Sin City 2000 Type IX Part 8
Type 9: Rated Poodle Generation 13</h1>
Present 4
by Fixate

	Bitchy wasn't sure when she blacked out, but when she woke up again, she was feeling a whole lot better and she had a lot of oddly dressed companions around hir.  Hir headache and stomach ache was gone and she had a wonderfully soft layer of fat on hir, but hir fur was still a sticky, smelly mess.  With a satisfactory yip, she got up on all fours, shook hirself off, and then stood up and looked around at the other furs.
	She couldn't really tell what they were because they were dress in full NBC gear and brandishing weapons of various sorts.  Both protective suits and weapons for each and everyone of the furs around hir were decked out in happy pastel colors, so that they seemed more like toys than actual war gear.  Bitchy was very amused and look around herself, panting happily.
	"Ooo, are you going to shoot me with that?", Bitchy asked as she looked down the wide barrel of the young poodle's single shoot grenade launcher.  It'd been a long time since she'd had a big gun like that pointed at hir, and this one was painted a cute metallic light green and yellow.  "Can I use it later?"
	The poodles looked at each other confusedly and then the poodle holding the weapon said in a muffled voice through his gas mask, "Probably not, Mistress DeBauchee.  I am suppose to maintain possession of it during the attack and probably back on base, too."
	"Oh, too bad. *giggle* It would have been fun. *yiff yiff* So, what are you going to fire at me if I attack you?", Bitchy asked with a sweet smile as she caressed hir underbelly scar.  Scars weren't very yiffy, but they were more sensitive than normal fur and for some reason this one just wouldn't heal.  Anyways, it was almost like having an extra furotic zone.  "Is it powerful? *yiff yiff* Am I going to cringe with fear?"
	"It's sleeping gas, Mistress DeBauchee", the armed poodle commented uneasily.
	"Poodles don't cause unneeded pain and suffering.  It's improper to do so", a couple of the other poodles recited proudly in unison.
	"*mrrr* Lucky me", Bitchy said with a toothy grin.  These tight little furs needed a really good wake-up call.  They looked like fresh meat and they talked like fresh meat, so they must be fresh meat.  "I just love it when they come in a convenient value pack. *yiff yiff*  And oh so packed with juicy heat, too."
	They even smelled like fresh meat.  They might be sealed behind air-tight suits now, but those suits had been around them numerous times when try weren't and carried a perfumed canine-ish scent.  Most, if not all of them were definitely very demesticated breeds.  How nice of them to stand upwind of hir, and a slow lingering wind at that.  Hir rudunt belly gurgled and a light wave of dizziness passed through hir.  She took an uneasy step towards the launcher-armed poodle and his suit russled as he tensed up.
	"Be advised, Mistress DeBauchee, that this is a highly effective concentration of sleeping gas", the armed poodle stated seriously as he aimed in on the dangerously lustful vixen.
	"*mrrr* I hope it is, you cute little creampuff", Bitchy cooed as she dropped to all fours and got ready to pounce.  As she waggled hir wide rear in air, she could feel the knots reforming in hir muscles and joints.  If she didn't do something quick, there was a very good chance that she's be leaving hirself wide open for whatever they had in store for hir.  Almost in a whimper, she echoed, "I hope it is."
	The poodle holding the grenade launcher hoped so, too.  They all had tazers, too, but that meant that they'd have to get up close and feral with this vixen, and if hir reputation suited hir, then that'd be a very dangerous thing.  Since it was not proper to curse out loud, he cursed to himself in his head as he fired a canister directly at the vixen's nose.
	It was, of course, a perfect hit, and the vixen disappeared in a cloud of thick, daffodil yellow smoke.  To maximize its potential, not only did it temporarily bond to fur, conditioning it to a health shine, but it also smelled like wildflowers.  A normal fur would have dropped almost immediately with the potency that had been selected for the vixen, and under normal circumstances Bitchy wouldn't have been effected by the gas at all unless she wanted to be, but she came stumbling out with a dangerously wide grin on hir face and hir world in vertigo.  She took a few uneasy steps forwards before dropping back down to all fours, and then continued drunkenly towards them, stumbling over hir feet.  They uneasily readied their tazers just in case she overcame the effects of the gas, but she collapsed almost halfway to them with a winded yiff.
	A second wave of poodles in a violet minivan came also donned in NBC gear, carefully loaded the heavy vixen into the back, placed a warm, slightly damp blanket around her that would keep hir warm and slowly draw the chemicals off hir fur, and then made ready to head back towards the base.
	"Mistress DeBauchee has a nasty wound on hir stomach, corporal.  Is there a possibility that she could get infected", one of the poodles from the minivan said to the alpha poodle of the frontline team.
	"Probably not, PFC.  Yifftoys have a very high resistance to infection.  Mistress DeBauchee should be fine until we can put hir in the brig", the corporal poodle responded, which brought up a lingering question.
	"Aye, corporal, but would that not also mean that Mistress DeBauchee would be just as immune to the sleeping gas?", a private asked, which was reflected in the nervous looks of the entire minivan team.
	The vixen was said to be stronger than all the poodles here put together.  Stronger than maybe even the caged walls of the back of the minivan.  She'd been shot between the eyes and gotten hir stomach sliced open from ribcage to pouch, yet she'd acted just moments ago like it'd never happened, even enjoying the wounds.  How were they to know how long the sleeping gas would stay active in hir system or even if it had worked at all.
	"Now that we are nearing the final hour, private, we are going to have to start taking risks", the corporal recited.  She'd asked the very same question of her superiors and had gotten that answer herself.  They all looked in the direction of the sleeping vixen, and then the corporal added, "If it will help calm your spirits, I will stay in the back with Mistress DeBauchee."
	That immediately raised an uproar of gasps and one of the corporal's own PFC's exclaimed, "Oh, please no, corporal.  I'll do it.  It just wouldn't be right for a non-rank poodle to sit back and watch an NCO risk his or her life like that."
	With that, all of the other non-ranks in the two teams started volunteering, the corporal sadly had the freshly loaded grenade launcher handed over to the PFC and asked, "Do you, Private First Class Poodle, think yourself capable of possibly giving your life for the sake of the team and firing your weapon true?"
	Yes, Corporal Poodle", the PFC barked confidently, snatched up the grenade launcher, and held it firmly against his chest.  "I will."
	"Very well then, PFC.  I shall see that you receive a meritorious mass once we get back to the base", the corporal replied proudly.
	Dispite how well things were going at the moment, all the poodles knew that it was more of a matter of if they'd get back to base, than when they'd get back to base.