A DAY AT THE BRONY CONVENTION

On a remote monitor, we see Stephen slouched against the intricately-patterned hotel carpet floor, hands still sheltering his miserable hoodied head in dire self-reflection. A weary labcoat girl with curly hot-pink anime hair rests her immense, button-straining, bigger-than-her-head K cup breasts flabbily on the aluminum console, slumped over from sheer boredom, holding her head up with one arm, boredly listening to Stephen's boring thoughts. She's picking her nose. Her free hand lazily adjusts a thick pair of red round-framed glasses.

She turns slightly to face an unseen companion.

– Goddamn, all these shiteating bronies' thoughts are all exactly the fuckin' same!! I'm fallin' asleep here. Can't we just get on with it? They're all so lame it's pissing me off...

She yawns automatically.

– What are we even DOING here, again...?

– For the third time today...

Another labcoat woman with small, black rectangular glasses stands behind her, testily clutching a clipboard to her modest B cup bust. An exasperated look haunts her rather pretty face.

– We will be testing our clients' latest experimental metamorphological serum on one randomly-selected subject.

She snaps her finger.

– Come with me.

The tall, thin scientist and her short, busty research assistant stride in rapid single-file down a dark, winding, mysterious hallway of their clandestine basement laboratory, lavishly funded in secret by top-level names in business, media, and politics. The shorter research assistant hustles to keep up with her taller boss, hugging her huge, unruly boobs tightly to her trim torso in a valiant attempt to suppress the bothersome irritation of their constant, impetuous jiggling.

– This product will dynamically reshape the entire genome of whomever consumes it orally, causing his or her body to transform itself according to the subconscious desires & fetishes of any nearby persons. Nanotechnology embedded within the serum allows for rapid & painful reallocation of bone & tissue material in order to realize these new genetic alterations, as well as enabling swift wardrobe modification.

She drones on.

– As you have seen, the repressed, fetishistic desires at this convention are off the scale. These "bronies" – nerdy, closeted, loser furries! – they're a waste of space anyway. No one would miss any one of 'em...!!

The pair arrives at a new room, tiled ominously in cold metallic squares. The scientist, taking her place behind a raised control panel podium, gestures gravely for her hapless assistant to stand within an ominous red circle painted haphazardly upon the chromelike floor across the room.

The scientist's research assistant was not exactly considered amongst the brightest of her graduate-school peers. In fact, rumors that she regularly slept with her (invariably male) professors in order to secure passing grades were rampant at her alma mater. Even darker collegiate whispers spoke of even stranger allegations: that she had been accepted into the school against her knowledge to serve as a guinea pig for secretive & dubiously moral biotechnological experiments. Well past puberty, her breasts had gained 7 cup sizes in just 3 semesters of grad-school and showed no sign of slowing down – not more than 2 years ago, she had sported a D cup. Now, they were straining hard against her K cup bra, bunching up and overflowing at the seams, begging to be refitted for an L cup. Stranger still, last month they had suddenly started to lactate.

Perhaps needless to say, her selection for participation in this particular experiment had not been based on her scientific acumen. Ever since beginning grad-school, her memory & academic prowess had somehow managed to decline sharply; the once-promising rising star of her undergraduate mind now struggled just to form semi-coherent sentences. These days, her overly-sensitive nipples seemed to bristle perpetually with relentless, brain-sapping stimulation. The incessant, jiggling distraction of her heavy, milk-laden breasts made it exceedingly difficult for her to focus or even think clearly. Her recent acceptance of a brand-new part-time job at the "gentlemen's club" downtown had her parents & old friends alike seriously concerned for her physical & mental well-being.

– Ah, ok! So that's why we're here...! But... how do we get the see-thingy to work?

Whimsically whistling the melody to Camptown Races, the grinning scientist gleefully slaps a cartoonishly big bright green button, savoring the foretaste of future moments.

Suddenly, launched from the ceiling, a large cylindrical glass tube swooshes down upon the gruesome red circle, trapping the startled research assistant inside. Startled, confused – yet somehow not particularly alarmed – she mashes her splayed hands & curious face quizzically up against the cold, clear surface, inadvertently flattening her massive K cup boobs into fat, bulging pancakes quaking gently on the glass.

The scientist, busily snapping a dazzling array of colorful switches & levers, responds blandly without once lifting her focus from her careful work.

– We will blend the serum with viscera ground from the flesh of a suitable donor. This viscera will bind to the serum, calibrating its biological & nanobot components to favor those desired transformations in the end-user which most closely resemble the extended sociocultural genetic fetish-patterns extrapolated from the original viscera.

She adjusts her tiny glasses clinically.

– Our client has stipulated that this particular trial run should aim to generate an exceptionally fertile genetically female end-user possessing exceptionally large breasts with hitherto unimaginably substantial lactation potential. Therefore we must utilize the blended viscera of a female body fitting these precise specifications.

– Where are we gonna get that kind of vish... vissy... er... – the meat?

– Oh, we've already cultivated a suitable donor...

– ...?

The scientist eagerly slams her fist into a big, red button labelled "BLEND". Instantly, a column of whirring blades grinds her busty research assistant into bloody, meaty, boney goo-slush. As the scientist casually picks her nose, this viscera becomes infused with the experimental serum and is drained off to be densely packed & sliced into thin cylinders of consumable meat product.

– DING! Your 269 hot dogs are ready!

The scientist gingerly taps the tips of her fingers together. A cruel smile slowly dawns across her pretty face.

– Excellent. But for today's experiment I'm only going to need just ONE...