No first letter and you have the capability. Without my last two you must pay your liability. Without my third you’re as old as time. With all five you may sit and dine.

I have a thousand roads, but I do not have the embrace of the sun. I am known for my trail of death.

I wear a thousand faces but show none of me, I lend you another’s voice then set you free. Keep me long enough and your true name flees.

My first three is black and white, with red inside. My last four can toll the hour. Together, more of me is the only prescription for a fever.

I am made from sixty, and I make something from sixty. Who am I?