Name: Brenden Manning Nickname: Age: 35 Spouse: Divorced Children: none Parents: Deceased Occupation:  Trust fund baby/ inventor

Height: 5' 9”
Weight: 175
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown

Distinguishing Marks: Scar of a gun shot wounds in torso

Abilities: Brenden is an artist and somewhat of a genius. Not that he is good at math or science.  He is good at tinkering.  He can look at something and find ways to improve it, or reverse engineer it.  But what brings Brenden to the center isn’t his ability to tinker with weapons, or create incredible metal sculptures.  It’s his Precognition.  Most times it comes to him in dreams, but sometimes if he touches someone, or something, he will get glimpses of their future.  Usually it’s something catastrophic in those cases.
 

Hobbies: Metal sculpture, pissing off the board of directors to the company he used to own, tinkering with weapons and gadgets

Psychological Background: Brenden used to be a playboy on the brink of alcoholism. But he was a brilliant businessman, steering his family business to new heights of ecological insanity.  He didn’t care about green house effect, or the effects of by products on small children 100 miles down stream. All he cared about was the bottom line, and where his next lay was coming from.

He had always had dreams that sometimes came true or at least partially so it was a joke to him really.  Until a freak accident involving one of his inventions and a ghost virtually rewired his brain.  His dreams became more intense and he started having waking dreams, sometimes when he would touch people and things.  His uncle had him committed, where he was diagnosed with schizophrenia and ultimately lost control of his company.  He doesn’t trust easily, and is very careful about what he says in front of others.

Personality Quirks:  He must create a little every day. Either through tinkering with his inventions, with weapons or just whatever sculpture he has been inspired to make this week. Is required by law to see a psychiatrist once every two weeks as part of his most recent release from hospital.
 

Brenden was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. His mother died in childbirth but his father doted on him, spoiling him mercilessly but expecting much in return.  Brenden learned the family business at an early age and excelled at anything put in front of him.  But his greatest joy was tinkering with things.  He knew his little inventions would never sell or be patented they were there for his amusement

He built his first robot at age 14, nothing more than an R2D2 clone that doubled as his tool box (still has that robot).  From there things expanded.  At 16 he graduated high school.  Spent a year in Europe, and it was here he discovered alcohol.  At 17 he attended MIT, where he stayed until he got his doctorate. At 25 he went to work for his father’s corporation, by 27 he had earned the position of VP in charge of Research and Development.

He and his father remained close until his father died when Brenden was 30.  Brenden was willed his father’s stock in the company thereby giving him controlling interest, which was something his uncle didn’t like at all.  Brenden had dreamed of his father’s death before it happened, several nights in a row, but didn’t take it seriously, so when the man died he was filled with guilt and started to console himself in the scotch.  He was still able to function through work and his hobbies.  His social live took a self-destructive turn, where he was changing his bed partners more often than most people changed their sheets.

He was at a party one night and started having a panic attack.  He knew something was wrong, something was going to happen yet couldn’t tell what.  He left the party and headed for the parking garage, with his latest blonde acquisition and the next thing he knew he was waking up in the hospital, having been the victim of what the police were calling a drive by shooting.  His companion was dead, and he had spent nearly a week in critical condition himself.  One of the bullets had grazed his brain; the rest had all found their marks in his chest and abdomen.  He was lucky to be alive.

Unfortunately he didn’t feel lucky.  He felt strange.  As though always right on the brink of something about to happen.  He would sometimes touch people and get flashes of what was going to happen to them.  At first he said nothing, simply avoided touching people, which of course altered his life dramatically.  No more bimbos, no more loud bustling parties where it’s standing room only.

His uncle came to see him, sounding concerned, but when Brenden actually opened up to him, he had him committed, at first for PTSD and suicide watch but later they called it schizophrenia.  Because of his supposed diminished mental health his uncle took over the company, but Brenden’s lawyers were good and he was unable to take control of his share of the stock.

Since then Brenden has been in 4 different hospitals.  The latest let him out 6 months ago with the agreement that for the first year he would have to see a psychiatrist every 2 weeks and every month the year after that.  He has learned to hide his reactions to most things in order to keep himself from being invited to stay at hospital number 5.

Asylums however do have a habit of being haunted and it was during one of his stays that he discovered that the supernatural was real.  And that just maybe he wasn’t crazy after all.  He joined the center after his release from hospital number 3.  Having gotten his feet back under him after hospital number 4 he has come to reside at the US branch, telling his therapist its just a retreat so that he isn’t living alone.  A chance to spend more time on his artwork and less time worrying about the company... or who tried to have him killed.