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Turf Wars

By Psion

An Adipose City Story

All Rights Reserved

With the rise of the corporate powers, territorial boundaries have become more fluid, defined more by market shares and advertisement demographics then natural terrain. Nowhere is this quite as true as the borderlands between Burger World and Taco King, encompassing all of northern Mexico and the southern parts of the American southwest...

Outskirts of San Antonio, Texas, Six A.M.

The sun had just started to rise over the horizon as a Clydesdale motorized tricycle painted desert tan rolled up next to the moisture condenser aside the empty highway, the Burger World star and red, white, and blue trefoil emblazoned on the vehicle's cargo trunk. After the trike rolled to a stop, its sole occupant climbed off and stepped onto the ground with a heavy stomp. Black combat boots kicked up small tufts of dust as the weighty Burger World combat engineer walked up to the front of his vehicle and looked up at the moisture condenser in front of him, the billboard-like structure proclaiming that it was twenty miles to the "Big Grub Steakhouse," one of Burger World's western-themed steakhouses. Heh, just another day in the life of Gabriel Newcastle, Burger World's bulwark. The German Shepherd Big Tool mused to himself as he tapped his fingers on his prodigious abdomen and got to work setting up the job site.

The moisture condensers employed by both Burger World and their southern competitors Taco King were originally based off a design pioneered by a Peruvian engineering school before the petroleum crash; a centralized storage cylinder supported the weight of a condensation and refrigeration unit sandwiched between two flat insulated panels that practically begged to be used for advertisements. Indeed, when the billboard-shaped device was unveiled to the world it was described as the "billboard that produced clean drinking water." And as society developed a sometimes literally insatiable thirst for new sources of fluid, condensers like this one sprung up in populated deserts everywhere, each one decorated in the advertisements of its sponsoring corporation. And each one needing repairs from its owning company or getting sabotaged by competitors... much like this one, Gabriel thought with a sigh as he finished setting up camp for the day. Two microwave beam sentry turrets watched both approaches for intruders while his solar-powered PortaFridge kept his lunch and a vending machine's worth of drinks nice and cold as he got ready to work.

Checking the tightness of his toolbelt, the pear-shaped tricolor canine glanced up then started climbing up the rung ladder welded to the side of the structure. In a few minutes he was there, sticking his head into the inner workings of the complex array of condensers and refrigeration units to try and figure out what had gone wrong. Hopefully, it was probably a simple mechanical failure that would only take him an hour or two to diagnose, fix, and test run before putting everything back into place. While most of his coworkers thought he was crazy to hope for something like a TK raid or a Consortium ambush, Newcastle loved fighting for his corporation; especially when it actually involved fighting. To him there was nothing better then being able to eat, sleep, and breath Burger World, especially eat as his nearly four hundred pound figure could attest. That being said, while he was certainly full of company patriotism, he wasn't quite as gung-ho as his peers thought. Fighting an enemy of the corporation was awesome; fighting it with friends was infinitely better. So when he was forced to make a routine run in the boonies alone because his recently assigned partner was a lazy brick, he hoped for a smooth run but prepared as if he was going to march through hell all the same.

Climbing the rest of the way up and squeezing his considerable midsection through the access hatch, he flipped the switch to deactivate condenser and started working. Taking his Omni-Driver out of his tool belt, he unscrewed the control unit from its housing. Pocketing the screws, the canine then pulled out the damaged computer before squishing himself back through and climbing all the way down. All the tools he would need were already on his belt but if he needed to rebuild the main control system then he had to take it back to his bike where he kept a box full of spare parts.

The sun had already reached a point where it shone down with an unrelenting desert heat by the time Gabe climbed back down to the ground. Wiping the sweat forming on his brow with his camouflaged cap, he pulled a liter bottle of soda out of his PortaFridge and got to work disassembling the broken controller. On second thought, maybe a quick hour-long job wouldn't be a bad thing. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get back to the air-conditioned company barracks. Undoing the screws on the housing and opening it up, he slowly downed the liter of cola and got to work fixing the inner electronics. Grounding himself to avoid static discharges, he removed the unfixable electronics and tossed them in a small bin in the trunk of his trike. When he returned back to base, the wrecked components would be broken down and recycled to make new spares. Waste not, want not, unless it concerned the peoples' waistline that is.

The canine animan's ears perked up as he slowly finished up with his tinkering. The sensors on his automated sentries beeped briefly as if they detected a brief flash of movement. Newcastle was also certain he heard the sound of something dragging itself across the sand, something large enough to be a person. But a sweeping glance didn't show anything out of the ordinary within the range of the sentries. Still, he deactivated the safety on the FoJ Street Sweeper combat shotgun on his back all the same. If those sneaky burrito butts wanted to try and smash this condenser on his watch, they were in for a surprise...

Yet nothing happened as he closed up the repaired control unit and made sure it was sealed up properly. This had to be Fred's handiwork; Fred was always cutting corners when they sent him out on repair jobs. And it would be like him to not double check to make sure the electronics were shut up properly to minimize condensation getting in. Shaking his head, the German Shepherd animan focused back on finishing up so he could pack up and head back to base. Yet standing up and turning to carry the unit back up into the condenser, he had to avoid jumping out of his fur at the sight of a starved feline animan crawling towards him, the closer turret swerving to track the slowly approaching target.

"Hold fire." He ordered the defensive weapon automatically, setting the control unit down on his trike and drawing his Street Sweeper. Raising the weapon into a firing stance, the canine then addressed the approaching stranger. "Hold it right there! Identify yourself!" He barked in American English.

The calico cat hesitated for a moment, looking confused. Gabe blinked then tried again in Spanish. "Stop! Identify yourself!" He repeated in the other language; being somewhat bilingual wasn't a perk in the borderlands between Burger World and Taco King, it was a necessity.

"Por favor aqua... please... water." She replied with a horse whisper, clearly struggling to think through the dehydration.

The Burger World agent hesitated. The feline had to be one of Taco King's employees and this had to be a trick, but at the same time it was the kind of trick that didn't sound like Taco King. El Jefe's battle tactics in their skirmishes with Burger World were typical of veteran guerrillas; hit and run, strike from the shadows, things like that. But starve the ever-loving hell out of one of their own employees and use them to play on the sympathies of the fat Burger World Yankees? No... there was only one thing to do and in hindsight it should have been the first thing he did...

"This is field engineer Whiskey 5 to base, come in base. I have an unidentified noncombatant at moisture condenser Hotel." The canine radioed, keeping the crawling feline in his sight while listening for a possible ambush.

"Whiskey 5, this is base... are you out on your own again Whiskey 5?" The base communicators operator asked, placing a particular emphasis on the word "again."

"Yes... Fred was scheduled to be my partner on this repair job. And he was still in bed when-"

"When you were scheduled to leave so you gave his bunk a good kick, got no response because that damn elephant could sleep through an air raid, then decided to get going so you try to clock out early today and catch the early dinner special at the Big Grub." The operator finished with an exasperated sigh. "God damn it, the base commander is going to have to have a long talk with at least one of you later. I would have requested an ambulance and a security detail but everything's all out at the Rio Grande. Do you have any ID?"

"Female, calico cat animan, jet-black hair, seems to speak better Spanish then English in her current state. Appears horribly anorexic and dehydrated... Beyond that I have no idea. I'm making her keep a safe distance from me."

"Well at least you're appropriately paranoid for someone that always works alone. Approach her carefully and tell me what you see or don't see. Once we're sure you won't be blown up, you can try rehydrating her. Are you still there?" The operator asked.

"Still here, approaching her now." Gabriel replied, black boots slowly grinding against the coarse sand of the Texan desert as he carefully crept along. The feline looked at him, her eyes growing wide with fear as she recognized the shoulder patch on his Expandex fatigues... yep, had to be Taco King. If she really were Burger World she'd probably be rubbing up against his legs like a bony kitten by now. "Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you..." He reassured the scrawny feline as he held out his free hand.

The canine Big Tool didn't exactly consider himself strong. Sure most Burger World agents actually did have some actual muscle beneath all that burger blubber and "gut muscle training" and he was no exception in that regard, but he didn't expect the feline to be so weak that he could pick her up off her feet like she was a particularly heavy box of tools, offering only a laughable resistance he lifted up the remains of her shirt. Dressed in dirty rags that at one point would have looked like a set of typical Mexican street clothes, he could easily see that the IED he was worried about was absent... as well as anything resembling a healthy body weight. Several of the larger ribs were visible, breasts were shrunken to the point where they were practically nonexistent, and her hips were not too far behind her breasts. At one point the German shepherd could have probably pictured her looking like company girls Lassie McGrubb, Samantha Fisherman, or Jennifer Moore, fat with a big bouncy booty and heavenly thunder thighs. Now though, she looked about as nasty as someone that had been hit with... Oh god no...

"Whiskey 5 to base, I'm still in the same number of pieces I was five minutes ago, subject is NOT part of some new kamikaze ploy but I think I'm about to have a PEC cell on my ass unless I get out of here now. Looks like MC Hotel is going to have remain offline for a little while longer." He reported; this job was going to have to wait.

"Understood, see you back at base in fifteen." The operator signed off.

One of the great things about living in a portable future overflowing with multifunctional gadgets was that it was very easy to pack up things up in a hurry if needed. The Clydesdale's trunk was opened remotely while repaired control unit and PortaFridge were thrown in none too gracefully before the cargo bay was slammed shut and the turrets were reactivated. The chunky motorized tricycle had just started up when the first Consortium bike jumped a nearby foothill. Turrets sprang into action and blasted the enemy motorcycles with focused microwave beams as Gabriel rode off with his mysterious new feline friend squished between him and the trike's padded seat.

Yet she didn't seem to mind being sat on by a fat canine anthro, instinctively wrapping her arms around his belly and resting her head against the back of his shoulder. The desert sun was only an hour or two away from its zenith yet she still shivered while trying to drink up the warmth of the larger rider's body heat as they drove back to Burger World's holdings in San Antonio...

A few days later...

Three days later, Gabriel lay in his bunk idly after his shift, flirting with the idea of what to do for dinner as he contemplated recent events. A lot had happened over the past few days. The feline was promptly taken to medical almost immediately after he arrived and both Gabe and his coworker Fred were taken to speak with the executive in change of BW's security assets in the city. Newcastle's chewing out was basically a drawn out backhanded compliment, criticized for being "reckless" enough to work alone in an unstable area like the borderlands between BW and TK yet subtly praised for showing the initiative to get to work even though his partner was about as helpful as a brick. Fred on the other hand was looking at a punitive transfer to a facility up in the Midwest, a boring agri-farm complex in wheat country.

Later, the canine went back out to MC Hotel with a BW Street Sumo watching his back. The massive human female was very nice and quite chatty, talking to him all the way through the rest of the repair job; Gabriel was definitely going to have to make sure to learn her name next time they worked together, which might be soon if Fred was getting shipped to grain country where he could continue "gold bricking" somewhere out of the way of people who liked to get work done. Speaking of names, the name of the feline he rescued was Sophie "Maletero" Fernandez, a combat medic Druggist with Taco King. Went missing several months ago, was believed to be kidnapped but TK apparently wasn't sure by who. Turns out the Consortium snatched her when she was off duty and basically made her spend the last three or four months being starved, chained to an exercise bike to produce electricity, and stuck, sprayed, or soaked with a variety of different versions of the traditional lipo-gun slime that made PEC the stuff of nightmares. After managing to somehow escape despite her weakened state, she apparently wandered the desert for three days without anyone finding her... until she ran into Gabriel that is.

Despite being dehydrated over the course of three days and starved for several months, Sophie responded well to lipotherapy. Progress was slow but gradually she was making greater and greater gains in her treatment. Already she looked nothing like the bony stray he had picked up in the desert, her brownish tan pelt developed a healthy looking sheen as she slowly filled out into a fairly curvaceous feline. And to think she still hadn't returned to her desired original weight yet...

Unable to ignore his grumbling greedy stomach any longer, Gabriel focused back on the present order of business, getting food and preferably a lot of it. Digging his boots out of his locker and putting them on his tan-furred feet, he looked at the inside shell of his foot locker and smiled as his fingers went through the automatic motions of lacing up his combat boots. Plastered on the inside of his foot locker, impossible to see unless one was sitting on his bunk while the top was open, were a few pictures of his favorite Burger World girls; Jennifer "Tank Ass" Moore, Lassie "Spoons" McGrubb, and "Grillin" Gracie Davies. Most of them were copied from official company promotional material but there were a few... "flattering" artistic renditions of the girls snuck in there as well. Not anything that would get him fired but certainly risqué enough for him to rightfully get his fat ass kicked if they were ever found.

Shutting the locker and walking out of the barracks, Gabriel let his canine nose lead him along with the alluring scents wafting out the mess hall. The gunmetal gray prefabricated building was starting to attract a small crowd of company agents looking to grab an early dinner or get an early start on a long one. Like a feline ghost, Sophie appeared behind the rotund canine the instant he got in line.

"Buenos tardes Gabriel." She greeted with a smile. Apparently he wasn't the only one looking up names.

"Hello Sophie, so has Taco King successfully pleaded, bargained, or threatened for your release yet?" Even if she was Taco King, it felt strange having to think of the feline as a prisoner of war, especially considering that while she was currently confined to the base, she wasn't restricted from any of the general areas like the cafeteria.

"You seem strangely at ease with the idea." She replied coolly.

"Hey, right now your colleague Dr. Cramitin is likely cursing my name for keeping you from turning into a sun-dried raisin." The Big Tool defended.

The TK feline nicknamed for her once ample trunk space chuckled, apparently Dr. Cramitin wasn't exactly MyBook friends with Sophie. "That I can't argue with, unlike your food."

"Oh now what's wrong with our food missy, especially when it gives you one of these?" He replied, gently slapping his big gut for emphasis.

"There's no flavor, no spice. It's called Tex-Mex for a reason yet somehow you forgot the part that gives the food its zest." The feline argued as they both approached the counter and picked up a tray.

"You CLEARLY haven't had the chili yet. We're going to have to change that." He replied, heaping one of everything on his tray and taking a double order of the chili. To his surprise, despite still being around half his body weight, she followed suit with the second nature of someone who was used to living large. Either she recovered her capacity a lot quicker then he thought or Newcastle was going to have two plates to clear. Either way it didn't matter to him. Make some headway on his next weight goal or watch a proper woman enjoy her food, both were a thing of beauty...

God, that feline could eat. Gabriel thought with a satisfied groan as he waddled back to his bunk after a successful binge, his bloated belly sagging down past his crotch as it peeked out from under his Expandex shirt. One tray somehow turned into three for each of them and it was only after their fourth bowl of chili did both of them decide to call it quits. Newcastle could already tell the base's methane scrubbers were going to be working hard tonight. Climbing back into his bunk, smiling as the metal frame groaned in protest of his weight, he reached down to give his gut a proud rub. Yeah... perhaps Sophie wasn't so bad for a Taco Gut, a couple months of competing with her and he might be able to go gut to gut with the mighty ursine titaness Jenny Moore. Now wouldn't that be a hoot.

Thinking of the Taco King medic, his hand went down to his pocket where she slid him a folded note after dinner. Opening it up, an old fashioned photo fell out onto his lap. Dear Newcastle, I am aware we are supposed to be enemies but I am also not one who likes to leave debts unpaid. A friend of yours tells me you like to collect pictures of pretty girls. Hope you'll add this one to your collection. - Sophie

Putting the letter back in his pocket, he turned his attention to the photo. It was of a feline woman posing for a friend somewhere in one of Mexico's larger cities. It took him a moment to recognize the calico animan in the picture; it was Sophie before she was captured. Same black hair, same green eyes, same smile... and her whip-like tawny brown tail crowning an enormous backside every bit as massively magnificent as Burger World's own tank mistress. The tricolor canine's face was transfixed in contemplation as he tried to figure out what to do with it before someone walked in. He should throw it away, flirting with the enemy and all that. But on the other hand, Maletero's picture would look nice slipped right between Tank Ass and Spoons... for contrast of course.