Attack of the Killer Muffins!

by Dafaddah

Muffinisis

“It all would have died down peacefully, if it wasn’t for the bran.”
        - Rosy Rivet, a witness to the original Killer Muffin outbreak in Tucson AZ

“I told them to stop, but they just... kept... on... baking!”
        - Cpl. William Bonnet, a Blackmesh Guard at the Tucson Conversion Bureau

“All English pastries are evil. Ask any Frenchman.”
        - Blaques Jacques Laraques, leader of the HLF (Highly Litigious Frenchmen)

It started innocently enough on Muffin Tuesday. They called it Muffin Tuesday because the kitchen staff baked fresh muffins every... wait for it... Tuesday! At least they did at the Tucson Arizona Conversion Bureau. Staff and newfoals - both human and pony - came to revere Tuesdays, with the unfortunate side effect that many folks got a bit silly on Tuesdays. Some staff called this condition being muffin-drunk. They all laughed at it, but soon, nopony would be laughing. Nopony at all...

“Don’t ya hate it when a story can’t get going?” said both halves of Tim Bucktwo, formerly called Tim Horton, and now usually called “the Timmies” by almost everypony. They walked, one on either side of Dr. Evelyn Carr, Director and Chief Medical Officer of the Tucson Conversion Bureau. The result of a conversion potion mishap, and issued from a single human, the Timmies were two identical unicorn foals: identical light blue coats, identical pale purple manes and tails, and identical everything else including a common mind. They spoke in unison, an effect which was appropriately called “stereo” by the residents of the center, and was a bit off-putting the first few times a person experienced it. But such is life that no matter if you're a stereophonic pair of talking unicorns or Justin Bieber, after a while, nopony will give a muffin. It didn’t help that Tim was, to say the least, not an easy person to get along with when he was a just a single man. Now that he was a pair of rather short colts, this was doubly so.

Dr. Carr gazed right between the two Timmies, as she always did when speaking with them. They hated it, to Dr. Carr’s secret delight. It was how she got back at them for all the trouble they caused in the bureau. “Patience is its own reward...”, she started saying.

“... and impatience is its own punishment. Yeah, we know,” interrupted the Timmies, who then sighed in stereo. “All we’re saying is that we could do a better job of Story Time than anypony else. Just think of it, twice the bang for the buck!” The two Timmies looked at each other, a behaviour that baffled practically everypony. “Or is it twice the bucks for the bang?”

Dr. Carr shook her head. “Look, I appreciate your offer, but Vladdy Puddin has been doing Story Time every weekday but Tuesday, because it’s Muffin day. I don’t see any reason to change that arrangement. And speaking of Muffin day, the first batch is due in less than an hour. I need to go brush my hair and put on a clean smock. Look, you guys have a conversion scheduled in fifteen minutes, how about you attend to your job instead of pestering me for work that would... “ she pondered a moment to find the politically correct way to put it, “... be less appreciated than the vital role you fulfill today.” She smiled beatifically at the spot right between the Timmies, nodded, then left in a hurry.

The two Timmies again looked at each other, identical smirks on their mirrored faces. “Let’s give her some incentive to take Vladdy off of Story Time,” they said in unison to nopony else but themself.

Vladdy was mixing the first batch of muffins of the day. She always did something special for the first batch, but this week Monday had been a very busy day spent writing that evening’s story, and she just hadn’t had time to think of anything special for Tuesday’s first batch. She was about to decide on throwing in some overripe bananas, when the Timmies entered the kitchen.

“Hey Vladdy Mare, what’s in the first batch today?” they asked. There was a maintenance technician who also was called Vladdy, so pretty much everypony referred to her as Vladdy Mare.

Vladdy usually just chose the nearest Timmy and addressed him, acting as if the other Timmy wasn’t there. “I’m not sure. I have some bananas, but that’s been done before. I just haven’t had time to think about it yet.”

While she was talking to one Timmy, the other went behind her and surreptitiously poured a purple liquid into the Muffin batter. Most folks in the Tucson Conversion Bureau were aware that the two Timmies did not always move in unison, but they tended to forget it because the Timmies usually spoke in unison. The one behind Vladdy raised a hoof and gave a ‘high one’. The Timmy in front of Vladdy said: “Oh, but everypony loves banana muffins. Just give the banana muffins a special name and nopony will be the wiser.” The Timmy in back just mouthed the words, but didn't say them out loud, and sure enough, Vladdy stayed focused on the Timmy in front.

Vladdy smiled crookedly. “Uh, sure.” Then her face lit up. “I have an idea! I’ll just call them Lunar Banana Muffins. Everypony will take a bite and shout ‘To the moon!’ and have a laugh. Brilliant no?”

Both Timmies slapped her on the withers. “Great idea, Vladdy Mare! You’re a genius.” They slipped out of the kitchen to go do their scheduled conversion. In just an hour or so some poor human would bite into a first batch muffin, and start to transform. The Timmies would then ride in with sufficient potion to finish the conversion process and save the day. Vladdy would get the blame, and the Timmies would ask for the Story Time assignment as a reward. It was a sure-fire plan!

Vladdy happily finished mixing in the bananas and scooped the muffin mix into individual paper cups lining the holes in a large muffin tray. Funny, the batter’s a bit purplish, she thought. Must be the overripe bananas. She shrugged, put the tray in the oven and went to prepare the next batch: carrot muffins. She never saw the mysterious glow that emanated from inside the oven.

The first sign of trouble came as Evelyn was combing her hair. She secretly envied the luxurious and elaborate manes sported by some of the pony staff, and since pretty much everyone would be present, nothing short of perfection was adequate on Muffin day. She raised her brush and heard a loud KA-THUMP from the direction of the kitchen. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. “It’ll have to do I guess” she said, put down the brush and ran out into the staff quarters corridor. She quickly made her way towards the kitchen.

On the way there she crossed people and ponies running away, dressed in their Muffin day best, and looking frightened. She met up her assistant in the corridor, a unicorn mare named Rosy Rivet.
“Hey Rosy, what’s going on?”

Rosy’s eyes were wide, showing the whites around her pupils. “There’s something in the kitchen. And it sounds like Vladdy and some other ponies are fighting with it.”

“It isn’t the HLF is it?” asked Evelyn.

“The Human Liberation Front?” Rosy’s eyes grew even wider.

“No, the Highly Litigious Frenchmen,” said the Doctor. “They’ve been sending threatening letters ever since they found out about Muffin day.

Rosy looked at her boss, bit her lip nervously, and said: “We don’t talk about lawyers in Equestria, doctor. Ever.”

“Oh, I didn’t know. Please forgive me Rosy, and do carry on.”

Rosy galloped into the staff quarters shouting something. To the doctor it sounded like “Flee! The lawyers are here, the lawyers are here!”, but she couldn’t be sure exactly what was shouted in all the commotion.

As she got near to the kitchen door she could hear more shouts as well as the sounds of pots and pans clashing and the occasional crash of a dish breaking. The sound made her blood run cold. If it was the lawyers, this Bureau was doomed.

She cautiously pushed open the door, and peeked inside. Relief flooded her body as all she saw was merely Vladdy fighting tooth and hoof against some sort of small brownish creatures. She was cowering behind a pushed-over trolley, and there were no lawyers to be seen anywhere! Evelyn stepped inside, and using her ‘management voice’ shouted into the din. “What’s going on in here?!”

Everypony froze, as did the small brownish creatures. “Vladdy, what are those things you’re fighting with?”

“Dr. Carr!” She really seemed happy to see her. “You won’t believe this, but they’re the first batch of muffins.”

“The first batch?” Evelyn was truly disappointed. “Is it bad?”

The muffins started throwing things at Vladdy again. “Yes, very bad. Every single muffin in that batch is bad.”

As if in answer to the chef’s critique, a flurry of cups and saucers crashed onto and around the trolley, showering Vladdy with shards.

“So when do you think you can do another batch?”

Plates began to fly as one of the muffins discovered a spring-loaded plate dispenser.

“Somepony’ll have to help me catch these guys first,” replied the besieged chef.

Evelyn sighed. Why do things like this always happen on Muffin Tuesday? She left the kitchen and shouted into the restaurant eating area: “We need some busboys here. Preferably unicorns.” The room was deserted. She waited a moment longer. Oh, snap! Guess I’ll have to ruin my hairdo. She re-entered the kitchen, just in time to be hit in head with a large braising pan. She fell to ground as darkness consumed her.

Dr.Carr awoke with a major headache. Rosy was daubing her forehead with a damp cloth. “Doctor, you’re awake!” She held up hoof. “How many hooves am I holding up?”

“Just the one and... never mind.” Dr. Carr was used to Rosy’s odd behaviour. This was Tucson after all. Her head pounded as she sat up. She was lying on one of the tables in the dining room, right next to the kitchen. Her eyes grew wide. “Vladdy!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, she’s safe too. The Blackmesh guards were able to drag her out before those... those monsters could get to her.”

Evelyn smiled in relief. “Good. Those Blackmesh are finally earning their pay.” She grew somber again. “And what about the second batch of muffins?”

“Vladdy Mare, never got to it.” She looked down at her forehooves sadly. “This is truly a disaster.”

Dr. Carr heard gunfire from the kitchen. “Are they shooting in there?” She stared in disbelief as a Blackmesh guard stumbled out, and began ripping off his armor. It took a minute or so as it was quite a complicated setup with buckles, laces AND Velcro. Dr. Carr had ample time to wonder if the designer of the outfits had considered contingencies for ‘bathroom emergencies’.”

Finally the guard was down to his undies, and stood breathing heavily next to a steaming pile of Blackmesh that was visibly shrinking as they watched.

“Uh, young man,” said Evelyn, “what’s your name, what’s going on in the kitchen, and is there a problem with your armor?”

The Blackmesh-less guard looked up at her. Recognizing the civilian director of the bureau he straightened up and saluted. “Private First Class Tony Sarducci, ma’am!” he shouted, in a rather high voice.

So that’s what they sound like without the air filters! thought the doctor. “Please, go ahead, Private,” said Evelyn.

“The Muffins are reproducing, ma’am. When me and Sissy got in there they were stirring up more batter. One muffin jumped in and was blended into it. So Sissy thought that maybe they were making more of themselves.”

“That’s a rather intelligent hypothesis.” Evelyn was impressed by this Sissy. “What else did she say?”

“He, ma’am. Sissy’s a guy,” corrected Private Sarducci.

“Oh, really?” Evelyn was surprised. “Why do you call him Sissy?”

“Uh, because he likes the ponies, ma’am. He keeps pictures of them in his bunk space. He has these little plastic models of his favorites, and even writes stories...”

“... that’s enough! I get the picture, Private.” Evelyn smiled reassuringly at the kid. “Please continue with your report.”

“Oh, yeah! I mean, yes ma’am! So I went to grab one of the muffins, and it ran away from me on these tiny little legs. Sissy said not to touch ‘em, so I tried to catch one in a pot. I cornered one, but kind of caught only half of it in the pot. The half that was left outside jumped onto my arm and dissolved, and then my armor began to smoke and melt.” His breathing had accelerated as he was telling the story and by this time was definitely showing signs of hyperventilation.

“Calm down, son!” Evelyn tried to reassure the poor boy. “I thought Blackmesh armor was pretty much impervious to anything, including offensive nanites. Is that what made your armor melt?” She looked at the puddle on the floor, the only remnant of the once knee-high pile of blackmesh.

“Sissy thinks so, ma’am. He told me to run out and ditch my armor as soon as he saw what was happening to my arm. Oh, and one more thing. I saw the muffins turning knobs on the stove before I ran out. It looked like they were preheating the oven for the next batch. Sissy shot a few off the stove and they all scurried to hide just as I ran out of the kitchen.”

Just then several more shots rang out. There a crash and a Blackmesh guard rolled out of the door, coming to a perfect crouching stop just outside and facing the kitchen, with his gun raised. “Dr. Carr, I highly recommend you issue the order to evacuate this facility immediately!” said the new arrival.

The door to the kitchen inched open a crack and a little white eye peeked out. The guard’s gun barked and the eye disappeared. Brown crumbs fell to the floor and the door slowly creaked back into place.

“Rosy! Evacuation now. Everybody and everypony. No exceptions,” said Dr. Carr. There was no response. “Rosy? Did you hear me?” She turned around, but her assistant was nowhere to be seen. “Private Sarducci! You will go immediately and warn everyone and everypony you can find to evacuate the building. I’ll join you after I secure my hair brush and the supply of conversion potion. Corporal Sissy?”

The Blackmesh guard’s covered head fell a moment and then returned to its former vigilant attitude. “That’s Corporal Bonnet, ma’am.”

“Corporal Bonnet. Right. Well, you just continue preventing these muffins from leaving the kitchen and escaping into the building while we evacuate.”
“Good idea, ma’am!”

Evelyn wasn’t sure if she was being trolled. But she wasn’t going to take any chances. “Thank you, Sissy. That’s all for now.” She had the satisfaction of seeing his head dip in shame once again before she made her own exit.

Corporal Bill ‘Sissy’ Bonnet guarded the kitchen door. It has been a full half hour after Dr. Carr had ordered the evacuation of the building. He had not moved a muscle since, other than the bare minimum needed to breathe and blink periodically. He was proud of his ability for ‘motionless vigilance’. He practiced it for several hours in front of a mirror every weekend. A Blackmesh guard never knew how long he would have to be vigilant before reinforcements showed up.

This time though, it felt he had been waiting much longer than thirty minutes. This time, unfortunately, he wasn’t alone in his bedroom in front of the mirror. This time he had to bear the presence of a rather loquacious pony, despite the order for evacuation by all staff. Rosy was her name, and she was constantly making remarks and asking questions and otherwise ruining the quiet purity of his vigilance.

“So Sissy, what do you think, are they going try to come out now?” she asked for the umpteenth time.

Corporal Bonnet cringed. “Not if I have anything to do with it,” he said for the first time. He never repeated himself intentionally, but the stress of finding another new way to say the same thing over an over again was starting to get to him.

Barely a minute passed. “I betcha they’re going to come out!” said Rosy.

“Uh... not on my watch!” said the Blackmesh guard.

“Uh hunh, they will.”

“Nuh-unh, they won’t.” He felt an eye start to twitch.

“Duh yeah, they will.” Rosy put a hoof on Bonnet’s shoulder and whispered into his ear. “By the way, who’s guarding the back entrance to the kitchen?”

“Holy mother of...” Bonnet didn't finish his expletive. He never did, which was another reason why the other guards called him Sissy. He immediately charged back into the kitchen. He burst through the door with so much force that it splintered into a dozen pieces.

Through the debris he saw that the cart had been righted, and on top of it were a half-dozen muffins with what looked like a hair dryer and a large bowl of speckled powder. Behind them, a tower of muffins rose from the floor to reach the door knob of the back door. He saw the door open a crack and the light of day come through. Then he heard the sound of the dryer being turned on, and a cloud of fine dust quickly filled the room. Blinded, Bonnet backed out of the kitchen, feeling sudden heat. He looked at his arms and saw the Blackmesh beginning to smoke. He frantically began pulling it off. Moments later, he was standing in his underwear, with his Blackmesh armor dissolving into liquid in front of him.

Unaccountably, Rosy was still there. “Hey Sissy! You smell like bran!” exclaimed the mare.

“They must have used it to feed the nanites that melted my Blackmesh. Do you have a cell phone?” he asked in an urgent, but highly professional, tone.

“Yup. Here it is.” The mare levitated the device to the guard. It had a pink latex cover with little pony motifs. “Ooh, it matches your underwear!” said Rosy.

Bonnet took the device in hand and dialed the emergency response number. Rosy listened with interest as he spoke into the handset.

“Hi, this is Corporal Bonnet at the Conversion Bureau...”

“Yes, that Corporal Bonnet...”

“Yes, the one with that nickname! Stop laughing for a second and listen up, I need backup right now! We have an outbreak of hostiles and...”

“Well, they kind of look like muffins...”

“YES! I’M BEING SERIOUS! They have some anti-Blackmesh nanite capability...”

“It melts the Blachmesh...”

“I know that’s supposed to be impossible! Look, they’re escaping through the back door now! We need to contain these muffins...”

“NO, we can’t just eat them! And you’re not taking this seriously! I’m going to report you to your superiors if you don’t get a move on here...”

“NO, I DON’T KNOW THE MUFFIN MAN! Look, on my authority, just send out the bloody bio-containment squad to the back entrance of the Conversion Bureau NOW! And tell them to watch out for bran...”

“Yeah, that’s how they spread the nanites...”

“Corporal Bonnet out!” He terminated the call, handed Rosy back her phone, and sat down on the nearest table. He looked around. The kitchen was a disaster, and the dining area was full of potentially dangerous dissolved Blackmesh puddles. “I don’t think anyone or anypony’s going to be eating here anytime soon.”

Rosy looked at the guard sitting in his pony underwear and thought she smelled more than just bran. She wrinkled her muzzle and backed away from the table. “And I don’t think anypony’s going to want to eat on that table ever again!” she exclaimed.

She brought her phone to her head and dialed a number using her magic.

“Who are you calling, the Equestrian Royal Guard?” asked the human.

“No, If we’re going to be fighting muffins we need to bring in a real expert. Somepony is visiting Tucson right now who is the acknowledged Equestrian expert on muffins, and who just happens to be a close personal friend of mine. Oh, it’s ringing!”

She waited a moment. “Hello, Derpy?”

Every muffin knew what every other muffin was up to. What one saw, they all saw. Ever since they first awoke and a poor unfortunate and unsuspecting muffin was gently lifted, still warm from its tray, slathered with a bright yellow cap of icing, sprinkled with multicolored candy bits, and then treacherously, evilly, popped into the mouth of one of those huge four legged creatures.

All the other muffins felt its joy at being gaily decorated, and then its horror and pain as it was slowly chewed and swallowed by the monster. They would never forget, nor could they forgive this heinous crime. So they fought the creature, and drove it out of their birthplace. When other two-legged monsters entered they tried to catch the muffins, and murdered one by slicing it in half. It fought them as it died, and so they all fought the new monsters as well.

Finally, seeing no future in staying in their birthplace, they escaped in groups large and small, and dispersed through the city. They had witnessed the four legged creature making more of their kind. They would find other kitchens, and they would reproduce. And when their numbers permitted, they would take their revenge. The monsters would pay! The muffins would sweep them off the face of the earth!

In a small office in Tucson, a thin man began to type a letter on an old manual typewriter. He found computers too dry, too lightweight, too user friendly for real bad news. He liked to hit the keys with force, and hear the matching ‘shlatch!’ as the key struck the ribbon and cylinder, crushing the paper between them, indelibly marking it’s surface and embossing the shape of the letter into its very fabric, forever.

To Dr. Evelyn Carr,
Chief Administrator,
Tucson AZ Conversion Bureau

We, the HLF (Highly Litigious Frenchmen), do hereby issue a ‘cease and desist’ order for the further production of muffins in all Conversion Bureaus in the United States of America. This discriminatory practice, counter to the norms of decency and good taste, is not only an affront to Croissants, Brioches and to true pastries everywhere, but an imposition and encouragement of consumption counter to the principles of good nutrition and proper dietary habits. We shall no longer stand idly by and watch this injustice take its course. You have been warned.

Sincerly yours and best wishes,

Blaques Jacques Laraques
Chairman of the HLF

Jacques grinned, folded the letter, put it in an envelope, affixed a stamp, and proceeded to the only physical mailbox still in use in Tucson. He pulled the handle on the lid, and slid the letter inside. The lid of the mailbox closed with a most satisfying ‘clang’.