That Was Then, This Is Now

Anonymous, September 8, 2013; 17:28 / FB 13575
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That Was Then, This Is Now

>Be an abuser.
>Hate fluffies.
>Squealing little shits, get into everything, shit everywhere.
>Not even real animals; they're just biotoys made to feed fake emotions of love and acceptance to lonely basement dwellers.
>You don't capture fluffies to torture; you don't need to.
>Damn things reproduce so fast, they're practically coming out of the walls.
>Fucking bronies; it's their fault these little shits came into existence in the first place.
>Hasbro may have put them out, but it was them that made the little retards such a success.

>One day, see ad in newspaper.
>Advertisement for local BioToy Investigative Services
>Recruiting those with 'negative temperments' toward fluffy ponies for experiments on 'pain thresholds and coping mechanisms'.
>Translation: you'll be paid to do something you'd usually do for free.
>Cha-ching!

>Arrive at the laboratories.
>Plain brick building, nothing really special.
>You and about 30 other men and women of 'negative temperments' sitting in waiting area.
>Avidly and happily discussing what you plan to do to the little shitballs once you get them.
>You're planning the classic bait-and-switch: be friendly to raise their spirits then crush them utterly.

"Hewwo! Nyu fwend?"
"Yeah, sure."
>Your fluffy is a bright-ass blue with yellow mane and tail.
>Pegasus fluffy. Good.
>You're in a small room with a camera, as well as a table and some implements.
>Balls, blocks, and so forth - standard fluffy playing shit.
>But you've also got more exotic, brutal things - mallets, tweezers, a blowtorch.
>The researcher who led you in here told you to do 'whatever came naturally' and they'd collate the results with the others.
>Sweet.

>You spend a few minutes playing with the fluffy.
>Rolling the ball around, playing with blocks.
>Bonding with the brainless wonder.
>The way it acts, you and it were friends forever.
>Finally, you begin to enact phase two of your plan.
"Hey, fluffy. Do you ever think of flying?"
>Fluffy perks up, its little vestigial wings buzzing.
"Fwy! Fwuffy wan' fwy! Oh, fwuffy wan' fwy mo' dan anyfing!"
>For a second, fluffy seems confused. Its eyes lose the usual clouded, fake-happy note.
"Nu...wait...fwuffy wan' somefin' else...fwuffy fo'get..."
>Then the moment is gone and the fluffy is up on its legs, wings buzzing annoyingly.
"Fwuffy wan' fwy! Wan' fwy!"
>You grin, picking up the well-fed, fat, dumbass creature.
"All right, we'll fly."
>And into the wall it goes!

SMACK!
"Owwies! Waaaaaahhhh! Fwuffy owwies! Owwies! Su many owwies! Buuhuhuhuuhuuuuuu!"
>Fluffy lays on its side, a large trail of blood and brittle bones marking the spot where you threw it against the wall and it slid down.
>All of its legs are broken, some teeth are knocked out, an eyeball hanging loose.
>And of course, its litte wings are still buzzing.
"Oops. Well, I guess you didn't want to fly bad enough."
>You pick up the pliers, clacking them a few times for show.
"I guess you won't be needing your wingies then."
>Fluffy goes berzerk, wiggling its useless legs in a vain attempt to get away.
"NUUUUUU! Nu take wingies! Wingies, fwy fwuffy away! Pwease! Huuhuhuhuuuuuuu!"
>You walk over to the fluffy with exaggerated slowness, savoring its pain and misery.
>How such a creature, who never had to make its way in the world, who never earned the right to exist, thought it could be happy...
>You go to your knees, pinching one of its wings with your pliers.
"Huuhuuh....why be meannie? Fwuffy be guud fwuffy? Hoomin be nice! Why?"
"That was then..."
>You twist and pull.
>It squeals.
"This is now."

"Yo. I'm done in here."
>You hit your blood-stained hand on the door.
"Unless you want me to 'play' with another one."
>Nothing but silence greets you.
>You look down at the eviscerated fluffy on the tabletop.
>It took an hour before it finally died.
>For $500, that was a pretty damn satisfying hour.
>You look up at the camera, waving a hand.
"C'mon, I'm getting hungry."
>That's when you notice the smell.
>And the hissing sound.
>Looking up, you finally notice that the upper ends of the walls are lined with small holes.
>Out of which you can barely see a gaseous vapor pouring out.
>You try to speak, but you only end up coughing.
>Your vision narrows, and you can hear your heartbeat crashing in your skull.
>You stumble, trying to grab onto the table's edge.
>Your blood-soaked hands slip. You tumble over, cracking your head on the table.
>You lay still.
>The last thing you hear before things go black is the door creaking open.

>You awaken with a start.
>Sitting up, you bang your head on a low ceiling.
>You didn't hit it very hard, but the pain that rips through your head is unbearable!
>You get down on your stomach, clamping your hooves over your head.
"Owwies! Fwuffy hab owwies! Huu hu...wah?"
>The voice coming from your throat...can't be yours!
>You look down at your hands.
>They're no longer hands. You see a pair of leathery, marshmallow hooves.
>Bright blue.
>Just like the rest of you.
>Your eyes widen and panic grips you.
>Despite yourself, you begin to cry and blubber.
>The emotions pouring through you more distinct and powerful than you've ever felt.
>Your sadness is all-encompassing, and you can't help but hide behind your hooves and bawl away.
"Well, well, well. Look who's awake."
>You start, looking out of your cage's bars to see the smiling face of the researcher.
>In his hands, he holds a bowl of spaghetti.
>Your stomach growls and you lick your lips.
>The researcher takes a fork, beginning to spoon the plain spaghetti into his mouth.
"Nuuu! Gib sketti! Fwuffy wub sketti! Fwuffy...nu, dis wong! Fwuffy nu am fwuffy! Fwuffy am hoomin!"
>The researcher bangs your cage, causing you to yelp pitifully.
"That was then. This is now."
>You sit up on your haunches and bang against your cage, crying horribly.
"Nuuuu! Wet fwuf...wet me owt! Dis wong! Am nu fwuffy! Am hoomin! Am hooomiiiiiinnn!"
"Hey, fluffy, do you want to fly?"
>FLY!? Oh, yes!
>You love to fly!
>Your little wingies buzz happily.
>You bounce up and down in your cage.
"Fwy! Fwuffy wub fwy! Wan' fwy! Pweez fwy?"
>The researcher grins, opening your cage and shoving the bowl of spaghetti inside.
"Maybe later. Eat your spaghetti, fluffy. You're going to be getting a new human mommy or daddy very soon."
>SKETTIES!
>Joy and exhultation unlike anything you've ever known floods through you as you happily chow down on that wonderful meal.
>For a few seconds, you stop, mouth full of spaghetti.
>Wasn't there something else you wanted to say?
>Something you needed to tell the nice mister who gave you this spaghetti?
>...couldn't be important, could it?
>Of course not!
>You've got SKETTI!
>And what's best, you're going to be getting a new mommy or daddy soon!
>Life couldn't be better!

>The researcher watches you eating your spaghetti.
>A female counterpart comes up, watching as well.
"I wonder," she says. "Do they remember being smart?"
>The male researcher shrugs, picking up another bowl of spaghetti.
"I dunno. I don't remember being dumb."
>He looks down at the pasta, spearing it with a fork and holding a ball up in front of his eyes.
"I do still love this stuff for some reason."

"Well, kiddies, I do believe that was our most frightful tale yet!"

The Crypt-Keeper grins, petting the emaciated fluffy in his lap.

"Tune in next week for our sequel: Hugbox of Horror!"

He laughs maniacally, the fluffy in his lap whimpering about wanting to die.

Fade to black.

The end.