[center][h1][color=662d91]Izra[/color][/h1]

There she was alone again.

Standing, nay leaning on the railings of the catwalks above the speech she listened in on how her brothers and sisters were treated. It wasn't fair, the way mutants were hunted down like savages by the Republic. These types of games had gone on way too long, the killer looked to her left and then to her right but found no one near and dear to share these thoughts or rigid emotions with. The harsh reality is Izra was scary, too much for her own good. Not from the looks of Persay but the blood that ran black in her veins, giving her the reputation that she had no one really wanted to hang around with a bona fide killer. With times getting rougher there was bound to be contracts from both sides ready to pop up.

On her back laid that dandy sniper rifle of hers, as well as the rest of her kit, hung off her body beautifully. The weight balance ratio had been perfected after all these years, she would need it for the trials and tribulations. The One Thousand Meter Killer adjusted her leaning status, pulling herself back up she waited for the next venom oozed words to pour out of the speaker's mouth, rallying the damned and pushing them forward was all that she was about but there was a part of her wondering if there was something more. Politics around the Haven didn't always fly in this direction. Could this be a contribution to something much more lethal?


[/center]