Author's Note

[Contains: Paralyzation, Vivisection, Oral Vore, Digestion, and Cloning]

This was originally Part 39: (Halloween End)

Happy Halloween everybody! Me and Caniam actually wrote this chapter together, but we decided I should put it up anyway.

I'm also gonna try and take a break from gore in my bad ends now, because I'm pretty sure at this point I've written more gore than I have vore, and I don't like the idea of that.

It Came from the Fish Tank!

“Alright,” you growl. “I’m not leaving anypony. All of us, together, are gonna jump the guard. I’ll be bait, do a little fighting, and when he has to pull me out that’s when you guys attack. Got it?”

“You really think he’ll fall for that?” Asks Eissen sardonically.

The Crusader sniffs. “I think it’s a good plan.”

Eissen’s eyes narrow, and his lip curls. “Haven’t you read any of those pre-war books you collect? This never works!”

You shake your head. All of a sudden, you’ve got the strangest headache… “Guys! Look, this’ll work, I promise. We just need to move quick. Keep your distance from the ones with knives and stuff, try and flank the ones with guns.”

“And what about the Wastelanders in the cages?” Asks the Crusader mare. You really need to get her name…

“We’ll burn that bridge when we come to… What... “ You trail off as glowing spots start circling your vision, swirling around you, and sticking to your fur. Eissen and the Crusader mare are speechless as you look down at yourself, and at your hooves, trying to swat the spots off.

“Whoah, what is going on…?” The places where the glowing spots touch you start feeling… Funky. You’re not entirely sure how to describe it, but it’s like they go numb and yet start buzzing energy at the same time, and your whole body begins feeling warm. It’s like you’re a chicken in a pre-war microwave, but slower.

You hold your hooves up in front of you, and they’re almost entirely… Whatever colour the glowing spots are. Even that defies explanation, because the light is somewhere between… Golden yellow, maybe, and yet also purple, and at the same time an inky black. “...Guys? Help!”

They both take a step forwards, but it comes a moment too late. A buzzing in the back of your skull reaches a fever pitch in seconds, and your whole body charges. With one last scream of fear, there’s a bright flash, and then you’re gone, like you were never even there.

They’re both left staring at the void in the centre of the cage again, before a guard, who apparently missed everything that just happened, approaches and raps on the cage with a broken pool cue. “Time’s up! Who’s coming to dinner?”

They both blink, and with perfect synchronization, point at each other.

* * *

You have this weird floaty feeling, and then suddenly you just… exist, again. Feeling starts coming back into your limbs, and you can hear screaming. After a few moments of lying on the cold, glassy floor, you realize you’re the one screaming.

You cut yourself off with a choking noise, and hug your hinds to your chest, instead focusing on your breathing. In, out. In, out. In, out. The air here doesn’t feel right… It’s too heavy, and you really need to take deep breaths to get a normal lungfull. After you realize you’re not going to calm down any time soon, you decide it’s not like you could be more afraid, and open your eyes.

There’s a fish staring at you.

Well, not quite a fish. It looks a lot like an Angler fish, from the books back in the Stable, but… bigger. And bipedal. Only its head looks exactly right, after that the body widens up a little bit and curves down into a wide potbelly. It seems to have four limbs, two legs and two arms, but they’re both bulky and attached at odd angles. The glowing nodule on its head is pulled back, and it has hair, which seems to be stylized into a ponytail wrapped around the antenna. He’s wearing some sort of loose-fitting jumpsuit, like your own Stable suit, but made of some kind of weird, flaky material.

It only lets you stare for a moment longer, before it reaches down and pulls a small pistol off its belt. You yell as he levels it at your head, holding your hooves up, but it’s too late. He’s already pulled the trigger.

Coldness sets in again. Coldness and numbness. You can’t move any of your limbs, and you can’t even blink. You can move your eyes, but just barely. It would take five minutes for you to look up and down.

Satisfied, the fish clips the pistol back on his belt, and picks you up. Either he’s ludicrously strong, or whatever he’s done has made you light as a feather. He starts walking, moving towards a semicircular door set into the wall. As he does, you try and take in your surroundings.

You somehow ended up in a large, circular room. The flat ceiling and floor, with the rounded sides, also give you the impression of a steel fishbowl. In the centre, where you were just standing, is a raised platform with a glowing light underneath it, though the way it shifts and pulses doesn’t look like any light you’ve ever seen.

The room itself is filled with octagonal barrels, stacked up on each other and braced against the walls, with most of the stacks tied together with orange fibrous rope. Several more fish people, like the one carrying you, move between the stacks, taking inventory and opening the barrels to check their contents. They all look pretty similar, but there’s obvious variation in hairstyles, weight, and height.

At the far end of the room, you spot a window, with another bored-looking fish person sitting at a control panel. He glances left, and more movement catches your eye—turrets, set into the ceiling around the room, follow his vision.

Your handler reaches the door, and splays his hand on a control mechanism nearby with a wet slapping noise. You can see more clearly now that his fingers are webbed, and the nails are sharp, but short. After a moment, the panel makes an unpleasant ‘gonk’ noise, and the door opens, the whole thing rolling into the side. When he passes through, it rolls back, sealing with a pneumatic hiss.

You’re instantly lost in the ensuing maze of corridors, but he seems to know where he’s going. You pass by a long window facing into a giant aquarium… Or maybe it’s living quarters. You can certainly see several of the fish people swimming around the green water, and a few more sleeping in small indentations along the sides.

After some more walking through corridors, he slaps his hand down on another panel, and the next door opens into what looks like a hospital wing. There’s more clearly-labeled signs on the wall, but you can’t make heads nor tails of the alien squiggles, and the arrows are disconnected lines. They probably make sense somehow, but you’re moving before you have the time.

The next room he and you enter has the feel of a pre-war operating theatre, with stadium seating along the sides and a central operating table. There’s several more fish people wearing much more form-fitting jumpsuits and glass, bulbous facemasks. They all pause as you enter, staring directly at you with their huge, blinking fishy eyes.

Your handler is nonplussed, however. He blurbles something in whatever language they use, and another one blurbles back, waving at the operating table. A block of ice drops into your gut.

You start trying to move again, but it’s fruitless, as he sets you on the operating table. He effortlessly grabs your legs and splays them wide, apparently unhindered by whatever his gun did to you, and one of the fishpeople wearing surgical suits puts the ends of your hooves into a small puddle of blue gel set into the table. Doors near the top of the seats open up, and a small crowd of fish people, maybe thirty of them, start filing into their seats.

One of the suited ones, with an orange ring around the neckline of his suit, blurbles at your handler. He blinks, then nods, pulling out the pistol again. A blue beam of energy smacks you in the chest, and suddenly you can breathe again. Which you immediately use to start screaming once more.

“Hey! The fuck is going on here! Who are you fishpeople things, some kind of wasteland monster? Lemme out of here or I’ll eat you!” You try and pull your hooves out of the puddles of gel, but they’re stuck solid, like they’ve been dipped into a puddle of glue.

The lead one in the suit laughs, some kind of warbling noise, and waves away the one who carried you here. He nods and just walks out, and suddenly you’re very, very afraid.

“Where am I?” You whimper, looking around the room. Another suited fishperson turns back to face you, holding a thin scalpel with a flickering blade. You try and pull away, but a third fishperson puts his hand on your chest, slamming you flat on the table. His hand feels warm, but wet and clammy.

The fishperson in charge has started speaking in his language to the crowd of other fishpeople, while a fourth one reaches up and pulls a blinking machine downwards, positioning it over you. It looks like a big chunk of coral, but you scream as the ends slither open revealing a bunch of eyes on the end. Around you, the walls light up with a dozen different views of your belly, your fur immaculate somehow. Hadn’t you needed a bath earlier?

The one holding you down releases his grip, so he can pick up a metal circle, and he waves it over your stomach. Then he set it back down, and just brushes all of your fur off, like sand, leaving only your bare skin underneath. Your tiny teats, hidden by the fur, twitch as you shiver, suddenly exposed to the cold air.

Then the lead fishperson nods, and the one with the scalpel carefully jabs it right into your stomach. A sharp stab of pain shoots through you, but you can’t even jerk away. Whatever your hooves were stuck into has started growing up your legs, holding you in place.

The scalpel slides downwards towards your crotch, and your belly unzips like a cheap jacket. It barely even bleeds as one of the fishpeople pulls your gut open, and pushes the camera closer, to look at your intestines. You start crying as your belly fills with a dull ache, like you got kicked.

After a moment where the kind of poked and prodded at your guts, the scalpel moves back to the top of the cut, and this time slides upwards, towards your neck, but stops just before it. You start hyperventilating as they slide your skin away, opening the entirety of your barrel and spreading it open, exposing your ribs. A few muscles get in their way, but they’re quickly cut too, snapping back into the recesses of your body with a squirt of blood.

Your ribs finally take a moment to cut through, but it’s only a moment, and the blade hisses as it dips into a tiny pool of blood. After a bit of sawing, your ribs start coming out, and they start passing them out.

One length of it goes into a jar filled with green liquid, and it starts hissing as it dissolves, turning a dark blue. Another gets passed into the crowd, for them to observe, as are the next three. One they start cutting open with a bright laser, and they peer inside at the cross-section of your bones. The rest go into a small jar filled with clear liquid. Storage.

They also start taking blood samples, using thin needles to pull it into round, gelatinous containers that they also start poking needles into, taking samples of their own. They leave that floating in the air above the operating table, unhindered by gravity.

Then, they move back into your chest cavity. One gently tugs at your small intestine, and the whole mess starts slurping out, and gets pulled into the air above the table. Whenever it stops, the scalpel goes in and slices away whatever connective tissue is holding it in place. After about five minutes of that, they move onto your other organs, pulling out your liver, and kidneys, though those stay floating nearby.

In fact, everything’s still technically connected. They haven’t removed anything from your guts permanently, just pulled it out. To look at. You involuntarily give that a test when you finally piss yourself from fear, and get to watch your kidneys flex and your bladder contract, before the piss spurts out and coats the table. They all jump, before doing that blurbling laugh thing again, and the urine begins being absorbed by the table.

They finally pull out your stomach, and it floats in front of your face as they pull out another one of those guns, freezing it. Then they cut part of it away, and look inside. They even let you look, at your stomach fluid and chunks of your last meal, hanging there in stasis.

Your lungs get popped out next, and you can watch them contract and flex, as you wheeze for air. One of the fishpeople moves for your heart, but the lead one stops, putting his hand on your leg to feel your pulse.

Behind you, two slimy hands grab onto your head and hold it in place, and you shriek as something vibrates against your scalp, sliding around your head. Then there’s a horrific popping sound as your dome pops off, and you can feel your brain exposed to the open air. Something metal slides into it, exploring the folds of your grey matter, and occasionally sending out tiny electric shocks.

At your other end, one of the fishpeople grabs your legs and spreads them wide, holding a similar metal, rounded, rod. With no preparation whatsoever, he pushes it into your asshole, and slides it as deep as he can, then twists it. It hums, and suddenly loses all rigidity, before it starts moving on it’s own accord up through your intestines. Another similar probe goes into your pussy, but stops a moment later.

You whine as it hums, and thin tendrils poke out into parts of your body that were never meant for them. looking down, you can see your ovaries twitch a few times, and then it stops. They pull out the metal rod and empty what looks like cum into another jar, and another fishperson nods, satisfied.

Then, like a switch has been flipped, they start pushing your guts back in, putting your stomach back together and sealing it with a blue paste. Your organs don’t feel right, after that, and they definitely don’t sit right back inside your belly. Your ribs are gone, but they don’t seem to care all that much, and seal you back up anyway. Without them protecting your lungs, you’re having an even harder time breathing, and you’re going into all-out wheezing, as well as occasionally coughing up globs of blood.

There’s a final slurp as they pull the probe back out of your ass, then the one in charge turns back to the crowd, blurbling a question. They point to a fishperson in the crowd, who’s still holding your ribs, and he beams, displaying a mouth full of long, sharp teeth. He comes up to the front of the room, and the air crackles as he steps through what looks like a magical energy field.

He seems to be waiting on them to say something and you hear quiet conversation blurbles from behind you. You can’t hear or understand a word that’s being said, especially over your own painful wheezing, but you know they’re talking about you. Eventually two of them nod in unison, and then the fishperson from the crowd turns around and picks you up. The blue gel holding you in place recedes in an instant, allowing you to be plucked from them with all the ease of lifting a bag of chips out of vending machine slot. You can feel the mucus on its wet, webbed hand although strangely it seems almost adhesive as he holds you high, displaying you to the crowd like a trophy.

Beneath you his lips start to part, the slippery rubber texture revealing a sea of sharpened fangs, roughly bunched together like posts in a crappy fence along the top and the bottom. Even through the complete discomfort and dysfunction of your slapped back together body you registered fear. Its mouth stretched wider and wider, showing a complete lack of jaw bone as it stretched so much that even your doughy butt would have no problem fitting. The worst part was he held you there, staring into a literal dark abyss, the clinical lights only illuminating the pulsing flesh of the entrance. Definitely some sort of Angler fish, part of your brain muses. Oh buck I’m going to be devoured by an alien a million miles from home, the other part of your brain responded.

Then he lets you fall into his mouth. It’s a quick motion, like you fell through a trapdoor. One second you were staring down the next you were flying down. There’s a loud swallow as you seemingly fall straight into his throat, but you don’t stop there, barely feeling the sticky flesh sliding past you as you plummet into the depths of the creature. He doesn’t even bother to chew, and soon, you’re nothing but an alien’s pot belly. From outside you hear more blurbles… probably commenting on how you tasted and the ease of the swallow. More concerning though was the odd rumbling gurgle that spread throughout that belly.

You reach out, surprised at the ease at which your hooves stretch into the rubbery stomach walls of the creature, your face and hooves no doubt perfectly outlined for the crowd to see in vivid detail. Then that sound repeated and holes seemed to open up all around you. In barely a moment hot, stinging enzyme was being pulsed into the chamber from all around, splattering all over you. Panic made you start to thrash, but the thrashing lasted barely a minute as the acids started to burn away all of your flesh, melting it from you and then starting at the meat underneath.

It didn’t hurt. It should hurt, but it didn’t. Something in the concoction or something you were injected with made it painless, but didn’t nullify how distressing it was when you pulled back a forehoof to find it eaten through to the bone, but strangely still all together. Looking down you saw the same thing about everything below your waist, then it hit your heart. You felt the organ stop working, blood stop flowing. That one moment frozen… then nothing. You passed into oblivion.

The volunteer patted his gut with a webbed hand, rubbing it slightly as the gurgles and groans were near deafening, then they stopped. Stepping back to the table again it opened its jaws wide and let loose a deafening belch, it echoing throughout the operating theatre as with a wet splat your entire skeleton tumbled out into the air, hovering in the zero gravity and still completely interconnected. A fishperson returned from the crowd with your rib bone before joining with the others to return them all to their place, barring the one that was dissolved. Now they moved onto the real tests.

You open your eyes. This isn’t the raider camp! What the buck happened? There was all those flashing lights, that terrible headache. Suddenly a spotlight turned on over your head, and looking down you realised that all four of your legs were just… gone. There wasn’t any cuts, no holes, it was like they’d never existed at all. You try to let out a shriek, but your throat is so hoarse. Now you’re scared. You start to thrash about on your platter when a horrific creature stepped on over and gestured at you with a webbed hand. Somehow, you could understand its gargled burbling.

“Now for the newest taste sensation in our Meaty Morsel line. This exotic creature is Meatpone, and she will be that for you. Specially cloned meat kept cryogenically fresh in a freezer bubble until it’s time to get your snack on. Untoppable quality as can be expected from Farm Fresh Industries. This delicacy from a faraway world is going to be available in all major supermarkets, and Farm Fresh vending machines all across the galaxy. Specially cloned to satisfy your snacking needs.”

A webbed hand reaches down and grabs you by the scruff of your neck, hoisting you in the air as you flail your limbless body helpfully. You finally manage a pitiful, weak scream as he looks at the camera. “That’s right gentlefish and merladies, this new and exotic creature is so fresh it screams as you eat it!” With his tagline done he opens his maw, stretching it so wide that there’s no fear of you not fitting. Then he lets you go. Your screaming face is followed by a twinkling light orb which you only just realise is a camera, it following you down into the depths, casting a light so you could see the pulsing internals falling past you until you land in that belly with a splash. Instantly it starts eating away at you and you scream in horror, watching your flank meat slip from your bones into the quickly rising pool, but there’s nothing you can do.

The camera watches your demise, filming the minute long digestion as your body was melted away into a pile of bone, then out came the thick belch that launched the camera out spinning. “A delicious way to start or end the day. It’s Meatpone. Available now!”

The spotlight turns off and the fishperson walks off the stage to have a quick chat with the director. A few minutes later another platter with an out of it legless earth pony mare identical to the last is set down. “Take two!”