abuse author:deadweight cannibalism cannibals exterminator head_games micro-fluffies questionable

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´╗┐Mouse Hunt (A Head Games Tale)

By Deadweight

It’s nearly a month after the escape from Site 16 when the grass in Belton-Mark Twain Park rustles. Circe has lead her cannibal micro herd on a long and arduous migration north and they finally cross the Dearborn city limits. Circe lost several of her compatriots along the way, predators are plentiful in the wilds of Michigan, but Circe’s cannibal cohorts don’t make it easy on them. Circe laps from a puddle as her swarm fans out in the brush. There are 136 of them at last count and they are ravenous. They quickly set upon any small insects or lizards to fill their tiny bellies. Dr. Elmwoods little monsters were ravenous due to their high metabolisms. They healed exceedingly fast and with Xibaba’s influence, Circe was one of the smartest fluffies alive. Part of this change had given Circe a mild ability to communicate psychically across the swarm. Not so much in batant words, more like how a hive of insects communicate. Circe looks up from gnawing a grub as a few of the others approach.

“Need fine safey pwace fow dawk times and wotsa nummies!”

They speak in such high pitched voices that to anyone in earshot they would sound like mouse squeaks. Circe turns her red eyes north and smells the wind. After the others have fed, she mobilizes the swarm and the make their way out of the park into a neighborhood. The houses are scattered with plenty of trees between them for cover. The swarm moves in a tightly packed formation, constantly alert for any number of dangers. They may be sturdy and vicious, but they are still small. They take cover in bushes to avoid children playing outside or dogs running around. They skirt the edges of basement foundations and very carefully make their way across MacKenzie St. It’s already getting dark as they cut through the trees. They are hardy little creatures who are deadly in close quarters, but they tire quickly over long distances and are about out of steam. They come across one last house before it opens into a large backyard. Circe pauses and scans the horizon as her swarm pants behind her. She perks up and signals to the others as she spots a leaky spigot behind the house to their right.

“Dwinkies!”

The swarm follows close behind and gather round the spigot to lap droplets of water, slaking their parched throats. Circe walks the perimeter of the house and finds a hole in the siding. This house doesn’t have a basement, but a crawl space. She ventures into the dark space and looks around. All seems quiet and she smiles before rushing back to the others.

“Fine safey pwace fow sweepies!”

The others finish drinking and follow the blue and white mare as she leads them into the seeming shelter of the crawlspace. It is dark, but their senses are keen. The crawl space is vast to the swarm and they disperse to map the perimeter. As they draw deeper into the dark, they begin to pick up the sound of movement and a pungent smell. They converge on Circe and advance slowly. Suddenly, dozens of beady eyes peer back as 30 plus rats advance and hiss.

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Melissa Bennett awakens with a start at a piercing sound.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee………….

SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH

PEEP!

RUSTLE RUSTLE

“Oh god what is that?!?!?!”

The middle aged brunette sits huddled in her bed and listens closely. The sound is coming from under the floor.

“Dammit! Fucking rats scared the shit out of me! Now I have to call an exterminator!”

She scans her phone for a local exterminator and finds Willis Pest Control. She texts her information and requests someone for the morning. The scratching dies down and she puts on some noise cancelling headphones before going back to sleep, clutching her hairbrush.

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I pull up to the house at around 7:30 AM for the first call of the day. My name is George Willis and I opened Willis Pest Control two years ago. I step out of my utility truck with the company logo on the side. A dead rat and dead roach with two signs poking out of them. One says “Willis” and the other says “Will Kill Us”. I do alright in the local area and get steady work. Miss Bennetts frantic calls sound like a typical rat infestation. She has gone out for the day and left me the house key. I pull my jumpsuit on and walk along her house until I find a hole in the panelling. I put on my respirator and turn on my headlamp as I pull a section of the paneling aside. I shimmy my way in with a stun stick at the ready.

“HURK. God it stinks in here!”

It’s hot, dark and reeks of death. I look back and forth as I slowly crawl along until my lamp falls on something, a dead rat. Looks like a juvenile male black rat, fucking thing looks gnawed on. I bag it and keep moving deeper til I stop dead.

“What the fuck? That's not a rat.”

I reach out and prod the little body in front of me, it’s orange and brown and about the size of a medium sized hamster, maybe a bit bigger.

“Is that a fluffy? Can’t be a foal with a mane already.”

I bag the odd fluffy corpse and move along, the stench of death is getting thicker and the respirator does little to block it. I move forward and suddenly come upon a massacre. There are rats and little fluffies scattered everywhere. They are all soaked in blood and torn apart. Some of the fluffies are ripped in half, tiny organs strewn in the dirt. The rats are missing bloody chunks of flesh.

“Christ, what happened here?”

There must be 20 some dead black rats strewn about and maybe 15 dead little fluffies. I curiously poke at one and get a glimpse of its sharp little teeth.

“What in the hell?”

Before I can investigate further, my headlamp reflects off many pairs of little eyes.

“Holy shit!”

The eyes scatter and all around me I hear tiny rustling and hissing. I clutch the stun wand and look back and forth before I feel tiny things crawling on me, then I get bit.

“Ow fuck! Shit get off me! Oww! Fuckfuckfuck!”

I writhe and twist as little nipping teeth pinch at my skin all over. I grumble and flail and back out of the hole, tumbling back onto the yard and pulling off my mask. As I sit bewildered in the grass, tiny fluffies begin streaming from the crawlspace and out onto the lawn, they must be micro’s. Jesus, there must be a hundred of them! Brightly colored little fluffies gather en mass before me and posture, hissing, baring unnaturally sharp teeth until a little blue and white one steps forward and glares at me.

“Uhhh, hello there. You are weird little fluffies.”

They hiss and bare their teeth as I slowly set down the stun wand. The blue and white micro turns and motions to the others, calming them. It then approaches me and begins to gesture and speak in a high squeak.

“What? I can’t hear you, you’re so small!”

The little micro shakes it’s head and advances, it climbs up my leg with surprising ease, up my shirt and climbs onto my shoulder to whisper in my ear.

“Circe, huh? What? Cannibals? All of you?!”

The little mare speaks in my ear in her squeaky tone. She tells me of their escape from some shady facility where they were created. I listen and nod as the others watch me with a glare.

“So you little guys took out all the rats? Damn, thats impressive! My name is George, I hunt rats too. Maybe I can find a use for you all, wanna come home with me?”

I look to Circe and she ponders this before scrambling down to the ground and talking to the gathered micros. They debate in high pitched tones and argue back and forth before she turns to me and smiles with a nod.

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I get all the dead rats and micros cleaned up and repair the damaged paneling. Circe and her swarm wait in the grass as I bring over a pet carrier I have in my truck. They file in orderly and I load em up and head home. We arrive at my house on the corner of Terry St. and Chicago W. It’s a humble house, but I’ve built a pole barn onto the back for my business. I pull the truck in and unload the carrier. I set up a small pen for them and open the carrier to let them out. Tiny multicolored micros filter out onto the newspaper I have laid out and stare at their new surroundings. I have no idea what to feed them, I go to the little cabinet i have in the barn and find a tin of tuna. I crack it and pour it onto a shallow plate and bring it back to the micros.

“Uhhhh, I’m not sure what you guys eat, being cannibals and all. I don’t have any fluffy meat, but you guys want some tuna fish?”

I set the plate down and watch as they all gather round it, sniffing. Circe leans in and nibbles a mouthful and the others follow suit. I smile and let out a sigh of relief. I reach down and scoop up little Circe to have a longer talk. She is stunningly intelligent for a fluffy, even more so for a micro. She tells me more of her origin, her birth in some doctor's lab. Her and the others were made to hunt ferals in a pack manner. From what I saw, they were pretty good at it too. I spend most of the rest of the day online trying to research this supposed facility. Hasbio has no official mention of it on any of their sites. But some forums talk about this, “Site 16” like it was some hell on earth where twisted monsters are made. With no way to contact Hasbio about these critters, I shrug it off and make sure they are all settled in before I go into the house for the night.

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The next day I get a text bright and early. Somebody across town has some pests in her yard and she needs them exterminated. I yawn and make coffee before going to check on the micro’s. I find them reorganizing the little pen, rearranging bedding and moving things around. If I didn’t know any better, I would say they were fortifying their position.

“Good morning little ones. I got a job today, anybody feel like going on a rat hunt?”

The swarm all look to Circe before they turn back and smile at me with a nod. I smile and get em all in the carrier and head out.

About a half hour later, we arrive at the end of Chicago W. It dead ends with four houses sitting alone. I pull the truck into the driveway at the most isolated house and park, getting out to go knock on the door. An elderly woman answers the door.

“Miss Kimble? Patricia Kimble? I’m George Willis from Willis Pest Control, you called this morning?”

She smiles and nods her head.

“Yes, right this way, Mr. Willis. I’m so glad you came as soon as you did, it’s just getting worse!”

I sympathize for the poor old woman, rodent problems can be a health hazard to the elderly. She leads me out back into her yard and I stop dead as I spot my quarry. Fluffies, why did it have to be fluffies? I’m a goddamn rat catcher, not a care bear killer.

“Uhhh, I don’t really exterminate fluffies ma’am. I’m more a mouse and rat guy.”

Ole Patty starts to frown, god I hate it when old people make a sad face.

“Oh please, Mr. Willis. A couple wandered into my yard last week, poor things had been lost in the woods and were starving. I just fed them a few scraps and then the next day, their were more. And the next day, and the next day. Now there's dozens of them and they are being mean and nasty! They have chewed up my yard, my flowerbeds. They call me names and try to poop on me, Oh I’m at my wits end, sniffle.”

I just can’t take those old puppy dog eyes.

“Sigh. Ok. I will see what I can do, Ms. Kimble.”

She smiles and pinches my cheek.

“Oh thank you! I knew you were such a nice boy!”

I roll my eyes and head back to the truck to dig through my supplies. Rat traps won't work, maybe the t-rex ones will snap a leg off, but they are just too big for the traps. I glance over at the carrier and see them all watching me.

“Hey, been a change of plans. Looks like the old lady has wild fluffies in here yard.”

They begin to squeak and babble in high pitched voices, seemingly in a frenzy.

“What? You guys want a crack at em?”

Crice grins and they all nod. I shrug and pick up the carrier. I walk back around the house and stand out of sight of the ferals as I set the carrier down and open the door.

“Ok little ones, go get em!”

The micros surge out of the carrier and filter out into the grass. I can see the blades moving as they scurry towards the unaware ferals.

“Teehee, Dees gwassy su nummy! Dummeh owd wady nu gun stop fwuffies! OH! Wookit da wittwe babbeh!”

SCREEEEEEEEEE!

“Bitey huwties!”

An orange and blue pegasus mare nibbles grass and belittles Ms. Kimble when a tan and blue micro emerges from the grass and sinks its tiny teeth into it’s nose. Several other fluffies look up as the mare flails. Then a swarm of micros are upon her, crawling through her fluff, nipping flesh as she screams.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE!

“Bad bitey munstahs gif owwies! Hewp fwuffeh!”

The mare runs towards the others in a panic. Another fluffy screams off to the left as more micros surge over it. Just then, the first mare barrels into 3 others and they are all immediately swarmed.

SCREEEE!

“Wittwe bitey munstahs weave fwuffeh awone! Nu wike dis! Stawp being meanies!”

SCREEEEEEEEE!

I watch as all 121 of the micros go to work. Every fluffy in sight has a dozen or more of the little monsters ripping out tiny chunks of flesh. They tear at any soft spot they can reach, eyes, mouths, noses, joints and genitals. The yard is alive with piercing screams as the fluffies bleed and begin to collapse as their joints are nibbled through. Defenseless in the grass, the micros begin tearing into the fluffies meat and open gaping wounds. They worm inside and begin eating organs as the fluffies can only squirm and scream. I watch as several of the micros push into a fluffies mouth, the tongue flops out onto the grass as they nip through it. Then the fluffy shakes before it’s eyes bulge and pop as micros worked up through his sinuses and ate out the eye sockets.

“Pwease! Nu mowe! Wan die wan die! PEEP!”

One by one the ferals still as the micros cause enough damage to kill them. Several ferals flee into the woods as the others lay dead or on the cusp. I walk out into the yard and begin bagging corpses. I spray the treeline with a cocktail of pesticides that will hopefully keep any more from wandering into the yard. The micros have congregated on one corpse and by the time I’m done it's been stripped to bone and fluff.

“Good work little ones! Man, you got quite the family there, Circe.”

She grins up at me, caked in blood. I set the carrier down and they all file in, sticky with gore. Gonna have to give em a bath when we get home. I use the garden hose to clean off most of the blood from the lawn and then go talk to Ms. Kimble.

“Oh thank you so much young man! I knew you were the right one to call!”

She pays me, gives me a sugar cookie and pinches my cheek before I go.

I pile into the truck and head home. I may have to reconsider my stance on doing fluffy jobs.

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Two months later and two whole rounds of births later and I’m up to 203 micros. We have been on several jobs since then. Rats, mice, squirrels, they even took out a raccoon! But they have proven especially effective against feral fluffies. They rip through herds and strays like tissue paper. I’ve also updated my gear, some guy in Ann Arbor is selling homemade fluffycide online and I stock up.The foals grow quickly, must be part of their tailored genetics. I’m washing the truck one day as the swarm works on a ham I bought when my phone goes off.

“Willis Pest Control, George speaking. Yes, Yes we do take care of fluffies.”

END

Comments

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deadweight: Circe and the swarm find a new home! I may come back to this one int the future, but onto something different next. Enjoy!

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MrBoo: Good read. Thanks.

Is it cool if I use the phrase "Care bear killer" in a story?
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deadweight: @MrBoo: sure man, be my guest

- Reply
Yiss: Great story, A good read for waiting and simply just unique.
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deadweight: @Yiss: ty
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Anonymous1: My Little Monster.
Or in this case, monsters.
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Anonymous2: Excellent story, keep the good work, your writing skills is pretty good.