Chapter 2: A farming we will go?
To many, a fluffy is a pet. Something to come home to after being a wage-slave for the Corps, a low effort attempt to keep spirits up. To the dark and pockmarked streets of the Barrens, the fluffy was a food and survival staple. For thirty Nyuen you could have a fluffy to cook and prepare on your own, perfect for the barrel fire. The fluff made good bedding and a firestarter. The usage of fluffies to test all manner of weaponry at shady arms deals was so common, it was customary to bring a trailer full.
Of course, any random feral fluffy on the street was wary of metahumanity at large. Small herds who carved out a niche in between the normal animals and magical critters. So, some enterprising individuals set up fluffy-mills in abandoned buildings, why risk getting some disease from eating a random fluffy off the street when your friendly neighborhood slumlord had a floor churning out the things for profit.
It was at one of these lovely entrepreneurs that Bubba Carpet stopped. What was once a petshop had been taken over by a small group of squatters, a small chicken wire pen keeping the merchandise in. The air stank of feces and decay.
“Nu smell pwetty.”
“Wan nummies.”
“Be nyu Daddeh?”
Fluffies making noise to attract people to adopt one, Hasbio engineering at its finest. But Bubba was now on a mission, and his tinnitus was acting up again so he couldn’t even hear the creatures. He approached a dwarf at the old register.
“Hello good sir! I’d like to buy one of these fluffies!” Bubba said beaming.
The dwarf looked up from his spreadsheet and recoiled at the sight of Bubba. “FUCK!” He exclaimed, “Take three steps back, chummer.” Bubba took the three steps. “Alright, you want fluffies, how many?”
“Just two, really all I need.” Bubba replied, smiling.
The dwarf shuddered, “Aight, two for 70, the extra tens for bein ugly.”
Bubba’s smile dimmed, “65 and a carrier for the fluffies.” He countered.
The dwarf scoffed, “75, the carrier, and you never come back.”
Bubba sighed, “Fine, here.” A credstick changed hands and the dwarf motioned to an ork standing in the gloom. The massive metahuman picked up an old dog crate and moved over to the pen. The effect was immediate.
“MUNSTA! BIG MUNSTA!” A large earth fluffy shouted and the pandemonium of a dozen screaming and shitting miniature horses filled the ruined storefront. With a grunt he grabbed two, one unicorn stallion and one pegasus mare and threw them in the crate.
“Here.” He thrust the crate and its sobbing contents at Bubba who took the crate and made his way out of the store. He was almost a block away when he saw a van speed past him and parked in front of the fluffy monger. The letters F-O-T crudely painted on the side. The side door opened, and three humans got out, all armed with shotguns. Then the shooting started.
In five seconds, the store was filled with flashes and ricochets as fluffies escaped all running in different directions, in twenty seconds one human with four fluffies under his arms ran out to the van followed by a woman with a bleeding arm. They jumped in the van and sped off.
Bubba waited thirty seconds, forgetting about his purchase he poked his head back in the store. There was one human who had a hole punched right through him, the ork was on the floor, his head popped open like a grape, and the dwarf was in front of the counter with his guts on the floor. He was breathing his last. Bubba swiftly walked by him and reached into the register he saw the credstick enter. He grabbed it and an assorted handful of UCAS dollars and credsticks. Then as he was leaving, he looked at the dwarf.
“I wanted a refund.” Bubba said and left, composing a text for the group.
Bubba: So, I think I know how we can get intel on the cult…