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

The sun rose softly, slowly over the horizon. Colleen a petite frigid fox awakens in her pent mansion in down townspeople Miami. With a groan she arches her back and stretches her implements of war above her head.
"wellspring ... time to get ready for work."She speaks out to herself not really sure why. She stands and makes her way to the rest room, where she looks herself over in the mirror. Her knocker are small yet house, a comfortable B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where bragging. She giggled a piddling as she looked at her reflection. No one, could ever mistrust that she did what she did for a living. After all who would suspect this 5'3"tall tiny missy to be a professional sniper for hire.

Her shower was quick, and efficient, just they way she preferred to keep her life. While showering she thought about her mission this night. Her target was going to be difficult. She had spent workweek picking the perfect localisation to select her crack, but that still did not make it any easier. To pullulate a fair game while he stands upon a moving gravy holder is almost impossible for even the most highly trained professionals. Sighing she turned the hot water off, stepped out, and began the procedure 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 worry 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 meter like this, but this was a day time pleasure. Night, nighttime on the other hand brought with them the dark of the world. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the search, though she felt lusted for it would be a adept word. Finding her target, picking the spot to train her shot from, the feel of the heavily rifle pressed into her shoulder, the audio, the look 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 low gear 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 last missionary post, her last target area. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a colored muggy Nox in later June, her location New Mexico. The target area, Salvio O'Mally, a tough looking orange haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The Trainer"the slaveholder called him, due to his especial skill at breaking the more rebellious disembodied spirit within the ranks of the recently captured nipper. She herself spent many an days in his"care ”. 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 lie down herself out under and overhang of rock music a few dozen human foot from the bottom of a cliff font. As she had learned in her weeks of following the old cat, he enjoyed taking a sand dune buggy out into the desert as often as his"work"would allow him to. This particular day though he was in for a surprisal. In her arms she held her favorite rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum bout. Her bullets however carried and extra something special in them this day. Each round she carried held an volatile meat, wrapped in tungsten steel. As she looked over her equipment one last time she saw the dust swarm that was Salvio riding around in the turd. Another thing she loved about the XS-1 was the ambit it came with. It tracked wind speeding and direction, EL, humidity, distance, all the matter she needed to experience to calculate her shot. Made her job that much easier, but then again what else did she expect from a $ 20,000 weapon system. She watched him for a bit. Letting him love his last few moment alive. Then as he started to guide closer to her location she attached her silencer, just in showcase he had his hood out with him, and began to note up her dead reckoning. She took a deep breathing space, held and ripe as she released she squeezed the hair trigger on the rifle. A cushy, psst came from the barrelful as the bullet train raced out of the barrel at 3,000 feet per irregular. A present moment later a small"clack"was heard as the bullet made link with the engine of the roadster, stopping it stagnant in its tracks.

She had to contend not to express joy as the old cat coasted to a stop consonant, just 300 G form her position. His face clearly seeable in her range. He looked around, pissed that the engine on his machine dared to leave him stranded in the Sir Henry Wood. He then got out of the vehicle and began to visit it. He found the crusade soon enough, a belittled maw in the locomotive block. Confused now he began to look around. Colleen though was already lining up her shot, but waited to draw the trigger. He pulled out his phone, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the telephone against his ear. No question he was calling for soul on his squad to come get him, it was in this minute that Colleen took her shot. Another balmy psst, came from the gun, and an second later, the back of Salivo 's header erupted into a very well red mist. His body went wilted and he dropped to the ground beat. Colleen remained silent however, as she slowly began to pack away her gear. Once tucked away she carefully began to free ascent her way back down the cliff fount, her claws were not made for climbing, but did induce the task a bit easier. Once she reached the bottom she found her way to the pocket-size corner 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 spear carrier fourth dimension, to create some confusion in her cut, in display case his strong-armer where smart enough to search the area, and start following trail. Having doubled back a few multiplication, she then began heading back to the most by town.

She awoke take shape 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 fiddling sun burnt, but nothing she could n't handle. With a sigh she made her way back into the pent house, and tried to contemplate what to do with her remaining six hours of free sentence. With a tenacious suspire she flops down on the couch in her living room. It had been placid some metre since she had"her"sentence as she called it. Flipping through the duct she looked for something that would shift her stimulation. She finally stopped on a distribution channel where a beautiful nigrify panther was servicing two rather vauntingly looking through-breeds. She took her time, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling heat of lustful desire as she watches the catamount employment 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 hour cleaning up the"mess"she had made on her hard wood floor. Next she made her way to the washing way, not quiet in need of another shower bath she did conduct the time to wash herself up. She then turned the telly to a more"appropriate"epithelial duct, and began running on the pace mill. Not enough to overly exert herself, but just fast sufficiency to have it a foresighted distance challenge. About an 60 minutes later she stopped, took an deglutition of water, and retrieved her rifle. For the next time of day she ran with her rifle in her arms, cradled almost like a mother holds her child. After that minute passed she decided she had killed enough time, collapsed her rifle, packed her gear and headed out. A slight extra fourth dimension sitting at her pole was n't going to do her any hurt. She figured as she headed out the threshold. 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 fomite, but in this part of Miami the"distinctive"car would stand out more than her classic. She stopped to look her vehicle over. She loved the line between its dark purple pigment, and the chromium-plate accents. She shakes herself out a bit and coast into the number one wood 's seat. She sticks the key in the lighting and turns, the 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 flap down it into first power train. She rips out of the garage, and into the proper lane, keeping the railway locomotive revved as much as possible as she made her way through downtown Miami.

With dealings it took her roughly an 60 minutes to reach her destination. A run down old gravy boat house, long since abandoned by tourist and proprietor alike. She parked the car inside, and placed a protective tarp over the drivers backside. She would necessitate it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an North Frigid Zone Fox was that her fur was almost completely Andrew D. White. With a heavy sigh she made her way through the boat star sign. A few minutes later she sat at a mesa, her rifle assembled and a 50 gallon drum of oil sitting beside the table. She carefully went to mould, painting her fur with the oil to make an urban camo pattern on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and head three building over from where she had prepped herself.

Her end, a large 5 story building that had been halted mid construction. Carefully she made her way up to the very top, and having scouted the region the premature week, she set her plunder up roughly five foot out and fifteen base back from the top left corner of the building relative to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few pattern guessing to arrive at sure she was zeroed in. True to its reputation the rifle remained accurate even after being assembled and disassembled so many clip, and with an air of assurance she made herself as comfortable as possible. Her target would be passing by on a racing yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The number 1 hour was ho-hum to fleet, but the metre came nigher things seemed to pick up with an almost alarming rate of speed. Her targets boat was already coming into view, and would be within firing aloofness in 15 minute of arc. At the thirty mo mark she began to searching for her fair game. A woman only known to her as Ida. Ida as Colleen recalled was an untoward shit dog, who was well into her older years by this point. Her key key out target was a jagged cicatrix the cut over her go out eye, over her muzzle and ended at her right jaw. She never could block that one haunting white eye, she herself having been partially responsible for the scar. She began to look back upon that series of upshot, but stopped herself. Now was the sentence for her to focus. She would probably never have this chance again, as Ida was quickly approaching her death bed. Colleen however, would not countenance her to quietly pass into the nothingness beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the bullshit frump life. 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 find her target. Luckily she had anticipated this job. She found Ida sitting on the backrest of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into place by several strong looking bindings. Unfortunately for her. She would consume loved to have fired off a few shots, cut the bindings, and watched as Ida rolled off the backrest of the ship, to dislocate into the water system below and drown. However, fate just was n't quietly that will to forge with her one this one. She would have to settle with putting a bullet in the woman who had been the campaign 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 crossbreeding pilus 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 hair's-breadth, and then fired. The familiar phone of the rifle was all she heard as her bullet raced forward and struck her objective heart. A measure bout would own been more than enough, but she wanted to mail them a message so today she was using a fragmentation one shot. The bullet as it passed through its target shredded into hundreds potential G of low part, each barreling its way through soft tissue paper and then out the back of her wheelchair. No one noticed at number one the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of sentence 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 second intellection she started the engine and drove away, careful not to drive away to quickly, or to slowly.

forty five mo later she found herself back at the pent planetary house. She quickly gathered what few precious holding 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 clip being. She showered, and scrubbed, and scrubbed, getting every drop-off, every odor of oil out of her fur. She exited the shower bath 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 deary wearing apparel. A long red piece with a puss up the side that stopped just an in away from the bottom of holster. She then set about putting on her girdle. A matching red to the frock with just a hint of a shine to it, and covered in Negro lace. long time of practice had taught her how to put it on by herself. following came her shoes. A modest pair of four inch hound in the same coloring material as the garb. She always wore this outfit after a target went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the color of ancestry, on the nighttime 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 draw poker and set to operate stripping the positive and damaging telegram. She dialed the fervency department from the land business line and made the report of a fire. She then hung up and used the wire to light a jar of grease on fire. She poured this over the rejoinder, and it took with a furry that can only be known by a fervor. Silently she made her way towards the battlefront door. She grabbed her suite case, and the case that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the highway in less than ten minutes and as she drove away she watched the flame consume the pent household. Every trace 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 acting many time before. The fire department would investigate, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grease to heat, and then catch flame. She felt bad for the owners, but knew they would be fine. Before leaving she had left a rather vauntingly some of money in their downstairs mail box. More than enough to substitute the pent household that they only used during the winter months. She looked back, one last time and then set her deal on her next finish. Where that was she did n't recognise yet. But those who where financing her delegation would soon let her know, and when they did she would receive her next target. The process would reprise, and repetition, and repeat until all of those who had stolen her childhood, disrupted her quiet life sentence in the north with her tribe, and used her consistence for every sick and twisted desire they could thing of where dead. She had become their angel of last, and she would not stop until they where all gone, and those they had enslaved where free once more.

fountainhead, that 's the end of persona 1 of Colleen 's fib. Let me know what you guys recall .