THATCHER, S.

SILAS JAMES THATCHER

Somewhere there's a choice being made for the mass by the will of a broken few. Guided by the hand of the guilty, praised as the cure for a curse.

PERSONALITY

Ever since taking over the “family business” at twenty-six, Silas has held one goal deep within the confines of his depraved heart: domination. He wants control, he wants order, he wants power, and he’s willing to trample over whomever he needs to in order to achieve his dream. You might say Silas’ need for control borders (if not crosses over completely into) obsession, but you’d be wise to keep that thought for yourself. Anyone who doesn’t see eye to eye with his radical ideas and self-propelling actions -- as completely insane as they are -- can consider themselves as dead as the poor infected monsters SCAR created, as far as he’s concerned. There have been rumors floating around for years that say Silas is a bona fide sociopath, though they are obviously unfounded and an official medical diagnosis has never been made (or rather no doctor in his right mind would diagnose the infamously callous killer with such a ridiculous condition, not if he wanted to live). One could wonder, though, how a man could take so many lives, both directly and indirectly as a result of SCAR’s unseemly experiments, without even batting an eye or losing an ounce of sleep. Funny business, it is.

Cool as a cucumber, Silas never breaks a sweat. The man is a finely tuned machine of complete togetherness, and it pays to have your wits about you when you’re sitting on the throne of the world’s most influential (and sinister) company turned superpower (or when you need to shove a power drill deep into someone’s skull to teach them a lesson). There’s no room for error in Silas’ line of work, and error stems from one’s inability to avoid panicking in those most dire of situations. How else do you think the man’s been able to keep his terrible alliance afloat in the midst of chaos? Difficult, well-calculated decisions made with a clear mind and a dark heart. It takes a whole lot to shake Mr. Thatcher, and there’s not a whole lot he hasn’t seen or done as far as the horrific and disturbing are concerned. But does that bother the levelheaded man? Not one bit. Because he’s cool, calm, and collected - just as any sickeningly twisted, horrifically power-hungry, and viciously blood thirsty leader should be. Silas Thatcher remains professional and poised through even the roughest of storms; the epitome of an unflappable man completely dedicated to his noble cause.

In today’s world, stupidity can get you killed... or a chunk of your leg bitten off… or your flesh ripped right from you bone… or, well, you get the idea. So it pays to be smart and quick - and thankfully Silas has already conquered that intellectual mountain. He’s an incredibly well educated man with a nice, expensive schooling repertoire folded neatly and placed in the back pocket of his trousers. He's not the type of man to take kindly to insolence or ignorance, and Silas will gladly give a man clear and forceful incentive to keep his fucking mouth shut one way or another when they’ve begun to push his buttons or test his patience. And while it’s no great secret that Silas isn’t the most hulked-out man on the planet, what he lacks in brute strength he makes up for in creativity and an invaluable knowledge of the human body's most vulnerable spots. He knows how to inflict pain, both physical and mental, and often chooses to do so in the most unconventional ways. Plus, if need be, he’s got a nice group of brutally vile followers to handle the dirty work. Sometimes it is a case of brains over brawn, and Silas is smart enough to keep his pale, perfect skin protected by thugs and plenty of weapons just in case.

There is always a proper way to execute each and every task that's been set upon your shoulders, and Silas is very keen on following the strict protocol that he’s set forth for himself and the rest of his loyal companions. Follow the code, stay within the lines, and you keep things safe and controlled. There is a rhyme and reason behind every action the man takes -- he just doesn't see any purpose in wasting valuable time and energy on frivolous activities that might hinder his performance or fuck up the well-oiled machine called life that he's so carefully put together. Everything is done in an orderly manner and Silas thrives when he is surrounded by structure and consistency. Order means control, and Mr. Thatcher is a very happy man when he is in control of any given situation. If you follow directions, do what you're told, don't ask questions, and make sure you don't make any mistakes, you’ll find Silas to be a pleasant man indeed. And without order and method as the sturdy backbone to your endeavors, things tend to get messy, people get sloppy, and those dangerously careless mistakes are made... mistakes that will not be tolerated under any circumstances.

Silas is a firm believer in the notion that terms such as "good," "bad," "right," and "wrong" do not stand subject to universal truth conditions, meaning that what is "right" in one situation to a certain person might not be what another person put in that same situation feels is even remotely okay, but that doesn't make the first person wrong. There is no universal acceptance of morality in his eyes; no good vs. evil, light vs. dark, there are only situational facts and the question of what action best suits that circumstance. If Silas is made aware of "Situation A," where Bob Johnson is found guilty of treason and needs to pay for his disrespectful actions by means of death or an incredibly violent and merciless beating, Silas would feel that said punishment is both ethically and morally sound because it adheres to the law that each and every member of SCAR has agreed to follow. In that instance, taking Bob's life would be the "right" thing to do even though murder is (for the most part) seen as ethically unacceptable. Silas hold no remorse or regret over the weight or consequences of his past actions or those of his father’s before him. It was all in the name of science; it was all in the name of power.

Though the disorder is more widely known as "germophobia," the basic idea is that germs are not Silas' friend. Yeah, it’s a pretty shitty disorder to have when you’re living in a post-apocalyptic world, but what can you do? And while the man has to deal with blood and gore on a very regular basis, he's compulsively driven to make sure things around him are as clean, tidy, and germ free as humanly possible. You'll very rarely see Silas without a pair of leather gloves covering his soft, sanitized hands, and a vigorous washing routine is absolutely necessary after their removal and before said gloves are to be worn again. As you might assume, in a world where the most basic of necessities is incredibly hard to come by, a fear of germs isn’t the easiest thing to cope with, and as a result Silas tends to get very irritated when touched by anything or anyone. It’s a hard life, man. He's often quite repulsed by his fellow humans, invariably nauseated by the mere mention of the infected, and he makes no attempt whatsoever to hide his disgust -- often refusing to shake hands or make any kind of contact in fear of what might be lurking at a microscopic level. But while Silas suffers from a pretty extreme case of mysophobia, he never lets it stop him from pursing his dream of complete control on a worldly level.

There is a metaphorical war raging deep within the darkest recesses of Silas' mind; one that has been birthed from the combination of his compulsion and desire to maintain order and structure, and the violent temper he does his best to keep at bay. It takes a decent amount of time and incessant button pressing to push Silas over the edge of his composed demeanor, but when worst comes to worst and that wall is broken down, the consequences can be disastrous. With an ever-changing situation moral code and a passion for power fueling the man’s widely frowned upon behavior, there aren't a whole lot of things Silas is uncomfortable doing when it comes to hurting others - especially when he's pissed off. He'll break chairs, windows, hands, faces, limbs, hearts… really whatever he feels might satisfy his fury in that moment (or really, whatever is closest), and all with complete disregard for his own safety or the safety of uninvolved people who just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Blind rage will do that to you. And Silas has an undeniable attraction to using tools when it comes to inflicting bodily harm; drills, hammers, soldering irons, bolt cutters, lead pipes, pens and pencils, you name it and he can hurt you with it. But like I said, it takes a hell of a lot to get Silas to lose his cool and most people are lucky enough to never experience his angry side. Most people.

i always knew that the damned would inherit the earth.
As soon as they learned to speak, we would be suffering.

HISTORY

Those few words would be the first nails driven deep into the frightfully dark coffin of a twelve-year-old boy; wide-eyed, impressionable, and eager to please the ironfisted father he barely knew. Maybe things could have been different? Maybe he could have been a great doctor or a professor? Maybe if fate hadn’t been so quick to shove little Silas into the arms of the man who would bring humanity to its knees, the boy would have been given the opportunity to make better decisions and become a good man. But no, Silas Thatcher had been doomed to a life of cold, unyielding, merciless bloodlust the very moment his father’s calloused hand made contact with his skinny shoulder and he was guided through the entrance of SCAR’s underground facility. Someday this would all be his. Someday he would have chance to make the man who’d been awarded the title of “father” simply because he’d introduced a bit of DNA into the body of a woman who was far more concerned with self-medicating herself into a incoherent haze than attending to her neglected child.

Someday he’d prove his own worth and show the world that he was fucking important too.

He’d lived a privileged life – born in the great city of San Francisco, with a silver spoon in his mouth and a wad of filthy cash clutched tightly between his chubby little baby fingers. It was only natural that things came easy for the son of the world’s fastest growing (and so suspiciously secretive) do-gooder company in charge of making the world a better place. He’d been given the best education, the most expensive lifestyle, and a daddy-complex rivaled by few. Now, t shouldn’t come as much of a surprise to find out that Silas’ father was far from perfect, if not the epitome of neglectful and detached. Consumed by his work, the man hardly stepped foot into his own home, much less spent time with his only child, leaving Silas feeling worthless and utterly disposable. There were always more than enough nannies and other hired help running around to keep the kid out of trouble, but all the nannies in the world couldn’t prevent the deep-rooted issues that began to take place in the Silas’ youth -- issues that would eventually prove to be more detrimental than anyone could have anticipated

In his early years, Silas had been blissfully unaware of just how sinister a company his father ran, believing the candy-coated blanket answer that was fed to him any time he would ask what it was his father did that kept him away so often. ”He makes things better for people, Silas.” Okay. ”He’s a businessman, honey.” Right. ”He’s busy running a company, dear.” Alright. But as Silas was about to enter middle school, rumors began to circulate about how suspicious and unseemly SCAR actually was and it didn’t take long for these rumors to reach Silas’ little ears. Naturally, they were brushed off as nothing more than a few ridiculous attempts to soil SCAR’s good name made by petty people who were jealous of Silas’ father, and the boy was quick to defend his dad’s honor whenever someone would bring up the subject. His father couldn’t possibly be apart of anything terrible like that, there was just no way. Silas idolized his father to an alarming degree, and there wasn’t any amount of vicious slander that could change that.

Meanwhile, Silas’ mother had taken a swift and unexpected plunge downhill; falling into a very deep and very self-medicated depression. Silas had been too young at the time to understand why his once happy mother had suddenly become so sad, why she would spend days locked away in her bedroom, and why she couldn’t even seem to form a legible sentence when she did stumble out into the rest of their large, empty home. But the grim reasons behind her odd behavior weren’t exactly the type of things one should be telling a nine year old anyway. The weight of her husband’s many secrets mixed in with his complete and utter disinterest in her or their son had proven to be more than the fragile woman could handle, and so she had turned to prescription drugs (among other things), strong liquor, and the feeling of perfect detachment from reality that they could offer her. She died of an overdose when Silas was thirteen years old, and to this day he can remember the disturbingly emotionless expression on his father’s face as they said their last goodbyes. Silas cried as he watched his mother’s body being lowered into the ground… his father did not. That was the day the boy swore he’d never shed another tear again either, because men didn’t cry.

It wasn’t until Silas turned seventeen that he was officially granted the privilege of learning the truth about what his father’s team of brilliant scientists and other loyal employees had really been doing behind SCAR’s carefully crafted, cotton-candy façade. By that time, however, Silas had already grown suspicious of the company on his own, and so the day his father took him down into the top secret levels of SCAR where he could reveal just how deep and vile their particular rabbit hole really was came as no great surprise. That was also the day Silas was introduced to his father’s favorite little plaything, Pandora. She, on the other hand, was not something the teenager had been expecting. She was a year younger than he was and she didn’t look like anything particularly special -- that was for sure. But the tiny gleam that shone brightly in Silas’ father’s eyes as he droned on about how fantastic Pandora’s training was coming along and what a fucking prodigy she was when it came to everything she did had felt like a dagger driven straight into Silas’ already dejected heart, and that was a feeling he’d not soon forget.

Silas was dumbfounded and utterly devastated as that fateful day trudged on and he was forced to endure hours of watching Pandora show the skills she’d acquired and listening to his father brag about all of her impressive accomplishments. The young boy had spent his entire life up to that point trying his best to earn his father’s attention, affection, and respect all without the slightest bit of recognition. He’d gotten the highest grades, applied himself wherever he thought his father might see potential, and he’d worked and worked and worked tirelessly in the hopes that he might receive even just a pat on the back and an, “I’m proud of you, son,” and he’d come up empty every time. Now there his father stood, praising this thin, quiet, lanky little guinea pig, and for what? All because she could swing a fucking sword or climb over a goddamn wall? Because she could kick down a door or break someone’s nose in one simple blow? All at once it seemed painfully apparent that Silas had already lost the competition for his father’s eye, and he hadn’t even known he was competing. It was unthinkable… unimaginable… unbelievable…

It was unacceptable.

A quiet resentment began to brew deep within Silas; a resentment that took root in the very darkest parts of his being where it could be fed and nurtured throughout the years until it had turned into a morbid and villainous hatred. He hated the woman -- if you could even call her a woman, she was more like a creature than anything else -- and he hated his father even more for obsessing over her. But Silas had grown up to be a well-mannered and composed man, and subsequently all his ill feelings were kept locked away and very skillfully hidden up until his father’s death. After that the company would be his, and that included Pandora and her many useful (and not to mention, expensive) skills would be his possession as well. When that day came, Silas would be free to do whatever he wanted with the woman. He just needed to wait it out, like a lion that stalked low in the brush waiting for the mother antelope to turn her back and leave her young offspring vulnerable and unattended so that he could strike. Silas would use her as he saw fit, like the man-made tool she was.

Besides, Silas had come to see his father as relatively weak and closed-minded over time. The man he’d once idolized and dreamed of being like had become a disappointment in his old age. He was either unwilling or unable to open his eyes to see the endless possibility for power and control on a much larger scale than first thought. Pandora was a valuable asset, yes, but there was so much more that could be done. His father had merely knocked on the door, and now it was time for Silas to kick the entire motherfucking thing down. He would be far greater and more powerful than his father ever had been and nothing would stop him from accomplishing that goal. Nothing. And in August of 2005, Silas’ father finally passed away and ownership of the company was given to the rapidly destabilizing man. Silas did not cry as he watched his father’s body being lowered into the ground, not because men didn’t cry, but because the only emotion he felt in that moment was a sick sense of sweet satisfaction. Now it was his turn to run the show and bask in the glory. He would turn SCAR into something more than just a company -- something more than just a logo slapped onto household items. He would do what his father could not and he would be what his father could not. He would be so much stronger, so much greater, so much more powerful.

Sure enough, SCAR continued to grow rapidly in both size and reputation after Silas’ takeover, though along with that growth came something far darker and much more menacing than the already horrific experiments his father had conducted (hard to believe, but sadly true). The power had gone straight to Silas’ head and he loved every goddamn minute of it. But still he craved more, and the lines of morality and ethics had been virtually destroyed in the midst of his rise to greatness. He needed to have more control, and not just over America, but the world. SCAR had become a household name, sticking its dirty fingers into anything and everything it could while the money was used to fund the various projects and experiments that shouldn’t have ever taken place to begin with. They were messing with things that should have stayed beyond their control without a second thought as to how disastrous the consequences could be, and then in 2012 came the beginning of the end.

We all know the story like the back of our hand. SCAR testing on military personnel, far too many subjects dying, and the three unfortunate subjects that survived turned out to be the three subjects who would pass on the vicious infection that turned men into bloodthirsty, flesh-eating animals. SCAR was to blame, and Silas was the filthy puppeteer tugging on those fateful strings. Now, any normal, sane man would have seen just how grave an error his past actions were and he would have given up his evil ways and prayed that the good Lord take mercy on his inevitably damned soul, but as I’m sure you well know, Silas Thatcher is no sane man. This “apocalypse” was anything but tragic. Oh no, it was, in fact, a giant leap towards his final goal. People were dying left and right, and SCAR held the only cure for this fatal and terrifying disease. That meant he held the power… all the power.

He now had the ability to decide who lived and who died.

He alone held humanity’s only hope for a future.

He was the reaper and the savior.

He was God.

But there was one thing Silas had not anticipated, and that was the rise of a group of rebellious survivors banding together to ruin everything the man had worked so damn hard to create. This world was nearing perfection and this little posse of morons were threatening to turn it to ruin. As I’m sure you can guess, this was more than enough to push Silas over the edge. His beautiful plans would have to be put on hold until this annoying thorn could be pulled from his side, and with a nice supply of weapons, soldiers, scientists, and a pretty little number named Pandora who is obsessively compelled to do whatever she’s told, tucked beneath his belt, Silas is more than confident that the threat can be quickly and effectively dealt with in no time.

… At least that’s the way he hopes this will all play out.

INVENTORY