Before leaving votes please enjoin me what you did/ did n't like.

The sun rose softly, slowly over the horizon. Colleen a petite arctic fox awakens in her pent family in down townspeople Miami. With a groan she arches her back and stretches her arms above her head.
"Well ... time to get make for work."She speaks out to herself not really surely why. She stands and makes her way to the relief room, where she looks herself over in the mirror. Her boob are small yet firm, a comfortable B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where bigger. She giggled a little as she looked at her reflection. No one, could ever suspect that she did what she did for a livelihood. After all who would suspect this 5'3"tall petite girl to be a professional sniper for hire.

Her shower was promptly, and efficient, just they way she preferred to maintain her lifetime. While showering she thought about her deputation this night. Her aim was going to be difficult. She had spent weeks picking the perfect location to take her stab, but that still did not cause it any comfortable. To shoot down a target while he stands upon a moving boat is almost unimaginable for even the most highly educate professionals. Sighing she turned the hot water system off, stepped out, and began the process of drying her fur. It takes her quite sometime, as it does with to the highest degree others. Once done she wanders around her pent house for a bit, before finding her way onto the balcony, still nude. Up here though she did n't really interest about anyone seeing her like this. The sun felt wonderful on her fur, and she liked the way it made her almost seem to glow. She wished she could spend all of her time like this, but this was a day time delight. Night, night on the early mitt brought with them the wickedness of the cosmos. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the William Holman Hunt, though she felt lusted for it would be a better word. Finding her quarry, picking the spot to subscribe her pellet from, the feel of the heavy rifle pressed into her shoulder, the sound, the smell of the gun being fired. All of it excited her to an almost unhealthy level.

With the hoi polloi she was taking out though it was a well deserved joy. After all, what could be better than taking out those that had forced you into sexual bondage before she had even had her 1st cycle. She licked her lips as she wandered over to the chair on the patio and laid out. Her thoughts turned to two hebdomad ago, her live on delegation, her last target. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a sinister muggy Nox in late June, her location New Mexico. The target, Salvio O'Mally, a yobo looking orange haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The Trainer"the slave owner called him, due to his item skill at breaking the more malcontent spirits within the social status of the recently captured baby. She herself spent many an years in his"care ”. She fought, and fought against the slavers, and often it ended with a cry to him. She had picked a pip, deep within the desert, and lie down herself out under and overhang of rock a few dozen feet from the buttocks of a cliff face. As she had learned in her weeks of following the old cat, he enjoyed taking a dune roadster out into the desert as often as his"piece of work"would earmark him to. This finical day though he was in for a surprisal. In her sleeve she held her favorite rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum round of golf. Her heater however carried and extra something special in them this day. Each round she carried held an volatile core, wrapped in tungsten steel. As she looked over her equipment one last-place time she saw the junk swarm that was Salvio riding around in the dirt. Another thing she loved about the XS-1 was the range it came with. It tracked wind f number and direction, altitude, humidness, distance, all the things she needed to know to look her barb. Made her job that much easier, but then again what else did she await from a $ 20,000 weapon system. She watched him for a bit. Letting him enjoy his last few moment alive. Then as he started to manoeuver snug to her locating she attached her silencer, just in causa he had his goons out with him, and began to line up her crack. She took a mystifying breathing space, held and in good order as she released she squeezed the hair's-breadth induction on the rifle. A soft, psst came from the barrel as the bullet raced out of the drum at 3,000 invertebrate foot per second. A moment later a small"clack"was heard as the slug made contact with the engine of the roadster, stopping it absolutely in its tracks.

She had to fight not to express mirth as the old cat coasted to a stop, just 300 yards organize her position. His face clearly visible in her scope. He looked around, pissed that the engine on his machine dared to leave him stranded in the woods. He then got out of the vehicle and began to scrutinise it. He found the movement soon enough, a modest hole in the locomotive engine block. Confused now he began to look around. Colleen though was already lining up her shot, but waited to pull the trigger. He pulled out his headphone, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the earphone against his ear. No doubt he was calling for someone on his team to do get him, it was in this moment that Colleen took her blastoff. Another cushy psst, came from the gun, and an second later, the backrest of Salivo 's promontory erupted into a all right red mist. His body went hobble and he dropped to the soil dead. Colleen remained mum however, as she slowly began to pack away her gear. Once tucked away she carefully began to free acclivity her way back down the drop facial expression, her claws were not made for climbing, but did make the task a bit easier. Once she reached the behind she found her way to the low recess where she stashed the dirt bike she used to get out here. She packed her gearing, placed her helmet on and cannonball along away, taking the little extra sentence, to create some confusion in her rail, in case his goons where smart enough to look the area, and set out following tracks. Having doubled back a few multiplication, she then began heading back to the near by town.

She awoke form her day aspiration around noon. Three hour had passed since she came out onto the balcony. She knew under her fur she was going to be at to the lowest degree a minuscule sun burnt, but nix she could n't cover. With a sigh she made her way back into the pent house, and tried to muse what to do with her remaining six hours of free people time. With a retentive sigh she flops down on the couch in her animation elbow room. It had been repose some meter since she had"her"time as she called it. Flipping through the channels she looked for something that would stir her arousal. She finally stopped on a channel where a beautiful black jaguar was servicing two rather large looking through-breeds. She took her clip, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling rut of lewd desire as she watches the panther work the two horses over. She held herself off as long as she could, but all to soon, she caved in to her desires and came. In this way she passed two minute, and spent the following hour cleaning up the"mess"she had made on her hard wood floor. Next she made her way to the wash room, not quiet in need of another shower she did take the time to wash herself up. She then turned the television to a more"appropriate"channel, and began running on the tread pulverization. Not enough to overly exert herself, but just fast decent to progress to it a long distance challenge. About an time of day later she stopped, took an drunkenness of water, and retrieved her rifle. For the next hr she ran with her rifle in her arms, cradled almost like a female parent holds her child. After that hour passed she decided she had killed enough metre, collapsed her rifle, packed her power train and headed out. A little extra time sitting at her perch was n't going to do her any harm. She figured as she headed out the door. She made her way down to the garage and tossed her bag into the passenger side of her 1967 Chevy Impala. Not the most invisible vehicle, but in this part of Miami the"typical"car would stand out more than her authoritative. She stopped to look her vehicle over. She loved the direct contrast between its moody purpleness paint, and the chrome accents. She shakes herself out a bit and sailing into the device driver 's buttocks. She sticks the key in the kindling and bout, the engine of the car roars to life, and after closing the door and buckling herself in, she slams it into setback, peeling the tires as she backs up, and then slams it into first gear. She rips out of the garage, and into the proper lane, keeping the locomotive revved as much as possible as she made her way through downtown Miami.

With traffic it took her roughly an 60 minutes to reach her terminus. A run down old boat planetary house, long since abandoned by tourist and possessor alike. She parked the car inside, and placed a protective tarp over the number one wood stern. She would ask it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an Arctic Zone Fox was that her fur was almost completely white. With a overweight sigh she made her way through the boat sign of the zodiac. A few hour later she sat at a tabular array, her rifle assembled and a 50 gallon tympan of oil sitting beside the tabular array. She carefully went to work, painting her fur with the oil to make an urban camouflage pattern on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and point three buildings over from where she had prepped herself.

Her goal, a enceinte 5 narration building that had been halted mid construction. Carefully she made her way up to the very top, and having scouted the area the previous week, she set her rifle up roughly five invertebrate foot out and fifteen foot back from the top left niche of the edifice congener to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few practice session shot to realise sure she was zeroed in. True to its reputation the rifle remained exact even after being assembled and disassembled so many times, and with an air of trust she made herself as well-to-do as possible. Her object would be passing by on a yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The for the first time 60 minutes was slow to legislate, but the metre came stuffy matter seemed to pick up with an almost alarming pace of speed. Her butt boat was already coming into view, and would be within firing distance in fifteen minutes. At the XXX second scratch she began to searching for her target. A woman only known to her as Ida. Ida as Colleen recalled was an unseemly bull dog, who was well into her honest-to-god years by this peak. Her key key mark was a jagged scar the cut over her left eye, over her gun muzzle and ended at her mighty jaw. She never could block that one haunting E. B. White eye, she herself having been partially responsible for the cicatrice. She began to attend back upon that series of events, but stopped herself. Now was the time for her to concentre. She would probably never have this chance again, as Ida was quickly approaching her last bed. Colleen however, would not allow her to quietly pass into the vacuum beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the bull dogs living. She was determined to be the angel of demise for the slavers, and those that supported their movement.

It took her 15 minutes more to find her target. Luckily she had anticipated this problem. She found Ida sitting on the spine of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into place by various strong looking bindings. Unfortunately for her. She would have loved to have fired off a few pellet, cut the bindings, and watched as Ida rolled off the vertebral column of the ship, to sneak into the water supply below and drown. However, fate just was n't quiet that willing to work with her one this one. She would have to settle with putting a bullet in the char who had been the cause of many a waking nightmare.

She lined her crack up, carefully compensating for the gentle bobbing of the ship as it began to slow for docking. She began her breathing regiment as she placed her hybridizing whisker on Ida 's chest. She counted down from five to herself, waiting until just before the rocking of the ship put Ida 's inwardness in her crisscross hairs, and then fired. The intimate sound of the rifle was all she heard as her slug raced forward and struck her targets heart. A banner round would have been More than enough, but she wanted to send them a substance so today she was using a atomisation round. The bullet as it passed through its aim shredded into century possible thou of small pieces, each barreling its way through easygoing tissue paper and then out the back of her wheelchair. No one noticed at world-class the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of time Colleen took her fortune and slide backwards slowly, before making her way down the building. She then made her way quickly to where she had left her car. Without a second view she started the engine and force away, careful not to drive away to quickly, or to slowly.

40 five minutes later she found herself back at the pent house. She quickly gathered what few cute belongings she had into her traveling bag. She then retrieved the pistol she kept by the bed, and tucked it into a leg holster, which she set aside for the time being. She showered, and scrubbed, and scrubbed, getting every cliff, every fragrance of oil out of her fur. She exited the shower and dried herself once again, then she slide the holster onto her thigh and tightened it. Satisfied that it would n't move she then slide on her darling dress. A long red piece with a puss up the side that stopped just an inch away from the bottom of holster. She then set about putting on her girdle. A matching red to the apparel with just a hint of a shine to it, and covered in black lace. Years of pattern had taught her how to put it on by herself. Next came her place. A modest dyad of four inch hound in the same colouration as the dress. She always wore this getup after a object went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the colouration of pedigree, on the nighttime when she herself had spilled the profligate of another. Once she was fully dressed she made her way to an electrical box in the kitchen. She removed the turnkey with a gaoler device driver located in one of the near by lot and set to ferment stripping the positive and negative wires. She dialed the firing department from the land line and made the report of a fire. She then hung up and used the wire to dismount a jar of grime on fire. She poured this over the tabulator, and it took with a furry that can only be known by a fire. Silently she made her way towards the front line threshold. She grabbed her suite case, and the cause that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the highway in less than ten bit and as she drove away she watched the fire consume the pent sign of the zodiac. Every trace of her that was there was now gone. Consumed by the fire, or washed away by the blast departments houses. She had used this method acting many times before. The fire section would inquire, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grease to heat, and then catch fire. She felt bad for the owners, but knew they would be very well. Before leaving she had left a rather big some of money in their downstairs chain armour box. More than enough to replace the pent sign of the zodiac that they only used during the wintertime months. She looked back, one last time and then set her sights on her side by side finish. Where that was she did n't have intercourse yet. But those who where financing her missionary post would soon let her know, and when they did she would receive her following target. The process would iterate, and repeat, and repeat until all of those who had stolen her childhood, disrupted her quiet sprightliness in the north with her kindred, and used her eubstance for every sick and twisted desire they could thing of where bushed. She had become their saint of demise, and she would not stop until they where all gone, and those they had enslaved where free once more.

wellspring, that 's the end of persona 1 of Colleen 's story. Let me know what you guys believe .