(AUTHORS NOTE: Meant to call the last section part 13 section 1 but accidentally did chapter 13 part 1, so now it looks really fuckin dumb and out of place compared to every other section. I guess 13 really IS unlucky. Also if abuseprotag seems more angry and pottymouthed, thats intentional)
You stumble home. You can still hear Fireball a block away, crying to himself. “N-nu weave Fiwebaww hewe! Fiwebaww nu wan fowebah sweepies! Hewp! Huu huu huu!” You hope the little shitbag lives forever. You keep thinking about the last thing he said to you. “D-daddeh hab head sickies, nee see doctah tu make bettah”
What the hell could head sickies mean? You’ve (as much as it pains you to admit) gotten a bit of a grasp of the fluffy language, but you’ve never heard any of them say that. It doesn’t matter. Who cares what one of these fucking things has to say? It probably can’t even comprehend the meaning behind it’s words.
You aren’t going home yet. You have about 20 dollars in singles, more than enough to buy some fun. Foal in a can. A quick, cheap birthday gift for any child you know and hate. For the first days of its life, it knows nothing but solitude and loneliness. These social creatures, things made for the express purpose of loving and being loved, restricted to a tiny can for some of its most crucial developmental years.
And yet, you’ve heard that they always turn out incredibly loving and friendly. Of course, that’s when they end up in good hands. Hands like yours… well they aren’t nearly as happy. You imagine that people like you are the primary consumer of this odd product. But who cares what happens to these things, they’re biotoys, you can do whatever you want to them, they aren’t protected by the law. Just because it’s within the bounds of the law doesn’t make it moral, or right.
You arrive at the vending machines nearby. Soda machines, candy machines, and then fluffy machines. One of these things is not like the other. You decide to get 5 of them. Each one is 4 dollars, so there goes your 20 dollars. But the enjoyment will far outweigh the monetary value. Thank god these machines have a bulk buy function. “Surprise me” you say, hitting the “Random” button. You don’t have time to select individual fluffies. As long as they aren’t dead.
ka-THUNK, ka-THUNK, ka-THUNK, ka-THUNK, ka-THUNK
whirr
ka-THUNK
You open the receptacle, and pull out 5 cans, each one with an actual living, breathing creature inside. All of them are so young, couldn’t be more than like, two days old. You look inside the receptacle, and notice a 6th can. Empty. What the hell? It’s still factory sealed, and hasn’t been tampered with in any way. Well, might as well keep it. Could be an interesting thing to keep on display. “Hasbio fuck up number 392134: Empty Can”
You walk home, probably looking like a complete asshole, walking down the street at dusk with 6 cans of living shit factories in tow, but who cares. Walking in to your house, you place the 5 cans that aren’t EMPTY on your desk, opting to keep the empty one on a shelf in the living room. You don’t know why you’re so irrationally angry about the can being empty. You didn’t even pay for it.
“Because a company like Hasbio, or whoever the fuck makes these goddamn cans, should be smart enough not to fuck up! They should KNOW BETTER.” you say, getting up close to one of the foal cans, a dull purple earthie. It peeps and backs away from you, quickly bumping into the other side of the jar and falling down. It’s eyes are still shut, so of course it probably doesn’t even know how small its world is.
“I hope you enjoy that can, cause I’m not opening it.” The foal cheeps and peeps when you say this, as if it can feel the malice behind your words. You look over the other four. A dark green unicorn, a light blue pegasus, a white earthie, and a gaudy, disgusting fucking yellow unicorn, probably born TODAY, even. God, you hate the color yellow. So goddamn bright. You grab the yellow foal can. It’s suckling on the teat that’s attached to the inside.
“Yeah, we aren’t having that.” You say, as you pop open the top. The foal instantly starts peeping and cheeping. You grab onto him, and gently pull him out. With a little pop, the weird tubes going the waste areas come off and out, causing the foal to immediately start cheeping and peeping in discomfort.
“Hey, that could have gone a lot worse.” you say, laughing. You put the little bastard down on your workbench, also known as a desk that you converted into a “tinkering table” of sorts. You grab a roll of scotch tape, and proceed to tape down his legs with thin strips. He peeps and chirps and cheeps and pirps as you do this.
“You should save your energy, Fluffy. That’s gonna be your name, because you aren’t interesting enough for an interesting name.” You wonder if they remember names this early on in their lives? Doesn’t matter, cause what you’re saying to him is obviously distressing him. He tries to get away, managing to screw up your tape job in the process. peep! cheep!
“Dammit, stop moving around you little bastard!” you say, poking his nose slightly. peep! peep! chirp! You reach over, grabbing a box cutter that looks like it hasn’t been used once. Granted, it really hadn’t been used, but still, a very nice looking box cutter. You grab the tube of “Instaheal gel” and place it close by. The people of the world can come together and create a gel that can rapidly heal wounds, but are too dumb and greedy to make it work on anything but a children’s toy.
“I hope you remember this forever.” You say, preparing to cut the foals legs off. “You didn’t do anything to deserve this, I hope you know that.” The foal lets out a little peep? of confusion.
PEEP! CHIRP! PEEP!
One leg down, very easy. You slather some of the instaheal gel on the fresh stump, and move on to the next leg. “Man, thank god for the no numbing agent instaheal gel, huh little buddy?” The foal is peeping and chirping, shitting himself a little. “Don’t worry, it’s only gonna get worse.”
You slice off the second leg, then the third, then the fourth. The entire time he’s peeping and chirping in complete anguish, gasping for air between cheeps. The only thing this thing knows is pain, and yet, it still tries to suckle on your finger. You jerk away from it, and it peeps and chirps in a slightly sad way. You place it back in the can, allowing it to suckle on the teat. Too bad these things aren’t resealable. Not that it matters, it’s not like he’s gonna be going anywhere.
You grab the dark green unicorn can. “I hate you the least, so I’m just gonna do something I’ve wanted to try out.” You give the can a big shake, causing the foal to tumble around inside. peep! cheep! Still fine. Another shake chirp! peep! A bit of blood, must have hit the side of the can. You give a can a few more vigorous shakes.
pop!
peep! chirp! cheep!
You look in the can, and notice that the tubes that take care of the waste have popped out. Shit and blood now pools at the bottom of the can. You shrug, and shake the can for a good minute.
peep. chirrr.
Well, it looks like its finally dying. You toss the can into the garbage next to you. You decide to leave the other ones for tomorrow, because you wanna go check on the runaway you have in the basement. You flip the white earthie so that the rubber teat is facing the sky.
peep! peep! chirp!
It tries to climb up the can, only succeeding in sliding down and landing face first in the piss pad. chirrr… “Well, I’ll take care of the rest of you later. I have a family to check on.”
You head into the basement with a large bowl of microwaved spaghetti. “I return, and I come bearing gifts!” They all jump up and run towards you, except for the smarty, who’s simply lying inside one of the crates. “Now, before I give you this, I need to talk to the mother alone.”
You pick her up and take her into a separate room. “You haven’t been doing a very good job as a mother.” She looks at you, shocked. “Wha? Buh, buh mummah wub aww babbehs, an’ make suwe dey aww happeh!” You shake your head. “Yeah, but mothers are supposed to have a favorite, and the poopie babies should only be for ‘lickie cleanies’. Maybe you can give them stuff as a reward, but for the most part you aren’t supposed to be nice to them.” You can see the cogs moving inside her tiny, stupid head.
“Su, Swippy be meanie tu poopie babbehs, an wub bestest babbeh?” You shake your head. “You won’t be being mean to the poopies, you’ll be showing them their place. And you only pick one best baby, and the rest can eat after that one.” She nods. “Swippy undastan! Mummah Swippy wiww be bestest mummah!” You scratch behind her ear. “Do good, and I’ll give you plenty of rewards. But if you don’t do as your told, that will make you a BAD fluffy.” She cringes at this last line. “S-Swippy wiww be guud mummah! Pwomise!” You smile and give her another scratch behind the ears.
“I hope you’re having fun playing the mummah game.” She nods. “Wub pwaying mummah game!” There we go, it just took some coaxing, but now things should be interesting. This doesn’t prove they’re terrible, you know. It just proves that they’re gullible.
“Stop talking to me, leave me alone!” The mother looks at you. “Wha? Swippy nu say nuting!” You look back at her, open the door, and set her down. “Uh, don’t worry about it. I think it’s time you ate. And remember what daddy said! You don’t want to be a BAD fluffy, do you?” She cringes again. “Swippy wiww be guud fwuffy, Swippy pwomise!”
The fluffies all come over to the spaghetti. Well, the ones that can eat solid foods at least. The smarty limps over, and sniffs the air nearby. “N-nummies?” He and the child that look exactly like him walk over to the bowl, but the mother stands in the way, pushing the child down. “Nu! Bestes’ nummies onwy fo’ bestest mummah tu make bestest miwkies, an’ bestest babbeh!”
The baby looks to its mom, then to the smarty and little clone. “Dat’s wight! Bestes’ nummies nu fo dummeh, nu wumpie fwuffy an’ dummeh babbeh!” The smarty looks at them, heartbroken. “B-buh, fwuffy wan sketties, an babbeh nee’ sketties tu! Pwease shawe?” You did give them a very large bowl of it, so they should be able to share easily.
“Nu! Dummeh fwuffies can num kibbwe! Bestes’ skettie nummies fo’ bestest mummah an bestest babbeh!” The brown walking talking foal and an aquamarine pegasus foal start talking now. “Can fwuffies hab nummies tu?”
“Pwetty bwu-gween babbeh can hab nummies aftah mummah an’ bestest babbeh, bu’ NU sketties fo’ poopie babbeh! Poopie babbeh can num kibbwe wif dummehs! Or num poopies of bestest babbeh an’ mummah! Gib wickie cweanies!” Goddamn, this went better than you expected. Was really easy to corrupt them. That doesn’t reflect on their nature, that just reflects on your nature.
“Gu way, poopie dummeh babbeh, o mummah an bestest babbeh gib wowstest sowwy poopies!” You grin. “Hey, uh, Slippy, you know you still have some poopie chirpy babies on your back, right?” She looks behind her, and almost shits herself in surprise.
“Scree! Poopie babbehs nu take wawm fwuff fwum pwetty babbehs!” She pulls them off and puts them in a pile of blankets near the litterbox. “Dis whewe dummeh poopie babbehs sweep nao. Dummeh nu wumpie smawty fwuffy an’ dummeh babbeh sweep dewe tu!”
“N-nu wan sweep neaw poopies! Nu wan sweep wif poopie babbehs! Wan sweep wif bestes’ speciaw fwien!” After all this, he still loves her. “Dummeh nu wumpie fwuffy, daddeh wiww gib wowstest huwties if yu no sweep wif dummeh poopies!” He looks up at you, and you just smile down at him in response.
“O-otay, wiww sweep wif poopie babbehs an’ wittabocks, jus’ pwease nu mowe huwties…” You smile. “That was perfect Slippy! You did even better than I expected!” Slippy smiles up at you.
“Weawwy? Swippy am good mummah? Swippy am g-good fwuffy?” You kneel down and give her some more scratches behind the ears. “You’re the BEST fluffy.” She grins from ear to ear, then turns around. “Dummeh poopie babbeh, gu wif dummeh poopie bwuddah an’ sissy!” The brown foal looks like it’s about to die of heartbreak. It walks over to the blankets and joins the fluffpile. The smarty looks slightly irritated, but then he just loses the will to fight and rests his head on the fluffy.
Slippy and her little clone dig in to the spaghetti. “Remember Slippy, you and your best baby can eat as much as you want!” She smiles, and they chow down. There’s not a ton left, but enough for a rather large meal for the aquamarine foal. The fluffpile by the litterbox looks on with envy and sadness. This just got a whole lot more fun! Finally, these things are acting like they’re supposed to!
This doesn’t prove anything, you know. All it does is show that you have way too much time on your hands. Why can’t you just beat these things and be done with it, like a normal abuser? You shake your head. “No, they just needed help to show their true colors. This is exactly how the were supposed to be!” Then why is it that this is the only group you’ve met that acts this way? Why is it that the only ones that fit your criteria are the ones you manipulated?
“I know that I’m right. You just don’t want to admit that I’m right.”
