Spare Parts: Training Day - 1

Vanner, March 22, 2013; 18:28 / FB 9826
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Spare Parts: Training Day

>Be a wingie fluffy.
>You used to have a home and a mommy, but she was a meanie and wouldn't let you have babies.
>So you ran away from home.
>You'd show mommy. You'd get your own babies.
>All the boy fluffies loved your extra silky golden fluff and your sparkly silver mane.
>Not to mention those super-rare purple eyes! You've never seen another fluffy with those before at all!
>But no matter how many special hugs you had, you never got fat with babies.
>Then the scary men came to your safe place.
>The boy fluffies got necklaces that gave them bad sleepies, and all the girl fluffies got taken away to become mommas.
>When they figured out you couldn't be a momma, they took you and all the other unwanted fluffies here.
>Now you're sitting in a cage in the dark room with dozens of other fluffies.
>Some are in cages like you, softly sobbing and begging for anyone to love them.
>Other hang from the walls by hooks through their necks, weeping about their lost weggies and wingies.
>The soft crying fills the room with an air of palpable sorrow as you all sit in the dark, waiting for the doors to open, and the terror to begin anew.
>You've been here for weeks, and in that time you've seen the Docta munsta pass by your cage so many times.
>Every time she does she just shakes her head and says "If only they'd kept your ovaries," whatever that means.
>Then the screaming starts and you try not to watch as fluffies come off the walls, and go into the red bins.
>You're beginning to think that you're never going to leave this basement when the door up the stairs opens.
>Of course, it's Docta munsta again.
>Some of the fluffies scream in panic. The fluffies on the walls wriggle their amputated bodies, trying to escape from their hooks.
>Others buzz their one wing or single weggie trying to struggle against the hook in their necks.
>They can't go anywhere but the trough full of bad poopies, but maybe even that is preferable to the horrors that await on the table.
>You just cower, and hope she doesn't pass by your cage again.
>But what's this? There's other people coming with her!
> No one but Docta Munsta comes down here!
> There's a few daddies and mommies with her! Maybe one will take you into their home and make you their fluffy!
>"Good lord," says the daddy, looking around at the cages and the wall fluffies. "This… this is pretty intense."
>"The rack system saves time and space," says Docta Munsta. "A butcher taught me the technique, and it's worked out pretty well for the amputees. " She pauses a moment. "Well, as well as it could for them anyway."
>"I think I'm gonna be sick," says another daddy, running up the stairs.
>"So, students," says Docta Munsta. "Why do I have racks of amputated fluffies hanging off the wall?"
>"Because you're a sick bitch?" says one of the mommys. "I'm calling the cops."
>"First, nothing illegal is going on here," says Docta Munsta. "Second, that telephone book sized contract you signed forbids you from revealing any and all of Stein Inc. trade secrets. If you do, I'll sue your ass into oblivion, and if you don't like it, you can just get the hell out."
>The mommy huffs and stomps out of the basement, leaving only one mommy and one daddy.
>"So, again," says Docta Munsta "Why do I have racks of amputated fluffy ponies hanging from hooks?"
>"For spare parts?" says the daddy.
>"Very good," says Docta Munsta. "If you'll notice, the most common colors are represented up here: Blue, Pink, white, etc. If a customer's fluffy is injured, we simply take the injured limb from a healthy fluffy, and graft it on to the patient."
>"That can't be cheap," says the mommy.
>"You'd be surprised," says Docta Munsta. "We cut costs where we can. Cheap kibble for the donors, pennies on the dollar for the fluffies, cauterizations versus stitches. It costs us about a dollar per limb, and we charge fifty dollars a limb replacement. Mostly for time spent in surgery."
>"So, wait, it only costs a dollar to harvest a leg?" asks the daddy. "This I gotta see."
>The Docta Munsta goes over to the rack of fluffies and scans through them for a fluffy with a weggie. She smiles as she takes the hook from the rack, and lays it down on the table.
>"Nuuu!" yell the fluffy, trying to scrabble away on its single front weggie. "Nuu mow huwties! Pwese! Hewp! Hewp fwuffy! "
>"Christ, do they ever shut up?" asks the mommy.
> Docta Munsta picks up the shiny thing. "Well, no, unless you knock them out first. But that costs money, and if you don't have to spend it, why bother?"
>"Hewp! Nu take weggies! Fwuffy pwomise be gud! No bad poopies! Gif anytin! Hewp! Pwease mistah hewp! Save fwuffy fwom Docta Munsta!"
>"Oh come on," says the daddy. "Please give the little guy a sniff of ether or something."
> Docta Munsta rolls her eyes, and puts down the shiny thing.
>"Tank you!" sobs the grey fluffy. "Daddeh save fwuffy. Dadd-"
>The fluffy's thanks is cut off as Docta Munsta grabs his tail and spins him through the air.
>His head smashes against the edge of the table, and he goes quiet except for a gurgle.
>"Now he's completely paralyzed," says Docta Munsta. "Probably brain damaged too, but we at least he's quiet."
>The daddy's mouth just drops open, but the mommy smiles and nods.
>"Now, a proper amputation is down with a saw," she says. "Fluffies have amazing regenerative capacities which is why they can survive so much trauma. We can exploit this to repair amputations because the muscles and nerves will reform themselves around the transplanted limb."
>You try to cover your ears so you can't hear Docta Munsta anymore, but it's no use.
>"Nine times out of then, you get sloppy amputations," says Docta Munsta, "So you don't have to replace the head of the femur, just the shaft. If you need the head to, take a screw driver, and just…"
>The sound of squishing and popping coming from the table makes your tummy feel even worse.
>You turn away from the sound, trying not to listen, and hoping that it'll stop.
>"Once you've got it off, put it in the cooler, and take it up to surgery," says Docta Munsta. "Then cauterize, and hang the fluffy back up."
>"Facinating," says the mommy. "So can we practice?"
>"Tommorrow," says Docta Munsta, throwing the weggie into the red bin. "Now I'm going to show you how to take out a fluffy's eyeball without cracking the skull open."
>You hear the clank of the hook going back on the rack and the gurgle of the grey fluffy, but you’re still hunkered down behind your hooves hoping she won’t find you.
>The sound of her feet covers echo through the suddenly silent room as she paces the cages.
>Click
>Click
>Click
>She’s getting closer to your cage.
>Click
>Click
>Click
>The steps are getting louder.
>You hide even harder, scrunching down with your hooves over your eyes. She’ll never find you now.
>”Well, well, well,” says Docta Munsta. “What do we have here?”