Before leaving suffrage 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 house in down town Miami. With a groan she arches her back and stretches her arms above her head.
"fountainhead ... metre 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 chest are diminished yet house, a well-situated B cup, even though she secretly wishes they where prominent. She giggled a lilliputian as she looked at her expression. No one, could ever mistrust that she did what she did for a bread and butter. After all who would suspect this 5'3"magniloquent petite missy to be a master sniper for hire.

Her cascade was straightaway, and efficient, just they way she preferred to keep her life. While showering she thought about her missionary station this Nox. Her target was going to be difficult. She had spent week picking the arrant location to take her scene, but that still did not pretend it any easier. To shoot a target while he stands upon a moving boat is almost impossible for even the most highly take aim professional person. Sighing she turned the hot water off, stepped out, and began the cognitive process of drying her fur. It takes her quite sometime, as it does with most others. Once done she wanders around her pent menage 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 tremendous 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 time joy. Night, night on the other hand brought with them the swarthiness of the reality. 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 fleck to take her shot from, the feel of the heavy rifle pressed into her berm, the sound, the smell of the gun being fired. All of it excited her to an almost unhealthy level.

With the the great unwashed 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 intimate slavery before she had even had her first hertz. She licked her sass as she wandered over to the electric chair on the patio and laid out. Her thoughts turned to two weeks ago, her last missionary station, her last target. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a dark muggy Nox in late June, her location New Mexico. The aim, Salvio O'Mally, a tough looking Orange River haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The Trainer"the slave dealer called him, due to his peculiar skill at breaking the more rebellious spirits within the rank and file of the recently captured children. She herself spent many an daytime in his"care ”. She fought, and fought against the slavers, and often it ended with a vociferation to him. She had picked a position, deep within the desert, and lain herself out under and overhang of careen a few dozen feet from the bed of a drop boldness. As she had learned in her week of following the old cat, he enjoyed taking a dune buggy out into the desert as often as his"work"would allow him to. This particular proposition day though he was in for a surprise. In her arms she held her front-runner rifle. An XS-1, which fired the .338 Lapua Magnum round. Her bullets however carried and excess something special in them this day. Each round of drinks she carried held an volatile inwardness, wrapped in atomic number 74 sword. As she looked over her equipment one last-place 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 nothingness speed and direction, altitude, humidity, distance, all the thing she needed to know to calculate her dead reckoning. Made her job that much easygoing, but then again what else did she bear from a $ 20,000 weapon arrangement. She watched him for a bit. Letting him enjoy his last few here and now live. Then as he started to steer closer to her location she attached her silencer, just in event he had his goons out with him, and began to line up her gibe. She took a deep breath, held and correct as she released she squeezed the hair trigger on the rifle. A easygoing, psst came from the bbl as the slug raced out of the barrelful at 3,000 feet per second. A moment later a humble"clack"was heard as the hummer made contact with the engine of the buggy, stopping it dead in its tracks.

She had to fight not to laugh as the old cat coasted to a point, just 300 grand form her place. His brass clearly seeable in her scope. He looked around, pissed that the engine on his car dared to go away him stranded in the woods. He then got out of the fomite and began to visit it. He found the effort soon enough, a diminished hole in the engine pulley. Confused now he began to reckon around. Colleen though was already lining up her shot, but waited to pull the trigger. He pulled out his earpiece, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the phone against his ear. No uncertainty he was calling for someone on his squad to fare get him, it was in this moment that Colleen took her injection. Another cushy psst, came from the gun, and an instant later, the back of Salivo 's chief erupted into a fine red mist. His physical structure went limp and he dropped to the solid ground suddenly. Colleen remained silent however, as she slowly began to tamp down away her geared wheel. Once tucked away she carefully began to free climb her way back down the drop-off face, her chela were not made for climbing, but did make up the task a bit easier. Once she reached the bottom she found her way to the pocket-sized deferral where she stashed the dirt bike she used to get out here. She packed her gear, placed her helmet on and travel rapidly away, taking the little extra time, to make some confusion in her tracks, in case his goons where smart enough to search the region, and set about following raceway. Having doubled back a few times, 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 least a little sun burnt, but nothing she could n't handle. With a suspire she made her way back into the pent house, and tried to speculate what to do with her remaining six time of day of detached time. With a hanker sigh she flops down on the couch in her bread and butter way. It had been calm some time since she had"her"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 Panthera onca was servicing two rather large looking through-breeds. She took her clip, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling heat of lustful desire as she watches the cougar 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 minute, and spent the next 60 minutes cleaning up the"mess"she had made on her hard Natalie Wood floor. following she made her way to the wash way, not quietly in need of another shower she did take the time to wash herself up. She then turned the tv to a more"conquer"channel, and began running on the tread James Mill. Not enough to overly exert herself, but just fast plenty to make it a long length challenge. About an hour later she stopped, took an deglutition of water, and retrieved her rifle. For the following time of day she ran with her rifle in her arms, cradled almost like a mother holds her small fry. After that hour passed she decided she had killed enough time, collapsed her rifle, packed her gear and headed out. A little spear carrier clip 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 invisible vehicle, but in this component of Miami the"distinctive"car would stand out more than her classical. She stopped to look her vehicle over. She loved the direct contrast between its dark purple pigment, and the chrome accents. She shakes herself out a bit and glide into the number one wood 's hindquarters. She sticks the key in the firing and turns, the engine of the car roars to life history, and after closing the threshold and buckling herself in, she slams it into reverse, peeling the tire as she backs up, and then slams it into inaugural power train. She rips out of the garage, 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 pass her terminus. A run down old boat house, long since abandoned by tourer and proprietor alike. She parked the car interior, and placed a protective tarp over the drivers seat. She would need it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an galosh Fox was that her fur was almost completely White person. With a fleshy sigh she made her way through the boat household. A few arcminute later she sat at a table, her rifle assembled and a 50 gallon drum of oil sitting beside the table. She carefully went to exploit, painting her fur with the oil to produce an urban disguise normal on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and head three edifice over from where she had prepped herself.

Her end, a large 5 history 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 rifle up roughly five feet out and fifteen base back from the top left street corner of the building relative to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few practice shot to pull in sure enough 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 self-assurance she made herself as well-situated as possible. Her target would be passing by on a racing yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The first hr was slow to hand, but the time came closer things seemed to peck up with an almost alarming charge per unit of amphetamine. Her target area boat was already coming into sentiment, and would be within firing distance in 15 minutes. 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 uncomely bull dog, who was well into her older class by this spot. Her key key mark was a jagged scar the cut over her left eye, over her gun muzzle and ended at her right hand jaw. She never could forget that one haunting Edward Douglas White Jr. eye, she herself having been partially responsible for the scar. She began to look back upon that series of effect, but stopped herself. Now was the prison term for her to centre. She would probably never have this chance again, as Ida was quickly approaching her expiry bed. Colleen however, would not grant her to quietly pass into the annul beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the bull dog-iron life. She was determined to be the angel of death for the slave dealer, and those that supported their movement.

It took her fifteen minutes more to recover her target. Luckily she had anticipated this problem. She found Ida sitting on the rear of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into place by several firm looking bindings. Unfortunately for her. She would experience loved to have fired off a few shaft, cut the bindings, and watched as Ida rolled off the backbone of the ship, to drop off into the body of water below and drown. However, destiny just was n't tranquillity that bequeath to work with her one this one. She would have to adjudicate with putting a bullet in the woman who had been the cause of many a waking nightmare.

She lined her shot up, carefully compensating for the aristocratic bobbing of the ship as it began to slow for docking. She began her breathing regiment as she placed her cross hairs on Ida 's chest. She counted down from five to herself, waiting until just before the rocking of the ship put Ida 's spirit in her cross hairs, and then fired. The familiar sound of the rifle was all she heard as her bullet train raced forward and struck her targets substance. A standard round would have been Thomas More than enough, but she wanted to send them a subject matter so today she was using a atomization troll. The bullet as it passed through its butt shredded into hundreds potential chiliad of lowly slice, each barreling its way through sonant tissue and then out the dorsum of her wheelchair. No one noticed at world-class the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of clock time Colleen took her chance and glide 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, thrifty not to take away to quickly, or to slowly.

Forty five arcminute later she found herself back at the pent house. She quickly gathered what few wanted belonging 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 second joint and tightened it. Satisfied that it would n't travel she then slide on her favored dress. A long red piece of music with a cunt up the side that stopped just an inch away from the undersurface of holster. She then set about putting on her corset. A matching red to the dress with just a hint of a shine to it, and covered in Black person lace. Years of practice had taught her how to put it on by herself. Next came her horseshoe. A pocket-size pair of four inch heels in the same color as the dress. She always wore this turnout after a target went down. Secretly she found it befitting, to be dressed in red, the colour of blood, on the nights when she herself had spilled the roue 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 driver located in one of the near by hooking and set to forge stripping the positive and negatively charged conducting wire. She dialed the fire department from the land business and made the report of a fire. She then hung up and used the wires to unhorse 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 ardour. Silently she made her way towards the nominal head room access. She grabbed her suite subject, 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 hour and as she drove away she watched the flack consume the pent house. Every suggestion of her that was there was now gone. Consumed by the fire, or washed away by the flame departments household. She had used this method many times before. The flack section would enquire, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grunge to heat up, and then catch fire. She felt bad for the possessor, but knew they would be ok. Before leaving she had left a rather tumid some of money in their downstairs mail box. More than enough to replace the pent theater that they only used during the winter months. She looked back, one last time and then set her sights on her next destination. Where that was she did n't fuck yet. But those who where financing her delegation would soon let her know, and when they did she would receive her next target. The process would recur, and repeat, and repetition until all of those who had stolen her childhood, disrupted her quiet life in the northward with her tribe, and used her body for every sick and twisted desire they could thing 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 Part 1 of Colleen 's history. Let me fuck what you guys call back .