Fall of Cleveland: The Enemy of My Enemy

>You are a soldier with 1st Battalion, 18th Infantry Regiment.
>You're currently on the 14th tee at Shaker Heights Country Club, but you're not playing golf.
>As with almost everywhere near Cleveland, fluffy ponies waddle through the landscape.
>You have your binoculars trained on some strange looking fluffies.
>They're larger than the rest, and all white, with empty blue eyes.
>There's a clump of about two dozen, slowly walking around.
>They only break ranks when approached by regular fluffies.
>Every time this happens, they attack those fluffies and kill them.
“Sergeant, you wouldn't believe what I'm looking at.”
>You pass along this info to your NCO, who then sends it up to the company commander.
>Your squad continues to watch the white fluffies, who are about a hundred meters away.
>They reach an orange, bloated fluffy dam stuck in a sandtrap.
>”New fwiends, pwease hewp mumma!  No can woll!  Am stuck!”
>Two of the whites walk over to her.
>One grabs her tail, and the other grabs the stubby horn on her head.
>They start yanking in opposite directions.
>”Nuuuuuuu!  Why huwt mumma?!  Mumma good fwuffy, pwease no huwt babehs!”
>The other whites begin coming over, delivering kicks and bites to her swollen torso.
>”Stop huwt!  Stop huwt babehs!” the dam shrieks frantically.
>With a sharp pop, she explodes out of stress.
>The whites don't seem injured.
>They start looking around for the foals.
>Once they find all four, they begin stomping the chirping creatures.
>After they fall silent, the whites regroup and begin moving again.
>It's not long before they encounter a large herd of regular fluffies.
>”Smawty fwiend say dese ow gwassies, big fwuffies go 'way!”
>A bluish-green earth fluffy seems to be in charge of the regulars.
>He stomps and puffs and generally looks like a moron.
>The whites say nothing in response.
>They surround the smarty and begin tearing him apart.
>”Nuuuuuuuuuuu!  HEWP FWUFFY!” he screams, thrashing around and flinging blood all over the whites.
>Once he's dead, the whites are charged by the herd.
>Despite being outnumbered five to one, they annihilate the regulars with graceful ease.
>The massacre is punctuated by the rounding up of the regular fillies and colts.
>They are systematically executed by having their heads bitten off.
>Suddenly, one of the whites looks at you.
>They all turn to face you, but just stand there and stare.
>You take the squad and walk over to investigate.
“Why are you killing these fluffy ponies?”
>They stare up at you.
>”No huwt fwuffies.  Fwuffies haf acciden'.”
“I just watched you kill them all.”
>”Fuzzies no huwt fwuffies.”
>Fuzzies, huh?
“Well...don't mind us.  Go kill some more fluffies.”
>They stand up as one, waddling off.
>However, they don't attack any other fluffies that come near them.
>With a shrug, you head back up the course to your Humvee.
>As soon as you get there, you can hear the screams of fluffy ponies behind you once again.
>Another herd is being destroyed.
>Young fluffies are torn apart as their parents beat helplessly on the bigger fuzzies.
>When the little ones are dealt with, their elders are annihilated.
>This continues again the next day.
>You see roving packs of fuzzies slaughtering fluffy ponies.
>They always stop when they realize they're being watched by humans.
>Once you move away, they return to murdergasming the moment they think you've left.
>Your company commander asks 1st Infantry Division what the policy is on these things.
>The reply comes down from the Major General himself:
>”If it's fluffy and pony-shaped, kill it.”
>Very well.
>Your patrol moves down Fairmount Boulevard, shooting at fluffy ponies and fuzzies alike.
>The Sergeant has a little fun with some of the fuzzies.
>”Hey, you.”
>”Hewwo, hooman.”
>”Stand here and let me shoot you.”
>”Okay.  Fuzzies do wha’ hooman say.”
>He shoots one right in the head with his M9.
>The fuzzies around it don't even flinch.
>”You gotta be shittin' me.”
>They obediently remain there until the last one has been killed.
>A klick east, you find some more.
>They're soaked with blood, enveloped by dead fluffy ponies.
“Hey, let me try this time, sir.”
>”Go for it.”
”Hey, fuzzies!”
>A hollow chorus of 'hewwo, hooman'.
“I command you to die.”
>They look at each other, then up at you again.
>”Okay, if hooman say so.”
>They twitch a little.
>A few begin falling over, their eyes bulging out.
>When they've all collapsed and gone still, you reach down and feel their bodies.
“Shit, they really did die!”
>Everyone else in your patrol is laughing as they mount up again.
>You're just creeped the fuck out.
>Maybe you should be shooting the geneticists that designed these things, and not the fuzzies.