Note: Deep within my computer's hardrive, I discover a rough draft of my Chronicles of Syntax fanfiction I wrote almost a year ago and back when I had a weird obsession with a particular character - Steven Bramwell. His behaviour on the web show got me thinking and well... I wrote a sort of back story for him. Consider this a head canon!

So yeah... The amount of Chronicles of Syntax fanfiction is depressing...

The Story of Steven Bramwell

"No, please! Don't do it!"

The little boy struggled under the grasp of his father as he was dragged up the stairs. He dug his foot into the carpet and anchored himself in one place to stop himself from being towed. But he felt the impact of his father's hand make contact across his face. He felt his hair being yanked and brought even closer to his father's face.

"I'm not letting you jeopardise the Bramwell name by letting you fail these exams just because you were asked to visit a friend's house Steven," he snarled, breathing into his son's face.

"But I'm prepared – you know how well I'm doing!" Steven reasoned out, gasping at the throbbing pain in his head.

"Shut up you fool. I'm expecting one hundred percent in these exams, not bloody ninety-seven."

Steven gulped and looked past his father's shoulders. Behind the doorway, his mother stood still with sadness in those eyes.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, still looking at her.

"You better be," his father grated, pulling his collar. Again, Steven cried out and lunged forward to grab the nearest sturdy thing.

"No, don't put me in there!" he shrieked, eventually clutching onto a stair rail.

"Let go, boy!" his father spat out, pulling him even harder.

"I can't go in there, please-"

He was cut out the moment his father slapped him against his cheek harder than before. His glasses flew away from his face upon the impact and Steven instantly let go of the rails and slumped against the floor. Drawing his knees towards him, he brought his hands up in front of his face and wept.

Without a word, his father loomed towards him and grabbed him by the collar again. But this time, there was no struggle. Steven felt his back scrape along the carpet until he was jerked upwards and thrown into the inky blackness of his bedroom. He fell into the room with a loud thud and dared to look up at the towering figure in front of him.

"Please," he sobbed. "Don't leave me in here. Not again…"

"Now study," were the last words Steven heard before his room was enveloped by darkness the moment the door slammed shut and he heard the clanking of a lock bolting from the outside. He let himself lie on the floor and brought his knees towards his face once again and whimpered, feeling as if the whole room had encapsulated him in a death trap. After a few minutes of rapid thoughts, his breath hitched and he gasped, desperately fumbling around before loosening his collar. He scrabbled onto his knees and crawled precariously in the dark, relying on the light through his window casted by the moon. As soon as he turned on his desk lamp, he instantly went for his bedside table where he always kept a spare pair of glasses. Fixing the pair on his face, Steven hurried to the window where he desperately tried to open it – only to find it bolted shut. He grunted, trying to force the latch to undo itself. But the effort was futile. Steven found himself breathing shallower as sweat beaded his forehead.

"Got to… study," he breathed, running his hands through his hair and looking around his room wildly. Then he suddenly dashed to his bedroom door and thumped it with his fist three times. He heard the faint sound of footsteps before the soft tone answered.

"What is it Dear?" The sound of his mother released a wave of relief in Steven.

"I need water. Please. It's so hot in here…"

"Steven, the central heating isn't even on and it's below 5 degrees out there," she reasoned. "I'm sorry, but your father is too strict and won't let me unlock this door…"

"It's so hot," Steven bawled, his face against the door. "Please…"

A wave of guilt hit his mother. "Steven, I'm really, really sorry…"

And with that, she proceeded to walk away. Hearing her footsteps fade away, Steven panicked and proceeded to thump the door. "No… NO! Please, don't go," he choked out. "Mother…" His back slid against the door until he fell back down to the floor, wiping the piling sweat on his forehead.

Wiping a tear at the corner of her eye, Mrs Bramwell stormed into the living room where her husband sat on a chair by the fireplace, hands covering his face.

"That's the fourth time this week you locked him in his room," she snapped. Her voice soon wavered. "I can't even imagine how many times you've done that to him since he was seven. Steven's going to have to find out sooner or later."

"I can't help it," Mr Bramwell muttered, eyes darting in the direction of his son's room. "He's too young to know…"

"What, and he won't get suspicious of the constant fencing lessons and the pressure to do well in school?" she retorted.

"I can't help it," he complained. "Soon, he'll fend for himself and thank me for doing this."

"They've found out," Mrs Bramwell thought out loud after a pause and noticing her husbands distant stares.

Mr Bramwell looked up from his seat and bore his wife's eyes before giving a solemn nod. "Caught two of them tailing me home from work. They're coming soon…"

She burst into tears as her husband picked himself up from his chair and cradled her in his arms.

…

The professor had already dismissed the class and everyone darted out of the lecture room, eager to fulfil their hunger - except Steven. The room was eventually wrapped in blissful silence and Steven bent down from his chair and picked out a book on Quantum Physics from his bag. The smell of fish and chips wafted in the air from the canteen, but it never fazed the young boy whatsoever. He didn't notice a head bob by his shoulder.

"That's the sorta stuff they teach you in five years – if you were still in secondary school, that is."

Steven jumped at the sudden break in silence and faced the tall and scrawny, messy-haired twenty-one-year-old boy grinning at him.

"Liam," Steven sighed, closing his book and scrunching the bridge of his nose.

"Stevo," Liam replied, his Scottish accent evident.

"No, please don't call me that…"

"Sorry, Stevo," he replied, sitting on the chair next to Steven and propping his feet on the table in front of him. He pulled out a small white paper bag and dug his hand into it, producing a chocolate chip cookie. Instead of eating it, Liam outstretched his arms towards Steven and offered the treat to him.

"No, I'm fine," Steven insisted, straightening himself and adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. But the cookie was thrust into his face.

"Well, if you couldn't spend time round my place yesterday so you can help me with String Physics," Liam began, "I'm not missing out on having lunch with you."

Steven fell silent and feebly took the cookie. "Yeah, about that," he began after a moment. "I don't think I can go out for a while…"

"Not even tonight?"

"Liam, even if I could, I have fencing lessons…"

Liam noticed the sour tone of Steven's voice. Sensing the trepidation, Liam sidestepped the topic. "But you're missing out on the girls!" he exclaimed. Steven rolled his eyes at that.

"See, this is why you're failing in Physics."

Liam scoffed. "Forget Physics, it's Computing that gets the ladies," he answered with flailing arms. "Sorry, Steven. I'm afraid you're too young to think along my lines."

"I just don't see how computing is far more superior to Physics," he began, frowning.

"To hell with Physics!" Liam fobbed off. "Imagination stretches far with computing."

"So does Physics."

"You could program computers to make things like… I don't know, anything!" he began. "Like robotic limbs or something. Yeah, that can attract the ladies."

"Robotic limbs?" Steven repeated.

"See," Liam surmised. "Too young."

"I'm nearly thirteen," Steven reasoned.

"Do I have to repeat myself?" the Scottish boy seriously wondered. "Have you even fallen in love before?"

"No," Steven replied after a while. "What's it like?"

"Warm and fuzzy," Liam instantly replied, chuckling and leaning back against his chair. He gazed upwards, as if looking right through the ceiling and into the skies. "I've got my whole life planned ahead of me – like I said, you're too young to talk about this."

"Oh, don't tell me you're going to be one of those people who have fun with women and never get married…"

"What?" Liam exclaimed, eyes flickering straight at Steven. "Of course I wanna get married! Maybe even get some kids – two should be fine. I want a boy and a girl. I want my boy to be called "Kai" – short for "Kairan" and the girl… Well, I haven't thought of the right name for a girl. Then we can get a big house for them and get a dog." He blinked and frowned. "You better not tell this to anyone."

Steven arched a brow and studied his friend. "I never thought of you as the conventional type."

"Thanks," Liam sighed. "That's if I get a degree."

"That, I cannot agree more," Steven agreed, pulling out a book on String Physics from his bag and waving it in front of Liam. The latter chuckled and leaned closer towards Steven as he began to listen.

…

"Steven, what have I told you about eating sugary foods in the living room? You're making a mess on the floor and it can attract rats…"

Taking a last hearty bite from his donut, the young boy glanced up to meet his mother's gaze behind his glasses. "Sorry," he mumbled after swallowing and rubbing his mouth clean with the back of his hand.

"Give the boy a break Dear," another voice replied. Steven turned around to face his father appearing in the doorway. His presence made him cower slightly. "The boy's twelve years old – let him do what he wants for tonight."

Steven let out a small smile at his father before breaking eye contact and looking straight down at the floor.

"That's right," his mother beamed. "My boy is the world's youngest graduate! We got the results for your exams – one hundred percent!" She approached him and landed a soft kiss on his forehead. In turn, Steven's father drew near him and raised a hand. Steven instinctively winced and tensed his shoulders - only to be patted on his head. His father ruffled his dark hair and smiled.

"I'm proud of you."

Those three words hit him like a bomb and Steven bit his lip. "W-what?"

His father let go of his head and carried on walking towards the oak coffee table where he poured himself a cup of tea. Steven dared to stare at his father and, to his astonishment, noticed a genuine smile on his father's face for the first time since he found out his own son had an uncanny IQ of 190.

"Oh my God!" Steven's mother shrieked, pointing at a red dot on his father's chest. The latter glared back at his wife, who also had a red dot trained to her chest. He gritted his teeth. "They're coming, aren't they?" she sobbed.

"Who is it?" Steven instantly wondered.

"Steven, go to you room," Mr Bramwell ordered not moving a muscle.

Steven frowned and moved closer to his father. "What's going on?"

"Stay away from me boy!" his father yelled, eyes welling up. "Please…"

Sensing the desperation in his father's tone, Steven hesitated before spinning on his heel and darting towards his room. Mr Bramwell watched his son run to safety before noticing the red dot that had been aimed at him slowly creeping along the floor and right to the back of his son's head.

"NO!" Mr Bramwell jerked upon impulse and sprinted for his son. His wife's screams blocked the dreadful oncoming thoughts as he dived for his son with outstretched arms. The pair collapsed to the ground as a bullet zipped over their heads and pierced the doorway to Steven's room.

"Dad?!" the little boy shrieked. "Wha-"

He was cut off by the deafening sound of a gunshot. Steven's eyes followed the direction of the sound and could almost hear the sound of metal piercing the skin followed by flesh and organs… There was no sound as he witnessed his mother fall to the ground. His mouth hung open as if he were silently screaming. But his attention drew to his father lightly slapping him on the cheek. He didn't notice or even hear the front door crash open and men in black Kevlar storm into the living room.

"Steven, get in your room," his father demanded, picking his weight off from his son. Steven obliged and hurried behind his bedroom door, shutting it not entirely so that he could peek through. His father grabbed the mantle piece – ironically a fencing sword, and faced the men clad in black and guns.

"The boy, we know you're hiding him," one of the men began with a deep and authoritative voice. He looked fairly young – in his mid twenties. But the messy stubble forming around his jaw made him look like he'd gained a few more years. Mildly surprised, Steven noticed this man was the only one without a helmet to cover his face.

"Really?" Mr Bramwell exclaimed, thrusting his sword forward to intimidate them.

"Give us the boy, and no more people will die." The voice was strong with steel in it that Mr Bramwell knew fully well this man wasn't joking. But he kept his ground and tightened his grip around the sword.

"You'll have to get through me."

In one swift movement, the man raised his gun and aimed between Mr Bramwell's eyes. Steven yelped and suddenly brought his hands to his mouth. But it was enough to catch the man's attention. He looked in the direction of Steven's bedroom, staring at the door as if looking right through it. Steven squirmed before dashing under his bed, already breathing so very fast.

Mr Bramwell found the gun that was focused to his head drop as the man headed for his son's bedroom. He raised his sword until the man spoke.

"Kill the father. We were meant to kill him anyway."

Steven heard another gunshot and instinctively shut his eyes. The sound of heavy footsteps in his room was audible and he held his breath.

"I know you're in here," the voice warned. "My men can wire this room with small bombs that can make you stick out like a sore thumb once we detonate them all."

"You're not kidding Hemlock?" another voice asked, flustered.

"Shut up."

Steven bit his lip and watched from underneath the bed as two pairs of shoes appeared in front of his face. They circled around his bed before he found an opening towards his bedroom door.

"Check under the bed."

Grabbing the opportunity boldly, Steven crawled from under the bed and dashed into the hallway. He stumbled on an arm and fell face first onto the carpet. Steven picked himself up and looked to the body lying on it's front next to him.

"Father?" he squeaked, eyes wide at the corpse. Instantly, Steven shifted the body on it's front and he brought his hand to his mouth the moment he felt bile surge its way to his mouth. "Father?!" he repeated louder. Steven looked over his shoulder and found three more armoured men creeping towards him with arms outstretched as if rounding a stray animal.

"Step away from the body, son."

The so-called "Hemlock" appeared from his bedroom. One man approached Steven when the young boy hollered a string of curses and grabbed the sword his father once wielded a few minutes ago from the floor and drove the sword into the man's chest and pulling it out with strength he never thought he had in him. The man let out an eerie scream and Hemlock watched in interest as Steven wiped blood off his glasses.

"Don't come near me or my father!" Steven demanded, still holding the sword in one hand as two more men advanced on him.

"Be careful," Hemlock warned. "The boy's… different."

"What?" The remark swept Steven by surprise and he didn't notice the man on his right raise the butt of his gun and strike him on the temple. He passed out and a ghostly silence followed through.

Hemlock narrowed his eyes. "That was too easy..." He bent down and picked up Steven's body and carried him on his shoulders before producing a walkie-talkie from his pocket and speaking. "This is Hemlock. I got the boy."

"…"

Again, Hemlock spoke into the comm. "This is Hemlock, are you copying?"

"…"

No reply.

Impatient, Hemlock glanced around the hallway and found the rest of his men lying on the floor unconscious.

"What the hell?" He panicked and darted into the kitchen and grabbed a kitchen knife. Swinging it around him, and balancing Steven's body on his shoulder, Hemlock's voice lowered. "I'm armed," he warned. As he turned around, a hand grabbed his knife-wielding hand and a towel was shoved to his mouth and nose. Hemlock writhed before smelling a strong alcoholic scent that made his body relax and he was knocked out.

…

"I feel so sorry for him… What are we gonna tell him?"

The standard issue black SUV tore through the silent main road. Inside, the driver panicked and scrambled for ideas. He glanced across to the passenger seat where his young daughter sat gazing at him with those brown orbs behind brunette locks. Then he looked over his shoulder where Steven's body sprawled across the back seats.

"The truth," he eventually answered.

"Even about his parents training him up for what's happening?" she wondered.

"… Yes."

"What about my parents?"

The two jumped in their seats at the new voice in the car. The driver stopped by the side of the road and peered back at Steven who had fully regained consciousness. He noticed a purple bruise forming on the side of the boy's head.

"Who are you?" the young boy demanded. The driver knew full well that behind that hard exterior, Steven was panicking. His breathing quickened and he looked around, outstretching his arms and attempting to take off his shirt. The driver watched as Steven flailed in his seat and reached for the nearest door.

"It's locked Steven," the driver sighed as Steven tried desperately to open the doors. He was crying and the desperation in the boy's eyes sent a wave of guilt to the driver.

Steven's head perked up. "How do you know my name?" he grated. "Who are you?"

The driver and his daughter exchanged glances.

"I'm Doctor Lovat," the driver replied. He nodded to the girl on the passenger seat. "And this is my daughter, Sian."