Bread pone

Blame >>21217212 for this wonderful typo that birthed this silly idea.
---

"Let me GO. I'm definitely not okay with this!"
>The woman's shrill laugh rang out as she continued to mix viscous beige goop in a large, metal vat
>"It's yer own damn fault! Sneaking in to other people's property! I'll teach you just like the rest of you wee shites."
>A thin film of sweat glazes your upper lip as you dangle ominously from above
>You'd gotten into this predicament after being pepper-sprayed
>She'd successfully handcuffed you as you dealt with the sensation of needles piercing your corneas
>Now you were captured and essentially a victim
>No, not essentially - you are about to be a victim
>There was no denying it
>There just didn't seem to be any escape from this situation
>To your left a roaring oven blasts hot air over your body, fear starting to squeeze your heart
"Okay, shit, I'm sorry, please, I'll give you whatever you want, just let me go."
>There's no direct reply, just a loud guffaw as the woman smiles to herself
>"It's done. Down you come, you rodent. Oh don't worry, you won't be one for much longer."
>Her fist hits a button, and immediately the hook you're latched on to descends
"What? I said sorry, okay! Jesus, you're not going to dip me into, into..."
>You stare past your trembling feet into the vat. It smells... yeasty
"What the hell is this?! No!"
>Your shoes are lost as they get absorbed into the thick liquid
>"It's dough, my dear. Or rather, a special dough. You'll see soon enough."
>You struggle and yell, but no one is coming to save you
>In no time at all, the dough is up to your waist
"What the fuck is this? Are you going to drown me in dough and put me in that oven?!"
>It was completely ludicrous, and yet that was the only logical outcome your brain could predict from this nightmare scenario
>"Almost, but not quite. I'm not drowning you, I'm breaking you down and re-molding you in an image I see fit."
>Body wet and sticky, the dough bubbles ominously as you sink to your shoulders.
"Wha- *hack* I don't und- ah!"

-

>A cruel smile curls the woman's lip
>"Don't talk, sweetie. You're going to need that air."
>Fear was at maximum; your eyes water as you try to scream, but it's hopeless
>Warm, salty dough squeezes down your open throat and up your nose, making you gag.
>She was drowning you
>She was going to be the last person you ever saw
>You'd never felt this helpless before
>Determined not to give up, you wrestle violently against the dough
>It has no effect; movement completely nullified by the viscous goopy padding
>This was it - you're going to die, right here, right now
>Christ, if only you'd woken up this morning with the knowledge you had now...
>Suddenly no air, no light.
>The claustrophobic sensation of being buried alive.
>The final moments become hazy - adrenaline-filled rage as darkness grows from the corner of your eyes
>Your lungs burn as they're oxygen-starved
>You choke as dough continues you press in down your throat like a large snake.
>And then as it gets too much...
>Nothing.
>But not the nothing you'd expect
>You're still conscious, but can't explain how
>"Here we go. You'll make a nice addition to our family."
>Next thing you know, you're being stretched
>Not just stretched as in a yoga exercise, but -stretched-
>Every fiber of your being is being pulled apart and rolled.
>You try to speak but you have no lips, mouth, or even a tongue
>All you can do is come along for the ride as every inch of you is kneaded, rolled, splashed with milk, flattened, folded, tweaked, rubbed and smoothed out.
>"...And the finishing touches - your eyes."
>And just like that, you can see again.
>But did you want to? Well, that was another question entirely
>You were lying on your side on top of some grease-proof paper
>Sense of touch was still eluding you, but you could see that every inch of your body was the same beige as the dough vat
"Jujh what dudja dou?"
>Speaking doesn't come naturally, your jaw like rubber.
>"Now dear, don't speak yet - you're still raw."

-

>Still raw?
>Slowly your brain tries to piece together what's happened
>Wait...
"Figured it out? I can tell by the shock in your eyes."
>The woman laughs again.
>"Yes, you became one with the dough. I've now recreated you in MY image. You can call me Mummy, if you want."
>Her laugh is sickening
>You try to clench your teeth, but all you do is squish them together instead
"Oh don't do that dear, I'm about to bake you! I won't be able to repair you after that."
>She coos sarcastically as she sticks her long fingers into your mouth to fix the damage
>Fear gripped you again as your mind looped on one word - 'bake'
>Was she about to chuck you into that oven from earlier?
>The very thought of being cooked alive was just as bad as being buried alive
>With every ounce of strength you had you try to move, but it's no use
>You're just a floppy, listless wad of dough, not unlike a jellyfish out of water
>In fact, what WERE you?
>From what you could see, you certainly didn't have the same body proportions as before
>Were you even still human?
>Before you can ask the woman walks past brandishing a cookie cutter.
"For you."
>You watch silently as she sticks it into your side removing a large chunk of dough from your hip
>"Confused? Oh, you'll see." she leers.
>An alarm rings, accompanied by electrical whirring and shaking ground
>Fuck, you were on a conveyor belt!
>"Ta ta for now, love. Don't fidget or you'll regret if you do!"
>All of a sudden, you're moving
>No, this can't be happening!
>You watch your murderer for the last time again - something you didn't think possible
>How serious were her final words? If you move would it really permanently deform you?
>Red light starts growing brighter overhead
>Not being able to turn round and face the danger was an awful experience
>Instead you just had to wait patiently for your impending 'cooked alive' fate
>It's lucky you can't feel anything, you suppose
>Just as the waiting peaks, red lights shines directly down on to you
>This is it

-

>The conveyor belt shudders to a stop
>You glance around feverishly; Has the oven broken down? Are you safe?
>You stare longingly at the heat-resistant curtains that block the oven entrance
>They were just too far away, how could you manage to shuffle over there in time?
>You were about to be baked alive!
>The oven's element continues to warm up, tinting the surrounding walls an ominous blood-orange
>Hysterical, you urge your body to make the even the slightest of moments
>That woman's warnings be damned! You're getting out of here
>Even getting off the grease-proof tray would be a goal
>But alas, there was barely any functionality left in your body
>Like you were in control of a toy that'd recently ran out of batteries
>Dully, a distant part of your brain starts reporting changes occurring to your mass
>Were you... expanding?
>Self-raising bread?
>Whatever was happening, it was creating feeling in your listless form for the first time
>After 5 minutes your sense of smell returns, alongside some mild movement
>Your skin was changing, puffing up and darkening
>It smelt delicious
>Then it dawned on you
>You are scrumptious bread cooking in a oven
>What the fuck had gone wrong in your life?
>You still didn't register the oven's heat
>You could certainly tell it was humid, but there wasn't any burning or discomfort
>In fact, it was kinda nice... like being in a warm blanket
>No! You can't enjoy this, you need to escape!
>Mentally slapping yourself, you try and move an arm
>Part of your body twitches, but it doesn't feel right
>Your fingers just don't seem to add up
>It feels like you only have 1 finger, and it's pretty long
>Curious, you turn your head to investigate
>Immediately you realize this was a mistake
>Weight shifts on your head as something sags
>Whatever it was hadn't set yet, folding in on itself
>Instinctively you shake your head to correct it, but that just makes the dangling part become looser, until it's suddenly not connected

-

>The evil woman's warning plays in your mind again:
>"I'm about to bake you! I won't be able to repair you after that."
>Had you just irreversibly damaged yourself?
>You can't tell - you don't feel pain or anything else, but still...
>You decide it'd be safest to just lie there and take the heat
>Don't want to accidentally fuck yourself up worse than you already were.
>Just a pathetic piece of delicious-smelling bread curled up in a nice, toasty oven
>What was your life going to be now?
>The alarm rings out just as your mind drifts off into darkness
>The belt is moving!
>Not far, however, as it shifts a few feet and stops
>Being able to articulate yourself better, you look up and take note that you're now under a different element of the oven
>How long was this going to go on?
>Knowing that intervention was pointless, you curl up and endure more baking
>"Oi, you rotten little shit! What did I tell you about moving?!"
>You start awake, still lying on the tray
"What?!" you blurt out
>The tray suddenly goes airborne as you realize you're being carried
>"Your left ear, it's totally ruined!"
>Left ear? Idly you try groping it
>Something warm and soft collides the side of your head
>You can't feel anything where you'd expect your ear to be, but you do notice that your hand feels... flat.
>"Your ears are on top of your head, you utter nonce!"
>You blink up at her, then down at your odd hand
>It's definitely not the shape you'd expect, almost as if someone had cut your hands off at the wrists
"Uhm...?" was all you could muster, your heart swelling with fear for the 100th time tonight
>"Well, no matter. Your lost." she tuts, continuing to carry you on the tray
"Wait, where are my hands? Where are my ears? What's going on? Why does my... butt itch?"
>Upon waking, a small violent itch had erupted around your rear
>At one point you would have been embarrassed to say it, but now you didn't care any more
>"Oh, does my little pony have a yeast infection?"

-

"Wait, WHAT?"
>The woman lets out a curt laugh
>"Oh yes dear, you're my little bread pony now. I'm really surprised you haven't figured it out yet, you dough-brain."
>Your brain stumbles over itself as this utterly impossible statement pollutes your mind
"Bread... pony?"
>"Why yes, just as it sounds. I mixed your body in with my special dough, reformed you in the shape of a cute little pony, and then baked you. What part of that is hard to grasp?"
>Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. You close it again.
>"You're wondering why? Well, punishment is the major part of the reason, but also I like food-themed ponies."
"There's more!?" you splutter, before pausing
"Wait... Something's not right..."
>You stroke your throat with a stubbed arm
>"You dare imply that I've made a mistake? Honestly, how's that any way to treat the person who will now be taking ownership of you?"
"Ownership!? No, turn me back you utter bumblecunt bitchfuck! I'll fuckin' break your head!"
>The sensation of movement stops abruptly, like the woman's ankle had been snagged.
>"Now now, less of that. There's 3 potential fates for you here, so you need to be nice to me."
>You look up into her wrinkled face, her crooked, yellowed teeth gritted
>"1 - You are bread. You will expire and go moldy in a matter of days without my protection. 2 - You are edible. I am not above eating my creations. 3 - Bread + Water = Irreparably Soggy pony"
>This can't be happening
"I'd rather be... dead, than remain like this! An abomination of life! I shouldn't exist! I should have drowned in the vat and died!"
>"Oh yes, because we all saw how noble and brave you were as we lowered you into the dough, Loafy?"
"...Loafy?" you repeat
>The woman laughs again.
>"Just trying to place a name. Flour? No... Flatbread?... nah, Pan... Pan..."
"But I have a name!" You interject, "It's-"
>"No, you do not! And if I ever hear you SPEAK your name, it's over. Now be a good girl for me Pan while I introduce you to the rest."

-

>Despite just coming out of a toasty oven, you shudder
>The vile woman, who was a scary figure before, was now absolutely terrifying
>Defeated, you watch her as she continues to carry you
>Having to tilt your head up drastically just to catch a glimpse of her chin drilled home how impossibly small you were
>It's a horrific feeling; this new point of view shattering your confidence
>You're tiny now, completely vulnerable
>How on earth could you defend yourself against anything in this state?
>"Here!"
>The support beneath you suddenly disappears and you free fall onto a cushioned surface
>"Everybody, meet Pan. Be nice."
>And with those words, she turned on her heel and promptly left.
>Wait, where was she going? She had to reverse this!
"W-wait! Stop!" you call out, trying to leap after her
>However, a fine fabric mesh blocks your way
>What the hell was this, some kind of playpen?
>How were you going to get out of this?
>Desperate, you glance up to see if you could climb out of this pathetic prison
>"Oh, I know what you're thinking, but I wouldn't do that if I were you."
>A smooth voice speaks out from behind, startling you
>Upon spinning around, you view the source,
>2 other... 'food creatures' were staring in interest.
>The one who'd addressed you was yellow, shiny and almost... wet?
>"Hey. I'm Mantequilla. I'm a butter pony."
>Your eyes go wide
"A... what?!"
>He smiles.
>"Heh, yeah. I guess this is all scary and new for you, isn't it?" he says casually, his deep voice filling you with hint of calm
>You nod, before firing up again
"Can you help?! That woman, she dropped me in this dough and then... well, I just need to escape!"
>"Sorry 'hon, but you're not goin' anywhere..."
>The other food creature spoke up. Like Mantequilla, she was slightly yellow and dripping.
>"My name is Raguroni, and yeah, I'm a cheesy pizza pony."
>This was blowing your mind on so many levels
"Ponies? Food? I just, what? I mean, huh?"
>"Yeah... it takes a while to get to terms with."

-

>There's a drawn out silence, both 'ponies' looking at you
>You don't have time for this
"Look, sorry, I gotta go."
>Turning your back to them, you try and hoist yourself up over the playpen wall
>Unfortunately you're just a few inches too short to get a proper grip, even if you hop up
>Defeat sapping your energy, you listlessly slide down the mesh wall
>Mantequilla approaches you slowly
>"So... are you a bread pony? Pan, was it?"
>Catching his eye you quickly tilt your face down only to see your own brown stumpy arms
"No, that's not my name." you say slowly, unsure if these creatures were 'all there' in the head
>"Ah yes, of course. However, Pan is the name Cooking Mama assigned to you, yes?"
>You choke audibility at the sound of this name
"C-cooking Mama? What, like from that game?"
>Mantequilla shrugs with a smile
>"Well, she's never actually shared her real name, but she accepts that one. 'The Cook' was just too... ominous."
>Raguroni and Mantequilla both share a look, cheeky smiles adorning their flavored faces
>You assume it's an inside joke you don't get, but you don't care
"Can one of you guys give me a boost? So I can get out of here?"
>You nod your head in the direction of the playpen corner
>At once, their smiles twist into frowns
>"Ah, no, we can't. I'm sorry, Pan." Mantequilla apologizes, sounding sincere
"How not? Sure you're... made of butter, but I just need to hop and lea-"
>"We could do if we wanted to," Raguroni interrupts, "but, well, Cooking Mama doesn't take kind to disobedience."
"What do you mean?" you ask, your curiosity peaked
>Raguroni turns away, Mantequilla sighing
>"Well, you're here now Pan. I guess I can show you. Follow."
>He trots... well, more slips and slides to the opposite corner of the playpen
>You immediately attempt to follow, but suddenly stumble and land flat on your face
>It just occurs to you that you've never walked before in this form...
>"Ya alright? Sheesh, it's lucky your body is so soft and light"

-

>Raguroni hovers above you
>"Can ya manage? Walking IS hard at first."
>Choosing to ignore her, you try pressing yourself up off the cushioned ground
>"Plus, your body is basically filled with air - you are bread after all" Mantequilla adds, waiting for you in the other corner
>Getting back onto all fours, you try coordinate yourself better.
>The part of your brain that once associated weight with specific human limbs was now of no use
>It was like gravity had grown weaker leaving you practically weightless
>"Imagine crawling towards me using just your fingers and toes for balance. It's easy once it clicks."
>As silly as this statement sounded, it actually made some small sense as you mentally mapped your limbs
>"Mmm, did I ever tell you that you smell so fresh?" Raguroni sighed dreamily as you stand up
"I, uh..." you stutter, feeling awkward
>She laughs, giving you a quick noogie with a cheesy, greasy hoof
>"Heh, I like you Pan. You're so lost it's cute."
>If your mind wasn't currently dedicated to maintaining balance, you'd have argued
>Slowly you make your way towards Mantequilla, coordinating one leg at a time
>"Yes, that's it Pan. You don't need to be stiff, bend your legs"
>Biting your lip in concentration you discover another horror - your lip is crusty to the touch
>Is your skin made entirely of bread crust?
>"You made it. Well done." Mantequilla beams, his deep voice filling you with slight confidence
"It's not so hard. Thanks for the fingers and toes tip. Now, what are you showing me?" you ask, looking about
>Raguroni turns away again, Mantequilla's face falling slightly
>"Ah, yes. That."
>He points a silky, creamy hoof at a shard of glass
>Interested, you shuffle closer
"This glass?"
>Mantequilla nods, his face crumpling
>You look again
>Well, it was certainly a shard of glass
"What's so special about it?" you question, pressing a spongy bread hoof onto it
"That's the remains of a pony who crossed Cooking Mama. That's what remains of Fizz."

-

"Fizz?" you repeat, heart sinking
>"Yes, Fizz. As you've probably guessed, she was a Cola pony."
>Eyes growing wide, you quickly retract your hoof from the glass
>"She arrived here just like the rest of us. And like you, she too was obsessed with escape."
>A chill runs up your spine
"She was made out of glass?! What happened? Did she accidentally slip on exit?"
>In the background Raguroni curls up, Mantequilla casting a quick glance at her
>"No, no unfortunately it wasn't that... accidental."
"Then how...?"
"Cooking Mama. Once Fizz has tried her patience, she simply scooped her up, drank forcefully from Fizz's mouth, and once done..."
>Mantequilla nods his head at the wall through the mesh, and you quickly peek
>An area of wall was damaged; dented with scratches that could have only been caused by tiny, sharp fragments
"Oh... oh god, I'm so sorry."
>You're at a loss for words at this unsettling story
>Mantequilla smiles again, though it's forced
>"It's alright. Fizz arrived with Raguroni, I was already here. That shard was placed there by Cooking Mama acting as a reminder."
>Raguroni curls up tighter, apparently sucking her own cheesy tail
>"It's in your best interest to stay, Pan. You are free to leave, but well, I can't imagine you'd want to be a sandwich."
>"Or toast." Raguroni adds
>"Or dippy soilders."
>"Or bread sauce."
>"Or-"
"Okay, okay, I get the point" you scowl
>Another question that'd been plaguing you bursts forth:
"Why are you guys so... chill about this?"
>Mantequilla smiles again as he lies next to Raguroni
>"We've been here for months. Trust me, we were just like you and Fizz when we arrived."
>Raguroni snuggles into Mantequilla, the cloth below them stained with grease
>"But eventually, you adapt. You forget about how life was because this is now how life is. It's weird."
>Edging closer, you take care to avoid any greasy spots
>"Besides, we need Cooking Mama to live," Raguroni speaks up, "As you know, food expires. So do we."

-

"What do you mean?" comes your blank reply
>"We're all perishable now. A set time limit. For example, butter probably lasts at most 2 weeks before it spoils. Pizza? A week, if you're lucky. Bread..."
>Mantequilla glances at Raguroni, both sharing a concerned look
>"...Maybe a couple of days?"
"So I'm gonna die in a few days" you state flatly
>You rub your face with a hoof, mulling this over
"But Mantequilla... you said you've been here for months, and yet you still look fresh to me."
>He smiles, still snuggling with Raguroni
>"Yup, you didn't let me finish." Raguroni continues, "It's thanks to Cooking Mama that we live beyond our expiry dates. She has special ingredients that keep us fresh. If we were to leave her protection, though..."
>Horrific mental images surface of mold-infested bread being devoured by mice
"So if we leave we'll... expire? Like, I'll become stale and moldy?"
>Mantequilla nods
>Raguroni, apparently sensing your distress, gives you a sympathetic look
>"You'll get used to it soon enough, 'hon."
>All things considered, you didn't believe her
>There's a renewed silence as Mantequilla and Raguroni continue their snuggling
"What's next then? Is this it? Is this playpen now my life?"
>Staring around wildly, you can't fathom staying in this pathetic prison for the rest of your days
>"No, not quite. This playpen is essentially a form of limbo. It's where Cooking Mama evaluates if you're worthy to live in the Pantry."
"The Pantry?" you repeat
>Both ponies nod
>"Yes. That's where all the other food ponies live. It's the best outcome for anyone in our situation."
"I guess all new ponies visit the playpen first then. But what about you guys? I thought you'd been here months?"
>Raguroni shuts her eyes, resting her head on Mantequilla
"Can't we continue question time later, 'hon? We're tired."
>It was becoming clear that your endless barrage of inquiries was upsetting Raguroni
>Mantequilla chuckles with his smooth, deep voice

-

>"I don't mind answering, Pan. We both got expelled from the Pantry a few days back. My fault."
"What did you do?"
>He chuckles again
>"Sorry Pan, but I'm not one to kiss and tell."
>Raguroni's face was hidden, but you're sure her pepperoni cheeks were glowing
"Ah, ah I see." you awkwardly mumble, more to yourself than to Mantequilla
>Keeping your distance but staying within ear-shot, you curl up on the slightly soggy bedding
>There was just so much information to process at the moment
>Hell, about 2 hours ago you were a perfectly happy human
>Now? You were a very distressed pony made from bread
>Bread...
>Glancing at the others to make sure they weren't watching, you sniff your foreleg
>The fluffy aroma of beautifully baked bread meets your nostrils, and you can't help salivating a little
>Oh god, how was this going to work out? What if you got hungry and ate yourself? Hell, what's to stop others eating you?
>Taking advantage of the silent moment, you examine yourself fully
>Your legs and body were covered in a light brown crust, slightly dusted with flour
>Your hair, or mane, was light white bread
>The shape of your face and body were completely different to your previous form, both smaller and differently proportioned
>Everything is so alien
>As you prod and poke yourself, a dull itch that'd been subdued by stress resurfaced
>What had Cooking Mama said again?
>Actually... what's down there now?
>"Hey Pan, you alright?"
>Mantequilla, who'd been silently dozing next to Raguroni, was watching you with one eye
"Uh, yeah."
>Feeling embarrassed he'd caught you trying to see up your own butt you decide to sit, pressing your rear into the ground
>"Are you sure? You're looking a little bit like a dog with worms."
>He wasn't far off, you were very tempted to scoot off on your ass to try rub out the itch
"Yeah, I'm find... Just itchy." you mumble
>He smiles, raising up on all fours and stretching
>"Want me to have a look?"

-

"I, uh..." you stammer, unsure how to defuse this awkward situation
>"It's not uncommon for our yeast-based ponies to have occasional problems down there. Raguroni could probably tell you all about it."
>Mantequilla comes within arm's length, eyeing you up slowly
"Why would Raguroni know?" you ask, discomfort mounting
>"Never had pizza before? There's a base under that layer of cheese and sauce. You don't see it, but it exists"
"How do you know?" you ask, but Mantequilla misses your question while he sniffs the air
>"Mmh, I'll tell you one thing Pan, you smell damn fine."
"T-thanks, you too." you stammer, realizing you'd just backed into the wall of the playpen
>"No need to worry about being modest, you can show me the area that's itching if it's bothering you"
>Your heart - or bread equivalent - was thumping
>Sure, Mantequilla seemed harmless as his deep voice hugged your ears, but...
"Are... do you really want to examine my butt?"
>It's a line you thought you'd never say, but the itch had now grown into a full-on burn
>He smiles again
>"We're all in this together, might as well help each other out too."
>You suppose that makes sense - if you're all in the same boat, what did you have to hide?
"Well, okay then"
>Slowly, you trot in a circle until your face was opposite the playpen mesh
"See anything unusual?" you ask breathlessly as you feel the ghost of your toes curling
>"Not from this angle. Perhaps, could you bend your forelegs down and raise your tail for me?"
"Raise my tail...?"
>It takes a few seconds to process that you had a tail now
"How'd I do to that?"
>Mantequilla looks thoughtful for a moment
>"Try... tracking your spine. Imagine it flowing from your neck down to the base, where the human tail bone is. Just above the rump, try and feel your dock."
>Closing your eyes, you mentally follow your spine...
"There?" you call out
>"Well done, Pan." Mantequilla praises
"See any-" you start, but stop as something slimly touches your nether region

-

>You lurch forward, jamming your face into the rough playpen mesh
"W-w-what the fuck, man!" you hiss, doing a 180 in time to see Mantequilla pulling a confused look
>"Oh sorry Pan, have I misinterpreted what you wanted?" he asks calmly with a slippery hoof still hovering in the air
>With small steps you shuffle back in to the mesh, sizing him up
"I said you could LOOK, didn't mention any touching!" you stammer, face burning up in total embarrassment
>"Ah, I see. My apologies, Pan. How disrespectful and indignant of me."
>Mantequilla lowers his hoof and takes a sitting stance, looking pained
>There's an awkward silence as you remain on the defensive
>What the hell?
>You're not entirely sure how to react to this situation
>Though you do know you're glad Raguroni wasn't awake to witness it
>There's little movement as both parties recover
>You glance at Mantequilla who'd not moved or opened his eyes in some time
>Guilt starts to flood over you, perhaps he really did misinterpret?
"Uh, i-it's okay man. I guess it's my fault for not being clear" you mutter, breaking the silence
>He moves his head and opens his eyes at your words, a small smile growing on his face
>"No need for you to apologize here. I'm at fault."
>Slowly he gets up, and trots over
>"But you can't fault me for mistaking the signs..."
>He moves within arm's reach
>"...cause you know what they say..."
>Suddenly Mantequilla is nose-to-nose with you
>"...nothing goes better together than bread and butter."
>"What are you two doing?"
>Raguroni had awoken, her voice thick as she spoke through a yawn
>Mantequilla stares right into your eyes unblinkingly as he responds
>"Oh nothing, Ragu. Just explaining how it's almost time for our pearls."
>The smile etched on Mantequilla's lips remained as prominent as ever as he finally broke eye contact

-

>You stand there dazed - what just happened?
>"Oh yeah, you're right. It must nearly be pearl time."
>Raguroni springs up and stretches her cheesy body out
>"I can definitely feel myself drying out, I need a boost."
>You remain still as both ponies sit up in the middle of the pen.
"You coming over too, 'hon?" Raguroni asks, jerking her head to the space on her right
>As dubious as 'pearl time' sounded, you decide to take up the offer
>You tentatively trot over giving Mantequilla a wide berth
"What's pear-" you begin to ask, cutting off at the sound of large footsteps
>"Right, you little shits."
>Cooking Mama marches into view, now a colossal giant
>Mantequilla and Raguroni sit up straight, their eyes fixated on the bitch who did all this to you
>"Mantequilla."
>He trots forward coolly, seemingly used to this ritual
>There's no sign of alarm as Cooking Mama grabs him by the neck and pops a small, white sphere into his mouth
>He simply swallows, and returns to where he was
>"Ragu."
>Raguroni moves forward, suddenly being scooped up into the air
>Swiftly Cooking Mama pops a same-styled white ball into Ragu's mouth
>"I've got some good news for you, you greasy slut. You're going back to the Pantry today."
>At once Ragurono's ears perked up
>"Really?! Oh, thank you!"
>Apparently this was good news as Raguroni squealed with delight.
>There's a pause as you stare up at your captor
>Perhaps you should trot forward and get a pearl too?
>"And what do you want?" Cooking Mama scowls as you make your move
>"You're still freshly baked you greedy wee shit, you don't need regenerated. And you certainly aren't going to the Pantry any time soon either."
>Well, that backfired
>You silently trot back to your spot, watching as Raguroni is taken away through a door
>How long were you going to be kept in this stupid prison?
>"Looks like it's just us now, Pan." comes a familiar, smooth voice.
>Mantequilla smiles at you

-

>>21567552
>Silence descends over the scene like a veil
>You stay rooted to the spot as Mantequilla's grin dazzles you
>Shit. What happens next?
>A shiver runs down your bread stick of a spine as your playpen mate speaks up
>"Well, looks like it's just us now" he sighs, lying down on the stained bedding
>Choosing not to reply, you turn around and start thinking about escape again
>Okay, so this enclosure is too high for you to jump out of...
>You run a soft hoof against the mesh that made up the walls
>No... it's too strong. If you tried to rip your way out you'd probably grate your limbs off
>Could you use your weight to tip the pen over?
>Taking a few cautious steps backwards you swiftly break into a canter
>The playpen might as well have been part of the building's integrity as you simply bounce off
>How light were you? Definitely less than 1kg, that's for sure
>Brain buzzing, you try think of another scheme to escape
>Dig your way out? No... the floor underneath the bedding is solid
>Run your fastest and scale the mesh? No... not enough grip in your squishy hooves
>The last resort solution was slowly dawning on you
>"Having fun?" Mantequilla chuckles, apparently observing you with interest
>Should you ask him to boost you out?
>Yes - you were getting panicky and desperate now
"Do you think-" you start, but are interrupted by a bell
>Was that a cooking timer?
>"Lights out in 5. That's what that bell means, if you were wondering."
>You quickly glance around for any windows or views to outside, but there weren't any
"So... what time does that translate to?" you ask, breaking your silence, "When I last saw a clock it was around 9pm..."
>Your heart sinks as you just realize that your favorite watch was now gone
>"Lights out at 11:30pm on weekends. 10:30pm on weekdays."
"There's a curfew? This really is prison."
>Mantequilla shrugs, flicking his buttery tail indifferently
>"It's better than paying a mortgage."

-

>With your cell mate looking like he was settling down for the night, you decide it was now or never
"Hey, Mantequilla, can you boost me out?"
>There's a slight ring in your ears as he casts a knowing look
>"Still wanting to escape, Pan? While I understand your immediate concern, do you fully understand what you lose by leaving?"
>His voice was as calm and soothing as ever, but you swore there was the tiniest hint of skepticism
>You fully understand the risk - if you leave, you will eventually expire
>But surely that's a better alternative to just sitting around doing nothing and accepting this crazy shit show?
>"I respect that you have reasons for wanting to leave. What brought you to this facility in the first place?" Mantequilla asks politely
>That was a question you wanted to avoid
"You first" you snipe
>Mantequilla grins at your suspicious response, but looks thoughtful
>"It's... petty, really. Such I fool I was. Money makes a fool out of us all, I suppose."
>He slicks his smooth, runny mane before continuing
>"If you must know, I was fuel hunting. Using Google maps, I determined that this facility had isolated fuel canisters just abandoned carelessly in the back lot."
>You raise a crusty, curious eyebrow
>"So... I came along in my truck at night, intended to jump the fence and take the reserves I'd seen from the satellite images, when..."
>Mantequilla lowers his head as if giving a graceful little bow
"How'd you get caught?" you ask
>"Heh, I didn't take into account an electric fence. Must have tripped some alarm because when I came to I'd been found. Bitter end to my pathetic heist."
"How'd... how'd you get turned?" you mumble, not sure if this was an offensive question
>"Funny you should ask. Basically, I got thrown into this vat of melted butter. Before I came to terms of what was happening, I was sealed in... and churned."
"Just like that?"
>"Just like that. I lost myself briefly, and when I returned..."
>He raises a yellow leg looking sheepish

-

>You gulp - did each food pony have a similar, horrific tale?
>"And you?" Mantequilla asks, seemingly intrigued
>You briefly explain being lowered into a vat of dough, then going through the industrial oven
>"Ah, that's similar to Raguroni's story. I guess that explains your ear."
"My ear?"
>Your wandering hoof tries to feel the ears situated on top of your head
>"Yes. Forgive me, I just noticed that one is slightly... well, they're not symmetrical. Not that it matters in the slightest, however..."
>Is it really that noticeable? Last thing you need now is to feel self-conscious
>What if the other ponies laugh?
>No, that doesn't matter. You won't be seeing any more ponies.
>Mentally slapping yourself, you clear your throat
"Okay, enough chit-chat. I'm out of here. Give me a boost?"
>Feeling more relaxed around Mantequilla since his origin story, you approach the side of the playpen Cooking Mama had stood
"Please?" you add as your fellow pony stares at you blankly
>"Are you really sure, Pan? The lights are about to go out any minute, and if you get caught..."
>Deep down you completely understood how irrational you were acting, but you just couldn't wait around while your chest filled with rage
>It was like standing on hot coals, you HAD to keep moving
>Opening your mouth to give the order, a distant, loud clunk echos through the building
>Next thing you know, total darkness
>"Sorry Pan, looks like we're too late." Mantequilla apologizes
"This is lights out? I can't see anything at all!" you speak up, frustrated
>"Shhh there, if you're heard out of hours..."
"This is such fuckin' shit!" you flare up
>Taking advantage of the darkness you have a little stompy temper tantrum
>Everything about this was so unfair!
>In fact, you could feel bitter tears forming in your pathetic little eyes
>"Pan? Pan! Are you okay? Calm." Mantequilla calls out, the rumble of his voice somehow magnified by the dark
"Calm? Calm?! I'll tell you exactly why I can't be calm."

-

>Mantequilla went still, though you could practically feel his gaze burning a hole through the dark
>You decide to tell him the full truth, the reason why you were so desperate to get back to reality
"I've kinda got a time limit." you start, not sure how to begin.
>"Oh but of course, we all do. Didn't we discuss that earlier?"
"No, ignore this stupid insanity. I'm talking about out there, in real life"
>You jerk your head towards the door despite it being pitch black
>"Well technically we're still in real life Pan, but go on. How do you have a time limit?"
>A knot forms in your chest as you try find the best way to word this
"Let's start at why I came to this living-nightmare of a facility. I was looking for a phone."
>As your eyes slowly adjusted to the dark you saw that Mantequilla had laid down, both hooves crossed
>"A phone? Forgive me, but that's a pretty odd reason. Especially considering we're in the middle of no-where."

...And then that's all I wrote because of FUCKING VIDEO GAMES. Seriously, fuck those fucking things. Make you feel productive when you've accomplished fuck all. Waste of life, yet so enjoyable.