takes place after The fluffyhunters part three: “stylite" by whackadoo1997 - Fluffy Text Self-Posting - FluffyCommunity
Inspired by the traditional 2nd person POV fluffy stories
You, are a fluffy hunter
Your mother, was a glass tank with a mechanized enclosure on top, that kept you perfectly warm and perfectly fed at all times
Your father was a syringe full of semen that was injected into a petri dish of ova
You were grown to maturity in a vat with your brothers, and then after surgery was performed to give room for your augmentics, you were inserted in a maturation chamber
Being pumped with a chemical cocktail of hormones and anabolic steroids, you were grown to full size as a fluffy hunter.
You remember being in the maturation tank, the non-stop barrage of visual and audio data fed into your ears and eyes everyday. Your earphones and VR headset were glued to your face the entire time
Kill fluffies, destroy fluffies, eviscerate fluffies, tear fluffys limbs from limb, kill fluffy families, kill fluffy babies, kill chirpy babies, kill wingy babies, kill unicorn babies.
Everyday, all day
You remember the smell of fluffies, you remember the smell of their skin their fur their hooves their everything
All that time in the maturation tank, and you came out of it stronger, better, and ready to kill
You didn’t mind the surgeries to implant the cybernetic limbs you got.
You like them
You like how strong they make you
You like how they allow you to run fast and run far, to jump high into fight with unbridled strength
You don’t mind the backpack you have to wear when you’re working, because it helps you communicate with your brothers without thinking
You don’t even mind that you’re a brother now, every fluffy hunter is a brother now.
Your name, Is the same one on your recuperation tank. F-16
You are from the f generation.
The 6th generation of fluffy Hunters, and the second one to see service in the field .
Everyday you wake up, everyday you draw blood and bring death, and every day you are rewarded with petting, praise and food.
You are a very well behaved fluffy hunter, and your creator and father figure loves you for that.
Today, you have to attend a “pest control convention”
You understand, that it is a occasion upon which humans that are interested in killing invasive animals, gather to share their wisdom, and teach each other how to kill other animals better.
You think this is very cool. Killing animals is the express purpose for your existence.
You like killing fluffies.
You love killing fluffies
Except your little brother. he’s a good fluffy.
You kill bad fluffies.
There are a lot of humans who want to talk about killing fluffies
You feel a deep yearning and outside of your heart, an instinctive biological imperative to make friends with humans.
This sounds fun. Being around humans who want to kill fluffies like you do.
The day of the event, you are instructed to remain by the doctor’s side unless given Commands to do exactly that.
Until now.
There is a fluffy. And she’s sitting right there.
You feel your heart rate go up.
You feel your claws tense on the floor.
Your people shrink, and you’re hearing dims down as you lock into it
She’s wearing a “seeing eye fluffy” vest.
You understand what those words mean, as months of conditioning to ignore seeing eye dogs and service animals is ingrained into your head
But
You’ve never seen that on your kind of prey before.
You are confused
You are enraged
Your blood is boiling like a caldera
As the doctor is making a sales pitch, he notices your change in behavior.
“F-16, are you okay?”
You look up at Dr Vanskyock. Your creator and your father figure in life.
“Fluffy…targeted…”
Is all you can eke out, every fiber of your being is trying to stay put, without the given command to pursue.
“Ignore it boy, and that’s not a threat. Some fluffies, are not prey.”
You look up at him, You can hear your heart beating in your ears, and feel like you’re about to throw up anticipation alone.
“Dumpling isn’t a threat. He’s a good fluffy. You wouldn’t hurt him would you?”
Your heart sinks. Dumpling is your adoptive brother.
Dumpling, is a sensitive baby, he is a fluffy that is developmentally disabled and of negligible intelligence
He is a very kind, loving and beautiful individual
He sees you and your cyborg brothers, your hormone destroyed bodies and sunken eyes.
And he loves you
And he’s a good fluffy…
So if that fluffy is also a good fluffy, then hurting her is as bad as hurting dumpling…
Remorse floods over you like a deep, unyielding tsunami
You sit there, staring at her still, no longer enraged but stabilized in mood and body
You’re ever so washed over with many emotions.
Primarily, a sense of profound confusion.
There’s a lot of “good fluffies” that you aren’t supposed to hurt, but a lot and you mean a lot of “bad fluffies” that need to be killed.
Bad fluffies are bad…because they do bad things, things that are bad for people and bad for animals, things that are bad for good fluffies…or at least you presume so.
If there are good fluffies then what is the inherent reason for being good, is it The condition of being special?
No, your brother is special.
And he’s the only fluffy like him you’ve seen.
much to think about
As the sales pitch ends, the doctor pats you on the back
“Come on now boy, let’s Go hit the floor, there’s a fascinating demonstration on the other side of the hall I think you’d like to see!”
So you follow him, staying by his side as people gawk at you throughout the floor of the convention.
You don’t mind when people stand, you are used to it
You also don’t mind when people take pictures You are used to it
But you do like it when people ask if they can pet you
As mutated and pumped full of chemical stimulants and as much brainwashing as you have endured, you still like good pets.
Something deep down inside you that you cannot ignore likes being treated this way
But then again
Humans like to pet you
There is nothing much to think about with that
Humans, are very nice
Especially when you are a good hunter.
Perhaps, goodness exists because you do good things
Much to think about.
You are doctor Erik Vanskyock. Born in Næstved Denmark, your family emigrated to America in the early 1970s, and you took a career in biology, later cybertronics.
In the last decade, with the growing crisis of the fluffy, you have used your skill sets that you have acquired over an entire lifetime of prosthetic creation and cybertronics to produce the ultimate creation of your progeny
The fluffy hunter
As you walk pridefully beside your favorite of the entire batch, you take note of the multiple stands selling interesting little services and even new technology in the world of pest control
“Make your army ants deserters!”
“Rat be gone v.4.0.0!”
“Empathy traps, saves fluffies and time!”
You loudly chuckle at the empathy traps, knowing that every single person who’s ever tried to sell those to fluffy besieged businesses has failed to actually trap fluffies
You understand the mind of a fluffy
They are created to breed and produce, they have no other purpose other than devouring and reproducing
At the end of the day, it’s all about them.
It’s all about their greed. They’re inherent need to be loved and reproduce
How they will run away from home and get knocked up as quickly as they possibly can, because they want babies.
How they abandon their young when they stop being cute , when they stop being toy like to them.
You despise it
Internally, you despise many things about them
The unconditional love their showered upon by people who will soon be abandoned by their own fluffies…all squandered and ignored
You hate the misery you see in the eyes of children who lose their fluffies to accidents that could have been absolutely prevented by the fluffy itself
And you really, really fucking hate how they refuse to love their own children.
You lived through that, you hated that, and you hate every fluffy that chooses to willingly hate.
And every mare that throws her “poopies babies” to the curb, fills you with rage.
So you share that rage with your bootheel and steel toe.
You hate these pigs. They were made for one thing and one thing only. Breeding.
In the real world, animals exist for more than just that
As you approach the demonstration area for a new type of fluffy killing device, F-16 looks aroused by the commotion of it all
You hold him back on his leash, which is a stupid fucking idea as he yanks you along, and you both are pulled to the front of the line
It’s a new type of fluffy trap.
You watch as the huckster running the stand explains how it functions he has a fluffy in his hand.
“As you can see, the grav-o-matic slicer uses two parts! Gravity, and a fluffy!”
You and your fluffy hunter watch in absolute focus as he places the fluffy on the cutaway model of the trap.
It sits on top of a plastic black plate, which immediately folds inwards like a pair of saloon doors
The fluffy falls into a set of intertwined razor blade like blades, screaming and crying at the pain of it all
but as the fluffy weights down, the saloon door plate folds up, the blades cross against each other. the spring that keeps the plastic plate doors folded flat pulls the blades together
And the v-shaped blades interested, cut the fluffy into slices of squirming bloody meat.
You clap, F 16 bounces on his legs in joy of watching it happen. It’s ingenious.
The huckster is amused by this and points out your companion.
“Even the fluffy hunter loves it! Seriously though we’re brothers in arms, Love you guys’s work.”
As you watch the fluffy’s body sags into a pile of mush.
Good. Another one gone.
You speak to the huckster
“So how much mass Can the production model hold in terms of captured fluffies that have been disposed of?”
He shrugs “our largest model has a container system that can hold up to 40 cubic feet of waste, and that’s with the added extractor pipe included.”
“What’s the intended market? Domestic?”
“We’re going to try and sell these to municipalities. You can install them in alleyways and hidden spots all over your city and no one will notice, except when they do but that’s probably because they’ll be seeing them in action.
You give him your business card
"I might invoice you guys for a couple of models around our factory. Farmland around us attracts so many. Plus with the turnaround time of waking up and fully activating a fluffy hunter, if you see one fluffy by the time you’re ready to kill it it’s gone…”
“Ain’t that the truth! I’ll be waiting sir!”
Leaves, turning to another customer
You turn to your fluffy hunter
You ask him what he thinks
“I like it! It’s just like me!”
It is just like him.
A machine that is meant for only one purpose
A bit of remorse comes in with that realization but you stand by your judgement
You continue walking around, examining all of the wares for sale
“The future of termite extermination”
“Boll weevils USA”
“Mattel bioelectronics division”
Oh no
You see someone
Someone familiar
Someone who you have worked with…for the better part of twenty years.
Dr. Francis Kent, your former friend and researcher.
He in has a stand set up, from Mattel bioelectronics
God damnit.
God motherfucking dammit.
Standing beside him, is a thinly velied similacra of your work.
And my god, your blood runs cold when you see its name
“CYBERFUZZIES: by mattel bioelectronics”
“Fuzzy. Ponies. My God.”
It pissed you the fuck off seeing that name again. You remember them.
you remember the fall, and how the whole city was swept into lake Erie.
And it was all for naught, as fluffies were just as now a problem as they were back then.
You proceed to accost your former coworker, who is smugly smiling at you.
“Hello good sir, would you like to upgrade to the cyber fuzzy program?” Dr Kent coyly states, trying to stoke the fire.
“Can it Francis, what the hell is this bullshit.”
“It’s the next step up from your little Frankenstein program, Erik.”
“Where did you even get a license to breed fuzzies, that’s a clear violation of the remember Cleveland act!”
“I have clearance from the department of defense. Do you have any idea how much they’re willing to fork over because the department of agriculture has their hands all over your work.”
“We started the fluffy hunter program to fix the world, not make it worse!”
“Oh, spare me the maudlin moralism, You and I both know the only fucking reason either of us got into this racket was to make money, don’t fucking lie to me about that You sanctimonious old fart.”
“God damn it Francis this is beyond the pale of impulsive behavior with you, do you have any idea of what you’ve created???”
“Superior products, that’s what. By the end of the decade every single branch of the United States military will have cyber fuzzies working alongside men and women in the armed forces. We’ll be unstoppable.”
“…you make me sick. To think I made you my best man at my own fucking wedding!”
“Well, when you inevitably shuffle off the mortal coil tell Angela she owes me a handjob still”
“I’ll see you in hell!”
You, are F-16. You are a fluffy hunter.
You are face to face with a similar looking being.
It has metal armor like yours, but more padded. He has a mane.
Its face is fully flesh, uncovered.
The being you are face-to-face with, has iridescent blue eyes with crosses on the sclera, and alabaster white fur. Its fur, the few bits it still has, looks tufted and fuzzy.
“What are you?” You ask. You can’t identify this creature by smell or sight, and you’ve never seen anything quite like it. 1
“I’m a cybernetically enhanced fuzzy pony, or cyber fuzzy for short.”
“For you also a fluffy hunting breed?’
It snorts derisively at you
“I don’t waste my time hunting fluffies, that’s a job for your… kind.” It gestures with its hoof as though it is pushing you away.
You drop the candor and curiosity. “Is that so?”
“Why don’t you run along and go hunt some vermin then, while the real biotools get some good clients? Okay?”
It motions with its muzzle over your shoulder.
“See there’s a fluffy! Be a good little obedient slave and kill it.”
You glance over and see the fluffy wearing a seeing eye fluff vest from earlier.
“No. That’s a good fluffy. She’s helping.”
“Huh?”
The cyber fuzzy looks at you with confusion, and frustrated it’s insults don’t work
You lean in, and decide to give it one last blow to its confidence.
“If I were you, I would be worried about my armor snapping off, if I can see the plastic clips that hold your armor together…”
You reach up on your claws and flick at the clip on his neck armor
“I could snap that off in one fell swoop and go at the unprotected flesh beneath. And if that’s unprotected under it all, then all I have to do is dig underneath it from within and shred your skin off. That alone will kill.”
The Cyberfuzzy looks at you, rattled, but trying to seem important.
“You’re all talk, you don’t have the guts. I’m your superior!”
“In crassness.”
“I’LL SEE YOU IN HELL” You hear your owner Bellow. He grabs you by the back of your neck
“Come now f 16 we are leaving!”
As you walk away you clear back at the cyberfuzzy, who looks extraordinarily upset and perturbed.
“I don’t like those things.”
“Eh?” Your owner looks down at you
“That cyber fuzzy…he talks a big talk, and says some very…condescending things. “
“Does he now?”
“But I told him how I could kill him.”
“That’s my boy!” Dr Vanskyock rubs the back of your head. He likes you.
You, are dumpling.
You are a good fluffy
You go pee pee and poo poo on your potty pad.
You drink all your milk
You are a good fluffy
You love “doctor”
You love “brothers”
And lost of all, you love dancy times
You are a chubby little stallion
And you are full of love
And that’s good
You see doctor come in the room
You love doctor
He gives you bestest uppsies
He’s so good a bestest uppsies
He gives you a raspberry on your tum tum.
It tickles
You can’t stop laughing.
That really, really tickles!!!
You see your big brother
You love big brother
Doctor puts you down
Big brother smells like…like nothing. And fluff. And smells like boo boos.
You love big brother
He gives you lickie cleanies and scratches behind your ears
Holy Mary mother of God, it feels so good to get scratched behind the ears.
You get your bottle of milk, nice warm milk…
And lay down with your big brother while you drink.
You love milk. You love doctor. You love big brother.
You love them all so much.
You don’t know what life is without them.
You don’t need too
You are dumpling
And you are loved
And that’s good
You are Amanda Dominguez. You are a junior researcher at tiger cybertronics, working under Dr Eric vanskyock.
You’re taking this position while finishing up in grad school, and are coming at the end of the day to tell your superior some very good news
But as you see him sitting at his desk, he looks recalcitrant.
“Hello Mandy” he bluntly states.
“Something the matter doctor?”
He takes his glasses off and throws his brow as he rubs it
“Dr Kent. He’s working for Mattel”
“Oh”
“They have their own fluffyhunter adjacent program now”
“Oh no.”
The doctor looks you in the eyes, exhausted.
“They are using fuzzy ponies as a base for the cybernetic implants.”
Your heart drops, and you realize how fucked things might just be in the future.
You looked at the certificate in your hand, in case in a wooden frame
“What’s that?”
You hand it to him, and it reveals itself to his curious eyes to be a doctorate in cybernetic engineering
The doctor looks at you, with a small smile crossing his face
“Well then…congratulations doctor!”
“Thank you doctor, you’re the first person I wanted to know.”
You sit down beside your colleague, and take your diploma holding it tight
“Now that The gloves are off with those evil sense of bitches I want to propose to you something”
“Don’t tell me…the Geneforge project?”
Dr Kent was in the loading bay of the MBIO laboratory. As he smoked the last of a cigar, he put it out on his tongue and threw the butt on the ground, crushing it beneath his boot heel. He was tired and exhausted, and had to spend all day pretending to give a shit about what a bunch of wealthy cocksucker strangers had to talk about, what a snooze.
As he turned around he saw his companion from the security convention approaching him, a single cyber fuzzy.
“Doctor, May I speak with you?”
“The fuck you want.” His abrupt and curt expression shocked the cyber fuzzy ever so slightly but it proceeded to continue being it’s usual smarmy self. “Doctor, earlier at the convention I could not help but notice that You were having a most heated discussion with the representative from tiger cyber-” “That’s none of your fucking business.” It tried to maintain its air of dignity “I mean, as you were having that conversation I spoke with his fluffy hunter, and I must say that-” The doctor looked at the cyber fuzzy and shot at a glare and had never seen a human being muster before. “GET TO THE POINT.” Now it had its tail between its legs, and it was not predicting any confidence at all. “I tried to taunt it and explain how I’m stronger, and better than it, just like you say we are…put all the Dido tell me how exactly it would kill me, and I’ve been thinking about that ever since then, and I’m afraid that if we ever fight them I’m going to die”
Dr. Kent stared at it dumbfounded, and then let out a small giggle, which turned into a turtle which turned into him laughing with his full chest. The cyber fuzzy laughed slightly as well. “OF COURSE YOU’RE GOING TO DIE, YOU’RE DISPOSABLE DUMBASS!” “no we’re not! You said we’re the next generation of biotools! You said-” the doctor produced a collapsible baton from his coat pocket and with breakneck speed, cracked it across the cyberfuzzies face, giving it a black eye. “Don’t tell me what I have and have not said, cyborg. You open your mouth one more time and I’m having you killed." The rapid flurry of blows came again, the smug and confident demeanor that had been programmed into the fuzzy pony was dead. It was down blank and expressionless as an unmarked chalkboard. Blank. “You were made to be a smarmy, smooth talking public display model. And I’m not taking shit from you.”
“So you listen you listen good you son of a bitch, if you ever come on ever tell me about superiority one more goddamn time, I will fucking rip your cables out with my bare hands and force you to watch. I am not going to be talked to by my own creations as though I have no idea how they work. He cracked it across the face once more, giving it an eight-ball fracture. It’s I welled up with blackish red blood. It was stammering. “I’m…sorry…sir…” “you should be. HEY YOU, TAKE THIS ONE TO THE TRAINING ROOM IT’S BUSTED.” A worker came over and took a tool off the wall, snapping it around the back of the cyber fuzzy’s neck, he whisked it away from the loading dock. The death March to the training room was a half mile jaunt. A death March for the broken fuzzy. His spirit died. He was pushed through the door to it, and it slammed behind him like a jailhouse door.
He did nothing. As he sat on the entryway, he did nothing. Then came the buzzer. A loud shot clock buzzer sounded out, and the empty room gave way to three doors opening on the opposite end. A group of cyber fuzzies came out, their polished armor-ready and there devious grins twisted across their faces. They knew the rules. Broken fuzzys get disposed of.
With a flurry of hooves, bites and kicks it was soon on the floor, and as they went ham on it came out, clad in armor panels were torn off, it’s skull was caved in, and parts of its body began to snap apart, joints shattering, augmentics snapping off. Until nothing remained a bit but a frothy red puddle with alabaster White fur, and brushed aluminum paneling all over it. It was a display model. Unlike it’s bloodthirsty clone siblings.