You're one of these neo-Amazon types, a militant out to overthrow the order of the world. After your clique attacked that summit last week orders have come down from on high that you're all to be eliminated.
The compound you operate out of is in a little coastal region of god-knows-where, a couple hundred meters inside a tropical jungle. It takes me a week to hike there and night has fallen by the time I see lights amid the trees. When the sun rises a few hours later I can make out your base, an old colonial-style mansion, and quietly creep forward until I spot you.
You revel in your femininity, proudly proclaim you're a woman by wearing just a bikini. A broad belt sitting on your hips is home to a knife's sheath, from its size the blade wouldn't be something I want near me. I grin though as I draw my bow, plucking an arrow from the quiver at my waist, and press myself against a tree, picturing you in my mind.
I swing round, pulling back the bow-string til my hand is by my ear, and there's a thrumm as I let go. The arrow flashes from the forest, just a blur to you, but you feel it thud into you, feel it sink deep into your deep bellybutton. You let out a moan even I can hear as you tentatively touch the vibrating arrow shaft, glance wild-eyed down at it.
I let you see me, nock a second arrow, and you take a staggering step forward. Strength fails you though, you drop to your knees. A hand moves to support you as you lean backwards, your stomach exposed so beautifully by your pose, and your thighs part in an attempt to remain upright.
I admire your body as you display yourself, focus on your elongated navel with my arrow sticking from it. With a grin I pull back the bow-string again, feel the burn in my muscles, and then uncurl my fingers, the second arrow racing to join the first.
I slink back into the trees, leave you for your sisters to find and panic about. They'll make mistakes and that'll make them easier to pick off. Especially when the rest of my team makes themselves known and begin advancing on your base.
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