Chapter 11
Okay, NOW he had incineration duty. He’d stalled with his other duties, but no longer. He had to head to the rejects room.
This wasn’t just dead foals that had their necks snapped. It was also breeders and stallion adults that were too old to breed or problem fluffies that didn’t produce valuable enough foals to keep alive. Some cost more money to feed and keep alive than they made back in the foals they made. They were also generally problems, hence needing help to be kept alive.
Not all dead fluffies went to the incinerator. Some went to the skinner first. He was once a famous chef known worldwide…until he cracked and punched seven of his employees and three customers. Now he used his amazing skills to skin the dead, or alive if he needed stress relief, fluffies in one piece. The fur went to get processed, and the meat went elsewhere. Either to a processing plant or the incinerator here.
Contrary to the belief that mills, breeders, and shelters threw live, screaming fluffies into the incinerator The Mill did things more humanely. Most of the fluffies here were the rejected or dead from disease. The dead milkbags, nurse mares, smarties, and toughies. The milkbags and nurse mares usually came in skinned. Adam had thrown up the first time he saw a pile of skinned fluffies and smelled all the burning. Everyone did. It only took three times. Now he was prepared with a small tin of mint gel. A dab under his nose killed the sense of smell, and he wore the grippy gloves provided. They were thankfully washed after each session. Adam could smell the disinfectant on them.
There was a small box of live fluffies. Someone had painted the words ‘Fluffies from HELL’ on it a while ago. They were these worst of the worst, and irredeemable. Some liked to have fun with these fluffies. It looks like someone had been interrupted since one fluffy had the side of his face burnt off and was whimpering. Adam paid them no need. He’d done his punishing of fluffies earlier. He was just here to do his job. He wheeled over the skinned fluffies first, the ones where meat could not be sold or fluff was not valuable enough to skin off.
They were light enough to toss in, but it was work in the hot room, bending or crouching down to pick up the next. He tossed them in, not looking too long at their faces. If he did, he could tell which ones were skinned alive. He was careful to pick them up by the middle. If he picked them up by a limb, they could fall apart in his hands. That was an unpleasant experience he wasn’t eager to repeat.
He suddenly heard a voice by his side.
“N-nice mista?”
Adam was startled. It came from the box. He looked over at them, seeing the fluffs looked broken and scared. “What?” He asked them timelessly.
“Pwease nu gib foweva sweepies…” the unicorn begged. It looked like a stud, given its gold coat. He’d heard of this one, though. It tried to go too rough consistently, damaging some brood mares, traumatizing others, and just being a demanding little shit despite punishment.
“Why shouldn’t I? I’ve heard plenty about you. You like to bite and kick the mares. You can’t be trusted to go around another fluffy or you’ll try to hurt them. You’ve shit on the staff and you’ve even permanently damaged a new breeder. With that long list, why should I show any mercy to you?” He asked. Adam normally didn’t…but maybe just this once he could toss a live one in. He heard it described, but never saw it for himself.
“Fwuffy am gud fwuffy!”
Oh he did not just say that… Adam decided he would do his first, and maybe last live toss. “You aren’t a good fluffy. And if you can’t see that, I suppose you’re better off dead.” He picked up the fluffy by the scruff of the neck.
“Bad upsies!” The fluffy exclaimed. He pissed himself, the yellow liquid dripping onto the floor.
“And bad pee. That wasn’t in the litter box.” He growled. He wound up, careful to not have the fluffy drip on him, then tossed him into the incinerator.
Faintly he heard the sound of fluffies shitting in fear, but it was overpowered by what he saw.
“SCREEEEEEEEEEE!” The fluffy screed its last scree as he burned up. His fluff caught alight immediately, consuming the fluffy. It arched its back, the skin blackening as it was burned from the inside out after inhaling flames.
Adam did find it awesome, but he wasn‘t keen to do it again. The odor was terrible. The fluffy had emptied itself one last time and burning shit was the worst smell a fluffy could make. Even worse than the scaredy poops. Hm. Well, that was that.
Next was moving onto the rejected foals. They were easy enough. He could toss in a small handful at a time. Like the most macabre of confetti. Luckily there weren’t many. The Mill was careful with the breeding to get only the best looking fluffies and as little defects or runts as possible. Runts weren’t saved here, even if they had pretty colors. They were just too much special care to take care of. Too many resources for something that might not make it anyways. It could be killed by its own body, or by it’s companions or nurse mare. They were trained not to hurt foals, but a fluffy’s programming told them to kill runts. A programming that told them it was a waste to provide milk to a defective product.
Well, the dirty business was taken care of. Now he had something slightly better.
Emptying biowaste bins into the big cart wasn’t much better, but it was better than the incinerator. And these fluffs didn’t stink yet. Other than their shit, they were yet to rot. The carts, when not in use, were stored in three different rooms. Each one was a large room with a marker on the floor. They left aisles for workers to cross through or grab a cart. In Adam’s case, it was to wheel the cart. He stopped at the midway point, and went to the end. He reached under the cart, unlatched the biowaste bin, and took it to the big bin, upending it. Dead rejected foals cascaded down into the bin. There were only about ten or so of them. Average numbers. Clean neck snaps.
The next bin was…not so average. The foals looked mutilated. Yes, they were rejected colors, but it looked like whoever killed them had way too much fun. Some fun was okay, but this sort of torture took time. that meant less collected foals. Adam would have to report this. He called in the problem on the pager. While he waited for a manager to come, he kept working. The rest of the bins were thankfully normal.
A manager came in, dressed in similar overalls, but his were black instead of navy blue. They were slightly cleaner as he didn’t have to work with shit fluffies as much.
“Adam. What’s this about an issue?” He asked.
Adam showed the bin set aside. “These rejects were tortured. All five of them. The average collection is ten. It means whoever had this bin took their time away from collection.” He said. “If it was done in front of the mares, they may miscarry from stress or try to kill their foals to spare them.”
The manager nodded. “Thank you. We’ll look up who had this bin.” He said, and went over to the logs.
Adam continued to collect. Nothing else was amiss. Average numbers, nothing too mutilated. Sometimes an arm or leg got torn off, or a collector was pissed at a bitch mare and tore the arms and legs off. As long as the numbers didn’t drop.
Halfway down, he had a bit of a surprise. A still live foal. Adam looked over it. A reject. “Hm. Sucks for you, hm?” It must have been early on, less than two hours. Adam took hold of the foal, snapping its neck in a simple flick of his thumb. He tossed the thing in the biowaste bin. A weaker soul may have respected that will to live or took the reject home…but this place generally took the love of fluffies out of a person. Adam had no sympathy for these things. Only a few of them could get to him anymore.
He was soon joined by Brian after the manager left.
“I still think we should have a couple trash pandas here to eat the shitrats.” He said to break the silence.
Adam smirked. “C’mon, dude. Raccoons have better standards than that. They’d prefer the trash.” He joked back. “There was one that lived on my street at home. I swear that thing ate like a king. We all fed him.”
“You know standards have gone down when people feed the local raccoons better than Fluffies.” Brian shook his head. “I noticed the manager joined us lowly peons. What’s up with that?”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Some dude decided to spend his time torturing rejects instead of collecting. Probably did it in front of the mares too.”
Brian huffed. “Dammit. The last thing we need is more mares trying to kill their brats because of one f*ckwit…”
“I know. You’ve got collection after this? Maybe calm some of the mares down after?” Adam asked. “I know it sucks, but they at least don’t see us as monsters. At least not yet.” He, Brian, and a few others didn’t go out of their way to terrorize the fluffies. They just wanted to get their job done and get paid. Adam hadn’t reported the torture out of the goodness of his heart. It was because it made his job more difficult. He didn’t need his numbers or production to go down because of one poor hire.
Eventually they finished, and Adam was able to check that off. Hopefully he wouldn’t have either duty again for a while.
Now he had flea medicine to administer. Unfortunately this could not be done in an automated way. They had to apply it like one did to domesticated animals. Press the applicator against the skin and drag it down their back without breaking the skin. The fluff was too dense otherwise to let the material get down and work. The fluffies never liked it because it felt like water and smelled bad. Generally they struggled.
Adam had the first box of ten. They were breeder mares, in various stages of pregnancy. He had to be careful with the ones farthest along to make sure they didn’t miscarry due to stress.
The first one was a familiar face. Number 55. If only she didn’t make so many alicorns. She was a husk of her former self. Legless, toothless, and now had a colonoscopy bag so she couldn’t shit on people. A sorry existence. Her new cage had an auto feeder that attached to the tube now down her throat.
“Was it worth it, 55?” Adam asked with a smirk. “All you had to do was be good and have foals. All you had to do was not kill them. And you’d still have your teeth, your legs, and you could shit when you wanted. And now look at you.” He pressed the applicator to the back of her neck, dragging the tube device down.
55’s eyes widened from fear and she tried to scream, only making a whistling noise through the tube. She could only thrash her head, but Adam held that down with his free hand, using more force than was needed. 55 deserved far worse, honestly. He finished with her, and put her in the outtake box.
Next was one who still had her legs. She looked younger, probably a new breeder. Sky blue with a matching mane with white highlights. Her wings fluttered nervously, her eyes darting about.
Adam decided he’d be nice, as long as they gave him no trouble. “Alright, Mare 33. I just have to put on this medicine so yo won’t get hurt.” He said. “From bitey bugs. They make you itchy, right?” He got a nervous nod. “This will feel like water. But it’s not. It’s medicine.” The mare went wide eyed, and her lips trembled, but she had enough sense to not talk. Or she was mute. A few owners wanted mute fluffies on purpose, or deaf ones. Adam could see the appeal of a mute fluffy so it couldn’t whine, or a deaf one to not get scared by loud sounds. It would be hell to train a deaf one, though. They were probably in another special room.
He applied the flea medicine. The fluffy flinched and wiggled a bit, but Adam noticed it was from discomfort instead of trying to get away. Good fluffy. Adam gave her a pat on the head before placing her into the outtake box. “See? Not bad at all.” He said, a bit cheered by the fluffy not being a total bitch
Next was Number 7. The staff always liked to make sure 7 was a green fluffy. Lucky Number 7. This one was a clouded patterned fluffy. Green with darker green spots that could be interpreted as clovers if squinted at. Her mane and tail were mint green. “Alright, 7. We’re putting medicine on you.” He said to her.
“N-nu wike wawa medasin.” 7 said, shaking.
Adam’s eyes and voice hardened. “Well, you’re getting it. If you’re good and don’t struggle, we can get through this without you getting punished.”
“NU WAN MEDASIN!” Apparently it had emboldened the little shit.
Adam slapped 7 across the face. Just to stun her. Then he got the leg immobilization board. 7 had tried to run to the edge of the table, but found herself staring at a long drop.
“And what were you hoping would happen?” Adam asked darkly. He stuck 7 into the board. He applied the medicine quickly, but then took a needle. Not a syringe, but a sewing like needle. He jabbed it into 7’s sides and rear repeatedly. It drew tiny drops of blood, but did nothing more than cause 7 pain. “Bad fluffy. You do NOT run. You do NOT yell. If you do, you’ll lose your legs next time.
“Huuuhuuu! Fwuffy sowwy! Pwease nu huwt fwuffy nu mowe! Fwuffy nu du it again!”
“Now I know you’re lying.” Adam said. He moved the board over to the sink, and jabbed two fingers into 7’s stomach to make her shit violently, and he had hit a nerve cluster. The fluffy was left gasping and crying, its ass covered in shit. Adam smirked, and used the shower setting in the removable shower head of the sink to rinse her ass off with the coldest water the pipes could muster.
“SCREEE! NU WAWA! NU WAWA!” 7 screamed, but couldn’t do much more than thrash her head. Adam left her in there as he moved onto his next one, letting her legs dangle in the cold water.
“Alright. Now you all see this can go very nicely, or very mean.” Adam said with false cheer. He took the next one. Ah. Another familiar face. Number 1, sans legs. “Well, your flying trip went really bad. Sucks, doesn’t it? You could have kept your legs.” Adam noticed she’d also been milked before she came here. “Healing doesn’t mean you get a break from anything.” He applied the medicine, glad that all Number 1 did was cry silently. She was easy now. Hopefully she’d stay humbled, but it was likely just due to recovery that she was still muted.
Next one was number 203. An older one, but still viable for breeding. Her fur was starting to show some grey, but she was still gold with a royal blue mane and tail. She was also an alicorn. The old girl was obedient, only making a slight whimper of discomfort for the medicine, looking as dejected as any other animal getting flea medicine.
The rest were relatively good. Some struggles, but a quick threat or a swat put them in their place. Adam was glad to get those done, then get away from it. The Mill didn’t want employees to get too much medicine on their skin, even if they wore gloves. Fluffies struggled, after all. At the last moment, Adam remembered to drop off 7 in the outtake box with the rest.
