Here he is, the platypus whose dreams of becoming a recognized artist were put to a screeching halt by being drafted for the impending World War IV. His supplies were used to start the fire that burned down his village, the oil paints. THE OIL PAINTS. His training was brutal, his living situation grim and hopeless. The only thing he had left to hold on to was his beret (he was stabbed in the face in the process of saving it from shrapnel).
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