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Going NBK: The Nobodies



You're Dylan Harris. You're parked outside your friend Eric's house. He's late. You hate it when people are late. You always make it a point to be punctual. Being right on time is a virtue.

You check your watch. Six minutes past the hour and counting. What the fuck is he doing? Did he forget? Sleep in? You're ready to start honking the horn when Eric finally comes out.

"What took you so long?" you say. Your voice holds slight irritation, your mind pumped with frustration.

"Homework." is all Eric says, taking a seat in the passenger side. You narrow your eyes at him. What the piss does he mean by "homework"? Eric, unlike you, never really put much of an effort into his grades.

You shake your head. What does it matter? Maybe he was jacking it, who gives a shit? You put the car in drive. It's time to have some fun today.

"You bring the booze?" Eric asks.

"Check."

"Cigs?"

"Check."

"Guns?"

You grin. "And the bombs. Plus, a special surprise."

Eric frowns. "I thought we were just going target shooting in the woods. What else did you bring?"

You wag your finger at him. "Ah, it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you." Eric rolls his eyes. A little later you get to the spot. You've both used this place for practice shooting before. You're practically making leaps and bounds after parking and getting out; you're fucking excited. You slap the trunk a couple of times. The sounds of light crying is barely audible. Eric raises an eyebrow. You open it up without further ado. Inside are cages and boxes full of fluffies, crying for their mothers, begging to be let out, or are just happy that they're not shrouded in darkness anymore.

"Peekaboo, motherfuckers!" you shout at them.

"Jesus Christ," Eric says, "Dylan, how did you get so many of them? How many did you get?"

"When some stupid motherfucker leaves his van out in plain sight in the middle of nowhere on a Friday fucking night, I see opportunity that's come a knockin'. I grabbed like fifty-six of them for target practice." You hold your hand up, anticipating that Eric would chew you out for acting reckless by committing another break-in so soon after you've both got out of Diversion. "The pigs'll never figure out who did it. This wasn't like last time. I booked it out of there quick as I could, covered up the tracks, every way we fucked up the other time I made sure wouldn't happen again."

You started pulling out what you referred to as your 'terrorist bags'; several big black duffel bags filled with guns, bullets, improvised explosives, knives, and other equipment you two had hoarded. You unzip one of the bags and start pulling out a camera and tripod.

"Can you get this set up while I get the rest of the shit ready?" you ask. As Eric stands the camera up, you pull out some pipe bombs, crickets (your name for CO2 cartridges rigged with a fuse), and of course, the guns. Once Eric's finished, you hand him his preferred weaponry.

"HK MP5, just like you asked for, Smith and Wesson Model 29-"

"The Dirty Harry gun." Eric interrupts with a smirk.

"Do you want the Glock or should I keep it?" you ask.

"Nah I'll take it." With that settled, you take your own weapons: a sawed off 12-gauge shotgun, a Beretta 92, and an AK-47. You set up some speakers and put on one of your favorite albums to set the mood.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BwDVR32TLgQ]

The fluffies are becoming agitated by the sound, some covering their ears begging for the "scawy noise" to stop. You turn the volume up. You select your first victim: an adult or near adult stallion, green with a purple mane.

"Nyu daddeh gib Twuffwe upsies? Tank 'ou daddeh! Twuffwe wan gib 'ou huggies!" The fluffy known as Truffle outstretched his hooves in anticipation of a hug.

"You want this one or should I take him?" you ask your partner, ignoring Truffle.

Eric smiled. "He's all yours man."

You face the fluffy once more. "We're gonna play a little game ok?" Truffle cheers, excited at the prospect. You carry him to the shooting spot and set him down. "Wait here while daddy gets his toys ready, ok?" Truffle nods, taking a seat, eager to await the 'game' to start. You get to your spot, load the AK, and take aim. Steady. Steady.

"When da game gon stawt daddeh?"

"Oh it's starting right now as a matter of fact. You're doing great, just stay right there." Truffle beams at your encouragement. Steady. Squeeze the trigger gently. Steady. Stead-

*BANG*

And just like that, Truffle is no more. The bullet tore through his chest, tearing his lungs and heart out of his backside. His body flew back about a good foot or so from the impact. His body twitches a few times before going limp. The fluffies still in the trunk are shrieking, crying, and panicking over the sound of the "boomie munstah".

"Yeah. Yeah! Fuck yeah! WOOOOOOOO!" you shout.

"My turn." Eric says. He rummages around the now spooked fluffies and grabs a pegasus mare and her squeaking, chirping, too young to open their eyes still, foals.

"Nu! Nu huwt babbehs! Wet babbehs gu, dey too widdwe fow upsies!" The foals - three total - in one hand and the mare in the other, Eric walks over to a tree, and places the foals on a branch, leaving the mother on the ground.

"If you can reach your kids before I shoot them, you walk free." Without another word Eric stepped back and loaded the MP5. He took aim.

*POP* Miss. *POP* Miss. *POP* Miss.

"Hu huu, pwease wingies, wet mummah sabe babbehs fwom boomie munstah!" Eric checked his weapon. He took out the magazine, looked it over, then re-inserted it. He took aim again, taking his time as the mare continued to sob on the ground below. The crack of a bullet raced through the air once more. Blood painted the side of the tree that the foals had been on. The bullet reduced most of them to little more than muscle tissue, bones, and whatever remained of their internal organs. Bloodied fluff, severed limbs, and even half a face rained down from the branch onto the screaming mare. He fired a couple more times in the spot where they resided, whether just to make sure they were dead, or out of anger for missing before, you can't tell. He walks up to the inconsolable mare and places his boot firmly on her, the crackling sound indicating he broke some of her soft bones.

"WAAAAAAAAAAHUUHUUHUU! WAN BABBEHS BACK! WET FWUFFY GU MUNSTAH!" He levels the MP5's barrel to the back of her head and fires. Her skull caves in from the bullet's blow, what's left of her tongue gets emptied out from under her mouth, her eyes are bulged out of their sockets, and brain matter is sprayed everywhere, getting on his clothes and face.

"Holy shit dude! Nice!" you cheer. He blows smoke from the gun barrel like he's a character in an old Western movie.

"What can I say? I'm a natural born killer."

"This is what we've always wanted to do! This is awesome!" You rush to grab some more as Eric walks back to the shooting position. You grab a small cage with only two fluffies inside. You bring out the cage, open the door, and shake out the two shitrats inside. They tumble to the ground with a few cries of "owies!". You shove one aside and select the other - a maroon colored mare with a dark purple mane. You do your best to jam the barrel of the AK into the mare's anus.

"SCREEE! Poopie pwace nu fow huwties! Wet gu ob fwuffy!" she protests, futility attempting to run away. This is harder than you thought, but fuck it, you're gonna make it work. You notice a light tapping against your lower leg. Glancing over reveals that the other fluffy is smacking its hooves against you.

"Wet sissy gu meanie munstah! Ow fwuffy gon give 'ou wowstest huwties!" It doesn't last. Eric pistol-whips the fluffy, bringing the barrel of the gun crashing down on the fluffy's backside. After a scream of surprise and pain, the fluffy makes a steady "huu huu" sound as Eric pulls him away from you. You're just about finished with your 'fluffy silencer', so you point the AK about 45 degrees into the air, and fire.

"NU! SISSY!" Damn if that wasn't funny. Whatever the power of the 7.62 millimeter bullet didn't destroy got forced out the mouth of the fluffy - a pair of torn lungs dangles from the side of its mouth before falling to the ground. Speaking of its mouth, the lower jaw is dislocated, and nearly all of the teeth have been blown out. You pull the meat socket off your rifle. Don't want any blood or shit to jam your rifle after all.

You whip your head to the side after hearing the *POP POP POP* of a handgun. Just managing to catch the tail end of the incident, you see Eric firing three shots in front of the other fluffy, who attempted to make a break for it. Now covering its face with its hooves, the fluffy shakily repeats "nu huwt fwuffy". Eric kicks the fluffy onto its side, eliciting a yelp from the creature. Wordlessly, Eric shoots a leg off the fluffy.

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEE! WEGGIE! NU!" Eric shoots off another leg. "EEEEK! Nu, stahp-" Eric cuts him off with a bullet to the fluffy's forehead, sending its grey matter in all directions.

"I guess fluffies have brains after all." Eric quips. You laugh.

You select a cage with four barely weaned colts cowering in fear contained within. You shake the cage, sending the quartet banging and crashing against the walls, ceiling, and floor. Cries of "Owies!" and "Nu wike!" litter the air. Encouraged by the sounds, you shake harder, until you hear a cracking sound.

"SCREEEEEEEE!" Having decided that you've shaken them up enough, you inspect the damage you've inflicted. One is being hugged by two others as it screams over its broken leg, waving the bent appendage in the air and crying about how much it hurts. The fourth of their number is roughly opposite them, groaning, legs wobbling as it stands, a think trickle of blood coming from it's forehead. All of them have cuts and welts from the tumult you caused. You set down the cage and open it up.

"Get out."

Either from having not heard your order or ignoring it, a bright yellow colored fluffy hugging the cripple pipes up. "Pwease hewp bwuddah mistah! Huggies nu wowk, an bwuddah's weggie am bwoken!" The cripple was still shrieking.

"I said get out!" You grab your sawed off shotgun, and point it in the direction of the colts. They screech, and back themselves into a corner. The yellow fluffy bravely shields the cowering cripple, as the other colt peers over its shoulder in fear.

"Pwease nu huwt bwuddahs! Fwuffies am gud fwuffies! W-wiww gib huggies, jus' nu huwt!" Non-compliance. Unacceptable.

"Fine, I'll start shooting anyway."

You aim the shotgun at the ones huddled in the corner. On a whim you change your aim to the concussed fluffy who's still unable to get their bearings. The yellow colt sees this, and in a split second decision, dashes over and pushes the concussed colt out of the way, just in time to save it from a slug.

The recoil of the sawed off shotgun causes the but of the gun to collide with your stomach, sending you gasping for air. That hurt. A lot. The only saving grace is that you didn't keep the shotgun close to your face. Explaining a broken nose to your parents would've been an ordeal and a half.

"You alright?" Eric asks, approaching, outstretching his arm. You wave him off, deciding to save your breath for when you feel like you have air in your lungs again. He takes a look inside the screaming and crying of the colt's cage.

"Ha ha! That slug fucking destroyed him!" You sit up to take a look. The former fluffy is unrecognizable now. Blood was everywhere, literally everywhere, as half the cage was now painted a shade of red and the other half was coated in specks of blood. The guts (or rather, whatever was left of the guts) hung off the bars of the cage like Christmas ornaments on the pine tree of Hell. You were reminded distinctly of that one movie where a bunch of giant sandworms attack a small town in Nevada, how during the film the heroes managed to blow one of them up, and its innards were raining down on everyone. You can't even identify the fluffy's face anymore, because the only thing that's left besides a puddle of mush that might be brains is an eyeball resting on the wall of the cage and a torn off lower jaw that's missing most of the teeth.

"Now see, over here," Eric said, pointing to a random spot of the gore, "is the entry wound, and right over here," he pointed to another spot that looked just as bad, "is the exit wound." It would hurt too much to laugh right now, so you just smiled at him.

"BWUDDAH! BWUDDAH! WHA HAPPEN TU BWUDDAH!?"

Yep, the fluffies are still screaming. You notice that the concussed one has vomited at least once and is laying on its side, though you can't be sure if that was because his dizziness was making him sick or the gore pushed him over the edge. No matter now. The three survivors had to be dealt with.

"Alright you little fucks, come on out, or else you're getting the same treatment." You resist the urge to cough for air. You pump the shotgun to further emphasize the point.

The only non-crippled fluffy left says "Bu mistah-" before you cut him off.

"Look, I don't care what you say, if you DARE say one more word or stay in that cage, I will fucking kill you! Do you understand me, YOU LITTLE WORTHLESS PIECE OF CRAP?!" The non-cripple squeaks in fear, and defecates itself. Your head feels like it could explode from sheer fury.

"Do you wanna die? Huh? DO YOU WANT TO FUCKING DIE?"

"Huu huu huu! Nu huwt fwuffies! Wiww gu, wiww gu!" The non-cripple urges the fluffy with a broken leg to move along too. The cripple hardly complains about the pain in its leg or the difficulty of moving without it, knowing exactly what consequences await him if he doesn't move. Right before the two leave though, the cripple notices the concussed fluffy, who still hasn't moved.

"Wait, nu can weave bwuddah!" the cripple pipes up. The duo go over to their concussed brethren, and attempt unsuccessfully to rouse him.

"Quick bwuddah! Nee' to ge' up an weave cagies, ow hoomin munstah gon gif foweva sweepies!" The concussed fluffy just moans.

"Move it! My patience is running thin as is!"

"Huu huu! Nu wan weave bwuddah!" They try to nudge him up to stand, but the concussed fluffy still fails to support himself.

"I'm giving you to the count of ten. One!" The fluffies get on one side of the concussed one and elect to push him out of the cage.

"Two!" Rolling him around so much caused the dazed fluffy to start heaving again, trailing vomit as they move further. They're almost to the exit.

"Ten!" The two fluffies look up at you with wide eyes and mouths agape. Before one of them can shriek out "nu faiw!", you unload your shotgun into the cage, turning each fluffy into a mess of sinew and red mist. Once your shotgun is empty, you kick the now devastated cage over and over, stomping on it, getting bits of flesh, dark red crimson, and some other squishy stuff (probably shit) under your shoes. You suddenly stop, and double over in a coughing fit. Your throat hurts after it finally passes. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Eric lays a hand on your shoulder and you whip around to face him.

"Take it easy dude, it's just me." You nod. Deep breaths. "You alright?"

"Yeah," you reply, "just got carried away. Like, a lot." You take a minute to collect yourself. "Let's get back to it."

You both walk back to the trunk, and grab a decently sized box with fluffies inside. There's a baker's dozen inside, varied colors, ages, and genders, all peeping and speaking and begging for their "nyu daddehs" to "sabe fwuffies fwom da boomie munstahs!", trying to crawl up the walls of the box, but the ascent is too difficult for them.

"Okay, new rule for you guys," you say as you and Eric bring them to the spot. "You have to stay right here, in this box, and not come out. It'll protect you from the monsters." You're not sure if they're listening, but you've got something that should keep em in place for a while. You pull out a small plastic bag of oreos from a pocket of your duster, open it up, and drop the cookies inside. "There'll be more of these if you guys do as I ask, I promise." The fluffies are licking up the broken sandwich cookies as you and Eric get some distance on the box and take aim with your respective weapons - you the AK, Eric the MP5.

"Ready?" you say.

"Aim..." Eric replies with a goofy smile. You can't help but chuckle.

"One, two, three!" You both open fire on the box, riddling it with bullets. The fluffies inside don't even have time to scream before hot lead eviscerates them. Once your mags are empty, you head over to inspect the damage. Sure enough, most of the remains of the fluffies are centered on where you dropped the cookies. They hardly had a chance to react. The blood is in such heavy quantities that it's leaking out some of the bullets holes you two made, torn flesh and guts dotting the surface. The once rainbow colored spectacle that lived inside this box has now been turned into a dark red mush with a few spots of ivory white bone and an occasional spot of green, or teal, or even a dash of black being the only contrasting colors in the slurry.

"Holy shit, one of them is still alive..." Eric says, carefully peeling off a displaced liver off of a fluffy buried in the mess, it's body shivering as if it was locked in a freezer. Eric picks the fluffy up by the scruff of its neck, eliciting panic in the creature.

"SCREEEEEEE! NU WAN! NU WAN! WET FWUFFY GU! NU WAN TAKE FOWEVA SWEEPIES! NU WAN TUWN INNA BOO-BOO JUICE! SCREEEEEEEE!" Is what it screams as it kicks and flails its legs, kicking off some of the blood stuck to its body. Eric looks the fluffy over. It's original color is underterminable now, so thickly the blood coating its fur is. A couple of small gashes suggests to the both of you that the fluffy was grazed by some of your shots. Eric wordlessly points out to you a part on the base of the fluffy's neck where it would appear a small piece of skull fragment has buried itself there. During the examination the fluffy is crying for its mother.

"Shhhh..." Eric tells it, and the fluffy, having not died yet, starts to steady its breathing, opting instead for muted tears. "What are you crying for, little man?"

"F-fwuffy, da oddahs, am-am su scawed," the fluffy starts to hyperventilate again as it struggles to utter a simple sentence. "FWUFFY'S FWIENDS AWE TAKE FOWEVA SWEEPIES!" And upon this confession, the fluffy starts to really, truly sob, as snot drips out its nostrils, mixing with the tears and the drying blood stuck to its fluff.

"Shhhh..." Eric repeats. "You should be happy." With his free hand, he takes out his Smith and Wesson, bringing it to bear with the fluffy's head.

"W-wha mistah tawkin 'bout?" it asks.

"Your life is going to be taken by some of the best specimens on the planet. Don't you feel honored? Don't you feel happy?" Eric shoves the barrel of the massive revolver into the fluffy's agape mouth, pushing up against the roof of its mouth as hard as possible in order to prevent it from turning its head too much. "You're going to be visited by the wrath of a god." And with that, Eric pulled the trigger of the gun, permanently removing the top half of it's cranium from the rest of its body.

"Say hello to Lucifer for me." Eric tells the corpse, before throwing it back into the box of blood. "Let's take a break. I wanna have some of that beer you brought." So that's what you two do next. Just sit in the car, sipping on your drinks of choice. You take a gulp of Jack Daniels and try not to wince at the taste. You'd take out your whiskey flask, but you have to drive after you're done here, so getting plastered isn't a good idea. Eric's drinking a bottle of vodka. His favorite.

"Hey Dylan?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think that just shooting them is getting a little...boring?"

Come to think of it, it was getting stale. "I think so. What do you have in mind?"

"I say we should start knifing them. That'd be more fun." You shrug your shoulders. Why not? You take another swig of beer, then get up, unsheathing your knife. Eric takes out his as you choose a random cage to root around in, and had over the first fluffy you catch - purple mare with a red mane - to Eric.

"Ou gon be nyu daddeh? Pwissy be gud fwuffy fow-" the fluffy known as Prissy is cut off when Eric slams his knife into her vagina.

"SCREEEEEEEEE! POINTY HUWTY! POINTY HUWTY IN SPECIAW PWACE HEWP HEWP HEWP SCREEEEEEE!" Eric twists and turns the knife jammed in her innards as you grab your own fluffy, a bright green stallion with a dull orange mane. The fluffy's face contorts into one of horror and disgust and tries to wrench itself free of your grip the second it catches sight of the commotion.

"EEP! Wai dat mistah gib fwuffy huwties? Wonawd nu wike dis game! Pwease wet Wonawd gu!"

"Relax little guy, nothing bad's happening over there," you say as Prissy has progressed from screeching to pained sobs, "so why don't you put on a happy face?"

"Wha?" is all Ronald gets out before you stick the blade in his mouth and proceed to cut his cheek open. He wrenches his head back afterwards, but his screaming makes it easy to stick the blade back in a tear open the other cheek.

"There. Finished. I hope you like your new look." Saliva is mixing with the blood of the Glasgow Grin you inflicted, and Ronald won't even look at you. He mutters something that's garbled by all the blood in his mouth, but you think he said "mushta twick Woawd".

"What's the matter? Don't like it?" He shakes his head no instead of saying anything, perhaps recognizing that his speech is impaired. "Then maybe I'll give you another one." You take the knife and use it to make an incision in the bottom of his mouth. He fail to scream, coughing up all the blood in his mouth.

"Hold still." You reach into the incision and pull Ronald's tongue out of it, giving him a Colombian necktie. "Now you look well and truly lovely! What do you think Ronald? Did I do a better job this time?" He looks up with eyes half shut and clouded by tears, before closing them entirely to sob and gurgle on his blood.

"No? Well fuck yourself, I think you look great." And with that, a quick slash to the throat sees that Ronald is no more. You glance back to your partner. Prissy isn't impaled on the end of Eric's knife anymore. Currently she's curled up on the ground, crying quietly, occasionally saying "pwease hewp fwuffy" or "su huwties" while Eric just looms over her, chuckling.

"Check it out dude, I gave her a pussy face." he tells you. Upon closer inspection you can tell he gave her a 'makeover' too, having cut a big ugly gash in her snout.

Time for another fluffy. You select a white unicorn stallion with a jet black mane. If you gave a shit about these kinds of things, you could've probably sold it for some good cash. Several months ago, you probably would've, too. But that time is long gone.

"SCREEEE! Wet Godiwocks gu! Gon gib munstah wowstest huwties eba, s-su 'ou betta stahp!"

"Screaming already are we? And I haven't even touched you yet..." Goldilocks has probably been pampered his entire life thanks to his appealing complexion. This one's going to be fun.

"Hey Eric, watch this!" You pin Goldilocks down, jab the knife into his back, not too hard, but enough to draw blood, and start to bring the knife down.

"SCREEEEEEEEEE! NU HUWT GODIWOCKS! GODIWOCKS GUN GIB MEANIE MUNSTAH FOWEVA SWEEPIES! SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" And now you bring the knife across...

"What are you doing dude?"

"Trust me, I saw this in a movie once."

"SCREEEEEEEE! GODIWOCKS HATCHU! 'OU DA WOWSTEST MUNSTAH EBA! GODIWOCKS HATCHE FOWEVA!"

"Jesus Christ, you are so fucking pathetic. Shut your fucking mouth before I tear your tongue out, faggot." After a few more angry tirades from both you and Goldilocks, you're finished. A crude swastika is now bore on the milk colored fluffy. Eric frowns.

"That's it?"

You shrug. "I thought it was a good idea. Why? Got something better?"

"Yeah actually. I saw this one in a movie too." Eric leans down, then pierces his knife near the base of Goldilocks’s skull.

"SCREEEEEE! NU MOWE! STAHP DA POINTY HUWTIES WIGHT NAO, OW GODIWOCKS GUN GIBE 'OU WOWSTEST STOMPIES!" Eric pulls the blade back, and Goldilocks's body is now limp. "Huh? Wai weggie nu wowk? WAI WEGGIE NU MOVE?! HUU HUU, PWEASE MAKE STOMPIES WEGGIES!"

"And thus I present you: Head on a Stick." Eric says with a smile, and follows it up with a sarcastic bow. You're not as amused.

"Dude what the fuck? I was planning on doing way more with that little faggot."

"Oh. Shit, sorry, my bad."

Breathe in, then out, slow. "It's alright." Well not really, but it wasn't Eric fault. He didn't know. You head back to the trunk of the car. You'd like something to relieve your anger in a quick and easy way. You grab a random fluffy by the mane on their head, a dark blue unicorn with a black mane.

"Owies! Nu wike bad upsies!"

"I'll show you bad you stupid fuck." You thrust your blade directly into his groin...

"SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" ...and pull upwards, tearing open his stomach, causing his entrails to fall out. "Nu! Nu...put back...tummeh sketties..." the fluffy spurts out in shock, before its death after a couple of convulsions. Quick and brutal. You needed that.

"Eric, I think we should finish off the rest now. You got the Molotovs?" Eric holds up one such improvised incendiary to confirm. You look at the fluffies that are left. One box with eighteen. Another box with ten. You grab the box with ten while Eric grabs the box of eighteen, only for a spray of shit to come from his box, getting on his duster.

"Aw fuck, gross!"

"Nu huwt hewd dummeh munstah, ow smawty gon gif mowe sowwy poopies!"

"Dylan! We've got a smarty over here!" Not that it wasn't already evident. You set down your box.

"I think I've got just the thing for this." you say as Eric tries to clean off his duster. You grab the offending smarty with both hands, and squeeze him tight, to get out all the shit.

"OWIES! Wet gu ob smawty dummeh munstah, nu gon wet munstah huwt da hewd!" He bites your thumb. Barely registers. You pull out one of the cricket bombs and jam it in the smarty's anus. "Owie! Wha' munstah doin to poopie pwace? Wet gu WIGHT NAO!" it shrieks in response. Producing your lighter, you set the fuse, then toss the smarty as hard as you can.

"SCREE! NU CAN FWY, NU CAN-" in mid-air the lower half of the smarty is blown up, showering the nearby area with blood and specs of fluff, and exposing its now roasted innards to the world. The still intact upper half flies straight into a tree with a crunch, face first, most likely breaking the smarty's face. Hopefully he was still cognizant enough to feel that. That being taken care of, it's time to deal with the remaining seventeen and ten in each box. The seventeen will go first, with you two deciding to utilize a pipe bomb. You toss in one of your "Atlanta" batch of bombs, and take cover behind some trees. You can hear the fluffies inside cry about the "hissy munstah" for a few seconds, then a big *BOOM*, like a really big firework going off. Time to inspect the damage.

"Holy shit..." you say. A few of the fluffies seem to have disintegrated. Chunks of dislocated flesh with singed fur still attack dot the remainder of the box and the area surrounding it, along with shredded internal organs and severed limbs. Some of the fluffies that are close to intact have had parts of their bodies ripped out of them in irregular shapes and sizes from shrapnel. A severed head lies a few feet from the blast radius. Some fluffies have their bones exposed from the blast. One has had all the skin on one side of its chest ripped off, giving the two of you a good look at its exposed lungs and heart past the bones that have been broken inwards. Another which appears to have been facing the blast has a fractured skull exposed, brain matter and blood leaking through the cracks. Others are unrecognizable as anything other than mushy, bloody viscera. No survivors.

Without further ado, the next box is up on the chopping block. You let Eric light the Molotov.

"As a wise man once said, I regret nothing." After that declaration, he chucks the Molotov inside. The fluffies inside wail horribly as they get lit up, parts of their body turning black and blistered as the flames overtake them. The amount of "SCREEEEEEEEEEEE"s threaten to overwhelm your ear drums. They run in circles, bash themselves against the walls of the box, a few brave ones try to put the fires by stamping them out, but only manage to further spread it. After only a couple of minutes, the fluffies start dropping to the ground, dead or dying.

"Huh, weird." Eric mutters.

"What?"

"I thought they would've died a lot slower. I mean the fire's still going strong, and I don't think it got to their organs and shit yet, right?"

"I think they choked on the smoke. I heard somewhere that'll kill people before the flames."

"Cool. I never knew that." You both just watch the still burning fire for a few minutes longer.

"I think we should leave now." you interject into the silence.

"Oh, yeah. I guess so. We did run out of fluffies..." Eric trails off. You gather your gear and start putting it away. You notice Goldilocks trying to inch away by biting the grass and pulling himself forward, but he keeps tearing out the grass, frustrating progress. You push his head into the soft muddy ground, and he makes "mmmpf!" sounds as you hold him down.

"Hey buddy, I saw you were hungry, so I'm giving you a helping hand. Hope you like the taste of mud pies!" are what your parting words to him are as he suffocates on the mud.

"Damn, I can't believe she's still alive..." Eric says, referring to Prissy, who's still mumbling and sobbing. You're mutually surprised by Prissy's survival considering how much blood she must've lost at this point. You recall your unfinished bottle of Jack Daniels, and run to retrieve it. With it in hand, you jam the bottle up Prissy's mutilated vagina, and turn her upside down so that the alcohol can get into her wounds.

"SCREEEEEEEEEeeeeeee..." Her voice falters as she screams. She's on death's door. You leave her to complain about the "buwnie huwties in speciaw pwace as you finish grabbing your things. You collect the camera and stop the recording. You two have been at this for almost an hour. Time flies when you're having fun, you suppose. Now finished packing up, you drive Eric home before heading to your own place. What a day...

Comments


- Reply
NewEraUsher: These guys are cringe inducing little douches. Makes me think of the Columbine dudes.
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BranF1akes: @NewEraUsher: That's part of the point, they're idiot teenagers trying too hard to look cool.

Also, they're named after the Columbine shooters, I just switched their names around.
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Anonymous1: @NewEraUsher: Cool it with fedora tipping bud, have you never been a teenager?

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NewEraUsher: @BranF1akes: That's cool, I was just making an observation.

@Anonymous: I wasn't like that though.
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BranF1akes: @NewEraUsher: That's fair, I just figured I should've clarified. No harm, no foul, and if I came across as a little combative I apologize.