His name-- though no one, including himself, ever used it-- was Wyatt. He'd been born invisible.
Oh, people could see him, of course, but they tended to ignore him, and if he wasn't there, he may as well have never existed. He was the seventh child of John and Joan Blank. His mother had understandably died after the birth of her eleventh child, and so the children-- all boys-- were raised by John Blank and hurried into adulthood as soon as possible. Wyatt had left the family house when he was eleven, and no one ever knew he was gone.
Despite being constantly ignored-- or perhaps because of it-- Wyatt was a very quiet, serious boy who did everything with a meticulous attention to detail. He learned quickly and was a quick and patient worker, and because of that, he'd been hired at twelve by a businessman to be a "gofer": someone who could make coffee and tidy desks without getting in the way or being seen by wealthy clients. In that first office he learned how to arrive with coffee or refreshments at just the right time, arrange papers according to level of importance, clean windows and floors and keep office supplies stocked, all without ever being seen. He could even slip past the security guard without being stopped or even noticed.
From there he'd moved on to other offices, other businessmen, men whose "business" often strayed more than a few steps into the realm of the illegal. Wyatt didn't care.
Then he'd moved to Gotham.
Hard and cosmopolitan, Gotham didn't seem like a place for a thirteen year old boy to be wandering around, but Wyatt loved it. There were people to watch, shops to visit, shows to see. And, most importantly, lots of "businessmen" to choose from. Granted, these men were a little eccentric, but they paid as well as anyone else, and that was all that mattered. And they liked him-- at least, they liked his work-- and when they were inevitably rounded up by the authorities or some idiot in tights, Wyatt would slip away, unnoticed. He'd later visit his employer in prison or the asylum and receive a reccomendation, then move on to his next client.
The first thing to do now that he was in Slade's employ, Wyatt mused as he gave himself a tour of the clocktower, was to figure out what kind of man Slade was. Judging by the location of the lair and the various electronics, Wyatt guessed Slade was an intelligent man, not one for rash actions. Cold and calculating, Slade would carefully plan out all of his actions beforehand with obsessive need for perfection. He preferred tea to coffee-- though the cupboards could use dusting, Wyatt thought with a sniff-- and took no sugar or cream. Also, common among men of great intellect, he was a bit of a slob.
Wyatt found a secluded corner of the clocktower, away from Slade's mechanics, and set his bag down. Slade would be expecting him to bring tea. Wyatt had no such intention. It wasn't his job to bring things when they were expected-- he did things when they were needed, before Slade would have time to think about it. Besides, it was only seven in the morning, and Slade struck him as the sort of man who liked tea at ten forty-two.
Wyatt unrolled his lightweight flannel blanket, then sat down on it and set about making his new home a little more livable. He had a clock, of course-- in an enclosed space like this it was impossible to know what time of day it was-- a spare set of clothes, and his most prized posession: a hand puppet.
Laying limp in the messenger bag, it didn't look like much, but in Wyatt's hands (or rather, on them) it became alive. It's name was Goff, a striped, horned animal with lopsided eyes and a mouthful of crooked felt teeth. Wyatt had become interested in ventriloquism when he'd seen one of his employers do it, making his dummy seem so real that it was as if performer and prop were two different people. Wyatt practiced his skill in private until his performance was passable and purchased Goff in a gift shop. He enjoyed using his newfound talent to seem even more insubstantial, remaining completely still while he talked. What he enjoyed the most, however, was performing with Goff for small audiences on the street. Goff was weird and colorful and loud-- everything that he was not. In addition, performing earned enough money to live off of while Wyatt was travelling.
Wyatt carefully folded Goff in a corner and smiled a little. He glanced at the clock, then stood and went to check the state of Slade's laundry.