Sin City 2000 Type IX Part 1
Type 9: Rated Poodle Generation 13
Past 1
by Fixate

	"There is no such thing as a perfect plan; no matter how much time you put into it", a highly respected and feared red fox had once advised his poodle assistant a little over a generation ago in the CG's building's male head.
	"Aye, sir, as there is no such thing as a perfect fur", the poodle responded as he scanned through his ever present green book, looking over all the tactical notes he had accumulated and refined through his many years of service, "That is why both are vastly strengthened in numbers, and each one themselves honed to perfection."
	"And if they are not 'honed to perfection' accordingly, Marcel?" Edgar Polipopicopilus, Commanding General of the United Species Mammal Corpse, quizzed as he finished fastening his trousers, and then as he was turning back around to face his poodle confidant, pulled a pistol out from inside the front of his trousers, and aimed to shoot the poodle between the eyes.
	Not loosing face, Seargent Major of the Mammal Corpse Marcel Poodle stepped forwards, parried the pistol, a shot went wild to the left, shattering a head mirror, and before the glass had hit the deck, the poodle was holding the pistol and aiming it at the approving red fox.
	"Furs that join the Mammal Corpse and fail to attempt achieving perfection, deserve to die, sir", Marcel replied with a sly smile, considering if he should go for the muzzle or the groin as a leopard Lutenent walked into the head and yiped instinctively from the scene before him.
	"Very well then, Marcel.  Carry on", Edgar mused, flashed a quick sideways glance at the leopard.
	"Aye, sir", Marcel replied, swung his aim over towards the leopard, the leopard yelped again, dove painfully up against the door, fell backwards onto the deck, and Marcel all the while kept his aim on the middle of the leopard's skull.
	"Well, Seargent Major Poodle?  What is your major malfunction?  Dispose of the worthless bag of ass, now", Edgar sneered, combing his claws through his long, bushy tail.
	"Aye, sir", Marcel replied thoughtfully as he walked towards the petrified feline, the barrel of the weapon always on its mark.  When he was finally standing over the leopard, he casually dropped the pistol onto the leopard's lap, pointed sternly at the fox, and commanded to the leopard, "Dispose of that bag of ass, now!"
	"S-Seargent Major?" the lutenant stammered as he looked at the polished weapon on his well-creased blouse.
	"Lutenent?  Did I stutter?  Are you deaf?  What is your major malfunction?  Kill, him", Marcel growled through clenched teeth. "NOW!"
	The lutenant looked hopefully at the higher-ranking fox farther away, but his face was unreadable as he inspected his claw to see if any of his long, silk tailfur had been pulled out.  The green lutenant had found himself caught in the middle of a wicked game, and he had no idea what the rules were.  He'd heard various scuttlebutts about the higher ups playing games like these behind closed doors, but he'd never seen it for himself.  Was this some perverted form of hazing, where he and some better qualified General were going to be promoted tomorrow for following through with this order?  Was this a test in loyalty and he'd instead go to jail if he didn't retaliate and make the poodle do as his Commanding General ordered.  He wanted to leave, but one of them would probably kill him for acting soft.
	"Aye, sir.  Aye, Seargent Major", the leopard replied as he gingerly gripped the pistol and got up.
	As the poodle stepped to the side so the leopard could get a clear shot, the leopard took a breath, slowly let it all out, aimed in on the fox's twisted smile, and the fox flashed a quick glance at the poodle as the poodle was drilling his gaze on the lutenant.  With almost no hesitation, the leopard dove in the opposite direction of the poodle, rolled back into a kneeling position, quickly aimed in on the running poodle, pulled the trigger, and wailed as the pistol exploded in his hand.
	"How did you know, Marcel?" Edgar questioned the poodle standing almost nose to nose with him as the leopard on the other end of the head wailed and moaned and dripped blood everywhere.
	"The bullet did not chamber correctly, sir.  There was definitely a lot of time and effort put into the manufacturing of that pistol.  Other than a subtle difference in its tone, it was almost perfect, sir.  You did an excellent job", Marcel commented as he commenced to smooth out the fox's uniform, "and the way you hid it was superb also, sir.  I almost did not know you had it."
	"Very well, Seargent Major Poodle, but you did disobey a direct order.  I am your Commanding General, and when I tell you to shoot me, I mean for you to shoot me", Edgar stated sternly, standing stone faced and stiff as a rock as the poodle dropped to all fours and spent a lot of time making sure that the fox's trousers' custom fitted tail hole and front gig line were positioned correctly and snuggly via the use his nose and teeth.  "You were hesitant also, Seargent Major Poodle.  Disciplinary action will definitely have to be charged up against you."
	"Hoorah, discipline", Marcel replied slyly as Edgar reached down the back of Marcel's blouse via the neck and pulled out a thin white leash wrapped and hidden within, which was attached to a thin white collar that almost blended in with his tee shirt if he positioned it correctly.
	"We shall continue this discussion in my office, Seargent Major", Edgar stated as Marcel got up, reached down into the vulpine's trousers, and started making sure that Edgar's blouse was properly straightened and bloused all the way down and around his fluffy creamy white sheath.  Though his breath a bit more shallow and his trousers a bit more tight, Edgar acted like Marcel wasn't even touching him and instead studied the whimpering leopard in the corner.  "I expect to see a valid medical chit for that flesh wound on my desk by oh eleven hundred, lutenant."
	"Hoorah, medical chit", Marcel commented with an evil grin as he glanced over his muscular right shoulder at the now blouseless damaged government property.
	"Aye, sir.  I'm on my way right now, sir", the leopard coughed, and then walked out the door with his right hand and lower arm ternicitted and wrapped up tightly in his blouse.
	"Ah, yes, destruction of government property.  That is a federal offense, Seargent Major.  I could give you a dishonorable discharge for that act alone", Edgar growled, slamming his fist into his hand as Marcel decided to undo the fox's trousers' fly and tighten his shirt stays.  "I want you in my office immediately, Seargent Major", Edgar announced in a stiffled yiff, refastening his trousers and nearly knocking Marcel down as he headed for the door, with Marcel's leach held firmly in his grasp.
	Edgar's tail slapped Marcel's muzzle as he walked by, and Marcel was quick to drop to all fours again and get in step before the leash choked him.  Edgar, to put it mildly, was a dedicated rock, and that's why Marcel found him so awe-inspiring.  Edgar's only family and friends were those furs of his beloved Mammal Corpse, his only thoughts were military events, rules, and regulations, and the only one that could get close to him alive and healthy was Marcel.
	Before they discontinued it and all the other military branches of service in favor of the Rulemasters and Regulators, Marcel Tibias Poodle IV had been one of the most decorated Seargent Majors in the United Species Mammal Corpse, second to his fellow officer, Edgar Polipopicopilus.  If even the smallest uprising appeared anywhere in the world, he would make it his or some other officer under him's top priority to make sure his troops were the first ones over there to completely obliterate and eliminate the threat.  Then, after the debriefing, if he discovered that some enlisted fur in his unit hadn't done it exactly within rules and regulations, including the proper disposal of the inedible parts of the enemy's bones and removing all traces of blood and violence, he would hold a formation on the spot and have that fur and the next one up on that fur's chain of command beaten to death by their superiors.  Then the carcasses would be attacked and eaten on the spot to demonstrate proper military fashion.
	If it was a non-poodle officer that didn't go by the rules, then the furs that worked under him would do the sentencing instead.  If Marcel found out that a poodle had screwed up, then he would yell at and beat up that poodle himself, and then have him or her written up, put on restriction, and possibly receive a reduction in pay.  For reasons unchallenged by any other fur except for Edgar, Marcel put all domestic furs, and especially poodles, in all the officer positions, and all other 'scum' furs as his expendable enlisted.  If a disapproving fur was placed into one of his battalions, then Marcel saw it as an automatic approval to have that fur properly disposed of by the other battalion or boot camp.
	Before the Mammal Corpse was discontinued, Marcel's battalions were one of the most feared and respected forces in the world, but he wasn't bitter about the government's decision.  It no longer mattered that he had forever lost the chance of receiving Edgar Polipopilacopilus' title as Commanding General of the Mammal Corpse.
	Having the rest of his life paid for without the worry of ever needing a civilian job gave him time to finally be a father and raise his pups the way the Mammal Corpse had raised him.