A sharply dressed man stepped up to the podium, adjusting his tie before leaning into the mic.
“Thank you all for coming today.”
His voice boomed out over the crowd of reporters, investors, and curious hobbyists.
“The HasBio company has had its ups and downs over the last few years, but I am excited to announce a new era for biotoys.”
An assistant crossed the stage with a fabric covered box, setting it down in front of the podium.
“Presenting, the Perfect Fluffy.”
The assistant pulled the cloth off the box, revealing a standard pet carrier. A yellow hoof reached out between the bars, undoing the latch and opening the door.
A tall, horse-like creature stepped from the box, tossing it’s bright red mane as it’s solid hooves clopped on the stage.
“This is the final, finished form that the Fluffy Pony was supposed to be. The finished, finalized BioToy.” He smiled down at the tiny horse. “Go on, introduce yourself!”
“Hello! Am Linus!” The reporters gasped as the fluffy spoke, his speech almost perfect and lacking the distinct fluffy accent.
“Linus here is stronger, smarter, kinder, and cleaner than the standard fluffy.”
Linus pranced around the stage, tossing his mane proudly.
“I am open for questions.” He folded his hands on the podium, smiling widely. “You, with the glasses.”
“Hi, New London Times, I just wanted to ask what the point of this is.”
His smile faltered. “…Excuse me?”
“What’s the point? Of making a better fluffy, that is.”
“Well… uh…” he cleared his throat. “We… wanted to bring the original plans to market, to make a proper BioToy to become a part of the public’s homes.” He looked around the room, pointing out another reporter. “You.”
“How much are these going to cost?”
“Eheh…” he chuckled uncomfortably. “That’s not a number currently set in stone, but expect a three digit price tag in the future. Next?”
“MRNBC, How will current population control laws apply to the new fluffies?” a dark skinned woman stood as she spoke.
“I would assume they wouldn’t change too much.”
“So these ones would be fine to stomp in the streets like current feral fluffies?”
“Uhh…”
“No stomp Linus!!” The little horse squealed, shitting himself in fear. “Poopy lady no hurt Linus!”
“Why isn’t racism one of the problems you fixed?” Another reporter spoke up.
“I mean, I don’t think Linus-”
“You said they were cleaner but he just shit on the floor, what did you mean by that?”
The spokesman’s hands gripped the podium as if it was a life raft in a rough sea. “We clearly have some last minute problems to iron out, Linus here-”
“NU WAN’ BE IWONED!!” Linus screeched, voice slipping back into the fluffy accent. He spun on one shit covered hoof and ran off stage.
“No more questions.” The spokesman spoke quickly into the mic and ignored the crowd’s yelled questions as he scurried off stage.
Linus had tucked himself behind the curtains on the side of the stage, curled and hugging his own shit-covered ass. The spokesman grabbed him by the mane, yanking him up to eye level.
“What the FUCK was that?!”
“NU bad wow-words!!” Linus whined.
“You can’t even fucking talk right! CHRIST!” He carried Linus further backstage like a garbage bag. “We’re going to need some damage control after that.”
“Mh-hm. Yes, sir.” The assistant spoke into her phone, holding up a finger to the spokesman. “I’ll let him know.”
“Who the fuck is that?!” He threw down Linus at his feet, who hid under his hooves as he sobbed. “It had better be god himself if-”
“It was the CEO.” The assistant said calmly as she hung up.
“O-oh.” He cleared her throat. “What did he say?”
“You don’t need to worry about the clean up from this.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. Let’s get Linus back-”
“Because you’re fired.”
The spokesman froze, jaw dropped. “What?!”
“You’re fired.” She tucked her phone in her purse. “He said he’ll have someone clean out your desk and mail everything to you with your last check.”
“But… but…” he stammered to himself as she turned and left.
“Daddeh, Winus hab’ huwties…”
The spokesman’s fists curled tightly at his sides as he glared down at the heavily modified BioToy. “I’m not your fucking daddy, you fucking USELESS SHITRAT!”
“HUUUU BAD WOWDSI-”
With a wet crunch the spokesman’s polished shoe stomped through his fragile body, spraying gore up the crisp suit pants.