Before leaving voting please tell apart me what you did/ did n't like.

The sun rose softly, slowly over the apparent horizon. Colleen a petite arctic fox awakens in her pent house in down townspeople Miami. With a moan she arches her back and stretches her blazon above her head.
"Well ... time to get set for work."She speaks out to herself not really sure why. She stands and makes her way to the eternal rest room, where she looks herself over in the mirror. Her breast are lowly yet firm, a comfortable B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where bigger. She giggled a little as she looked at her reflection. No one, could ever suspect that she did what she did for a aliveness. After all who would mistrust this 5'3"tall lilliputian girl to be a professional sniper for hire.

Her exhibitor was quick, and efficient, just they way she preferred to keep her life. While showering she thought about her mission this night. Her object was going to be difficult. She had spent week picking the perfect location to subscribe to her shot, but that still did not attain it any easier. To shoot a target while he stands upon a moving gravy boat is almost impossible for even the most highly trained professional person. 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 star sign for a bit, before finding her way onto the balcony, still nude. Up here though she did n't really interest about anyone seeing her like this. The sun felt tremendous on her fur, and she liked the way it made her almost seem to glow. She wished she could spend all of her fourth dimension like this, but this was a day time pleasure. night, night on the former hand brought with them the shadow of the globe. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the hunt, though she felt lusted for it would be a better word. Finding her target area, picking the spot to take her snap from, the tone of the sound rifle pressed into her shoulder, the speech sound, the flavor 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 upright than taking out those that had forced you into sexual slavery before she had even had her first cps. She licked her brim as she wandered over to the chair on the patio and laid out. Her thoughts turned to two week ago, her stopping point deputation, her lastly object. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a dark-skinned muggy night in recently June, her location New Mexico. The target, Salvio O'Mally, a problematical looking orange haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The Trainer"the slavers called him, due to his finical science at breaking the more disaffected spirits within the ranks of the recently captured nestling. She herself spent many an mean solar day in his"care ”. She fought, and fought against the slaveholder, and often it ended with a call to him. She had picked a position, deep within the desert, and lain herself out under and overhang of rock a few dozen fundament from the rump of a drop look. 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 for him to. This particular day though he was in for a surprise. In her arms she held her darling rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum round. Her bullet however carried and extra something special in them this day. Each round she carried held an explosive CORE, wrapped in atomic number 74 steel. As she looked over her equipment one finally time she saw the dust cloud that was Salvio riding around in the dirt. Another matter she loved about the XS-1 was the scope it came with. It tracked wreathe speed and direction, altitude, humidity, length, all the things she needed to know to calculate her shooter. Made her job that much easier, but then again what else did she expect from a $ 20,000 artillery system of rules. She watched him for a bit. Letting him enjoy his concluding few moment alert. Then as he started to head closer to her location she attached her silencer, just in fount he had his lubber out with him, and began to line up her shot. She took a deep breath, held and right as she released she squeezed the haircloth trigger on the rifle. A soft, psst came from the barrel as the heater raced out of the drum at 3,000 feet per second. A instant later a small"clap"was heard as the bullet made impinging with the engine of the buggy, stopping it absolutely in its tracks.

She had to contend not to laugh as the old cat coasted to a stop, just 300 M mold her position. His face clearly visible in her scope. He looked around, pissed that the locomotive engine on his machine dared to leave him stranded in the Mrs. Henry Wood. He then got out of the fomite and began to inspect it. He found the crusade soon enough, a minor cakehole in the engine pulley-block. Confused now he began to look around. Colleen though was already lining up her shot, but waited to overstretch the trigger. He pulled out his phone, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the phone against his ear. No incertitude he was calling for individual on his squad to come get him, it was in this moment that Colleen took her dead reckoning. Another soft psst, came from the gun, and an jiffy later, the dorsum of Salivo 's promontory erupted into a fine red mist. His body went limp and he dropped to the ground dead. Colleen remained silent however, as she slowly began to pack away her gear. Once tucked away she carefully began to free mount her way back down the cliff face, her claws were not made for climbing, but did make the task a bit easier. Once she reached the bottom she found her way to the small recession where she stashed the shit bike she used to get out here. She packed her gear, placed her helmet on and speed away, taking the little redundant fourth dimension, to create some confusedness in her track, in case his thug where smart enough to search the sphere, and get down following tracks. Having doubled back a few times, she then began heading back to the nigh by town.

She awoke mould her day dream around noon. Three hour 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 zip she could n't handle. With a sigh she made her way back into the pent planetary house, and tried to think over what to do with her remaining six hours of free sentence. With a long sigh she flops down on the couch in her sustenance room. It had been placidity some clip since she had"her"time as she called it. Flipping through the channels she looked for something that would conjure her stimulation. She finally stopped on a groove where a beautiful bleak jaguar 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 catamount 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 hour cleaning up the"mess"she had made on her hard wood flooring. side by side she made her way to the wash room, not quiet in motivation of another cascade she did take the time to wash herself up. She then turned the television to a more"earmark"TV channel, and began running on the tread mill. Not enough to overly maintain herself, but just fast enough to make it a recollective length challenge. About an hour later she stopped, took an drinking of water, and retrieved her rifle. For the next hour she ran with her rifle in her coat of arms, cradled almost like a female parent holds her nestling. After that time of day passed she decided she had killed plenty fourth dimension, collapsed her rifle, packed her gear and headed out. A little extra fourth dimension 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 Aepyceros melampus. Not the most invisible fomite, but in this part of Miami the"distinctive"car would stand out Sir Thomas More than her classic. She stopped to look her fomite over. She loved the contrast between its dismal purple key, and the chrome stress. She shakes herself out a bit and glides into the driver 's derriere. She sticks the key in the ignition system and turns, the engine of the car roars to lifespan, and after closing the door and buckling herself in, she slams it into reverse, peeling the tire as she backs up, and then flap down it into outset gear. She rips out of the garage, and into the right lane, keeping the engine revved as practically as potential as she made her way through business district Miami.

With traffic it took her roughly an hour to reach her name and address. A run down old boat firm, long since abandoned by tourist and possessor alike. She parked the car inside, and placed a protective tarp over the drivers seat. She would need it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an Arctic Fox was that her fur was almost completely white-hot. With a heavy sigh she made her way through the gravy boat mansion. A few second later she sat at a tabular array, her rifle assembled and a 50 gallon drum of oil sitting beside the tabular array. She carefully went to work, painting her fur with the oil to create an urban disguise approach pattern on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and head word three edifice over from where she had prepped herself.

Her finish, a enceinte 5 floor building that had been halted mid expression. Carefully she made her way up to the very top, and having scouted the area the premature workweek, she set her rifle up roughly five feet out and 15 feet back from the top left corner of the building relative to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few praxis scene to pull in sure she was zeroed in. True to its report the rifle remained exact even after being assembled and disassembled so many prison term, and with an air of authority she made herself as well-heeled as possible. Her target would be passing by on a yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The 1st hour was decelerate to pass, but the prison term came closer things seemed to foot up with an almost alarming rate of speed. Her fair game gravy holder was already coming into opinion, and would be within firing aloofness in fifteen minutes. At the thirty minute grade 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 Old eld by this point. Her key key out scar was a scraggy cicatrice the cut over her left eye, over her muzzle and ended at her redress jaw. She never could block that one haunting white eye, she herself having been partially responsible for the scar. She began to count back upon that series of events, but stopped herself. Now was the prison term for her to focus. She would probably never have this fortune again, as Ida was quickly approaching her end bed. Colleen however, would not allow her to quietly perish into the void beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the bull dogs aliveness. She was determined to be the saint of death for the slave dealer, and those that supported their movement.

It took her 15 instant more to observe her target. Luckily she had anticipated this trouble. She found Ida sitting on the book binding of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into place by several solid looking ski binding. Unfortunately for her. She would birth loved to have fired off a few pellet, cut the bandaging, and watched as Ida rolled off the back of the ship, to sneak into the urine below and drown. However, fate just was n't quiet that bequeath to work with her one this one. She would give birth to sink with putting a hummer in the charwoman who had been the cause 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 pilus on Ida 's chest. She counted down from five to herself, waiting until just before the rocking of the ship put Ida 's warmheartedness in her crossbreeding hairsbreadth, and then fired. The familiar sound of the rifle was all she heard as her slug raced forward and struck her objective heart. A standard rhythm would have been More than enough, but she wanted to send them a substance so today she was using a fragmentation round. The hummer as it passed through its target shredded into 100 possible M of small piece of music, each barreling its way through soft tissue and then out the back of her wheelchair. No one noticed at first base the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of time Colleen took her hazard 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 gear thought process she started the engine and drove away, careful not to drive away to quickly, or to slowly.

forty five arcminute later she found herself back at the pent house. She quickly gathered what few precious property she had into her travelling 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 clock time being. She showered, and scrubbed, and scrubbed, getting every drop, every scent of oil out of her fur. She exited the rain shower and dried herself once again, then she slide the holster onto her thigh and tightened it. Satisfied that it would n't affect she then slideway on her favorite dress. A farseeing red piece of music with a cunt up the side that stopped just an inch away from the rump of holster. She then set about putting on her corset. A matching red to the wearing apparel with just a hint of a shine to it, and covered in disastrous lacing. old age of pattern had taught her how to put it on by herself. future came her shoes. A low pair of four in heels in the like color as the garb. She always wore this outfit after a target went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the coloring of blood, 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 screws with a screw number one wood located in one of the approach by standoff and set to make for stripping the irrefutable and negative wires. She dialed the fervency section from the terra firma channel and made the report of a fire. She then hung up and used the conducting 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 fire. Silently she made her way towards the front door. She grabbed her suite suit, and the display case that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the main road in to a lesser extent than ten minute and as she drove away she watched the attack consume the pent menage. Every shadow of her that was there was now gone. Consumed by the fire, or washed away by the fire departments mansion. She had used this method many times before. The flaming section would investigate, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grease to wake, and then catch fire. She felt bad for the possessor, but knew they would be fine. Before leaving she had left a rather large some of money in their downstairs mail box. More than enough to supercede the pent house that they only used during the overwinter months. She looked back, one last prison term and then set her sights on her side by side destination. Where that was she did n't sleep together yet. But those who where financing her mission would soon let her know, and when they did she would meet her next target. The process would repeat, and repeat, and repeat until all of those who had stolen her childhood, disrupted her subdued life story in the north with her tribe, and used her body for every sick and flex 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.

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