Roderick Tobias Sweeney was born to Ingrid and Mathias Sweeney of London England. He was the second oldest and the troublemaker of the four children born to the couple. From the youngest age he seemed to love art. He would draw with anything he could, on any canvas, even the wall. So many times he ended up with a sore butt, after trying to decorate the walls.
He was closest to his littlest sister who was born when he was ten, a surprise baby who cost them their mother. Ingrid died while giving birth to Lottie. To this day that young girl is a weak spot for him. No one is good enough for his little sister.
Despite the fact – or maybe it was part of the reason – Roderick's dad was a police officer, and it didn't deter the kid from falling into the wrong crowd. His father considered him an embarrassment, especially after Roderick was arrested for joy riding in a friend's father's stolen car… Roderick was fifteen at the time. It really devastated his dad, though, Roderick lifted his chin and just kinda smiled.
There were many times he came home, bruised and bloodied. Things were found in his room, that there is no way he could really afford it. It really hurt his dad, cause even at that, his grades in school were at the top of his class, with little effort, which didn't help things at home. His father could see his son could do great things, but the kid had no interested in anything but trouble and doing things the easy way.
After a bad run in with some armed robbers, that left their father hobbling on a cane, things got pretty tough so Roderick had to slow down and get actual after school work to help ends meet. But still his dad looked to America for a job opportunity, landing one in New York as a security consultant for a big name company. So they all up and moved there. When this happened, Roderick was barely eighteen and in the last year of his high school.
However, once there, it was only a year before young Roderick found a new group of thugs to run with. His father had really thought his son had changed for the better, that he'd be okay after all. Maybe coming to America had fixed the issues. But then Roderick and some of his buddies got hauled in for trying to fence stolen goods out of the back of a car. His father furious and totally heart broken to think he son had not changed, tossed his son out and told him to come back after he grew some brains.
Those years after were a blur for Roderick, as he pretty much partied, thieved his way through several years. Through it all, he continued to study the great artists and paint. Some of the people he worked along side never understood his obsession with it, since no matter if he was really good at it, painting was something that you had to die, before people thought you were worth while. They thought he was even crazier for the fact he made his own pigments. He could barely afford to eat, but he'd have pigments, oils, and handmade brushes shipped from overseas.
About a month before everything changed in 2006, Roderick was sitting in his work room, grinding away at some pigment, planning to start a new painting, when he blacked out. When he woke on the floor a day later, brush still griped in his sore and bloodied fingers. The painting above him was much like a painting by Eckersberg, but different. The buildings looked more modern, they were crumbling. The most disturbing was how the billowing fire in the original seemed to take on a much more of a mushroom shape, like an atomic blast. The buildings looked like they were in New York somewhere, but it made no sense. He brushed it aside as if it was a moment of craziness, maybe brought on by too many late night partying.
The painting his mimiced:
http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/fa/Copenhagen_on_fire_1807_by_CW_Eckersberg.jpg
What the street looked more like in the painting:
http://www.nybits.com/images/photo/long_island_city_1.jpg
It would all fall into place a month later, when a man blew up in the middle of midtown. Roderick had been in Long Island scoping out a job, when it occurred. He was close enough to be knocked down by the concussive blast, cracking his head on the concrete. Dazed, he didn't register the sound of shattering glass from the windows above him, the shards fell, slicing through clothing and skin. He still bears a long scar along his shoulder blades from one large piece. It fell on him while he was on his side. He was lucky he wasn't paralyzed or worse, he couldn't say the same for the man with him, he wasn't so lucky.
When he stood up and stumbled out into the street, he slowly turned, ignoring the searing pain at his back, to look in the direction of the blast, the way the mushroom cloud rose above the buildings, he had a sense of deja-vu.
It was his painting.
It was frightful to think that he painted that image a month ago, it made him realize that he had painted the future and that left him somewhat humbled. It would not be the last time he'd blacked out and found himself staring at paintings, though they were just as confusing as the rest.
When Senator Petrelli announced that there were more people with special abilities, Roderick didn't like that. Not the fact that there were more like him, but that the Senetor had announce to the world there were special people. Why not paint a target on their backs! He kept his paintings a secret, locked away in a special room.
His opinion of the US government flagged even more when registration was announced. Even though his ability was harmless, he didn't like the idea of putting it out there for everyone to see. Again, it was painting a giant bullseye on everyone's back that wasn't normal. He watched people shunned and beaten for what they were. Racism in a new light.
About a year after registration was established, Roderick got caught and arrested for a petty crime, stupid move on his part really. Possession. He was tested and came out positive. He was forced to register and there was talk to deporting him. He had never taken the time to try and get a new visa.
However, lady luck shined down on him, a man came to bail him out, said his employer was interested in Roderick's gift. When the police checked his home searching for more drugs, a Linderman loyal detective saw the paintings and made sure they got into the Company founders hands. Supposedly, one of the paintings had Linderman in it.
He was hired as a man being given a second chance, strings were pulled giving him a green card. Amazing what having friends in higher places can do for you. He went to work as one of the men doing Linderman's bidding, even if at times it's questionable. He didn't exactly have a problem with that, he had after all been a criminal. He was also told, Linderman would happily pay him well for the paintings he produced with his gift. This was an opportunity that couldn't be passed up.
Once he was established though, he took time to sit down with a lawyer. A few safety boxes through out the city and another locations, known only to him, were picked and photographs of his paintings were locked away for safe keeping, with expressed instructions should he die that the pictures be released to the media. It had the potential of being bad for people involved, but might insure that no one went gunning for him. This even goes for dying a natural death, hell… he's dead what does he have to care about anymore.
That is pretty much what he's been doing since then, Linderman's bidding and selling him the paintings he produces, with the occasional blackmail on the side.
