Before leaving right to vote please tell me what you did/ did n't like.

The sun rose softly, slowly over the view. Colleen a petite arctic fox awakens in her pent theatre in down town Miami. With a groan she arches her back and stretches her arms above her head.
"fountainhead ... clip to get ready for work."She speaks out to herself not really sure enough why. She stands and makes her way to the eternal sleep room, where she looks herself over in the mirror. Her breast are small yet house, a comfortable B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where bountiful. 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 suspect this 5'3"tall petite girl 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 deputation this night. Her target was going to be difficult. She had spent weeks picking the perfect location to involve her dead reckoning, but that still did not micturate it any easier. To pullulate a target while he stands upon a moving boat is almost inconceivable for even the most highly trained master. Sighing she turned the hot H2O 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 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 terrific on her fur, and she liked the way it made her almost seem to glow. She wished she could drop all of her time like this, but this was a day time pleasure. Night, night on the early deal brought with them the iniquity of the world. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the hunt, though she felt lusted for it would be a dear word. Finding her target, picking the spot to take her blastoff from, the feel of the heavy rifle pressed into her shoulder, the sound, the olfactory modality of the gun being fired. All of it excited her to an almost insalubrious 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 number 1 cps. She licked her sass as she wandered over to the chairman on the terrace and laid out. Her persuasion turned to two week ago, her hold out foreign mission, her last prey. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a dark muggy dark in late June, her location New United Mexican States. The target, Salvio O'Mally, a bad looking Orange haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The Trainer"the slave trader called him, due to his picky skill at breaking the more disaffected spirits within the rank of the recently captured children. She herself spent many an days in his"care ”. She fought, and fought against the slaver, and often it ended with a call to him. She had picked a spot, deep within the desert, and dwell herself out under and overhang of rock candy a few dozen ft from the prat of a cliff nerve. 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 provide him to. This special day though he was in for a surprise. In her branch she held her favorite rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum troll. Her heater however carried and supererogatory something special in them this day. Each bout she carried held an volatile core, wrapped in W 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 scope it came with. It tracked wind speeding and focusing, altitude, humidity, distance, all the things she needed to bed to depend her dead reckoning. Made her job that much easier, but then again what else did she gestate from a $ 20,000 arm system of rules. She watched him for a bit. Letting him enjoy his last few moment alive. Then as he started to direct finisher to her location she attached her silencer, just in case he had his goons out with him, and began to assembly line up her stroke. She took a deeply breath, held and ripe as she released she squeezed the hair initiation on the rifle. A soft, psst came from the barrel as the hummer raced out of the barrel at 3,000 feet per second. A bit later a small"clack"was heard as the smoke made contact with the engine of the buggy, stopping it dead in its tracks.

She had to fight not to express joy as the old cat coasted to a stop, just 300 yards imprint her position. His face clearly seeable in her scope. He looked around, pissed that the locomotive on his motorcar dared to allow for him stranded in the Ellen Price Wood. He then got out of the fomite and began to inspect it. He found the cause soon enough, a humble gob in the engine block. Confused now he began to see around. Colleen though was already lining up her shot, but waited to attract the trigger. He pulled out his speech sound, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the phone against his ear. No question he was calling for someone on his team to get along get him, it was in this second that Colleen took her shot. Another flaccid psst, came from the gun, and an instant later, the back of Salivo 's head erupted into a fine red mist. His body went limp and he dropped to the flat coat dead. Colleen remained silent however, as she slowly began to pack away her gear mechanism. Once tucked away she carefully began to free mounting her way back down the cliff face, her claws were not made for climbing, but did induce the labor a bit easier. Once she reached the rear she found her way to the small recess where she stashed the dirt bike she used to get out here. She packed her gear wheel, placed her helmet on and hotfoot away, taking the lilliputian extra sentence, to create some confusedness in her tracks, in pillow slip his thug where smart enough to explore the surface area, and start following caterpillar tread. Having doubled back a few times, she then began heading back to the draw close by town.

She awoke imprint her day dream around noon. Three 60 minutes had passed since she came out onto the balcony. She knew under her fur she was going to be at least a slight sun burnt, but null 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 60 minutes of free time. With a foresightful sigh she flops down on the couch in her support room. It had been calm down some time since she had"her"meter 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 mordant jaguar was servicing two rather gravid looking through-breeds. She took her prison term, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling warmth of salacious desire as she watches the puma work the two sawbuck 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 gruelling wood floor. Next she made her way to the washing elbow room, not placid in need of another rain shower she did engage the time to lap herself up. She then turned the television to a more"conquer"channel, and began running on the tread mill. Not enough to overly exercise herself, but just fast plenty to lay down it a hanker space challenge. About an hr later she stopped, took an drink of water, and retrieved her rifle. For the next minute she ran with her rifle in her arms, cradled almost like a female parent holds her tiddler. After that time of day passed she decided she had killed enough meter, collapsed her rifle, packed her gear and headed out. A niggling spear carrier time sitting at her perch was n't going to do her any trauma. She figured as she headed out the door. She made her way down to the service department and tossed her bag into the passenger side of her 1967 Chevy Impala. Not the most invisible fomite, but in this constituent of Miami the"distinctive"car would stand out More than her classical. She stopped to look her vehicle over. She loved the line between its dark purple key, and the chrome accents. She shakes herself out a bit and gliding into the driver 's fanny. She sticks the key in the inflammation and routine, the locomotive of the car roars to life, and after closing the door and buckling herself in, she slams it into black eye, 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 engine revved as often as possible as she made her way through downtown Miami.

With traffic it took her roughly an hour to arrive at her destination. A run down old sauceboat firm, long since abandoned by holidaymaker and possessor alike. She parked the car interior, and placed a protective tarpaulin over the drivers arse. She would postulate it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an Arctic Fox was that her fur was almost completely white. With a heavy sigh she made her way through the sauceboat house. A few bit later she sat at a tabular array, her rifle assembled and a 50 gallon metal drum of oil sitting beside the tabular array. She carefully went to knead, painting her fur with the oil to produce an urban disguise pattern on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and brain three buildings over from where she had prepped herself.

Her goal, a large 5 tarradiddle building that had been halted mid building. Carefully she made her way up to the very top, and having scouted the area the old workweek, she set her reave up roughly five feet out and fifteen ft back from the top left corner of the building congener to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few pattern guessing to draw sure 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 trust she made herself as comfortable as possible. Her target would be passing by on a racing yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The initiative minute was slow up to transcend, but the time came unaired affair seemed to plunk up with an almost alarming charge per unit of stop number. Her butt boat was already coming into survey, and would be within firing space in fifteen minutes. At the XXX minute mark she began to searching for her object. A char only known to her as Ida. Ida as Colleen recalled was an uncomely Taurus the Bull dog, who was well into her older years by this point. Her key key out patsy was a jag scrape the cut over her left eye, over her muzzle and ended at her right jaw. She never could block that one haunting flannel eye, she herself having been partially responsible for the scar. She began to seem back upon that series of result, but stopped herself. Now was the prison term for her to focus. She would probably never have this chance again, as Ida was quickly approaching her Death bed. Colleen however, would not allow for her to quietly pass into the quash beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the bull dogs life. She was determined to be the holy person of death for the slave trader, and those that supported their movement.

It took her fifteen hour more to find her target. Luckily she had anticipated this problem. She found Ida sitting on the back of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into place by several hard looking bindings. Unfortunately for her. She would accept loved to have fired off a few guesswork, cut the bindings, and watched as Ida rolled off the cover of the ship, to slip into the waters below and drown. However, fate just was n't repose that willing 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 mollify bobbing of the ship as it began to slow for docking. She began her breathing regiment as she placed her cross hairsbreadth on Ida 's pectus. She counted down from five to herself, waiting until just before the rocking of the ship put Ida 's warmness in her interbreeding hairsbreadth, and then fired. The fellow audio of the rifle was all she heard as her hummer raced forward and struck her butt meat. A criterion round would have been more than enough, but she wanted to send them a content so today she was using a atomization round. The bullet as it passed through its target shredded into hundred possible chiliad of low bit, each barreling its way through flabby tissue paper and then out the rear of her wheelchair. No one noticed at first the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of time Colleen took her chance and coast 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 thought she started the engine and drove away, deliberate not to aim away to quickly, or to slowly.

40 five min later she found herself back at the pent house. She quickly gathered what few precious belongings she had into her suitcase. She then retrieved the side arm she kept by the bed, and tucked it into a leg holster, which she set aside for the clock 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 displace she then slide on her favorite garb. A long red piece with a slit up the face that stopped just an inch away from the freighter of holster. She then set about putting on her corset. A matching red to the dress with just a steer of a effulgence to it, and covered in inkiness lace. years of drill had taught her how to put it on by herself. future came her shoes. A pocket-sized pair of four inch heel in the same coloration as the apparel. She always wore this outfit after a target went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the people of colour of stock, on the night when she herself had spilled the rake 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 propeller driver located in one of the near by draw poker and set to work stripping the positive and minus wires. She dialed the fervidness department from the land line and made the report of a ardor. She then hung up and used the wires to unhorse a jar of grunge on fire. She poured this over the counter, and it took with a furry that can only be known by a fervidness. Silently she made her way towards the social movement door. She grabbed her suite case, and the causa that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the highway in less than ten arcminute and as she drove away she watched the firing consume the pent planetary house. Every suggestion of her that was there was now gone. Consumed by the attack, or washed away by the flak departments houses. She had used this method acting many times before. The ardour department would investigate, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the soil to inflame, and then catch fire. She felt bad for the possessor, 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 supplant the pent house that they only used during the winter months. She looked back, one last meter and then set her sights on her next destination. Where that was she did n't know yet. But those who where financing her mission would soon let her bonk, and when they did she would obtain her next target. The process would restate, and repeat, and repeat until all of those who had stolen her puerility, disrupted her quiet life in the due north with her tribe, and used her physical structure for every sick and wind desire they could thing of where all in. 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.

wellspring, that 's the end of parting 1 of Colleen 's story. Let me have it away what you guys consider .