Subject Investigations Report
Name: Frederica Sawyer
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Ethnicity: Hawaiian-born American
Hometown: West Virginia - Town unknown.
Occupation: Cleaner
Characteristics: Sane
Placement: Non-Patient
Personality:
Appearance
- A large scar across her neck from having her throat slit in her younger days.
Physical Condition:
- Due to the strenuous upper body strength required to administer certain duties corresponding to her job description and an obsession with pushups, Sawyer's upper body strength is in peak condition rivaling that of a male weight-lifter. Besides this, Sawyer is a decently fast sprinter.
Character Accessories:- Electrolarynx - Unable to communicate audibly without it.
- Pocket Knife - A basic, though illegal, pocket knife.
- 9mm. Glock Pistol - Unfavored weapon carried more for sentimental purposes then anything else.
ASSOCIATIONS- Friends: N/A
- Enemies: N/A
- Rivals: N/A
- Lover(s): N/A
- Relatives: N/A
History Summary
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Upon coming home to her Chicago apartment one early evening, Sawyer was met by a violent attack administered by two unknown assailants. After a short scuffle, a well-beaten and bloodied Frederica was placed on a chair and forced to listen as her attackers discussed the conditions in which she was to die.
"Torch her," one said.
"Shoot her in the head," the other argued.
Their New York Italian accents reminded her of a classic Scorsese Mafia film and they remain sharp in her mind to this day as they did the day she first heard them. "Oh yeah," Sawyer thought to herself, "These are definitely Organization." If they were who she thought they were, they were most likely wearing expensive black or dark blue suits with their hear slicked back De Niro style. Their matching loafers probably glistened from the thirty minutes a day these men spent polishing with hands heavy from the large gold rings they wore on their fingers and the expensive watches around their wrists. "So much for going out with a happy thought."
"You know what, hell with it." The more high pitched of the two proclaimed as Sawyer then felt the kiss of a cold steel knife pressing against her throat and just as quickly she felt it's bite as it swiped across her neck horizontally bringing about a feeling she could best remember as a sleepiness. For reasons unknown, Sawyer remembered it being painless; Maybe she didn't want to remember the pain but she recalled feeling her still-warm blood flow downward and soak into the fabric of her shirt.
Though Sawyer survived the incident, she has since then been unable to communicate without the use of an electrolarynx. Though this has been no hindrance to her whatsoever, losing the device has become a great issue with her and she has learned to cherish it with an almost obsessive zeal.
Two years later Sawyer stood over the bodies of those men who took away her real voice. With their hands and feet bound in rope she stared down at them as they shook and quivered at the sight of this small girl, a Cleaner, and that instrument of death in her hand right hand; a full-sized industrial strength chainsaw.
With voices muffled by makeshift cloth gags, she pressed that small rod to her own neck in the same way they had pressed that knife upon her so many days past.
"Now... how should I kill you?" Sawyer played with them at first. She made them listen to the sound of her synthesized voice as she described the various methods she was able to cut them before they would eventually die, "Maybe I should take your hands and feet first." She circled around them with slow steps, all the while making sure the large blade of that chainsaw panned in front of their eyes.
"...Hell with it." She placed her voice in her pocket. With her now free left hand she grasped the handle on the stater cord and brought forth the great sound that echoed pleasing to her ears but horrifying to theirs and it permeated throughout the darkening afternoon rooftops of lower Manhattan. The more so pleasing sound of their screams and the chainsaw's subtle struggle as it cut through bone curved a smile on her lips as she frantically and erratically drove that blade through their flesh as though it was a butcher's knife.
When the mayhem was over silence reigned beside the idle hum of the chainsaw before she eventually deactivated it's function. The sound of the mobile phone in her pocket was as a whisper in the still looming roar of that instrument of death and had it not been for the soft vibration that was rendered to a mere tickle in comparison to the tremble of the saw she would have not answered.
"Is it over?" Spoke a deep African-American accent from the other end. His voice was compassionate, like that of a brother, and despite this being business, to Frederica there was a friend on the other end.
"Yes." She held the Electrolarynx with her right hand and thought for a second as to the foolish sight she must have been holding two electronic devices to her head at once.
"Is it messy?" He knew Sawyer drew a sick and twisted pleasure from doing what she did. Everyone did and nobody understood why but as long as she got the job done there was no issues with her pleasure. Nevertheless, he had his opinions about her unhealthy pleasure, opinions that he had expressed before in the past, and such opinions were met with a cold and somewhat hard disposition.
"Nothing I cant clean up." Business as usual.
"Good. I expect you'll be here in the morning to pick up your pay? It'll be extra this time since you did the job while they were alive." It was always business as usual.
"It was my pleasure." But to Sawyer this business was an ecstasy; a decadent pleasure that was comparable to none and, like a vampire, the more blood she drew the more insatiable the craving became. Frederica had no idea the type of monster she was making for herself.
"That's nice to hear. Those two were apparently staging a coup against the boss. Taking you out was part of their plan to remove our Cleaners from the streets and keep us exposed. They would have gotten away with it too if it hadn't been for you. Now the boss feels like he owes you so your on his four star list now. That's a good place to be." Sawyer had already uncovered this truth in her pursuit to find the men she had just killed. This truth meant little to her in the grand objective to exact revenge for her lost voice and the action taken against her. Somehow, someway, killing these men meant more to her then any truth that was to be uncovered and now that her goal was complete, Sawyer could return to doing what she does best.
"I should get started here." Still, at the end of the day it was business as usual.
"Right. Don't worry about the police. We made sure they wont be going your way anytime soon so don't rush."
"Thanks, Scotch."
"No problem, Sawyer. See you tomorrow."
"Bye."
Sawyer stared down at what little remained of the carcasses that lay in front of her. Though she had killed several times in the past, she made sure the memory of this particular night remained a treasured recollection. Soon after, Frederica made her way to sunny California where she made her home a lower class apartment in the lower downtown Los Angeles area.
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