Warning: spoilers for the Abuse Syndicate Saga.
Note: read “I Got A Darkness Inside” first.
By now, you probably know about the Faucheuse Foundation and its wondrous regeneration vats, which have saved many fluffies from miserable lives as pillowfluffs.
And you should also know that abusers are persona non grata on FauCorp property, denying them access to that technology.
But then there are the abusers who wish to prolong their victims’ suffering. Those who find it exhausting to continuously locate new victims.
When Vanessa Valentine was building the Abuse Syndicate up, she took this into account.
Sure, she could have reverse engineered the Foundation’s regeneration technology.
But she deliberately chose not to. Because regeneration is cruelty-free.
And her goal was to spite her ex-husband, the brilliant Dr. Pierre Faucheuse, who adores fluffies, by inflicting suffering upon as many fluffies as possible.
So, while some of her people gunned down random fluffies, or bred fluffies in mills, or organized fluffy blood sports, others were gathering fluffies. Ferals, mostly. They wouldn’t be missed.
But there’s been a number of domestic fluffies going missing too.
Vanessa wasn’t planning to spare fluffies just because they had owners.
And where did Vanessa’s people bring those fluffies, you ask?
Well, the answer should be obvious. It’s right in the title.
To organ farms.
While fluffy organ farms are illegal in many places now, they are still, unfortunately, legal in many other places.
But Vanessa deliberately chose to establish the Syndicate’s organ farms in places where they’re illegal.
Again, the goal was spite. To have fluffies abused on pro-hugbox turf, just because she could. Any money Vanessa made off the Syndicate was merely a bonus.
In Portland, one such organ farm is still operational.
Many of the Syndicate’s operations are still running, even while their former boss awaits trial in jail.
For some, it’s because they care more about the money than Vanessa did, and to them, profit is profit.
For others, it’s because they get a sick thrill out of doing things that are forbidden.
And for others, it’s because they like hurting fluffies, pure and simple.
A man in a stained wifebeater, with an A.S. tattoo on his arm, walks into a room full of caged, miserable fluffies, many of whom are missing various body parts.
“Huu… fwuffy wan weggies back… huuuu…”
“WET SMAWTY OUTTA DUMMEH SOWWY BOX AN GIB SMAWTY SPECIAW WUMPS BACK NAO!!!”
That fluffy is missing a tongue.
Nobody needed a tongue, the asshole in charge just wanted the fluffy to shut up.
The man looks from cage to cage, and eventually, his eyes settle on one cage.
The cage contains a green pegasus mare, currently intact.
“Green adult, all four legs. You’ll do.”
The mare smiles hopefully.
“Nice mistah am gunna wet Cwoh-vuw gu back to mummah?”
The man smiles, like a cat who just cornered a mouse.
“Haha, nope. We got a guy who needs legs for his green fluffy. So guess what’s gonna happen to yours.”
Clover’s smile quickly fades away.
“Pwease nu gib Cwoh-vuw owwies…”
The man opens the cage and yanks Clover out, holding her by the scruff of her neck as he carries her into another room.
This room simply could not look any more like a stereotypical back alley doctor’s office. The walls are covered in racks, rusty surgical tools hanging on the racks. There’s bloodstains around the room, not all of them being fresh. In a refrigerator, a fluffy heart is being preserved, next to a half-eaten sandwich. And the room is illuminated by a single bare bulb.
“Cwoh-vuw nu wike dis woom…”
“Well, don’t worry. You won’t be here for long.”
On one bloodstained table, a pillowed, scarred earthie stallion, the shade of his green fluff almost identical to Clover’s, has been strapped down. He’s still conscious. They don’t bother using anesthesia here.
Another of Vanessa’s decisions. Not only does it inflict even more suffering, it saves money on anesthetic.
The man puts a ballgag in Clover’s mouth, and straps her onto the table, next to the stallion.
“It’s your lucky day, Green. You’re getting new legs.”
Yes, the stallion’s name is just Green. His owner doesn’t put much effort into names.
Green seems elated.
“Nyu weggies? Gween can wun an pway an gib huggies again!”
“I didn’t say you’d be doing that, shitrat. After this, you’re going back to your owner.”
The man picks up a rusty bonesaw, and Clover’s eyes widen.
“Say goodbye to those legs, Clover. I’m giving them to this asshole, because he’s a better fluffy than you.”
The man doesn’t believe that, but he knows hearing it will hurt Clover.
Most fluffies are practically hardwired to crave praise from humans.
The man gets to work on the first leg, slowly sawing it off.
Clover screams through the ballgag.
“Nu! Nu huwt udda fwuffy! Pwease!”
“You want new legs, don’t you? Shut it or I’ll put a ballgag on you, Green.”
Green watches the man cut off Clover’s legs, one by one, and dab healing gel on each stump.
It’s just cheap FluffCo brand healing gel. It can’t regrow the legs, but it’ll seal the wounds and keep Clover from bleeding out.
She’s still got other body parts to harvest. She’s still useful.
Then the man gets to work attaching the legs to Green.
This is painful work, because it requires reopening the old wounds. And lots of stitches, after the new legs are stuck on.
The man quickly puts a ballgag in Green’s mouth too.
About half an hour later, the man is done.
He’s left with what he started with: two green fluffies, one with legs, one without. The only difference is which fluffy has legs.
That, and both fluffies are in tears now.
The man unstraps Clover, and turns to Green.
“I’ll come unstrap you in a minute, I need to go put this one back.”
So the man returns Clover to her cage, removing the ballgag, and then texts Green’s owner to let him know he can pick up his fluffy.
Treat 'em and street 'em, that’s the man’s motto. He’s only got so many cages, and he’s not running a boarding kennel.
While he waits, he feeds the caged fluffies. It’s the cheapest kibble, made of fluffies.
That’s been banned in a lot of areas too. Portland is one of them.
Vanessa actually had kibble smugglers, working to sneak fluffy-based kibble into areas that had banned it. All just so abusers could feed the kibble to their victims, for the sick pleasure of forcing or tricking fluffies into cannibalism.
Then, another half hour later, the man hears the doorbell ring, and makes his way to the front desk, Green in a cheap, uncomfortable, tight carrier.
When he reaches the front desk, the man drops the carrier on the floor, breaking all four of Green’s new legs.
The reason the man dropped the carrier is because he found the ChaotiX waiting at the front desk. It was a bit of a surprise.
Calvin, Marley, Jack, Victor, Dave, in demon form, and Andre. And none of them look happy.
Outside, through the open front door, the man can see Green’s owner and several cops, one of whom is reading Green’s owner his rights.
Calvin speaks up, his and Marley’s eyes glowing red.
“Really? You just kept doing this shit? We took your boss down, we can take you down too.”
Jack looks at the man’s tattoo.
“You didn’t even get that removed? You might as well have a swastika on your arm!”
“Hello, Raymond Zher. Oh, but it used to be Dr. Raymond Zher, didn’t it? Yeah, I know how you lost your medical license, and that’s already sealed your fate.”
Dave looks literally mad as Hell.
"You DO know that there’s an entire circle of Hell JUST for fluffy abusers, right? And guess what, you’re GOING Down There. I know that for a fact. The only choice you have to make is whether you go now or later."
“You ever had someone pour himself down your throat and tear you apart from the inside out? Because nigga, that can be arranged.”
Marley smiles as maliciously as a fluffy can muster.
“Da Sin-duh-kit am a teh-woh-wist gwoop nao. Su yu am guin tu Git-moh, tuu.”
Calvin nods, keeping his eyes on Raymond.
“Yeah, you’re fucked. And I mean bite the pillow, he’s going in dry fucked. Oh, and speaking of pillows, we’ll be taking those fluffies off your hands now. A week or so at the local Foundation branch, and it’ll be like they never ran into you in the first place.”
Marley waddles up to Green’s carrier.
When Raymond tries to kick Marley away…
Marley turns to steel, and Raymond breaks his foot.
Marley snickers at Raymond, who is now hopping up and down on his other foot.
“Dat am yu own fauwt, dummeh. Daddeh, take cawe of dat dummeh.”
As the ChaotiX moves in to deal with Raymond, Marley reverts to flesh and fluff, and addresses Green in a soothing tone, his eyes going back to orange.
“Du fwuffy haf namesie?”
Green, despite being in much more pain than Raymond, manages to reply.
“Am… am Gween.”
“Wissen, Gween. We am hewe tu hewp yu. An awwa da udda fwuffies hewe. We am gunna take yu tu a pwace cawwed da Fown-day-shun, an dey am gunna fiks yu weggies.”
“Wut… wut abowt Cwoh-vuw? Munstah hoomin tuk Cwoh-vuw weggies, an gabe dem tu Gween.”
Marley smiles warmly.
“Cwoh-vuw am gunna git Cwoh-vuw weggies fikst, tuu. Yus, dey can du dat at da Fown-day-shun. Awwa da fwuffies hewe dat wost dey bodee pawts, dey aww am gunna git dem back.”
Marley points a hoof at Raymond, having his foot healed by Calvin.
Calvin doesn’t think Raymond deserves that decency, but Calvin is still a good man.
“An dis peesa shit? Gween neba gun see him again. Mawwey can pwomise yu dat. Ray-mund am gunna du hawd time fow dis.”
“Yup, and that’s if you aren’t stupid enough to run away, Ray-Ray.”
“Fuck you, Korkea! Nobody calls me Ray-Ray–”
“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want to call you, Ray-Ray. Just so you know, Ray-Ray, I absolutely love it when an asshole like you has a nickname they despise.”
Calvin gets up close to Raymond, their noses almost touching.
“Ray. Ray. Oh, you mad, bro? Yeah, you mad. You mad as fuck, Ray-Ray. There isn’t a goddamn thing you can do to stop me from calling you that. And you know it, RAY-RAY!!!”
Raymond shuts up, and allows Calvin to drag him outside so the police can provide him with a dashing pair of metal bracelets.
Then, as the rest of the squad calls in some more ChaotiX members to move the fluffies to the local Foundation branch, Marley keeps Green company.
“Mawwey can heew tuu, but doze nu am yu weggies, su it mite nu gu wite. But da Fown-day-shun can gwo yu weggies back. Su hang in dewe, Gween. It aww am gunna be otay nao.”
“Fank yu, Mawwey. Gween wud gib Mawwey huggies if Gween cud.”
“Gween can gib Mawwey aww da huggies Gween wan wen Gween am dun at da Fown-day-shun.”
Reilly, one of the team members just called in, opens the carrier and blips Green out.
Calvin walks back inside, smiling at his team members, his eyes back to blue.
“We did good, guys. We’re another step closer to wiping the Syndicate off the map. Someone’s gotta be running the show now that Vanessa’s in the slammer. And if they’re smart, their name won’t be in the intel we recovered from the Snowflake. Like that’ll save them.”
“And the sooner we get this shit done, the better. We’ve got enough on our plate as it is. Like the reports of that monster fluffy who’s been sighted eating people in New York.”
Jack cracks a grin.
“That monster fluffy’s been doing us a favor, though, because those people were all abusers. Someone found an arm the monster fluffy didn’t finish, guess what tattoo the arm had on it.”
Marley smirks up at Jack, much like Calvin does.
“Mawwey am stiww gettin da hang of weed-in, but Mawwey am gunna gess it am da wett-uhs Ayy Ess.”
“Ding ding ding ding ding. So it looks like New York’s fluffies have a lethal protector now.”
Calvin absent-mindedly rubs the pinprick scars on his neck, the souvenirs of Ianos’ bite.
“I should probably go have a talk with that monster fluffy. My schedule’s packed, but I’ll work it in somewhere.”
Andre watches Roland blip out with a legless stallion who bears a strong resemblance to Magic, a fact which deeply unnerves Andre.
As easygoing as Andre is, abusing fluffies really gets under his skin.
“Which is why we gotta deal with these Syndicate fools, ASAP. We don’t need this shit.”
Marley looks up at Andre.
“Hu am yu cawwin a sap, Andwe?”
The squad laughs at Marley’s snarky comment, and then gets to work moving fluffies out too.