Tennessee, after the family distillery business went bust. Kid ran. His older cousin, a brother, killed during a labour-strike down south. Moonshine in the hills. An explosion. The smell of cinders. The sound of clacking shoes. The yodelling and whelping of savagery. West, then north, then east again. Trouble followed. So Kid started to follow trouble. The anger was uncomfortable. Then, like anything, he became comfortable with the anger. He wore it like old leather. Kid followed trouble and his anger all the way to Kentucky, where trouble went to retire. Kid Prinssi. A pale silken string of a boy. Watched from above. He heard many things. Avoided others. Humans. Not Humans. Never-were-humans. He was above when trouble died. Kid is the sort of face one remembers like they recollect a Calvin Klein model on a billboard. That vague, androgynous symmetrical beauty one only obtains through genealogical luck. It is the only luck Kid Prinssi has ever had. Time washed that away, too. A nose twice broken, several razor cuts at the jaw, and a severe lack of sleep and nutrition have taken their toll on Kid. Stress, not time, is stealing Kid's youth. The Mall has weapons now. Real ones. Not the toys or tools of his grandfather's past.

Kid came to find The Janitor and to take several scores all at once. Then the Mist rolled in. Old scores are worthless. Now Kid absorbs what lessons the Mall and its residents have for him and reshifts that years-long rage outwards, towards the creatures. He curates the Mall's ammunition supply and generates new rounds out of what he and others find out in the Mist. Kid seems entirely unenthused by the happenings outside. "If I can shoot a squirrel, I can shoot a dinosaur. The size of the target doesn't really change through a scope." And is far more scared of the randomly opening/closing doors, the music, and the general atmosphere of the Mall than the hordes of savage creatures trying to get inside.

With the death of Jazz, for several days, all he did was cry. Then the shooting began. As Kid attempted and failed to mentally and emotionally recover from loss, the Mall was breached. Some died in its defence. Others died to obtain information. Others died to take that information, and they were killed for killing for that information. By the time Kid was roused to coordinate the after-math, half a dozen people were dead and the mall had been set aflame. The survivors had barely contained the fires.

Kid now finds himself one of the longest lasting survivors in the Mall. One of three individuals who have all the information that has been collected about the origins, progress, and potential end to the Mist. This has made him a de-facto voice of coordination and planning for The Mall's survivors. From an immediate devastating loss of something he thought unobtainable- a genuine human connection- to soberly sorting the dead in the October 7th massacre, The Kid has shed his stutter and his gait and his emaciation. The wispy thin-silken-string of a boy is dead. The Man wanders the halls of the Mall day and night. The death of his soul-mate forced her loyal knight to his namesake as a royal predator. The rattling of .308 and 5.56 casings hitting the tiled floors of the Mall and wooden balconies of Grace Nolan.