I see shots fired. Lol
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@The Red Zephyr Looks good, though I have one question. part of me believes that he has an older brother, but with the same class and all that, leads me to believe that they are twins... o.o can I get some clarification on that please? lol
To everyone else, these posts are looking
I should be getting up a Kate post tonight and if I don't pass out after that you can expect another Deon post. Shit just got real at The Spit yo!
Is the cage fighting legal? Kat may see how Deon beat the living shit out of some poor NPC, and decide to ring him up with assault and battery.
(I'm cackling at the thought of arresting the GM's own character.)
This is amazing. No matter what happens, beautiful story will flow around Elizabeth.
I'm curious as to how to get involved in the multiverse that exists here.
As soon as the slightest sound of footsteps reached him, Damien froze. He stopped his breathing, stopped his moving... the only part of him not on pause were his eyes, scanning over the area before him. There. He thought he'd seen it, the slightest movement in the shadows. But he wasn't sure. He couldn't be, unless he checked it out. The first sign that he was about to start moving was his breathing, the intake slow and quiet before he exhaled through his nose in the same pattern. Then his head, tilting to give a better view, adjusting to allow his gaze past the edges of corners. But he couldn't see a thing.
Slowly, his hand left the side of the pillar as his legs shifted, carrying him closer to the nearest wall. Inch by inch, he made his way over until he could press himself against the surface, minimizing the silhouette the stars might make. Then he began to make his way to the entrance, moving with a sense of paranoia that filled the atmosphere. He could hear it, the slightest echo as steps rang out the presence of someone in the museum. The abandoned, ancient, remote museum.
He didn't like it. Every moment of the thirty seconds it took to reach the entrance, his nerves creeped closer and closer to the edge, even as he reached the corner to peer around I to the building. One more quiet breath, and his head barely peered around, looking inside in hopes of seeing if his paranoia had only amplified the ambling presence of some animal.
Slowly, his hand left the side of the pillar as his legs shifted, carrying him closer to the nearest wall. Inch by inch, he made his way over until he could press himself against the surface, minimizing the silhouette the stars might make. Then he began to make his way to the entrance, moving with a sense of paranoia that filled the atmosphere. He could hear it, the slightest echo as steps rang out the presence of someone in the museum. The abandoned, ancient, remote museum.
He didn't like it. Every moment of the thirty seconds it took to reach the entrance, his nerves creeped closer and closer to the edge, even as he reached the corner to peer around I to the building. One more quiet breath, and his head barely peered around, looking inside in hopes of seeing if his paranoia had only amplified the ambling presence of some animal.
Darkness. All around, nothing to see, nothing to trace. Just black emptiness. Then there. In the corner. A flash of some light, almost miniscule. Then again, and again... Voices. There are voices in the bleakness, mumbling, muttering, indiscernable, yet just barely. Suddenly, the whole area flashes with lights... red, white, blue ...and there is screaming, a raged yell. Shots. And silence.
With a sudden snap, teal irises stared up at the ceiling of Elizabeth's apartment, wide as she switched from the dream world to reality. Seconds passed, and steadily, she began to adjust to the morning. It was dark, that much she could tell. A sign that the nightlife had turned off, mere moments before dawn. The city was transforming. Blinking away the sense of tiredness that always worked to trick the mind, she felt the muscles in her body tense, then stretched, extending her lithe figure across the matress.
Rolling over, her gaze fell on the alarm clock positioned next to the headboard. Six twenty-seven. As always, a few minutes before her alarm went off. A symptom of her paranoid lifestyle. A sigh, long and relaxing, escaped her lips as one, slow blink calmed her nerves. And with a sudden burst of movement, two bare feet hit the floor as Elizabeth's shoulders rolled. Last night had been a work night. Simple job, especially compared to the earlier days. A simple syringe of Hand of the Devil had set the man off. Cops had finished the job for her. Simple, clean... untraceable. The law didn't think to autopsy the men they shot. Only those without a clear murderer.
For the next twenty minutes, Elizabeth moved from station to station, getting ready for the day. A shower, the mirror, her closet, the kitchen... By the time she left her building, she was ready for the day ahead, her leather jacket over the lime green tanktop, a belt in the loops of her dark jeans, her teal bandana around her neck... and a large sum of money in her breast pocket.
6:00 P.M.
Even outside, Elizabeth could hear the roaring cheers of the crowd inside the Spit as another fight started, dragging in patrons from the streets as the real entertainment began. Slipping between the rush of eager bodies, she found herself cast out into a hectic scene of motion and lights, shouts buffeting her from all directions. She felt oddly at home. A sense of exhileration, powerful, intoxicating, seeped into her as she released a puff of air. She was in a hunt. And like every job, she reveled in being predator.
By the time the actual fighting started, the teal head of hair had already disappeared from the dance floor, weaving through drunkard men and punks on high. She slipped by the couple with no shame, and the whispering group of tattooed bikers. Until she finally reached the shifty man in the corner.
"Here to make a bet?" His voice rasped with the trace of too much smoke and shouting.
"No, I'm hear for the small chat."
"Comedian. Typical. Which fighter and how much?"
He didn't even finish his sentence before she slammed the wad of cash on his desk, eyes boring into his with a disturbing intensity.
"Darth's next enemy."
Even the cool gambler couldn't keep his eyebrows from flying up questioningly. No one betted against the champion of the Spit. It was a waste of money. Kissing the coin goodbye. In his opinion, the woman was drunk, but hey, he wasn't going to waste an opportunity to earn... As his eyes met the size of the wager, they seemed to bulge in surprise, and the bug eyed look he had made the slightest smirk twitch at Elizabeth's lips.
"I'll be back for my money after the fight."
He didn't even respond as again the woman vanished into the crowd, popping up minutes later right at the entrance to the cage as poor Spike was removed after his humiliating defeat. But she wasn't... herself. It was a lazy stumble that brought her out of the masses, catching herself just in time to grab the cage and support herself. Looking up, two hazy orbs stared at the man that stood at the cage door, before he lopsided smile was flashed and she moved into the cage.
Across from her, she could see Darth as a shaky hand was raised, two fingers pointing off to his right as the other supported her, holding the cage.
"You... you're all mine." As the slurred words left her lips, Elizabeth stood to her full height, shoulders angling back as she pulled off her jacket, before a casual toss sent it the corner of the arena. Or would have, if it didn't hang on her sleeve. It took a few more moments to actually get it where it was supposed to be. But her eyes never left the man across from her, and once the jacket finally fell, two unsteady hands were raised in what was supposed to be a defensive position.
"Come on, showboy."
With a sudden snap, teal irises stared up at the ceiling of Elizabeth's apartment, wide as she switched from the dream world to reality. Seconds passed, and steadily, she began to adjust to the morning. It was dark, that much she could tell. A sign that the nightlife had turned off, mere moments before dawn. The city was transforming. Blinking away the sense of tiredness that always worked to trick the mind, she felt the muscles in her body tense, then stretched, extending her lithe figure across the matress.
Rolling over, her gaze fell on the alarm clock positioned next to the headboard. Six twenty-seven. As always, a few minutes before her alarm went off. A symptom of her paranoid lifestyle. A sigh, long and relaxing, escaped her lips as one, slow blink calmed her nerves. And with a sudden burst of movement, two bare feet hit the floor as Elizabeth's shoulders rolled. Last night had been a work night. Simple job, especially compared to the earlier days. A simple syringe of Hand of the Devil had set the man off. Cops had finished the job for her. Simple, clean... untraceable. The law didn't think to autopsy the men they shot. Only those without a clear murderer.
For the next twenty minutes, Elizabeth moved from station to station, getting ready for the day. A shower, the mirror, her closet, the kitchen... By the time she left her building, she was ready for the day ahead, her leather jacket over the lime green tanktop, a belt in the loops of her dark jeans, her teal bandana around her neck... and a large sum of money in her breast pocket.
6:00 P.M.
Even outside, Elizabeth could hear the roaring cheers of the crowd inside the Spit as another fight started, dragging in patrons from the streets as the real entertainment began. Slipping between the rush of eager bodies, she found herself cast out into a hectic scene of motion and lights, shouts buffeting her from all directions. She felt oddly at home. A sense of exhileration, powerful, intoxicating, seeped into her as she released a puff of air. She was in a hunt. And like every job, she reveled in being predator.
By the time the actual fighting started, the teal head of hair had already disappeared from the dance floor, weaving through drunkard men and punks on high. She slipped by the couple with no shame, and the whispering group of tattooed bikers. Until she finally reached the shifty man in the corner.
"Here to make a bet?" His voice rasped with the trace of too much smoke and shouting.
"No, I'm hear for the small chat."
"Comedian. Typical. Which fighter and how much?"
He didn't even finish his sentence before she slammed the wad of cash on his desk, eyes boring into his with a disturbing intensity.
"Darth's next enemy."
Even the cool gambler couldn't keep his eyebrows from flying up questioningly. No one betted against the champion of the Spit. It was a waste of money. Kissing the coin goodbye. In his opinion, the woman was drunk, but hey, he wasn't going to waste an opportunity to earn... As his eyes met the size of the wager, they seemed to bulge in surprise, and the bug eyed look he had made the slightest smirk twitch at Elizabeth's lips.
"I'll be back for my money after the fight."
He didn't even respond as again the woman vanished into the crowd, popping up minutes later right at the entrance to the cage as poor Spike was removed after his humiliating defeat. But she wasn't... herself. It was a lazy stumble that brought her out of the masses, catching herself just in time to grab the cage and support herself. Looking up, two hazy orbs stared at the man that stood at the cage door, before he lopsided smile was flashed and she moved into the cage.
Across from her, she could see Darth as a shaky hand was raised, two fingers pointing off to his right as the other supported her, holding the cage.
"You... you're all mine." As the slurred words left her lips, Elizabeth stood to her full height, shoulders angling back as she pulled off her jacket, before a casual toss sent it the corner of the arena. Or would have, if it didn't hang on her sleeve. It took a few more moments to actually get it where it was supposed to be. But her eyes never left the man across from her, and once the jacket finally fell, two unsteady hands were raised in what was supposed to be a defensive position.
"Come on, showboy."
@Leb Mach and I will review your CS here shortly :)
<Snipped quote by Dymion>
Not sure who this question is aimed at... maybe me... but does New Ancora even have Colombians? I don't mean that in a racist way, I'm just slightly confusing myself because those who live in New Ancora... well they've been there forever... generations upon generations... no one from the outside comes in and no one from the inside goes out... hmm....
I'm not sure if Mach addressed this question efficiently enough, but even though Devil's Breath is iconic for it's use in Colombia, it does exist elsewhere as a regular narcotic. However, when you research it, any source directly focuses on Colombia, who applies it basically as mind control. Which is pretty scary. Even then, Mach's points are still highlyrics applicable, and with the only thing needed to make it being a flower, I could have it at my apartment window, and due to its lack of renown, noone be the wiser.
The drugs Elizabeth uses have been updated. They are relatively short, but if you wish for more information on the real drugs, Google is quite informative.
I have also decided to begin working on the CS for my male character.
I have also decided to begin working on the CS for my male character.
<Snipped quote by Dymion>
Hey, if you think you can handle it, I'll allow you to make a second (male) character if you wanted to :)
I may give it a shot, as soon as I finish updating Elizabeth's tools. I'll let you know.
@Lev
Very nice Lev, I'm impressed with the artwork (kudos go to using the images in the OP as backgrounds XD) Approved! I shall get her over to the Character Thread shortly.
And holy Hannah do we have a lot of females o.o
Lol, sorry. I would have done a male, but Elizabeth is a character I have always loved and wanted to roleplay. Granted, I had to switch her from steampunk to cyberpunk, but it was totally worth it. Even the images are like alternate world versions.
<Name:/> Elizabeth Breeyon
<Nickname(s):/>None
<Gender:/>Female
<Age:/> 23
<Occupation:/>Hitman
<District:/> 16
<Height:/> 5' 11"
<Weight:/> 129 lbs.
<Appearance:/>
A lot of people can be described as predatory, but... it just rings true with Elizabeth. She's lean, well muscled, but feminine all the same. Almost like a panther. Always has a wary look in those teal eyes, and with her elegant jawline... it's hard not to see the hunter in her. But damn can she play a poor chap's heartstrings. Hard not to call her seducing, and those full lips... fool doesn't know what he's getting into. She knows how to use her looks to get what she wants. Doesn't matter if they are some narcissistic Alpha, he's still her play toy, tats and all. Even though she's got multiple. Yeah, there are the obvious ones, like the lines on her right cheek and the triangle one on her chin, but those aren't her favorites. No, she likes the one on her back, a tribal scorpion. Thing is huge, its tail starting at the top of her hip on the right side and running into the body set dead in her back, the pincers at her shoulders. It's... unsettling, to say the least.
<Personality:/> Cynical, sarcastic, devious... Elizabeth is a real... joy... to deal with. She never sincerely smiles, most of the time faking it to put you off, and she always has that neck tilt, like she's... trying to size you up. You can see it in her eyes, like you're prey. She's sadistic too, though whether it's a result of her work or vice versa is hard to say, and you can tell she isn't much for liking people. Thinks everyone's out to get her. She mostly sits back and lets the world screw itself up around her. Only became a hitman for the money. Doesn't care a lick about the politics behind it or the morality. As long as it pays good.
<Biography:/> Twenty-four years ago, a young drug addict by the name of Jonathan Breeyon had the misfortune of meeting an unknown woman on the streets. Tall, slender, elegant, and about his age, she was a magnet for the kid on high, and within a few short hours, she was leaving his hovel as content as any lion after its meal. But, unlike every other successful hunt, this one had after effects, and in a short time, the seducer realized she'd made an error. And she needed to get rid of it. Fast.
Surgery was too expensive. None of the clinics would take her. So in nine months time, her little daughter was born. And she couldn't bring herself to kill it. Instead, she took it to the father, and with a little reward, stuck the baby with her addict dad. That's how she got the name, Breeyon. And Jonathan decides to keep the name of the mother. Elizabeth.
The lessons of a parent on narcotics are of a strange variety, and as the young girl aged through her toddler and early preteen years, she found that the world was a place of advantage and sin. It wasn't that her father ever beat on her. Despite the influence of drugs, he cherished the little girl, and gave her all the love he could afford. But as she watched Jonathan poison himself day by day, wasting his money on pleasure over food, it had an impact.
When her old man died at the ripe old age of thirty-three, sixteen year old Elizabeth didn't have many choices for how she was going to make it in the world alone. It was either join a gang, become a prostitute, or work a low paying job to go nowhere. Unless, you had the willpower or connections to contracts.
Elizabeth was not going to become her mother. Three days after Jonathan's death, the little vixen had contacted a hitman with what she described as simply a job. Had he known that job was to take on an apprentice, he would've hung up the phone. Instead, he arrived and was impressed my the girl's treachery, and took her in.
The next two years saw the young girl turned into a lethal woman, her enthrallment with her occupation enough that she picked up skills quickly. First came her talents in manipulation. Learning to heighten or lower her voice, control her language, accent, gaint, demeanor... talents that actors wished for. Next was her own physical prowess, a skill she tailored to her own form, making her agile, fast, and skilled at hand to hand combat. Then the teacher was done, and Elizabeth was on her own. But there was one final lesson she learned, a skill that was both ironic and unique, making her a go to for inconspicuous kills. To create and synthesize various narcotics, then apply them in a multitude of ways. A talent which made her truly deadly.
<Other:/>
The drugs employed by Elizabeth are many, each serving their purpose in various ways.
Scopolamine: Also known as Devil's Breath, this little beauty is made from a tree that grows abundantly in Colombia, where the local criminal element made it infamous with their constant use of the substance. Odorless, colorless, and tastless, it takes a minor amount inhaled, consumed, injected, or exposed to breaks in the skin for the most basic effects to begin. And it only takes a few minutes from first exposure, before the victim enters what is best described as a zombie-like state; coherent but with no free will. And it gets worse. Not only is the subject easy to command, with Colombian cases expanding from victims helping robbers steal their valuables to even donating organs, but afterwards there is no recollection of the events, the drug stopping memories from forming for nearly 24 hours. Those under the influence of Devil's Breath also experience powerful hallucinations, with increased dosages resulting in a state of unconciousness and, in high amounts, death due to respiratory failure.
In the hands of a skilled hitman, Devil's Breath earns its dubbing by some as the scariest drug out there. It can be blown into someone's face, slipped in their drink, injected into their skin, or dispersed in the very air they breath. But what makes it most powerful is the massive quantity of applications. Interrogations, robberies, framings, attacks, coverups... all made ten times easier thanks to a little tree.
Hand of the Devil: Often sold on the streets and in dark corners for aspiring athletes and underhanded brawlers, the drug is likely one of the most dangerous on the market, for both consumers and anything around them. The steroid, requiring direct injection into the body, stimulates the body to levels beyond what man should achieve, but seems to induce a level of rage and unreasoning that makes it earn the name. That is, if you make it past the first few minutes. This is a drug that only the best of the best can even think to use, with top physical conditioning required. Otherwise, you face cardiac arrest, a fate 90% of users meet head on.
Again, Elizabeth enjoys her interactions with the Devil's toys, with this one usually saved for the weak bodied or those requiring high profile deaths. It is truly a hitman's best friend. Inject it quietly and in the victim's sleep, and they die by a drug that will make investigators right them off as just another casualty of ambition. But the best are when they are awake and healthy, with wild chases testing her own skills as she leads them straight into the law and a complete massacre.
Hydrogen Cyanide: Probably the most lethal poison in the world, hydrogen cyanide is a liquid that boils at just above room temperature, making both liquid and gaseous use a possibility when applied in the field. Targeting the ETC in the cells' mitochondria, it completely shuts down ATP production, affecting the nervous system and heart most as they are forced to shut down. The speed that this takes varies. As a gas, about three hundred milligrams per cubic meter is all it takes to kill anyone exposed to the space in ten to sixty minutes. And at three thousand five hundred of the same unit of measurement, it takes less than a minute. In it's liquid form, its even more dangerous, taking small amounts of space to deliver a punch powerful enough to end the largest of animals. A syringe of this colorless, water-filled substance, and it's the end.
Even despite its lack of distributors, forcing Elizabeth to construct her own lab, the hitman has found Hydrogen Cyanide to be worth the effort. In a drink, the poison goes straight to the stomach, boiling on its way until every milligram is distributed across the body in a blanket if death. With a syringe, it's even faster. But what makes it amazing for someone like Elizabeth is the prospect of slipping it into a building's filtration system, ending hundreds of lives within hours.
2,4-Dinitrophenol: Simply referred to as DNP, the drug can actually be found over the counter in pills made for weight loss, often attracting body builders or big people wanting slim bodies. The problem is, most that by it don't quite realize what they are getting into, either loving the results or dying before they get them. The reason why is actually pretty scary. The reaction of the drug with the body results in the mitochondria reducing energy production efficiency, instead turning all that chemical work it's done into waste heat. The result is a massive increase in body temperature, and eventual death by hyperthermia. Unless, of course, you have a ton of fat to burn. Literally.
What Elizabeth loves most about DNP is the fact that all it takes is a hammer and bag to alter it to a nice, yellow powder, which can be slipped into food or drink and given to an unsuspecting target. Once ingested, it's almost cruel, the effects literally cooking the victim from the inside until they die from the excess heat.
<Nickname(s):/>None
<Gender:/>Female
<Age:/> 23
<Occupation:/>Hitman
<District:/> 16
<Height:/> 5' 11"
<Weight:/> 129 lbs.
<Appearance:/>
A lot of people can be described as predatory, but... it just rings true with Elizabeth. She's lean, well muscled, but feminine all the same. Almost like a panther. Always has a wary look in those teal eyes, and with her elegant jawline... it's hard not to see the hunter in her. But damn can she play a poor chap's heartstrings. Hard not to call her seducing, and those full lips... fool doesn't know what he's getting into. She knows how to use her looks to get what she wants. Doesn't matter if they are some narcissistic Alpha, he's still her play toy, tats and all. Even though she's got multiple. Yeah, there are the obvious ones, like the lines on her right cheek and the triangle one on her chin, but those aren't her favorites. No, she likes the one on her back, a tribal scorpion. Thing is huge, its tail starting at the top of her hip on the right side and running into the body set dead in her back, the pincers at her shoulders. It's... unsettling, to say the least.
<Personality:/> Cynical, sarcastic, devious... Elizabeth is a real... joy... to deal with. She never sincerely smiles, most of the time faking it to put you off, and she always has that neck tilt, like she's... trying to size you up. You can see it in her eyes, like you're prey. She's sadistic too, though whether it's a result of her work or vice versa is hard to say, and you can tell she isn't much for liking people. Thinks everyone's out to get her. She mostly sits back and lets the world screw itself up around her. Only became a hitman for the money. Doesn't care a lick about the politics behind it or the morality. As long as it pays good.
<Biography:/> Twenty-four years ago, a young drug addict by the name of Jonathan Breeyon had the misfortune of meeting an unknown woman on the streets. Tall, slender, elegant, and about his age, she was a magnet for the kid on high, and within a few short hours, she was leaving his hovel as content as any lion after its meal. But, unlike every other successful hunt, this one had after effects, and in a short time, the seducer realized she'd made an error. And she needed to get rid of it. Fast.
Surgery was too expensive. None of the clinics would take her. So in nine months time, her little daughter was born. And she couldn't bring herself to kill it. Instead, she took it to the father, and with a little reward, stuck the baby with her addict dad. That's how she got the name, Breeyon. And Jonathan decides to keep the name of the mother. Elizabeth.
The lessons of a parent on narcotics are of a strange variety, and as the young girl aged through her toddler and early preteen years, she found that the world was a place of advantage and sin. It wasn't that her father ever beat on her. Despite the influence of drugs, he cherished the little girl, and gave her all the love he could afford. But as she watched Jonathan poison himself day by day, wasting his money on pleasure over food, it had an impact.
When her old man died at the ripe old age of thirty-three, sixteen year old Elizabeth didn't have many choices for how she was going to make it in the world alone. It was either join a gang, become a prostitute, or work a low paying job to go nowhere. Unless, you had the willpower or connections to contracts.
Elizabeth was not going to become her mother. Three days after Jonathan's death, the little vixen had contacted a hitman with what she described as simply a job. Had he known that job was to take on an apprentice, he would've hung up the phone. Instead, he arrived and was impressed my the girl's treachery, and took her in.
The next two years saw the young girl turned into a lethal woman, her enthrallment with her occupation enough that she picked up skills quickly. First came her talents in manipulation. Learning to heighten or lower her voice, control her language, accent, gaint, demeanor... talents that actors wished for. Next was her own physical prowess, a skill she tailored to her own form, making her agile, fast, and skilled at hand to hand combat. Then the teacher was done, and Elizabeth was on her own. But there was one final lesson she learned, a skill that was both ironic and unique, making her a go to for inconspicuous kills. To create and synthesize various narcotics, then apply them in a multitude of ways. A talent which made her truly deadly.
<Other:/>
The drugs employed by Elizabeth are many, each serving their purpose in various ways.
Scopolamine: Also known as Devil's Breath, this little beauty is made from a tree that grows abundantly in Colombia, where the local criminal element made it infamous with their constant use of the substance. Odorless, colorless, and tastless, it takes a minor amount inhaled, consumed, injected, or exposed to breaks in the skin for the most basic effects to begin. And it only takes a few minutes from first exposure, before the victim enters what is best described as a zombie-like state; coherent but with no free will. And it gets worse. Not only is the subject easy to command, with Colombian cases expanding from victims helping robbers steal their valuables to even donating organs, but afterwards there is no recollection of the events, the drug stopping memories from forming for nearly 24 hours. Those under the influence of Devil's Breath also experience powerful hallucinations, with increased dosages resulting in a state of unconciousness and, in high amounts, death due to respiratory failure.
In the hands of a skilled hitman, Devil's Breath earns its dubbing by some as the scariest drug out there. It can be blown into someone's face, slipped in their drink, injected into their skin, or dispersed in the very air they breath. But what makes it most powerful is the massive quantity of applications. Interrogations, robberies, framings, attacks, coverups... all made ten times easier thanks to a little tree.
Hand of the Devil: Often sold on the streets and in dark corners for aspiring athletes and underhanded brawlers, the drug is likely one of the most dangerous on the market, for both consumers and anything around them. The steroid, requiring direct injection into the body, stimulates the body to levels beyond what man should achieve, but seems to induce a level of rage and unreasoning that makes it earn the name. That is, if you make it past the first few minutes. This is a drug that only the best of the best can even think to use, with top physical conditioning required. Otherwise, you face cardiac arrest, a fate 90% of users meet head on.
Again, Elizabeth enjoys her interactions with the Devil's toys, with this one usually saved for the weak bodied or those requiring high profile deaths. It is truly a hitman's best friend. Inject it quietly and in the victim's sleep, and they die by a drug that will make investigators right them off as just another casualty of ambition. But the best are when they are awake and healthy, with wild chases testing her own skills as she leads them straight into the law and a complete massacre.
Hydrogen Cyanide: Probably the most lethal poison in the world, hydrogen cyanide is a liquid that boils at just above room temperature, making both liquid and gaseous use a possibility when applied in the field. Targeting the ETC in the cells' mitochondria, it completely shuts down ATP production, affecting the nervous system and heart most as they are forced to shut down. The speed that this takes varies. As a gas, about three hundred milligrams per cubic meter is all it takes to kill anyone exposed to the space in ten to sixty minutes. And at three thousand five hundred of the same unit of measurement, it takes less than a minute. In it's liquid form, its even more dangerous, taking small amounts of space to deliver a punch powerful enough to end the largest of animals. A syringe of this colorless, water-filled substance, and it's the end.
Even despite its lack of distributors, forcing Elizabeth to construct her own lab, the hitman has found Hydrogen Cyanide to be worth the effort. In a drink, the poison goes straight to the stomach, boiling on its way until every milligram is distributed across the body in a blanket if death. With a syringe, it's even faster. But what makes it amazing for someone like Elizabeth is the prospect of slipping it into a building's filtration system, ending hundreds of lives within hours.
2,4-Dinitrophenol: Simply referred to as DNP, the drug can actually be found over the counter in pills made for weight loss, often attracting body builders or big people wanting slim bodies. The problem is, most that by it don't quite realize what they are getting into, either loving the results or dying before they get them. The reason why is actually pretty scary. The reaction of the drug with the body results in the mitochondria reducing energy production efficiency, instead turning all that chemical work it's done into waste heat. The result is a massive increase in body temperature, and eventual death by hyperthermia. Unless, of course, you have a ton of fat to burn. Literally.
What Elizabeth loves most about DNP is the fact that all it takes is a hammer and bag to alter it to a nice, yellow powder, which can be slipped into food or drink and given to an unsuspecting target. Once ingested, it's almost cruel, the effects literally cooking the victim from the inside until they die from the excess heat.
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