The Fluffy Factory (2/5)

>You are very quiet coming down the stairs to basement two, which smells like hell.
>It's dark, so all the dams are asleep.
>The walls and floor are cold concrete, so you have to be easy to avoid waking them.
>You step lightly, using a pen light to check on each resting dam individually.
>There are the same number of cages down here as in basement one, but only one fluffy resides in each.
>You hear quiet mewling from one of the cages after a few moments.  You head over to investigate.
>A red pegasus dam with a blue mane is whimpering as you approach.  “Chewwy sowwy, Chewwy don' know wha happen...”
>You shine the light into the cage and see a bloodstain and five foals on the carpeting.
>”Chewwy sowwy, Chewwy wuv babehs but babehs no wuv Chewwy back,” she mewls.  You quietly open the door and reach in to check the foals.
>All five are still slimy, but none are breathing.  The whole litter was stillborn.
>You hear steps behind you.  One bank of lights comes on, but it isn't enough to stir the sleeping dams.
>”Oh, Cherry had her litter overnight?” a young punk chick whispers, walking up beside you.
“Fancy seeing you down here, Sarah.”
>She smirks.  “I love the smell of foal shit in the morning, it means money.  How are her babies?”
“Stillborn.”
>Sarah glares at the quietly sobbing dam, who shrinks back into a corner and sniffles.
>”That's the third fucking litter in a row.  Dead foals don't cover the payments on my 911 Carrera, Cherry.”
>”Chewwy sowwy...Chewwy wan' twy wuv babehs 'gain, pwease no take...”
>You remove the foals and put them in the garbage can nearby.
“They're dead, Cherry.”
>”Pwease no take, pwease gif babehs...wan' wuv babehs...”
>You move on to check the remaining cages on this wall.
>Behind you, Sarah takes out her frustrations.  She pulls Cherry from her cage, wraps her tattooed hands around the dam's neck, and starts squeezing.
>Cherry's wings flutter desperately.  She weakly hits Sarah's arms with her front hooves.
>”All you had to do was give me living, breathing foals,” she hisses.
>She applies so much pressure, Cherry's eyes bulge out of her head slightly.
>”We fed you, cleaned up your endless piles of shit, gave you a dry place to sleep.  And you repay us with slimy little corpses?”
>Cherry tries to beg, but only gets enough air to make a quiet, pathetic wheezing sound.
>”You know what?  No.  Death is too good for you.”
>She walks over to you, one hand still clenching Cherry's neck so she won't scream and wake up the other dams.
>She waves at the four large pens in the middle of the room.  Three are filled with foals.
>The foals are sorted by type, so one is full of pegasus, another unicorns, and the last earth ponies.  The fourth pen is empty.
>”Do you need another pegasus feeder?”
>You think for a moment.
“Actually, yeah.  Melon died yesterday, I just hadn't picked her replacement yet.”
>Sarah grins, lifting up the trembling, wheezing Cherry.  “Here she is.  Start the hormone treatment.”
“Put her on the table, I'll get her after I'm done walking the cages.”
>Sarah drops Cherry onto on the metal table.  She reaches down, grabs a roll of duct tape, and wraps her muzzle shut.
>”Mmm? Mmm! Mmmaa!” Cherry whines, wobbling around on the table as she tries to get the tape off her face.
>”At least you managed not to shit on me this time,” Sarah growls, walking back up the stairs.
>You finish the cage check.  No other dams gave birth overnight, but seven are close to full swell.
>The foals are beginning to stir.  They climb over each other to be first in line for breakfast.
>They slowly wander toward immobile, grotesquely swollen mares, one in each corner of each pen, except for the pegasus pen, which has an empty corner.
>Like the rest of the fluffies, their stomachs are shaved.  Their distended teats show signs of constant suckling.
>These mares have been pumped so full of hormones and chemicals, their bodies think they are in a state of perpetual pregnancy.
>Their teats are loaded with milk to feed foals inside them that don't exist.
>Instead, the dirty foals in the pen take it.
>The weekly pen cleaning hasn't yet occurred.  Everything in them is soaked with fluffy shit.
>The foals waddle around and slip on piles of feces and puddles of urine.
>The feeder mares are brown everywhere but their backs, which face out of the pens.
>Fortunately, they're given obscene amounts of antibiotics to fight infections, and the basement temperature is high enough that they don't die of hypothermia.
>These antibiotics are passed to the foals through their milk, which saves you the trouble of shooting up hundreds of foals.
>The feeders awaken as the foals suckle, and their complaints begin.
>”Fwuffy no wan' be big anymo'...” one of the earth feeders moans.  “Fwuffy no feew good in tummy pwace...”
>”Why no babehs?  Fwuffy big wong time, how time 'til babehs come?” a unicorn cries.
>”No smeww pwetty...fwuffy wan' wun, fwuffy wan' weggies wowk,” a pegasus says.
>They say things like this constantly while they're awake.
>Since the foals suckle until they fall asleep, that's usually about eighteen hours a day worth of whining.
>Two at a time, the foals feed until they get full and wobble away.
>You check the pens for foals that aren't trying to eat.
>If they aren't pissing or shitting, they're dead.
>You grab a push broom and sweep the corpses to one side.
>A shockingly small amount of foals die every night, usually two or three in each pen.
>”Wha?  Wha?” one of the seemingly dead unicorn foals bleats as you push him with the broom.
“Sorry, kid.  Thought you were taking a dirt nap.”
>”Wha?  Wha?” he chants, waddling over to a feeder mare.  That's the only actual word he knows at the moment.
>You fish out the corpses and trash them.  You can now power wash the pens and their contents.
>First, though, you need to deal with Cherry.
>You walk over to the table.
>”Mm!  Mmmmmm!”
“Quiet.”
>You reach into the storage cabinet and grab a hypodermic needle.  You attach to it a syringe full of a hazy grey liquid.
>You smirk as you remember the hormone dosage instructions:  1 mL per 24 hours.  The syringe contains 20 doses.
>You hold Cherry down and stab her in the torso, poking around until you're sure you've got flesh and not fluff.
>You empty the syringe into her.
>”MMMMM! MMM!”
>She wiggles under your hand and tries to scream, but the tape muffles her.
“Trust me, Cherry, tomorrow you'll wish this was all that was happening to you.”
>Since the dams are still asleep, you leave the tape on Cherry's mouth and put her back in her bloody cage.
>Before you can wash the pens, one of the heavily swollen unicorn dams wakes up.
>Her legs wiggle frantically as she wobbles on her side.  “Uh oh!  Feew poopies!”
>You quickly walk over.  Her body contorts in a way that doesn't happen when fluffies need to crap.
“Easy, Bluebell, it's not poopies.”
>You carefully remove her and bring her to the table.  This is her first litter, so you want to make sure things go smoothly.
>To help her along, you squeeze her stomach a little.  Soon, a crying foal plops out from her shaved hindquarters.
>”Babeh!  Bwuebeww heaw babeh!”
>You continue squeezing gently.  Three more foals emerge.
>They all squeak and slide around on the table, searching for their mother.
>”Hewe babehs, come hewe!” Bluebell calls them, resting on her side.  The foals eventually find her tummy fluff and hug it.  Instinctively, she licks them clean.
>This is one of the few parts of the process where the fluffies themselves make things easier.
>You wait quietly as she looks her foals over.
>Suddenly, she blurts out “Wuv aww babehs!  Aww babehs good babehs!”
>No rejections.  All the foals are healthy.
>She looks at you as you approach the table again; she's tired, but pleased.
>“Bwuebeww so happy...haf so many good babehs...”
>You pick them up as they try to suckle her.
>You type and sex them.  Two females and two males, all unicorns.
>”Mista wuv babehs too?  Babehs good!” she babbles.
>She gets quiet when you don't give them back, and instead walk away to set them down in the unicorn pen, next to a feeder mare.
>When you come back to the table to get her, she finally deduces what happened.
>”Why mista take babehs?  Wuv babehs, gif back pwease!”
>You shrug as you put her back in her cage.
>When she realizes she isn't getting her babies back, she starts banging her head against the cage wire.
>”Wan' babehs!  Bwuebeww wan' babehs!  Gif babehs back!  Wan' babehs!  WAN' BABEHS!” she yells.
>The other dams awaken and start chattering about the welfare of their own, unborn children.
>Oh well.  You needed to clean the cages and feed everyone anyway.  The pens can wait.
>Before you go back up to get the food, you return to Cherry, reach in her cage, and rip off the duct tape on her muzzle.
>”Owwies!  Mouf owwies take fwuff!  Gif back fwuff to Chewwy!” she yells.
>You ball up the tape and throw it into the trash with the dead foals.
>Then you head up to start preparing meals for the rest of the fluffies.