For your consideration
Greetings! I want to run a younger version of an OC from a Novel I am writing. Below is a snippet of his Adult Character bio, and what he looks like fully grown. I am looking for a game to play a High School aged version of him BEFORE he became the murdering monster he ends up being. I would be using this journal and PB: Paul Dano. Thanks for looking and your consideration.
First Person Character Journal Entry Sample, one paragraph: They think they can break me. Well, I was broken long ago, and I fixed myself. I can't be broken by any man, any jail, any system. I've ran a dozen gangs, cults and covens, and this place will be the same. Do your best, it will never be enough to end me, or to make yourself safe. I'm Phaeton Slay. I'm so fucking evil Hell won't let me die. I'm here to stay and no matter where you put me, or I place myself, I will make you suffer and bleed.
Third Person Character Pose, one paragraph: He stepped out of the shuttle boat and onto the dock with a clank of metal on metal and the rattle of chains. His head was held high despite the situation he was in, and the amount of movement inhibiting restraints he wore. They were afraid of him. They should be. Phaeton smiled as he slowly took in his new surroundings, his new permanent home. Well, home was what you made of it, right? He intended to make it just to his liking. Metal cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Heavy chain ran between all four limbs and between his legs. A hard rubber ball gag was in his mouth, strapped on at the back of his head. The icy wind blowing off of the bay caught his long shaggy black hair and blew it back from his face. He looked like he'd been in one Hell of a fight recently with a black eye, cuts around his mouth and a split lip. Phaeton smiled anyway. Let the guards get in their free shots while he was bound and unable to return in kind. He would, eventually. A hard shove between his shoulder blades was all the signal he got that he was to continue forward and into the series of gates that lay before him. Home Sweet Home. He could hardly wait.
Biography: Nurture or nature? That has been argued for decades as to which turns a person from a normal, productive member of a family, town, or society into a blood thirsty monster. Was he born like that? Did his mother smoke crack, or drink or shoot smack while she was pregnant with him? Was he harmed being born? Or. Was he a normal, quiet, studious boy in a family of four until tragedy struck, and the fury of hate and grief was focused on him until all former remnants of his former self were erased? Let's look at the circumstances, and can decide for yourself.
The Slay Family was a happy family of four. Father, mother, oldest son, younger daughter. They lived in a two story house on a quarter acre of grassy land in the midwest of the United States. Mother ran the house, raised the kids, cooked and cleaned, and Father worked to support his family. It was a blissful existence, the American Dream until one day, eldest son was ill. He had a fever and wanted some ice cream. He was five years old. Little sister was three. Mom put sister into the car and went to the store for ice cream while little Phaeton slept through his fever, and Father mowed the lawn. Hours passed. No Mother, no Sister, no Ice Cream. Evening came and a policeman came to deliver the news. Drunk Driver. Car Crash. No survivors. The world stopped right then, hesitated, and then began a new orbit.
Grief turned to despair, despair turned to denial, denial turned to Anger. Anger never left. Anger brought alcohol. Alcohol brought blind rages from Father over his loss, and he knew who was to blame. Then, the beatings began. It started with hands across his face and backside, then shoves into walls, closets, and doors. When he was ten, and left a glass on the counter, Father had come upstairs to interrupt his reading to punish him. He was grabbed by his feet and swung into the wall until he crumpled unconscious.
When he was thirteen, books and pot were his only friends, and so when Father interrupted him jerking off to a swimsuit model on a poster in his room, he'd been called a faggot and caught by the foot while trying to escape out his window. He pleaded with Father but Father pulled him from his hold on the side of the house, then let him fall to the cement below. Thud. Darkness. The neighbors were told he was high and tried to fly, and Father had tried to stop him.
When he was sixteen, he had a girl, finally. Father was at work, he was home alone with her, fucking her. His first time ever with a girl. He thrust, she groaned, he came, she screamed. Father was in the doorway, enraged. He was fucking whores while he was at work, working hard to provide for the bad, family killing son. Girl screamed, ran, escaped. Phaeton ran, but was caught, and his head impacted the wall, leaving a hole. Darkness. He awoke tied up from the rafters of the basement. Father was there. Tool and blades threatened to end his manhood career right then, but instead, a cord was used, and he was whipped and his back struck until it was flayed open and the floor ran with his blood. He broke that day. No deed goes unpunished. No Joy. No Love. No Pleasure. No happiness. Blood. Pain. Fear. Blood. Pain. Fear.
The next time Father came at him to punish, he fought back. Slay against Slay they fought until the police were called, and drugged out son was taken away for assault. Father said so. When son returned to the house, there was a present for him on the kitchen table. "I'm sorry Son. For everything." it said on the card. Phaeton smiled and tore open the paper, then opened the box. It exploded. Face burned, hair scorched, vision damaged, the scream went on and on and on and on. Neighbors saw the Boy running away, never to be seen again in the quiet neighborhood.
One year later. He made the news for the first time. Violence. Murder. Rape. Arson. Pain. Blood. Fear. Pain. Blood. Fear. And it went on, and on, and on. For ten years. On and on and on. Father was found hung from the basement rafters one Sunday. Been dead for weeks they said. Guts carved out, strung around basement and left to rot. Father had been punished, now for the rest of the world.