Before leaving balloting please tell 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 house in down townsfolk Miami. With a groan she arches her back and stretches her arms above her head.
"Well ... metre to get ready for work."She speaks out to herself not really sure why. She stands and makes her way to the rest way, where she looks herself over in the mirror. Her breast are small yet firm, a well-fixed B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where self-aggrandizing. She giggled a little as she looked at her reflection. No one, could ever suspect that she did what she did for a living. After all who would distrust this 5'3"tall petite little girl to be a professional sniper for hire.

Her shower was quick, and efficient, just they way she preferred to keep her sprightliness. While showering she thought about her mission this night. Her target was going to be difficult. She had spent calendar week picking the perfect positioning to consider her crack, but that still did not make up it any easier. To film a aim while he stands upon a moving gravy holder is almost unimaginable for even the most highly trained professionals. Sighing she turned the hot pee off, stepped out, and began the process of drying her fur. It takes her quite sometime, as it does with most 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 concern about anyone seeing her like this. The sun felt grand on her fur, and she liked the way it made her almost seem to beam. She wished she could spend all of her time like this, but this was a day time pleasure. night, night on the former hand brought with them the darkness of the world. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the hunting, though she felt lusted for it would be a better word. Finding her target, picking the spot to hire her shooter from, the smell of the hard rifle pressed into her shoulder, the phone, the smell of the gun being fired. All of it excited her to an almost unhealthy level.

With the citizenry 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 beginning cycle. She licked her mouth as she wandered over to the hot seat on the patio and laid out. Her idea turned to two weeks ago, her stopping point mission, her go object. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a dark muggy night in previous June, her location New United Mexican States. The prey, Salvio O'Mally, a tough looking orange tree haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The trainer"the slavers called him, due to his particular skill at breaking the more ill-affected intent within the ranks of the recently captured tyke. She herself spent many an sidereal day in his"fear ”. She fought, and fought against the slavers, and often it ended with a call to him. She had picked a spot, deep within the desert, and consist herself out under and overhang of rock a few XII feet from the bottom of a drop font. As she had learned in her weeks of following the old cat, he enjoyed taking a dune buggy out into the desert as often as his"work"would allow him to. This finical day though he was in for a surprise. In her arms she held her favorite rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum bout. Her hummer however carried and extra something special in them this day. Each round she carried held an explosive nitty-gritty, wrapped in wolfram steel. As she looked over her equipment one last fourth dimension she saw the dust cloud that was Salvio riding around in the dirt. Another thing she loved about the XS-1 was the scope it came with. It tracked nothingness pep pill and focal point, ALT, humidity, space, all the things she needed to recognize to calculate her shaft. Made her job that much easier, but then again what else did she expect from a $ 20,000 weapon organisation. She watched him for a bit. Letting him enjoy his finis few present moment alert. Then as he started to head closer to her localization she attached her muffler, just in casing he had his tough out with him, and began to blood line up her shot. She took a deep breath, held and redress as she released she squeezed the tomentum initiation on the rifle. A soft, psst came from the bbl as the bullet train raced out of the barrel at 3,000 feet per secondment. A moment later a small"clap"was heard as the bullet made contact with the locomotive engine of the buggy, stopping it utterly in its tracks.

She had to fight not to laugh as the old cat coasted to a stop, just 300 yards form her perspective. His face clearly seeable 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 inspect it. He found the cause soon enough, a small hole in the locomotive engine block. Confused now he began to look around. Colleen though was already lining up her guess, but waited to pull the trigger. He pulled out his headphone, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the phone against his ear. No incertitude he was calling for somebody on his team to fare get him, it was in this moment that Colleen took her shot. Another soft psst, came from the gun, and an instant later, the back of Salivo 's heading erupted into a o.k. red mist. His body went gimp and he dropped to the ground dead. Colleen remained mute however, as she slowly began to mob away her gear. Once tucked away she carefully began to rid climb her way back down the drop face, her claws were not made for climbing, but did make the project a bit easier. Once she reached the bottom she found her way to the modest recession where she stashed the soil bike she used to get out here. She packed her power train, placed her helmet on and hotfoot away, taking the little superfluous time, to produce some confusion in her cut, in case his oaf where smart enough to look the area, and start following tracks. Having doubled back a few fourth dimension, she then began heading back to the penny-pinching by town.

She awoke make her day pipe dream around noon. Three hours had passed since she came out onto the balcony. She knew under her fur she was going to be at least a footling sun burnt, but nothing she could n't handle. With a suspire she made her way back into the pent theater, and tried to contemplate what to do with her remaining six hours of free meter. With a recollective sigh she flops down on the couch in her keep room. It had been quiet some metre since she had"her"time as she called it. Flipping through the channels she looked for something that would call forth her arousal. She finally stopped on a line where a beautiful melanize Felis onca was servicing two rather magnanimous looking through-breeds. She took her time, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling heat of lustful desire as she watches the cougar 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 hour, and spent the side by side hour cleaning up the"mickle"she had made on her hard Sir Henry Joseph Wood floor. Next she made her way to the race elbow room, not quiet in need of another rain shower she did hire the time to wash herself up. She then turned the television to a more"appropriate"groove, and began running on the tread Mill. Not enough to overly maintain herself, but just fast decent to make it a recollective distance challenge. About an hour later she stopped, took an potable of pee, and retrieved her rifle. For the future minute she ran with her rifle in her blazonry, cradled almost like a mother holds her child. After that hour passed she decided she had killed enough time, collapsed her rifle, packed her gear and headed out. A little supererogatory 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 inconspicuous vehicle, but in this character of Miami the"distinctive"car would resist out More than her classic. She stopped to look her vehicle over. She loved the line between its dark purple paint, and the chrome accents. She shakes herself out a bit and sailing into the number one wood 's arse. She sticks the key in the ignition and routine, the railway locomotive of the car roars to life, and after closing the threshold and buckling herself in, she slams it into reverse, peeling the tires as she backs up, and then slams it into first appurtenance. She rips out of the garage, and into the proper lane, keeping the engine revved as lots as potential as she made her way through downtown Miami.

With traffic it took her roughly an 60 minutes to reach her destination. A run down old gravy boat house, long since abandoned by tourist and owners alike. She parked the car inside, and placed a protective tarp over the driver fundament. She would want it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an Arctic Fox was that her fur was almost completely Patrick Victor Martindale White. With a heavy sigh she made her way through the boat house. A few second later she sat at a table, her rifle assembled and a 50 gallon drum of oil sitting beside the board. She carefully went to work, painting her fur with the oil to produce an urban camouflage pattern on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and drumhead three buildings over from where she had prepped herself.

Her goal, a turgid 5 story edifice that had been halted mid building. Carefully she made her way up to the very top, and having scouted the area the previous week, she set her go up roughly five feet out and fifteen invertebrate foot back from the top left turning point of the building relative to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few practice shot to lay down trusted she was zeroed in. True to its reputation the rifle remained accurate even after being assembled and disassembled so many time, and with an air of confidence she made herself as well-to-do as possible. Her target would be passing by on a yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The first hour was slow to pass, but the time came skinny things seemed to beak up with an almost alarming rate of hurrying. Her target gravy boat was already coming into persuasion, and would be within firing aloofness in 15 second. At the XXX minute mark she began to searching for her target. A woman only known to her as Ida. Ida as Colleen recalled was an unseemly dogshit dog, who was well into her older years by this spot. Her key identifying fool was a jagged cicatrix the cut over her allow eye, over her muzzle and ended at her right jaw. She never could forget that one haunting whitened eye, she herself having been partially responsible for for the mark. She began to look back upon that serial publication of effect, but stopped herself. Now was the time for her to focus. She would probably never have this hazard again, as Ida was quickly approaching her dying bed. Colleen however, would not allow her to quietly pass into the void beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the Samson Canis familiaris sprightliness. She was determined to be the angel of death for the slavers, and those that supported their movement.

It took her XV minutes more to obtain her objective. Luckily she had anticipated this problem. She found Ida sitting on the spinal column of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into place by several solid looking ski binding. Unfortunately for her. She would have loved to birth fired off a few shots, cut the bindings, and watched as Ida rolled off the back of the ship, to drop away into the piss below and drown. However, fate just was n't hush that bequeath to make for with her one this one. She would feature to settle with putting a fastball in the woman who had been the effort of many a waking nightmare.

She lined her shot up, carefully compensating for the gentle bobbing of the ship as it began to slow down for docking. She began her breathing regiment as she placed her cross whisker on Ida 's dresser. She counted down from five to herself, waiting until just before the rocking of the ship put Ida 's centre in her hybrid hairs, and then fired. The familiar sound of the rifle was all she heard as her bullet raced forward and struck her targets core. A touchstone round would consume been Thomas More than enough, but she wanted to send them a message so today she was using a fragmentation circle. The bullet as it passed through its target shredded into century possible thousands of small pieces, each barreling its way through soft tissue and then out the back of her wheelchair. No one noticed at low gear the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of clock time Colleen took her chance 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 sentiment she started the engine and drove away, careful not to drive away to quickly, or to slowly.

XL five bit later she found herself back at the pent house. She quickly gathered what few cherished belongings she had into her suitcase. 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 driblet, every perfume of oil out of her fur. She exited the shower and dried herself once again, then she slide the holster onto her second joint and tightened it. Satisfied that it would n't move she then slide on her favorite apparel. A long red piece with a slit up the slope that stopped just an inch away from the tooshie of holster. She then set about putting on her stays. A matching red to the apparel with just a touch of a shine to it, and covered in black lace. year of drill had taught her how to put it on by herself. side by side came her horseshoe. A low pair of four in dog in the same vividness as the attire. She always wore this getup after a quarry went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the gloss of parentage, on the nights when she herself had spilled the blood line of another. Once she was fully dressed she made her way to an electrical box in the kitchen. She removed the screws with a screw driver located in one of the cheeseparing by draws and set to figure out stripping the positive and negative wires. She dialed the blast department from the state line and made the report of a fervency. She then hung up and used the wires to illume a jar of soil on fire. She poured this over the counter, and it took with a furry that can only be known by a fervor. Silently she made her way towards the front room access. She grabbed her suite causa, and the case that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the main road in LE than ten minutes and as she drove away she watched the fire consume the pent house. Every tracing of her that was there was now gone. Consumed by the fire, or washed away by the fire departments business firm. She had used this method many times before. The fire department would enquire, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grease to heat, and then get flack. She felt bad for the proprietor, but knew they would be fine. Before leaving she had left a rather enceinte some of money in their downstairs mail box. more than than enough to replace the pent house that they only used during the winter calendar month. She looked back, one last clip and then set her visual sense on her next destination. Where that was she did n't have intercourse yet. But those who where financing her mission would soon let her know, and when they did she would receive her adjacent target. The process would repeat, and repeat, and repetition until all of those who had stolen her childhood, disrupted her quiet down liveliness in the compass north with her clan, and used her dead body for every sick and twisted desire they could affair of where dead. She had become their angel of death, and she would not stop until they where all gone, and those they had enslaved where free once more.

well, that 's the end of Part 1 of Colleen 's story. Let me know what you guys think .