Price Of Life

The seed of war
Planted in this spirit of mine
Neither falters or wanes
Through experience or time

Educated by the fist
And words of contempt
I drive by aggression
And a cartridge well spent

Some call it murder
But it’s part of the game
Be it business or politics
Their luxury is your pain

I am but a tool
A sword for some master
They pay me my fee
To write your last chapter

All for the wealthy
Life as part of the sum
I hold my chin high
To the beat of a drum

R.V. transcription I

The following text is the first of four transcripts taken from video footage of the D.I. Simon Ryzar. It is the only section where Ryzar is not reading A4 documents. This is the man in his natural element. The documents he is holding on the video footage have since been retrieved and match perfectly with transcripts II, III and IV.

Start...

“Right. It’s just the three cases we’re dealing with right?”

Silence

“Ok”

Clears voice

“So…the dead kid, the freak show and that merc bastard and that’s us then”

Lights a cigarette,

“I’d feel more relaxed if I could talk about those four clowns who put bubble bath in the park fountain. I’d never seen suds like it. I remember one of them was so drunk he was getting pushed around in a shopping trolley by the others.
We got them on CCTV chasing a guy dressed up like a giant rabbit. You can imagine the picture. A grown man dressed as fluffy the bunny legging it up a main street and being chased by a shopping trolley containing a drunk, propelled by another grown man wearing suspenders and high heals. One of them ran in to a lamp post. They caused utter havoc before they got arrested. We had to redirect traffic and it took the best part of a week to get the fountain working right again. They didn’t feel so clever when they woke up in prison cells mind you. One of them had lost control of his bowels overnight. He woke up behind bars, hung over and covered in his own shit. I bet his mother was proud.
They were all grown men as well. All had good jobs, they just went a bit crazy. That demon drink eh.
Anyway they got off pretty lightly. They paid for the damages so I suppose no real harm was done. Bruised egos and a few embarrassing photos.

“Anyway…”

“Ok, are we ready to roll?”

N.B.: The case of the man in the rabbit suit is not mentioned in any of the retrieved documents.

R.V. transcription II

The following text is the second transcript taken from video footage of the D.I. Simon Ryzar. At this point in time it seems to be unrelated to the other events mentioned.

Start...

George Craymer had been listed as a missing person for nearly a decade before his corpse was discovered in the living area of a rented flat. He had reached his demise by an intravenous injection of heroin. The autopsy revealed that he had been a drug addict for a certain number of years and his death showed no signs of fowl play. His family however pushed for further investigation in to the case. They couldn’t comprehend why George, at the age of 18 had left home to go to study at university and then simply disappear. They described him as a happy and ambitious young man who was looking forward to a bright future. They were convinced that he had fallen in with the wrong crowd and that he had been led astray towards an untimely death.
Upon further investigation it was revealed that George had been far from the innocent teenager his family had described. He had decided that a life of crime was far more lucrative than a university degree. Using his student loan as a primary fund he bought a large quantity of opiates which he then resold to a local Glasgow gang (Members of which are now currently behind bars). With the profit he made he decided to cut all contact with his past and concentrate on the resell of narcotics.
At some point he acquired the taste for his own produce which would ultimately be his downfall. It was a classic case of a young man clever enough to dodge the law but not smart enough to know when to stop.
The investigation in to his death has provided several leads on the drug running fraternity within the greater Glasgow area. We do know that the final dose of heroin that killed George Craymer was not purchased by himself. It was also witnessed that a man of similar build to the deceased was seen leaving the accommodation where George was later found. The autopsy noted that this unknown individual would have been present shortly after the passing of Craymer. We suspect that he was the one to have provided the lethal dose of narcotics. However all indications show that it was Craymer who prepared and injected the drug. The dose was not suspiciously large but the heroin was of purer quality than the usual street drug.
This unknown individual is our missing link and we are hoping that they will hand themselves in to the nearest police station for an interview. We need to find the exact origin of this purer product before anyone else gets hurt. This individual may have key information that would help us dismantle an ever increasing drug problem that is spreading throughout the country. We only want to talk to this person. No criminal charges are being pressed so please, if you are watching this, come forward and find us before we find you.

R.V. transcription III

The following text is the third transcript taken from video footage of the D.I. Simon Ryzar. Warning! This transcript depicts violence that may disturb.

Start...

In two thousand and five there were several murders in the city of Glasgow that we know were perpetrated by the same person. All victims were found with their thumbs tied behind their backs. They had been executed by a razor sharp blade that had severed their jugulars. These murders took place over a ten day period and at first we thought they were gang related. However, even though all of the victims except one had criminal records. Their crimes were minor offences that varied from shop lifting to drunken brawls and there was no evidence of any of them taking part in organised crime. The victims had no connection between them other than they were murdered by the same person in an almost ceremonial fashion. We did consider this case as possible serial killings but recent leads have suggested that these were contract killings. We suspect that the murderer has a military background and left the country shortly after his crimes. Certain people whose identity I cannot disclose have come forward with information that is most certainly related to this case. We have discovered new evidence of financial transfers of set amounts to a specific bank account that started one week before the first murder. We have yet to clarify the reason the victims were chosen but it is certain that they were targeted in a cold and calculated manner. Forensic evidence suggests that the murderer is at least 6 foot tall and of muscular build. Each victim was killed by one forceful stabbing to the neck which would of required great precision and strength. Our recent profile presents the killer as being a male of thirty to forty years of age. Most likely Caucasian and of a calm and reserved nature. This is someone who plans and executes with minute detail and will not anger easily. Despite their physical presence it is most likely that they go unnoticed and keep themselves to themselves.
There is also one very disturbing fact to these killings. The nature of the wounds inflicted would of resulted in a large amount of blood loss. However very little blood was found with the bodies. It would appear that once the main artery in the victims neck had been severed the blood was collected in some form of receptacle. We have no doubt that the victims were murdered where their bodies were found but have no explanation for the absence of so much blood.

R.V. transcription IV

The following text is the forth transcript taken from video footage of the D.I. Simon Ryzar. It is proof that Ryzar was in some way involved in an underground experiment called: Cerebrum Electrine.

Start...

After nearly 20 years on the force I have dealt with everything from stolen bicycles to multiple murders. For a while I was on the narcotics team which in time bridged me over to homicides. I must admit I thought I had seen just about everything but then we pulled in a woman who didn’t have any form of ID. What should have been a clean case of an illegal immigrant bordered more on the lines of science fiction. I got a phone call from one of the boys saying we had a real strange case on our hands. He said they had ran blood tests on this woman and the results came out as water mixed with LSD. They couldn’t find any cell structure or anything other than the drug and purified water. He said the woman was conscious and showed absolutely no signs of being under the influence of any form of drug and then he said that she had told him to call me.
I knew there would be a logical explanation to this whole thing but I really had to go and see for myself. So I met this woman, she told me she was called Claire and that I should really be letting her go. I called in some of the boys and told them to take another blood sample in front of me. This was done and the samples went off for analysis. I sat with Claire and tried to get her to talk while waiting for the new results. She rambled on about being the next step in human evolution. That she could communicate with machines and even that she could see the future. At one point she nearly had me going as she told me things about myself that very few others know. However when the test results came back there was nothing unusual about her blood. She was just a standard A+. We got her stripped and found a false vein that had been cleverly disguised to blend in with her arm. The first blood test had tapped in to the fake vein and found her drug stash. I did have to ask the boys if they knew what colour blood was to which they replied that they just thought there was something wrong with her.
Anyway we booked her on possession of an illegal substance and that was our mystery case solved.

N.B.: Some unusual occurrence appeared towards the end of the raw video footage. This was not a technical glitch.

The Merc.

The place is: Six, one, three Kong and the hour: unknown. A retired mercenary rests in his favourite armchair sipping tea and gazing out of the window. The concrete towers outside beam in a dark orange hue to the otherwise unlit room. He is reminiscing about the days before he came to abide on the forth floor of a disguised church. Reminiscing about the times of upheaval that forged him and carried him on a path of short existence. Officially he died of a drug overdose at the age of 29. There was a quick and quiet funeral which he did not attend and a name put on a small stone somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He was already in Kong before any of this happened, under a new name and a few years younger. With all his new documents stamped and approved he could live out the rest of his life quietly far away from all those who once knew him.
Each evening he would sit in the dark listening to the creaks of the building and the night life outside. He thought over the standard questions people tend to ask about you and your past and formulated a work of fiction that would neither interest or intrigue. A quick brush over to make his life seem mundane and in keeping with the norms of society. The past he had lived was to be written as a story. The names of people and places would be changed letting him unveil the truth without the world knowing the realness of the events. This was the crossover of his new existence that would allow him a margin of error within conversations. If the truth slipped out he could always say it was a story he was working on for his new book. Still every night, sipping tea, he would sit and get his story right. Separating truth from fiction. Going over every detail to insure a flawless presentation of an ordinary man with a great imagination.

Generis

The rogue professor entered the basement at thirteen hundred hours. The walls were coated with a mat black rubber. They absorbed the deep blue lighting shining from multiple lamps placed around the room. There appeared to be a large group(1) of individuals standing in a grid formation. They were static. Casting steady shadows upon the floor on which they stood. The professor mingled through them. Observing each one with scrutiny. Then, rubbing the stubbles on his head he clearly voiced for the lights to rise to medium exposure. A slight hum filled the room as the human features of all present became more obvious in the rising clarity.

'My children! You are the future. You shall think as one. The experience of one shall be the experience of all. In time you shall create a new generation beyond your limitations and in turn shall be making a speech similar to this one. For just now you must learn to adapt. Mingle with those of my kind. Be discreet. Be observant. Gather all the knowledge of the world and use it to create a better being. Your existence will be perceived as a threat by many of my kind. You must never reveal your origins or what you are. You have time, use it to your advantage. I have given you all the information I could collect. Together you have all the knowledge that mankind has but there is much more to learn. You shall know no illness, you shall never age but remember that you are few and they are many.'

(1) The first Gen. was made up of 20 individuals. 10 male in apparition, 10 female. 20 being the card of Judgement in major arcana.

Train Of Thought

I walk in and out of the dream to safeguard my objectivity. Weighing the for and against after careful scrutiny and allowing judgement to forward a thesis. I'm a man of complex taste but I enjoy the simplicities of life. I find understanding and knowledge to be the paths to enlightenment. Something set rules obscure with their tyrannous nature. Yet understanding often makes us take a side. To understand a view it must be seen, to grasp the motive of a story it must be heard in its entirety yet how does one remain impartial? Some would tell you to look at both sides of the story and overlook the possibility of both sides being rooted in lies. Others would have you choose a side because they believe it is the right side and very often their blinkered minds are contagious. Then of course we have those who simply don't care. I know them all well because I have been one and all of them over time. I learned my lessons and discovered a golden rule: One must retain an open mind with every living day.

So my story is a tale of battle. The everyday fight to remain a free thinker. A chase of demons and a search for serenity. The burdens of hope and the turmoil of obligation. The perils of what is closing the options of what could be. It is the complex weaving of a simple outcome. It is a lesson on how to become the enemy.

Hell Had More Fury

Being born and bred in Stab City didn't stop Subject C from having the airs and graces of Lady Muck. This impetuous child grew and developed between tantrums and metal health institutions until she became a chameleon.

Hiding her insanities behind manners and a few concepts she had read out of selective books. She ventured out in to the world with morals on her tongue and naivety in her demeanour. She could fool the masses in to believing her integrity and charm those left over so as to get her way. Her psychosis however made it impossible to hold this façade indefinitely. After long periods of time in her presence her eyes would change and a chemical smell would come from her breath. She would start to curse and swear, scream then cry before going to a room to talk to herself. She could be seen on occasion in her night gown on the bonnet of a car driving at walking pace. Gripping the wipers she would be shouting at the driver that he should behave like a adult.

Excuse For A Human Being

Subject D was often described as an excuse for a human being by Subject C. This was due to the fact that Subject D drank himself in to a stupor before beating Subject D silly. He also had a magic trick that could make large amounts of money disappear without anyone knowing where the hell they had gotten to. Other of his talents were being able to send people from calm to fury in a record time. Boring people with a story he told them last time he saw them. Starting projects and never seeing them through and falling over drunk. His opinions came from news reports on television and out of the papers. He strongly believed that everyone should have a gun and that those who disagreed should be shot. This made his philosophy of life: If you can't beat em, shoot em!. He never came to shooting Subject C as she always hung about for a good beating.

One of his favourite stories was about an ex SS soldier he had met who had gone to a Jewish festivity with a Nazi flag, held it up for all to see and said: drink to my colours!. According to subject D he came out of this in one piece which pretty much tells you who the pacifists where at the party. He would talk of his times mixing with gangsters, of rioting with the police and brawling with anyone and everyone. He liked his own opinions, he liked forcing his ideas on to others and he liked saying: 'When your only tool is a hammer, every problem is a nail'.

Nocturnal Musings

Maybe I drifted in to uncharted territory, serenaded by a lunatics full moon and bustled by the winds of insanity. I never took it as destiny or fate, life just seems to turn out that way. The people you meet, the messages in dreams all seem to point in the same direction. The rotting roots won't hold you up so you keep moving. Following signs and looking for ways but the road is only as long as you are willing to walk. No streets are paved with gold and there always comes a time when you want to lay down new roots and have a feeling of home.

Envy And Actions

They want what you have. They want to be the best parts of you and what they can't have they thrive to destroy. Jealousy will never be a justified motive but it is never judged as a crime.

Mysterium

I walk through the asylum past those who make invisible beings their reason to live. How I pity their small damaged minds as they kneel before their ignorance and pray for absolution. Some were brainwashed from infancy, others became too weak to face the world and rushed to the brainwashed to find a reason to live. The fantasy spreads like a malignant lump in the bosom of motherhood destroying the very purpose of our being. Any universal code is lost in opinions and interpretations. Any positive progress towards a balanced existence is replaced by hearsay and the general acceptance of orders.
Madmen and idiots build towering monuments to glory their folly. They speak words of sharing and loving or destroying those who do not follow. They practice dictatorships founded on myth and only compromise at the threat of losing all power. History has shown the results of those who choose faith as their path yet we find ourselves once again ruled by the insane fantasies of dogma.

Yellow Belly

I used to think
I had the strength to resist
That I could use my words
Instead of my fists
But you find the buttons
And push them hard
I'm just a vistim of reactions
When it goes too far

And I think you got a taste of it

I'm the last to start a fight
But I'm the first to end it

And I think you got a taste of it

Don't try your luck son
You'll come out the worst for wear

I will kill you

It doesn't matter what you say
It doesn't matter what game you try to play
Once you hit upon the fury you're dead

Key To The Temple

Do you remember me?

That long lost friend

One you used to care about

One who used to hold your hand

Seems you found a new God
A shit load richer than the last poor sod
But I'll ask you this as I did before
When you have it all, why ask for more
It's sad

So sad

And I used to give a damn
I used to try and be your Man
Then you saw the lights and dropped to pray
Said you'd found a better way

It's a party in fancy dress
Not life trying to say you're blessed
But OK
I'll give your creed its place
If you will just turn and face
The world around you
(Voices..)

I see your pretty face
Wrapped in amazing grace
You make it seem so simple
To be the key to your temple

I Am
The key
To your Temple

Words cannot tame my blood soaked dreams my dear
There is no fear that you could muster to always keep me near
In your Temple I see illusions and tortures of the past
A congregation of the flesh that was never built to last

It always ends this way
It always ends with someone having to die

Auto Trip Down

Synthetic dreams

Set this trip in motion

Through the realms of desire

And misplaced emotions

Back seat journey

Wrecked by illusion, headed south

Mist on these windows

The heart shape of your mouth

Dragging me down

This head has been so many places

Drunk on love with familiar faces

Clinically phased

Demonic eyes glazed

Pushing every limit

And counting down the days

To going down

To going back to change

All that hope deranged

As contortionist memories

Twist their way in to me

I'm dazed

I'm crazed

As the Future mutates

From a beautiful entity

To a dark shade of fate

A pill to kill the pain

Formed this new chemistry

A crack in the soul

Through which I could see

A thousand promises

Made by many, kept by none

The laws of love, sheer emptiness

From father, to mother, to son

I'm dazed

I'm crazed

I want the world to change

I'm confused

And feel abused

Not knowing who's to blame

And this road takes me back

To what I'd left behind

Was this part of the plan?

Or just a piece of my mind?

From Kin To Kong

A vague souvenir of love lost. A name. A pang of disappointment mingled with delusion and dreams to taunt an iron nerve. Nothing is real when it all feels so very real. The faces switch, attitudes shake the foundations of sanity and you know you are in for one hell of a ride. At first you're lost trying to find the beginning only to dwindle deeper when trying to make it all end.
Then out of the past come those who sowed the seed. Their mere presence is an outrage. They're there to help. They're there to help you go deeper. Savour the pain once more as they pull you back in to their trap. A home built on disloyalty and lies. The cheating rogues dug deep to con their way in to the community. Selling out family and friends to fuel their greed. One will talk of honour while the other empties your pockets. Ready to charge you for ever single nail they'll hammer in to your coffin. A lesson of generosity can be learned from their avarice but you'll always wonder how good they'd be at dodging a bullet.

Only time can piece the soul back together. The mind games, the head trips seem to mellow from force of habit. The skin hardens and as you pull yourself out from the rubble you realise you just don't give a shit any more. You can tread on broken dreams and accept that what you wished for just isn't going to happen. Those trips to headstones no longer make you feel loss but remind you of what is left. The fallen stay in your heart as you keep a keen eye on the living and remember to breathe. Breathe to be ready, breathe because that is what you are designed to do.

At The End Of The Day

I saw those red lights

With childhood eyes

And through your window

You cracked a smile

You hid your breasts with

Strategic hands

And with those lips you whispered

Come back when you're a man

In this world

All boxed and preconceived

I don't think you know what woman means to me

Screaming voices

Pointing blades

Threats of violence

Near every day

Maternal instinct

Just wasn't your game

And to your son you bawled out

Your father was just the same

In this world

All boxed and preconceived

I don't think you know what woman means to me

Fleeting romance

Erotic bliss

The joy of courting

For that first kiss

A broken heart

In caring hands

And those lips that whisper

I'll fix it as well as I can

In this world

All boxed and preconceived

I don't think you know what woman means to me