll: The requirements are asinine.

Gov. Harrowgate calls for order over chatter.

Mr. Greenblatt: Please maintain some civility sir.

Mr. Carroll: Mayor, this is civil. If I were not, this would be a very different
conversation. Disagreement is not a sign of a lack of civility.

Mrs. Hobart-Wynn: Perhaps we should let Mr. Carroll explain his perspective, Mr. Greenblatt.

Mr. Greenblatt nods his assent.

Mr. Carroll: Let’s start with some surface level points. The requirement for all shelters, with
the exception of my own, to be no-kill shelters without qualification means that the previous
practice of euthanizing ill or crippled fluffies will be suspended. Nobody is going to pay a
ten dollar tax stamp to off a fluffy when they can just pass it on. The notion that this tax
stamp will be used to reverse feral damage is a slap in the face when it wouldn’t be necessary
if the shelters could make enough space to take in the ferals causing the damage in the first
place.

Mr. Greenblatt: Now see here-

Gov. Harrowgate: Mayor Greenblatt, Mr. Carroll has the floor.

Mr. Carroll: Thank you, Governor. This also impacts private shelters which do not have the same
level of access to move fluffies around that the public shelters do. Just this requirement
alone causes a massive increase in disease in shelters since the ill and weak cannot be removed
from the population, and shelters have little in the way of medical facilities due to the
expense. The largest impact this first portion of the bill will have, though, is shelters will
simply fill up unless more terminal shelters open, or the current one is expanded to take
demand.

Dr. Sizemore: And this is what Dr. Haight covered earlier?

Mr. Carroll: Yes, his projections on the impact of the shelter system on feral populations are
extremely useful in this regard. If the shelters fill up, given its current state, there would
be a sharp increase in feral population as people will still be abandoning fluffies at the same
rate. Not to mention the health hazards that full and overfull shelters present to the
workers.

Sec. Wu: Mr. Carroll, you’ve addressed the first part of the changes, what of the remainder?

Mr. Carroll: Well, the idea that animals getting ill from eating fluffies is somehow … well
real, is laughable. The coyote population seems to be doing just fine using feral herds for
walking buffets, owls have been known to enjoy chirpies regularly, and even deer have been
found to munch a foal. It’s flat out a lie. Also fluffies have no issue living outside three
seasons out of the year providing there’s shade and plenty of water during the summer. In
winter the population of ferals drops enough that the shelter population drops to match and the
particular shelter a fluffy is at can house their entire stock indoors anyways.

Mr. Greenblatt: You’re dodging the part about ethical termination.

Mr. Carroll: On the contrary, I am saving it. I don’t appreciate your needlessly combative
posturing either, though it isn’t unexpected. This is an election year.

Mr. Greenblatt, rising from his seat: Why you-

Gov. Harrowgate calls for order.

Gov. Harrowgate: Mr. Greenblatt, sit down. Now.

Mr. Greenblatt returns to his seat.

Gov. Harrowgate signals Mr. Carroll to continue.

Mr. Carroll: First, I would challenge anyone in here to produce a one-hundred-percent effective
execution method that is both economical and scales to the sorts of numbers we’re going to need
to be able to handle. My current standard is that of a strong, fast-acting sedative mixed with
a potent toxin. The fluffy falls asleep and expires within a short period of time due to the
toxin attacking nerve conduction and suppressing respiration. It is not unusual to have the
occasional fluffy that is tolerant of the usual dosage of sedative and thus is awake while it
suffocates. Second, there is the question of what to do with the remains afterwards. Currently
they are being incinerated at my facility but there is no standardization.

Sec. Wu: Your points are well-founded. We’ve heard testimony earlier to a similar effect. I
would be interested in hearing any solutions you might have in mind.

Mr. Carroll: The most obvious solution to me would be to reverse the policy decision. However,
failing that, we need to open at least three more terminal shelters, or massively expand the
current one to take up the slack, as well as transport infrastructure to move fluffies to
it. There would need to be a general change in policy of how terminal shelters are run and
regulated in either case.

Sec. Wu: What sort of policy change do you mean?

Mr. Carroll: As an example, the way my shelter is currently run consists of a simple set of
policies dictating how a fluffy is handled. All incoming fluffies are checked for chips and
have a blood sample taken, for sequencing in case there’s something interesting or useful in
one. Pregnant mares are allowed to have their children, nurse them for a few days, then are
separated and the foals are raised by surrogates. These foals are made available for adoption
when they’re raised. Mares that are lactating are milked to support raising foals, then are
returned to the normal population. Males and females are kept separated and have one week in
which they have a ‘last chance’ adoption status. If adopted, they get the snip and the tag is
transferred to the new owners. At the end of one week, the fluffy gets poisoned spaghetti and
incinerated.

Mrs. Hobart-Wynn: Very humane. And these fluffies are well-housed during this period?

Mr. Carroll: Yes, we actually allow incoming fluffies to choose to be housed inside, in
individual pens, not cages, or outside in what amount to small courtyards for single-sex
herds. Naturally the groups are monitored for ill behavior, which can cause a fluffy to forfeit
their one week grace period. The outdoor areas are constructed so a roof can cover them in case
of rain, sheltered from the wind, and have heating in case it gets properly cold at night.

Mr. Greenblatt: I’m surprised, terminal shelters are usually made out to be hellholes.

Mr. Carroll: Unfortunately that is exactly what they’re going to become because of this
bill. The policy changes that it encourages will mean the only effective way to run terminal
shelters is to turn them into semi-automated charnel houses. To take up the slack and comply
with the current requirements set forth in the totality of the laws and regulations surrounding
fluffy shelters, a fluffy will have a lifespan of no more than seventy-two hours once relegated
to a terminal shelter. Some portion will need to be recycled and sold to subsidize costs unless
requirements are cut as well.

Mr. Greenblatt: What do you mean ‘recycled’.

Mr. Carroll: Skinned and processed into fluffy toys, parted out for meat or donor organs,
rendered down for gelatin, any number of uses.

Mr. Greenblatt: I think I’m going to be ill.

Mr. Carroll: That’s a perfectly natural reaction.

Gov. Harrowgate: So, assuming we keep the bill as it stands. The slack could be taken up by
expanding your shelter?

Mr. Carroll: And greatly reducing the requirements placed upon it, yes. To put it simply the
only way to run a terminal shelter now is as an operation of pure economy. Naturally I would
pursue the maximum humanity possible in this but the shelter has to be able to break even. I
would also be maintaining the policies that only adults are terminated, since foals tend to be
the most often adopted, and I have the facilities to raise a decent population of chirpies at
my clinic.

Gov. Harrowgate: I see. I have no more questions. Anyone?

Dissent from the panel.

Gov. Harrowgate: Alright. Thank you for your time, Mr. Carroll, you are excused.

End Transcript.


Sam loosened his tie, sitting outside a coffee shop next to the courthouse. It was sunny and
still, with only a faint whisper in the trees, barely audible over the constant stream of
traffic. He sipped at a too-expensive, overbrewed coffee and grimaced internally.

It hadn’t gone as bad as he had expected. The mayor was obviously catering to the hugboxer
contingent but the remainder, he thought, seemed reasonable. He watched the traffic, thinking
to himself, until spotting a familiar pickup truck.

He downed the rest of the coffee and jogged over to the curb, jumping in the passenger seat and
buckling up. Lightning squeezed through the gap in the seats and plopped down on Sam’s lap.

Will pulled back into traffic, adjusting his sunglasses. “So, go well?”

“I think so.” Sam responded, absentmindedly giving Lightning a scratching. “The mayor was an
asshat but that wasn’t surprising.”

“Glad he’s going to lose.” Will muttered, navigating the horrible traffic, heading out of
town. “You want to pick something up?”

“God I could go for a burger.”

Lightning sat up. “Nuggies.”


It was just after noon when Will pulled the truck in, Sam holding an overstuffed Lightning in
his arms while the little fluff snored and drooled lightly on his elbow. A sedan was parked
outside the clinic, and Sam sighed quietly.

“Frankie hasn’t messaged. I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

Will glanced over. “I don’t hear yelling so I’m going to assume good. Here, I’ll take him.”

Sam handed Lightning off to Will and jogged over to the clinic, putting his tie back up for the
sake of looking professional, on the off chance this was going to go poorly. Once he opened the
door, he was glad he did, because it was indeed going poorly.

Frankie was exasperated.

“Ma’am, I’m telling you I can’t help you right now, I am not a vet, I just mind the fluffies
and make sure they don’t pull their stitches or oh thank god Sam.”

A florid woman in a ludicrously purple pantsuit with matching wide-brimmed hat turned to peer
at Sam over periwinkle bifocals. It took Sam an act of will not to recoil, the woman, a wide,
squat, and quite toad-like in appearance lady of middling age, was beet red and grinding her
teeth.

“I am DEEPLY disappointed with the service here, young man. I demand to know who you are and
what is going on with this clinic’s performance.”

Sam put on his best professional smile. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” He said,
silently leaving off a list of pejoratives he wanted to attach.

The woman harrumphed and straightened herself up, adjusting everything in one strangely sharp
motion. “I am Sylvia Manson, and I am TRYING to get service for my ill fluffy.”

“Well, uh, Miz?”

“Missus.”

“Mrs. Manson, I’m Dr. Sam Carroll, I’m the owner and operator, and I was just providing
testimony at the courthouse for a panel. The Governor would have been disappointed if I hadn’t
been in attendance.” Sam said, walking around and taking the paperwork from Frankie. “Also if
you noted the sign posted at the drive and the door of the clinic, we are closed until twenty
minutes from now. Technically.”

She waved her hand in the air, dismissing the whole thing. “Whatever. My fluffy has been
injured and I was told you were the best in the state.”

“Modesty prevents me from agreeing.” Sam said, popping his knuckles. “Now, where is the little
poofball?”

“Hmph.” She grunted, before gesturing to the car. A well-dressed man with an official Hasbio
carrier exited, and brought the fluffy inside.

Sam gently took the carrier. “Mrs. Manson would you like to be present for the examination?”

“Of course. Rival has a decidedly nervous disposition.” She said.

“Can’t imagine why.” Frankie muttered.

“What was that?” She snapped, turning to him.

“Oh, fluffies tend to be a lot of things but nervous? Not often.” Frankie said, putting on a
fake smile.

Sam kept his face straight and walked back into one of the exam rooms. “This way please.”


Sam set the carrier on a padded exam table, and offered Sylvia a seat.

“Thank you.” She said, sitting down with an enormous groan. “My lord I need to lose some
weight.”

“How old is Rival, by the way?” Sam asked, looking over the sheet. “It’s not filled in.”

“He’s at least two.” She said, taking a bottle of pills out and tapping one into her palm. “I
inherited him from my late husband after he found the poor thing tangled in some barbed wire
during a ride.”

“Ahh, alright.” Sam said, and opened the carrier door. “Alright, Rival? Could you come out?”

“Nu wanna.” A little voice said, from the very back of the carrier.

“Sweetie, come on out. The nice man is going to help you feel better.” Sylvia said, adopting a
much softer tone.

“O-otay mummah.”

A neon orange stallion carefully peered out of the carrier, looking around, before stepping out
and gingerly laying down. He was missing a hind leg, and kept his ears flattened. Sam set the
carrier aside, watching as Rival looked around nonstop, checking over his shoulder, and
fidgeting with his hooves.

“Alright.” Sam said, looking over the chart. “So, nervousness aside, it’s scribbled here that
he apparently has blimpy stories.”

He stared at the chart a while. “I thought Frankie’s handwriting was bad before but damn.”

“Bloody stools.” Sylvia said, sightly exasperated.

Slowly nodding, Sam pulled up a stool. “Alright. Rival, you should know you’re not in trouble,
ok?”

Rival nodded a little, shifting uncomfortably.

“Have you eaten anything that your family didn’t give you?” Sam asked, maintaining a gentle
air. “Any strange berries?”

Rival shook his head. “Nu, da yawdie nu hab nummie bewwies.”

“Spend a lot of time in the yard?” Sam asked, reaching under the exam table and filling a small
bowl with a soft feed.

After sniffing the food a bit, Rival ate quietly and nodded.

“Alright. Why don’t you lie down and have a little nap?” Sam said.

Blinking a bit, Rival looked around, and sniffed. “Dat. Weh. Hm.”

Soon he was asleep, and Sam put the remainder of the food to be disposed of.

“I though fluffies couldn’t be sedated safely.” Sylvia said, with a scowl.

“I’ve got some access most places don’t.” Sam replied, pulling on gloves. “This part gets a bit
messy. What sort of yard space does he have access to?”

Sylvia watched as Sam gently irrigated Rival over a sink and set him down in an exam pad,
taking out a scope. “It’s a large back yard we have. It’s gardened but there’s nothing
dangerous like rose bushes or foxglove. The whole thing is fenced in.”

Sam thought for a moment, then moved Rival’s tail aside, and paused. “Do your neighbors have
fluffies?”

“Yes? Nick Simmons. Horrible man, constantly with the loud music and trashy parties. He has a
stallion as well, why?” She replied, confused.

“Big for a fluffy?” Sam asked, inserting the scope and peering down it.

“It’s been growing lately, yes. What does this have to do with my fluffy?”

“I’m fairly sure the reason Rival is so paranoid and has been passing blood is he’s been
regularly stalked and raped.”

There was a pause, then a dull thud as Sylvia’s head hit the wall in a faint.

Sam sighed, taking the scope out.


Sylvia woke up with a jolt as the smelling salts hit her sinuses.

“Ooh my god.” She said, waving her hand in front of her face. “I feel so lightheaded.”

“Mrs. Manson have you had your fence checked for holes?” Sam asked, handing her a cup of
water.

“Thank you. As a matter of fact no, I haven’t.”

Sam thought for a moment, then got up, gently putting Rival back in his carrier. “Let’s go see
your back yard.”

“Really?” She asked, getting up as Sam walked out with Rival.

“Yup. I’ll bring my fluffy as well. He’s a bit… specialized.” Sam said with a grin, handing
Rival back to the chauffeur. “I’ll follow you back.”


Sam parked his van in the shade of a Japanese cherry tree and got out, Lightning following
behind. He looked around at the large old brick mansion while Lightning romped around in piles
of swept up petals.

“Come on, Lightning.” Sam said, picking up the little cannibal and carrying him up to where
Sylvia waited.

She eyed Lightning. “This is your specialist fluffy?” She asked, sounding unimpressed.

“Hewwo. Am Witening.” He said, giving his best shark-like smile.

She paused for a second, then walked in. “This way, then.”

Sam followed behind, watching Rival, now out of his carrier, hobble along with Sylvia.

The back yard was nearly two acres, fenced in with a high cedar fence. Sam put Lightning down
and walked out mid-yard with him. “Alright, check for holes. If you spot the neighbor’s fluffy
don’t let him get out.”

Lightning nodded and trotted off, starting at one corner of the house and working around.

“Doctor are you sure that your fluffy can handle this? The neighbor’s stallion is quite
large. I suspect steroids.” Sylvia said.

“Please, Sam. And Lightning is more than a match, one-on-one.” Sam said with a grin. “He might
get a bit carried away.”

Sylvia gave a mild harrumph of disagreement and sat on a bench, watching Rival as he bounced
off and started kicking a ball around. Sam, for his part, wandered over to a water feature near
one of the fences, looking over to the neighboring property.

Where the Manson property was a stately old brick affair, the next house over was a gaudy,
overbuilt monstrosity in glass and green marble, an amateurish attempt at neo-post-modernism that looked less like a house and more like a construction accident site. The back yard was littered
with statues, a hot tub, and an array of benches surrounding a central fire pit. It was also
littered intermittently with crushed cans of near-beer, and for a cherry on top, a used condom
wrapper floating in a koi pond. Extra large, of course.

“That is the Simmons property.” Sylvia said from where she sat.

“I dislike them already.” Sam replied, and grinning as he heard her laugh once.

There was a rustle in the bushes suddenly, and Lightning barreled out, headbutting a grape
colored unicorn in the side and knocking him over.

The unicorn rapidly got up, head down and ready to charge, but Sam grabbed him by the tail and
lifted him up.

“OWIE NU HUWT PWETTY TAIW!” The fluffy shouted, kicking at the air. “Put Tywew down yu dummeh!”

Sam shrugged and deposited Tyler on a rock in the middle of the water feature. The fluffy
looked down at the rippling water, then back up at Sam, cheeks puffed. “Wet Tywew go, doin
nuffin wong.”

“Daddeh.” Lightning said, pointing at the fence. “Howe dewe, behind wock.”

After leaning over a hedge, Sam peered down and saw a broken pair of boards had been worked
out, leaving a large enough hole for even a sizeable fluffy to get through. The hole was hidden
on the other side by another shrub.

Sylvia was over immediately. “You horrible thing, raping my fluffy. I ought to have you
castrated.” She said, vitriolic and shrill.

“Wa dummy wady tawkin bout?” Tyler said, turning around and looking down into the water, trying
to find a path out.

Lightning hopped up on the edge of the pond and smiled. “Dey say yu gibin bad enfies tu Wival
an yu gun wose yu wumps.”

Rival had managed to catch up. “Nu! Nu huwt Tywew! Tywew fwiend!”

“Tywew nu gib bad enfies.” The purple uni said, indignant. “Wivaw nu mawe.”

Sam held up his hands. “Ok, hold on.” He said, sitting on the edge of the water feature. “Look,
Rival, we know someone’s been giving you bad special huggies.”

Rival looked away and down, fidgeting again. “N-nu. Dat not twue.”

“Yes it is.” Sam said, picking Tyler up and putting him down on the grass. “And if it isn’t
Tyler, you need to tell us who it is.”

Awkwardly, Rival looked around. “But… he say if teww, he gun huwt mummy.”

Sam thought for a moment, then looked up, just in time to see a face move away from a window in
the house. “Sylvia, what’s your chauffeur named?”

“Markus Simes, why?” She responded, then blinked as she made the connection. “Wait. You…”

Sam flipped out his cell phone and dialled. “Belker, it’s Sam. No I’m not at the clinic, I’m
doing a housecall. There’s a person here named Markus Simes and I think he’s been raping a
fluffy and threatening to hurt the owner if the fluffy told.”

“No I know it’s technically not but call it destruction of private property. He’s here and I
think he’s twigged he’s been found out. I’m going to stay with the owner in the back yard.”

Sylvia reached into her purse and pulled out a massive .357 magnum revolver, sitting down on a
bench and waiting.

“Right, thanks Belker.” He said, and hung up, then eyeballed the gun. “Jesus christ.”

“I grew up in Baltimore.” She said, shrugging.

After a while, sirens were heard in the distance, and the day went on.


Lightning was passed out in his bed when Sam was washing dishes, later that night. The police
had come across Simes stealing silver and getting ready to run, so charges were leveled
anyways. Tyler and Rival got permission from their respective families to visit out of the
whole situation, though.

In the midst of his reverie, a knocking came at the front door. Drying his hands, Sam peered
through the spyhole before opening the door to find Secretary Wu standing there.

“I’d like a private word.” She said. Sam nodded and invited her in, taking her through to the
dining room.

“I had the feeling someone would be reaching out to me.” Sam said. “I take it the deliberations
are making progress?”

Wu stared at him, flat and expressionless.

“Greenblatt is being a prick isn’t he.” Sam said.

She nodded.

“Can I offer you anything?”

“I want his voice out of my memories.” She said.

Sam promptly texted Will. “I think I have something that can help. You drive yourself?”

“My husband brought his telescope. I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”

“Not at all.” Sam said, closing his phone. “So what’s the issue?”

“Greenblatt is being a prick, as you said.” She began, with a sigh. “He won’t back down on the
new regulations. No outdoor housing, no killing outside terminal shelters. And he’s bitching
about the requirements you laid out.”

“Those were just estimates.” Sam said. He nodded as Will came in and sat down, handing him a
cutting board.

Will took it and promptly began unpacking a box, taking a large glass bong out of a foam lined
bag and handing it back to Sam.

Wu just stared for a second before she seemed to remember what she was doing. “Uh. Anyways, we had some people crunch numbers and it turns out that we would need five more terminal
shelters. Greenblatt wouldn’t hear it.”

Sam filled the bong with water, dropping ice cubes down into the neck of the glass device and
setting it by Will. “I have the feeling he’s going to try and make me the boogeyman with the
murder house.”

After deftly filling the bowl and setting it in place, Will slid the bong over to Wu and set
down a box of matches.

She looked at it then back at Will. “You know I’m a government official right?”

“Don’t worry. It’s hydro.” Will responded, setting Hickory up on a chair and rolling the
remainder into a joint. He lit up, taking a lungful, before passing it over to Sam.

After a moment of contemplation the secretary lit up and milked the weed, filling the bong with
a thick white smoke before taking the full volume deep into her lungs. She set the glass back
down on the table and leaned back, keeping it in.

Lightning jumped up on the table and Sam set down the joint in a roach clip on a stand. First
Lightning, then Hickory took a drag and then ran off to play.

Wu exhaled, blinking. “You let your fluffies smoke weewhoagod.”

Will grinned and picked up the joint, taking another hit. “Yeah it’s thaaaat good.”

“How much for an ounce?” She asked, then shook her head and continued. “Later. Anyways, yes,
Greenblatt is probably going to push for one big terminal shelter. Thankfully he can’t mandate
policy of how it’s run because of how the original law is provisioned. I wanted to stop and ask
if you were alright taking this on. We can subsidize a lot of your running costs but the PR is
going to be terrible for you.”

“Do I get the reduced requirements needed to do this effectively?” Sam asked, finishing off the
joint.

She nodded, then blinked, holding her head, elbows on the table. “Ok I shouldn’t move my head
like that.”

“I’ll be fine.” Sam said, with a shrug. “I’ll need some strings pulled with zoning and planning
permissions for expansion but that’s all I can think of for now.”

“I’ll make it happen.”


31 Likes

So… I guess you planning on expanded industrial abuse?)

4 Likes

There’ll be hugbox in it but yeh we’re goin industrial and scientific abuse.
Also le sadbox.

8 Likes

Sam is going to be the poster boy for hug box villains

2 Likes

…to be fair, National Lampoon’s Lemmings does have its moments…

2 Likes