YoshiSkittlez

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

<Snipped quote by YoshiSkittlez>

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.

@Dymion

Hey, if you think you can handle it, I'll allow you to make a second (male) character if you wanted to :)

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

Question: Is there a standing military in this city or is it all police?

@Archangel89

There is a military however they are all stationed within District 0 which like, no one notably comes in or out of. The remaining Districts have police.

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

Played by Lev

Name: Audrey Webner
Nickname(s): N/A
Gender: Female
Age: 22 years, 11 months

Height: 5’ 7”
Weight: 165 lbs

Occupation: Economics Student, Unemployed
District: Alpha, 2 (by circumstance)

Personality:
Audrey is obedient. She has been pruned for social perfection since childhood – as far back as she can remember; maybe six or seven years of age? Her mother was a disciplinarian when it came to etiquette, charm, and influence. Her father bore the heavy hand of knowledge, order, and wealth. In the public eye, Audrey is the ideal model of an Alpha Zone woman.

As such, she exhibits the stereotypical traits of a wealthy heir. Her airy, posh sense of entitlement is a perfect camouflage when mingling with other women, and men, of the better districts. She can even be as ignorant and self-centered as the majority, sometimes. But behind the backs of her critical peers Audrey struggles with inadequacy. For reasons she can’t explain, a paralyzing fear of rejection haunts her every move.
Compliance brings opportunity and reward. Divergence brings… something as bad as the stories from Zone Beta.

Biography:
It always seemed to be raining in District 17. Even when the rain was welcome it was mostly acidic, trickling from the heavy clouds that braided through the daunting skyscrapers. One rainy night was especially terrible for Lonnie.

Lonnie? Yes. Audrey Webner’s true name is Lonnie Harlon; but she wouldn’t recognize that name anymore. On that fateful night sixteen years ago, a six year old street-shank was given a second chance at life and left her entire identity behind her.

Bleaker St. was darker than a BoD’s dirty black armor – or their agenda, depending on which one you talked to. The only thing that lit the puddled street was the neon that hung from the upper stories. Underneath that dim fluorescent glow was a little girl, holding the hand of her father while he held the neck of an empty bottle. Tom Harlon’s rigor veins were hard under his skin, like metal chords pushing through a plastic bag. The years of drunken dependency, child-rearing, and drug addiction had finally taken its toll. With no mother to speak of, Lonnie was officially alone in the world.

Her future was grim, but Lonnie couldn’t let her only family member – damaged as he had been – rot without ceremony in an alley. Law enforcement might ignore her plea for help altogether. They might send her to one of the orphanages that her father warned her about, but that would be slightly better than starving. Maybe. Engrossed in contemplation, Lonnie met her fate in the eyes of Margret Webner.

Margret and Geoff Webner were victims of the unthinkable. While District 2 is one of the safest places to live it is not perfect. Better security means better criminals, and Alpha criminals’ offenses were those of the worst rank. Child abduction for pornography and molestation was one of those offenses. Five years had passed since their three year old daughter was stolen from their neighborhood, and Margret hadn’t stopped searching. No district was off limits. She could be anywhere, she thought. But soon the only recognizable piece of Audrey Webner was her mother’s memorized description – until she met Lonnie.

“Are you alone, little girl?” the childless mother asked.

“Yeah,” Lonnie replied.

“I am also alone. Do you have a place to go? Family to go home to?”

“No,” she answered again.

“Would you like to come with me? I could make you very happy,” the woman said on bent knee. Her eyes looked as wet as Lonnie’s disheveled boots, even under her pretty white umbrella.

“Yeah,” was the only thing the little girl could think of saying.

“Yes,” her new mother corrected.

The next day, Lonnie, falsified as a recovered Audrey in every identification system between District 17 and District 2, began a new life. Everything was available to her. Everything was given to her until there was no room left in her mind for the horrible past that she'd lived through. If there were any Gods out there, they'd given her a second start. She wouldn't waste it.

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

@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

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

Played by Dymion

<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, gait, 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.

•Devil's Breath a.k.a Scopolamine- 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 tasteless, 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 unconsciousness 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.

•DNP- This 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 hypothermia. 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.

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

@Dymion
Love it! Accepted! That picture is just gorgeous! I'll toss her into the Character Thread :)

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

Played by Annasiel

<Name:/> Petrushka Poddelka
<Nickname(s):/> Petra
<Gender:/> Female
<Age:/> 26

<Occupation:/> Philanthropist/Charity Worker
<District:/> Born in 5, resides in 16
<Height:/> 5'6"
<Weight:/> 129 lbs

<Appearance:/>


<Personality:/>
Petra is a charitable person, above all else. Though she seems to act somewhat reluctantly, as if against her own nature, she tries to give and help whenever she can. She is also quite personable, easily striking up conversations with those around her. She is often found as charming, though her love of mockery can sometimes be off putting.

A darkness also haunts her. Not the fake angst many teens commit to, but a deeper feeling. A poignancy hidden in her eyes that attest to loss and pain. When asked about her past, she will always calmly smile, and tell a weary story about a love gained and lost. Ask again, and she will refuse to talk any more.

<Biography:/>
She led a life cut from a storybook.

Born to a well off family in District 5, Petra had access to education, entertainment, and opportunity. Her parents loved her unconditionally, and she excelled in school. She was well on her way to becoming a doctor. Not that any of that mattered, because she blew it all off in the name of love. He was a wealthy man, the heir to a corporation, and good looking at that. A veritable prince charming, complete with the fairy tale estate. They met in a café. He sat down next to her as she read in silence, and grabbed her drink.

"Petrol?" he asked, teeth shining like a model. She was too surprised to speak.

"I'm sorry, what? That's my cup!" she finally sputtered. He set the latté back down in front of her, angled to show the maker writing on the side.

"Your name is Petrol?" he asked again. His voice was the silky purr of a tiger. When she realized what he was saying, she gave a nervous chuckle.

"No. Petra. Sometimes I think the baristas misspell it on purpose," she replied. His smile widened, eyes twinkling magnificently.

"That's quite alright. I am Gabriel. Though, our marvelous servers appear to think of me as a homosexual beverage." As he spoke, he set down his own drink. The name on it read 'Gay Beer'.

Petra laughed harder than she had ever laughed, and soon fell harder than she had ever fallen. This man who had elegantly forced his way into her quiet life was polite, well spoken, and utterly irresistible. She found herself dreaming about him at night... even dreaming about him during the day. Gabriel was her life. Since that fateful day in the Starbucks, everything changed, but not necessarily for the better. Stories rarely have happy endings.

It started with the death of Gabriel's father. Mr. Brighton was a rugged man and an honest worker, but illness plays no favorites. The disease that ravaged his body left him weak and bloody, eating him from the inside out. Gabriel stood strong when others were watching, but Petra heard his sobs at night. His father was dying painfully. They did what they could to ease it. Soothingly colorful emotion tea, suppressive steroids, and finally powerful morphine based narcotics to try and soften his passing. In the end, none of it helped, and the skeleton of a man screamed himself to sleep each night. He died regretting he had ever been born.

The funeral was marred with corporate deals and paperwork. Petra helped with what she could, but they were not married. She had no say in the eyes of the law, and Gabriel was forced to bear the brunt of the business. Eventually, once funeral and medical fees had been paid, he inherited the entirety of his father's capital and assets. He was the sole owner of Brighton Neurotech, and held all the responsibilities that entailed. He was pulled more and more often into his work, and came home more and more frequently with sunken eyes and pallid skin. Petra grew withdrawn, depressed, and irritable. All around, her perfect life was falling to shambles, all because Gabriel chose his job over her. She was terrified to lose him to work. In the end, she almost lost him to something much more devastating: Genetics.

The first day the symptoms appeared, she knew something was off. He seemed curt and agitated beyond the usual, hidden behind a steely face. He left without a goodbye, and his breakfast was untouched on the table. Petra fretted about it throughout the day, unable to focus on her classwork. The phone call came at two. There was an accident.

"What do you mean?!" she shouted at the solemn officer, her heart leaping violently in her chest.

"Your husband..."

"He's not my husband."

"Your boyfriend, then... he was in an accident at work. He fell thirty feet from a catwalk." The officer paused, anticipating a response.

"Is... is he alright?" It was a dumb question to ask. She wouldn't be getting this phone call if the answer was yes.

"He's alive, but critical. They're keeping him at Santa Clara hospital, for the time being," the man replied.

Alive. Critical.

Petra hung up the phone, and raced to the door as fast as she could. Not hesitating to take the elevator, she ran down all fifty flights of stairs leading up to the suite, blazing through the lobby without a word to the doorman. When she arrived at the hospital, she was out of breath, and ugly needles were digging into her side. She slammed her hands on the receptionist's desk.

"Gabriel Brighton!" she managed to shout. After a queer look, the man began leafing through his doussier.

"Fifth floor, room C2," the receptionist calmly replied. Before he could say anything else, Petra was off again. Up the stairs, around the corner, down two halls... at the door. She stopped outside, panting dramatically, wary of what awaited her inside. Tentatively, she opened the door.

"Did you bring any cake?"

Gabriel's questions always had a habit of throwing her off. He was lying on a hospital cot, a massive brace around his abdomen, eyes red and glassy. He looked like he was bathing in a grave, yet his voice still held its silky purr.

"Cake?" she replied. Maybe his brain was addled.

"Don't you remember? This was the day we first met." He smiled. God, he smiled. Petra thought he had forgotten, hell, even she had forgotten, yet here he was, half-dead, and asking for cake.

"I don't," she admitted, "and you aren't in any shape for cake either. How... what..."

"I fell off a bridge. Landed on my back, and shattered most of my cervical and thoracic back. Trust me, I feel wonderful." His sarcasm was so effortless, as if he didn't even realize what he was talking about. Petra sat in the chair beside him, and offered a hand. His own sat limply at his side.

"You're going to have to force yourself onto me, if you want a squeeze. The doctor tells me I'm not using my limbs anytime soon."

"No. You're not..."

His silence was confirmation.

"How are you going to work?" she asked flatly.

"I'm not. I've got enough money in reserve to live comfortably, but one of my cousins is taking over the business." He didn't seem to care.

"I hope I'm not interrupting." A new voice, coming from the door. Petra turned to see a doctor holding a clipboard.

"Your test results are back. You weren't intoxicated or under the influence of any drugs..." "What a relief. I dreaded I was an addict."

"...but we found advanced decay in your smooth muscular tissue. We did a DNA test, and it detected genetic hypotrophy."

The room was filled with deafening silence.

I suppose you think they find a cure. I suppose you think the doctor was wrong, that Gabriel hadn't contracted his father's illness. Come to think of it, you probably think the opposite. Gabriel died a horrible death, cursed by quadriplegy and atrophy. Whatever occurred to him is not the focus of this bio. I shall say this; A year later, Petra left district 5. She left with money and a shattered spirit, bound by some change of heart that had came in the last few months. She took the wealth to the less fortunate in Beta, and tried to make a difference in the world.

Like it matters. All storybooks end, and it's seldom happy when they do.

<Other:/>
None at this time.

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

Doe this version work?

@Annasiel

Yes, yes it does :)

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

You're kidding me. XD

Hang on...

@Annasiel

I have also confirmed with Ghost Shadow, he can not see or access it either. Must be a regional thing.

Incarceron [Sandbox Cyberpunk]

It works for me... and it's from the interwebz.

http://www.advancecosmetic.com/eng/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/Art__Yoona__SNSD__Girls_Generation__Kpop__South_Korea__music__girl__asian__profile_2235x1555-1024x712.jpg
Here's the link.

@Annasiel

Error: 403 - Forbidden

I can not access... :(