Prison had not been kind to him.
His hands were scarred from the knife fight the third week he was in maximum security. His arms bore the scratch marks and burns of multiple attacks while on kitchen duty. His legs even had permanent indentations where they had strung him up in the bathroom while he was asleep his the third month of his second year. The doctor who operated on his leg said he would have permanent nerve damage and never walk the same way again.
They also did not believe he deserved the care the state mandated he receive. They thought he was a murderer… just like everyone else did. He slept no better in the hospital bed than he had in prison because who knew how long the arms of his enemies reached.
But none of that mattered. He had his revenge on them then, and after New Years his third year, no one touched him and the fools who did found themselves in the infirmary. His boxing skills worked on three people, but then they had all attacked him at once. Mixed martial arts had ruined ten forever. And the one dead man, the one no one ever looked in the eye because of who he was, his corpse had been the making of him.
None of those skills would help him now.
He looked at his hands, trying to find peace in their familiarity as he sat in a suit two sizes too big with a shirt a size too small, and shoes that hung like boats on his feet. They had been all anyone could find for him since all his possessions had long since been sold or given away. That was what happened when the State stood as the only inheritor of your things.
The public defender next to him idly sketched something on his notepad, the money symbol over and over again as the representative of the state explained how the program worked. The man despised all of them, the room, the meeting, and the bickering. He wanted to go back to where problems were solved with his fists and his brains, not with platitudes and worthless words.
"As representing Her Majesty's government, I am here to formerly apologize for what happened to you. In that light, we are willing to fund a restitution total of five million pounds, for your inconvenience in this matter. Is that number acceptable to you, Mr. Bates?"
"That number is far too small." The public defender argued and Bates only twitched his lip.
"Then what number did Mr. Bates have in mind?"
"Given all the costs of life and-" Began the defender but Bates cut him off.
"Ten million pounds flat. No interviews, no contact by the State, and a new identity. I want my record expunged and all traces of my stay in your system erased." Bates ripped a sheet off his lawyer's pad and wrote an address. "Within a week."
"Mr. Bates we-"
"Answer my demands or find yourselves the subject of a very awkward event." Bates waited and the representative nodded. "Perfect, one week." Bates stood, moving toward the door, ignoring the surprise on the rep's face.
"Mr. Bates…" Bates shut the door before the lawyer could finish the statement, leaving the room behind.