Title:           Fall of Cleveland 50 - Not as Dumb as They Look
Author:          Spaghetti_Land
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/qxrD4FHE
First Edit:      Tuesday 21st of January 2014 09:48:18 PM CDT
Last Edit:       Tuesday 21st of January 2014 09:48:18 PM CDT

http://www.fluffybooru.org/post/view/3248
 
Written by Vanner
 
Sewer Fluffies Aren't as Dumb as They Look
>You knew it was too good to last, and with a few hundred million feral fluffies headed to Spaghetti Land, it was only a matter of time before everything went to shit.
>Literally in this case.
>You are Dwayne, head Facilities manager of Spaghetti Land, and you are stuck in the maintenance tunnels.
>It only took a day for the ferals to overload Spaghetti Land's pumping system, and now it's backing up into the sewers.
>After the gates broke, most of your co-workers evacuated , but you got stuck.
>With you is Annette and Colleen, games operators; Ryan, the Non-Human Relations Specialist, and Greg, the Arcade manger.
>Trapped with you are their fluffy liaisons Autumn and Filly.
>"Well this sucks a big one," says Greg. "I never thought fluffies would be the death of me. So much for an easy mode summer gig."
>"I don't want to be unemployed again," moans Ryan.
>"Where did all these fluffies even come from?" asks Colleen.
>"Wen fwuffy boy and fuwffy mawe wike each otheh berry mush..." starts Filly.
>"Filly, we don't need a lesson in biology," says Annette. "What we do need is a way out of this stupid amusement park before we all die here. Any ideas, Dwayne?
>You scratch your chin for a moment.
>"Well we can try to scale the Spaghetti Mountain and flag down a helicopter," you suggest.
>"But from what I can hear, the Super Speedy Spaghetti Squeezy 9001 is still going full tilt, so thanks to whatever asshole left THAT on."
>"Fuckin' Miguel!" snaps Annette.
>"Yeah!" says Autumn. "Dat guy asshowe!"
>"Autumn, we don't use words like that!" Colleen admonishes the fluffy. "But, yeah, it probably was that asshole."
>You walk around the tunnels for a moment, trying to think of a way out.
>The surface is completely choked with fluffies so that's a no go. And the sewers gases are at near lethal levels, so that's out as well. If only you had some SCBA gear.
>Wait a second, you DO have some. But it's not here, it's at the "Underwater Fluffy Adventure" ride.
>Why you'd want to put a fluffy in a capsule then send them underwater is beyond you. So many drownings and not even a single fluffy got wet.
>Still, you can reach it from through the tunnels, but you're going to need help keeping the fluffies at bay.
>"What's going through that head of yours, Dwayne?" asks Ryan. "If you've got an idea, let's hear it."
>"Well we can't escape via the sewers because of the gas levels," you say. "But there's SCBA equipment on the water ride."
>Greg just rolls his eyes. "Yeah, like that was a good idea."
>"Anyway, I know where it is, but I need you two to help keep the ferals at bay." Ryan nods, and Greg kind of shrugs.
>"Anything is better than dying down here," says Ryan. "I managed to keep the power washer, but I'll have to refill the tank before I can use it again."
>"That means I've got to lug heavy shit all the way back here?" whines Greg. "Bogus."
>"It's that or die!" says Annette. At the word "die" Autumn and Filly start freaking out.
>"No wan die! No wan die! Am gud fwuffy! Dun huwt fwuffy, pwease!"
>"Jesus, Greg," snaps Colleen. "Quit whining and go help Ryan and Dwayne!"
>Greg does eventually stop bitching as you make your way through the tunnels toward the "Underwater Fluffy Adventure."
>The pumps beneath the "Underwater Fluffy Adventure" are starting to flutter, which is understandable given you can clearly see a dozen fluffy bodies stuck in the filters.
>You unlock the maintenance hatch and push up.
>As soon as you peek your head out of the hatch, a few dozen ferals start screaming their fuzzy heads off.
>"Waah! Scawy gwound munster! Wun way!"
>There's a bunch of fluffies that made their way into the maintenance room and they're recoiling in terror at the three of you emerging from the tunnels.
>Fortunately, they disappear into the next room, giving Ryan a chance to hook up the power washer from the spigot.
>You flip on your flashlight, and gaze out into the darkened room.
>The pumps hum much louder up here, and you can tell that it won't be long before they burn out. Normally, you'd be worried, but it's the least of your problems now.
>"So where is this SCBA stuff anyway?" asks Greg. You point your flashlight to another door that leads out into the park proper.
>Ryan reels out hose as the three of you move toward the door. You push on the door, finding it stuck.
>You and Greg shove the door open, sweeping aside a mutlicolored carpet of fluffy ponies in a wide arc.
>What faces you is an entire sea of multicolored fluff occupying every square inch of the park grounds. Horns, wings and angry glares stare back at you as you look out.
>"Sketti wand not fow hooman munsters!" shouts one of the fluffies. "Gif dem big ouchies!"
>Now, fluffies aren't dangerous to anyone, not even in large groups. But when several hundred fluffies attack at once, there's s decent chance of suffocating beneath them.
>Fortunately, you came prepared. Ryan grabs the wand of the pressure washer, and starts blasting fluffies away with 2000PSI of water.
>A few fluffies drown on impact while the others are simply blown away by the power of the pressure washer.
>"Nu wike dis game!" "Bad wa-wa huwt fwuffy!" "Nuuuu!" "Why no see? Wa-wa in eyes stingy!"
>A few fluffies charge Ryan only to get the full force of the hose turned on them.
>Fluffies aren't a sturdy bunch and the concentrated force of 2000psi from a foot away tears wings from backs, horns from heads, and legs clean off their bodies.
>Soon there's a pile of soggy, crying fluffies complaining about "Why no weggies?"
>It's enough of a distraction that you and Greg are able to climb up the ladder of the "Underwater Fluffy Experience" and into the maintenance cabinet up there.
>Sure enough, there's SCBA masks for five and two oxygen tanks. Greg grabs the gear while you grab the tanks.
>You make your way off the ride as Ryan continues to vanquish the fluffy mob with an endless torrent of water.
>"So much for a fluffy paradise," he mutters as you make your way past him. He jams the handle of the pressure washer in the door to keep blasting fluffies as you retreat.
>You make your way back into the maintenance room where the fluffies you scared earlier have come back. Now they're all puffing up their cheeks and yelling.
>"GO WAY HOOMAN MUNSTERS!" they yell in unison. You shove them aside, but they run under your feet to try to block the door.
>That's it.
>You slam a SCBA tank down on a fluffy, shattering its spine, and crushing its internals.
>"Dude, what the hell?" asks Greg as the fluffies screams and cries.
>"I like these things as much as the next guy, but this shit's ridiculous," you say. You snatch up the broken fluffy and hold him out to the crowd.
>"Get the fuck out of my way, or I'll do this to all of you!" you yell at the fluffies.
>"Fwuffy huwties!" cries the earth fluffy. "Bad owies! Pwease dun huwt fwuffy! Why no feew weggies? Why poopie pwace weakin' boo-boo juice?"
>The fluffies un-puff their cheeks and look around uncertainly until you pick up the tank again.
>"YOU WANT TO GET SMUSHED TOO?"
>"NUUUUU!" the herd cries in a panic. They run the other direction, leaving a trail of shit in their wake.
>You look down at the fluffy you're holding, and silently twist his head till it stops breathing. No need to make it suffer.
>"Brutal, man," says Greg. "But at least we can get the hell out of here."
>The three of you make your way back through the tunnels, finding no traces of fluffy pony as you move.
>As you arrive back at the maintenance office though, there's a small herd of filthy fluffies standing outside the door.
>"Hi Dwayne!" says the red unicorn. "Haf nummies?"
>Greg grabs up a pipe wrench, but you put out an arm to stop him before he can attack the fluffy.
>"Sorry buddy," you say. "But I've got to get my friends out of here. There's lot of bad fluffies up there."
>"Dwain no dat!" says the fluffy. "Dat why Dwain come hewp. Dwayne sewah fwuffy fweind!"
>"Wait, you're friends with this filthy fuzzball?" asks Ryan.
>"Let's keep things simple and say yes," you reply. "Have you seen two human ladies with two fluffies down here?"
>"Dey in dere!" he says, pointing to the closed door. "Dey yeww at us and wun way."
>You pound on the maintenance door. "Annette? Colleen? You in there?"
>"Are those fluffies out there?" calls back Colleen. "I checked out in the sewer and saw them eating a dead fluffy!"
>"They're sewer fluffies, and yes they eat fluffy ponies, but they're here to help."
>It briefly occurs to you that might have been the strangest sentence you've ever said.
>The door opens, revealing the two ladies holding their two fluffy ponies. They're crying and begging to "keep meanie fwuffy munsters way!"
>Five minutes later, you’re teaching everyone how to use SCBA equipment. It's not quite like SCUBA, but similar enough that they all get it.
>Everyone tosses on what waders you have in the lockers. Mostly extra larges for some reason.
>They’re so large on the girls that they’re easily able to put their fluffy pony down the top. They look like really bizarre kangaroos.
>Open the doors to the sewers, and let the sewer fluffies out in front.
>Your gas meter is freaking out to the point where you shut off your flashlight for fear of sparks. No use walking to safety just to explode.
>"Dis pwace no smeww pwetty," complains Autumn.
>"Wike not pwetties an bad sweep fwuffies," says Filly.
>And they'd both be right. Everywhere you look, fluffies bodies are clogging pipes, and gallons of liquid waste choke the sewer system.
>If it weren't for the SCBA gear, you'd surely have already died, but it doesn't seem to affect the fluffies at all.
>Your biggest problem is that it's dark, and that the tiny light provided by the horns of Drain and his associates just isn't enough to see by.
>After some fumbling and stumbling, you eventually find yourself in a storm drain surrounded by several dozen sewer fluffies.
>"Hi Dwayne!" says Culvert, a clyclopian mass of scars and fluff. "So maneh fwuffies up dere twy take seweh fwuffy wand. We gif dem ouchies, and bad sweepies."
>"Can you guide us to the river?" you ask. "We need to get out of the city."
>Culvert nods and leads you to a room a few chambers over where they conduct their sewer fluffy initiations. The drain is completely choked with dead fluffies.
>"Dah wivah of twials awaits!" he says in his scary voice. You'd face palm if there wasn't a SCBA mask in the way.
>"No, Culvert, the Cuyahoga River." He looks at you with clearly no idea what you're talking about. "Big fast moving water?" you add.
>The herd shares a collective gasp. "No wan go dere! Bad wa-was even fow seweh fwuffy!"
>"That's where we have to go," you insist. "We can't stay here, and neither should you. Too many bad fluffies up there means that they'll come down here too!"
>Culvert gives this a thought, and nods. "We go den. Fwuffies, gather cewamoniah capes and foodies fow twavel. Dwayne teww us weave, we weave."
>One of the fluffies drags in a leaking box full of fluffy guts.
>“Bewwy skettis fow twavel!” he says.
>Greg looks positively ill as the fluffy balances the soggy shoe box full of intestines on his back.
>"Don't throw up in your mask," you warn Greg.
>Culvert comes back wearing his Batman mask, and Drain returns with his backwards ball cap enveloping his head.
>The rest assemble a few minutes later, all wearing Indian's pennants like capes.
>"Indians fans," says Colleen. "Figures fluffies would root for a bunch of losers."
>"Hey, I will leave you here to die," snaps Annette. "You don't talk shit about my team."
>"Go Twibe!" yells Filly.
>"Wead you to da Big sacway wa-was,"says Culvert. "Wong wawk, so keep up."
>Culvert and the rest of the fluffies waddle ahead, shoving the mountains of fluffy bodies out of the way so you can walk.
>Less than twenty minutes later, you're staring out at the Cuyahoga River, watching it drain into Lake Erie.
>From where you're at, you can spy dozens of boats leaving the harbors, or escaping the city as fires begin to burn throughout it.
>You see your small fishing boat among the few boats still there.
>Off loading from another vessel are a bunch of people dressed in cloaks made of fluffy pelts, and wielding elaborate improvised weapons.
>As soon as they hit the dock, they begin plowing through the herds there, sending fluffies flying in bits and pieces as they make their way into the city.
>"Well that's our ride," says Greg. "It's not  much, but it's paid for."
>"Why don't we take the yacht?" asks Colleen. "It's got enough room for all the sewer fluffies and us."
>"We goin on wa-was?" asks Drain. "Scawy! Nu wike!"
>"It'll be fine, fuzz-ball," you tell him. "Now just scamper along this ditch and let's get the hell out of here."
>A quick jaunt across the narrow drainage ditch, and you're on the dock.
>The guys who jumped off earlier are busy beating, stomping and crushing their way through the herd of fluffies without a care in the world.
>The girls help the fluffies trundle aboard the yacht while Greg and Ryan toss off the docking ropes.
>In a moment, you're motoring up the river toward the mouth of Lake Erie  with two dozen sewer fluffies dressed up like Indians fans, four park workers, and two fluffies liaisons sleeping at your feet.
>As you pilot the boat out into the lake, Greg throws up over the side of the boat, and some of the sewer fluffies chow down on their box of "bewwy skettis."
>Annette sits down beside you, and takes Autumn onto her lap.
>"So... thanks," she says at last. "I don't think we would have made it out there without you."
>"Don't thank me," you say. "Thank Greg, and Ryan, and Colleen. The sewer fluffies too."
>The other sewer fluffies are all standing on their back hooves staring out into the water with their filthy tails just wagging.
>"Well, where should we go next?" asks Colleen.
>"Anywhere that's not on this boat," moans Greg.
>"How about Canada?" asks Ryan. "The radio says they're accepting refugees for the moment."
>"Set course for the great white north," you say, watching as military helicopters hum in over the horizon. "I get the feeling it'll be a while before we can go home again."