He’d been struck by lightning when he was 11-years-old. It happened on his birthday, while he played in a field outside his home.

Seemingly benign clouds had started to collect in a sky that had been cobalt blue for most of the day, and Maurice, a shy quiet boy who was always lost in his daydreams, had stood staring at the fascinating sky, watching the clouds and seeing shapes of animals and monsters in their morphing forms.

Then just as his mother came out of the kitchen where she’d been baking a rich sweet chocolate cake topped with fresh berries that he’d specifically requested, a perfectly shaped zigzag dagger of light struck him as he stood looking up at the darkening sky.

He’d woken up, cradled in his mother’s arms, the acrid smell of burnt clothing raking his nostrils, a myriad thin jagged vine-like scars snaking down his entire body. His left eye, though in all regards fine, was now the cold icy grey colour of the clouds swirling above him.

***

“You’re under arrest, don’t you understand?” an exasperated cop asked the imposing man who sat across him in the cold bare interrogation room.

“What for?” the imposing man, a grown Maurice, asked in a drawling deep voice.

“What…for?” the policeman sputtered, frustration roiling inside him.

“We pulled you over for a broken taillight and we find seven... seven guns!”

His eyes bulged with the insanity of it all. This intimidating man covered in strange scars didn’t seem ruffled by the situation he found himself in.

“So?” Maurice trained his black and grey eyes on the cop and his face lost all expression, becoming lifeless and terrifying. “I want to speak to the Chief, now.”

The policeman had resolved to break this man from the minute he’d stopped him and had been met by Maurice’s arrogance and insolence. But now, looking into the captivating eyes of the man sitting opposite him, he realised his task was impossible. Maurice exuded the kind of confidence that put the cop on edge and his proximity exposed another of his qualities -- the subtle but sure threat of violence, like that of low-lying violet-coloured clouds.

The policeman pushed his chair back with an ingratiating screech and quickly walked out, noting that his charge didn’t even flinch.

***

“Well?” The Chief was always busy, but on this day he was busier than usual. He was irritated at this intrusion, and so he glared sullenly at the weird-looking but striking man who was staring back coldly at him.

“How much did Silas pay you last Tuesday?” Maurice asked evenly, enjoying the fear and surprise that registered on the chief’s face.

“I don’t care about all that,” Maurice said as he spread his muscular handcuffed hands, pattered with the tiny lightning shaped scars that covered the rest of him.

“I just wanted you to get me the Interior Minister,” he finished, leaning back and leveling a laden look at the visibly shaking chief.

“Tell her it’s about the armed forces deal.”

The Chief’s heart had skipped a beat, a feat that had him completely on edge seeing as he’d had two near heart attacks owing to the stressful nature of his work.

Now, hearing this unnervingly calm criminal ask about his meeting with Silas, the head of a brutal gang behind most of the crimes in the city, set his heart going at an irregular pace.

***

“Please sir, this is important,” the Chief lowered his voice and cupped the phone to his mouth, “He knows about Silas…”

“That’s your problem,” the Interior Minister cut in, her authoritative tone trying to end the conversation. “We allow you to take a cut from Silas as long as you’re discreet.”

“He said it’s about some deal with the armed forces,” the Chief cut in, his blood pressure spiking as he wondered how his day had turned on its head.

***

The Interior Minister stood stoically across from Maurice, studying him and his strange eyes. Apparently, he couldn’t be found in any of their databases, and that made the minister uncomfortable.

“I won’t waste your time,” Maurice said after a drawn out silence. “I’m sure you’re a busy woman,” he said flashing her a smile resembling a shark about to bite.

“Making deals with arms dealers to stockpile illegal weapons, selling said weapons to criminals like Silas…” he tapered off, “I want my prints and picture wiped off the system and… I’d like my guns back.”

The Interior Minister swallowed slowly. She’d never met the arms dealer known as Strike. Indeed, none of the other corrupt leaders across the world had. But his voice was unmistakable, as was his confident, incredibly threatening manner. One of the most dangerous men in the world leveled his mesmerising eyes at her and she nodded like a marionette.

“Release him, drop all charges, delete all security camera footage and his prints,” the minister ordered the stunned sweaty chief who’d been pacing the corridor outside, “Oh, and give him his guns back.”