Name: Charles Fehey
Age: 18
Height: 5'11
Occupation:
Former: Unemployed.
Current: Cauldron Inventor/Test Subject/Maintainer/Enforcer
Powers: Integratable Frequency Manipulation.
His power is a need, a desire to show the true source and powers in the world. He doesn't know he does it, it just comes to him like breathing. The numbers, the calculations, everything just hits him when he needs it.So long as he has the parts and time, Charles can create machines that manipulate some form of frequency, ranging from visual to molecular and everything in between.
The tech that he makes can be used by anyone, so long as he tells them how to operate them, but without care, the technology will short circuit and burn out after about a month of neglect.
History: Born in 1969, Charles Fehey came into this world as the younger of two siblings to extravagant parents in the city of Chicago.
His father, Brian Fehey, is a tenured professor at the university of Chicago, and his mother, Bella Fehey, a trauma surgeon at the local hospital. Together, the prospect of falling into debt was little more than a nightmare. As such, they treated their children to the very best. The finest fashion and cuisine. Opportunities and atmospheres. Books and tutors, the absolute best that money could afford.
If they couldn't give them that, there would be no way that Charles would have known anything at all.
The very act of his birth left him crippled, his legs little more than sacks of useless muscles, his arms sticks that barely had the strength to move. Even his organs were constantly in flux, the very mechanics meant to keep him alive rebelling against him.
His only solace was that his heart and mind were free.
He couldn't move on his own, stuck to a chair for as long as he could remember. He couldn't go to a normal school, no one would be able to afford the intensive care required.
Or at least, that's what he was told.
Throughout the years, lectures, handwritten tests, and the expectations, the answer became clear. His tutors tried to hide it, soften the blow with a smile and kindness. But Charles was no fool. It wasn't that the schools couldn't handle someone with his condition, it was that his parents didn't want to be seen presenting someone like him to society.
That they, the distinguished elite, had given birth to a dysfunctional wreck of a boy.
In his books, he was told that someone else in his situation would begin to resent his parents for the fate that was forced on him. It wasn't his fault that he was born a cripple. It wasn't his fault that the world around him couldn't accept someone with his condition. If left with nothing, the books said he would grow bitter. He would rebel. get angry, resent, channel that anger into a passion to escape the hell that was his life.
And to that he asked, why?
Yes, they resented him for being like this, insulted that they could end up with someone like him. But he still had their name. He still lived in their home. He still received the same things as his sister.
And she still called him brother.
It didn't matter that he couldn't do what other boys could, why would he want to?
Everyone was born different, put on the earth to do something different. Why should he cry over what he couldn't do, when he was perfectly happy doing what he could?
He could barely hold a pencil, but he could type as easily as he could breathe.
He couldn't run, but he could roll down hills as fast as he wanted to.
He couldn't breathe, but he could laugh till it hurt.
Life stopped him from having many things, but being happy wasn't one of them.
No matter how hard it tried.
He was barely five years old when his sister left for college. He didn't know her well at first, but she was kind and responsible. She showed up for holidays, vacations, or whenever she was trying to get away from the responsibility of it all. Anna would always come to Charles' room, vent what she could, and then leave. He never got a word in, but then again, he didn't know what to say. At the start, she would get angry. The anger would build and build, hit a point, and then settle back down. At the end of it all, she would sigh, and smile thankfully.
And all he had to do, was listen. Because that's all he thought he needed to do.
It wasn't.
A month before earning her doctorate, the police found her dead in her room. An overdose of painkillers.
It was the first time he saw his parents truly lost.
In front of a grave, they broke down. No amount of money, social accomplishment or degree could protect a parent from losing a child. They comforted one another, taking solace in the fact that she had a good life, for how short it had been.
But while they comforted themselves, they did nothing for their son. Charles mourned with them, but he never truly included in their suffering. It was always business, or practice. They took project after project, paper after paper to distract themselves from what they had lost.
And while they changed, Charles didn't. He kept living his life how he always did. He did everything that he could to make himself better, not tying himself down with work. He didn't blame his parents for their negligence, instead blaming himself for what he could have done. Because even if they didn't see him as a son, or themselves as parents, Anna wouldn't want to see her little brother scream at his parents.
She would want to see him smile, laugh, and achieve everything people said he could never have.
Years passed, and Charles found himself content despite what he had lost. His tutors taught him everything they knew, and when they were finished, they would shower him with the praise that they believed he deserved. He was called him a genius, a prodigy in every field that they could teach him in.
It was nice to hear, and the freedom that came with his teenage years was just as intoxicating. He was given a handler, an allowance, and all the time he wanted.
Honestly, the prospect was too big to give to any young man, much less someone like Charles. He let time pass him by, rolling through the city by day, and throwing rocks into the river by night.
And that's when
she appeared.
Beautiful, enticing, kind, generous, insightful, Charles could use them all to describe her and none of them would do her justice. And what she offered, words failed to describe.
A doctor that specializes in miracles, and his case was just what they were looking for. The girl, Fortuna, she promised him freedom from his sickness, a chance to live a normal life. She didn't wait for an answer, giving him a number, and a promise.
He sat there, in his room, for nights on end staring at the number. Should he trust them? It wasn't coincidence that Fortuna just
happened to find him, just
happened to be able to heal him. He was a target, of something he didn't know.
A normal man would have written the note and the promise off as nothing more than a hoax to dupe an unexpecting boy. Charles would have done just that, had the package not appeared.
A single, crystal clear vial filled with golden liquid and a note.
"
Free of charge.
If you find the results satisfactory, you know how to contact us."
Staring at the note, it felt wrong. It was too soon, the timing too perfect. Just when he was going to write it off as nothing, they give him a physical reason to reconsider.
It could make him worse.
It could
save him.
It could ruin his life.
It could give him one.
Then again, even if it did ruin what was left, it didn't matter. He found happiness with what little he had, he could find it again.
So he drank the vial, and a night later, he stood with his own power for the first time in his life.
It was a miracle, one that couldn't be explained.
He just had to touch an appliance to know how to change it, improve it, evolve it.
But the noise was unbearable.
Everything screamed, begged, forced him to improve it. They needed to be improved, he had to improve them, notice them,
MAKE THEM MORE!
Within two days, he made a machine that allowed him to see the world in a normal light again. Never before had he loved the sound of silence.
For the next week, he made a pill capable of accelerating his recovery. He ran, he jumped, he did everything that had been barred from him.
They were the best days of his life.
A month later, he received a letter.
"
I trust that you're satisfied. If you wish to spread the miracle, you simply need to call.
After all, you never did throw away our number."
That sealed it. Whoever these people were, they were beyond human understanding. It was terrifying, but also exciting. They might be mysterious, but some part of Charles knew, they really did just want to spread miracles.
The next day, he revealed himself to his parents. He forced himself into their work, and when he watched their eyes slowly recognize him, he waited for their answer.
The response… was not what he wanted.
Nor was it something that he fondly remembers.
With heavy heart, he called the number that had been sitting in his draw for two months.
The call connected on the first ring, and a gateway to another world shimmered into existence. In the doorway, she was there, waiting.
Since that day, Charles has been constantly at work to better the lives of Cauldron, its clients, and its members.
He built Fortuna her pistol, her communicators, even a comfortable room.
The good doctor wanted a facility, so he made the base. The rest was a joint effort. Well, mostly him, he had to work off his punishment somehow.
He gave Matthew a phone, to call his family and lover whenever he wished.
David didn't want anything, but Charles still gave him his suit just because.
Manton had a
list of things he wanted, and Charles made them. Eventually. He might have made a game room first.
Rebecca…. Well, she didn't want anything built, she only wanted a favor. A few minutes of looped footage on the security cameras, and she could spend a few minutes each day talking with her friend.
Only, she was the only one talking.
He never talked to him, or even payed him a visit, but Charles still made everything as comfortable as he could. He built his room so that when his powers fluctuated, nothing could seriously harm him. And he prepared his dampeners, so that he wouldn't have to suffer when the waves started crashing in.
It took him a month, but he managed to make it before they were needed. Just like all of his projects, he had to work hard beforehand. Because if he didn't, he wouldn't be of much use. His power works with time, and as much as he wants to, he can't just rush in like everyone else. So when they're early in the game, when there's nothing to fight, he works. He stays in his lab, tinkering, preparing for the troubles that everyone will fight.
They might be heroes, ready to rush in and help, but they can still get hurt. And no matter who they were, they didn't deserve to be hurt when he can help them.
Because, to Charles it doesn't matter if one of them is too harsh on himself to think he deserves friends.
Or if she thinks she's faking it when she smiles.
Or if he's just faking knowing the answers.
Or if he doesn't know what's become of him.
These people, Cauldron, they're the people that gave him a miracle. They are his savors, his teammates.
His first friends.
And that's all the reason he needs to help them.
