Harry

"Mercy? Did you show any mercy to your daughter while she was burning alive? No. Tonight, I will shower in your blood as you dance and dangle from pig-hooks above me. I'll gouge out your eyes and stuff them in your empty scrotum, and when you beg me once more for mercy I'll laugh. And if you're lucky... really lucky, I'll leave you alone when you're dead. ...Nah." - Harry Morgan

Name:  Harry Morgan Age:  29 Flaws:  Addiction (serial-murder), Embarrassing Secret (serial-murder) Virtue:  Justice Vice:  Wrath Threshold:  Torn Archetype:  Reaper Geist:  The Surgical Butcher Keys:  Stigmata, Phantasm

Bio: Hard-willed. Determined. Headstrong. Harry Morgan didn't take shit from anybody. He was practically born on the blood-stained streets of Philadelphia. Gangsters learned quick not to fuck with him when he was young, and they learned much quicker when he joined the force in '01.

Harry rose quickly to the rank of detective in the homicide department, putting uncountable killers behind bars with that aggressive attitude of his. Besides, if any of them got away, it was always someone else's fault, because nobody fucks with Harry.

Until somebody did.

September 23rd, 2005: as Harry was getting into his car, he felt a sharp, warm pain in the side of his neck. In the reflection of his driver's-side mirror, he saw a tall, hooded figure holding the knife that killed him. Harry recognized him -- Johnny Chase. He was one of the wise-guys who slipped through the cracks a few years back. Harry had pushed the blame onto a newbie, who was booted from the force, but now the ghost of Christmas Past was back to haunt him.

If only he could take it all back. He pleaded to the world... to anybody... if he could just survive, he promised he would do anything. He promised he would serve justice over his own ambition.

And so it was.

Harry miraculously survived the incident, as the knife missed his jugular vein by lengths too short to measure. During recovery, he realized that there was somebody else recovering as well -- a voice in his head, holding him to the promise he made on the day of his death. Harry soon came to terms with his dark passenger, calling it "The Surgical Butcher."

The Butcher was once a blood-spatter analyst... and a serial murderer. His presence gave Harry urges, horrible urges to spill blood. Harry swore to keep himself true to justice. He swore to find all the gangsters who slipped through the cracks and give in to his new sadistic pastime.

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