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Alleyway Ferals:
A Choose-Your-Own-Adventure

Product of Micron


The weather is cloudy and the air chilly as you hall a bag of trash from your apartment to the dumpster in the alleyway beside it. The alley is dirty and filled with all manner of refuse, and you quickly deposit your bag into the dumpster. As you turn to leave, you hear an unexpected sound nearby.
On inspection, you locate a cardboard box beside the dumpster. It had formerly been on its side, but the wind has since overturned it completely. As you listen harder, you hear the “scardy-peeping” of a number of foals coming from inside, trapped beneath it.
You:
1] Stomp the box
2] Turn the box over

#1] You lift your boot over the box and bring it down. Hard. The moist cardboard deforms easily, and as your foot crunches through the box’s contents the “scardy-peeps” quickly rise to desperate cries of agony as the foals inside are crushed. Blood and liquid feces begin to seep from the bottom of the box, and one small foal escapes, dragging its useless rear legs and extruded entrails behind it before it stops and collapses. The sounds from within the box die down and eventually stop.
You flip over the box to find that you greatly underestimated both the number of foals and your own strength. From the gore present, it looks like there were a lot of foals. Of course, at this point, it is impossible to tell how many there were to start with.
“Babbehs?” calls a voice from behind you. You turn to see an adult mare approaching. Through the dirt caking her fluff, you can immediately tell that she is a fluffyshy- -and it is clear that she is the mother of the foals you just pulverized.
“Mummuh find nummies! Make wots of miwkies fow bab…”
Her eyes widen as she looks at the ruined bodies of her foals and realizes that they are dead.
GO TO: #3

#2] You flip over the box, and a foul odor immediately escapes. There definitely are foals underneath it, and a lot of them. Their sudden exposure to light seems to induce mild panic, causing them to peep more loudly and excrete copious amounts of feces onto each other, adding to the sizable amount that they had already created. They begin to crawl over each other, seemingly at random.
“Babbehs?” calls a voice from behind you. You turn to see an adult mare approaching. Through the dirt caking her fluff, you can immediately tell that she is a fluffyshy. The foals peep and chirp more loudly in response to their mother’s voice.
“Mummuh find nummies! Make wots of miwkies fow bab…” She stops suddenly and looks up at you. “HOOMIN!” she cries, puffing out her cheeks. “What yu doing to babbehs?!”
You:
11] Crush the babbehs
12] Try to explain


#3] “MAH BABBEHS!” she cries. She immediately rushes to their side, trying in desperation to hug them, believing that it will somehow help. It is too late for that, of course, and on some level the mare knows this. She begins weeping.
You:
4] Berate the mare
5] Attempt to kill the mare
6] Lie, and attempt to comfort her

#4] The mare looks up at you. “Why yu do dis?” she cries.
“Because you are a BAD MOTHER!”
She seems shocked, but tries to protest. “Nuuu! Am GUD mummuh!”
“Then why are all your foals dead?”
“Babbehs take…babbehs take fowevuh sweepies because…” She seems confused.
“They wouldn’t be taking ‘forever-sleepies’ if you were a good mother! You would have saved them! But noooo, you went off to get food for yourself and left your foals all alone! What did you think would happen, you dumb bitch?”
“But…but…mummuh need nummies fow bestes miwkies! Make babbehs gwow big and stwong!”
“Well, they’re certainly not thinking of ‘milkies’ now! And it’s all YOUR FAULT!”
The mare looks up at you, about to protest, and then down at her foals. She instantly collapses into a blubbering heap.
“IT TWUE!” she screams. “Hooomin am wight! Fwuffy am bad mummuh! Fwuffy am WOSEST MUMMUH! Huuuhuuuhuuu!”
“And I was going to give you a nice home, too,” you say, leaning close to her. “But I don’t help BAD MUMMUHS.”
She looks up at you, and then accepts your word as truth. She begins to wimper, clutching the corpses of her foals close to her. “Mummuh…mummuh no am mummuh no mowe. No desewb housie. No desewb babbehs. Wan…wan die…”
You:
7] Grant her wish
8] Leave her to her fate

#5] “Well, don’t worry,” you say to the mare. “You’re about to join your ‘babbehs’ in a minute!”
You lunge for her, and she just barely manages to slip out of your grasp, spraying you with a plume of feces as she squeals and attempts to flee. With her stubby fluffy legs, though, the best she can do is waddle slowly, screaming at you all the way.
“NO HUWT FWUFFY!” she cries as she scampers away. “AM GUD FWUFFY!”
“Like hell!” You chase after her, your heavy boots thudding on the asphalt. The chase is by no means epic or long, and you grab her easily.
“NO!” she cries, releasing another torrent of feces and urine. You lift her up and watch as her useless vestigial wings flutter madly. “Bad upsies! BAD UPSIES!”
“Don’t worry, fluffyshy. I’m going to give you the ‘bestes huggies’!”
You wrap your arms around her struggling body and squeeze. There are several cracks as her rips break, and her eyes bulge out of her head from the pressure. She struggles to scream, but all that comes out is a high squeak and a trickle of blood.
“What’s the matter? You don’t like huggies?”
Without missing a beat, you throw her against the ground next to foals. The impact is immense, but she manages to survive it. Slowly and trailing blood, she crawls toward her former nest.
“Babbehs,” she wheezes. “Mummuh…mummuh need huggies…huggies make…make evewyfink bettuh…”
You now stand over the fluffyshy, casting your long shadow over her broken body and shattered foals.
You:
7] FINISH HER!
8] Leave her to her fate

#6] The mare looks up at you. “Why hoomin gib babbehs wowsest huwties?”
“I had to,” you say. “There was a scary monster in the box with them.”
“Scawy…scawy munstuh?” The mare seems to believe you.
“Oh, yes. I saw it. It was in with the babies. I tried to just stomp the monster to save your babies, but when I tried it got angry and gave all of your foals ‘forever-sleepies’. At least I killed it before I could get you too!”
The mare looks down at her foals, and then collapses from sadness. “Why meanie munstuh twy to huwt babbehs? Wewe bad babbehs?”
You kneel down beside her and pet her fluff. She crawls over and hugs your knee, soaking it with tears.
“No. They were good babies.”
From your kneeling position, you suddenly become aware of more chirping. You look at the foals, but from their state, it’s clear that they’re not making the sound. It’s too quiet, anyway. You look around, and realize that it is coming from the fluffy nest’s poopie-pile. You lean in close, holding your breath against the smell, and realize that there is one brown foal wedged betwixt the turds.
“Look,” you say, pointing. “You still have one left!”
The mare looks at the foal. “But dat…dat am poopie babbeh…” She pauses, considering her circumstances. “Dat am wastes babbeh…”
With some hesitation, she lets go of your knee and walks to the foal. She picks it up and brushes it off, and then puts it on her back.
You:
9] Leave them
10] Adopt them

#7] “Okay, then,” you say. You raise your boot over her head and bring it down. Her eyes widen as her body crunches. Her lower organs burst from her anus, and she immediately coughs a stream of blood. Her crushed body convulses for her moment, and she hugs her dead foals one last time before expiring.
You leave the alley with the intent of washing off your boots. As you exit, you see a truck pull up and a group of fluffy-exterminators emerge. Some open the back, getting out their poison sprayers and two-pronged pokers. One walks up to the alley and looks down it.
“Damn,” he says upon seeing the carnage that you have wrought. “Looks like you already did our job for us. And without tools or anything.”
“Yeah,” you admit. “I really hate those things.”
“Hey,” he says, producing a business card from his pocket. “I’m actually hiring right now, and to be honest, these shlubs can barely function. If you want, set up an appointment with our receptionist for an interview. I really think you’ve got some potential here for professional work.”
You take the card and smile. “Thanks, man. I think I’ll take you up on that offer…”
[END]

#8] You look down at the pitiful mess before you, but decide that you’ve gotten your boots messy enough. You turn away and exit the alley, leaving the mare to her fate.
You leave the alley with the intent of washing off your boots. As you exit, you see a truck pull up and a group of fluffy-exterminators emerge. Some open the back, getting out their poison sprayers and two-pronged pokers. One walks up to the alley and looks down it.
“Damn,” he says. “Looks like we have a real mess to clean up today. Jed, get the pressure washer out. We’re gonna need it.”
You walk away without saying a word, returning to your apartment with a big smile on your face.
[END]


#9] You stand up, and then depart, leaving the mummuh with her very last foal.
As you leave, you see a truck pull up and a group of fluffy-exterminators emerge. Some open the back, getting out their poison sprayers and two-pronged pokers. One walks up to the alley and looks down it.
“Mother and foal, boys,” he says. “Looks like a fluffyshy too. Jed, get the gas. We’re gonna need it.”
You walk away and return to your apartment.
[END]

#10] You look down at the pair, and smile.
“You look like a good mother,” you say. “You know what? I’ve been thinking about getting a fluffy. Do you want to come home with me?”
The mare’s eyes widen. “W…weawwy? Yu be nyu daddeh?” You nod. “And…and can take wastes babbeh too?”
“Of course.”
The mare smiles, estatic. She hugs your shin. “Oh, fank yu, fank yu nyu daddeh! Mummuh hab wosest heawt-huwties, but nao am su happy! Be bestes fwuffy, and bestes mummuh!”
“I know you will,” you say, patting her on the head. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Okay daddeh.”
As you leave, you see a truck pull up and a group of fluffy-exterminators emerge. Some open the back, getting out their poison sprayers and two-pronged pokers. One walks looks at you, and at the pair of fluffies beside you.
“Damn hugboxers,” he says as ever one of them give you dirty looks.
On the way back to your apartment, though, you see an attractive woman walking her immaculately groomed Rarityfluff, and when she sees your new fluffies she gives you a completely different kind of dirty look.
“Nyu fwend?” says the Rarityfluff. When she gets within range, she hears the chirping of the poopie-baby, and her eyes widen. “Am dat a babbeh? Wawity WUB babbehs!”
“It am wastes babbeh,” explains your fluffyshy. “Meanine munstuh make uddew babbehs take fowevuh-sweepies, but nyu daddeh make munstuh go way.”
“Munstuh huwt babbehs?” The Rarity steps forward and hugs your fluffyshy. “Wawity so sowwy! Gib huggies! Huggies make heawt-huwties go way!”
“Aww,” says the woman. “You saved that fluffyshy! And she even loves the poopie-baby! Isn’t she a good mother!” The woman smiles and reaches into her purse, pulling out a pen and a small scrap of paper. She then hands it to you.
“Why don’t you call me sometime? We can set up a time for or ‘fluffies’ to meet.” She winks, and you- -now derping and sputtering- -take the number as she walks away, giving you a little wave.
You are now very glad that you saved those fluffies.
[END]

#11] You look down at the mare, and decide that you should just have smashed the box in the first place. You lift your boot and bring it down on the foals again and again, grinding them into the pavement as their chirps become screams. Their blood and feces wash over them as they struggle and die, all while their mother watches.
GO TO: #3

#12] “The box turned over,” you try to explain. “They were trapped beneath- -”
“Hoomin am wying! Hoomin twy an steaw babbehs! Go way ow mummuh gib WOWSEST sowwy hoofsies and fowevuh sweepies to dummeh hoomin!”
“But I was just trying to help- -”
“DUMMEH HOOMIN! GO WAY!”
You decide that there is no reasoning with this fluffy.
You:
13] Be nyu daddeh
14] Leave
15] Raise your boot over the foals, but don’t bring it down just yet

#13] “Sorry,” you say. “I’ll go. I just wanted to take you and your foals home with me. But if you don’t want that…”
The mare’s expression changes, and she stops puffing out her cheeks. “You mean…be nyu daddeh?”
At the sound of those words, the foals begin to cheap and chirp extremely loudly. They try to seem cute, but they just end up defecating on each other more.
“Yeah. I love fluffies. But if you don’t want too…”
“Nu! Wait! Fwuffy not mean it!”
“Really?”
The mare nods vigorously. “Fwuffy was ownwy twying to pwotect babbehs. Not know hoomin am nice mistuh.”
“So you’ll come back with me, then?”
“Have housie and toysies and wots of sketti?”
“Sure, why not.”
“Den yes! Yes!” She runs forward and hugs your shin. “Fwuffy WUV nyu daddeh! Be bestes fwuffy in whowe wowwd!”
You smile, and turn the cardboard box over completely. You pick each of the foals up and pack them into it. Despite their mother attempting to calm them with promises of ‘toysies’ and ‘bestes miwkies’, they protest greatly and spray even more feces. You do notice, however, that there are a few valuable color morphs in the group.
Once they are in, you pick up the box and exit. As you leave, you see a truck pull up and a group of fluffy-exterminators emerge. Some open the back, getting out their poison sprayers and two-pronged pokers. One walks looks at you, and at the pair of fluffies beside you.
“Damn hugboxers,” he says as ever one of them give you dirty looks.
On the way back to your apartment, though, you see an attractive woman walking her immaculately groomed Rarityfluff, and when she sees your new fluffies she gives you a completely different kind of dirty look.
“Nyu fwend?” says the Rarityfluff. As she draws closer, she hears the peeping and cheeping from the box you are holding and looks up wide-eyed. “Dose am babbehs? Wawity WUB pwetty babbehs!”
Your fluffyshy gasps. “Fwuffy wub babbehs too!”
“Huggies!” they both say as they hug each other.
“Aww,” says the woman. “You saved that fluffyshy and all those babies! And she seems like such a good mother!” The woman smiles and reaches into her purse, pulling out a pen and a small scrap of paper. She then hands it to you.
“Why don’t you call me sometime? We can set up a time for or ‘fluffies’ to meet. Oh, but I see your hands are full…” she smiles as she reaches to your side, putting the paper deep into your pocket. Very deep. You see her wink.
As she walks away, you sputter and derp. She waves, and you try to smile.
You are now very, very glad that you saved those fluffies.
[END]

#14] This is just too much for you. NCIS is coming on in a few minutes, and you need to get back to your apartment. So you just leave.
“Yeah! Dat wight, dummeh hoomin!” calls the fwuffyshy. “Yu am scawdy hoomin! Dis am mummuhs wand nao! Nebew come back EVUH!”
You ignore her. As you leave, thoughyou see a truck pull up outside the alley and a group of fluffy-exterminators emerge. Some open the back, getting out their poison sprayers and two-pronged pokers. One walks up to the alley and looks down it.
“Mother foals, boys,” he says. “Looks like a fluffyshy too. Jed, get the gas. We’re gonna need it.”
You walk away and return to your apartment. As you open the door, you hear the sound of the mare threating the exterminators. That is quickly followed by screaming. You shrug, and wonder if Ziva will be in today’s episode.
[END]

#15] You lift your heavy boot over the foals. They become agitated by the presence of the shadow and drench themselves in feces and urine. The air suddenly goes out of their mother’s cheeks as she realizes what’s happening.
“No! Pwease no!” she cries. “No gib babbehs huwties! Am onwy wittwe babbehs!”
You:
11] Stomp them. Really hard.
16] Offer a deal.

#16] Continuing to hold your foot over the foals and bracing yourself with the dumpster, you turn to the mare.
“Do you want your ‘babbehs’ to take ‘forever-sleepies’?” you ask.
“No!” wails the mare. “No huwt babbehs! Babbehs am made fow wuv and huggies, not fow stompies!”
“Okay, then,” you say, smirking. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let your foals live…but only if I get to take some of them.”
“Take babbehs? But- -but- -”
You move your boot several inches farther down, and the foals below scream and cry, sensing their impending doom.
“NO!” cries the mare. “Otay! OTAY! Take some babbehs, but no huwt de uddews!”
You:
17] Take the bestes-babbeh
18] Take all valuable colored foals
19] Take the poopie-babbeh

#17] You look into the pile of feces and foals and quickly pick out the largest among them. You lift out a fat, overfed fluffyshy. You feel something strange on your hand, though, and lift the foal’s tail to see a pair of fuzzy tentacles. Fluffyshies are already virtually worthless, and a male fluffyshy has no value at all.
As you hold it, the foal frowns and suddenly defecates all over your fingers. Stimulated by this, it immediately begins humping your feces-stained palm.
“Inf! Inf! Inf!” it squeaks.
“Nuuu!” cries the mare, jumping up at your feet. “Dat am da bestes babbeh! No take bestes babbeh!”
You:
20] Kill it
21] Take it

#18] You pick up the box and turn it upright and kneel down, looking at the various foals before you. There are a lot, and all of them are squirming and chirping together, but you still managed to pick out several. The mother weeps as you take them one by one, carefully selecting the ones with the best color patterns. Some of them are pretty good, too, with the best being an all-white Pegasus and a small Twilifluff.
As you take the last of the selected foal, you notice that there is an overfed fluffyshy in the group. You discretely flick it in the nuts, and it screams in pain.
“Bestes babbeh!” cries the mare, lifting out the crying foal. You pick up your box. There are six in it, with five remaining below.
“Pleasure doing business with you,” you say, whistling as you leave the crying mare with her remaining ugly foals.
As you depart, though you see a truck pull up and a group of fluffy-exterminators emerge. Some open the back, getting out their poison sprayers and two-pronged pokers. One of them, shouldering his pack, looks at the box you’re carrying.
“Nice,” he says. “Taking all the shiniest turds, I see. With I could. This job pays like crap. But the union won’t allow it. Hey,” he reaches into his pocket and produces a business card. “My cousin Vinny owns a store down on 9th. Stinks like hell. But he’ll give you top dollar for that crap.”
“Thanks,” you say, taking the card. You add up how much you can probably get for the foals; in your mind, it’s nearly sixty dollars.
“No problem,” says the exterminator. He turns his attention toward his workers. “Come on, Jed! Pick up the pace! Fluffies ain’t gonna kill themselves!”
“Yes they are, usually,” noted Jed.
“You taking back to me, Jed? I’ll make you eat a fluffy if you sass me like that again!”
You ignore them as you walk away, wondering what you will buy with your sixty dollars.
[END]

#19] You look around the nest, and notice a large pile of feces outside the box. You look a bit closer, and see that there is one foal separate from the others. A poopy-baby.
“What about that one?” you say, pointing.
The mare blinks. “Dat one? Dat am poopie-babbeh. Why hoomin wan poopies?”
“Because I can.”
“But poopie-babbeh job am to eat poopies and gib gud babbehs wicky-cweanies…”
You shrug. “Well, if you insist, I can take another foal…”
You reach down toward the “good” foals and the mare panics. “NOO! Take poopie-babbeh! TAKE POOPIE-BABBEH! Is bad babbeh!”
With that settled, you reach down and pick up the tiny brown foal. It smells terrible and is caked in feces, but as you pick it up you realize that it isn’t just brown. It is, in fact, a tiny chocolate brown alicorn, and as you look closer you realize that it has a delicate specking of black spots.
While you are looking, the foal smiles and crawls forward, wrapping your thumb in a hug.
“Aww,” you say. “I like this one.”
“Hoomin am dummeh if hoomin wike poopie babbeh,” mutters the mare below.
You ignore her and walk out of the alley, clutching the tiny foal carefully and shielding it against the cold wind. As you leave, you pass a group of exterminators unloading their equipment outside the alley and beginning to cordon it off with tape.
It looks like you rescued this foal just in time. As an alicorn without the garish artificial colors of its siblings, it is extremely valuable. With a little bit of cleaning and conditioning, you could make hundreds, thousands if its mane comes in bicolor as its spots suggest it might. Of course, it already seems to have a good disposition, and despite its smell it is kind of cute.
You decide that you might not sell it just yet. It might actually make a good pet, and tuck it into your shirt pocket as you make your way back to your apartment.
[END]

#20] You come to the conclusion that this disgusting vermin is worthless, and decide to make a point. You close your hand quickly around the foal. Its eyes open from the sudden pressure, and it squeals with pain as its organs spew out its mouth and an improbably large amount of feces and blood pour out of its rectum and onto its mother below.
“BESTES BABBEH! NUUUUU!”
“You said you didn’t want me to take the ‘bestes-babbeh’ you say, dropping the still-twitching corpse on its mother. “So I won’t. You can keep it.”
You leave as the now weeping mother attempts to heal the dead foal with “huggies”. In her panic, she accidentally crushes several of the other foals.
As you leave, you see a truck pull up and a group of fluffy-exterminators emerge. Some open the back, getting out their poison sprayers and two-pronged pokers. One walks up to the alley and looks down it.
“Mother and foals boys,” he says. “Looks like a fluffyshy too. Jed, get the gas. We’re gonna need it.”
You walk away and return to your apartment, wiping the fluffyshy blood and feces off your hand and onto the wall as you go.
[END]

#21] Even if it is worthless, you notice that the fluffyshy foal doesn’t have any of the spastic tendencies that usually afflict the breed. You don’t really care for it, but you have a younger brony cousin who might appreciate a fluffyshy, even a male one. That, or you could take it home and have some more fun with it.
“You said I could take a foal,” you say, holding the mare to her word. “And I’m taking this one. Or do you want ‘forever-sleepies’ for your other foals instead?”
“NU!” weeps the mare. She grabs her foals, trying to protect them.
She does not follow you as you leave with the ‘bestes-babbeh’. As you depart, you see a truck pull up and a group of fluffy-exterminators emerge. Some open the back, getting out their poison sprayers and two-pronged pokers. One walks up to the alley and looks down it.
“Mother and foals, boys,” he says. “Looks like a fluffyshy too. Jed, get the gas. We’re gonna need it.”
You walk away and return to your apartment, and feel the fluffyshy in your hand squeal as it finishes and releases even more feces. By this point, you are wondering why on earth you didn’t crush it when you had the chance.
[END]
Uploader Micron,
Tags abuse alleyway box chooseyourownadventure exterminator feral fluffyshy foal foals hugbox
Rating explicit
Source Unknown
Locked No

Comments


- Reply
Dirtbiker989: Took a while to read through all the possibilities, but it was worth it to me.

Only acceptable CYOA is one where all the options are already present so you don't have to do any work.
- Reply
Anonymous1: someone should flash this! like the abuse game before.

- Reply
Rick_N_Fluffy: >CYOA
Why is the first thing I do going on an all-out murderous rampage?
- Reply
Anonymous2: @Rick_N_Fluffy: refer to the site's national anthem; "because fuck you that's why"

- Reply
fwufabwuss: @Anonymous: Fun fact: you can sing that over and over to the tune of "The Star Spangled Banner" and it works pretty well.
- Reply
FoalOut4: "Well, they’re certainly not thinking of ‘milkies’ now!"

- Reply
LaughingGaster: Beautiful
Thread locked for the current user.