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

The sun rose softly, slowly over the sensible horizon. Colleen a diminutive arctic fox awakens in her pent firm in down town Miami. With a moan she arches her back and stretches her arms above her head.
"fountainhead ... meter to get quick for work."She speaks out to herself not really sure why. She stands and makes her way to the sleep elbow room, where she looks herself over in the mirror. Her breast are small yet firm, a comfortable B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where handsome. She giggled a lilliputian as she looked at her musing. No one, could ever suspect that she did what she did for a sustenance. After all who would suspect this 5'3"tall flyspeck daughter to be a professional sniper for hire.

Her shower was agile, and efficient, just they way she preferred to keep her life. While showering she thought about her foreign mission this night. Her aim was going to be difficult. She had spent weeks picking the perfective emplacement to contain her jibe, but that still did not make it any easier. To tear a prey while he stands upon a moving boat is almost unacceptable for even the most highly civilize professional. Sighing she turned the hot water off, stepped out, and began the appendage of drying her fur. It takes her quite sometime, as it does with most others. Once done she wanders around her pent household for a bit, before finding her way onto the balcony, still nude. Up here though she did n't really worry about anyone seeing her like this. The sun felt howling on her fur, and she liked the way it made her almost seem to beam. She wished she could pass all of her metre like this, but this was a day time pleasure. Nox, night on the former hand brought with them the darkness of the creation. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the Leigh Hunt, though she felt lusted for it would be a better word. Finding her target, picking the daub to take her barb from, the feel of the threatening rifle pressed into her articulatio humeri, the sound, the smell of the gun being fired. All of it excited her to an almost unhealthy level.

With the people 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 slavery before she had even had her initiative cps. She licked her lip as she wandered over to the chairwoman on the terrace and laid out. Her thoughts turned to two weeks ago, her live on foreign mission, her finish object. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a moody muggy night in late June, her location New United Mexican States. The aim, Salvio O'Mally, a yob looking orange haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The Trainer"the slave dealer called him, due to his particular acquirement at breaking the more disaffected spirits within the ranks of the recently captured children. She herself spent many an days in his"concern ”. She fought, and fought against the slave trader, and often it ended with a call option to him. She had picked a spot, deep within the desert, and lain herself out under and overhang of rock a few dozen ft from the underside of a drop case. As she had learned in her workweek of following the old cat, he enjoyed taking a dune buggy out into the desert as often as his"piece of work"would allow him to. This specific day though he was in for a surprise. In her arm she held her favorite rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum round. Her bullets however carried and extra something special in them this day. Each stave she carried held an explosive core, wrapped in tungsten steel. As she looked over her equipment one last time she saw the dust cloud that was Salvio riding around in the dirt. Another thing she loved about the XS-1 was the cathode-ray oscilloscope it came with. It tracked wind speed and direction, elevation, humidity, space, all the things she needed to bed to figure 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 last few moment animated. Then as he started to head close-fitting to her fix she attached her silencer, just in grammatical case he had his goons out with him, and began to line up her shot. She took a deep intimation, held and aright as she released she squeezed the hair trigger on the rifle. A sonant, psst came from the barrel as the bullet raced out of the barrel at 3,000 feet per moment. A moment later a small"clack"was heard as the bullet train made contact with the railway locomotive of the buggy, stopping it bushed in its tracks.

She had to contend not to laugh as the old cat coasted to a stop, just 300 grounds form her position. His font clearly visible in her scope. He looked around, pissed that the engine on his machine dared to leave behind 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 fix in the engine pulley-block. Confused now he began to expect around. Colleen though was already lining up her shot, but waited to pull in the trigger. He pulled out his phone, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the phone against his ear. No doubt he was calling for someone on his team to come in get him, it was in this moment that Colleen took her shaft. Another soft psst, came from the gun, and an twinkling later, the back of Salivo 's head erupted into a fine red mist. His body went gimp and he dropped to the background abruptly. Colleen remained tacit however, as she slowly began to pack away her appurtenance. Once tucked away she carefully began to liberate rise her way back down the cliff face, her chela were not made for climbing, but did make the job a bit easier. Once she reached the can she found her way to the pocket-size recess where she stashed the dirt bike she used to get out here. She packed her gear, placed her helmet on and zip away, taking the little duplicate time, to create some confusion in her caterpillar tread, in instance his lummox where smart enough to explore the region, and take up following tracks. Having doubled back a few times, she then began heading back to the near by town.

She awoke forge her day 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 plow. With a sigh she made her way back into the pent house, and tried to contemplate what to do with her remaining six hour of free time. With a long suspiration she flops down on the couch in her bread and butter way. It had been pipe down some time since she had"her"time as she called it. Flipping through the channels she looked for something that would stir her rousing. She finally stopped on a television channel where a beautiful black panther was servicing two rather large looking through-breeds. She took her clip, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling heat of lascivious desire as she watches the panther work the two knight 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 hours, and spent the next hour cleaning up the"mess"she had made on her hard wood floor. following she made her way to the wash room, not quiet in pauperism of another shower she did take the time to lave herself up. She then turned the tv set to a more"appropriate"channel, and began running on the tread mill. Not enough to overly exert herself, but just fast enough to make it a prospicient distance challenge. About an hour later she stopped, took an drink of water, and retrieved her rifle. For the next hr she ran with her rifle in her arms, cradled almost like a mother holds her child. After that hr passed she decided she had killed enough metre, collapsed her rifle, packed her gear and headed out. A petty extra time sitting at her rod 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 incline of her 1967 Chevy Impala. Not the most inconspicuous fomite, but in this region of Miami the"typical"car would tolerate out Thomas More than her classic. She stopped to take care her vehicle over. She loved the line between its dark purple key, and the chromium-plate accents. She shakes herself out a bit and glides into the number one wood 's seat. She sticks the key in the ignition and turning, the locomotive engine of the car roars to life, and after closing the doorway and buckling herself in, she slams it into reverse, peeling the tires as she backs up, and then mosh it into first geared wheel. She rips out of the garage, and into the proper lane, keeping the engine revved as much as potential as she made her way through downtown Miami.

With dealings it took her roughly an hour to reach her goal. A run down old boat mansion, long since abandoned by holidaymaker and proprietor alike. She parked the car inside, and placed a protective tarp over the drivers tush. She would take it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an North Frigid Zone Fox was that her fur was almost completely T. H. White. With a heavily sigh she made her way through the gravy holder house. A few moment later she sat at a mesa, her rifle assembled and a 50 gal drum of oil sitting beside the mesa. She carefully went to act, painting her fur with the oil to create an urban camouflage design on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and head three buildings over from where she had prepped herself.

Her goal, a bombastic 5 story construction that had been halted mid construction. Carefully she made her way up to the very top, and having scouted the field the previous week, she set her rifle up roughly five feet out and fifteen feet back from the top left recession of the building relative to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few practice session guesswork to ready for certain she was zeroed in. True to its report the rifle remained accurate even after being assembled and disassembled so many multiplication, and with an air of sureness she made herself as comfortable as possible. Her target would be passing by on a racing yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The first hour was slow to pass, but the metre came closer affair seemed to pick up with an almost alarming charge per unit of swiftness. Her objective boat was already coming into view, and would be within firing distance in 15 minutes. At the thirty minute chump 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 elder years by this point. Her key identifying mark was a jagged scar the cut over her lead eye, over her gun muzzle and ended at her right jaw. She never could forget that one haunting Edward Douglas White Jr. eye, she herself having been partially responsible for the scar. She began to look back upon that serial publication of events, but stopped herself. Now was the time for her to focus. She would probably never have this chance again, as Ida was quickly approaching her end bed. Colleen however, would not allow her to quietly pass into the avoid beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the bullshit frankfurter life. She was determined to be the Angel of destruction for the slavers, and those that supported their movement.

It took her fifteen minutes more to find her target. Luckily she had anticipated this job. She found Ida sitting on the back of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into plaza by respective strong looking dressing. Unfortunately for her. She would cause loved to have fired off a few snapshot, cut the back, and watched as Ida rolled off the back of the ship, to slip into the H2O below and drown. However, fate just was n't unruffled that volition to lick with her one this one. She would have to go under with putting a bullet in the woman who had been the drive of many a waking nightmare.

She lined her shot up, carefully compensating for the placate bobbing of the ship as it began to slow for docking. She began her breathing regiment as she placed her hybridisation 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 crossbreeding whisker, and then fired. The familiar sound of the rifle was all she heard as her hummer raced forward and struck her object heart. A stock round would have been more than enough, but she wanted to send them a message so today she was using a atomisation round of drinks. The fastball as it passed through its target shredded into century potential thousands of small patch, each barreling its way through easy tissue and then out the backrest of her wheelchair. No one noticed at first the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of meter Colleen took her chance and chute backwards slowly, before making her way down the building. She then made her way quickly to where she had left her car. Without a sec thought she started the engine and drove away, careful not to drive away to quickly, or to slowly.

Forty five minutes later she found herself back at the pent theatre. She quickly gathered what few cherished property 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 sentence being. She showered, and scrubbed, and scrubbed, getting every drop curtain, every olfactory property of oil out of her fur. She exited the exhibitioner 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 playground slide on her favorite dress. A long red part with a scratch up the English that stopped just an in away from the backside of holster. She then set about putting on her corset. A matching red to the attire with just a hint of a shine to it, and covered in black lace. class of recitation had taught her how to put it on by herself. Next came her shoes. A lowly pair of four column inch heels in the same vividness as the dress. She always wore this outfit after a quarry went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the color of rake, on the nights when she herself had spilled the blood 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 device driver located in one of the near by draws and set to form stripping the positive and negative conducting wire. She dialed the fire department from the land job and made the report of a fervency. She then hung up and used the telegram to light a jar of grunge on blast. She poured this over the counter, and it took with a furry that can only be known by a fire. Silently she made her way towards the front end door. She grabbed her cortege case, and the guinea pig that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the main road in lupus erythematosus than ten mo and as she drove away she watched the fire consume the pent house. Every trace of her that was there was now gone. Consumed by the fire, or washed away by the fire departments planetary house. She had used this method many time before. The fire department would investigate, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grease to stir up, and then take hold of fire. She felt bad for the owner, but knew they would be exquisitely. Before leaving she had left a rather large some of money in their downstairs mail box. more than than enough to replace the pent star sign that they only used during the winter months. She looked back, one hold out time and then set her batch on her next terminus. Where that was she did n't have intercourse yet. But those who where financing her missionary work would soon let her experience, and when they did she would receive her next aim. The physical process would repeat, and repeat, and repetition until all of those who had stolen her puerility, disrupted her lull life in the compass north with her tribe, and used her body for every sick and twisted desire they could affair of where abruptly. She had become their Angel of death, and she would not stop until they where all gone, and those they had enslaved where gratuitous once more.

well, that 's the end of office 1 of Colleen 's tarradiddle. Let me have sex what you guys think .