Soylent Brown Pt.7 (By Jackie22)

You wake up. There’s no alarm going off. You check the clock. 6:28, two minutes before you have to get up. Fuck.

You roll out of bed, brush your teeth, warm up some leftovers, eat, put your clothes on and drive to work. It’s Friday, but there’s a good chance you’re going to be working during the weekend. One of your employees came by and told you that some fucking shitrat crushed 3 of your alicorns over a ball. Or a block. Or whatever the fuck. You thought you were going to bust a vein when you heard. That fluffy went straight to E-Block.

So now, you’re moving all the non alicorns out of the alicorn pens. They’ll have to find a way to get along on their own. You had let in some fluffies from A-Block so that the alicorns could have friends, get socialized, but it was too risky now. Alicorns and their mothers only now. Maybe that’s not enough. Perhaps you should pillow the mares too. Or put them in those harnesses like in E-Block. Nah, that would probably scare the alicorns.

You walk through the doors of the huge brick building. It used to be some kind of old brewery until you bought it and renovated it. They left a lot of the old brewing equipment here, some of that shit was from way back in the 1890s. You thought maybe it should be in a museum or something, but it’s actually been pretty useful to you. You were able to repurpose a lot of the machinery into a feeding rig that produces cheap feed using various industrial waste products. Ironically, a lot of it actually comes from breweries. But it’s not just breweries, it’s everywhere. You take used up malt, discarded corn cobs, yard clippings, the odd bit of roadkill, et cetera. You also recycle the byproducts of the mill as well. Pretty much all the organic waste from the breakroom goes into the vat, as well as any dead fluffies that were healthy when they bought it. Anything sick or any fluffies with questionable history go to the incinerator. So far, the mares have no idea that they’re eating their dead foals, and you intend to keep it that way. The slurry, or “shitslop” as one of the employees put it, is already so disgusting that the fluffies usually have to be beaten the first few times to get them to eat it. If they figured out about the ingredients, you would have to beat them every time. So, you keep them in the dark. Blissful ignorance, it’s a bit of a theme here.

That reminds you, you need to check up on the rig. You’ve been getting reports of pipes being blocked. Seth said it was something called a “fatberg” that was forming in them, apparently caused by the kitchen grease that you’ve been dumping into it. The fast food joints in the area actually pay you to take the grease, because otherwise they would have to pay for disposal. You just take the oil and feed it to your own little fluffy garbage disposals. All the fat and the 100% fluid diet that they eat makes their shit smell like death, but you invest in quality litter, so it doesn’t affect your workers much. The smell is practically neutralized when you’re about 4 feet away. The cages are less than half of that in width of course. This isn’t the fucking Hilton.

You look up the term fatberg on your way down the hall. You immediately wish you hadn’t. You’re just going to replace the pipes. Fuck cleaning that out. What the fuck does “Saponification” even mean? Yet another headache.

You think about the alicorns again. They have to be well socialized, well trained, and of course, well disciplined. You don’t want to raise a thousand dollar alicorn for months just for it to turn into a fucking smarty. People like to tell tales about alicorns, attribute all sorts of weird traits to them. Increased intelligence, better bowel control, more humanlike behaviour, better grammar, even actual magic. You doubt that any of that’s really true. They all just seem like regular shitrats to you You’ve certainly not seen any magic. Then again, you’ve not exactly been studying them, so whatever. Still, the rumors add to their value, and that value makes them worth wasting your time on.

You walk through the double doors and towards the alicorn pens. The fluffies all greet you. You make sure to reward their friendly behaviour. With 1-2 word responses.

“Hewwo nice mistah!” “Hey.”

“Nice mistah wan pway baww wif fwuffy?” “Next time.”

“Nice mistah be nyu daddeh?” “You’ll get an owner soon.”

You walk up to Burgundy. She’s grabbing fluffies and moving them into carriers. They don’t seem to like the experience. The alicorns are all in another pen, and can’t see what’s happening to their retarded little ‘fwens’.

“Morning. How’s the transfer going?”

“Well enough. Still pissed that we have to do it though. I swear, it’s so hard to strike a balance here. The way the alicorn pens are run is totally different from how the blocks are run. You can’t threaten or beat fluffies here. Some fluffies who are used to the abuse manage to play nice long enough to get here, and then just because we’re not beating them whenever they shit in their beds, they think they’re hot shit and can do what they want. You need to talk to some of the people running this place. I understand that you don’t want to traumatize the little shits, but letting them run roughshod (heh) isn’t going to work either. If it could happen to rarity, it can happen to the others too.”

“I’ll let Marcus know. We’ll go over the matter.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to pack the boxes. These fluffies have luggage.”

Luggage huh? You look over the alicorn pens. These have got to be the best digs in town, at least for a fluffy. Big screens playing fluff TV all day, ergonomic blocks, balls, padded floors and walls, heated dens with night lights, both single and family sized, vibrant colors, automatic litterboxes, plenty of human interaction, high quality kibble, sketties every other day. The cheap stuff of course, the fluffs could never tell the difference anyways. A veritable paradise for a fluffy. The fluffies even get personal items. A special blanket or a plastic flower, maybe some well secured smelling salts. Worthless baubles handed out as “rewards” for good behavior. Do you really need to do that? Maybe, maybe not. You’re questioning everything about how this place runs now.

The potential buyers are willing to drop thousands on a good alicorn, so you need to keep the standards high. That means coming by and shaking things up once in a while to make sure people aren’t getting complacent. It’s easy to fall into autopilot when you do the same thing day in and day out. You sell them over the internet, and deliver them once they get a buyer. That means an alicorn can end up here for quite a while, so you need to make sure they don’t experience anything particularly traumatic. That’s harder than it sounds, since this is a pretty big mill with some pretty shit living standards. The “friend” fluffies had to be carefully curated so that they didn’t have any unpleasant stories to tell about the other blocks. As far as the alicorns know, this is a lovely place where fluffies get all the huggies and sketties and love they could want as they wait for their new owners, and you have no intention of letting anything happen that could break that illusion. Like some worthless shitrat crushing 3 of them to death over a god damned toy. God fucking damn it. You’re still furious. Fuck.

You go over to check on Marcus before you leave.

“Hey, Marcus.”

“Oh. Hey boss.”

You had already chewed him out pretty bad yesterday. Things were still a little bit raw. You decide to be gentle.

“Have you come up with the new punishments yet?”

“Not yet, but I’ve got one in the works. But I think the problem isn’t discipline, it’s a matter of respect.”

“How so?”

“Well, you know how rarity had a perfect record before she came here?”

“…Yeah.”

“A lot of the problems between alicorns and non seem to be first offenses, and there are a lot of really violent incidents over relatively small issues. Basically, I think it’s resentment.”

“Over what? Them being ‘munstas’?”

“That, and the high standard of living. Even though the regular fluffies here live in the same conditions as the alicorns, The fact is that their own living standards are much worse when it’s just them. We can train the fluffies to not be scared of the alicorns, but we can’t train them to like them. I think that the fluffies don’t see the alicorns as ‘real fluffies’, and are upset that they’re treated so much better when they’re ‘just monsters’.”

“What? You’re telling me it’s fluffy racism? Are you serious? That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, and I own a fluffy mill.”

“Well… That’s just what I think boss.”

“Oh no, I wasn’t calling you stupid, your explanation makes perfect sense. It just better not be fucking true. There’s no way in hell that I’m going to do, what? Sensitivity training for a bunch of god damned shitrats?”

“Do you think the alicorns would freak out if the mares were just pillowed and detongued?” You continue, after a pause to think.

“Probably…” Marcus mutters, uncomfortable. He was clearly shaken by your nonchalant suggestion of quadruple amputation. A lot of the workers in the alicorn pens could be considered psuedo-hugboxers. You almost need them to make sure the alicorns are well kept. A lot of the other workers would run out of patience with these fluffies. You definitely wouldn’t want to see Seth or Leo in here. The alicorn workers know that bad things happen in the other blocks, but they can’t get in there, and they don’t ask questions anyways. He would probably freak out if he found out about E-block. Hell, C-block might even be too much for him… Blissful ignorance.

“Shit.”

“Maybe… If we tried implanting fake horns and wings on to fluffies… We could trick them into thinking that they’re alicorns? Sidestep the problem that way?”

A silence descends between you.

“…Holy shit. That might actually work…” You mutter.

“Wait, no no no. We don’t even know if that’s the case yet. Let me think about it.” You continue.

“Alright, let me know when you decide what to do.” Marcus says.

You say your goodbyes and go back to your checks. Fluffy fucking racism? Are you serious? Wait, no, it’s possible. Sometimes the really bitchy mares will reject foals they don’t like the look of. Like if they have brown or black fluff. This is beyond retarded. Even for shitrats. You’re getting really annoyed now, but you know one fluffy that might have the answers. She’ll have to wait until the end of the inspection though.

Once you’re satisfied that everything is going smoothly, you walk back out the door and go to inspect A-Block.

A-Block is the high value fluffy block. Fluffies that have decent colors and excellent temperaments end up here, so long as they behave. The whole block is just a big room with a bunch of foam pads in the middle, covered in plastic sheets. The fluffies sleep in kennels and get fed kibble from the trough, which a worker refills when they see it getting low. They also get some cheap canned ‘sketti’ every now and again. Usually after enough new fluffies get into A-block, that way they have an incentive to keep behaving. It was some kind of off brand, animal grade “pasta product”. It was cheap as hell, and the can indicates that it’s not safe for human consumption. Well whatever, the fluffies will probably be fine. Or not. They’ll definitely produce for you, at any rate.

The toys are similarly cheap. Just a bunch of wooden blocks and balls that someone spray-painted. A couple of cast off old toys from thrift stores or garage sales maybe. They mostly play with old garbage. The balls are kind of misshapen and most don’t roll quite right, so there’s sometimes a fight over the good ones. Maybe that’s why that shitrat was so territorial over that damned ball. Fucking hell. 2 thousand down the drain at least. Fucking fuck.

You observe the fluffies. There’s a bunch playing with blocks, punting a ball around, hugging each other… Basic fluffy shit. You look closer.

There’s a lost foal wandering around next to the blocks, trying to climb one. It doesn’t seem to realize that it’s mother is missing. There’s a fluffy crying in the corner while holding it’s nose. It’s nose is bleeding. Ugh.

“Hey there fluffy. Does your nose hurt?”

“Huu huu, nosie haf big owwies mistah!”

“Well how did you nose get hurt?”

“Meanie Stowmy gif sowwy hoovsies when twied pway wif babbeh! Say dat dummeh fwuffies nu awwoud tu touch babbehs…”

Great. You were hoping that it had just run into a wall or tried to eat a block or something. Now you have to deal with this shit.

“That was very mean of her. I’ll go and tell her not to be mean anymore. Okay?”

“Huu… Otay. Fank ou mistah. Mistah gif huggies?”

The fluffy sits up and holds it’s arms out, reflexively seeking comfort. Now you have to hug the little retard too. You hide your unwillingness and wrap your arms around the tearful fluffy. You immediately release it as soon as it stops crying.

“Fank ou nice mistah! Fwuffy wub ou!”

“Yeah, thanks. See you around.”

You check your clothes to make sure no shit or loose fluff got on your clothes. You pick off some green strands. That fucking Stormy rat is going to pay for wasting your time like this.

“Hey, Raul.”

“Yeah boss?”

“Stormy’s beating other fluffies. Some shit about how they’re not allowed to touch her foals or something.”

“Stormy again? I just put her in the box yesterday for the exact same thing.”

“Is this her first litter?”

“Uhh, I think so, I’ll have to look at her file.”

“If it is, don’t bother with the box and just send her to C-Block. She’s probably turning into a bitch on account of the foals.”

“Another one? Why does that happen?”

“It’s a long story. For now, Just send her to E.”

“E-Block?”

“No, no, sorry. C-Block is what I meant to say.”

“Oh, good. 'Cause I was thinking that was some small shit to get sent to E-block over.”

“No, no, just send her to C.”

“Got it.”

Raul consults some files, then goes into the crowd of fluffies. He picks up a dark blue and grey one. Stormy, you assume, then carries her out the door. She’s crying and begging the whole time, the other fluffies look highly dismayed as they watch her get taken away. Fluffies with really good colors sometimes get put into A-block as soon as they’re independent, only leaving if they start making trouble. Stormy was one such fluffy. As far as they’re concerned, fluffies that leave through the doors rarely come back. The ones that do will tell tales of life in cages. Those horror stories are good for keeping them in line, but no fluffy that’s ever been outside A-block is allowed to go to the alicorn pens. Got to keep up the masquerade.

What the fluffies were probably expecting her to do is to go to the box. The box is a sorry box style container that small time offenders go into. A small wooden box with a black interior and an acrylic window so that the fluffy can watch the other fluffies having fun. And of course, so that the other fluffies can see it not having fun. A couple of long screws in the bottom prevent the fluffy from lying down, so they mostly just sit in the box and cry. This is the most you can do in A-Block without the fluffies having stories to tell. If they misbehave too many times though, the rats go to B-Block. Speaking of which…

You head back out the doors and into the hallway again. B-block and C-block were actually a series of rooms that would alternate between block designations as needed for the fluctuating population. Most of the foals that come off the milkbags go straight to B-block. Fluffies in B-Block live in cages for most of the day and are only let out for a couple of hours a day to play. The rest of the day was TV, with the cages all pointed at one single TV on the side of the room. The fluffies could get a little bit stir-crazy in these conditions, so bullying and fights were common. Not that you cared. B-block was a stress test for A-block. Fluffies that can take it and keep behaving go to A-block. Fluffies that can’t, go to C-block. As such, the populations of the blocks tend to fluctuate quite a bit, hence the modular design.

You go through one of the doors and into a B-block room. B-block fluffies got fed some cheap kibble, but you’re thinking of moving them on to shitslop. Or was it called shitsludge? Shitchow? Why all these names?

“Gif babbehs back!” A mare screams as you pass by.

You stop for a moment and look at her. Her face is soaked with tears and she’s standing up against the side of the cage. Her face is riven with grief and desperation.

“Pweeze gif babbehs! Babbehs tu widdwe! Pweeze! Nu take babbehs! Nee mummah!”

You stand motionless for a moment…

Oh! Now you get it! Shitrats eat shitslop! That’s kinda funny.

You start to walk away.

“Nu! Pweeze! Babbehs! Nuu huu huu huuuuu!”

“You need something boss?”

You turn to see Hector. Despite his name, he’s a pretty spindly guy with glasses. Black hair, brown eyes, tall. Good worker.

“No, I’m just passing through. How are things going?”

“Pweeze! Babbehs nee’ mummah! Nee’ miwkies! Mummah miss babbehs su much! Huu huu huuuu!” The fluffy cries.

“Just fine. Heard about what happened with the alicorns. Real fucking mess.”

“Pweeze gif back babbehs! Mummah wub babbehs!”

“Yeah, we’re trying to see what we can do. For now, I’m having Burgundy and the others take the regulars out of the alicorn pens.”

“Pweeze nice mistahs! Gif babbehs! Mummah wiww be gud mummah fwom now on! Mummah pwomise nebah ask fow mow pway 'gain! Jus pweeze gif babbehs back tu mummah!” The mare pleaded desperately before the bars of the cage, hoping that one of the humans would understand. If they knew how bad her heart hurties were, they would surely help her!

“Hold on a sec.” You say, determined to solve the problem in front of you.

You open the gate of the cage and punch her square in the face. She falls right over and her back end flies upwards, almost spinning in a circle from the impact. After she falls flat on to her back, you grab her muzzle and pull her around, dragging her all the way to the door.

“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll break your jaw.”

“B- Babbehs-”

“You’re never gonna see your foals again. We sent them to new owners so that they can have a happy life outside of here. If they come back here, we’ll just send them to the grinder. Is that what you want?”

“Pweeze-”

SLAP

“Do you want your ‘babbehs’ to get the grinder, or not? Yes or no.”

Fresh tears leak from her eyes.

“…N- Nu…”

“Good fluffy.”

You release her mouth and close the gate. She curls up in a ball and starts crying to herself quietly.

“Thanks. This is her first litter, and all of them had good colors, so she didn’t get to keep any of them.” Hector says.

“Hmm. Try telling them that they only get to keep foals if they’re good fluffies.”

“What if all their colors are good again?”

“Then tell them they haven’t been good enough. And If their behavior is bad, just grind the rejects anyways, like we did before.”

“Huh… Okay, I’ll try that. Thanks.”

You begin to make your way to C-block.

“Stella, you only get to keep your babbehs if you’re a good fluffy.” You hear hector lie.

“But Stewwa am gud mummah! Haf gud babbehs! Why meanie mistah gif huwties!? Huu huuuuuu!”

“You have to be a better fluffy Stella, you didn’t do well enough.”

“Buh! Buh!”

“Stella, no excuses. If you were really a good fluffy, you would still have your babies.”

Stella falls to her stomach and covers her eyes with her hooves, sobbing loudly. Looks like it worked.

“Nuuuuhuuhuuuhuu… Mummah sowwy babbehs… Was bad mummah… Huu…”

She dissapears from view as the door closes behind you.


C- block is probably the worst “real” block in the building. These cages are meant for permanent habitation, but the standard of living here is by far the worst. The cages in C-block are the same as in B-block, but the difference is that the fluffies never leave them. There’s no “playtime” for fluffies here. They spend the entire day in these cages. There’s no TV either. Just radio. The fluffies listen to whatever the workers here want to listen to that day, which is rarely sanitized for fluffy hearing. They often complain about the music to uncaring attendants. These complaints are often either ignored, or responded to with a quick beating.

Now that the mares are being allowed to keep some rejects, they could probably watch their foals run around and play, but joining in the game is obviously out of the question, since there’s barely enough room to walk around. The smell is pretty horrible near the cages, but you can definitely get used to it near the edges of the room, where the workers usually were. It’s just that the diet of the fluffies here was truly terrible. Foals often complained to their mothers about “un-pretty smells”, but it’s not like the mares could do anything about it. The fluffies in C-block are fed on an exclusive diet of industrial sludge and their own pulped foals. They literally eat worthless liquefied garbage, and even more worthless liquefied fluffies, for every meal, every day. Their cages constantly smell like death. They do not like their food. You do not care.

Fluffies with middling colors or suspicious origins are kept initially in C-block. If a fluffy here behaves, they can get an upgrade to B-block. If they pull bullshit, they stay here permanently. It’s of course impossible for a fluffy to go past that, since they would know too much, but the thing about C-block was that it was optional. All of these fluffies could do better. Most of them, for one reason or another, do not, and C-block becomes their home. They fight the workers, or cause trouble in the breeding pits, or fight other fluffies in B-block and get sent here. This is pretty much the garbage dump of the mill. A place where misfit fluffies who can’t seem to act right are stuffed. Over time, the number of misfits has increased relative to the number of good fluffies. In order to reduce arguing, you started taping cardboard to the sides of the cages of fluffies that like to argue. They can’t fight if they can’t see who their yelling at. This makes the cage feel even smaller, but once again, you do not care.

Feeding time begins. The workers pass by cages and pull the levers, ejecting the horrific sludge into the food bowls. An almost unfitting container for such an awful concoction. The bitching begins immediately. All the fluffies are whining and crying about “worstest nummies” and “poopie nummies”. You turn your attention to the corner of the room, where the new fluffies are being placed. A fresh mare is lying in her cage and staring up in confusion as the worker fills her bowl with a compound barely more appetizing than liquid shit. Well, some of it was liquid shit.

“Why mistah make diwties in cagie? Nu smeww pwetty!”

“That’s your food. Eat it. And don’t fucking complain.”

“Bu’ nu smeww pwetty! Bad nummies! Nu wan… Maybe mistah gif sketties?” She asked. Such optimism.

“You must be joking shitrat. Eat your food or I’ll break your legs.”

“Nu wan! Nummies smeww wike poopies! Am bad nummies!”

“You’re pissing me off. Last chance fluffy, eat it.”

“NU! Nu wan poopie nummies! Wan gud nummies! Wan sketties!” She screams. Then she tries to knock over the food bowl. A waste of time, since they’re welded in place. The human is not happy.

He throws open the cage and starts beating her. She screams as she’s punched, slapped, choked, and smashed into submission. The other fluffies barely even pay attention. This was a normal event for a new fluffy in C-block. They were used to it. You on the other hand, see the pointlessness of this act of brutality, and step forward to show the worker a better way.

“Hey, stop that.”

The worker ceases the beating to give you a proper response.

“…Oh, boss. Hi.”

“You don’t need to do that. It’s pointless to beat her for being defiant over just the food.”

“Well, I see where you’re coming from boss, but I have to instill discipline somehow.”

“No, you don’t need to do anything like that. This is a problem that’ll sort itself out.”

“You mean, starve her? I thought we weren’t supposed to let them go without eating.”

“What? No. I mean take her to the grinder. If she’s screaming and demanding sketties right out the gate, we might as well just kill her and start over. Liquidate her and go get another mare.”

“OOOH. Okay. Got it.”

The worker reaches into the cage, and drags the whimpering mare out, carrying her by the scruff to the machine room for grinding. She yelps about bad upsies as they pass the doors, totally ignorant to the fact that her tantrum just cost her her life.

Now thinking about tantrums, your eyes instinctively fall upon the reject pens. These boarded up cages hold the worst mares that the mill is willing to tolerate. These mares have done everything short of attack your staff. If your workers were at any risk of being harmed, you would obviously just kill the fluffy, but so far these mares haven’t been violent towards humans. Yet. But of course, one of them is causing trouble at breakfast.

“Nu wan dummeh poopie nummies! Wan gud nummies fow make gud miwkies fow babbehs!”

Right, you were letting them keep the foals now.

“I don’t give a fuck. Eat your shitslop or I’ll kill you.” Carl said.

“NU! Dummeh hoomin gif bestest nummies NAO!”

“Fuckin moron.”

Carl reaches into the cage and grabs a foal. Normally a fluffy foal would enjoy being held, but this one writhes and thrashes in his grip, terrified.

“NU! MUMMAH SOWWY! NU HUWT BABBEH 'GAIN!”

Carl snaps one of the foal’s legs. It screams in pain.

“NUUUUUUUUUUUU!!! MUMMAH WIWW NUM POOPIE NUMMIES! MUMMAH WIWW NUM! PWEEZE NU HUWT BABBEH!”

Carl looks at her hard, then throws the foal back into the cage. It impacts with her rump as she frantically eats her sludge. Alternating between slurping down the paste and huuing about her babbeh.

You hear the screams of a different mare from behind. It looks like she was caught trying to make one of her foals eat the slop. The worker in front of her cage is holding up a foal, slowly pulling it’s eye out as the mare screams and holds up her other foal.

“NUUUHUUUHUUUUU! PWEEZE NU HUWT BES’ BABBEH! HUWT WOWST BABBEH INSTEAD!”

“Nuuu! Nu wan! nu wan!” Her foal screams.

This request causes the worker to stop in his track, and look up at the mare.

“What?”

“Huwt wowst babbeh! Mummah wub bestest babbeh! Gif biggest owwies to wowst babbeh instead!”

The worker stares at her for a moment, silent.

Then he begins to work again, but with much greater intensity. Abandoning his plan to pull the eye out with tweezers, he instead stabs the eye with them, brutally ripping it out. The mare screams even louder as he stabs the tweezers, with the eyeball still mounted on them, into the other eye socket, Pulling out both eyes and blinding the foal. He wasn’t done. He threw the tweezers on to the table and began breaking the foals legs. He broke each leg in three places, and finally threw the shattered foal back into the cage. The mare immediately picked up the foal and hugged it as hard as she could, eliciting renewed screams from the foal. Upon hearing this, she hugs the foal even harder, desperate to hug the injuries away. The worker leaves in disgust. Someone else will make her eat.

The mare continues hugging the foal as it screams louder and louder. Finally, she puts it down and starts crying over it. Her other foal comes up to survey the damage. She looks like shes going to bat him away, but then she looks at her other foal. Then back to the first.

“Huu huu huu… Wowst babbeh, ou am bes’ babbeh nao…”

Something tells you she’ll be in C-block for a long time.


You walk out the doors of B and C block and into the foal pens. Each one has about 20 foals and 4 milkbags in it, and there are quite a few pens, and a small grinder in the corner of the room, in case one of the foals turns smarty. Most of the foals here are destined for sale, so they’re going to be sent out as soon as they’re talking. You have a special transport box for them. Padded, with interior lighting for the most likely terrified foals. The box keeps them calm, but the bouncing and sound of the truck engine usually scares the shit out of them. Figuratively and literally. You do your best to squeeze them before transport, but these shitpigs always seem to have a little more shit to dump. Whatever. As long as it’s not egregious, the stores usually clean the foals up on arrival as well. There was no pet store that expected to receive fluffy foals completely clean. They knew what they were working with.

The workers are dealing with some other pens, so you go over to pen six and peer inside. A blue-red foal and a white-black foal are playing tag and seem to be enjoying themselves. The other fluffies are playing games, watching TV, or sleeping, and some are feeding off the milkbags. One of the milkbags is wriggling and trying to yell, but with her legs broken and bound, and the feeding tube filling her mouth, there’s little she can do about the unwitting little milk thieves. While she struggles, The other mares are silent and still. They know that it’s useless to try to stop the foals from feeding, so they just sit there and cry silently, powerless.

You don’t know what the problem is with fluffies. For some weird reason, they just lose their shit whenever someone takes their milk. You don’t understand, or care for that matter, but it’s been a problem on numerous occasions before now.

At first, you just strapped mares to the enclosures and left them to nurse, but the mares pulled all sorts of bullshit. They would yell at the foals, berate and insult them for “stealing milkies”, and would even try to kill them. So to deal with the issue, you cut out their tongues and tightened the restraints on their legs. Things were alright for a while, but then the mares would start screaming as loudly as they could whenever a foal came near them. The foals were too scared to nurse. Of course, they were brutally beaten every time they did it, but it kept being a problem. A mare would scream at one foal, get it’s little fluffy ass kicked, let a few nurse, then start screaming again. So you gagged them as well. But even then, they kept being a problem. They would refuse to eat or use the litterbox when removed from the pens. They would rather die than feed a few foals apparently. Or maybe they thought you would let them out if they refused to feed them? Fat fucking chance. Fluffy formula runs at almost 6 dollars an ounce. With how often the little shits drink, and with how many of the damned things there were in the mill, the costs would skyrocket. All to spare a couple of shitrats. Fuck that.

Instead, you looked for a solution online, and eventually came upon an abuse website called “Owwieland”, apparently a reference to something called “skettieland”, where you found instructions for turning a mare into a milkbag. The first few were successful enough, but the quality of the milk quickly began to degrade, and the mares eventually started wasting away, “dying of depression” it’s said. You’re not sure how scientific that is, but you figure you can solve it with a few alterations to the original design.

First, the mares were allowed to keep their eyes. They would often glare at the foals, which scared them, but you found a way to solve this issue by cutting specific tendons in the mare’s face. This caused their eyes to droop, which could impact their vision, and you could still see that they were angry if you looked at them from above, but it solved the problem. Now the mares could glare all day and the foals would be none the wiser. Then you began work on the legs. The original design required quadruple amputation, but you found amputation to be rather risky with the naturally high chance of infection, which also wasn’t a problem, since you have an abundance of useless fluffies here, but their leglessness also caused another issue. While they couldn’t kill the foals anymore, they could still thrash around and move their crotchtits so that the foals had trouble nursing. They wouldn’t do it when they thought they were being watched, but the thinness of the foals was a dead giveaway. Another flaw in this approach was that while they couldn’t quite move, they could still flail their lower body a bit, and one of them managed to trap a foal under her legless torso. She managed to cover it in shit before the workers took it out, and it died of an infection. The mare went to the grinder, but the fact that it was possible to do that in the first place was the real problem. You solved all three issues.

Instead of cutting the legs off, you realized that you could just crush their legs with hammers. They can’t move their legs if their leg bones are useless splinters, and the dead weight and friction that these useless legs created was effective in reducing the flailing, but it was mostly the pain that kept the milkbags immobile. With all the jagged shards of bone in their legs, every single movement was agonizing for them. There would be no more flailing tricks or dead foals now. You missed out on the reduced caloric intake that leg amputation grants, but you feed your fluffies dirt cheap shit-sludge remember? Or was it shit-slop? Whatever. You hooked up a hose directly to their mouths, and a colostomy tube underneath them takes care of sanitation. Their shit gets piped straight back into the vat. No point in hooking up a new disposal system for a couple dozen milkbags, and you can just sterilize the vat by heating it. No problem.

They’re pointed in the direction of the TV, so you figure they have something to watch, which does help them last longer, but you bet it’s hard to watch with that feeding tube in the way. And all the tears. They’re always crying. You have the channel set to play “babies!” on repeat, since the foals love it, but all these mares are obviously ex-mummahs, so it probably makes them think about their own foals, comparing it to their current predicament. Oh well, it doesn’t seem to impact their lifespan. They last much longer than regular milkbags, so they better get comfortable. They’re not going anywhere any time soon.

You’re only about halfway done, you still have more to inspect this morning. This might be a long day…


Well, looks like i was wrong, there might be two more chapters after this, plus maybe two short afterstories, we’ll see. Don’t worry, we’ll get to E-block again soon.

What do you think of the modified milkbags? Does it make sense to you, or do you have better ideas?

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great story, this series is my favourite here. consider making a story on sandy, or her foals life. and keep up the great work, can’t wait for part 8!

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I think the modified milkbags work, especially for milkbags that are going to remain stationary and directly feed foals. Double especially in the incredibly unsanitary conditions of the mill.

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This series is a paean to the digestive system of the fluffy mummah.

A thought: could milkbag feeding increase the chance of foals becoming milk-thieves later on in life?

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I think once they are fully weaned, it wouldn’t really be a problem.

Though I’ve got a LOT of thoughts on how fluffy diet affects their health and hypotheses on keeping them on milk throughout their lives.

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Holy fuck, I thought the last one was the best. I was wrong.

This was great, thank you for taking the time to write it.

Don’t worry, we’ll get back to sandy. Her suffering isn’t quite over yet. She’s still alive after all.

Thanks for letting me know. What do you think made this part the best, as opposed to the others?

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The absolute apathy of the protagonist.