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Saving Private Scraps, Chapter 3: 'Maul' Delivery.


You are Private Scraps-Ace Fluffy Scout and Survivor Extraordinaire.

Already you've braved the wilds numerous times, coming back alive and (mostly) unscathed from the many mutant horrors that have spawned from the radioactive apocalypse. So far, you've been doing supply runs to keep captain daddy's ration larder up. Strangely, you rarely hear mention of your rations...every week or so he permits it, but no more...

You figure it's because he's so much bigger and needs more fuel on a constant basis; therefore, he needs to have a cache stockpiled in case you have to hunker down in your bunker and survive on what you've gathered. But as important as your job is, your adoptive parent has countless meetings to attend and revolutions to stage in districts overrun with tyranny.

As your heart swells with pride at the honor of getting to be raised and taught by the true american hero that is captain daddy, you're quickly summoned to his private quarters. There's an odd smell about it, and he looks down at you with a glazed, kind of tired look.

Poor guy must've been up all night planning a battle strategy or something.

"Private *burp* Scraps..." he begins, a rather sour smell to his breath as he laboriously leans downward to look you at eye-level(ish).

"You have been assigned a new duty! You are to deliver these battle plans to the local intelligence relay about two blocks south and three blocks east from the trading outpost; you must also pick up a very important message regarding the status of our outposts and bring them back here. Stick to the path, then make a left when you reach the outpost and then another left when you past two street signs. Move three more street signs down and you'll see a big blue and white building. You can't miss it. Understand?"

Puffing out your chest and saluting him with one of your wings, you sling on your pack, snap your goggles into place and tie up your scarf to get ready for the journey ahead.

"Pwivate Scwaps was bown weady, Captain Daddeh siw!" you retort, hopping off the chair and racing out the pet door as joy makes your olive-green fluff stand on end. To think, you'd been given a new duty, and this far out of your territory too! Maybe you'll even get that promotion captain daddy had been promising you! Nothing could ruin this moment!


*ten minutes later*


[Screeeeeeee--] “Watch it you dumb ball of lint!!” screamed one female Hoo-Man voice.

[Nyooooommmmm--] “GET OUTTA THE FUCKING ROAD, YOU SHIT RAT!” howled another one as you narrowly duck under the crushing force of the mechanical insects they rode inside.

Apparently, the elements that be decided to prove you wrong and show you that anything CAN ruin the moment….and in this case, it’s something the Hoo-Mans call ‘Traffic’.

You don’t know what that is exactly, but something tells you it’s a time when gassy, noisy beetles move in a migration to a whole slew of places, zooming and barrelling wherever they needed to go with no heed Fluffy Ponies they crush underhoof.

The many screaming, ripped open and bug-eyed or otherwise forever-asleep Fluffies that littered the street-walks where a testament to that. Pulling up your scarf as best you can to drown out the foul stench of death, feces and the gas the beetles seemed to expel at every given moment you brave on; You’ve managed to time yourself juuust right for a few of the open fields of black, white and yellow (with a few close calls intermingled in those lucky escapes) but this was a major drain on your nerves.

Your tired, shell-shocked brain registered that different colors and types of Hoo-Mans parasitized those beetles, perhaps making them some kind of worm that has been known to plague your kind. They’re certainly fleshy and pale enough looking to be one.

But Barking Beasts shared many characteristics with you, and sometimes they or other creatures were inside the giant, shiny insects (amongst other creatures and trinkets). But wouldn’t that mean, by extension, you’re a worm too?

No, that can’t be right, you’re a Fluffy Pony, not a worm. And come to think of it Hoo-Mans had some characteristics like you just like the Barking Beasts did...so what did that make these misshapen monstrosities?...

A warning cry of “Hey, DUMBASS! MOVE YOUR ASS OR LOSE IT!” breaks your concentration as you’re promptly punted across the street once more. Your bottom is sore and a good deal of fluff was kicked clean off from the sole of the strange false-hoof the Hoo-Man wore. But amazingly, nothing is broken from the kick. Though this is the last thing on your mind as you soar directly into oncoming ‘Traffic’.

You always dreamed of flying, but not like THIS!

Using your wings to (somewhat) steer yourself in the direction you want to go, you briefly land onto the see-through eyeball of a braking insect. Splattering up against it and even flattening up like a pancake, a female Hoo-Man shrieks in surprise as your stunned, bug-eyed face materializes in front of her.

A strange lashy peels you off and sends you tumbling to the asphalt back-first. Spraining your wings to catch yourself AND catapult your being away from incoming bug-hooves, you finish off your graceful rolling finish with a face-plant into the curb, right beneath where a bug comes to rest and a Hoo-Man steps out.

Waiting until the coast is clear, you drag yourself out from under the now sleeping beetle and get your bearings. Your wings are twisted and broken in a few places, as well as your nose now gushing blood as you sneeze up a red, liquid coated rock that had been lodged in their from the face-high five.

The rest of you is bruised, sprain, and you have a baboon-bare butt for all to see spanning from your haunches and poopy place all the way to two thirds of your tail.

So this is what being a Poodle is like, some kind of Squeaky Terror and Barking Beast hybrid from what you’ve been told by Captain Daddeh.

Still, as you remove your goggles and tie a makeshift sling for your badly sprained right fore-leggy, your eyes brighten as you find the building you were looking for! You made it!

Hobbling inside with your goggles dangling around your neck, you end up catching the band with your leg and briefly choke yourself into another cart-wheel before catching yourself with your ass once more.

You skid slowly along the smooth tile floor as you learn what a ‘rug-burn’ on your poopie place and special place feels like, eventually coming to a stop before a stunned female Hoo-Man in a lovely short dress of sorts and hat. The remaining patrons are just as stunned by your intrusion.

“*Ahem* Pwease Miss In-te-wee...In-teh-whey...Miss Messuj Wady, take deez wetters an’ gib back da impowtawnt papehs!” you pipe up to her, briefly rummaging around in your back-pack before pulling out the documents in question and waving them around in your good hoofvsie as you barely balance yourself on two shaky hindlegs.

A brief exchange later and you’re already hobbling your way out, noticing that the Traffic has slowly stopped and you’ll be able to make it back to your bunker before nightfall. That is, until you hear a familiar ‘ROWF! ROWF!’ noise sounding off to your left.

An all black Barking Beast with floppy ears comes tearing after you, his fangs drooling with venom as he fixes his wild eyes onto you. With a scream you hobble away as best you can, eyes primed for your target of escape.

He’s gaining on you, but with one final dive you make it! You’re safe from the Barking Beast and now inside a fox-hole...that stinks of liquid not pretties and poopies.

That’s when it dawns on you...you’re not in a trench.

You jumped into some sort of public latrine in the road.

Poopies, literally.

*

Be Dave.

Closing up after a long shift of work at about 7-ish, you remember the boss asked you to check up the toilets, make sure no-one made a mess. Giving a brief sigh, you shuffle into the rest-rooms to hear a gurgling, rattling sound come from the one on the far left.

Opening the stall door very carefully, your eyes widen in horror as a green ball of slime and filth slowly swells into view from the pipes, numerous appendages springing free as the septic spawn takes a long needed gasp of fresh air.

Ironically, you’re expelling air out as you scream like a schoolgirl.

Said spawn splats onto the floor, picks itself up...and shakes itself off, revealing itself to be that weird Fluffy Pony who would come in here every day or so. He hobbles his way past you, giving a brief wave and a ‘Hi Dabe’ as he spits up some very discolored water and shudders out the automatic door.

Fucking Fluffy Ponies...

Comments


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TheBurningUnit: HAHAHA XD These are fucking great.
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Anonymous1: Yes... The story continues.