You let out a mighty sigh. The morning inspection has only been going for 30 minutes, yet you feel like half a day has passed. You just can’t seem to focus. Was it that stupid shitrat that stomped the foals? What Marcus told you about his alicorn theory? Something’s eating you. A problem is unsolved.
Whatever. You’ll think about it after you finish the inspection. You still need to check on the newest milkbag. Make sure she isn’t infected or something…
You take one last look at pen number six. The foals are running around and seem fine, the milkbags have that defeated, hangdog look they always do. Except the new one. She’s still mumbling and trying to move as the foals nurse off of her, yelping every time. You pinch one of her front legs.
“MMMMMMmmmmgh!” She screams, the tube in her mouth muffles what would surely be a blood curdling scream.
“Stop moving around. You’re bothering the foals.” You whisper.
“Mmph! mmm m-mph mmm mmgmm!” She says, her eyes full of anger. You let out another sigh. This isn’t even the milkbag you’re worried about right now. You don’t have the time or the patience to deal with this shit.
You take her front leg in your hand, holding it up to shoulder level, where she can see it.
“Are you going to keep being a problem?”
“Mmmph mmgmm! Mmm-”
You squeeze down hard. She tries to scream, but the tube and the muzzle silence it all. The foals don’t even stop feeding.
“I had a long day yesterday, and I’m still having a bad day today. One of you shitrats just cost me 2 grand. At the least. If there was ever a day to behave your fucking self, it’s today.” You whisper in her ear.
“Mmhmm! Mmm hmgm mm Mmgh? Mmmgh mm mmm mm! Mghm! Mmm mghm mmm mmhmm! Mghm! Mghm…” With the last mumble, she sinks down and cries, but doesn’t stop moving.
How long have you been working with fluffies? Too long, because you know exactly what she just said. The vocabulary of a fluffy is pretty limited, and even though they cant speak, you can still tell how long the words are and where some of the syllables are. Enough for a seasoned fluffy handler to tell what they would be saying. You wish it didn’t, but you’ve heard these phrases so many damned times that your brain just automatically translates it as soon as you hear it: “Owwies! Why mistah huwt mummah? Mummah wan gu back! Pweeze! (Something about being sorry)! Pweeze! Pweeze…”
Same old idiotic shitrat blathering. She has no idea that she’s never leaving those machines until she scores too many reds on a milk quality test. Then all she’s getting is a trip to the grinder. Bottom first most likely, since the workers don’t want shit spraying out when she falls in. Then she’ll be replaced. Another cardboarder from C-block probably. You don’t feel like dealing with this shit at all. This is pissing you off.
You suddenly squeeze at full power. You hear the shattered leg bones crunch as she screams louder than ever.
“I don’t care what your god damned problem is. Shut the fuck up, sit the fuck still, and don’t give me any more trouble or I’ll pull your fucking eyes out. Got it?”
The mare cries silently, her eyes still pleading. Voice still speaking. The wrong look. The wrong words. You grab both legs as she tries to scream in terror. You death grip both front legs, eliciting a scream so loud that the foals take notice even with the tube and muzzle muffling the sound. All they see however, is you holding the leggies of one of the mummahs. They don’t seem to notice the unnatural angle that those legs are bending at, or the agonized expression of the mare. All they see is a human playing with “mummah”, and “mummah” making the same eye waters she always does. They have to idea how miserable their “mummahs” really are. Blissful ignorance.
“Got it?”
The mare nods. Then sinks down, defeated. Her eyes are just like those of the other mares. Pained and lifeless. Empty of everything but tears. Maybe now she’ll make some fucking milk.
You turn from the enclosure, leaving the mare to sob as the foals continue to nurse from her. She might cause more trouble later, but the handlers can deal with it.
However, you turn a bit too fast, and almost walk into a cart carrying a large number of foals. Luckily, Mike stops the cart before you collide.
“Hey, doing your inspection?”
“Yeah. The new milkbag in six is causing trouble. Is she new?”
“No, she’s been in there almost a week.”
“A week? And she’s still fighting?”
“Yeah, I was gonna give her one more day yesterday, but it looks like she’s still causing trouble. Can we replace her?”
“Hmm… I tried setting her straight just now, but if she causes trouble again within the next few days, grind her and grab a cardboarder from C-block.”
“Cardboarder?”
“The ones with cardboard on their cages. IT keeps them from fighting with the other fluffies.”
“Ooh, so that’s why they had cardboard on their cages. Makes sense. I’ll do that.”
You nod and head over to pen three, the one with the new milkbag. You peer in. Everything seems normal at first. The foals are running around, playing, giggling and tackling each other. “huggie tag” they call it. Whatever. Normally you’d isolate the foals to prevent injury, but it helps them sell when they get to the stores, so you put up with it. The foals seem alright, but one of them is walking up to you. Probably asking if you’ll be it’s new daddeh again. These things-
“Hoomin gif skettis!”
“What?”
“Babbeh wan sketties! Sketties am bestest nummies! Wan sketties!”
“You’re too young for ‘skettis’, go back to pla-”
“Dummeh hoomin gif sketties NAO!”
The other foals stop playing to survey the situation. They’re are watching. You cant afford to act violently.
“…Are you a smarty?”
“Babbeh am smawty babbeh! Gon get bestest sketties fow babbehs! Gif sketties!”
“Yay! Babbeh wan sketties!” Another foal yells.
“Sketties! Sketties! Sketties!” A different foal adds.
You had better nip this behavior in the bud.
“NO.” You say assertively.
The foals back away fearfully, having never been spoken to so loudly, they’re rather shocked to hear this kind of aggressive tone coming from a human. To them, humans were nice giants that sometimes pet them and were going to get them new owners. Being yelled at by one of them was unheard of. They still think that the humans here care about them. Blissful ignorance.
“…S- Smawty babbeh-” The foal starts. You cut him off. You need to make an example of this one.
“You are a very bad babbeh.” You say. The other foals are watching in fear.
“N- Nu am-”
“Making demands and not asking nicely is bad. Calling humans mean words is bad. And being a smarty is the worst thing a babbeh can do.” You make sure the other foals can hear this. Some soft huus are already reaching your ears.
“And because you were such a bad babbeh…” You pause for dramatic effect. “You don’t get an owner.” Using fluffspeak can help a fluffy understand sometimes, but they are hard wired to understand certain human words. Owner, they know means mummah or daddeh, and can actually be more helpful in making them understand, even though they don’t use the word themselves. An interesting side effect of hard wired speech patterns. You can tell that the fluffies got the message too…
All the fluffies in the pen collectively gasp. The one thing a lone fluffy wanted most was an owner. To be denied one was unthinkable to their little fluffy minds. Furthermore, all they had ever experienced was this tiny pen. What would even happen to a fluffy that was never going to have an owner? These questions swirled in their minds as the trembling stammered out a response.
“W- Wha? Bu- bu am gud babbeh! Nee’ nyu mummah! Nyu daddeh! Nee’ wub!” The smarty cries. Time to stick the landing.
“Well, nobody is going to love you now.” You say. The other foals are horrified. Even the smarty is dumbstruck. This never even occurred to them as a possibility.
“Come here, you’re going to the bad babbeh place.”
You pick him up and fetch a nearby cart. He starts screaming as you pull the cart towards the pen.
“Nu! NU! BABBEH SOWWY! BABBEH NU WAN SKETTIES NU MOWE! PWEEZE NU TAKE BABBEH 'WAY! WAN OWNAH! WAN WUB! PWEEZE! NU WAN-”
His screams of terror are muffled as you place him inside a small box. You turn away from the cart and back to the pen.
“I expect all of you to be good fluffies from now on.” You scan the crowd for any signs of further defiance. They do nothing but stare at you with that dopey, puppydog expression they always have whenever anything bad happens. Some of them are crying. “Now go back to playing.”
The foals look at each other and slowly go back to the toys. Others go to the milkbags. Some of them hug each other. They’ll be back to normal in a few minutes.
Finally, you make your way to the new milkbag. She’s strapped down in Sunny’s old spot. Sunny scored too low on the milk tests and went to the grinder, so you replaced her with a new one. Coffee or Toffee or something. A foal killer. Sometimes, particularly unruly fluffies will stomp their foals instead of letting the workers take them away. It often happened after a few too many litters. They would start off crying about it, then hiding them, then trying to block the workers from taking them, and eventually, once they realized they couldn’t stop us from taking them away, they would kill them in defiance. All the crap you tell them about new housies and owners and nice lives don’t seem to matter to them. Maybe they stop believing you, maybe they don’t care, whatever. What matters is that they can’t be used as breeders anymore. Usually they would just get pillowed, maybe tied up too if they had good genes, but if there’s a need for a new milkbag, they get sent here instead.
The mare looks up at you, crying, and tries to say something to you. She’s clearly been beaten. The muzzle and the tube prevent her from doing so of course, so she tries to move her arms up to get your attention, but the restraints keep her from doing so. Still, she tries for a few more seconds, before dropping down and looking at you hopefully. Her sad expression is hard to read with all the swollen bruises on her face. This is absolutely unacceptable. You call out to Mike.
“Mike!” You yell. The foals cringe.
“Yeah? What? What’s wrong?” He says, surprised by your yell.
“Come look at this milkbag!” You yell over. Mike approaches the pen and looks inside. As soon as he sees the milkbag trembling, he understands.
“What? Oh my god.”
“Who handled this milkbag?”
“It was the new guy. I’ll call him. Theo!”
A man in his early thirties comes up to you.
“Yeah?”
“Did you do this?” Mike asks.
“Yeah… That was me.” He says.
You unhook the milkbag’s feeding tube and pull her out of the restraints. Before she can speak, you quickly grab her muzzle and hold it closed.
“Do you see the problem here?” You ask.
She’s hanging in the air, flailing around and trying to yell about bad upsies.
“Her face is fucked up?”
“No. You forgot to break her legs!”
You cart the offending fluffies into the room next to the foal pens. Theo is right next to you as you walk over to the table, and shove her legs into the restraints.
“Owwies! Pweeze wet Wama gu! Nu wike stwingy tings ow poopie nummies ow bad babbehs! Bad babbehs steaw miwkies! Wama wan gu back!”
Her name was Wama? Llama maybe? You had no idea. Who’s toffee then?
“They told me that milkbags get tied up in the pens, but nobody told me about all this.” Theo says.
“Yeah, you have to smash the legs first. It’s really simple. Just watch me.”
You tighten the restraints and grab the nearby hammer.
“Wama nu bad fwuffy! Babbehs was bad babbehs! gif Huwties tu mummah!” She yells.
Wait, could this be… Cannibal fluffs?
“They hurt you? How?”
“Babbehs was wif mummah, an dwink miwkies, but den mummah wemembah dat babbehs am gon gu way! Mummah twy teww babbehs tu nu wet hoomins take babbehs way, but babbehs make chirpies anyway! Babbehs wanned weave mummah an gu tu hoomin housie wiffout mummah! Was meanie babbehs! Gabe heawt huwties! Su Wama gif bad babbehs stompies! Why be meanie tu Wama?”
Oh. It was just more fluffy bullshit. Great. You’re even more annoyed now.
“Jesus christ, what’s wrong with these shitrats?” Theo says.
“Well the concept of a creature that loves ‘huggies an wub’ is a pretty spotty idea at the best of times. Their programming causes an instinctual want to be nice, but it only includes certain basic drives. Once the situation becomes complicated, and they become conflicted in their emotions, they tend to show their true colors. What a lot of people see as ‘brattyness’ is actually the initial joy of getting an owner wearing off, and being replaced with underlying ingratitude and selfishness. Hence why a creature that purports to be all about ‘huggies an wub’ can become a monster like this. It actually makes it worse, since the programming can cause aberrant behavior to go unnoticed and be left to fester. Basically, there’s a big difference between being nice, and having certain biological drives that cause you to adopt outwardly ‘nice’ behaviors.” You say.
“But enough of the biology lesson, pay attention.” You continue.
You bring the hammer down on her foreleg hard.
“SCREEEEEEEE!!!”
“Make sure you start just shy of the hoof. You don’t want the hoof fracturing because it can get infected.”
You smash her leg over and over again with the hammer, all the way up to the top.
“SCREEEEEEEEEE!!! UHUUHUUHUUUUU!!!”
“Don’t break the shoulder. They sit up against the wall and we don’t want them whining when their broken shoulders rub against it.”
“HUUUUUU! Pweeze nu huwt Wama nu mowe! Weggie haf biggest huwties! Wama sowwy!”
“Okay, smash the leg, but not the hoof or shoulder. Is there anything else I should avoid?” Theo asks.
“No. Just make sure to really smash the bones good. We don’t want them healing.”
You start smashing her leg with the hammer again. She screams continuously as you slowly shatter the bones of her leg. Once you’re satisfied, you hold the crushed leg up at the knee. It flops downwards in an unnatural arc.
“Uuhuuuu… Pweeze… Nu mowe…”
“You want the leg to sort of flop around like this.” You shake it around a bit for emphasis. Llama(?) lets out an agonized “Eeeeek” as her shattered leg flops around uselessly.
“Okay. So once I break all four legs, I just take her back and hook her up again?”
“Yep, that’s all. Now let me see you do it.”
Theo grabs another leg and starts smashing it. Starting from the base of the hoof, he slowly crushes it from the bottom all the way up to the shoulder.
“SCREEEEEEEEEE!!! NU WAN! NU WAN! NU HUWT WAMA! WAMA SOWWY! WAMA- SCREEEEEEEEEE!!!”
As soon as he finishes her front leg, he moves on to the back ones. The fluffy screams and screams until finally passing out halfway through the third leg, but she wakes up screaming when he starts on the last leg. He makes sure to smash the leg bones thoroughly, until all her legs are hanging like limp noodles off of her body. Finally complete, he puts her back on the cart and starts wheeling her back out.
“How was that boss?”
“Good. That’s all there is to it. Just stop the cart for a second?”
He stops the cart. You reach into the box from earlier, grabbing out the smarty. It tries to say something, but you grip it hard and squeeze the wind out of it.
“‘Wama’, pay attention. This is what happens when a fluffy misbehaves.”
You make sure that she’s paying attention, then, once you’re sure she can see you, you drop the foal into the grinder. It falls in back legs first, screaming in agony as it’s body is slowly pulped. The grinder causes his body to start vibrating back and forth, eventually reaching an incredible speed as his body is ground away, only stopping once the grinder reaches his head. With a final wet crunch, the foal’s head is cracked open, spewing it’s brains into the air. Those soon land and fall under the grinder along with the last of the foal’s remains.
Her horrified expression tells you that she got the message.
“Alright. Take her back in and hook her up again. And don’t worry about the beatings. Those were fine.”
You leave the foal pens and head into the breeding pits. They’re in use right now, so the whole room is filled with screaming. All of the mares are either screaming or silent. Which is odd. Some of them would usually be having fun, but all of these ones seem dejected. Ah! These fluffies must be from E-block! Yeah, this is breeding day for them isn’t it? You walk up to one of the pens.
Inside is a black monochrome mounting a legless mare.
“Enf enf enf enf!”
“…”
The mare is silent. She’s just laying there crying, not saying anything.
“Gud feews!” The stallion shouts.
The stallion crawls off of the mare and starts looking around. He sees you, and comes by.
“Hewwo nice mistah! Midnite am done givvin’ enfies! Mistah wan midnite gif mowe enfies?”
The mare sees that midnight is done, and begins crying.
“Huuu… Babbehs… Pweeze nu come… nu wan munstahs huwt babbehs gain…”
“Well, actually I’m the wrong human. Don’t worry, another human will come by and help you.”
“Otay nice mistah! Midnite wiww wait fow nyu hoomin!”
Midnight goes back to the sobbing mare.
“Nu wan! Nu wan! Nu gif bad speshow huggies!”
Midnight mounts her again.
“NU! NUUUUU! SCREEEEEEEEEEE!”
Wow that’s annoying. You head on up to another pen. Inside is a purple fluffy with a red mane. She seems familiar. Oh yeah. This is the one that shat on dean. Not only did she spew shit on one of your staff, she also showed the fluffies in the breeding pits how to give “sorry poopies”.
“Pweeze wet fowty nine out mistah! Nu wan hewcuweeze 'gain!”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about that fluffy.”
Hercules was killed a few days ago. Part of a memory hole, which is basically your term for an information quarantine. When a fluffy does something or reveals something that would cause the other fluffies to realize something that they shouldn’t, you take all the affected fluffies and either purge them or relocate them. Thankfully, it’s easy to tell who’s seen through the facade, since you can just ask the fluffies, but you still need to go through and make sure you’ve got them all. The last thing you need is for one fluffy to survive the purge and pass on rumors. Especially about something like “sorry poopies.” That’s a feral move used to intimidate humans and scare off predators. None of the fluffies in the mill know it, and they never will, because you will not have fluffies shitting on your employees. You let azure go because he’s got a stellar track record for obedience and he’s really popular in the mill, but the minute you see a fluffy or human get purposely shit on, he’s dead too.
“Maybe mistah wet fowty nine out? Awweady haf tummy babbehs…”
“Yeah, not a chance. Ask one of the other humans.”
You don’t have the time or the patience for this shit.
“But fowty nine nu wan meanie speshow huggies! Bad fo tummeh babbehs! Nu wan!”
“Listen you filthy alleyway shitpig, I don’t-”
“SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”
An ear-piercing, blood curdling bellow erupts somewhere behind you. You turn around quickly, thinking that one of your workers may have been injured, and you see a number of people all surrounding one pen. You rush down to it.
“What’s going on!?”
“Boss! It’s nothing. It’s just-”
“NU WAN! NU WAN! NO MOWE BABBEHS! GU WAY!”
“…Sandy acting up.”
You look into the pen. There you see sandy immobilized with some cheap restraints. Oh my god. You freaked out and ran all the way down here for a tantruming shitrat. This day is shaping up to be almost as bad as yesterday.
“Huu…” Mutters the stallion. He seems pretty intimidated by the mare’s paroxysms.
“SANDY NU WAN MOWE OWWIE BABBEHS! HOOMINS NU GIF MOWE BABBEHS!”
Sandy… What was up with her again? You remember her from somewhere…
“Buh, babbehs awe bestes-” The stallion starts.
“SHADDUP DUMMEH! DIS BABBEHS AWE FOW OWWIES! HOOMINS WIWW GIF WOWSTEST OWWIES AN FOEBAH SWEEPIES TU BABBEHS! NU WAN!!!” Sandy screams.
“Scawwy…” The stallion mutters. He’s too afraid to approach.
Oh right! Sandy was Ewans favorite! Or umm, Red four’s favorite.
“Don’t worry Karl, we’ll get you a new special friend. Don’t listen to the things she’s saying. Sandy’s just a big meanie.” One of the workers says, as he takes the red and gold fluffy out of the pen.
“Go get hercules.” Dean says.
“Herc got liquidated remember?”
“What? Right. Damn, herc was really good for situations like these…”
“Should we go get Azure? He might be able to calm her down.” Another worker asks.
“No. He already saw the “you know whats”. I don’t want him knowing about e-block as well.” Dean replies.
“A smarty would be perfect right now…” Another worker, Samson says.
“Are you joking? You want to add smarty genes to the gene-pool?” You say.
“Well not the mill, just E-block. Might even increase sales.” Samson says.
“That’s… A good idea actually… Wait no, we sell the good colored ones. If we use smarty stock, we’ll leave all of them in E-block. Then again… E-block is pretty small…”
You’re conflicted. These types of meltdowns often happen when E-block fluffies come to the breeding pits, though usually not to this degree. Smarties would make this less of an issue, but they would also taint the foals. There is a genetic aspect to smartyism after all. But E-block is a small block, and it’s not like every foal is necessarily going to turn smarty… You’ll have to crunch some numbers on the profitability of E-block foals. The E-block mares might be getting smarties from now on… Maybe some of your alicorns that turn smarty…
“NU WAN BABBEHS! TAKE SANDY BACK! NU SPESHOW HUGGIES!!!” Sandy screams.
“Oh no, you’re getting “speshow huggies” shitrat. We just need to find a nice stallion for you.” Seth says. Wait, Seth? Did someone call him down here?
“NU! NU WAN! NU WAN OWWIE BABBEHS! MUNSTAH WIWW GIF WOWSTEST HUWTIES TU OWWIE BABBEHS! NU WAN! NU WAN! NU WAN! NU WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!”
“Fucking shitrat…” One of the workers mutters. You can sympathize.
“Bring that other fluffy back here. Let me talk to him. I think I can get him to do it.” You hear Seth say.
Samson goes back and brings the fluffy to him. Karl stands up in the cart. They start talking.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Yus mistah. Kawl am newest fwuffy on da’ bwockie!”
Hah. Who taught him that line?
“…You see that mare over there?” Seth says.
Karl looks warily in Sandy’s direction.
“You need to give her special huggies.”
“Buh mistah… Sandy am scawwy fwuffy… Say wots of scawwy tings bout’ owwie babbehs. Wass owwie babbeh?”
“Hahahaha. Don’t worry. Owwie babbehs aren’t real! Sandy is just a bad fluffy that says scary and mean things so that she doesn’t have to make babies, But if she doesn’t make babies for us, we cant get nummies or toys or warm places for any of the fluffies here.”
“Otay… Bud why sandy nu wan hab babbehs?”
“She’s a big meanie that doesn’t love her babbehs. She thinks they’re ugly and annoying, and doesn’t want them.”
“Sandy am weawwy mean fwuffy…”
“Yes she is. But she needs to have babbehs so that she can be a good fluffy. I need you to give her special huggies here. Even though it’s scary.” Seth says.
“Doing things you don’t want to do is what makes a fluffy a good fluffy.” You add.
Karl looks at sandy one more time.
“Otay. Kawl will gif speshow huggies.”
You take Karl back to the pen and put him in. With a nod between the three of you, Karl moves to mount sandy.
“NU! NU WAN SPESHOW HUGGIES! NU WAN BABBEHS! GU WAY!”
Karl runs up and pounces on her!
“Enf! Enf! Enf!”
“SCREEEEE! NU WAN! NU MOWE OWWIE BABBEHS! NU GIF BABBEHS! PWEEZE! PWEEZE! NU CAN HAB MOWE HEAWT HUWTIES! SANDY NU CAN HAB AWW DOSE HEAWT HUWTIES 'GAIN! PWEEZE! UHUUHUUHUUUUUU!!!”
“Enf! Enf! …Gud feews!”
“NUUUUUUUUHUUUHUUUHUUUHUUUUUUUUU! NUUUUUUUUUUUUU!!! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” Sandy bellows, utterly mortified.
“Good job Karl. You were great.” You pick him up and put him back in the cart as sandy screams.
“You were a very brave fluffy.” Seth adds.
“Fankou mistah…”
“Hmm… Tell you what. Just this one time… I’ll even give you sketties.” Seth says. He glances at you.
You nod. Whatever. Do what you want Seth.
“Gasp Weawwy!? Fankou mistah!”
A loud bellowing from behind attracts your attention.
“NU WAN BABBEHS! WHY GIF OWWIE BABBEHS!? AM GUD FWUFFY! WHY HUWT BABBEHS 'GAIN!? NU WAN! NU WAN!!! UHUUUHUUUUUUUUUU!!! WAN DIE! WAN DIE!!!”
“Heh.” Seth says.
“Mummahs shud wub babbehs…” Karl says.
“Babbehs!!! UHUUHUUUUU! Baaaaabeeeehs!!!” Sandy screams as the workers take her away.
“Ugh.” You grumble.
“Don’t worry little guy.” Seth says, a grin growing across his face. “Sandy is a very profitable mare.”
He strokes Karl’s head and looks back at Sandy. She has no traction with the floor, so she’s just rocking side to side, screaming and huuing in their grasp.
“I’m sure she’ll love these ones.”
That’s all for now. Pretty sure there’s going to be one more entry, plus two after stories, and an epilogue. Those last three will be significantly shorter than the last mainline entry. After that, it’s either back to alleycam or sunset roads, or maybe I’ll do that experimental thing that Marrakesh was supposed to be. Either way, stay tuned.
Also, let me know if you see something stupid, or that doesn’t make any sense. Or if you just liked it.
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Part 7
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Part 9
