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

The sun rose softly, slowly over the horizon. Colleen a midget arctic fox awakens in her pent house in down town Miami. With a moan she arches her back and stretches her weapons system above her head.
"Well ... clip to get quick 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 minor yet firm, a comfortable B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where bigger. She giggled a petty as she looked at her reflectivity. No one, could ever suspect that she did what she did for a support. After all who would suspect this 5'3"tall petite girl to be a master sniper for hire.

Her exhibitioner was quick, and effective, just they way she preferred to keep open her life. While showering she thought about her military mission this night. Her target was going to be difficult. She had spent calendar week picking the perfect location to necessitate her shot, but that still did not establish it any easygoing. To shoot a target while he stands upon a moving boat is almost impossible for even the most highly develop professionals. Sighing she turned the hot H2O off, stepped out, and began the 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 care 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 pass all of her time like this, but this was a day meter pleasure. dark, night on the other hired man brought with them the darkness of the world. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the hunt club, though she felt lusted for it would be a better word of honor. Finding her target, picking the spot to take away her shot from, the feel of the laboured rifle pressed into her shoulder, the audio, the olfaction of the gun being fired. All of it excited her to an almost unhealthy level.

With the citizenry 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 slaveholding before she had even had her first of all cycles/second. She licked her lips as she wandered over to the electric chair on the patio and laid out. Her thought process turned to two weeks ago, her last mission, her last object. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a dark muggy nighttime in late June, her positioning New Mexico. The target, Salvio O'Mally, a tough looking orange haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The Trainer"the slaver called him, due to his particular skill at breaking the more rebellious tone within the ranks of the recently captured children. She herself spent many an Clarence Shepard Day Jr. in his"care ”. She fought, and fought against the slaveholder, and often it ended with a call to him. She had picked a smear, deep within the desert, and rest herself out under and overhang of rock a few dozen ft from the bottom of a cliff grimace. As she had learned in her weeks of following the old cat, he enjoyed taking a sand dune roadster out into the desert as often as his"piece of work"would permit him to. This exceptional day though he was in for a surprise. In her subdivision she held her pet rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum daily round. Her bullet however carried and superfluous something exceptional in them this day. Each round she carried held an volatile core, wrapped in tungsten brand. As she looked over her equipment one close time she saw the dust cloud that was Salvio riding around in the grunge. Another thing she loved about the XS-1 was the cathode-ray oscilloscope it came with. It tracked wind speed and direction, altitude, humidity, distance, all the things she needed to know to direct her shot. Made her job that much easier, but then again what else did she gestate from a $ 20,000 arm system. She watched him for a bit. Letting him enjoy his stopping point few moment alive. Then as he started to head closer to her location she attached her muffler, just in case he had his goons out with him, and began to line up her shot. She took a deep breath, held and aright as she released she squeezed the hair initiation on the rifle. A piano, psst came from the barrelful as the bullet raced out of the barrel at 3,000 foundation per second. A moment later a lowly"clap"was heard as the slug made contact with the engine of the roadster, stopping it dead in its tracks.

She had to press not to laugh as the old cat coasted to a stop, just 300 yards form her position. His brass clearly seeable in her scope. He looked around, pissed that the engine on his machine dared to pass on him stranded in the woods. He then got out of the vehicle and began to inspect it. He found the suit soon enough, a small-scale hole in the locomotive pulley block. Confused now he began to look around. Colleen though was already lining up her barb, but waited to pull the trigger. He pulled out his earphone, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the sound against his ear. No question he was calling for someone on his team to fare get him, it was in this here and now that Colleen took her shaft. Another easygoing 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 background dead. Colleen remained soundless however, as she slowly began to wad away her geared wheel. Once tucked away she carefully began to free rise her way back down the cliff human face, her hook were not made for climbing, but did make the chore a bit easier. Once she reached the freighter she found her way to the small recess where she stashed the malicious gossip bike she used to get out here. She packed her gear, placed her helmet on and rush along away, taking the picayune extra clock time, to create some disarray in her rails, in case his goons where smart enough to research the area, and go following course. Having doubled back a few multiplication, she then began heading back to the near by town.

She awoke form her day dream around noon. Three time of day 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 picayune sun burnt, but nothing she could n't cover. With a sigh she made her way back into the pent firm, and tried to contemplate what to do with her remaining six hours of unfreeze time. With a long sigh she flops down on the couch in her living room. It had been quiet some clip since she had"her"clock time as she called it. Flipping through the channels she looked for something that would shift her arousal. She finally stopped on a channel where a beautiful black cougar was servicing two rather declamatory looking through-breeds. She took her metre, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling heat of lustful desire as she watches the Panthera onca 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 following hour cleaning up the"jam"she had made on her difficult wood floor. future she made her way to the washout elbow room, not placid in need of another shower bath she did subscribe to the fourth dimension to wash herself up. She then turned the goggle box to a more"appropriate"channel, and began running on the stride mill. Not enough to overly exert herself, but just fast sufficiency to make it a long aloofness challenge. About an hour later she stopped, took an drink of piddle, and retrieved her rifle. For the next 60 minutes she ran with her rifle in her limb, cradled almost like a mother holds her child. After that hour passed she decided she had killed enough metre, collapsed her rifle, packed her gear and headed out. A little extra sentence sitting at her perch was n't going to do her any damage. 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 inconspicuous vehicle, but in this character of Miami the"typical"car would stand out more than her definitive. She stopped to look her fomite over. She loved the contrast between its dark regal paint, and the chrome accents. She shakes herself out a bit and soaring into the driver 's seat. She sticks the key in the ignition and crook, the engine of the car roars to life, and after closing the door and buckling herself in, she slams it into reversion, peeling the tyre as she backs up, and then flap down it into first gearing. 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 hr to get to her destination. A run down old gravy holder house, long since abandoned by tourist and owners alike. She parked the car inside, and placed a protective tarpaulin over the drivers rear. She would involve it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an Arctic Fox was that her fur was almost completely Elwyn Brooks White. With a heavy suspiration she made her way through the boat theatre. A few minutes later she sat at a table, her rifle assembled and a 50 gallon drum of oil sitting beside the board. She carefully went to work, painting her fur with the oil to create an urban disguise traffic pattern on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and question three construction over from where she had prepped herself.

Her goal, a big 5 story building that had been halted mid construction. Carefully she made her way up to the very top, and having scouted the area the late week, she set her go up roughly five infantry out and fifteen feet back from the top left quoin of the building relation to the sea. Her muffler already attached she took a few pattern shooter to make sure as shooting 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 confidence she made herself as easy as potential. Her target would be passing by on a yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The first hour was slow to pass, but the prison term came confining things seemed to pick up with an almost alarming charge per unit of swiftness. Her targets boat was already coming into vista, and would be within firing distance in fifteen bit. At the thirty minute mark she began to searching for her target. A woman only known to her as Ida. Ida as Colleen recalled was an unbecoming bull dog, who was well into her older years by this point. Her key identifying mark was a jag scar 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 scratch. She began to look back upon that serial of upshot, but stopped herself. Now was the fourth dimension for her to focus. She would probably never have this fortune again, as Ida was quickly approaching her death bed. Colleen however, would not allow her to quietly pass into the annul beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the fake frank life. She was determined to be the saint of decease for the slavers, and those that supported their movement.

It took her fifteen second more to find her mark. Luckily she had anticipated this job. She found Ida sitting on the backrest of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into place by several inviolable looking cover. Unfortunately for her. She would have loved to have fired off a few shots, cut the bindings, and watched as Ida rolled off the back of the ship, to slip into the waters below and drown. However, fate just was n't placid that willing to work with her one this one. She would throw to finalise with putting a heater in the adult female who had been the cause of many a waking nightmare.

She lined her shot up, carefully compensating for the gentle bobbing of the ship as it began to slow for docking. She began her breathing regiment as she placed her cross haircloth on Ida 's chest. She counted down from five to herself, waiting until just before the rocking of the ship put Ida 's inwardness in her cross hairs, and then fired. The familiar sound of the rifle was all she heard as her fastball raced forward and struck her targets inwardness. A criterion round would have been more than than enough, but she wanted to transport them a message so today she was using a fragmentation round. The bullet as it passed through its target shredded into one C possible M of small pieces, each barreling its way through soft tissue and then out the spinal column of her wheelchair. No one noticed at starting time the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of prison term Colleen took her chance 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 cerebration she started the engine and drove away, careful not to drive away to quickly, or to slowly.

40 five minutes later she found herself back at the pent star sign. She quickly gathered what few wanted belongings she had into her suitcase. She then retrieved the handgun 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 bead, 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 prompt she then slide on her darling dress. A long red piece with a scratch up the side that stopped just an inch away from the bottom of holster. She then set about putting on her stays. A matching red to the attire with just a hint of a refulgence to it, and covered in black lacing. long time of practice had taught her how to put it on by herself. Next came her horseshoe. A modest duad of four inch cad in the Lapp color as the dress. 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 pedigree, on the Night 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 screws with a screw device driver located in one of the go up by hook and set to process stripping the positive and negative conducting wire. She dialed the fire department from the land line and made the report of a fire. She then hung up and used the wires to light up a jar of filth on fire. She poured this over the counter, and it took with a furry that can only be known by a fire. Silently she made her way towards the movement door. She grabbed her suite case, and the face that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the main road in LE than ten minutes and as she drove away she watched the flaming consume the pent business firm. Every touch of her that was there was now gone. Consumed by the fervor, or washed away by the fervidness departments houses. She had used this method many times before. The fervor section would enquire, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the dirt to fire up, and then catch fire. She felt bad for the owner, but knew they would be fine. Before leaving she had left a rather turgid some of money in their downstairs ring armor box. More than enough to replace the pent house that they only used during the wintertime calendar month. She looked back, one last metre and then set her visual sense on her adjacent terminus. Where that was she did n't know yet. But those who where financing her mission would soon let her know, and when they did she would receive her next target. The process would reduplicate, and repeat, and repeat until all of those who had stolen her childhood, disrupted her quiet spirit in the north with her kin, and used her body for every sick and rick desire they could thing of where idle. She had become their angel of death, and she would not discontinue until they where all gone, and those they had enslaved where destitute once more.

Well, that 's the end of Part 1 of Colleen 's chronicle. Let me have it off what you guys think .