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The Night Flier (A Head Games Tale)

A trail of tears sparkled in the afternoon sun as Foxglove flew from the massacre at Ford Woods Park. She had bonded deeply with Tiberius the Griffin in the short time they had been compatriots and it broke her heart when she watched Markoff shoot him out of the air. The little brown and powder blue batfluff flew hard and fast for over an hour before resting outside Lansing in Mason. She lands in a tree near Beery Farms and sobs quietly.

“Huuhuu, poow Tibewius, Sniff, was a gud fwiend. Meanie Mawkoff, hatechu!”

She whimpers as she secures herself in the thick top branches of the old oak and cries herself to sleep.


Foxglove awakens after dusk with a gnawing in her tummy.

“Foxgwove su hungwy! Nee tu find booboojuice!”

The nimble batfluff climbs to the top of the tree and sniffs the air. She catches a scent and clicks, sending out sound waves that bounce off the cattle herd sleeping below her. Dr. Elmwood had tinkered extensively with Foxgloves genetics. She has a deep hunger for blood, especially fluffy blood. Her bite is capable of turning other fluffies into vampiric cannibals as well. A morbid attempt at a solution for the feral problem. But she can sustain herself on other types of blood when she needs to. Her purple eyes turn a deep wine red as she licks her lips and leaps from the tree, leathery wings spread in the wind as she glides down to the herd of holsteins. She gingerly lands on the haunches of a large sleeping cow and pads lightly across her back.

“Nu wakies, miss hoofsie fwiend. Foxgwove sowwy bout dis, but need nummies. Onwy take a wittwe, pwomise.”

Her eyes now a crimson as her incisors seem to extend from her gumline. She leans in and sinks the still relatively small teeth into the soft flesh of the cow's neck and sups on the warm gush of blood with a coo. Dr. Elmwood had engineered a unique strain of Porphyria and bonded it to her genome. Her anemic lust for blood filled the void of iron and other minerals and vitamins she couldn’t get from regular food. She gained the most essential nutrients from the unique mix of fluffy blood, but the cows blood serves it’s purpose for now and in moments, she is done feeding. She nuzzles her cheek into the cows haunch and hugs her with her nimble wings and a high pitched coo.

“Fank ou fow nummies, miss hoofsie fwiend. Foxgwove feew su mush betta! Am sowwy fow wittwe huwties, buh nu feew in bwight time. Nu wakies, jussa bad dweam.”

Foxglove takes flight and heads towards Lansing. She flies over the city in the moonlight and continues on northwest. By daybreak she has reached the outskirts of Grand Rapids. The sun peeks over the horizon and hurts her sensitive violet eyes. She flies low and comes across a rickety and weathered wooden door frame in the middle of nowhere. She lands past the shaded threshold and smells the air, her ears flit as she echo locates. She has stumbled across one of the many abandoned gypsum mines in the Grand Rapids area. Many have been adapted into storage facilities, but many more remain flooded, collapsed or empty.

“Dis pwace have gud dawkies fow hidin in da bwight times!”

Foxglove’s eyes adjust to the darkness as she advances into the tunnel. It’s dark, musty and wet. Condensation has mold colonies growing along the timbers and she has to focus on her hearing to not become overwhelmed by the smell. Her ears perk up as she can hear a cacophony of very high frequency chirps.

“Fwiends? Hewwo? Who am down hewe?”

Foxglove moves into a large central room, a forgotten and stripped out section of the old mine. The shaft she stands at the end of drops 15-20 feet down. The ground below smells foul and acrid and crawls, literally crawls. She looks up to the ceiling to find it covered by a large colony of sleeping brown bats.

“GASP! Su many wingy fwiends! Hewwo wingy fwiends! Am Foxgwove!”

The bats stir a bit, a wave of flapping wings and screeches before they all settle back down.

“Teehee, fank ou fow wettin Foxgwove stay! Need sweepies naow, nigh nigh, wingy fwiends.”

Foxglove finds some soft material nearby and builds herself a little nest near the edge of the tunnel and falls fast asleep.


Foxglove awakens hours later as the bat colony stirs at nightfall. They swarm down the shaft and out various fissures in the old mine.

“Wait fow Foxgwove, wingy fwiends!”

She trots after them and spreads her large, leathery wings to take flight. She emerges into the crisp night sky and follows the swarm as they approach the city. The bats break off into the parks to dine on insects and small rodents, but Foxglove is after something different. She continues on into the city and puts her ears and nose to good use to find her target. She glides down between two buildings and lands quietly behind The Knickerbocker Bar. Ahead of her is a stained and soggy cardboard box. Behind her is a dumpster where a man stands, leaned against the wall while some drunken guy sucks his dick.

“Come get nummies, babbehs. Mummah haf wotsa wimkies.”

Foxgloves attention returns to the box. The men are far too occupied to disrupt her meal. She steps lightly and uses the shadows to slink around to the other side. She watches with crimson eyes as a bloated blue and yellow unicorn usher's five foals over to feed.

“Das wight, bestest babbeh dwink wotsa miwkies. Udda babbehs get nummies next.”

Foxglove looks on in disgust at the mother playing favorites. Two teats and she won't let the others drink until her “bestest baby” finishes. The pink earthy filly finishes her meal and her two brothers, red and yellow get their turn. Pink walks past her sisters, orange and green with a happy smile as they sniffle and wait with hungry bellies. Foxglove narrows her eyes and makes a series of clicking noises that draw the pink fillies attention.

“Whuh dat noisy? Hewwo? Who dat?”


Pink steps close to the shadows and Foxglove snatches her up, her sharp incisors sink into the soft fatty foal and her struggles end quickly as Foxglove drains her. The pink foal only serves to whet her appetite and she waits until the last two foals begin feeding before she emerges from the dark. The mare hums obliviously to her babies until her dead bestest baby splats in front of her.


“Bestest babbeh have biggest huwties! Whuh happen???”

The mare grabs the dead foal, brushing her still nursing foals aside without a thought.

“Nuuu! Pwease wake up! Mummah wuv bestest babbeh!”

The mare sobs and clutches her lifeless baby until she hears another baby shriek. She looks up to see Foxglove has her orange foal pinned under her hoof. Foxglove grins with bloody red eyes at the mare.

“Whuh bout dis babbeh? Mummah wuv dis babbeh?”

The mare goes wide eyed in shock at the sight of Foxglove.




Foxglove flashes a grin and crushes the foal's neck under her hoof. The mare screams and runs, leaving red, yellow and green behind. She cries in fear as self preservation overrides any sense of motherly obligation. The sounds of her remaining foals screaming fades quickly and then a whoosh of air brushes her rump. The mare tumbles as Foxglove dives for her and pins her down.


“Wet mummah go! Am gud fwuffeh!”


Foxglove bites into the mare's neck and begins to suck. The blue mare struggles weakly to no avail. She goes limp and breathes heavy as Foxglove greedily swallows the warm blood. Her eyes role back in ecstasy as she sips on the very thing she was created to taste. The mare stills as her heart stops and Foxglove pulls back with an arc of blood glinting in the dim light. She coos and savors the still warm blood on her lips as it sends tingles through her. Her body feels warm and fuzzy and one thought comes to her mind.

“Foxgwove wan mowe.”

She flaps her leathery wings and flies off into the night to seek more prey. The kneeling man looks up at her as she flies away and then down at the dead mare.

“Damn, that was fucked up.”

The standing man pulls on the back of his head with a grumble.

“Shut up and keep sucking.”


Foxglove spends the next few hours in pursuit of her bloodlust. She was made to feed on ferals and now she is free to do so. Each taste of fluffy blood makes her even hungrier for more. She feeds on a purple unicorn she finds in a park, she dropped out of the sky like a missile and drained her dry before she could fight. Afterwards she makes her way to a treeline outside the Woodlawn Cemetery. She sits in a high branch and licks her hoof when a sound catches her attention.

“Wotsa gwassy nummies! Fwuffies can aww shawe!”

Foxglove peers down into the moonlit lawn to see 30 or so fluffies waddling out amongst the tombstones. She watches with rapt attention as they spread out and nibble the manicured grass and the bouquets placed at the tombstones. They eat obliviously, feed their foals, give special huggies and even shit on some of the tombstones.

A tan and teal pegasus nibbles at some dried flowers on the pedestal of a marble monument away from the others. A whoosh of air draws her attention and she looks up to see Foxglove perched on the monument, framed in moonlight before she swoops. She makes quick work of the mare and darts off. It is a stealthy assault on the milling herd as one by one, she ambushes them quietly and drains them. A cyan and brown unicorn sits with several mares as they feed their foals. The unicorn looks around with a smirk at his little harem when Foxglove whooshes down into the middle of them and lands with a gust of air.


“Whewe pwetty mawe come fwom?”

Foxglove blinks her violet eyes at the unicorn and cocks her head.

“Fwuffeh fink Foxgwove am pwetty?”

She flashes a wide grin and flutters her leathery wing. The unicorn goes wide eyed and backs away.

“M-munstah? Nu huwt fwuffeh mummahs! Gu way naow ow get biggest huwties! Hatechu!”

Foxgloves heart sinks at this harsh response and her eyes go blood red before she lunges at the unicorn and latches onto his throat.



The unicorn has no time to react before she gets the blood pumping and pulls back to let him bleed out in the grass, gasping, waving his hoofs in mute cries for help before he stills and goes glassy eyed. Foxglove stands with a huff and spits blood on the grass before she turns to stare at the terrified mares with blood red eyes.


Dawn approaches as Foxglove flies back to the mine. She is bloated with blood and very sleepy. She left in her wake at least ten dead fluffies and 20 more infected with her vampire virus. They will spread out and feed on more fluffies in a widening circle of bloody violence. She has found her purpose and smiles sleepily as the mines decrepit archway comes into view. She flies inside with a wobbly flight path, literally blood drunk. She can hear her friends chirping ahead of her as she drops her hoofs to come to a gliding stop. But she doesn’t stop. The shafts floor is slick with fresh guano and she skids in the splattering waist and falls over the edge in surprise.



She tumbles to the floor and lands wetly on the huge mound of bat shit below. It is sticky and acidic with urine raining down on her from above.


“Foxgwove nu wike dis! Fwiends pwease nu give sowwy peepees! Huuhuu, why wingies nu wowk?”

She tries to take off, only to discover she has broken a wing and is stuck. She tries to climb out of the stinking waist, but it is wet and sludgy and sucks her legs deeper as she struggles. Her thrashing draws the attention of the hungry beetles and other scavengers that subsist on the filth. They begin to swarm her and crawl over her body, biting.


“Nu huwt Foxgwove! Hewp!”


Beetles, centipedes, rats and other vermin scissor at her soft flesh as she thrashes and splashes guano everywhere, the air heavy with ammonia making her sluggish as the bugs crawl into any soft opening they can find.


“Biggest huwties! Wingy fwiends hewp Foxgwove!


Her flailing panic only incites the swarms as more guano rains down on her, she is becoming deeply bogged down in the shit and it fills her mouth. She sputters as tears fill her panicked violet eyes before the beetles blot out her vision and she disappears into the hungry swarm. So ends the journey of another of Site 16’s freaks. A truly horrific way to go, but in the city limits in a culvert, a dozen sets of crimson eyes stare out at the fluffy park with a hungry gaze.



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deadweight: The tale of another escaped freak from Site 16. Hope you enjoy!

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King_C: pretty good m8 i r8 8/8
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deadweight: @King_C: Thank you
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Anonymous1: Very original, almost felt like a Halloween story with those tombstones. 10/10 would read again.
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Anonymous2: Rip fox glove may you kill fluffies in bat heaven
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deadweight: @Anonymous: Amen