As one might be able to guess straight away, 'Kent Wisdom' is not his real name.
Twenty-five years ago, a boy was born, and he was named Carl, the only son of Rebecca and Steven Moran. A Mormon family, living in Madison, Wisconsin, and in many ways, unremarkable. His father was a real estate agent while his mother was largely a housewife, although unofficially, she'd assist in her husband's career as well. Carl was encouraged towards sports, science, and other things starting with S that would one day lead to Success, according to his parents. For whatever reason, Carl moved towards the creative side of life — he was an avid comic book reader but enjoyed text-only books as well. He dabbled in drawing but more than anything, he wanted to be a writer. His parents largely tolerated this, and hoped he'd grow out of it.
As a teenager, Carl became increasingly defiant. He realised that he had a very different set of beliefs and values from his parents — perhaps this was due to the friends he came to make, or due to the books he read, or a simple generational gap. He was, for one, not remotely religious — possibly the biggest difference. Either way, there was a rift, Carl proclaiming that his parents Didn't Understand Him, and he in turn was called ungrateful and encouraged to move out at the earliest possible time — and he could forget his college fund if he was going to waste it on art and literature! So sure enough, during high school, Carl moved into a flat with some older university students, scored a job at a Barnes&Nobles, and struck out on his own early from the get-go. He liked to think of it as a painfully middle-class, Caucasian brand of bohemia, but he was happy with it. To this day, he has very little contact with his parents.
On the surface, Carl seemed to be reasonably outgoing, in a self-conscious kind of way. He had a sense of humour, seemed content with life in general, and while he wasn't the most social of people, there certainly seemed to be nothing wrong. But it takes someone close, sometimes, to really pick up on when something is wrong, and Carl made a point to hold those around him at arms' length. But on occasion, he would miss a few days of work and classes and do nothing but spend his time in bed, citing sickness. Talk of money, of life ambitions, would send him into an unbreakable silence. Irrational moodiness was chalked up to just being a jackass sometimes, and any amount of drinking was overlooked by his flatmates, as they drank often as well.
But in short terms, Carl was depressed — or rather, he had an undiagnosed case of major depressive disorder. For a long time, through college, past college, he could live with it, despite his dark moments when he truly did feel alone in the world, that maybe alienating his parents was a huge mistake, that no one could ever possibly like him, that he wasn't a good enough writer to be striking out on his own like this with nothing by an arts degree — it was just an inherent streak that he could ignore, for the most part, and work through the day. He never showed tendencies of self-harm, so it was a surprise for all that one day, a few months before he would turn 25, his current girlfriend at the time found him very close to death in his bedroom, having stolen her medication and a bottle of the most expensive wine in the kitchen. He was hospitalised for several days, unwilling to breathe a word of why to anyone — not even to the hospital psychiatrist. Not even the presence of his infuriating parents could bring a rise out of him.
He didn't anticipate being sent to psychiatric rehab, however. Carl wasn't utterly unwilling at first, but once he had been transported, facing months of therapy and medication… well that wasn't a particularly pleasant realisation. For the most part, he felt out of place amongst those whom he felt had a real reason to be there, while he did not, despite his attempt. He did all he could to prove this, that he wasn't a danger to himself or to anyone else, that he could function properly in society — but the harder he tried, the less they seemed to believe it. During this time, he wrote several short stories, focusing around a character named Kent Wisdom. Kent Wisdom also had been diagnosed with depression, but he overcame it by becoming a superhero and doing good deeds for other people rather them himself. It was awful, to be blunt, but it was Carl's effort to prove to the therapists that he was fine. It didn't really work, but he got into the habit of writing these silly little Kent Wisdom stories, simply to wile the time away.
It was after a group therapy session that Carl discovered a neat little trick he could do, as it were. He was sitting in his room, just by the window, trying to remember what had been said during the session and unable to recall a single word. He was more focused on the way the raindrops were obscuring his view to the outside world, and he attempted to concentrate upon the spot just by the lake. Not a moment later, Carl suddenly found himself standing in that exact spot, the rain soaking through his T-shirt and pajama pants, and so dizzy he could barely stay standing. Scared, and unsure how he did that, nor how to get back, Carl did the first instinct that came to mind - he ran away. Of course, he only got as far as the local town before he was spotted and brought back to the psych ward, where no one could work out how exactly he did that. And no way was Carl about to tell them. By now, the world knew about Evolved ability, and this was one secret he was going to keep to himself.
In the privacy of his room, Carl practiced, teleporting from one side of the room to the other. He didn't risk teleporting to anywhere he couldn't see, unsure of what would happen if he 'missed', but slowly, he could at least hold back the dizziness to a degree, or at least become accustomed to it. His escape attempt had saddled him with an even longer stay at the ward, and this was all the motivation he needed to get the hell out of there. Carl Moran disappeared from the psychiatric ward without a trace a week or so later, and has since become a Missing Person.
A few days later, a man going by the name Kent Wisdom would appear (quite literally) in the wrecked New York City. He would seek anonymity, answers, and a new life. Hard to do when you don't have so much as a drivers license on your person and a backpack full of stolen items, but that's okay. If the psych ward taught him anything, it's that no one ever said life would be easy.
