You are FV-7410, and you just got done playing with your babies when you realize one of them is missing. Where could they have gone?
“Bay-bee? Bay-bee? Whewe bay-bee? Nee’ find bay-bee!” You say worriedly, pacing around the backyard with your mommy.
“I don’t kno- Oh. FV-7410, I see a small hole in the fence.” Your mommy sighs, kneeling down by the fence and showing you a small hole.
“Wha’ that du wit’ bay-bee!?” You keep pacing around the hole, nervously looking up at your mommy as she looks down at you with a concerned look.
“Your baby went through the hole, and it probably got lost.” Your mommy reveals, patting your not-head gently and picking you up, walking towards the door.
“Bay-bee! Nu! Nee’ bay-bee! Waaaaaaaahhhhh!” You sob, trying to leave your mommy’s arms to find your baby.
You are a baby Bestest Sickie Friend, and you got another, not-a-fluffy housie-friend! All you needed to really do was have to sit down with their mouth open in front of you. You’re so happy!
“Housie-fwiend make thinkie-pwace talkies gu 'way! Fank 'ou!” You cheer, hugging something very wet. That’s when you hear a noise!
“Peep! Peeeeeep!” The noise peeps, as you feel something hugging your pointy-thingies.
“Bay-bee? Buh, thought sickie-fwiends nu couwd make bay-bees inside hoomins. Onwy fwuffies. Stiww wub bay-bee!” You say, picking up the small baby. In fact, the baby was very small. Smaller than you, and you’re a baby! So, you keep on making little small babies in your new housie-friend and sending them to find housie-friends of their own.
“Peeep! Peeeeep! Squeak!” One of the babies squeak, holding onto you as you try and put them onto someone passing by your housie-friend.
“Bay-bee knyo, buh nee’ find housie-fwiemd tu gwow up!” You explain, touching another wet, not-feel-pretty dangly thing and causing a loud ‘kaff’ sound to emanate from your housie-friend.
“Bai-bai, bay-bee! Wub 'ou!” You wave, accidentally falling out of your housie-friend’s mouth yourself as you try to hand onto their clothes.
“What is that? Why’s it so… small?” Your housie-friend looks down at you, picking you up quickly before you were able to run away.
“Pwease put bac’ in moufie. Nee’ make mowe bay-bees…” You groan, still hurt from the fall you took.
“So, you’re the reason I got sick? My name’s Dr. Clarke Fields, and you’re something called a ‘defective unit’. I’m sending you to my workplace to be studied, alright?” Your housie friend says, clutching you in their hands and walking as you start to hear the scary talking again.
You don’t know what the words ‘defective unit’ mean, but something tells you that you shouldn’t like it.