Edward Keene was born in the year 1971, within the city of Anchorage (Alaska). His mother, a junky in her teen years; his father a police officer corrupted to the bone. At birth, he was given his mother's surname and limited contact to his father (a title that the man denies half of the time). Though living with his mother, Keene was raised primarily by his grandparents in a state of poverty that lasted the extent of his non-adult life.
Contrary to his upbringing, Keene never missed a day of school. From his first year until his last, he attended without a single day to tarnish a perfect record. Even the day that his biological father was stripped of his badge, and sentenced to jail time, Keene was eagerly studying for an upcoming test. His grades never faltered, and his level of intellect proved notable, even at such an early age. While stricken with poverty, a full ride scholarship granted him the possibility for secondary education.
It was a possibility never explored, however. Within weeks of his graduation, his father turned up dead, and his mother disappeared from his grandparent’s house. Rather than attending the funeral, he went out in search of his mother; what he found was organized crime. His mother was in the care of smugglers and dealers (all members of an American-only bike gang, working lapdogs for a larger umbrella organization on the expanse to International business), slowly giving away the extent of her saved funds for another hit. They offered Keene a chance to buy her back, though he had not the currency to do so. So, they offered him a job with which to gain the funds.
At first, he merely worked with the low level dealers, bringing cocaine in to compete with the local excess of crack cocaine (which would usually be quite difficult given the proportion of pricing, though through outside influence the price of sold cocaine was able to stay down in order to produce viable profit for the dealers). Enforcing territory and even doing some sales himself. Soon after, he was working with the gun runners on cargo ships (the biker gang taking drugs in return, later turned to currency when sold on the streets of Anchorage; the dealing as not to bring heat onto the top organization outside of their usual territory and trust, and still have it protected), rarely returning to the USA as his trips took him mainly to countries he had never heard of under any circumstances beforehand (mainly within Africa and Asia). Just another soldier in a world of crime. A particularly violent era, given that the expanse of the gang was giving trouble to other similar organizations and those worldwide. Particularly, the clash was to be had more so with Asian gangs and varied pirates overseas rather than with the authorities of any country.
Betrayal though, would bring out something else in him. A new occupation. One of the other members was a known rat (not for enforcement, but with a rival organization to the umbrella organization, and in this learning that he was working for, by proxy, the Latin Kings; which in itself would have been a cause for discomfort for all bikers outside the know, particularly those with ties to white supremacist 'clubs'), and he was tasked with finding out just how much had been ratted. A sort of, proving of loyalties. He took to the task, and vented his anger into it as a way to cope. Only to discover that he liked it, the challenge of entering another's thoughts in the less literal sense. Though, a knack for it meant something more. He was good, better than he should be.
It became his new occupation for the organization. Torturing rats and enemies of his superiors for information regarding different events. After a time, he came to find that he was able to know what was needed well before he started. The voices followed. He could hear the thoughts of his victims. He thought himself crazy at first, distancing himself from the others in the organization. The ability soon grew though, and he could actively purvey the thoughts of those around him with only little difficulty. Harder still, was delving deeper into the mind to find answers to just what he wanted.
Through practice came mastery though. The ability allowed him to predict his own demise as well, as he caught wind of his own upcoming execution in one of his own biker superiors (as ordered during a change in the gang's leadership, in order to bring about a disconnect from the Latin Kings; as when more bikers were brought into the fold, less were found agreeable to the dealings). He killed this superior, and jumped ship off the coast of Africa. Barely surviving the swim and faring even worse upon the continent. Cheating death on a few occasions, he was able to find his way into the south. Where he would stay.
He settled down and lived off of his ability, from the shadows. He was thought dead by his former employers, and not about to contradict that belief. He could have found a mundane job, but the challenge of searching one's mind was too much of a draw to him, so he continued to do so. Working as a rogue agent of such, gathering and selling intel to local persons of interest, and even committing murder on a few occasions in order to continue with the work.
It was a bomb that drew him back though, to New York. Not at an instant, though. At a lack of a passport, he was only able to work with a ship of smugglers in getting him to Mexico. From there, he traveled North under his own power. By the time he reached the state, and later the city, registration was in effect. He became subject to the realization that he was indeed not alone in his possession of Evolved abilities.
He avoided registration though, out of paranoia brought on by the lifestyle he was all too used to. He went home. Back to Alaska. His mother clean, though unhealthy in living down the effects that the drugs had brought out in her. Keene didn't reintroduce himself to his family, ultimately finding no reason to. He found himself to be a completely other person, and nothing about that caused much bother in him anymore. He wandered from there, mostly though Canada; lost in every sense of the word. He began to fall on old habits though. Sale of intel and blackmail. It was only a matter of time that he found himself back in New York. He'd found what he wanted. To know of the evolved, and to know what they know. He wouldn't yet register for this, for the things to be done. Once again a rogue agent. He'd need to change that.
