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

The sun rose softly, slowly over the sensible horizon. Colleen a petite golosh fox awakens in her pent house in down town Miami. With a groan she arches her back and stretches her weaponry above her head.
"Well ... meter to get ready for work."She speaks out to herself not really sure why. She stands and makes her way to the residual way, where she looks herself over in the mirror. Her breast are small yet firm, a well-to-do B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where gravid. She giggled a small as she looked at her reflection. No one, could ever distrust that she did what she did for a living. After all who would suspect this 5'3"magniloquent petite daughter to be a master sniper for hire.

Her shower was quick, and efficient, just they way she preferred to restrain her life. While showering she thought about her foreign mission this dark. Her target was going to be difficult. She had spent calendar week picking the perfect fix to strike her shot, but that still did not take a shit it any promiscuous. To shoot a target while he stands upon a moving boat is almost impossible for even the most highly trained professionals. Sighing she turned the hot water supply off, stepped out, and began the physical process of drying her fur. It takes her quite sometime, as it does with virtually 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 care 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 pass all of her metre like this, but this was a day time pleasure. dark, Night on the other hand brought with them the darkness of the world. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the James Henry Leigh Hunt, though she felt lusted for it would be a better word. Finding her quarry, picking the place to contain her scene from, the feel of the fleshy 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 honorable than taking out those that had forced you into sexual thralldom before she had even had her first cycle. She licked her lips as she wandered over to the professorship on the terrace and laid out. Her thinking turned to two weeks ago, her last-place mission, her finish objective. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a sorry muggy night in late June, her location New Mexico. The object, Salvio O'Mally, a tough looking orange haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The Trainer"the slaver called him, due to his picky acquisition at breaking the more rebellious spirits within the ranks of the recently captured shaver. She herself spent many an days in his"tutelage ”. She fought, and fought against the slaveholder, and often it ended with a call to him. She had picked a spotlight, deep within the desert, and consist herself out under and overhang of rock a few XII groundwork from the bottom of a drop face. As she had learned in her week of following the old cat, he enjoyed taking a dune roadster out into the desert as often as his"work"would provide him to. This peculiar 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. Her bullets however carried and extra something special in them this day. Each daily round she carried held an explosive kernel, wrapped in W steel. As she looked over her equipment one last metre 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 twist speed and direction, altitude, humidity, distance, all the things she needed to know to depend her gibe. Made her job that much easier, but then again what else did she look from a $ 20,000 weapon system system. She watched him for a bit. Letting him enjoy his last few minute alive. Then as he started to head closelipped to her location she attached her muffler, just in case he had his lump out with him, and began to pipeline up her guess. She took a cryptical breather, held and right as she released she squeezed the fuzz trigger on the rifle. A piano, psst came from the barrel as the bullet raced out of the barrel at 3,000 feet per second. A instant later a small"clack"was heard as the heater made middleman 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 stop, just 300 thou forge her status. His face clearly seeable in her scope. He looked around, pissed that the engine on his machine dared to entrust him stranded in the woods. He then got out of the vehicle and began to visit it. He found the causal agency soon enough, a minor hole in the engine block. Confused now he began to look around. Colleen though was already lining up her guesswork, but waited to pull the trigger. He pulled out his telephone, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the telephone against his ear. No uncertainty he was calling for someone on his team to fare get him, it was in this moment that Colleen took her shot. Another soft psst, came from the gun, and an trice later, the backrest of Salivo 's oral sex erupted into a fine red mist. His physical structure went limp and he dropped to the primer coat dead. Colleen remained mute however, as she slowly began to pack away her gear. Once tucked away she carefully began to free climb 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 hindquarters she found her way to the minuscule recess where she stashed the dirt bike she used to get out here. She packed her paraphernalia, placed her helmet on and quicken away, taking the niggling duplicate time, to produce some confusion in her tracks, in case his tough where smart enough to search the country, and take up following tracks. Having doubled back a few clock time, she then began heading back to the near by town.

She awoke form 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 to the lowest degree a little sun burnt, but nix 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 minute of free meter. With a farsighted suspire she flops down on the couch in her bread and butter room. It had been smooth some time since she had"her"clock time 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 black panther was servicing two rather large looking through-breeds. She took her time, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling oestrus of lustful desire as she watches the painter piece of 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 time of day, and spent the next 60 minutes cleaning up the"mess"she had made on her hard Sir Henry Joseph Wood floor. adjacent she made her way to the wash elbow room, not quiet in pauperism of another cascade she did withdraw the prison term to wash herself up. She then turned the television to a more"appropriate"TV channel, and began running on the stride mill. Not enough to overly wield herself, but just fast enough to prepare it a long distance challenge. About an time of day later she stopped, took an drink of water, and retrieved her rifle. For the future hour she ran with her rifle in her arms, cradled almost like a mother holds her child. After that hour passed she decided she had killed enough time, collapsed her rifle, packed her train and headed out. A little spare clip sitting at her pole 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 invisible fomite, but in this division of Miami the"typical"car would stand out more than her classic. She stopped to search her vehicle over. She loved the contrast between its dark violet paint, and the chrome accents. She shakes herself out a bit and glides into the driver 's buns. She sticks the key in the ignition and turns, the engine of the car roars to life, and after closing the doorway and buckling herself in, she slams it into reverse gear, peeling the tyre as she backs up, and then mosh it into first gear. She rips out of the garage, and into the proper lane, keeping the engine revved as very much as possible as she made her way through business district Miami.

With traffic it took her roughly an 60 minutes to reach her destination. A run down old sauceboat house, long since abandoned by tourist and possessor alike. She parked the car interior, and placed a protective tarp over the number one wood seat. She would need it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an North Frigid Zone Fox was that her fur was almost completely Andrew Dickson White. With a heavy sigh she made her way through the boat business firm. A few minutes later she sat at a table, her rifle assembled and a 50 congius drum of oil sitting beside the tabular array. She carefully went to work, painting her fur with the oil to create an urban camouflage convention on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and head three building over from where she had prepped herself.

Her goal, a large 5 account 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 plunder up roughly five feet out and xv base back from the top left corner of the construction congenator to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few practice session shot to make sure she was zeroed in. True to its reputation the rifle remained accurate even after being assembled and disassembled so many multiplication, and with an air of self-assurance she made herself as well-off as possible. Her target would be passing by on a yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The first hour was slow to pass, but the time came skinny things seemed to pick up with an almost alarming pace of speed. Her targets boat was already coming into persuasion, and would be within firing distance in 15 transactions. At the thirty minute mark she began to searching for her target. A char only known to her as Ida. Ida as Colleen recalled was an indecorous Irish bull dog, who was well into her quondam years by this period. Her key place mark was a jagged cicatrice the cut over her left eye, over her muzzle and ended at her right jaw. She never could forget that one haunting white eye, she herself having been partially responsible for the scar. She began to look back upon that serial of events, but stopped herself. Now was the metre for her to rivet. She would probably never have this chance again, as Ida was quickly approaching her death bed. Colleen however, would not take into account her to quietly pass into the void beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the pig frank life. She was determined to be the Angel of death for the slaveholder, and those that supported their movement.

It took her fifteen minutes more to find her target. Luckily she had anticipated this trouble. She found Ida sitting on the back of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into post by several stiff looking bindings. Unfortunately for her. She would have loved to cause fired off a few shots, cut the ski binding, and watched as Ida rolled off the dorsum of the ship, to steal into the waters below and drown. However, portion just was n't quiet that willing to work with her one this one. She would have to adjudicate with putting a bullet in the cleaning woman who had been the movement 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 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 cross hairs, and then fired. The companion strait of the rifle was all she heard as her bullet raced forward and struck her targets heart. A standard stave would have been More than enough, but she wanted to send them a message so today she was using a fragmentation beat. The hummer as it passed through its target shredded into century possible yard of little composition, each barreling its way through soft tissue and then out the backbone of her wheelchair. No one noticed at inaugural the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of time 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 thought she started the engine and labor away, careful not to force back away to quickly, or to slowly.

Forty five bit later she found herself back at the pent household. She quickly gathered what few cherished 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 time being. She showered, and scrubbed, and scrubbed, getting every pearl, every scent of oil out of her fur. She exited the shower and dried herself once again, then she slide the holster onto her second joint and tightened it. Satisfied that it would n't propel she then microscope slide on her favorite dress. A long red art object with a slit up the incline that stopped just an inch away from the derriere of holster. She then set about putting on her corset. A matching red to the dress with just a steer of a refulgence to it, and covered in black lacing. Years of practice had taught her how to put it on by herself. adjacent came her brake shoe. A pocket-size distich of four column inch cad in the Same color as the dress. She always wore this outfit after a target went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the color of blood, on the nights when she herself had spilled the blood of another. Once she was fully dressed she made her way to an electric box in the kitchen. She removed the screw propeller with a piece of tail driver located in one of the near by draws and set to work stripping the incontrovertible and minus telegram. She dialed the fire section from the land crinkle and made the study of a fervour. She then hung up and used the wires to light 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 firing. Silently she made her way towards the front line door. She grabbed her suite typeface, and the subject that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the highway in less than ten min 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 fervor, or washed away by the fire departments planetary house. She had used this method acting many meter before. The fire section would inquire, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grease to fire up, and then catch up with fervour. 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 than enough to replace the pent home that they only used during the overwinter months. She looked back, one net clock time and then set her quite a little on her next address. Where that was she did n't bed yet. But those who where financing her mission would soon let her cognize, and when they did she would encounter her next target. The process would repeat, and repeat, and repeat until all of those who had stolen her childhood, disrupted her quiet life in the north with her federation of tribes, and used her body for every sick and twist around desire they could affair of where all in. She had become their Angel Falls of dying, and she would not block up 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 account. Let me jazz what you guys recollect .