takes place after part one: " The fluffyHunters" part one: “showtime” - By whackadoo1997 - Fluffy Text Self-Posting - FluffyCommunity
In the once lovely and picturesque Susquehanna State Park, visitors could enjoy walks along the trails and see songbirds, native wildlife and deer running around, and even if they were lucky, hike up to catch a glimpse of the waterfall that cut through the small valley that snaked its way through the park. For generations, it was an isolated little slice of the garden of Eden. Then came the fluffies.
The butterfly garden that delighted children and adults was devoured in a single season, perennial plants that had sprouted since parks opening in 1932 were gone forever. The shelters that were home too many birthdays, family get togethers and picnics had been polluted with feces and litter, even the placid little duck and now was stagnant, filled with the rotted corpses of dead and drowned bowl fluffies who got too close to the now defunct floating fountain that sat in the middle of the pond. It wasn’t even worth gawking at. Trash cans were merely all left waiting to be toppled and raided. There was no escape. The park staff were ready to quit until the day came that the fluffyhunters arrived…
Barry was a good fluffy. He was obedient, he used his litterbox, he even didn’t beg for sketti’s. But when a single feral mare crossed his line of sight he ran away from from home and fucked her raw like a rebid wolverine. Then it was off to join her flea-bitten herd, leaving his comfortable idyllic life all because of his hasbio-engineered instincts to sire as much offspring as he possibly could. Barry, like all fluffies, was a product made to serve one purpose. Reproduce. Make more products. Ad infinitum ad Astra ad nauseum.
Barry was out gathering food for his mare, wandering the forest and trails for anything that had not been picked over, or left in waste. He was making his way along the single one way gravel road when a box truck began rumbling towards him. He jumped to the side, and immediately he saw a gigantic wave of mud and liquidy clay water from a puddle on the road. His lustrous orange fur was now a chalky grey color. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair at all. He wept as he walked up the road, and eventually came to a trash can. It was overflowing with refuse but there was only one bit of food left, a small and semi-devoured package of Cheetos sat there. The rain had moistened some of them but all of them. a Because it was so lightweight he easily grabbed it in his mouth, and dutifully walked back to the shelter by the duck pond. It was a quarter mile walk. Not very far for a human. A marathon for a fluffy.
As he made his way down the road, he heard screaming and crying, the unmistakable sound of fluffies in terror. He deep down felt an instinctive sense of devotion to aid the wounded, to hug them and make them feel better. He was forced to do so. As he bolted turn the general direction of the sound, painting and huffing as he did so.
As he got closer, he heard less and less shrieks and wails of terror. He was scared. Surely they hadn’t also come to the forever sleepies? Had they?
Barry made it to the clearing that surrounded the shelter, and froze in place. It was hell on earth. His entire herd was dead. Bodies torn apart like chunks of monkey bread. Blood and bodily fluids spattered across the whole building, intestines and skin dangled from the trash cans and benches. As he slowly walks through the carnage, he knows the bodies of his friends, toughy stallions crushed like soda cans, the herd’s smarty was ripped into chunks and seemingly stomped flat. A smear of stains on the pavement were the same colors as one Friend’s chirpy babies. He couldn’t even cry. It was a nightmare in rouge and Lisa frank rainbows.
He made his way to the overturned crates his special friend and other mares used as shelters. they were crushed and destroyed. At one time they had housed camping supplies that had been left behind. Once those supplies were stolen by various guests, they had been left on their sides and used a storage by the park employees, and then finally nurseries. Now, all were barely passable as firewood. Barry heard a singular voice whimpering within.
“Wan die…wan die…wan….die…”
He mustered all his strength as he lifted up planks of wood, and chipped pieces of rubble. Unfortunately revealing his mate. The bottom half of her body had been split in half at the hips, and her unborn foals smashed into a soggy pulp. She locked eyes with him and just kept repeating. “Wan die”
“Wha happen??? Speshul fren wha happen???”
“Munstahs…biggest…meanest munstahs…”
She went silent as she died before him, and he began to finally come unglued. screaming and crying at the top of his lungs. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, it was not fair at all!!!
Behind him it sat… And it was too late once he had finally recognized he was in the shadow of some lumbering creature. He turned around and barely had a second to fix his gaze upon the eyes of the fluffy hunter, it’s charcoal black furred legs struck down at him, and in a single blow his skin was ripped from his body, his muscles separated at the spine, and his entire midsection split down his ventral line. As he was ripped into pieces, his brain ceased functioning, his skull splitting as it crashed into a hollow metal column that supported the ceiling of the shelter.
That was the end of Barry. The last one of his herd. His remains were subsequently hosed down later that day. Nobody cared.