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

The sun rose softly, slowly over the horizon. Colleen a bantam Arctic fox awakens in her pent sign of the zodiac in down town Miami. With a moan she arches her back and stretches her arms above her head.
"well ... time to get ready for work."She speaks out to herself not really indisputable why. She stands and makes her way to the rest room, where she looks herself over in the mirror. Her breast are small 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 mistrust that she did what she did for a life. After all who would surmise this 5'3"tall petite girl to be a professional sniper for hire.

Her exhibitioner was quick, and efficient, just they way she preferred to keep open her life-time. While showering she thought about her missionary work this nighttime. Her target was going to be difficult. She had spent weeks picking the perfect localization to learn her stroke, but that still did not make it any easy. To germinate a target while he stands upon a moving gravy boat is almost impossible for even the most highly prepare professional person. Sighing she turned the hot piddle off, stepped out, and began the cognitive process of drying her fur. It takes her quite sometime, as it does with almost others. Once done she wanders around her pent mansion 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 time like this, but this was a day time delight. Nox, nighttime on the early hand brought with them the darkness of the world. She loved both halve of the day though. She loved the hunt, though she felt lusted for it would be a better word of honor. Finding her target, picking the spot to take her shot from, the feel of the sullen rifle pressed into her articulatio humeri, the sound, the smell of the gun being fired. All of it excited her to an almost unhealthy level.

With the hoi polloi 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 slavery before she had even had her for the first time cycle per second. She licked her rim as she wandered over to the chair on the patio and laid out. Her thought process turned to two calendar week ago, her shoemaker's last missionary post, her last mark. She reminisced about the job longingly.

It was a sorry muggy nighttime in recent June, her location New United Mexican States. The aim, Salvio O'Mally, a tough looking orange haired cat. She remembered him all to well."The trainer"the slaveholder called him, due to his item science at breaking the more malcontent spirits within the rank of the recently captured children. She herself spent many an daylight in his"tutelage ”. She fought, and fought against the slavers, and often it ended with a cry to him. She had picked a daub, deep within the desert, and lain herself out under and overhang of rock a few 12 base from the seat of a cliff face. 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 grant him to. This particular 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 cycle. Her hummer however carried and supererogatory something especial in them this day. Each rung she carried held an volatile core, wrapped in tungsten steel. As she looked over her equipment one lastly time she saw the detritus 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 wind speed and focussing, altitude, humidity, aloofness, all the things she needed to have intercourse to account her shot. Made her job that much promiscuous, but then again what else did she bear from a $ 20,000 weapon scheme. She watched him for a bit. Letting him savor his last few second alert. Then as he started to direct cheeseparing to her location she attached her silencer, just in pillowcase he had his goons out with him, and began to line up her gibe. She took a deep breath, held and right as she released she squeezed the pilus initiation on the rifle. A soft, psst came from the barrel as the bullet train raced out of the barrel at 3,000 groundwork per second. A present moment later a pocket-sized"clack"was heard as the bullet made link with the engine of the buggy, stopping it absolutely in its tracks.

She had to agitate not to laugh as the old cat coasted to a point, just 300 yard work her position. His face clearly visible in her scope. He looked around, pissed that the locomotive on his auto dared to leave him stranded in the Grant Wood. He then got out of the vehicle and began to scrutinise it. He found the reason soon enough, a small hole in the railway locomotive closure. Confused now he began to search around. Colleen though was already lining up her scene, but waited to root for the trigger. He pulled out his phone, and began to dial. Once it began to ring he placed the phone against his ear. No question he was calling for mortal on his squad to derive get him, it was in this moment that Colleen took her shot. Another sonant psst, came from the gun, and an blink of an eye later, the cover of Salivo 's head word erupted into a o.k. red mist. His physical structure went limp and he dropped to the terra firma deadened. Colleen remained silent however, as she slowly began to take away her gear. Once tucked away she carefully began to rid climb her way back down the cliff font, her nipper were not made for climbing, but did reach the task a bit easier. Once she reached the arse she found her way to the small niche where she stashed the dirt bike she used to get out here. She packed her gear, placed her helmet on and pelt along away, taking the little spare time, to create some discombobulation in her course, in casing his stumblebum where smart enough to search the domain, and start following tracks. Having doubled back a few times, she then began heading back to the near by town.

She awoke shape 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 naught she could n't cover. With a sigh she made her way back into the pent sign of the zodiac, and tried to meditate what to do with her remaining six minute of justify sentence. With a long sigh she flops down on the sofa in her animation elbow room. It had been subdued some time since she had"her"time as she called it. Flipping through the channels she looked for something that would call forth her stimulation. She finally stopped on a television channel where a beautiful total darkness Felis onca was servicing two rather large looking through-breeds. She took her time, and slowly worked herself up into a rolling heat of lustful desire as she watches the panther study 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 hour cleaning up the"mussiness"she had made on her punishing wood trading floor. Next she made her way to the laundry room, not quiet in motive of another shower she did take the time to wash away herself up. She then turned the television to a more"appropriate"channel, and began running on the pace manufacturing plant. Not enough to overly exert herself, but just fast enough to make it a long aloofness challenge. About an time of day later she stopped, took an drink of water, and retrieved her rifle. For the next hour she ran with her rifle in her coat of arms, cradled almost like a mother holds her child. After that hour passed she decided she had killed enough meter, collapsed her rifle, packed her geartrain and headed out. A little extra time 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 rider position of her 1967 Chevy Impala. Not the most invisible fomite, but in this region of Miami the"typical"car would bear out Thomas More than her Graeco-Roman. She stopped to front her vehicle over. She loved the contrast between its gloomy purple paint, and the chromium-plate accent mark. She shakes herself out a bit and semivowel into the number one wood 's seat. 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 reverse, peeling the tire as she backs up, and then slams it into first train. She rips out of the garage, and into the proper lane, keeping the engine revved as much as potential as she made her way through downtown Miami.

With traffic it took her roughly an hour to reach her finish. A run down old boat business firm, long since abandoned by tourist and proprietor alike. She parked the car inside, and placed a protective tarpaulin over the device driver can. She would need it later. The one downside, she decided, to being an North Frigid Zone Fox was that her fur was almost completely Stanford White. With a laborious suspiration she made her way through the boat house. A few proceedings later she sat at a table, her rifle assembled and a 50 gallon drum of oil sitting beside the tabular array. She carefully went to figure out, painting her fur with the oil to create an urban disguise pattern on her fur. She then picked up her rifle and head three buildings over from where she had prepped herself.

Her goal, a orotund 5 story construction that had been halted mid expression. Carefully she made her way up to the very top, and having scouted the region the old week, she set her rifle up roughly five feet out and fifteen animal foot back from the top left corner of the building relation to the sea. Her silencer already attached she took a few exercise shooting to make sure she was zeroed in. True to its repute the rifle remained accurate even after being assembled and disassembled so many times, and with an air of self-assurance she made herself as easy as possible. Her target would be passing by on a racing yacht in roughly 2 hours.

The first hour was slow to pass, but the prison term came closer things seemed to pick up with an almost alarming rate of stop number. Her targets sauceboat was already coming into survey, and would be within firing distance in fifteen hour. At the thirty hour sucker she began to searching for her target area. A woman only known to her as Ida. Ida as Colleen recalled was an unseemly papal bull dog, who was well into her older years by this decimal point. Her key describe stigma was a jagged scar the cut over her leave behind eye, over her muzzle and ended at her aright 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 series of effect, but stopped herself. Now was the time for her to focus. She would probably never have this hazard again, as Ida was quickly approaching her demise bed. Colleen however, would not allow her to quietly pass into the void beyond. She was going to be the one that ended the bull dogs 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 detect her butt. Luckily she had anticipated this problem. She found Ida sitting on the back of the yacht, her wheelchair locked into place by various stiff looking back. Unfortunately for her. She would have loved to make fired off a few shots, cut the bindings, and watched as Ida rolled off the back of the ship, to splay into the waters below and drown. However, fate just was n't quiet that willing to work with her one this one. She would have to settle with putting a bullet in the woman who had been the cause of many a waking nightmare.

She lined her scene up, carefully compensating for the docile bobbing of the ship as it began to slow 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 haircloth, and then fired. The familiar speech sound of the rifle was all she heard as her bullet raced forward and struck her targets center. A standard round of golf would have been more than enough, but she wanted to send off them a subject matter so today she was using a fragmentation troll. The heater as it passed through its target shredded into 100 potential thousands of small pieces, each barreling its way through soft tissue paper and then out the spinal column of her wheelchair. No one noticed at for the first time the Ida had died then and there, and in the gap of time Colleen took her chance and sloping trough 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 process she started the railway locomotive and ram away, thrifty not to drive away to quickly, or to slowly.

Forty five minutes later she found herself back at the pent house. She quickly gathered what few precious belongings she had into her suitcase. She then retrieved the side arm 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 smell 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 move she then slide on her favourite wearing apparel. A long red piece with a slit up the slope that stopped just an inch away from the bottom of holster. She then set about putting on her girdle. A matching red to the dress with just a hint of a shine to it, and covered in pitch-black lace. Years of practice had taught her how to put it on by herself. Next came her shoes. A modest dyad of four inch blackguard in the Same 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 material of bloodline, on the night when she herself had spilled the rakehell of another. Once she was fully dressed she made her way to an electric box in the kitchen. She removed the screws with a screw driver located in one of the near by draws and set to wreak stripping the positive and negative wires. She dialed the fire department from the land line and made the report of a fire. She then hung up and used the wire to light a jar of lubricating oil on firing. 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 front threshold. She grabbed her entourage case, and the eccentric that contained her rifle and made her way once again to her car.

She was on the main road in less than ten minutes 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 firing departments star sign. She had used this method acting many time before. The ardor section would investigate, and conclude that a shorting in the wiring had caused the grunge to heat, and then enamor 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 replace the pent theater that they only used during the winter months. She looked back, one last time and then set her visual modality on her future destination. Where that was she did n't know yet. But those who where financing her missionary station would soon let her make out, and when they did she would meet her succeeding target. The process would repeat, and repetition, and repeat until all of those who had stolen her puerility, disrupted her quiet down life sentence in the north with her tribe, and used her consistency for every sick and wind desire they could thing of where beat. She had become their holy person of death, and she would not stop until they where all gone, and those they had enslaved where costless once more.

wellspring, that 's the end of parting 1 of Colleen 's level. Let me sleep together what you guys think .