Britney was dressed to kill. A slender and shapely vixen with auburn fur and a white underbelly, she pulled off her overcoat as she approached the ear-high fence, reveling that beneath, she was only wearing crimson lingerie. She spent a moment or two reading the very large sign that was hung on the chain link fence, tracing a finger over the words as if she needed some aid in understanding. The sign simply warned that if any macros were to pass this point, they would no longer be protected by the law and treaty. On the opposite side of the fence, was the same sign, only smaller, lower to the ground, and explaining that if a micro were to pass, they would no longer be protected. Funny, how all that separated macros and micros could be such a thin layer of chain link, that the micros actually thought that might stop someone. That the micros actually thought words on the treaty paper might spare them. The fence was easy to scale. Britney reached the top and leapt down in all of four seconds. She landed gracefully on the other side, in "Micro Country", and set about on her merry way.
The micros had built their cities deep into their territory, far away from the fence, so at first, Britney could not see anything on the horizon. It was a little disheartening. Somehow she had hoped that she would scale the fence and instantly have thousands of servants at her paws, a thousand more morsels to disappear down her gullet and a thousand after that to serve as her pleasure toys. But no, she walked for a few minutes, and never found anything that might entice her excitement. As far as she could see, there was merely miles of barren grassy landscape. A couple rolling hills that would probably be mountains to the micros. But no signs of life.
Cupping her hand over her eyes and squinting forward, she finally saw the first signs of life. Like a swarm of locust, a large platoon of helicopters was approaching her position. She shrugged her shoulders softly, and sighed. Though she would rather play the rampaging monster in the confines of a city, this would do for now. Truth be told, she was new to this sort of game. Maybe it would be better to tear through the local military before she made her grand entrance, get a little practice in how to toy and play with the micros, before she really began.
She took a step forward to meet the swarm, and suddenly felt a surge of agony run up her foot. So intense and sudden was this pain that she leapt back, and landed painfully on her rump and tail. Pulling her foot to her chest so she could see it better, she saw the skin of her entire pad had been scorched off, and looking to the spot she had stepped, she realized she had placed her foot down on a landmine of some sort.
She wasn't supposed to get hurt. The micros weren't supposed to fight back like this. And yet the pain in her foot was throbbing. Her sharp eyes could see little traces of shrapnel deep inside the wound, and she realized she was bleeding, not intensely, but bleeding none the less. Everyone told her the bombs would bounce off her fur like rain drops. She rose angry, keeping the pressure off her wounded pad, and she gave a roar at the approaching helicopters.
The helicopters (there was perhaps nine or ten of them), spread apart quickly as they grew closer. When Britney swung a hand through their ranks, she found her hand passing harmlessly through the air. And then came the bullets. Biting like bee stings, all ten of the helicopters opened fire with side mounted gunners. Her long fur stopped a fair number of the bullets, but the sheer volume meant that if only ten percent of the total number fired punctured skin, she would still feel a thousand little bee stings over her arms and bare belly and breasts. These were a nuisance, but they hurt. She swung and hissed and snapped her jaws angrily, trying to knock the helicopters out of the sky, but the pilots were skilled at this sort of warfare. They saw the angle her massive paw was descending at, and they adjusted their flight so that it missed by a few inches. That only frustrated her even further, because if they evaded by a mile, she might feel accomplishment that she was disturbing their ranks. But no, they barely inched to the side, and the shots could continue to rain down upon her.
And then, one of the helicopters grew more brazen, and began to fly higher, and circle around her head. Those little bee stings and flea nips attacked her ears, her nose; both places with far less fur to protect, and it wasn't long before she was forced to lift her hands to defend herself, less she be shot in the eyes.
"You little bastards!" she screamed. "I'm going to kill you all! I'm going to munch you into dust and grind your children under my paw!"
In defending her face from the bee stings, she left her torso and arms, legs and groin, open to assault. The little stings and snaps were at first just an irritant, but now were starting to hurt more and more. Her foot, with the shrapnel making it bleed, was starting to burn like fire, and she found it increasingly difficult to put weight onto it. To better guard herself from the biting bullets, Britney squatted forward and protected her head with her hands. Only exposing her back, she hoped that the fur and skin would be thick enough that the bullets wouldn't penetrate her, at least until she could figure out how to fight back. She just wished that the bullets didn't sting so bad. Poison? Had the micros actually laced their bullets with poisons?
This position Britney was in was precarious at best, because she had to compensate for her inflamed paw. Nine of the helicopter gunner took this opportunity and united behind her. Trading their mounted turrets for rocket launchers, they settled their aim on her upper back: between her shoulder blades and her neck, and released in unison. The rockets crashed upon her back, the force enough to knock her down, the fire enough to burn her fur, and the shrapnel stung and burned as it ripped through her fur and flesh and found its way into her flesh, making her bleed. Blood was the mark of success, and she could faintly hear the micros as they cheered that they had again struck crimson.
"You little..." Britney screamed, turning and hissing and roaring at the helicopters. "You little monsters. You little ants! I'll devour you-"
The tenth helicopter gunner lifted his rocket launcher to his eye, taking note of how the macro's jaws opened and closed as she screamed. He squeezed the trigger when he thought the time was right, and Britney, so focused on her shouting and snarls, did not notice the small projectile as it raced through the air. Her mouth was open when it crashed into her mouth, and hit the back of her throat before it exploded. She retched forward, gagging and vomiting blood and fire onto the ground. She cast one more hateful gaze at the helicopters, before collapsing forward and laying still. Bullets and rockets continued to rain down upon her, now focusing on her face, until her growls and tears and screams had ceased. They continued their assault for a few more minutes, to be sure, and then the helicopters pulled up in unison and returned to their formation.
"This is Captain Nine," said the micro gunner in the tenth helicopter, the one responsible for delivering the fatal blow to the giant. "Job well done guys. Let's go home."