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

The sun rose softly, slowly over the horizon. Colleen a petite north-polar fox awakens in her pent mansion in down townspeople Miami. With a groan she arches her back and stretches her arms above her head.
"wellspring ... time to get fix 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 breast are small yet business firm, a well-heeled B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where bigger. She giggled a little as she looked at her contemplation. No one, could ever mistrust that she did what she did for a livelihood. After all who would suspect this 5'3"marvellous midget girl to be a pro sniper for hire.

Her exhibitioner was straightaway, and efficient, just they way she preferred to keep her living. While showering she thought about her deputation this Night. Her butt was going to be difficult. She had spent week picking the perfect location to take her stab, but that still did not stool it any easier. To frivol away a target area while he stands upon a moving boat is almost unimaginable for even the most highly school professional person. Sighing she turned the hot water off, stepped out, and began the unconscious process of drying her fur. It takes her quite sometime, as it does with virtually 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 wonderful on her fur, and she liked the way it made her almost seem to glow. She wished she could spend all of her clock time like this, but this was a day sentence pleasure. Night, night on the other hand brought with them the iniquity of the world. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the hunting, though she felt lusted for it would be a better Scripture. Finding her target, picking the office to exact her nip 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 multitude she was taking out though it was a well deserved joy. After all, what could be intimately than taking out those that had forced you into sexual slavery before she had even had her initiatory cycle. She licked her lip as she wandered over to the professorship on the patio and laid out. Her mentation turned to two weeks ago, her last mission, her live on target area. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a dark muggy night in late June, her location New Mexico. The target, Salvio O'Mally, a tough looking orange haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The trainer"the slave trader called him, due to his particular proposition attainment at breaking the more rebellious flavour within the ranks of the recently captured children. She herself spent many an daylight in his"fear ”. She fought, and fought against the slavers, and often it ended with a call to him. She had picked a dapple, deep within the desert, and lain herself out under and overhang of careen a few twelve invertebrate foot from the bottom of a drop-off 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 countenance him to. This fussy day though he was in for a surprise. In her arms she held her favorite rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum troll. Her bullets however carried and extra something special in them this day. Each round she carried held an explosive nucleus, wrapped in tungsten blade. As she looked over her equipment one terminal clip 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 wind speeding and way, altitude, humidity, distance, all the matter she needed to cognise to cypher her shot. Made her job that much easier, but then again what else did she await from a $ 20,000 artillery system. She watched him for a bit. Letting him savor his cobbler's last few here and now active. Then as he started to head closer to her position she attached her silencer, just in shell he had his thug out with him, and began to line up her shot. She took a deep breath, held and decent as she released she squeezed the hair gun trigger on the rifle. A soft, psst came from the cask as the bullet raced out of the gun barrel at 3,000 feet per secondment. A mo later a small"clap"was heard as the bullet made impinging with the engine of the buggy, stopping it numb in its tracks.

She had to fight not to laugh as the old cat coasted to a stop, just 300 thousand form her position. His look clearly visible in her scope. He looked around, pissed that the locomotive engine on his machine dared to impart him stranded in the woodwind. He then got out of the vehicle and began to scrutinise it. He found the drive soon enough, a little fix in the engine block. Confused now he began to attend around. Colleen though was already lining up her slam, but waited to extract the induction. He pulled out his phone, 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 team to amount get him, it was in this minute that Colleen took her slam. Another easy psst, came from the gun, and an instant later, the back of Salivo 's head erupted into a mulct red mist. His consistence went hitch and he dropped to the priming coat dead. Colleen remained silent however, as she slowly began to pack away her gear. Once tucked away she carefully began to free climb her way back down the drop face, her claws were not made for climbing, but did constitute the labor a bit easier. Once she reached the underside she found her way to the diminished recess where she stashed the soil bike she used to get out here. She packed her gear, placed her helmet on and speed away, taking the little extra sentence, to produce some confusion in her runway, in casing his goons where smart enough to look for the area, and start following lead. Having doubled back a few metre, she then began heading back to the near by town.

She awoke form her day ambition 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 nix she could n't do by. 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 gratuitous time. With a long sigh she flops down on the couch in her living room. It had been quiet some time since she had"her"time as she called it. Flipping through the canal she looked for something that would put forward her stimulation. She finally stopped on a channel where a beautiful black panther was servicing two rather large looking through-breeds. She took her meter, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling heat of lustful desire as she watches the puma 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 hour, and spent the next minute cleaning up the"pile"she had made on her hard Wood floor. Next she made her way to the slipstream way, not quiet in motive of another exhibitioner she did take the fourth dimension to wash herself up. She then turned the television to a more"appropriate"epithelial duct, and began running on the tread mill. Not enough to overly wield herself, but just fast enough to ready it a long space challenge. About an hour later she stopped, took an drink of weewee, and retrieved her rifle. For the next hour she ran with her rifle in her arms, cradled almost like a mother holds her child. After that hr passed she decided she had killed enough fourth dimension, collapsed her rifle, packed her gearing 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 service department and tossed her bag into the passenger position of her 1967 Chevy Impala. Not the most inconspicuous vehicle, but in this part of Miami the"distinctive"car would stand out more than her classic. She stopped to look her fomite over. She loved the contrast between its sorry regal pigment, and the chrome accent. She shakes herself out a bit and semivowel into the device driver 's stern. She sticks the key in the ignition and turns, the engine of the car roars to life, and after closing the door and buckling herself in, she slams it into verso, peeling the tires as she backs up, and then mosh it into first train. She rips out of the service department, and into the proper lane, keeping the engine revved as much as possible as she made her way through downtown Miami.

With traffic it took her roughly an minute to gain her finish. A run down old sauceboat house, long since abandoned by tourer and proprietor alike. She parked the car interior, and placed a protective tarp over the drivers tail. She would demand it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an Arctic Fox was that her fur was almost completely Edward D. White. With a ponderous suspiration she made her way through the gravy holder house. A few mo later she sat at a table, her rifle assembled and a 50 Imperial gallon drum of oil sitting beside the table. She carefully went to do work, painting her fur with the oil to create an urban camouflage rule on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and head three building over from where she had prepped herself.

Her end, a declamatory 5 story building that had been halted mid expression. Carefully she made her way up to the very top, and having scouted the surface area the previous hebdomad, she set her rifle up roughly five feet out and fifteen feet back from the top left corner of the edifice congeneric to the sea. Her muffler already attached she took a few practice guesswork to produce surely she was zeroed in. True to its report the rifle remained accurate even after being assembled and disassembled so many clip, and with an air of confidence she made herself as comfortable as possible. Her target would be passing by on a yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The first hour was dim to expire, but the time came closer things seemed to clean up with an almost alarming rate of speeding. Her aim gravy boat was already coming into view, and would be within firing distance in fifteen proceedings. At the 30 arcminute brand she began to searching for her mark. A cleaning woman only known to her as Ida. Ida as Colleen recalled was an indecent bull dog, who was well into her aged geezerhood by this point. Her key place mark was a jagged mark the cut over her leave behind eye, over her muzzle and ended at her right jaw. She never could draw a blank that one haunting gabardine eye, she herself having been partially responsible for the scar. She began to look back upon that series of events, but stopped herself. Now was the metre for her to focus. She would probably never have this fortune again, as Ida was quickly approaching her decease bed. Colleen however, would not leave her to quietly go into the quash beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the pig hot dog life. She was determined to be the angel of death for the slavers, and those that supported their movement.

It took her fifteen minutes more to come up her object. Luckily she had anticipated this problem. She found Ida sitting on the spine of the racing yacht, her wheelchair locked into berth by respective potent looking bindings. Unfortunately for her. She would have loved to take fired off a few dig, cut the back, and watched as Ida rolled off the book binding of the ship, to slip into the pee below and drown. However, fate just was n't tranquility that willing to process with her one this one. She would have to settle with putting a fastball in the woman who had been the cause of many a waking nightmare.

She lined her gibe 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 crossbreed 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 haircloth, and then fired. The companion sound of the rifle was all she heard as her fastball raced forward and struck her quarry heart. A banner round would have been Sir Thomas More than enough, but she wanted to post them a message so today she was using a atomisation stave. The bullet as it passed through its target shredded into hundred possible thousands of small composition, each barreling its way through soft tissue and then out the back of her wheelchair. No one noticed at first the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of sentence Colleen took her luck 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 2d idea she started the locomotive and aim away, careful not to ride 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 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 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 affect she then microscope slide on her favorite dress. A retentive red piece with a slit up the side that stopped just an column inch away from the arse of holster. She then set about putting on her corset. A matching red to the dress with just a breath of a radiancy to it, and covered in fateful lace. twelvemonth of practice had taught her how to put it on by herself. following came her shoe. A mild dyad of four inch hound in the Same color as the attire. She always wore this outfit after a quarry went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the people of colour of blood, on the nights when she herself had spilled the ancestry of another. Once she was fully dressed she made her way to an electrical box in the kitchen. She removed the nooky with a screw device driver located in one of the near by drawing card and set to wreak stripping the overconfident and negative wires. She dialed the fire section from the dry land line and made the report of a blast. She then hung up and used the conducting wire to light a jar of lubricating oil on fervor. She poured this over the counter, and it took with a furry that can only be known by a blast. Silently she made her way towards the front door. She grabbed her entourage guinea pig, 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 transactions 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 fire, or washed away by the blast departments sign. She had used this method many times before. The flame department would enquire, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grease to heat, and then watch fire. She felt bad for the possessor, but knew they would be o.k.. Before leaving she had left a rather tumid some of money in their downstairs mail box. More than enough to exchange the pent household that they only used during the winter calendar month. She looked back, one lowest prison term and then set her sights on her next finish. Where that was she did n't live yet. But those who where financing her mission would soon let her know, and when they did she would find her next target. The process would reiterate, and repetition, and repeat until all of those who had stolen her childhood, disrupted her subdued aliveness in the Union with her kindred, and used her consistency for every sick and twisted desire they could thing of where dead. She had become their saint of decease, and she would not check until they where all gone, and those they had enslaved where free once more.

Well, that 's the end of portion 1 of Colleen 's narrative. Let me roll in the hay what you guys believe .