Sin City 2000 Type IX Part 4
Type 9: Rated Poodle Generation 13
Present 2
by Fixate

	In the middle of an urban field of carnage, a gelatinous mountain of orange, scarlet, and off-white fur and gooey muscle pulsated and bubbled as it mimicked a b-movie toxic meltdown and slowly resembled less and less the shape of a portly macro vixen.  Bit by bit, the blobbish macro-beast lost its structural stability until finally, it's pelt ruptured and semi-liquefied muscle and fat oozed out like lava into a rancid lake as wide as the street itself.  Floating in this primordial soup were the now cartilage-like bones of the hell-spawn vulpine and a normal sized, athletically built version of the she-fox in a twitching fetal position.
	With a shudder, the vixen woke up, groggily looked around, groaned, and then curled back up into a state of semi-consciousness.  A couple minutes later, she shudder again, woke up with a start, and looked at the snow-covered world around hir with telephoto clarity.  As hir pulse and breathing quickened, she took in the ghastly war-zone scene around hir.  Slowly, she crawled out of its center, uneasily shook hirself off, and then spent a couple more minutes staring at the foul-smelling goop on hir hands and feet before finally tasting it.
	"*Ew* This stuff is gross!  What did I do, fall asleep on a sewer break... or explosion by the look of things", Bitchy whimpered, hir entire body racked with aches and pains.  "Though, I don't see any holes..."
	Almost on cue, Bitchy was doubled over by a sudden and powerful cramp in hir stomach.  It felt like some fur had just hit hir with an invisible wrecking ball and when it finally lightened up, she noticed a manged scar on her belly running almost perpendicular to the opening of hir pouch, like she'd been gutted a long time ago and it hadn't healed correctly.
	"What the- Where did that come from?" Bitchy asked hirself aloud as she tried to remember when she got it or even why she was out on the streets in the first place, natural and soaked in... whatever this goop was.
	For some reason, a small ghost and a deadly shadow popped into hir memory.  It must have some significance, but for what reason she couldn't recall.  After rolling in the snow to mask the look and smell of the goop on hir, she did recall a little bit more.
	Though Bitchy was still not sure if the shadow was for real, she did remember a white puppy.  A puppy the color of the snow, and everything it fell on.  A puppy the color of spooge...
	Had she killed him?
	Was she the shadow that she was having a hard time remembering?  Lurking around this spooge pup menacingly, or was there something out there that really was a shadow fur?  Was she supposed to be protecting the spooge pup and killing the shadow fur, or helping the shadow fur track down the spooge pup?  Maybe she was supposed to kill them both.
	No.  Wait.  That didn't sound right.  Why would some fur want a pup killed by hir of all furs?  Seymour would know the right answers.
	Something was wrong here.
	Hir head hurt, and not in a yiffy way.
	After walking to the end of the street, Bitchy found a hydrant to clean hirself off with.  Focusing hir bionic abilities, she thrust hirself at it to try to knock it over, and ended up dislocating her shoulder.  With a scream of white-hot pain, the vixen yipped and yowled, and then fell into shock.
	Something was very very wrong.