Uglyface Part 8 - Remastered [The_Agony_Presence]

The mananger of the Fluffmart looked at the notification on her phone.
Problem in production floor. Nesting room 8E.

The production floors were a new experiment by Hasbio to outsource supply of fluffy products directly to the Fluffmarts themselves, rather than relying on the labs and factories.

Some kind of dispute at the top, she was told. Hasbio’s government connections didn’t like the fluff-factories, wanted it all to be more ‘humane’, whatever the hell that meant. She didn’t really care about internal company politics, but it meant more work for her.

Fluffies were an involved business.

They’d only been around for a few years, and it had been the busiest time of her life, and since the production floor was built things had only gotten busier.

The number of employees had gone from 16 to 47 in the space of only 6 months. There were multiple problems every day now, almost always in the production floor. More fluffy products in general meant more problems in the training floor and storefront too. She was rarely home by 10pm these days, and lunchbreaks were a distant memory.

As it turned out, making such large amounts of new fluffies outside of a controlled lab or factory was a lot more complicated than the Hasbio scientists or suit-wearers thought it was.

She pressed the power button and the phone’s screen went black, and she stared at her reflection for a moment.

She’d always had a gaunt face, but the stress of fluffy management had sharpened her cheeks and chin, and she could see some crow’s feet forming too.

I’ve got that 30 going on 40 look… she sighed internally, pressing the phone’s power button again. 10:22 am. It was going to be another long day.
Will be down shortly, she texted back to the production floor employee.

There was a few things on her desk left to review and sign first.

A requisition request for more vending machines for the upcoming foals-in-a-can, $3000 in total. She gave it the approval stamp.

A handful of new résumés. She flicked through them quickly. Some old guy, his resume stapled to a picture of him and a grumpy looking wife, used to be a vet. A couple of twenty-somethings straight out of college, one girl had an accounting degree. A middle aged woman, with a very long list of previous jobs. Some teen looking for work experience.

She stamped the old vet and the girl with the degree.

Last was the monthly report. There huge demand for fluffy products, and the fluffmart was barely able to keep up its supply. There were some days when they sold the entire storefront clean.

Despite this, flufflies weren’t as profitable as Hasbio’s CEO often claimed, at least not for individual fluffmarts. Sure, fluffmills and feral sellers probably ate up some of the profits, but really it was the expenses; fluffies required a lot of resources and time in large numbers, especially if you were breeding and training them. It was important to make sure your breeder-fluffs were always producing sellable stock. If too many failed their function, that could screw up a financial, or even a credit line.

The manager fed the report’s numbers onto the computer. The number at the end came out green. That was good enough.

She stood, donned her apron (embroidered with a tough-looking cartoon fluffy and the word MANAGER), and exited her office. It was located above the storefront, where a healthy crowd of customers wandered around, trying to decide which screeching little turd-factory would be their’s.

The fluffies all whined and cried from their sale-pens at every human who walked by. It truly was a brilliant idea to have a product that begged to be bought. At least the office was sound-proofed.

She walked down the balcony to the stairwell, and descended to the storefront. There was a door behind the checkouts that lead to a hallway that accessed the training floor on one side, and the production floor on the other.

The production floor itself was a giant complex of 8 halls, each with 16 nesting rooms that contained a breeder enclosure. It was a long walk, but it kept the breeders away from the stressful noise and smells of the training room and storefront… and the processing hall.

The room she was needed at was 8E, one of the furthest from the entrance. As she walked, she ran potentials in her mind for problems caused by a malfunctioning breeder. Hopefully, the damage would be easily fixed, or by the very least be minimal. Worst case scenario, the breeder has to be replaced.

Upon arrival, the employee who had texted her was waiting outside, holding a little purple earth fluffy who suckled one of its hooves.

“What’s the problem then?” she asked.

“I think the breeder, Cupcake, is having issues following the training. One of the foals is damaged, and she didn’t really seem to notice or even know,”

The manager and rubbed her temples, “right,” she sighed, “and what’s with the one in your arms?”

“Errrr… she’s the one who told me…”

“What? You mean one of the foals inside had to tell you that another one was damaged?”

“Well, I went in to clean the litterbox, and I didn’t really see anything wrong until this fluffy pointed me to some old papers and blankets next to the litterbox. I found the damaged foal kinda hidden underneath. Pretty sure he’s dead. That’s when I texted you…”

Dead? The manager thought, no deaths have happened in my production hall before. Fuck, this is going to affect my leadership score…

Bending down to be eye level with the purple fluffy, the manager asked, “can you tell me your name?”

“S-sowfpetaw…” the fluffy said with a nervous smile that barely poked out from behind her hoof.

“Ok, Softpetal, can you tell me what happened?”

“Wawmy an’ Wiggwe du bad huwties tu Ugwyface! Dey du bad poopies on him tuu! Bu’ nice hoomans say dat givin’ huwties an’ doin’ not-wittabawks poopies am bad… eben mummah Cupcake wus doin bad fings… Sowfpetaw nu wan’ famiwy tu be bad fwuffies…”

So there were at least two defective products along with the damaged and possibly dead one, AND there was a malfunctioning breeder. Great.

“Thank you for telling us, Softpetal. You’ve been a very good fluffy,” The manager stood with a deep breath, “alright, i’ll go take a look inside first,”

She entered the room stealthily and peered over the nesting enclosure’s wall. The breeder, fat and pink, was hugging a blue unicorn singing a “bestes’ babbeh” song.

The green earthie played with a ball in front of the breeder. A yellow pegasus was busy stacking blocks, “am su smawt! Bestes’ smawty ebah!” she cheered to herself.

Over by the litterbox was the damaged foal.

A little brown earthie. One of its legs looked broken, and one its eyes was very swollen- clearly infected. It was caked in feces, and the outline of its ribs could be seen too, just barely poking out under its filthy fluff. Most alarmingly: the breeder and the other foals didn’t even seem to acknowledge its presence.

The manager marched back out of the room.

“You’re the one whose been watching this nest?”

“For the last few days, yeah. We’ve all been taking it in turns 'cause there’s so many breeders,”

“And none of you noticed anything? The brown one looks awful skinny, that doesn’t happen overnight. What about the yellow smarty? Or the breeder selecting a ‘best baby’?” He stared at her blankly.

“Well, I mean… I didn’t even know there was a brown one! And aren’t the breeders supposed to sing songs about their babies being ‘the best’? I mean, no-one ever said anything to me, so I assumed it was all fine. The manual never said anything about-”

The manager held up her hand to the employee, halting his explanation. She’d heard enough already.

She was the only one who had been given the full production floor training. Everyone else wasn’t really qualified. Hasbio had promised to send out more production trainers “”“soon”“”, but that email was a while ago. In the mean time she was stuck with some greasy teens who couldn’t lead ants to a picnic.

They were all supplied with a manual that read like it was straight from the marketing department. It was 15 pages of feel good garbage about ‘tender love and care’, the importance of giving a fluffy whatever they asked for, and- in a line that gave her a laugh- how fluffies were ‘an intelligent toy for the future’.

An intelligent toy that could drown itself in a quarter of an inch of water in its own feeding bowl? Sure.

“How long have you been here?” the manager asked the employee. She didn’t want to fire him. Yeah, he could be replaced within a few days, but what would be the point? Whoever replaced him would probably not be much better. Besides, it wouldn’t solve the training issue…

“Uh about a month?”

“Ok look, if you don’t know what to do or you’re unsure if something’s right, just ask first, ok? Don’t bother with the manual, I’m always on call,”

“Right. Sorry ma’am, I- I didn’t realize…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll deal with the rest of this. Take Softpetal here to the training floor,”

Before the employee could walk away, Softpetal spoke up with tears forming in her eyes, “W-wait! Nice missy, nu huwt mummah an’ bwuddas an’ sissies! Huwites nu gud fo’ fwuffies…”

The manager reached out and gently stroked the foal on the head with a smile, “put her in the ‘good behavior’ section,”

As they walked off, she slipped back into the nesting room and grabbed a pair of gloves from the box on the wall. She leaned over the enclosure wall, and was greeted with several mewls of “hewwo nice wady!” as she came into view.

She bent down and carefully picked up the brown foal. It let out a single pitiful chirp. She couldn’t believe it was still alive. Probably wouldn’t be for much longer, “Cupcake- what is this?” she asked, holidng the foal close to the breeder.

“Dat am bad poopie babbeh, missy! He awways be bad babbeh. Nebah wisten to mummah an’ hoomans. Nebah du gud poopies an’ peepees. Nevah be gud wike bestes’ babbeh!” she held up the blue unicorn, with a big smile. The unicorn held its own hooves out, too, giggling.

“Why is he covered in poop? Have your babies not even had bath training yet?”

“Siwwy wady- bad babbeh nu du baffsies wight! He make bigges’ shouties an’ twy tu num otha hoomans handsies! He nu can haf baffsies!”

“I see…” time to find out if you’re salvageable or not, Cupcake, “Well, did you make sure to give this clearly bad baby only a little milk?” the manager said, playing the pink mare on with an almost playful tone.

Cupcake fell for it, and nodded with a smile.

“Did you make sure he never ever got huggies, or slept in your fluff?”

Cupcake nodded more vigorously.

“And did you make sure to give him lots and lots of sorry hoofsies?”

Cupcake nodded once more, and both the yellow pegasus and the green earthie started to chant, “bad babbehs git sowwy hoofsies~!” as well.

The manager sighed internally. Unsalvageable. Completely unsalvageable- and it had probably permanantly affected the sale-potential of the foals, too.

This would be the third breeder replacement they’d need in just as many months, but the other two weren’t this bad. Didn’t damage any of their foals to the point of killing them, anyway…

She thought about the work it would take to get a new breeder from Hasbio, and the training it would need- of course, only she knew how to train the breeders at this Fluffmart. She probably couldn’t even sell the four foals without an extra few days of training for them first, too. Work, work, work.

She placed the brown foal on the nearby sink, and pressed a sponge next to it until it began to hug it. Brown foals didn’t sell, generally. Neither did the puke-green ones either. They could be sold as a multi-fluff deal, or as accessories like a litter pal, though. Maybe snake food, if they also had a bad personality.

The ‘bad’ colored ones didn’t really matter, anyway. They were kept with the breeders to test the training.

If they kept the ‘bad’ foals, and cared for them, then the training had stuck and they would be allowed as many babies wanted. If they were really good, they could even be selected for alicorn production. “Special mommies” they got called.

If they didn’t care for the ‘bad’ foals, then the training hadn’t worked, and they would likely raise defective foals- and nobody wanted to buy a smarty, or a foal that had been given so many ‘sowwy hoofsies’ that it shit itself at everything.

Well, nobody sane wanted those kinds of fluffies, anyway

The manager reached in, and grabbed Cupcake by the scruff, who dropped the “bestes’ babbeh”, and pushed out a short fart.

“EEEEEEEE! HUWTIES, HUWTIES! NU WIKE! WHY GIF BAD UPSIES!? DEY BAD FO’ CUPCAKE! CUPCAKE AM MUMMAH, HUWTIES NU GUD FO MUMMAHS! NU WIKE, NU WIKE!” she squealed, used to having her demands met by the other employees.

“Now, Cupcake, not taking care of your brown foal was a very bad thing to do, and unfortunately you will no longer be allowed to have any more babies,”

Cupcake’s face drooped sadly, “nu mo’ babbehs!? Bu’- bu’- bu’ Cupcake wub babbehs! BABBEHS GUD FO’ CUPCAKE! CUPCAKE NEE’ BABBEHS!”

“Well, you’re clearly not able to raise them properly,” she glanced down at the foals in the enclosure, who were hugging together. The yellow pegasus even stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry at her, “these ones are old enough for the training floor, so I don’t think you’re really needed here anymore, are you Cupcake?”


The manager held Cupcake’s snout closed. She always hated it when the products started screeching like this. Why did Hasbio make them so fucking loud?

“I’ll be back for the rest of you later,” she said sternly down to the foals in the enclosure, who all started to cry.

“Pweez, nice wady- nu take mummah. Babbehs nee’ mummah!” the blue unicorn said, holding his hooves up in the “huggy” pose, tears in its eyes. The manager walked away, rolling her eyes. That cuteness crap maybe worked on normal people, but if you were around them everyday for a year or two it was more sickening than anything.

As she walked down the corridors outside towards the processing floor, the manager spoke to the wimpering mare in her hands.

“All you breeders have to do is birth the foals and raise them for 4 weeks. You give them some milk, and us humans do all the rest. Its such an easy life, and yet so many of you seem to find a way to fuck it up. You think I want to be doing this, Cupcake? You think I like listening to you cry?”

Cupcake placed her trembling hooves on the manager’s arm, attempting to hug it.

“Well I don’t. I’m just trying to do my job with the scraps i’m thrown. I work with idiots, I work for idiots. Does that make me an idiot? I don’t know. I do know that I need money to pay my mortgage, though- and when fluffies like you fuck up, I get one step closer to the bank taking my house,”

They eventually stopped at the door to the processing hall. Cupcake could smell the blood in the air seeping from behind it. She started to writhe, desperate to escape. She didn’t know what was about to happen, but she knew it was very, very bad.

“I’m not angry, Cupcake. Just disappointed,” her tone suggested otherwise, “Don’t worry, though: even bad fluffies like you can still be useful…”


I’ll drop the rest of the story later, still have to go through it and fix the mistakes.


Finally. Some fucking sense.


part 9 isn’t on reddit …dam it

One dumb employee not noticing anything can happen. But at least Cupcake will get what’s coming. Hopefully the same to Warmy as well.


ah, id forgotten about this! one of my favorites!!

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Ah, I thought this seemed familiar, but didn’t click till this part.

thank GOD she’s the only one not stupid in this place!

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They were several, probably not trained enough and the job is already stressing enough.

Having the context is good too.

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