>stories>Fixate>Sin City 2000, Type 1: The Techno-color Savior
Sin City 2000 
by "Fixate" 

Narrated by Timothy Freeze 

Type 1: The Techno-color Savior

It was starting to snow again.

No, that wasnít the problem.  I hear that snow is as common now as rain was 
a century ago, and the sky and snow wasnít always this gray, or so bad for 
your health.  No, the problem is that weíre starving, wet, cold, and no one 
cares.  They all assume that a couple of homeless natural snow fox pups can 
stand this kind of weather three quarters of the year.  Yeah, like we enjoy 
having to beg for change and/or scraps to feed not only ourselves, but also 
our ailing mother.  Thatís if she hasnít froze to death already.  Damn, 
isnít that just so appropriate.  Look world.  The cold is wiping out the 
Freeze family one by one and no one cares.

"Tim.  My eyes are starting to hurt.", Crystal whines from the street 

Weíre the last two Freeze pups and sheís got a much better chance of 
getting something than me, though it wonít matter if it starts snowing any 
harder than this light flurry.  Acid snow hurts less than hunger, but it 
still hurts.  They know that.  It must be that they just like seeing a pup 
suffer to feed her family.

"Yeah.  I know", I sigh, cursing those that pretend not to see her at all. 

"Come on back over here before you go blind or something."

Got to keep her nice and neat and healthy, or weíll all starve.  She 
huddles next to me and I start licking the dirt and grime off of her.  Iím 
long past caring about the taste, just as mother didnít mind when it was me 
out there with my sister.  It used to hurt.  It doesnít hurt now.

As we warm ourselves up against the shelter of an alleyway, a couple more 
high and mighty vehicles and pedestrians pass by, missing us completely in 
our natural surrounding.  When the sun finally sets, we will officially be 
invisible and they will have won for another day.

"Oh, no.  Itís starting to get dark.  Tim, we donít have anything to bring 
back to Mother."

Not to be cold-hearted or anything (heh), but if our luck keeps up, weíll 
probably be going home to dinner.  Wouldnít be the first time, and in 
Crystalís case, it wonít be her last.  Like all the other times, sheíll 
waste her precious tears as sheís nourishing herself.

"Well.  I guess we can try for a couple more minutes.  Iíll help you best I 
can.  Then weíll have to go back," I explain with a hoarse voice, the grime 
I've had to lick off her sticking to my throat, making me sound worse and 
worse by the day. With my matted fur and everything, Iíll probably do more 
detouring than begging.  I cough up some of the grime and then walk out into 
the cruel world with her. "Please mister, could spare some change for my 
sister and me.  Weíre so hungry."

 My first opponent comes close to shoving me to the side as he walks by, and 
all I can do is wish a curse on them all.  Bad homeless are shot and 
disposed of, or if they want to be humane, beaten within a inch of our lives 
and left to feed the next passing homeless fur. Then, a black sedan cruises 
by and splashes more grime on my fur.  I curse, shake myself off, and then 
quickly turn to see if Crystal was hit, too.

 Luckily she wasnít, though her chances probably wouldnít be any worse, 
anyway.  Iíve been reduced to an ugly mutt and so not to ruin her chances by 
association, I start going back to the alley.

Thatís when he comes.
A sleek, royal purple, stretch limousine hums by us in the same manner as 
all the other high and mighty vehicles, but then the brake lights come on. 
As other cars detour around it, it remains motionless, menacing.  The 
occupant(s) hadnít seen me, just my sister, and who the hell goes around in 
a purple limousine anyway.  The car pulled away and the license plate reads: 
8U4 SUP.  Wonít help me none knowing this, but if it comes to it, at least 
I'll have a better chance of tracking it down.

 "I donít think anyone cares about us anymore", I call to Crystal a short 
while later.  Meaning, I think itís time we got away from this area A.S.A.P.

 After rounding the block, the limousine is coming our way again.  The 
license plate in the front is the same as the one in back, but how many 
purple limousines are there anyway.  This time, it slows down and stops in 
front of Crystal.  I figure Iíll watch from within camouflage until 
something funny happens.
The dark tinted, UV resistant, passenger window slowly rolls down and a red 
fox in a scarlet jacket, peach shirt, and lime green tie smiles pleasingly, 
if not menacingly, as my sister bounds over to his window.  Over his left 
eye is a sky blue tinted, gold rimmed and chained monocle.  Not good. 
Either this guy is perverted, or, well, Iíve heard stories.  He nods his 
head in satisfaction of her and Iím dashing to my sisterís side.  Maybe if 
she were older, but not this time, mister.

"Oh, so there are two of you", is his first reaction to my sudden arrival, 
the exact opposite of what I had expected. This canít be a good thing.  He 
raises a pudgy, ebony furred hand and I instinctively nudge in front of 
Crystal.  He rests his head on a silk shirted forearm on the window and 
smiles even more pleasingly at my move.  Thereís a ring on every finger and 
an assortment of jewels on every ring.  Everything says run for your life, 
but we stay.  Weíre amusing him with our patheticness.  "What was that 
again, little girl?"
"Could you spare some change or scraps, mister?  Weíre so very hungry", 
Crystal finally says as the snow starts hurting her eyes again.

"Scraps?  Hmmm.  I usually donít carry scraps with me.  There some food in 
here, but no scraps."
Such an elegant voice and such contempt.  I wonder what he does to the 
homeless children he lures into his car.  I step back and push my sister 
back.  He counterattacks by reaching within the spacey interior, shows a 
juicy, turkey leg to us, takes a healthy bite out of it, chews, swallows, 
and then points it at us.

Before I can do anything, Crystal has maneuvered around me and is tearing 
that leg to pieces.  The thought of poisoned bait is the first thing that 
comes to mind, but then I remember that he had a bite, too.  Antidote 
beforehand perhaps?

 "Well, what about me?", I whine.  Hell, Iím as good as dead anyway.
Immediately, he replies, "Oh, yes.  Of course.", and passes the entire 
cooked turkey through the windows opening.  Then some french bread, 
cranberry sauce, a bowl of peas and carrots.  Who the hell carries cooked 
food around in their car?  How weird can a fur get?  Do I really want to 
"Why are you giving us all of this, mister?", I ask between bites.  I guess 
I do want to know.  I wonder what else he has in that car.
He seems surprise by my question. "You donít want it?"

Never look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when youíre starving.

Crystal dives into the peas and carrots as the eccentric fox produces a 
large bowl of scalloped potatoes.  We gorge ourselves on all this plus a 
large glass of pineapple juice for each of us, and then I realize his 
sadistic game.

 "Ow.  I think I ate too much.  Mmmm, my tummy hurts *urp*", Crystal coos as 
she lays face up in the snow, poking at the slight, but very taunt bulge in 
her usually sunken abdomen.

I have equally overestimated my intake and now feel too close to cramping 
to go anywhere from this acidic snowfall.  Weíre now somewhat at his mercy, 
though a whole lot better off.
"You poor little cubs.  When is the last time you had a decent meal?  Never 
before this?  For shame.  Well, Iím happy to be of service." The limousine 
door opens, and the eccentric fox casually steps outside in his scarlet 
suit, peach shirt, lime green tie, navy pocket handkerchief, violet 
cumberbun, tan leather belt, gray socks, mahogany and off-white spades, and 
gold cufflinks, wrist watch, monocle, and rings, and choker.  I'm beginning 
to figure him as being just plain fashion deficient. "Now, we canít have you 
just lying out here in this cold.  Not in your present state."
He circles us a couple times with his hands clasped behind his back and his 
long, fiery tail swaying happily, then stops with a toothy grin beaming 
straight down on me.

Not knowing exactly what to say about this situation, I just reply, "Um, 
*urp* Thanks for the food, mister."

He nods, bends down, picks me up by my armpits, and brings me up to eye 
level with himself.  Emeralds.  I wonder if he sees mine as sapphire or just 
bluish ice.  He breathes puffs of peppermint as he weighs me, and makes me 
burp and hiccup with every bounce.  Then he settles me on the limousineís 
black leather bench seat, and picks up Crystal the same way.
"Mother *urp* Weíre got to feed *urp* Mother, mister", she wimpers, looking 
sadly into the fox's twinkling eyes.

He has enough food inside this limousine to feed an entire pack.  My 
stomachís doing backflips just looking at it all, somewhere between the 
sensation of throwing up, cramping up, and me fainting.  Maybe Iíve been 
poisoned.  Just because the meat wasnít poisoned, didnít mean he couldnít 
have poisoned any of the other food.

"Well, canít have your mother starving, can we?"  Is he mocking us?  Hell 
with this.

"What did you *hic* slip into our food, mister?"
"Why, whatever do you mean?" Once again, heís offended by my comment.

Crystalís on the ground, up against his leg, looking queasy.  Either he 
doesnít notice, doesnít care if she pukes on his custom fitted pants leg, or 
knows she wonít.  Probably the last, considering that Iíll be puking on his 
limousine's lush interior.
"Your food is making us sick, mister", I explain. Well, at least he canít 
deny that.
"Oh.  Hmmm.  Yes, Iím quite sorry about that.  Whatís happening is that 
your bodies are adjusting to the large amount of food.  Youíre queasiness 
should pass soon... I hope", he answered uncertainly and checks his shiny, 
gold watch.

 He knows something heís not telling us, but now I feel fine.  My stomach 
doesnít even hurt anymore.  I poke it and find it only semi-taunt.  I donít 
feel hungry, but I donít feel full either.  Weird.  The eccentric fox 
momentarily pops in to grab a whole turkey and a bottle of wine, and then 
follows Crystal, whoís gleefully bounding into the alley on all fours.  Is 
this normal?  Motherís probably too weak to eat, but I jump out of the car 
after them anyway.  I land on the snow on my hands, skid from my forgotten 
excess weight, but am able to drop down to all fours before I tumble.  Heís 
right.  Iíve never had to deal with being full and as we hurry to Motherís 
box, I imagine myself as being a rubber ball.

 "Hello, madam.  My, you donít look too well."  I still canít tell if heís 
mocking us or sincere.  Either way, she doesnít answer.

 I figured she wouldnít.
"Mother?  Mother?", Crystal whimpers, nuzzles Motherís off-white face and 
then starts whimpering even louder when there doesnít seem to be a response. 
"Mother?  Weíve brought food for you.  Mother?"

 The colorfully dressed fox removes his jacket and lays it out in front of 
him on the snow.  Then he carefully slides Mother over, places her limp body 
face up on his jacket, and takes a bite out of the turkey.  After chewing it 
thoroughly, he drops to all fours, carefully opens Motherís mouth, 
regurgitates the finely tender meat into her mouth, gently pushes it down 
her throat, and then blows it the rest of the way into her stomach.  Then he 
tips her head back and breaths his peppermint breath into her lungs.  After 
a moment to watch her chest fall, he bites off another piece and starts over 
again.  Iím somewhat skeptical of his form of resuscitation, but after the 
fourth breath, thereís a flick of blue as she opens her eyes half way.  She 
momentarily closes her mouth, gives Crystal a weak smile, and Crystal yips 
and nuzzles her.  Mother was and probably still is too weak to eat, but not 
beyond hope.  The amazing fox gives me a happy, 'what can I say' smile, and 
then bites off another chunk of meat.

 "I want to do it!  I want to feed Mother!  Let me!  Let me!", Crystal yips 
as she bounces around the overly helpful fox.
The until now cheerful fox suddenly turns gravely serious and shakes his 
head, unable to speak because of the food in his mouth.  Crystal backs away 
warily, then yips, and darts for the turkey.  He quickly grabs and jumps 
away with it, she lands unbalanced, and rolls over and over to the side of 
the alley.  Oley.  Then he gets back onto all fours and deposits the chewed 
meat into Motherís mouth.  With some effort she is able to swallow it 
herself.  He does this a couple more times and with each time she gets 
better and better at it.  She hasnít moved anything but her head, but at 
least she can eat and then is able to chew for herself anything that is 
placed in her mouth.  Her recovery is even more impressive than ours.
While the colorful fox is holding a turkey leg over Motherís mouth, making 
her strain her neck to bite off of it, Crystal suddenly pops up out of 
nowhere from the surrounding snow, dashes for the turkey, bites a little 
chunk out of it, and jumps onto Motherís stomach.  To my shock, the colorful 
fox angrily raises his hand to slap the meat out of her mouth, but then 
stops with his hand still in the air.  Iím already ready to tear a chunk out 
of him.  If the force of his turkey leg club on her little body doesnít hurt 
her, the impact on the wall surely will.  Instead, he drops the turkey leg 
into Motherís mouth and gives Crystal a toothy grin, which is even more 
unnerving than the turkey leg club.  Iím still ready to attack.

The eccentric fox then breaks off the other turkey leg and offers it to 
Crystal.  She chews and swallows the piece in her mouth, which adds a nod to 
his toothy grin, and she cautiously takes the leg from him.  As the 
eccentric fox finishes feeding the rest of the turkey and then most of the 
bottle of wine to Mother, the once full to complaining Crystal slowly 
consumes the turkey leg and licks the remaining bone, out of the way of the 
two adults.

 "Um, thank you kind sir.  We have nothing to repay you with for your 
generosity though", Mother finally sighed as she slowly turned over and even 
more slowly gets into a sitting position.

"Oh.  It was my pleasure, madam.  Just seeing that I was able to nurture a 
dying family back to health is rewarding enough for me." Was this a bet of 
some sort, or does he just go around looking for 'dying' families to stuff? 
Glad to see where his morals are.  I think Iíll bite him before he goes back 
to his giant mansion to plot out his next form of generosity.  He sips down 
the rest of his wine and tosses the bottle into an alley corner. "This place 
is very depressing.  Would you like to come with me into the, less famished, 
part of town?"

He looks over at Crystal, whoís on her back poking at her extremely pudgy 
belly while kicking her legs to the sides. Her stomach is too wide now for 
her legs to go straight down, and she happily demonstrates this to us all by 
squeezing the furry pillow with her tiny legs.  At first I think sheís stuck 
on her back, but then she rolls over and just stands there on all fours with 
her stomach down to the ground.  Her face and tail shows that sheís ecstatic 
about being so close to being helplessly overstuffed.

To this, he states with a nod of his head, "Actually, I insist that you all 
come with me."

"Well, if you insist", I answer cautiously as he slips his jacket around 
Mother, and picks up Crystal by her armpits again.
I figure that whatever she weighed normally, sheís got to be at least 
double that now.  She licks his nose, hiccups, he licks hers, sticks out his 
tongue in disgust, and gently places her over his right shoulder like a sack 
of potatoes.
As we walk back to his limousine, he states, "First things first.  You will 
all have to take a nice, hot bath when we get to my house."

 Food, shelter, a bath, this is turning out to be a great day.  Almost takes 
my mind off of how disturbingly quick, things are moving.


 "So, how is everyone doing?"  This is what the eccentric fox asks once we 
have gotten comfortable inside the limousine, a high rimmed table still 
covered in a large assortment of dinner entrées occupying its center.  Both 
me and mother say weíre fine and thank him again, and Crystal, who is face 
up on his lap, lets out a loud belch.  He seems to be as amused by this as 
she is.  I find this also disturbing.  "Good?  Good.  My name is Seymour J. 
Polypophilacopolis"  Crystal giggles.  I stifle mine into a smirk.  Mother 
does a 'Um, okay, that's nice' nod.  "Iím an entrepreneur and inventor of 
sorts, and you have all sampled my latest masterpiece."  Crystal punctuates 
this with a burp, and he stops to smile down on her.  She puts a hand over 
her muzzle and giggles, and he starts scritching her puffball tummy.  "Some 
more that others, *hee hee hee*... A product so revolutionary and unique, 
yet so anticipated, that once I show it to the open market, the whole world 
will once again be in awe of my potential."  Hmmm, the usual ĎI will rule 
the worldí mentality.  Oh so typical for the high and mighty.  Hopefully the 
fashion police wonít beat him too harshly on his road to glory.

"What is it, Mr. Popal, pophica, can I call you Seymour, mister?"  He nods 
almost immediately and I wonder if everyone just calls him Seymour.  Mother 
continues, "What is it that you put into the food, Mr. Seymour?  Or is it 
the food itself?"
"No, you were right the first time.  I have established a special sauce, of 
sorts, that when used in conjunction with other experimental ingredients..." 
Crystalís stomach starts to growl.  Something is very wrong if sheís hungry 
again.  Seymour gives me that disturbing Ďwhat can I sayí smile again, and 
then slips a thick slice of honey glazed ham off the table and into her 
mouth as he continues.  "Enables the eater to stomach and then do various 
other things..."  He gives her a couple more pieces of ham.  She gulps them 
both down in seconds and yips for more.  "Depending on the additive, with 
the food its basted over."  A large spoonful of rice is placed in my 
sisterís mouth, followed by a whole cup of gravy.  Well, heís definitely got 
Mother in awe.  Crystal starts taking in a length of kabasa, stopping every 
once in a while to breath.  Mother looks from Crystal, to Seymour, to the 
table, to her own filled, but still slim stomach, and then back at Crystal. 
He nods, gives Crystal a ladle-full of creamed corn, and continues.  "It can 
all be regulated, neutralized, and counteracted at the eaterís request, and 
works just as well as a hot drink before eating live game."
"Live game?", Mother and me almost ask in unison.
I knew the high and mighty were ruthless, but this is a whole new shade of 
evil.  I can just imagine some overaggressive high and mighty downing 
homeless furs left and right.  Wait, is that whatís happening now?
"Mr. Seymour, youíre not saying that the high and mighty go around drunk on 
that stuff ripping unwary pedestrians and or homeless apart, are you?"
Well, I have to say it the way it sounds, even if it is an exaggeration. 
Crystal is now nibbling away at a thick beef steak.  The food's probably so 
juicy, all the sauce is doing is making her stomach get bigger.  She's 
making me hungry just watching her eat.  Sheís nearly doubled her 
pre-limousine waist size.
"Oh, no, no, no, no.  Itís nothing like that.  These furs want to either be 
torn limb from limb, slowly nibbled away, or in the possibilities of this 
sauce, swallowed whole alive.  Itíll be the latest craze for years to come."
Me and mother are struck speechless by how normal he's making this sound, 
and Crystal looks like sheís going to throw-up.  Seymour quickly slips her 
down to the limousineís plush carpet and turns her over onto her stomach.  I 
guess better the interior than his suit.  Crystalís legs are at sixty degree 
angles to the floor and I start wondering what sheíd look like if she was to 
suddenly puke up all that food.  Will her stomach be a deflated beachball, 
or will it get taunt again?  She digs her claws into the carpet and starts 
dragging herself away from Seymour with her arms.  He puts his pudgy hands 
on his muzzle.
"Before I continue, maybe I should ask you all what you know about modern 
Mother decides to go first. "I knew it was violent, Mr. Seymour, but 
nothing like that.  Mostly furs killing other furs for what they want, and 
big companies and governments crushing smaller ones.  And the yiffing.  When 
I was well enough to get around, well..."
Mother looks displeased with herself.  The homeless do anything and 
everything to bring the food in.  It's just the way of life.  Now that she's 
well fed again and I'm old enough to notice them under a different context, 
motherís teats look, well, quite nice.  If she was to get herself cleaned up 
and everything... Mother buttons up the jacket and puts her legs up crossed 
on the seat.
My turn.
"Yeah, Iíve seen furs kicked and maimed and killed for no reason at all, 
and orgies in alleyways, pimping on the streets, raping, and all the other 
evil stuff that the high and mighty like to do."  I could have just said 
ditto, but I wanted to show them that I still do get around as well as make 
Mother feel a little less embarrassed.  Why sugar-coat it?
"Prices!  Stuff costs so much, we canít buy anything", Crystal yips, now by 
Motherís feet.
Crystal rocks, gets herself vertical, and reaches for Mother.  Mother 
hesitates, then tries to pick her daughter up, but canít.  Crystal whimpers, 
Seymour gets up, clutches her under the armpits, and hoists her onto 
Motherís lap.  Mother yelps, spreads her legs to let the bloated pup fall 
between, and cautiously strokes the hefty belly with the pupís head and 
hands on Motherís left thigh, and her feet or her right.  Crystalís stomach 
starts growling again and after a bit of hesitation and whimpering from the 
pup, Mother feeds her one Swedish meatball after another.  If Crystal likes 
being like that, who are we to stop her from gorging.
"Yeah, that too.  The food is expensive, but everything else... Except when 
it really starts getting cold, I like being natural and all, but some added 
protection from those really harsh days would be nice.  Iíve heard that itís 
getting so that even the working class are switching over to going natural 
to reduce on expenses."  At least I figure thereís still a working class out 
there somewhere.  The rich get richer.  The poor get poorer.  And the middle 
get replaced by expensive, extremely efficient robots.
Seymour seems to spend a few seconds taking this all in, and then replies 
as he leans back, crosses his legs, and puts his hands on his lap, "Hmmm. 
Okay, I guess thatís good enough for now.  Itís a little more complicated 
from the corporate stand point.  Wars are out.  Public orgies are, well, 
normality.  Subliminal messages are just beginning to go out of fashion. 
And the world definitely needs a new in thing.  Food.  Why pay for live, 
virtual, or even boundless subliminal sex, when you can pay for live food 
that will rub, massage, or whatever you please down to your stomach."
Yes, the high and mighty are definitely weird.  Seymour then takes a moment 
to look at Crystal, whoís stomach in now hiding her legs and feet, and most 
of Motherís thigh.  Motherís expression shows her concern for Crystalís 
health and well-being if she stops or keeps feeding her.  Mother silently 
whimpers to Seymour, he nods, pulls another wine bottle from under his seat, 
and slides over to beside Mother.
"I do believe youíve had enough, little girl", he tells the happy little 
Crystal shakes her head in defiance and Mother looks worried.  Seymour 
opens the bottle, waves it in front of Crystalís face, she yips happily, and 
he casually pours the neutralizing wine down her throat.  As usual, she has 
no idea what heís doing, and I'm glad she doesn't.
After he feels that sheís drank enough, Seymour recorks the bottle, Crystal 
belches, he slides his hands under her armpits, turns her so that sheís 
looking at Mother, and then slides her backwards off the seat until she 
slips out of his grasp and hits the floor with a sickeningly squishy plop. 
Sheís stuck leaning vertically up against the seat looking up at Mother, so 
he turns her around, and pushes her onto her stomach.  Her legs are nearly 
parallel with the floor and her fingers just barely touch the floor.  Sheís 
been completely immobilized by food.  Not letting this stop her, she starts 
rocking and bouncing and basically having fun with her huge stomach.
Bravadoing to the exterior of his limosine, Seymour concludes, "The world 
is always open for new sensations and as far as I know, this is the 
For a second I think he means what he did to Crystal, but then I imagine 
her full of, say, Seymour, struggling to get back out.  Impossible 
microvore.  Hey, I guess it is an interesting concept, and if the adult high 
and mighty enjoy it as much as Crystal enjoys normal food, well, Seymour 
just might rule the world after all, fashion sense or no fashion sense.
Crystal lets out another loud belch and this time everyone laughs.

Next Type: Snow Furries in Heat