Whiplash Twister

Donning a pair of hot pink rubber hoof-covers, a respirator, and โ€˜Biohazardโ€™ signs, Whiplash marched toward whichever malodorous maladies marred the macerators of the Wonderbolt bathrooms.

The stallion โ€” ever a neat-freak โ€” had reached his tolerance limit with the stark, spicy stenches spreading without surrender.

๐˜ž๐˜ฆ๐˜ญ๐˜ฑ, ๐˜ฉ๐˜ฆ๐˜ณ๐˜ฆ ๐˜จ๐˜ฐ๐˜ฆ๐˜ด ๐˜ฏ๐˜ถ๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ช๐˜ฏ, he thought. This was more reassurance than it was a vote of self-confidence. Who knew what horrors were locked within the latrines?

Mar 30 at 8:19pmWeb
Show threadWhiplash TwisterMar 30

Upon opening the door to the lurid lavatories, Whiplash experienced olfactory overwhelm. His eyes watered; heโ€™s underestimated all of the ways his opponent would seek to attack him. His respirator struggled to extract fresh air from a heavy syrup of smells.

He felt hot. Trapped. He staggered. There. There was a half-wall. He clung to it desperately trying his best not to collapse. There was a moment where his eyes rolled back into his head, but he caught himself.

โ€œHoly [TOILET FLUSH]โ€โ€ฆ

Show threadWhiplash TwisterMar 30

It took some time, but Whiplash was finally able to acclimatise to the oxygen-depleted porcelein palace.

The next question was where to startโ€ฆ?

The sinks? Blocked. Toilets? Clogged. Showers? Rusted.

๐˜‹๐˜ช๐˜ด ๐˜ฉ๐˜ข๐˜ด ๐˜จ๐˜ฐ๐˜ต๐˜ต๐˜ข ๐˜ฃ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ด๐˜ฐ๐˜ฎ๐˜ฆ ๐˜ฌ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜ฅ๐˜ข ๐˜“๐˜ฆ๐˜ช๐˜จ๐˜ช๐˜ฐ๐˜ฏ๐˜ฆ๐˜ช๐˜จ๐˜ฉ๐˜ญ๐˜ญ๐˜ข ๐˜ณ๐˜ช๐˜ด๐˜ฌโ€ฆ Whiplash thought.

He regretted trying to be nice. Heโ€™d much prefer to be terrorising a guard or two right now instead.