Severin St. Georges (yes, the "s" is silent) was born in the Southwest Kensington area of London to a well-off established urban family. His father, Stuart, and eldest brother, Stuart St. Georges, Jr. worked together as barristers in the private family practice. St. George & Sons had been established in 1842, and had been going strong ever since. Severin, however, was not destined to be a second in the legal calling.

A very bright child, both his parents had extremely high hopes for him. They sent Severin at age 7 to join his older brother Stephen, age 9, at Primary School (Stuart, Jr., being much older, was already in Secondary school, and his youngest sister Emma was just five). Unfortunately, over a period of two years, Severin was repeatedly admonished for being difficult, anti-social, a back-talker, and on at least one occasion, even physically abusive. At their wit's end, his parents Stuart and Beth finally removed him from the exclusive school (much to Stephen's relief) and enrolled him at a "special" school, where analysts at first misdiagnosed him as having ADHD and placed him on what turned out to be disastrous medications for most of his youth. It didn't help, though he retreated into his own world for the most part and managed, through private tutoring, to pull his grades back up. He found the private world in his head much more fascinating than the one on the outside, which only seemed to criticize and reject his behaviors and patterns.

The thing that fascinated him most was chemistry and molecular patterns. His parents both hoped this meant he would become a surgeon, but Severin cared little for their hopes and instead zeroed in solely on chemistry. Having been accepted to the exclusive Oxbridge College at Oxford University, he immersed himself in his work there, leaning heavily towards a growing fascination with pharmaceuticals he loved the structure and delicate balance that occurred in the marriage of the chemicals.

While in his third year, however, his roommate Daniel - another Chem major - convinced him that they should perhaps start creating their own drugs. Daniel was so far Severin's only friend, and he had to admit that it sounded like a good plan. He stopped taking his own prescribed meds cold turkey, knowing in advance that they did nothing to benefit him anyway, and figured he may as well try something that may be fun instead.

It was a disastrous decision though going off his ADHD meds in and of itself did not do much more than exacerbate his already addled mind, the meth he cooked up increased his aggression and impulsively ten-fold, leading him to attack one of Daniel's friends, get expelled from school and only avoid criminal prosecution due to his family's connections and the school's desires to keep things quiet.

Severin was sent to a "spa" by his family at this point-- a glorified asylum where he finally discovered part of the puzzle to what he thought of as his dysfunctional brain: analysts diagnosed him as having AS, or Asperger's Syndrome. A little-known issue that had just entered the DVM in 1994, it was often misdiagnosed as ADHD. They told him that no, he was not a brat or being difficult, although the decision to cook and do meth was still not something to shrug off, of course. But having nothing to keep those impulsive actions in check had led to his "difficult" behavior - the active, yet clumsy and odd actions, the insistent and often inappropriate fixed eye contact, and the equally odd steadfastness with which he'd insist that others conform to his strict rules that indicated he wasn't being a brat, but rather, he had a strict mindset which he himself was being forced to follow.

Though he found some peace in this answer (and proper medication), Severin never felt total acceptance from his family. He felt as if he were broken somehow, and yet the part of his brain that knew he was smart enough to get by on his skills as an uncertified chemist - if he watched himself - led him eventually to hook up with some associates in East London who were more than happy to put his skills to use, and pay him well for it.

Severin never touched meth after his disastrous college experience, though he was fond of drink in moderation (he normally does not let himself have more than two at a sitting, knowing that to do otherwise is counteractive to his meds). When he voiced a desire to move to warmer climes to his employer, he had Florida in mind, but got San Francisco instead. He stayed there for about two years, unhappy, before relocating to Los Angeles. He was there for the remainder of time until Captain Tripps broke out, growing more and more bored and dissatisfied with mixing simple crystal meth in dingy, unsafe conditions - he longed for something more challenging.

As the sickness spread, he found himself raiding pharmacies for his neighbors, frustrated that the drugs wouldn't work and the people - though he cared little for them personally - died. He wanted it all to work the way it ought to. He had disturbing dreams of a man in Las Vegas beckoning to him with a clean laboratory in which to work, and though the promise was tempting, Severin did not like the desert and found the idea of Las Vegas tacky. He preferred the other dream for some reason - the quiet of the mountains. Boulder, he thought it was. They used to go to Switzerland for ski vacations when he was with his family - maybe it will be like that there.

He's found a quiet, empty two-story Craftsman-style home on a mostly-vacant street in Boulder, where he's been keeping himself busy trying to figure out how to reproduce more complicated medicines...specifically, the ones he'll need. He's not contacted anyone, nor does he really wish to right now. He's not sure why, but there's something strangely reassuring in working alone. Either that, or he's too afraid to go outside.