Before leaving right to vote please say 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 town Miami. With a groan she arches her back and stretches her blazon above her head.
"Well ... clock time to get ready for work."She speaks out to herself not really certain why. She stands and makes her way to the rest elbow room, where she looks herself over in the mirror. Her bosom are small yet business firm, a prosperous B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where boastful. She giggled a little as she looked at her reflection. No one, could ever suspect that she did what she did for a sustenance. After all who would suspect this 5'3"tall petite daughter to be a master sniper for hire.

Her exhibitor was quick, and effective, just they way she preferred to hold open her life sentence. While showering she thought about her mission this night. Her target was going to be difficult. She had spent workweek picking the perfect location to take her scene, but that still did not make it any easy. To shoot a target while he stands upon a moving boat is almost unsufferable for even the most highly civilize professionals. Sighing she turned the hot water 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 firm 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 wonderful on her fur, and she liked the way it made her almost seem to glow. She wished she could drop all of her fourth dimension like this, but this was a day time pleasance. Night, Nox on the other hand brought with them the darkness of the world. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the Holman Hunt, though she felt lusted for it would be a secure word. Finding her target, picking the spot to take her dead reckoning 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 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 intimate slavery before she had even had her first cycle. She licked her lips as she wandered over to the chair on the patio and laid out. Her idea turned to two weeks ago, her concluding mission, her last target. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a dark muggy night in of late June, her location New Mexico. The mark, Salvio O'Mally, a toughie looking orangeness 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 spirits within the ranks of the recently captured baby. She herself spent many an days in his"attention ”. She fought, and fought against the slave dealer, and often it ended with a call to him. She had picked a spot, deep within the desert, and lie herself out under and overhang of rock a few XII foot from the bottom of a drop face. 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 exceptional day though he was in for a surprise. In her arms she held her pet rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum round of drinks. Her bullet train however carried and spear carrier something peculiar in them this day. Each round she carried held an explosive centre, wrapped in tungsten sword. As she looked over her equipment one live sentence she saw the dust swarm that was Salvio riding around in the soil. Another affair she loved about the XS-1 was the oscilloscope it came with. It tracked wind speed and centering, altitude, humidity, distance, all the things she needed to lie with to direct her dig. Made her job that much sluttish, but then again what else did she have a bun in the oven from a $ 20,000 arm scheme. She watched him for a bit. Letting him revel his last few moment animated. Then as he started to head confining to her placement she attached her silencer, just in case he had his goons out with him, and began to line up her shooter. She took a deep intimation, held and properly as she released she squeezed the hair trigger on the rifle. A balmy, psst came from the barrel as the smoke raced out of the barrel at 3,000 feet per second. A moment later a minor"clack"was heard as the bullet train made inter-group communication with the engine of the buggy, stopping it dead in its tracks.

She had to crusade not to laugh as the old cat coasted to a layover, just 300 yards take form her place. His face clearly visible in her setting. He looked around, pissed that the locomotive engine on his machine dared to entrust him stranded in the woods. He then got out of the vehicle and began to inspect it. He found the grounds soon enough, a low mess in the railway locomotive stop. Confused now he began to look around. Colleen though was already lining up her crack, but waited to pull the initiation. He pulled out his telephone set, 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 squad to come get him, it was in this moment that Colleen took her shot. Another soft psst, came from the gun, and an flash later, the spinal column of Salivo 's chief erupted into a fine red mist. His torso went hobble and he dropped to the ground stagnant. Colleen remained silent however, as she slowly began to pack away her power train. Once tucked away she carefully began to unloosen upgrade her way back down the cliff boldness, her nipper were not made for climbing, but did realize the task a bit easier. Once she reached the fanny she found her way to the lowly corner where she stashed the stain bike she used to get out here. She packed her cogwheel, placed her helmet on and speed up away, taking the footling extra clock time, to create some confusedness in her tracks, in case his strong-armer where smart enough to search the surface area, and start following tracks. Having doubled back a few times, she then began heading back to the nearly by town.

She awoke organise her day dream around noon. Three minute had passed since she came out onto the balcony. She knew under her fur she was going to be at least a little sun burnt, but nothing she could n't manage. With a sigh she made her way back into the pent house, and tried to study what to do with her remaining six time of day of detached clock time. With a tenacious suspire she flops down on the couch in her living way. It had been quietly some time since she had"her"clock time as she called it. Flipping through the channels she looked for something that would shake her arousal. She finally stopped on a channel where a beautiful melanise mountain lion was servicing two rather big looking through-breeds. She took her sentence, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling heat of salacious desire as she watches the Panthera onca 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 hours, and spent the next time of day cleaning up the"tidy sum"she had made on her severely wood floor. succeeding she made her way to the wash elbow room, not quiet in need of another rain shower she did fill the meter to lap herself up. She then turned the television to a more"seize"communication channel, and began running on the tread manufacturing plant. Not enough to overly exert herself, but just fast plenty to cause it a long space challenge. About an hour later she stopped, took an drink of water, and retrieved her rifle. For the adjacent time of day she ran with her rifle in her weapons system, cradled almost like a mother holds her kid. After that 60 minutes passed she decided she had killed adequate time, collapsed her rifle, packed her gear 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 inconspicuous vehicle, but in this part of Miami the"typical"car would stand out more than than her classic. She stopped to look her vehicle over. She loved the direct contrast between its dark purple blusher, and the chrome accents. She shakes herself out a bit and sailing into the driver 's rear end. She sticks the key in the ignition and turn, the engine of the car roars to life, and after closing the door and buckling herself in, she slams it into reverse, peeling the tires as she backs up, and then bang it into first gear. She rips out of the garage, and into the right lane, keeping the locomotive revved as much as possible as she made her way through downtown Miami.

With dealings it took her roughly an 60 minutes to progress to her destination. A run down old gravy holder house, long since abandoned by tourist and owners alike. She parked the car inside, and placed a protective tarp over the drivers rump. She would need it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an arctic Fox was that her fur was almost completely blanched. With a intemperate suspiration she made her way through the boat planetary house. A few minutes later she sat at a table, her rifle assembled and a 50 gallon drum of oil sitting beside the table. She carefully went to work, painting her fur with the oil to create an urban camouflage pattern on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and head three buildings over from where she had prepped herself.

Her goal, a with child 5 story 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 base out and 15 metrical unit back from the top left recession of the edifice congener to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few practice shot to pee-pee for certain she was zeroed in. True to its reputation the rifle remained accurate even after being assembled and disassembled so many times, and with an air of confidence she made herself as comfortable as possible. Her objective would be passing by on a racing yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The offset hour was slow to conk, but the time came nigher things seemed to pick up with an almost alarming rate of fastness. Her objective gravy boat was already coming into view, and would be within firing distance in fifteen hour. At the thirty mo mark she began to searching for her target. A woman only known to her as Ida. Ida as Colleen recalled was an unseemly papal bull dog, who was well into her older yr by this head. Her key identifying home run was a jaggy scar the cut over her unexpended eye, over her gag and ended at her right jaw. She never could draw a blank that one haunting white eye, she herself having been partially responsible for for the scar. She began to look back upon that series of upshot, but stopped herself. Now was the time for her to focalise. She would probably never have this probability again, as Ida was quickly approaching her expiry bed. Colleen however, would not allow her to quietly pass into the avoid beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the bull heel life. She was determined to be the saint of death for the slavers, and those that supported their movement.

It took her fifteen transactions more to happen her target. Luckily she had anticipated this problem. She found Ida sitting on the back of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into place by respective impregnable looking bindings. Unfortunately for her. She would have loved to accept fired off a few shots, cut the bindings, and watched as Ida rolled off the backbone of the ship, to slip into the waters below and drown. However, fate just was n't quiet that volition to ferment with her one this one. She would have to settle with putting a fastball in the cleaning lady who had been the cause of many a waking nightmare.

She lined her shot 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 crisscross hairs on Ida 's chest. She counted down from five to herself, waiting until just before the rocking of the ship put Ida 's heart in her crossbreed whisker, and then fired. The familiar sound of the rifle was all she heard as her bullet raced forward and struck her target heart. A standard round would take in been more than enough, but she wanted to send out them a subject matter so today she was using a fragmentation round. The bullet as it passed through its target area shredded into one C possible thousands of belittled pieces, each barreling its way through subdued tissue and then out the cover of her wheelchair. No one noticed at world-class the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of meter 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 indorse view she started the engine and labour away, thrifty not to labour away to quickly, or to slowly.

Forty five minutes later she found herself back at the pent house. She quickly gathered what few valued belongings she had into her traveling bag. She then retrieved the shooting iron 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 drop, every scent 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 favorite dress. A long red piece with a slit up the position that stopped just an in away from the bottom of holster. She then set about putting on her corset. A matching red to the dress with just a jot of a effulgence to it, and covered in black lace. Years of drill had taught her how to put it on by herself. Next came her shoes. A modest pair of four in heel in the Saame colouring as the dress. She always wore this outfit after a target went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the colour of roue, on the Night 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 shag with a screw driver located in one of the near by attracter and set to do work stripping the positive and negative conducting wire. She dialed the fervidness department from the country line and made the report of a flack. She then hung up and used the conducting wire to dismount a jar of grease on fire. 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 forepart door. She grabbed her rooms slip, and the case that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the highway in lupus erythematosus than ten minutes and as she drove away she watched the fervor consume the pent house. Every trace of her that was there was now gone. Consumed by the fire, or washed away by the ardour departments sign of the zodiac. She had used this method many time before. The fervidness department would investigate, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grease to heat, and then fascinate attack. She felt bad for the possessor, but knew they would be amercement. Before leaving she had left a rather large some of money in their downstairs mail box. to a greater extent than enough to supercede the pent household that they only used during the winter calendar month. She looked back, one last fourth dimension and then set her pot on her next destination. Where that was she did n't know yet. But those who where financing her mission would soon let her know, and when they did she would receive her next target area. The outgrowth would repeat, and repetition, and repeat until all of those who had stolen her childhood, disrupted her quiet life story in the north with her tribe, and used her body for every sick and twisted desire they could thing of where all in. She had become their angel of death, and she would not terminate 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 call up .