"Is it tomorrow, or just the end of time"
PЏЯÞĽЄ ĦĄŽЄ
United States 
~Meow~
The youngest of eight boys from the south side of Boston, Purple Haze learned early how to problem solve with his fists. With seven older brothers on his side, fights tended to end before the runt of the litter could maneuver into punching distance, so Haze trained himself to run. He ran everywhere, all the time, until he could beat his pack of mad dog siblings to the fray.
A fierce temper, a fascination with all things explosive, and a terrible plan to kill the Loch Ness Monster cost the six year old Purple Haze his original set of adoptive parents. Later, back at the Crypt Grammar School for Orphans near Ullapool in the Scottish Highlands, the boy's bomb-making skills improved dramatically. His disposition and total number of intact eyeballs, however, did not.
Though he wanted desperately to fight in World War 2, Purple Haze was rejected from every branch of the U.S. military. Undaunted, he bought his own ticket to Europe. After arriving and finally locating Poland, Haze taught himself how to load and fire a variety of weapons before embarking on a Nazi killing spree for which he was awarded several medals that he designed and made himself. His rampage ended immediately upon hearing about the end of the war in 1949.
Purple Haze loves barbeque, guns, and higher education. Natural curiosity, ten years as a roughneck in the west Texas oilfields, and eleven hard science PhDs have trained him to design, build and repair a variety of deadly contraptions.
In his former life as a tracker of dangerous game in the unforgiving Australian outback, Purple Haze would spend months by himself. Prolonged isolation taught him a valuable lesson: You don't have to rely on other people if you never miss.
Nowadays, like a hibernating bear, Purple Haze appears to be a gentle giant. Also like a bear, confusing his deliberate, sleepy demeanor with gentleness will get you ripped limb from limb. Though he speaks simply and moves with an economy of energy that’s often confused with napping, the Haze isn’t dumb, he’s not your big friend, and he generally wishes you’d just shut up before he has to make you shut up. He was a good lunch who played by the rules, until the rules robbed him of everything he ever loved. Now he's lettuce, tomato, cheese, bread, and a mysterious slice of meat, marching down your throat and straight to hell. He'll satisfy your hunger. FOR REVENGE!
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Free the Oppressed!
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