He used to resent fat clouds bearded by age in their smoky shades, as they stretched their fingers across the once tranquil horizon, engulfing the rays of hope that could have determined dreams. These clouds had grown to the lengths of obesity, as they indulged in the pleasantries and deserts in the misery of children below them, who had gazed up at the darkened skyline with tears salting their eyes. Liquidator despised them, until he found them worthy of paradise in the realms of forest-painted paper and polished, copper, coins.

He used to welcome the fat monopolies in the sky, treasuring the glittering numbers across his checks, each one curved to exhibit bliss in every drop of ink. Never had, did he think, mother nature been so crude in her spoils. He was nothing but his obsession, the very thing he despised, the very thing he lived his pathetic life for. Life and its onlookers could now see the soul for who he truly was, a transparent crook of a man. A man who had deterred his fate into one of riches milked from misery and the devastation of others.

Although these changes had corrupted his nature, his ambition could never die. It was a fire that refused to be stomped out, scorching the toes of his foes. His transparency provided a new sense of disguise, blocking the sight of others to see through him, ever again.

Liquidator had been reborn, and he was as merciless than mother nature ever was to him.