The End of Fluffy Ponies

>You are anon.
>And you are going to put an end to the greatest scourge the world has ever known.
>Fluffy ponies!
>You drive along the road running over as many of the technicolored shit bags you can.
>You have raided old corporate headquarters looking for anything that could help you in discovering what can wipe these things out.
>You drive along looking at the abandoned buildings of what used to be a great metropolis.
>You keep going until you make it to your destination.
>A four way intersection with lights that they quit giving a fuck about fixing a long time ago.
>You stop and step out looking to the building.
>The place where it all began.
>You shudder looking at the multicolored writhing mass in front of the building.
>”Fwuffy wub yoo!”, “Pwease pick fwuffy!, “Daddeh!”
>Their voices pierce your ears with loving annoyance.
>You walk through them stomping their bodies and kicking them out of the way.
>You hop over the small decorative rock wall quickly make it to the building.
>It is a typical office building about three stories.
>The ornate glass has been long since broken.
>Payback for what they unleashed on the world.
>You jump over the remains of a broken window to get inside.
>”Wai’ fo fwuffy daddeh! Wait fo-! AHHHHHH!”
>You turn and see a fluffy pony was trying to follow you.
>It also tried to jump the glass and got itself impaled.
>The shard of glass has sliced up its leg and buried itself in the fluffy’s shoulder.
>”Wahhhhh! Gif huggies daddeh! Fwuffy nee big huggies! Wahhhhhh!”
>You smile at its misery and walk away.
>Its miserable cries and begs are music to your ears.
>You wonder through the executive offices kicking the doors in and rifling through documents.
>Finally you stumble into the research and development division.
>Dim light comes into the window as you look through papers to see if anything was left to destroy these vile fluff balls.
>You look through research note after research note.
>The sickening quest of corporate America putting profits above everything.
>Insatiable greed led to the creation of these things.
>The people in charge had no care about what they unleashed as long as they could afford their mansions.
>Assholes!
>If any were left alive you would hunt them down and kill them yourself.
>You take solace that the riots that happened so long ago took care of that.
>Their profits did them no good when the crowds busted down their gates and raped and killed their families.
>You smile at the thought of a corporate fat cat begging for his life before being slaughtered like the pig he was.
>You flip through another folder and stop.
>Your heart starts to race as you read the title of the page.
>”Plan B, eradication of product”
>You have found it!
>The means that the companies had to exterminate all the fluffies.
>If they had the information why didn’t they use it!?
>You open the file and read what the fail safe was.
>It sickens you what you see.
>Hasbro has contracted with another corporate fat cat.
>The picture attached to the document representing the other company just oozes of corporate greed.
>You look at the top hat and monocle.
>You wish you could just reach into the photo and take his cane and break his fucking legs.
>This is face of the corporation that reneged.
>They didn’t make the fail safe and led to the fluffy explosion.
>The fail safe was a food designed that when a fluffy eats it, it dies.
>But not only that, they become toxic and spread vapors that kill nearby fluffies, who then turn toxic and spread even more.
>And the best thing is they stayed toxic.
>Their corpses forever killing any stray fluffy that ventures near.
>And all it takes is one nibble, just one bite to do it.
>Then a thought crosses your mind.
>Maybe, just maybe they did make the fail safe.
>There is only one way to find out.
>There is another corporation to visit!
>You walk out of the corporate headquarters of Hasbro.
>You hop over the new dead fluffy slumped on the jagged piece of glass being hugged by a myriad of other fluffies.
>”Pwease fwen! Wakies!”, ‘Fwen haf owwies! Gif gud huggies!”, “Pwease wakie fwen!”
>You ignore them as you head to your car.
>It takes time.
>You have to stop at several gas stations to syphon gas.
>Each one you stop at you drop a few of the pastel colored pieces of shit down into underground tanks.
>It warms your heart as you hear their cries every time you close the lids.
>But after a long while you make it.
>You stop your car on the road intersection.
>You get out and start walking to the office building.
>You walk across the field in front of the white office building.
>You see a huge pond in front dotted with the floating technicolored bodies.
>The field is filled with playing giggling assholes.
>One of them sees you and comes bounding up.
>”Daddeh! Pick fwuffy daddeh! Wub nyu-“
>You cut off its stupid ramblings with a kick to its head.
>It yells in pain as it flies away.
>When it lands several fluff ball run over and start to hug it.
>You just keep walking.
>You are so close.
>If their death is here you don’t want to be distracted from getting it.
>You walk to the long hallway that goes through the stair step shaped building.
>It’s glass walls shattered.
>You step into it and quickly find the stairs.
>You make your way to the office suites and find the R&D division.
>You look through files and find what you are looking for.
>A file marked Hasbro Solution.
>It is here!
>You look at the room number and quickly make your way to it.
>You open the door and walk inside.
>It is a large spacious office with a raised ceiling.
>The image of corporate greed is still above the door.
>You look to the other side of the room and see a large metal door with a long dead keypad next to it.
>It takes a bit but you kick it in.
>There it is.
>A single box sitting on a pedestal.
>You can barely contain your excitement as you walk forward.
>You grab the box firmly letting your knuckles turn white as a smile creeps across your face.
>You have it, the final solution for fluffy ponies.
>You walk back into the office and look out one of the open widows to the playing giggling fuckers below.
>”Hey you little shit bags! I feel like being someone’s daddy! First come first serve!”
>You hear their excited babbles rise up, “DADDEH!”, “PWEASE PICK FWUFFY!”
>You laugh as you step back into the office and open the box.
>You rip open the aluminum packaging.
>You lift it up and sniff the imminent fluffy death.
>It smells… it smells delicious!
>You pick out one of the death pellets and nibble it.
>The taste is indescribable!
>You pop it into your mouth and chomp it hungrily and swallow.
>You hear the giggles and babbles of the fluffies down the hallway.
>You find yourself eating a handful of the doom of all fluffies.
>It figures such a sweet treat would be the answer of these sugary sweet fuckers!
>Another handful won’t hurt.
>These things are amazing, you will have to hunt down any more boxes left.
>You flip off the rich faggot above the door as you tip up the box.
>Then down the hall you see the first fluffy pony bounding.
>You give a menacing giggle as you reach into the box.
>Your hand goes to the bottom feeling nothing.
>You panic and look into the box.
>It is now completely empty!
>No!
>You couldn’t have eaten it all!
>You turn the box over with nothing coming out!
>The aristocratic symbol smiles down mockingly.
>More fluffies bound around the corner and turn toward you, “DADDEHHHHH!”
>They are scampering toward you.
>You rush up and close the door.
>”Owwies!”, “Nuuu! Whewe daddeh go!?”, “Owwies! Pwease nuu poosh fwuffy!”
>You hear the soft thump of fluffies slamming into the other side of the door.
>You run back to the room that you kicked in.
>Nothing.
>”No! no! no!”
>You scramble around, there are no other boxes.
>You walk back out hearing the scuffles and pads of fluffies on the other side of the door.
>”Wahhhhhh!”, “Pwease daddeh! Fwuffy nuuu am mofe!”, “Owwie owwieowwie!”, “Pwease pick fwuffy! Am gud fwuffy!”, “Ahhhh!”
>You run to the folders and start looking through them.
>Finally you see one marked recipe.
>You have won!
>You can make your own and kill the fluffies and enjoy some more later!
>You open the folder.
>’Recipe destroyed….’
>’Too delicious, creating problems with over consumption….’
>You let the folder slowly drop from your hand.
>You numbly walk back to the box.
>You pick it up and look at the cover.
>You fall to your knees as reality sinks in that you blew your chance to get rid of the fluffies.
>The door to the office starts to creek.
>You look up at the mascot.
>The gloating aristocratic asshole who is just smiling down at you.
>Tipping his top hat holding his cane and smiling as if saying, “Bet you thought you stood a chance didn’t you faggot!”
>”Fuck with the one percent mother fucker!”
>You lower your head choking back your sobs, ”No…”
>The door starts to buckle under the weight of the growing fluffies on the other side.
>”…no…..”
>You blew it.
>You had the means of killing all of fluffy kind and you blew it straight to hell.
>Bitter tears start to flow down your face as you realize not only have you let the fluffies live.
>You also will not ever taste the sweet ambrosia taste of this snack food ever again.
>Planters Mr Peanut still smiles down at you as the door finally gives way under him with a crash.
>Dead fluffies roll of to the side as other lay there with broken bones and blood trickling from their mouths.
>The healthy ones quickly climb over their bodies and lock onto you, “DADDDEEEHHHHHHH!!!”
>You scream out as you let the empty box of P B Crisps fall from your hands, “NOOOOOO!!!”
>You languish as fluffy ponies cover your body giving you loving hugs and fluffy kisses for their new daddy.