With a buzz the coffee machine dropped a paper cup onto the little collection spot and started loudly filling it with your latte. Coffee was not normally your preferred stimulant, but after a certain somebitch finding out about your pills you weren’t going to be taking any risks. The vending machine didn’t sell any energy drinks, so the sweetest and most cream filled drink the coffee machine could make would have to do. It finished filling and made a small ding to let you know it was done. The fancy coffee machine was one of the best perks this wing had, it could make just about anything for you in seconds, even a double shot double caff cappuccino with whipped cream and hazelnut brittle. You grabbed it and threw two of the tiny mixing straws into it.
Plopping down heavily into one of the chairs you pulled out your phone. It was so nice to have actual breaks. You got a full thirty minute lunch here, with an extra fifteen to yourself every three hours. At first it made you even more tired than usual, but you seemed to have worked through the backlog of exhaustion from the long shifts in the other parts of the hospital. A good break reading trashy listicles would suit you nicely before you got back to reminding fluffies to make good poopies and to play nicely.
Sometimes you missed the main floors, but you would remind yourself you just missed being able to say “fuck”. You missed action and excitement, you did not miss the constant stress and yelling. You missed the satisfaction of a life saved, you did not miss the disappointment of watching a pair of terrified eyes go dark.
“Hey, Mary.” Walters stuck his head into the breakroom.
“What’s up?”
“Can you do me a favor? Dr. Jackson asked me to bring her some stuff from her printer, but I can’t step away from the residents right now. She’s in room twenty-three, in the back.” He set a few printed sheets on the table, you saw a white and yellow fluffy smiling at you from the front page.
You stood, putting your phone back in your pocket. “Why can’t you do it? I’m on break.”
He sighed heavily. “Something’s up, Nugget has been really quiet and I think he’s-”
As if on cue, Richard’s voice called into the hallway. “DEWE AM SUM FUCKED UP SHIT HAPPENIN’ IN HEWE!!!”
Walters ducked back into the resident room and you got up to follow him, tucking the papers under your arm. As you passed by you saw him wrestling Nugget out of Ella’s mouth. You scooted past, happy to not have to deal with that. Primrose was enough of a handful, she asked about her special friend multiple times a day and it was getting hard to come up with new reasons you couldn’t tell her about him.
You walked down the hallways of the psych wing, peeking into the treatment rooms as you went by. They got more plain the further you went back, until you were looking into dark rooms lined with kennels on either wall. You were told these were for smarties and other aggressive fluffies. Davis had explained that they used a reward system, good behavior would net the fluffies better living conditions. It seemed to work well, you’d seen Victor playing with the dark green smarty you caught the other day, he was giggling and smiling like nothing had ever happened.
“Seventeen… eighteen… nineteen…” You counted off the doors as you went by. The hall stopped at room number nineteen, ending with heavy double doors like the ones that lead into the ER. It made logical sense that room twenty-three would be past them, and you pressed your badge against the scanner on the wall. You started to plan out your return after it rejected you, you would bring the files back to Walters and cover for him while he did it. You glanced down at the pile of papers, as far as you could tell they were just candid shots of fluffies playing, being happy. A somewhat strange thing for someone to need so urgently.
To your surprise, the door gave a friendly chime and a loud click as it unlocked. You pushed it open, feeling silly. You had been given permission to go through these doors, this wasn’t like your escapades in the ICU.
The back treatment rooms lacked the friendly architecture of the main ward, the colorful walls and tiles instead being in the standard white and grey of the rest of the hospital. The calming music was muffled and the heavy lavender scent was replaced with the familiar chemical cleaners you had dealt with before. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the wing, much more clinical and sterile. A strange contrast. You were under the impression that the ward was designed to be far more friendly looking to fluffies to put them at ease, here even you felt a strange pit forming in your belly.
A muffled scream startled you, and you turned to the door labeled twenty three. There were no windows here to peek in, and the doors were much closer together. Could the screams be coming from inside? Was everything okay? The door knob turned freely, unblocked.
“Is everything okay… ma’am?”
You froze in the doorway. In the center of the tiny room, strapped to an X-shaped structure made of heavily stained wood was the green smarty you grabbed from the hallway. His hooves were pinned to the spreader with metal brackets screwed into the wood and he stared at you with wild, bloodshot eyes. The room stank of fluffy waste, fear, and strong coffee.
“Hm?” Dr. Jackson turned to look at you, holding a brown and white coffee mug over a tiny matching saucer. “Oh, hello LaRue. I take it that Walters was busy?”
“…Yes.” You couldn’t look away from the fluffy spread before you. The fluff around his hooves was stained dark, blood leaking from the raw skin under the brackets.
“Did you bring what I asked for?” She set the mug down with a gentle clink and the smarty flinched, a low whimper escaping his lips.
Wordlessly you extended the papers to her. This was a torture dungeon, as she took and flipped through the pages you took in the various tools hanging on various hooks and shelves around the room. Next to you were a selection of hammers ranging from the sleek stainless steel ones you had seen in operating rooms to a rusty claw hammer with a yellowed plastic handle. The wall behind Dr. Jackson was mostly power tools, drills and saws and other things you had no name for all plugged into a large power strip near the floor. Most of the tools were clearly well loved, and seemed rarely cleaned by the brownish red splatters covering most of them. A few even had traces of colorful fluff still sticking to them, pinks and yellows and blues all mixing together.
“Do you recognize this fluffy, Alder?” Dr. Jackson held out the photo of the white and yellow fluffy, her voice calm. “Do you remember what happened to her?”
The green fluffy, Alder, began to shake at the sight. “Nu… Awdew nu knu…”
“Oh, I think you do.” She set the photo down on the table, just in front of the pile of shit splattered below him.
“Nu! Awdew nu knu dummeh fwu-” He caught himself, sharply biting down on his tongue.
“Oh, you remember this ‘dummy fluffy’.” She picked up her ornate mug once again, savoring the last sip. “I’m happy to have another cup, if you need time to remember.”
“NU NU NU PWEASE NU NU MOWE CUPPIES NU NU-” Alder exploded, spittle flying from his mouth and hooves straining at their bounds.
Dr. Jackson shoved a black rubber gag into the flailing fluffies mouth. “Shhh… None of that.” She turned back from the fluffy and noticed you still standing in the doorway. “… Can I help you?”
“Uh, do you… need anything else… ma’am?” You stammered.
She evaluated you for a moment, then gave a wry smile. “I would appreciate my kettle refilled.” She gestured to a silver electric kettle sitting next to a pile of ornate mugs.
“Yes ma’am…” Your hands shook as you took the kettle off its base, you bit your lip as you silently begged them to be still.
“There’s a bathroom three doors down.” She waved you off, flipping through the rest of the papers.
As if on autopilot you marched to the bathroom, holding the kettle with both hands as if it was one of your patients. What you saw wasn’t treatment. It couldn’t be. You had been told, over and over, that any form of abuse was grounds to be immediately terminated if not prosecuted. Did Dr. Jackson have a secret abuse haven hidden in these back rooms? How long had she been doing this? How did she set up that entire room without getting caught? Who all knew of this, if anyone? You weren’t given a protocol to report abuse, just warned that anyone who even lightly mistreated a fluffy with intent to harm would be quickly removed. How could this possibly go unnoticed.
You felt water splash over you and jumped back as the kettle overflowed. You turned off the water, stepping back from the sink. You would have to tell someone. This was beyond your pay grade, beyond your rank. Someone above you would handle this. Victor if you could get a moment with him, Davis if not. You took a deep breath, looking your reflection in the eyes. You smoothed your hair back, pulling your bangs out of your face. You were okay. You were calm. You were collected and not bothered by any of this. You dumped out the excess water from the kettle and gave yourself one last look over before marching back out into the hallway. You were cool, collected. These things didn’t bother you. As far as you were going to outwardly express, this was a perfectly normal part of the job.
You pulled open the door, Alder’s head shot up to stare at you with pleading eyes. “Your water, ma’am.”
“Thank you, set it on the base for me, please.” She started spooning finely ground coffee into the kettle directly, setting a green and yellow ornate mug on a matching saucer in front of it. Clean mugs and their matching saucers sat stacked on one side of the kettle, on the other side three more cups sat with a gritty black residue on the bottom and sides.
She turned back to Alder, tapping a finger against the table. “Why don’t we get started while we wait for the water, hm?” Alder began to flail again, straining against his bounds so strongly you were sure that he would break something. “LaRue, would you hold the photos up for me?”
You took the papers from her, holding up the first picture of the white and yellow mare. You bit your lip as she carefully selected an electric drill from the wall, giving it a few test pulses. She slowly brought the drill over to the hyperventilating fluffy, slightly squeezing the trigger to make the wide bit turn slowly. Alder’s eyes grew wider and more bloodshot as the drill approached him, trembling.
“You are a bad fluffy. You beat poor Daffodil, didn’t you?” She asked.
Alder shook his head aggressively, foamy spittle flying from the corners of his mouth.
“Incorrect.” Dr. Jackson revved up the drill, pressing the side of it against his hip. Green fluff flew into the air as Alder screamed around his gag, the drill grinding away at tender skin. After a moment she pulled back and the fluffy fell limply against the bounds.
“Next page, please.” You obediently flipped to the next one, a picture of a rather handsome brown unicorn chasing after a butterfly. “You killed your brother, didn’t you? You just couldn’t handle having an ugly fluffy in your herd.”
Again Alder shook his head, and again the drill revved up. She pressed it against his ribs firmly, not allowing him to wriggle away as his flesh was scraped away. She held it to him just long enough to create an angry red scrape, not long enough to draw more than a few small smears of blood.
“You can stop this at any time.” Dr. Jackson stated. “You only need confess to your misdeeds and this will end.” Alder looked at her with wild, terrified eyes. She smiled as the kettle clicked. “Ah, a small break then.” She poured the coffee out into the green cup, stirring it gently with a small silver spoon. She tapped it against the edge of the cup, Alder flinching visibly with every tap.
Your lip was bleeding from how hard you were biting it. You didn’t like fluffies on the best of days but this was too far. Murder was bad, yes, but this was torture. Inhumane, unethical, beyond unacceptable and completely against everything the hospital stood for.
“Alright, let’s see if you’re ready to confess yet.” Dr. Jackson set her cup and saucer down next to the kettle and pulled the gag from the fluffies mouth. “Anything to say, Alder?”
“… Nu.” He muttered, staring intently at the picture you held.
“Hm. Alright. Next page please, LaRue.”
You flipped the page to a picture of a group of terrified foals huddled in a cardboard carrying box. Alder gasped at the sight.
“Babbehs! Wai babbehs su scawdie?!” He began to struggle again.
“They were scared of you, Alder. They were scared of what you did to them.”
“AWDEW NU DU! AM GUUD DADDEH! GUUD BWUDDAH! AM GUUD- SCREEEEEEEEE” His shouts were cut off by the side of the drill pressing against his inner thigh.
“You hurt them.” She said firmly, pulling the drill back. “You pressed each one of them down one by one and gave them ‘enfies’, as you would call it.”
“…nu… nu…” He panted, eyes locked on the terrified foals.
“You did. You killed every single one of them.”
“Awdew… nu du…” tears began to leak down his cheeks, landing in the filth piled below him.
“Well, if you won’t admit to it you’ll never get better.” She revved up the drill again. “Guess we’ll have to stop you another way.”
Painfully slowly she lifted the running drill towards his crotch, giving Alder time to truly take in what was going to happen to his most precious parts. He flailed, pulling at the brackets on his hooves, stretched his neck to try to bite them, tried to pull his hips up and away from the drill but got nowhere with any attempt.
Finally his eyes locked on you, and he pleaded for mercy. “PWEASE TEWW MUNSTAH WADY AM GUUD FWUFFY PWEASE PWEASE WIWW DU ANYTING PWEASE NICE WADY!”
You looked away.
There was a moment more of the drill running, and then he finally broke. “AM BAD FWUFFY AM DU BAD TINGS PWEASE PWEASE NU HUWT!!”
The drill slowed. “What did you do, Alder?” Dr. Jackson spoke in a measured, even tone.
“Awdew… huwt spechow fwend… k-k-kiww bwuddah…”
“And the foals?”
“Awdew am… wowstest daddeh. Gib babbehs foebah sweepies…”
“Oh, thats not all you did to them, Alder.” The drill sped up again.
“GIB WOWSTEST ENFIES AWDEW AM WOWSTEST FWUFFY AM BAD BAD FWUFFY PWEASE NU HUWT!!”
The drill stopped. You finally looked up to see Dr. Jackson set it on the table in front of him. “There we go. You made good progress today, Alder. A shame, though. I could go for another cup.”
There was a sharp intake of air from Alder, then he started sobbing quietly.
“You may go, LaRue. Thank you for your assistance.” Dr. Jackson waved you off, picking up what remained of her coffee.
“Of course, ma’am.” You set the papers down on the table, Alder locking eyes with his terrified foals once again. You couldn’t look at Dr. Jackson as you left for fear she could see the disgust in your eyes. You kept your pace careful and measured as you left right up until the door to room twenty three clicked shut behind you. Then you were running. The sterile chemical scents burning your nose as you hurried to the doors that would take you back to the safety of the regular ward. The doors were only locked in one direction, and you burst through them with more force than you meant to.
The scent of lavender and soft lullabies filled your senses, though more fake feeling than they ever did before. A strong scent to cover the fear and blood that hung in the air of those back rooms, lullabies to cover the screams of the damned. It seemed so designed, so intentional, as if this place was specifically planned to hide-
No. You ran your fingers through your hair, back pressing against the door. This was not the way the hospital ran. You knew that, you’d seen the care the doctors gave, how gently Victor and Davis handled their patients. You would tell someone, there had to be a way to report this.
“You okay?” You were snapped from your thoughts by Walters’ voice calling down the hall. He looked you over, concerned.
You opened your mouth to tell him what you saw. The torture, the misery, the complete disreguard Dr. Jackson had for any sort of policy or humane methods. But he was the one to send you down there. He could know. He must know, If Dr. Jackson was expecting him.
“Yeah, fine. Just a little dehydrated is all.” You steeled yourself, shoving the panic down into the growing pit in your belly. He must be in on it as well.
“Oh… well I’m about to go on break myself if you want to talk-”
“I’m good.” You cut him off as you walked past. “I just need a little space, alright?”
“…Alright.” You did feel bad for snapping at him, but you needed to figure out your next plans. Someone needed to know. You would report this, and then everything would be okay. It would be extra work for everyone to undo the trauma she had caused, sure, but it was the right thing to do.
“What a good drawing!” The artificial smiles had gotten easier and easier to plaster on your face the longer you worked here. Even with the events of earlier in the day you were able to put on an act for Primrose and help her complete some coloring sheets. Davis had mentioned the day before that keeping an eye on her drawings was essential to assessing her mental state as well as motor function.
“Can Mawy put up on waww?” She held out the paper to you, a vague rendition of a pink fluffy in a green field, and you taped it to the wall with her other ones.
“You know, we’re going to run out of room soon at this rate.”
“Nu mowe cowow?!” Primrose gasped.
“No, no, you can color all you want! Sorry, I just meant we might have to take down some of the older ones.”
“Oh, guud. Pwimwose wub cowow.”
“Knock knock!” Victor called from the doorway. “Can I borrow you, Mary?”
Perfect. You were hoping to find a moment with him after your shift, but this would do. “Course!”
“Sorry to steal her, Primrose! I’ll bring you a treat later to make up for it.” He gestured for you to follow him, you waved at her as you left.
“How’s it been going, Mary?” He asked, leading you down the hall.
Where do you even begin with that? “It’s been… an adjustment.”
“Oh I’m sure.” He pushed open the door to his office, gesturing to one of the plush chairs in the room. “Have a seat. You’re not in any trouble, I promise.”
Standing on one side of the desk Davis gave you a small wave, Dr. Jackson sat in another one of the chairs with her arms crossed. You slowly took your seat, the pit in your stomach growing anew.
“So,” Victor took his seat behind the desk. “You saw something today, something you didn’t expect, am I right?”
You nodded slowly.
“I apologize, Mary.” Dr. Jackson spoke. “I assumed they had had this discussion with you previously.”
“… What discussion?” You asked, throat dry.
“We know about your… side hobby.” Davis said, smiling pleasantly. “It’s not an issue, everyone gets sloppy sometimes.”
… Your pills??? Fucking Maryam, she must have ratted you out. You didn’t know what that had to do with witnessing Alder’s “treatment” in the back room, however. Some sort of blackmail, maybe?
“Now you’ve seen plenty of things here you weren’t supposed to, right?” Davis continued. “You kept them to yourself. We’ll keep what you’ve done to past patients to ourselves.”
Okay, not the pills then. You wracked your brain, trying to figure out what you could have done to a fluffy to warrant this. As far as you remembered everything you did was good, perfect even. You felt like had you fucked up in some way someone would have told you before now.
“This ward doesn’t always work the way most of the huggiefags assume.” Dr. Jackson said.
“Language, Heidi.” Victor chided.
She threw her hands in the air. “You know what I mean. We don’t do things the “humane” way.” She put heavy air quotes around the word, rolling her eyes.
“That’s… fine,” you managed to spit out, “whatever gets results.” They were all in on it. Your head was spinning and you struggled to maintain your calm presentation. This was not a one off thing. This was how the ward operated. Possibly the whole hospital.
“Exactly!” Davis said excitedly. “I knew you’d be a great fit!”
“We’ve taken care of any evidence of mistreatment to Urbi and the others. Please be a bit more careful in the future, okay?” Victor smiled at you warmly.
“… Will do.” Urbi, the brown mare you cared for in training. You didn’t do anything with her that you weren’t fully supervised for, not even when you saw her on your night shift. What happened to her?
“Why don’t you take off early today, hm?” Davis asked. “I can care for Primrose tonight, especially if you’re going to be having a more involved part in her care!”
“Thank you, sir.”
“No no! Davis, remember?” He scolded you gently, giving you a toothy grin. “We’re all friends here.”
“Right. Thank you.” You forced a smile in return, standing up from the chair. “I’ll be in early tomorrow, I assume?”
“That would be great! I’ll get your security upgraded as well, always exciting when I get to do that!” Davis clapped his hands together.
“Welcome to the team, Mary. Properly this time.” Victor gave you a firm handshake. “We’re very excited to have you.”
“Excited to be here.” You gave them what you hoped was a sincere smile and turned to leave. You didn’t know what to do with this. The hospital prided itself on its humane treatment, often praised for treating fluffies as effectively and gently as a normal hospital would treat humans. They took it strays and ferals, had payment plans for those who couldn’t pay for their fluffies treatment. You even had multiple classes on fluffy bedside manor! Was it all a farce? There were many closed doors in the building, was this happening behind every one of them?
As you stepped into the hall you saw Walters leaning out. Your lip curled in disgust seeing him. He put on such an act of caring about the permanent residents just to hand them over to these monsters. Seeing your face he ducked back into the room. Good, you thought. Stay the fuck away from me. Though… were you really any better than him?
