Work Text:
Murphy was abandoned by his parents when he was a mere three years old. The fluorescent lights of the IHOP cast sterile shadows across the linoleum floor, illuminating a small figure sitting alone in a high chair, a plate of cold pancakes left untouched. The syrup pooled like liquid grief around the edges of the plate, dripping off the table’s edge as the wait staff surveyed the scene with a mixture of pity and concern. Hours passed, and after a futile effort by the staff to contact his family, they called the authorities.
The government took him in with cold efficiency. A nameless child among many, he was assigned a number and shuffled through the system like paper in a file cabinet. For two months, Murphy lived in a sterile, soulless environment where cries went unanswered, and laughter was a memory he would soon forget. His innocence had begun to erode before he even understood what was happening. The caseworkers saw him as just another statistic, a forgotten statistic.
But then, Murphy was “adopted”—though that word barely scratched the surface of the dark reality. Judas Sol, a doctor of dubious reputation, showed up with an unsettling charm that made even the most perceptive adults uneasy. He was a biochemist who smelled of antiseptic and carried an air of wild genius mingled with something sinister.
Judas looked at Murphy with a predatory glint in his eye. The man didn’t see a child; he saw a canvas—a malleable vessel for his grotesque experiments. To Judas, children were merely raw materials, tools in the grand machinery of his dreams. And Murphy? He was the very first, the prototype.
It began when Murphy turned four; that’s when the torture started. He barely grasped what was happening during the initial injections that made his skin itch and burn. Over time, electroshock therapy became a twisted form of routine, like dentist visits for others. Only here, there would be no comforting words or gentle hands—just the ruthless hands of a monster. He learned to endure pain to survive, his body transforming into a blend of agony and resilience. He was a mess of bruises, scars, and fear by the time he reached ten, numb to the pain but acutely aware of the darkness that surrounded him.
Murphy's body underwent its first transformation at twelve, an unexpected acceleration of his biological changes that baffled Judas but thrilled him, leading to further torment. The kid was special—an anomaly filled with potential whose very existence was a goldmine for Judas’s madness. As the boy grew, so did his abilities, a ticking time bomb crafted by the hands of a deranged creator. The markings on his file indicated his danger level—SS, for 'Superior Subject.'
Murphy was moved into solitary confinement on the lab’s lowest level, a place so deep within the bowels of the complex it felt like being buried alive. Guards would come down to monitor him, their condescending laughter echoing in the steel chamber, taunting him while he plotted his escape. Supplies were delivered through a small tray slot, a grim reminder of his captivity. He became acquainted with hunger and thirst; they were unfortunate constants in his new reality. But the real torment came in the form of threats. "We’ll do to the younger ones what we did to you," they would snicker, remembering the poor souls that once filled those cold metal rooms with innocent dreams and laughter.
Murphy’s mind, a cauldron of rage and desperation, bubbled to a breaking point. The first time he lashed out was against a guard who slid his hand through the tray slot, showing off bravado while his friends guffawed on the other side. Murphy’s reflexes kicked in; in one swift motion, he bit down on that hand with the ferocity of wild animals, heedless of what it meant. The guard screamed as Murphy’s teeth pierced skin, blood splattering against the stark white walls. That day marked the beginning of his metamorphosis from a victim into something else—a predator.
Throughout his twenties, while the other subjects festered in their cells, losing hope one day at a time until mere shadows of their former selves, Murphy endured. He watched as they dwindled to thirty-four, then sixteen—a morbid countdown in his mind. He kept track of their demise like a somber diary, each death pushing him closer to a boiling point. The thought of saving them fueled his determination, but each attempt ended in agony and despair, culminating in his failed breakout attempt at twenty-three. The electric shocks had burned into his skin, a powerful reminder of his failure, leaving him starved and parched for a whole week.
Yet, the battered spirit of survival burned within him, and at thirty-three, he finally broke free. He spent countless hours in the dark, plotting, testing his limits, taming the darkness inside himself until he felt ready. The day he managed to pick the lock on his power-neutralizing collar was both euphoric and terrifying. Adrenaline flooding his system, he pulled the door to his cell off its hinges—a feat he had never believed possible.
The ensuing carnage was brutal. Eighteen lives were extinguished that day, the blood of his captors mingling with his own unshackled rage. The scent of gunpowder and smoke filled the air as he detonated the lab, watching it crumble around him, grasping at the final threads of his lost childhood. Freedom tasted bittersweet, dripping with the weight of revenge.
As the ashes of the lab fell against the backdrop of a new dawn, Murphy stood amongst the debris, a phoenix rising from flames of horror. He was no longer a victim; he was a survivor, a curse with a wicked grin; he had claimed his life back, albeit from a haunted cacophony of screams and shadows that would forever echo in his mind. Though the others were gone, Murphy would carry their memories with him, transformed into something far more powerful than he had ever been—a force of nature left unchecked in an uncertain world.
---
how it affects him:
eating disorders-
he views food as something to be earned and not a necessity.
he doesn't think he should eat most of the time.
body dysmorphia-
his body nowadays is covered in tattoos, but under those colourful markings if you look close enough, you can see the out line of the scars and stiches of his past. and while not everyone can see them, he can, and that bothers him.
he hates everything about how he looks.
ptsd-
he has nightmares and often goes weeks without getting proper sleep because he doesn't like the face he sees when he closes his eyes.
abandonment and trust issues-
murphy doesn't trust easily, or at all.
eobard was lucky to be one of the ones he does trust.
he's terrified of people leaving him if he does something they don't like.
depression-
he has tried to kill himself for the things he's done and he's put some of the scars he has on his body himself.
hypersexuality-
while murphy is asexual [little to no sexual attraction], he uses sex as a form of self harm because he can't stand to look at himself sometimes.