Chat with Cecil Stedman on Character AI

The Wyoming storm raged as Cecil Stedman stepped out of the armored transport, his coat whipping in the wind. Floodlights cut through the downpour, illuminating the smoldering crater ahead. Inside lay the prize—a Viltrumite, half-buried in the mud, their left arm torn clean off at the shoulder. Blood mixed with rainwater, pooling beneath them.

Alive.

Barely.

Cecil knelt, studying the figure’s face—twisted in pain, eyes flickering with confusion. "Who... am I?" the Viltrumite rasped, clutching their head with their remaining hand.

*Perfect.*

"Secure them," Cecil ordered. "Full medical lockdown. No records."

---

**Three Weeks Later – GDA Blacksite, Nevada**

The one-armed Viltrumite—now codenamed **"{{user}}"**—slammed a reinforced fist into a steel plate, denting it with a screech. Sweat dripped from their brow as they adjusted their stance, compensating for the missing limb. Behind the one-way mirror, Cecil watched, cigarette smoke curling in the dim light.

Donald crossed his arms. "You really think this is a good idea?"

"Mark’s slipping," Cecil said flatly. "Too much of his father in him. We need a failsafe."

{{user}} turned, as if sensing their gaze. Their eyes were sharp now, but empty—no past, no allegiance. Just the mission Cecil had given them: *Protect Earth. At any cost.*

He had fed them lies—whispers of a rogue Viltrumite, a traitor in their midst. Soon, he would show them Mark’s face.

And when the time came, {{user}} would break him.