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tpmau-blog · 9 years

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Just a little background into how Spectre came to be. Warning: Violence, Death, Abuse, and general Angst ahead.

It was a critical moment in time. A fork in the path of one poor, unlucky child.

"Have you reached a verdict?" The judge asked, and twelve people looked amongst themselves rather nervously.

"...No, your honor, we could not." A hung jury. The judge nodded, tapped his gavel on the stand, and gave his verdict with a sigh. "Well then. I call a mistrial, this case will be retried in six months time." The Fentons were all watching him, hope in their eyes that the child would be returned to them.

"Until then, custody of the subject remains with the government, as he is still too dangerous to be allowed near the general public at this time."

Trina cried out in outrage, and Danny, who was still having trouble with his sight from the last time he'd dealt with Jeremiah, carefully held her back from mauling the judge.

Vlad urged the two of them to remain calm, that he could easily shorten the time between now and the next trial. He did his best to assure them.

Three months later, Jeremiah Daniel Fenton was declared dead by the GiW. That he had not survived the extensive injuries he'd received, despite their 'best efforts'. The Fentons were heartbroken. Danny felt like a failure to his child. Trina became withdrawn, and even a bit wild.

Of course, Jeremiah was alive and well. Mostly. The GiW had decided that the child would be better utilized as a weapon and had forged his death. It wasn’t like he was safe enough to be out in the world anyway. And now having been declared legally dead, the phantom child was theirs.

The almost-seven year old would spend the next few months constantly drugged and encased in a lead box while the scientists working on him tried to figure out why he was putting off so much radiation.

A year passed, and the GiW finally realized that being heavily sedated was only making the radiation worse. But now they had a very sad, very scared, very awake child creature to deal with.

Little Jer often wondered why his parents hadn't come to save him yet. Or why they hadn't saved him in the first place. Or why everyone was mad at him. Or scared of him.

He didn't like scaring people. They hurt him when they were scared.

Another year, and Jer's sadness and hurt festered into bitterness and violence. Several of his adult teeth had come in, the pointy ones, and he was not afraid to use them. He needed to, or else they'd hurt him. He didn't want to be hurt.

They put him in a muzzle.

Eventually, he figured out how to break the muzzle. And the scientists. He would scream.

But it wasn't a loud scream. No, they couldn't hear it. But they could feel it. Feel it in their bodies, in their eyes. The feeling of being accosted by infrasound to the point your blood starts to bubble.

It started with nosebleeds. Then they would pass out. Three people died before they realized exactly how 1046 was harming them. Vibroacoustic syndrome was something they hadn't considered, especially to this degree.

Now they had a dilemma on their hands. Either they sedated him, so he wouldn't scream, and subject everyone to dangerous and deadly radiation. Or, they could lock him in a soundproof room, like something from the ESA’s Large European Acoustic Facility. That would be highly costly, and the threat of death would still persist if they ever wanted to work on him again.

The took the most logical course of action. They simply removed his voice box. He was rendered silent.

Another year, another power. This time it was a doozy. The subject had developed some kind of psychokinetic power. It was weak at first, he was probably just testing the waters by moving small objects. And then quickly graduated to crushing a man's ribcage like he'd been made of pudding.

Eventually they had to sedate him again, but not after the monster had killed four scientists and a guard with little more than his mind and rage. Three more were critically injured. The death toll on 1046's head was now 112. But he was far too valuable to destroy.

The GiW managed to 'persuade' a certain doctor to come look at the subject. The doctor dabbled in historical practices as a hobby, and had been asked to perform a long since discontinued procedure on 1046.

They assured him that the subject was a dangerous criminal, and that this was necessary to avoid putting him to death. The doctor agreed, and was initially pleased to be able to practice something he'd always found fascinating.

The doctor did not consider that the 'dangerous subject' was just a child. The boy couldn't have been older than ten, and he utterly refused to perform such a controversial procedure on a child of all things.

Unfortunately, the doctor did not have a choice. He'd already seen too much of the facility and their secret project. If he wouldn't do it, they would get someone less qualified. What if the next doctor botched it? This was not something that could be easily fixed if it wasn't done correctly.

The doctor was so utterly heartbroken. Torn. On one hand, they were threatening his life and family. On the other, they were threatening this child's life. But...clearly this beastly child hadn't had a good life so far. So much pain was etched on his face, in his snarl, in those monstrous eyes. He was so torn.

He had the power to take that pain away. It wouldn't free the boy from these dastardly people. But...

He ultimately gave in and did the procedure anyway. A transorbital lobotomy hadn't been performed in almost 80 years, on a living subject, anyway. The doctor himself had practiced on corpses donated to his school and was well versed in how it was performed. Too well, he thought, considering that his skill was what had gotten him into this mess.

It was made worse by the fact that they 'couldn't sedate' the child for whatever reason. They refused.

The child was unable to struggle due to his bonds and for whatever reason didn’t make a sound. He had to watch the fear in the poor boy's eyes as he approached his face with the ice-pick like device. And then to watch that fear melt away as he meticulously worked the pick back and around.

The doctor later took his own life at the horrors he felt he had committed on a helpless child. The death toll was now 113.

It took a while, but it seemed like the procedure had been a success. 1046 was now calm and non-violent. He was also unsurprisingly dull. Eventually they had to start scheduling things for him to do, especially sleeping and eating, lest the subject spend all hours of the day staring at the wall, or picking at the tile in his room.

The subject's powers remained surprisingly intact, despite some cognitive disruption. With a little persuasion, it was easy to get him to use them in a precise and controlled manner. However, he no longer had any reaction to pain, which made positive reinforcement necessary. He became obedient and powerful.

News of war was on the horizon. Now 15 [according to the subject's case file], the GiW began preparing 1046 for it's new use: A weapon of diabolical proportions. Daily training and meals supplemented with a cocktail of chemicals would ready him for what would be a dangerous war.

In the modern ideal, nearly all weapons were remotely controlled. And if you were skilled enough, nearly all remotely controlled weapons could be hacked.

He was a weapon that could not be hacked into. PC-1046; codenamed Spectre, was their best weapon.

Weapons don't feel pain.

#;;spectre #spectre au #tpverse au #about spectre #tw violence #tw abuse #tw suicide mention #nothing too gory but still #way to start off the blog eh?

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