The following was taken from the notes of employee #1453562
>You've heard a lot about fluffy owners using electric shocks to erase their fluffy's short-term memories.
>Most commonly this is done after having limbs amputated, especially when the fluffy fails to perk up again after a day or three.
>For a short time after the shock, the fluffy becomes highly suggestible, and the owner has the chance to re-write the fluffy's mind to an extent.
>The process is jokingly referred to as 'resetting your fluffy'.
.>But you're curious: what happens if you don't say anything during the suggestibility window?
>It's time for science.
>You go to the pet store and fork over five bucks for a premium fluffy pony.
>You figure the extra three dollars are worth it. Don't wanna catch the house on fire.
>When asked which one you want, you just point randomly.
>The clerk grabs one and shoves it into a small pet carrier.
>Its babbling voice is definitely female. Her fluff is a gorgeous terracotta color; her mane and tail are white.
>Her blue eyes glitter with excitement as she sits on the counter while you complete the checkout, turning and moving around inside her pet carrier.
>”New fwiend? Wan' pway wif fwuffy?” she asks whenever she catches sight of you.
>You leave the pet store and take her home.
>While you you bring the tools to the garage, you leave her in the carrier with the door facing the wall.
>”Fwuffy scawed, pwease wet fwuffy out!” she calls occasionally.
>The instructions on the fluffy owners' message board were easy to follow.
>While a car battery and alligator clips are preferred, they aren't necessary.
>If used on the thinner fluff of the forehead, a powerful stun gun is just as effective.
>This is the route you've decided to take.
>Stun guns of 800,000 to 1,000,000 volts are considered the best option in these cases; any more voltage and the fluffy's brain might literally burst into flames.
>Any less and the reset may not take hold completely, or the suggestibility window may fail to occur.
>And at $30, they're a damn sight cheaper than a car battery.
>You've got a tall cardboard box to contain the fluffy while you shock her.
>You're ready to go.
>You retrieve the carrier and reach in, gently pulling the fluffy unicorn out. She waddles around in the box after you set her inside.
>”Where fwuffy?” she asks.
>She sees you after a few seconds and leans up on the side with a big smile.
>”New fwiend? Why fwuffy in bocks? We pwayin' bocks game?”
>”We pwayin'! We pwayin'! Wha fwuffy do now?”
>She sits obediently.
>”Fwuffy win?” she asks.
>“Only if you sit there until I tell you to move.”
>”Okay! Fwuffy gon' win bocks game!”
>You prepare to shock her.
>”Wha dat? Bwack thingy smell funny!” she says to the approaching stun gun.
>She's about to babble something else when you press the gun to her forehead and unleash the electricity.
>She sits and shakes violently, her muscles locked in place by the current. Her pupils shrink to the size of pinheads.
>The fluffy owners' board guide said to continue the shock for 10 seconds. You count down, then withdraw the gun and watch.
>It takes the fluffy a moment to stop shaking. When she does, she is statue still.
>Her eyes are wide and unblinking, pupils remaining shrunk to their minimum.
>This is the reset window.
>You are extremely quiet. If memory serves, this lasts for about 30 seconds.
>You count those seconds off in your head.
>The window closes. The fluffy's glazed-over eyes become clear again, and she starts looking around.
>”Where fwuffy?” she asks, standing up.
“>In my garage.”
>”Gawage? You fwuffy new fwiend?”
>“Yes, I am.”
>While she is desperate to hug you, she seems to remember nothing about the 'bocks game'.
>You become curious, wondering what happens if you reset a fluffy too many times.
>You return to researching on your laptop, ignoring her cries as she toddles about in the box beside you.
>”Hung'y! Tummy make guhgles!”
>Your search proves fruitless. Fluffies never seem to live long enough to require more than one reset.
>Annoyed, you look at the fluffy unicorn.
>”Hung'y! Hung'y, hung'y, hung'y!” she whines, trying to stretch her forelegs over the top of the box. “Wan' sgetti pwease!”
>You shock her with the stun gun again.
>The result is the same, besides the position she's now frozen in.
>When she comes back from the reset, she looks around confusedly.
>”Where fwuffy?” she asks repeatedly until you answer her. “New fwiend? Wan' pway?”
>She makes no mention of her hunger.
>You take her out of the box and allow her to follow you inside the kitchen.
>It takes about ten minutes for her stomach to gurgle again.
>”Hung'y! Gif fwuffy sgettis!” she demands cutely.
>Instead, you give her another shock.
>This time, the shock does not make her rigid. She flops over onto the blue tile, shaking like a fish out of water.
>When she comes back, she looks around.
>She takes a few wobbly steps around, pausing to ask where she is at short intervals.
>She finally looks up at you. “Where fwuffy?”
>Not 'wan' pway', or 'new fwiend', or 'wan' hugs'.
>”Where fwuffy?” she asks you again.
>You seem to have uncovered the fluffy pony's basic mental state: an overriding need to know where they currently are.
>You forget about her for a moment and theorize why this is.
>Is it a built-in, genetic safety mechanism?
>Or is it a failed attempt at subconscious programming to prevent them from being where they shouldn't?
>You look down at her. The fluffy becomes increasingly worried as she keeps asking you where she is and you fail to answer.
>”Where fwuffy? Fwuffy in bad pwace? Pwease tewl where fwuffy is...”
>“You're in my kitchen.”
>She stares at you in an obvious attempt to gauge your body language.
>Since you haven't moved to take her away or hurt her, she feels safe.
>She toddles over to hug your shin. “New fwiend?”
>She still hasn't made any mention of her hunger.
>It seems the fluffy pony brain's default priorities are current location, are you friendly/do you want to play, then bodily functions.
>Her stomach gurgles loudly and she stops hugging.
>”Hung'y! Fwuffy tummy hurt! Fwuffy wan' foodies!” she says.
>You feed her, all right. With another shock.
>She flops around helplessly on the floor.
>Once she's mobile again, the cycle repeats.
>Where is fluffy, constantly. Answer. Asks if you want to play or if you're her new friend.
>She only starts crying for food when her stomach rumbles.
>You decide to test the limits of her programming.
>To find where the human meddling ends, and the animal instinct begins.
>Every time she asks for food, you reset her.
>You have to reset her about four times an hour.
>The amount of resets required does not seem to increase as time goes on.
>When it's time for you to sleep, you pack her box full of newspaper to absorb whatever mess she might make, then set her in it.
>”Wan' foodies! Fwuffy hung'y! Fwuffy wan' sgettis!” she cries at you as you leave.
>You hear these cries all night until you finally drift off.
>The morning arrives.
>You check on the fluffy unicorn. She's asleep.
>A liquid brown stain occupies the corner opposite her.
>You bump her box to wake her up.
>”Hung'y! Sgettis! Sgettis!” are her first words.
>That earns her a reset.
>”Where...fwuffy?” she asks nervously when she returns.
>You answer her, assure her that you are her friend, and only then does she complain about the smell of her box.
>”Eeeeeeeewwies, no smell pwetty,” she says, scrunching her nose as you take her out.
>You spend a couple of hours resetting her each time she wants food.
>The cycle hasn't changed much from yesterday.
>Suddenly, an idea occurs to you.
>The next time she asks, you take her into the kitchen.
>You reset her, then leave, ducking behind the island so she can't see you.
>She returns and immediately asks where she is.
>Once she realizes she is apparently by herself, her tone changes drastically.
>”Where fwuffy? Fwuffy 'wone! Fwuffy 'wone! Hewp! Hewp!”
>You can hear her little hooves striking the tile as she runs about, calling for help.
>Whenever she comes close to seeing you, you quietly change locations.
>Her stomach rumbles so loudly, you can hear it.
>She doesn't seem to pay it any attention.
>”Hewp fwuffy! Hewp! Where fwuffy?! Hewp!” she bawls.
>She keeps this up for half an hour.
>She makes no mention of her hunger whatsoever, despite the very loud gurgling of her stomach.
>The fluffy unicorn cries at the top of her lungs. “Fwuffy scawed a' wonwey! Fwuffy don' know where is! Hewp fwuffy! Hewp fwuffy!”
>She seems utterly relieved to see you, but still asks where she is.
>“It's okay, this is a safe place.”
>The hugging and babbling and requests for play come freely.
>She only asks for food when her tummy gurgles again.
>The programming seems to go very deep, but there's only one way to be sure.
>You reset her again when she cries for food, and leave.
>This time, however, you've gone out of the house entirely.
>You hang around outside, looking in the window.
>It starts as usual. She toddles about in the living room, asking where she is.
>When she realizes she's alone, her tone escalates to the panicked calling you heard earlier.
>Muffled cries of “Hewp! Fwuffy by sewf! Hewp! Where fwuffy? Hewp!” reach your ears.
>This time, you do not intervene.
>In fact, you walk down the street and get lunch while you wait to see if it'll get any worse.
>90 minutes later, you return and look back in your window.
>You are not really prepared for what you find.
>The fluffy unicorn is walking around in aimless circles around your couch.
>”Hewp? Hewp...fwuffy?” she says with strange hesitance. “Where...hung'y? Foodies fwiend? Hewp sgettis! Fwuffy? Wan'...'wone? Where is 'wone sgettis? Fwuffy hewp sgettis fwuffy?”
>Her babbling is utterly incoherent, even by fluffy pony standards.
>Through the window panes, you can hear the fierce growling of her stomach.
>”Tummy? Hewp? Where tummy? Fwuffy wonwey? Tummy...sgettis? Sgettis fwuffy tummy wonwey?” she babbles, her speech gaining a slur as the minutes pass.
>You are witnessing the event horizon. The fluffy's heavily stunted and rewired higher brain is in a battle with the relatively untouched brain stem. The latter commands her body to constantly signal that it needs food right away.
>The former's rigid coding is trying to override that, demanding the fluffy follows the protocol and find out her location first, then the status of any human or fluffy nearby before attending to her bodily needs.
>The fluffy's throat muscles don't know which commands to vocalize or in what order, so they come out simultaneously.
>After looking around, you see that the floor is spotless. Not only is her brain stem fighting the rest of her brain, it's interrupted almost all of her other functions to do so.
>She hasn't urinated once since you reset her the last time, despite the fact that she did so regularly before.
>The fluffy abruptly drops to her stomach. Her legs are suddenly useless. She does not bother to ask why they no longer work; it's as if they don't exist any longer.
>”Where...fwuffygettis...foodies hewp? Time fo'...fwuffy...where? 'Wone hung'ys...wonwey...tummy owwies hewp fwuffy where is sgettis...” she mewls.
>You have seen enough for now, and walk in.
>She looks up at you blankly and stutters, “Wh-wh-where sg-sg-sgettis-is?”
>“You're in my living room.”
>She manages to stand up, uttering a mix of words that reflect the war in her fluffy skull. “Fw-fw-fw-foodies-fwiend? W-w-wuv fw-sget-fwuffy?”
>Her brain stem's urgent messages now flood the rest of her mind.
>”Hung'y!” she screams loudly. “Fwuffy hung'y! Pwease gif foodies! Tummy owwies big!”
>This time, you feed her.
>As you watch TV that night, petting the sleeping fluffy on your lap, you take stock of the day's events.
>You've decided to keep her instead of throw her out. She is, after all, pretty damn cute.
>She snores lightly. The constant resets don't seem to have affected her too much, besides the small areas of burnt fluff on her forehead.
>You've gotten her a litter box, a ball, and a nice, big bed for the empty guest room you never use.
>And you've given her a name. It was the most apropos you could think of at the time.
>She is now known as Amnesia.