September Russo was a strong woman, a nurse working in an Emergency Department in downtown New York City. And when she met Brad's father, she fell into a very quick and easy love for the man, but the relationship was doomed from the start. His father would never know him. And Brad would know nothing of his father. In fact whenever the thought of his father came up in conversation he was always fed a different story: "Oh, he's in the military — Peter something-rather," "he's up in space Dwight Something," "Never really knew him…"
Like his mom, Brad was a September. Born on a bright September Sunday, he emerged into a fall of promise and love. His grandparents adored him, even as a love child he was destined to be spoiled with presents and chances at life. While his mom refused help from her parents at every corner, Brad was her one weakness, their 'in' into her otherwise locked down world.
September's wealthy parents (George and Victoria Russo) had tried to keep their daughter under their thumbs her entire life, but she'd broken free. Yet their money and influence wielded opportunity for her fatherless son; he would be sent to the best schools, rub elbows with the most influential people, and essentially learn to play the role of the Republican.
The journey through prep school wasn't easy for a kid from a relatively poor nuclear family, but Brad knew how to make friends. In early high school he started an after school fight club in the school's basement. It made him instantly popular. It also, eventually, made him expelled and having to change schools (and more determined to do better next time).
But then Brad lived in two worlds: the Republican one at school and the two bedroom townhouse in Jersey parented solely by his single mother just trying to catch a break in big New York City. He was neither one thing or another. In fact, most of his childhood consisted of a constant identity crisis between the two, unsure of his own identity.
After high school the army presented as a good way to find some grounding in himself. Much to his grandparents chagrin, he served for three years before attending Harvard University with a double major in political science and communications; aligning himself as a true Democrat, political, but not interested in big business. With these degrees he hope to break into multimedia as a career.
He worked as a political analyst for five years while he completed his graduate work in political science — but he wasn't dull like so many who became involved in politics. In a very short amount of time he got his own radio show discussing hot button issues in politics with a very Democratic bent. While he had no intention of actually entering politics, by twenty-five he was a political adviser, dispensing his own brand of politics to others through grassroots political movements. Before his twenty-eighth birthday he was offered his own television program: The Advocate — a series specifically designed to open debate between opposing viewpoints while maintaining a sense of humour during current events. As a reporter he stepped back from truly sharing his opinion on-air, choosing instead to play devil's advocate to both sides of any hot button issue.
It wasn't long after his inaugural episode that he met Karolina: an animal rights activist and guest on the show discussing animal cruelty. She was quickly his world. After six months he proposed and they were to be wed December 25, 2006. Christmas. Karolina was an orphan, she didn't have a mother of her own to make preparations with so the role fell to September. His mother and his bride to be were out shopping on November 8. The two were in Times Square when the bomb went off. In one blink of an eye, Brad lost everything.
He couldn't bring himself to deal with either death, leaving his mother's townhouse virtually untouched and vacating the condo he shared with Karolina. Heart broken, he found his own place and took a hiatus from work — until the announcement about the bomb. Something felt odd from the start. Fear became the rule of the hour. His own bitterness crept into his soul and he restarted his show with a realigning — The Advocate would feature the stories of survivors from the bomb, in depth-interviews, and, as always, hot buttoned debates. It was a ratings dream. Brad's new-found biting sarcasm and embittered wit got him a network spot. Not that he cared for or about the money. He never cared about the money.
In his off-screen world, he became a known proponent of registration, someone pushing the bills through. Aside from that? He drank. And he drank. And he drank. And with his drinking his own bias crept into the series, inadvertently pushing forward The Linderman Act, supporting the Patriot Act, and aligning with Petrelli's entire bid to control the world in which they lived through making the other side appear ridiculous. Thanks to his show he managed to secure a position at the Linderman Group as a liaison, advocating registration while allowing himself to appear unbiased in his reporting.
Until one day his drinking, in an almost delusional state, brought him to a chapel. And for the first time since their deaths, he found peace. He let go of his anger. He let go of his hate. And he found clarity: history was just repeating itself again with a new scapegoat. But there was little to be done about it other than ride the wave and try to crush the movement from the inside. And so he rode it, knowing full well that many people were like him, hurt angry, and confused, buying into anything a charismatic dictator would tell them. In this time, his show regained its balance. Still, he refused to push his opinions forward, neutralizing his position at every turn. When personally asked for comment, he just smiles charmingly, winks, and reiterates his general position on everything, "It's all variable."
As his position neutralized, critics began to come down his throat. Some call him washed up while others asserted he lost his nerve. Regardless, his ratings continued strong.
When non-evo registration came up, he fortunately had the foresight and good sense to use a self test before going to register. He was evolved but unmanifested. Papers were drawn and money exchanged hands, his own courage and fire for life returning. While he still hasn't permitted himself entrance into either the condo he owns or the townhouse he inherited, he's on the road to healing… maybe.
