Name: Elizabeth Ackerman
Nickname(s): Skinner, Izzy (only if you want her to have a vendetta against you.)
Race: Human
Age: 28
Gender: Female
Occupation: Face of the PMC, interrogator
Class: Sentinel
Class Skills: Throw, Lift, First Aid (oddly enough)
Equipment: A few old knives from her father's collection, omni-tool and yes..even a first aid kit..someone has to patch up that thuggish krogan's injuries every now and then, and cigarettes.
Appearance: Elizabeth is tall, thin, blonde haired and blue eyed. Always nicely dressed and well groomed. She's everything the face of a respectable corporation should be.
Personality: Being from the socially elite group originally, Elizabeth has an air of sophistication about her that can generally charm most. Although she believes herself to be better than anyone you introduce her to, she has the gift of a silver tongue and uses this skill to lull oppossing, or even "allied", groups into a false sense of security or to simply throw the scent off of them when the local police forces come knocking so her sense of superiority can usually be covered up when she's in her role. This social elitist has no real sense of loyalty, feeling she's merely doing charity work by serving under Cortex although she does have a strange fondness for the salarian and his krogan executioner Faltus. She feels no connection to any other and her regard for the life of others is minimal at best. While she isn't the best of shots and not exactly fond of fighting, you can't be a part of a group like Cortex's without at least a small touch of insanity.
Elizabeth isn't a fan of murder and even says those who kill are brutal and thuggish. However, torture your victim for hours upon end then give them the option of the sweet release of death and the killing is completely justifiable and even righteous then.
Background: Elizabeth's upbringing wasn't sad, nor was it epic in any way shape or form. She grew up in the socially elite group of society on a mixed species station. Her parents raised her to be an affluent member of society just like them, she never wanted for anything in her life. The only odd part of her past was her seeming adoration of torturing animals of all kinds, a sure sign of a sociopath. Of course money can cover up, and cure, anything so after years of therapy she was considered cured and life went on. It seemed though that Elizabeth was quite apt at convincing others and playing the part of sanity well as she merely learned to hide her hobby from others.
When she reached her teenage years that was when the girl decided that merely torturing fuzzy creatures wasn't exciting enough anymore. The obvious answer was to trap one of her nannies and try her methods out on something that was actually sentient, and it was a thrill. She continued this on, picking victims out of the housing staff and always convicing her dull parents that the nanny, the butler, the cook must have simply run out on them. You truly can never find good help these days.
When Elizabeth reached twenty her games were finally uncovered and she was sent to an institution where she spent eight years of her life undergoing treatment. After she turned twenty-eight she once again was able to convince doctors that her sociopathic tendencies were now wonderfully cured and Elizabeth was released. Now she of course couldn't return home, so where to go? Why Omega of course.
The stench hole of a city was thrilling, absolutely disgusting mind you but exciting none the less. She stuck out like a sore thumb among the crowds but somehow seemed to always keep herself from being harmed. It wasn't long until one day she happened upon a most interesting scene. The sound of muffled screams and an obnoxiously loud krogan voice drew her into a small alley. It was there she first laid eyes on Faltus, apparently trying to extract information from some poor soul...but he was doing it all wrong. She couldn't just let such a potentially beautiful thing as torture for information be basterdized, so she stepped forward.
"Whoa now big fella." She spoke in her sweet voice, always flowing, never breaking, as the krogan whirled with his weapon to her. "It seems you're having a touch of difficulty in getting what you want from this poor soul. Now of course I'm not saying you're doing a bad job but things like this need a touch of finesse. Here, let me show you my dear." Moving slowly past the krogan, she drew out an old steel blade, from her father's antique collection she thinks but it's difficult to remember so far back. "You want to do something painful and slow. Like this." The thin girl dropped to her knees next to the bound batarian and freed one of his hands, only to slice the skin around the wrist, slit a line down either side of the arm and then pull the flap of tissue back towards his shoulder. A smile graced her elegant face at his scream. "Now ask him your question dear."
From here a salarian named Cortex offered her a job, she enjoyed the interrogations and her skill of covering tracks and luring others with words became useful as well. Her nickname Skinner came from her favorite method of torture. She loves her work, although she tells herself the only reason she does this is to keep the poor dears from going under, she does have an odd fondness for her employer and fellow employee.
Other: She's fairly addicted to smoking and will almost always have one while in the midst of her torturing mojo.