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| The Serpico Files | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 9 2017, 02:33 PM (96 Views) | |
| SSRI Exposed | Dec 9 2017, 02:33 PM Post #1 |
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I said in my last installment that there was still more to come. And here it is. Time is of the essence. At least I know someone is reading this - and not just OSA. Isn't that right, Prodigy - or Elijah, is it? I have a lot to say, stories the world needs to hear. For now, at least, I have the freedom to tell them. So let me tell you about Adam Milton. Milton is an economist, best known for his work at Quendelton State University. He had been a member of the Spirit Science Research Institute since the late 1990s, one of a gaggle of academics recruited by Benson to give the Institute intellectual credibility in some circles. To the public he was best known for his philosophy of Unrestraint. Simply put, this is the belief that any and all restrictions are to be opposed - that business should be free to buy and sell any product or service, whatever the consequences, to crush all competition, however brutally, to pursue their goals without restriction by law, to destroy unions, consumer groups and other obstacles at will. Milton was particularly known for his quip decrying the Pinkertons as soppy moderates. In the here and now, he advocated business expand into fields considered taboo or illegal, without remorse or doubt, making sure only to avoid being caught. Human trafficking, illegal arms dealing, prostitution, mercenary work. Buying up huge quantities of the best quality drugs, flooding a neighbourhood with them, then cutting off the supply - watch the people suffer for a few weeks then turn it back on at three times the price. Rumour had it that the disappearance of union leader from Red Cola's bottling plant in Nebraska in 2000 came not long after the head of the company read Milton's The Unrestrained Economy. How true that is I can't say, but we let the story circulate. It gave him a certain chic in some circles. As did the claim he was hired by a Bible museum to assist them in funnelling millions of dollars to religious extremists - of all stripes - in the Middle East in exchange for millennia-old artefacts. Less known to the public is Milton's theory of Esoteronomics. Broadly speaking, the application of esoteric and occult principles to business. In part, this meant making use of occult principles deduced by the Spirit Science Research Institute over the years, techniques with a proven history of success. The use of rituals and incantations, the application of sacred numbers and gematria, astrological calculations synthesised from many sources. In part as well, this meant understanding the ideas held by the masses, occultic inclinations few properly understood, and using them to manipulate the people. Dark sigils hidden within corporate logos, the strategic use or absence of certain taboo numbers - 13, 666 - for particular ends. Mass psychology, codes hidden within codes. Some, his academic peers, scoffed at his ideas, Unrestraint and Esoteronomics alike. Yet over time, his proven track record came to award him a grudging, misunderstood acceptance in some circles. This was amply aided by the Institute, who both ensured his corporate advice and predictions were successful, and acted to neutralise his more vociferous critics. One such critic came to our attention in 2009. A man by the name of Daniel Maynard Highlander He was a young man then, a university student, already an active researcher starting to put out papers. Young and, of course, principled, a second generation economist. And dividing his time between university and the Championship Wrestling Federation, alongside the Prodigy and the Princess, known to the world as Elijah and Omega. Milton had been giving a guest lecture at Highlander’s university. Afterwards, he happened to bump into Highlander in the university bar, recognised him because of his more famous father. The two of them got into it, had a fist fight that got broadcast all over the world. Milton was furious, and so we set about ruining his life. Open access journals refused to publish his work, assignments changed without warning, lecturers suddenly too busy to meet. Surveillance placed on his family home just obvious enough to instill paranoia. Attempts to get sample data would be refused without explanation. The program continued through 2010, stopping and starting as the crisis within the Institute took hold. We succeeded in lowering his grades and barring him from his chosen graduate school, leaving him with a lengthy and expensive legal case. Locked him out of the best journals for a few years, strained his relationship with faculty and family. Then suddenly, part way through 2010, the program was dropped. No explanation, of course. Just par for the course under Benson. Later, Highlander would come back onto our radar, when he was shot in 2011, not long before I left the Institute. It was obvious to everyone who was responsible - the date, the time, the type of bullet, it had to be him. The Moonchild, Elisha. But he'd managed to avoid capture, and a few well placed “donations”, the right hirings and firings in the right police departments, ensured the case remained unsolved. As for Milton, he carried on with his academic work before quitting to become an advisor to business full time. Last I heard, he was part of the Banco Kykeon collapse. No doubt he or one of the Institute's other people will be made an example of. Esoteronomics remains a fringe interest, yet in some circles it holds great influence. You can see it in the stock market if you know where to look - investments being bought and sold by the right people, at the right time, day, month and year, in the right quantities to fit a pattern few can see. The name of God expressed mathematically, spiralling through the market's ever-shifting cascade of data. Unrestraint meanwhile has seen a renaissance, being popularised on social media by unemployed white men fantasizing about being the kind of ruthless business owner Milton advocated. Yet some in business have put his ideas into practice. Silent, undetectable, and more powerful than anyone knows. Some day the public will know. But by then it may be too late. |
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| SSRI Exposed | Dec 11 2017, 10:13 AM Post #2 |
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Maybe you've heard of the Spirit Science Freedom Initiative. Probably not, but if you watch any videos about the SSRI online, read any news articles they're bound to come up eventually. Comment after comment denouncing Henry Benson as this foul creature, the Usurper, who had taken Clyde Pierre's legacy and made a mockery of it for his own gain. While defending Pierre and everything he did, everything he stood for, as beyond reproach by lesser beings. This is the SSFI. Founded by former members of the Spirit Science Research Institute, most, but not all, who had left after Benson took power. They held true to Clyde Pierre's teachings, sought to uphold his legacy against what they saw as the degradation imposed upon it by his successor. And so they founded the Freedom Initiative as a place to practice and propagate Amorality and Spirit Science outside of the Institute's confines. They believed the teachings to be pure, the Institute merely an impure vessel. Me, I believe that if you pour poison out of a dirty bottle into a clean bowl, it's still poison. The SSFI had been founded in the mid-2000s by a few disaffected individuals, but grew rapidly among the community of Exes, particularly online. People who for one reason or another found themselves leaving the Institute but didn't want to give up everything they'd known. We - OSA, that is - had the group infiltrated from the start, obviously. Did it openly enough that they'd pick up on it, allowed a couple of agents to be exposed just to send the message we were watching. Had other agents stay undercover undetected for years. Some might even still be there now. We allowed it to grow since it served our purposes - a single place where disaffected Exes might congregate, an easy target out in the open, was more efficient than trying to monitor countless discrete individuals. The occasional raid, public scandal, lawsuit and trouble with the police helped remind them we were in control. And watching, always watching. The Freedom Initiative grew for a few years but really hit their stride in 2008. That was when they got the Epicentre. The Epicentre is a site in Eastern Europe - those who need to know, already know where it is. Purchased by the Institute back in the late 1980s, well before my time of course. Governments were collapsing throughout the Eastern Bloc, brought down by internal corruption and opportunism, external pressure and sabotage, popular protest, and a little gentle persuasion from the CIA, MI6, and of course OSA. In the chaos of the time, the authorities had bigger concerns to deal with than some quirky western spiritual-philosophical movement wanting to set up shop. In the time of glasnost and perestroika, religious groups of all shapes and sizes were flowing into the country - Moonies, Jehovah's Witnesses, Scientologists - and home grown movements of paganism, the occult, and fanatical, terrifying Orthodoxy were cropping up by the day. The Institute fit right in - and besides, they had money. A few donations to the right people in the right positions and the Institute found itself with a sizeable patch of land in which it had free reign away from prying eyes, an Amoral city-state they could rule without being disturbed by the mundane world. The Epicentre was custom built from the ground up, aligned with the stars and planets, the laying of every brick calculated according to sacred geometry and astrological calculations. Every inch carved with discrete, intricate patterns and occult formulae, invocations to long forgotten deities, obscure spirits, infernal names that long-dead peoples cowered from in fear and shame. When it was first built, the Epicentre was consecrated by a renegade Rodnovery Shaman, one of the new crop of old believers, urban men and women seeking to bring back the faith of their heathen ancestors as the atheistic Soviet system collapsed. The shaman carried out four animal sacrifices, an eagle, an ox, a monkey and a lion, the finest animals obtained from one of the Bestiaries, sites run by the Institute to house animals from all over the world. A portion of the meat was given to leaders of the Institute to consume, the bones removed and fashioned into amulets and charms for selected members, celebs and other honourees. The rest was buried in the foundations of the building, their spirits guarding it for ever more. Years later, this same shaman would find himself in court, charged with murder. Some claimed it was a domestic dispute. Others, better informed, suggested police had gone through his home and found evidence that his sacrifices hadn't stopped with animals. Some claimed the whole affair was set up, that even if he was guilty of what was claimed, he was being prosecuted on behalf of some secretive yet powerful organisation. I couldn't possibly comment, of course. The first purpose of the Epicentre, the reason why it was built, was for the Moonchild. Where he was conceived, born, raised in childhood to embrace his destiny. It was equipped with an enormous library, filled with texts on Amorality and Spirit Science, sciences political, natural and occult. And more - the original texts of the Pulsa diNura, lost writings of Abdul al-Hazred, Hugo Rune, Abramelin and more besides, texts scholars would kill for the chance to spend five minutes with. Beyond the library the gym, filled with equipment of all shapes and sizes to force the human body to the peak of physical excellence whatever the cost. Fields upon fields growing entheogens from all over the world, with labs synthesising chemicals day and night. The collection of cells, underground, positioned at key points around the complex, there for the detention of those deemed particularly in need of Rehabilitation. And the armoury, of course. This is the place that would be the Moonchild's home, his entire world, until 1998. After Clyde Pierre's supposed death and Henry Benson's seizure of power, the Moonchild was taken away from the Epicentre, travelling the world from one Institute site to the next, never staying too long. An attempt, some said, on Benson's part to prevent the Moonchild from setting down roots and becoming a threat to his power. Once the Moonchild was gone the Institute had little use for the site except as a place to detain particularly high-importance folks in need of Rehabilitation, and even then, the frequency grew less with each passing year as Benson made his “reforms” and set up new centres of power loyal to him alone. All but a small number of staffers and detainees were pulled out. Over time the Epicentre became a footnote, forgotten amidst more contemporary and pressing issues. There had been a team from the Institute assigned to live at the Epicentre year round, and over time, made it their home. As the Institute all but abandoned the site, for those remaining it became a hotbed of heresy and experimentation. Still home to its enormous library of books by Clyde Pierre and others, it was able to escape Benson's purging of the original writings and their replacement with his own copies. Gradually, they came to see themselves as an island of orthodoxy, Amorality and Spirit Science lost in a world of moral servitude and an Institute that had lost its way. So when in 2008, some folks from the Spirit Science Freedom Initiative made contact, it was like a match made in - if not heaven, then at least some mad bastard's lab. The two combined and pretty soon, the Epicentre had become the global headquarters of the Spirit Science Freedom Initiative, thumbing their noses at the SSRI at every turn. OSA were following this every step of the way, at least as far as we could. Operations against heretics were considered particularly hazardous since, with their teachings rooted in those of Clyde Pierre, even the most dedicated agent could be susceptible to their influence - influence that would then go undetected until it was too late. These fears were not in vain. It was the Freedom Initiative, for example, that claimed ownership of Clyde Pierre's supposed prophecy of the Institute's decay and restoration, that first named Benson as the Usurper and awaited the Institute's return to greatness. Those ideas were studied by the OSA agents assigned to infiltrate and undermine the SSFI, and it is they, in turn, who would pass them on to the rest. To my knowledge, the Spirit Science Freedom Initiative lives on to this day, the Epicentre growing in numbers, with an ever expanding following online - not only ex members, but those who were never part of the Institute and are now encountering Clyde Pierre's writings for the first time. I cannot say whether they know of the Restorer and the Prince, know that the moment they prophesied has come to pass. But if not, they will do soon enough. I can feel it. The ground is shifting beneath our feet. The Institute is on the move. Edited by SSRI Exposed, Dec 14 2017, 05:16 AM.
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| SSRI Exposed | Dec 18 2017, 03:51 PM Post #3 |
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The Truth About the Bestiary. If you're a fan of Sunset Programming - home to CWF, Celebrity Roundtable, endless reruns of soaps from decades gone by - you'll no doubt but familiar with the Bestiary. Maybe not by name, but if I ask you to imagine the advert - low, slightly sinister violin strings, black and white footage of all sorts of animals, a monotone voiceover reading out ever more depressing statistics. This many dead, this many endangered, this area deforested, species decimated. Then a close up on some animal’s face, and the phone number and website. The Bestiary. What you might not know is that the Bestiary is an entirely, 100% owned and controlled subsidiary of the Spirit Science Research Institute. Records - for what worth the records have - show the Institute taking an interest in obscure and exotic animals from at least the early 1970s, just a few years after it was founded in 1968. At first, the motivation was a personal one, or at least that's what they claim. Clyde Pierre was established in this huge country manor in the south east of England, hundreds of rooms, Amoralists from all over the world coming to stay and learn. Pierre had always had a fascination with Rudolf the Second, the Bohemian monarch who sponsored alchemists, astrologers and ceremonial magicians, dissident artists, heretics and fugitives, and in the process made Prague the occult centre of Europe. Rudolf had his own private zoo, a living bestiary, filled with exotic animals brought in from all over the world, and a collection of remains claimed to be taken from all manner of fantastical creatures. Clyde Pierre wanted the same. And, as ever, he got what he wanted - whatever the cost. Visitors to the Manor, as his home became known, told of seeing exotic animals of all shapes and sizes - endangered creatures taken far from their natural habitat, wild beasts from Africa, Asia and the Americas brought to rural England. Some to live out their lives in cages or laboratories, to be gawked at by students of Amorality. Others left to roam free, a new ecosystem forming in the acres around the Manor as animals who would never meet in nature suddenly found themselves face to face. Lions, panthers, rhinos, hippocampus; huge snakes, enormous birds circling overhead, lakes teeming with fish every colour of the rainbow. And more - crossbreeds, ligers and tigons, zonkeys, even plants bred from crosses of crosses of crosses. Living unicorns - goats, their horns twisted together at an early age so they would grow into a single horn. At night, the predators and carnivores would be let free to roam the grounds, ensuring that any unwanted intruders would be dealt with in short order. Over time, the collection grew, in size and scope and purpose. Public spaces were opened, known as Bestiaries, in key locations around the world, where members of the public could come and stare at the latest acquisitions. Elsewhere, behind closed doors, the Institute funnelled a small fortune into biotechnology and genetics, specialising in recruiting researchers whose projects had been rejected by the ethics committee of their home company or university. Some animals, specific beasts of specific breeds, were put to use in occult ritual - animals used as the host for done divine or infernal spirit, weaker creatures offered up to the stronger to devour, their blood consecrating a sacred space. The divine animals of other faiths put to death in acts of mockery and blasphemy, while the supposedly impure and unclean would be venerated and dressed as gods. Sometimes, when a particularly auspicious site of the Institute was being opened, a group of specially selected animals would be brought in for the purpose, their blood leaking into the foundations, their flesh offered up to spectators to consume. Bones shared to particularly auspicious individuals Some of the animals, in the Bestiary, the lab, the temples and the Manor, were bred by the Institute itself. Others were given as gifts by wealthy new members, others still, obtained directly from the source. OSA agents would be dispatched to areas all over the world, places where government was weak and protections shaky, where a small amount of money could go a long way. We would go out with a shopping list, exacting down to the letter - the species and subspecies, age, weight, colouring, how many of what sex. Any deviation from what was asked and the agent would be locked in a room alone with the beast, fifteen minutes for every transgression. So we were told, anyway. I remember once, back in 2007 - ten years ago now. Benson had got it into his head that he wanted a white lion. Rare, precious, sacred to some, valuable lifestyle accessories to others. And incredibly difficult to get hold of - particularly at this time, when almost all examples could only be found in zoos. And Benson was exact - it needed to be wild with a killer instinct, and pure white, not a single blemish or fault. Not too old, that it would die soon; not too young, that it would need rearing to adulthood. Somehow, after scouring everywhere we could find, OSA managed to track one down - a single cub just reaching adulthood, to be found near a village in the north east of a country I'm not going to name - the SSRI aren't the only ones with long fingers and longer memories. Suffice to say, it was a village. A village near the border of another country. A village that at this time was disputed territory, with both nations claiming the land - and the lions - as their own, and militias eager to back up their claim with force. Opportunity only knocks for those who know how to listen - so said Clyde Pierre. We knew how to listen, and ripped the door wide open. Turns out what both sides wanted, unsurprisingly, was guns. Each had a history of oppression and liberation at the hands of the other, historic conflicts that over the years various colonial powers had taken advantage of to cement their own rule, creating hostilities that still play out today. And neither side would part with the lions lightly. Both saw them as good luck charms for the village and the whole region; both also knew how valuable they would be to the right customer. But we had the guns. In the end, we reached an agreement with both sides without the other knowing, to supply a set amount of weaponry. Promised the same amount to each side, $40 million in total. Then we staged a simple incident. Loaded up a huge lorry with weapons, drove it up to a designated meeting point, met with the first group. Unloaded some of the guns, then someone from the rival militia - really another OSA Agent in disguise - arrived, boarded the vehicle, “hijacked” it and off into the wilderness. Then off to meet the second group, uniform changed en route, telling them members of the first group had ambushed them en route and stole some of the delivery. Members of the second group set out to confront the first and take back their goods; then they encountered the first group, in hot pursuit of the people who had hijacked and stolen what was theirs. Then OSA stepped in, grabbed the lions, hopped on a helicopter and fucked off. Left the guns, just because. At the time, I never thought to see what happened next. Not my problem. Later, after quitting, I looked it up - morbid curiosity. Turns out that this particular border had been the subject of tension ever since the Second World War, when uprisings and revolutions redrew borders to the satisfaction of precisely no-one. Negotiation after negotiation and political tension short of war was the order of the day, such that, to the average citizen, the issue may as well not exist. But then suddenly - in 2007, as it happens - a dispute between two militias on opposing sides escalated to all out warfare, one that demanded a governmental response on both sides - which only escalated the situation. The conflict raged for just six days, but the repercussions are still felt today. There was never a comprehensive count of those dead and wounded, nor, I suspect, will there ever be. Some say the village is the site of a mass grave. OSA knows. OSA always knows. But on the plus side - at least Henry got his lion. Edited by SSRI Exposed, Dec 18 2017, 04:00 PM.
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| SSRI Exposed | Dec 23 2017, 09:54 AM Post #4 |
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How the SSRI ruined Christmas. I joined the Institute in 2003. Though it wasn't until 2005 that I would formally join OSA, it was my first contact with them, in Christmas of 2003, that would set me on my way. They called it Operation Herod. The Institute was trying to take over the small town of Costningthorpe in the north of England, just south of Scarfolk. Part of Benson's policy of Normalisation - a disastrous attempt to mainstream the Institute which died pretty much as soon as it began. You can try and dissolve a brick in water all you want; all you're left with is a wet brick. The plan was to make the Institute seem as accessible and nonthreatening as possible, and to appeal to small town, rural and working class people by presenting Amorality in small and easy to digest segments. This town had been chosen as the ideal test subject, meeting all the major averages and demographics got the country. If we could make it in Costningthorpe, we could make it anywhere. The only gripe Benson had was that he hated the views from his office window. For months leading up to Christmas, they had groups of us from the Institute's humanitarian programs - the Spirit Science Purification System for drug addicts like myself, the Homes for Troubled Children, the Chrysopoeia project for prisoners - infiltrate the town. Nothing obvious, nothing disruptive or likely to attract attention. A few folks might be assigned to start attending the local church, others, to prop up the bar at the local tavern. A few teachers mysteriously went off sick, SSRI members stepped in as substitutes. Members with office experience got jobs in local government. My assignment was to the local law enforcement - a test of my confidence, given my years as an addict on the run from the po-po, as the young people are saying nowadays. I was to take on a job as a painter and decorator, refurbishing the local police station. Using my position to plant bugs, eavesdrop, ask subtle questions as and when I could. The aim, as with so much else in life, was information. The bigger aim was to give 200 select individuals in the town the Christmas they truly desired. Which is why, on Christmas morning, 200 households in Costningthorpe awoke to find unexpected gifts on their doorsteps. It was a day we'd been preparing for for weeks. Precious artworks were flown in from Henry Benson's personal collection - a fact he made sure to share with all present - and exotic animals borrowed from the Bestiary specially. Invitations were sent to every house in the town, promising rewards and surprises of an undisclosed nature, while those who had been selected for gifts had transport laid on by the SSRI directly. Refreshments were prepared, unidentifiable meats and beverages with a strange aftertaste nobody could quite identify. In the end, nearly the whole town had come out, assembled in front of the main cathedral to see what the Institute had to show. Arguably, it was here that things stopped going according to plan. Word has it that the drinks for the occasion had been replaced by the synthetic psychedelics, opiates, stimulants and so on used by the Purification System to get junkies their fix without getting caught. The crowd was suddenly divided between those tripping, zoning out and so hyped up they couldn't stand still. And the thirsty, since there hadn't been enough drinks to go round. Then there was the animals. True to form, the SSRI had eschewed the standard nativity scene with Mary, Joseph and a little baby Jesus, cow and donkey looking on lovingly. Instead, being in Britain, we opted for the Lion and Unicorn. Or rather, a liger and a living unicorn , created by the simple means of taking an infant goat and stitching together it's horns so they grew as one. The children found the goaticorn frightening, the liger even more so. And the sight of not just one but two man-made beasts - Liger and Goaticorn - struck some as inappropriate in a Christmas setting. The monkey baby Jesus didn't help matters. The artwork, too, would come in for criticism. J. Edgar Munchen’s depiction of a bloodied and beaten newborn Christ-child nailed to a cross was, perhaps, not the festive message people were expecting, even if livened up with a Santa hat. Likewise, Gottfried Helnwein’s Adoration of the Magi, depicting an Aryan Jesus watched over by worshipful SS officers, was, however devoutly intended, a somewhat bold choice for the audience. Undeterred, we opened the festivities, Henry Benson himself addressing the amassed audience. Dotted throughout the crowd were the two hundred individuals sent secret Christmas presents, along with their family and friends. Over the preceding months, the SSRI members assigned to the town had been building up a database of gossip. Every offhand comment, every bit of workplace bitching, every idle speculation or confession spilled out at the pub after a few too many. Buildings were bugged, therapists’ offices monitored, records hacked. So by the time it got to Christmas, we had the life of pretty much every resident mapped out to the letter. And with that information, we sent 200 lucky individuals what they truly wanted for Christmas. Not the usual list of banal, inoffensive trinkets, empty gestures to be forgotten in a fortnight's time. But their heart's true desire. And so Benson made the announcement, and the crowd opened their gifts. One man, a chronic alcoholic who had just reached one years sobriety, was given a lifetime's supply of whiskey. The priest at the cathedral, a noted anti-gay campaigner, received a black and white photo of a man with whom he had a romantic liaison as a young man. Those the psychiatrist noted as suicidal were treated to boxes of razor blades and poisons, while those with anger management problems were given rifles and live ammunition. And a few select individuals, only one or two, were given copies of Amorality. One by one, the presents were opened, each of them revealing some long-suppressed lust or tightly held secret, scandalising and outrageous to their recipients, their families, enemies, lovers and friends. It's hard to say who threw the first punch. Most likely there was no "first”, more a ripple that started at multiple points and built together to form a tidal wave. Voices were raised, fists thrown, profanities and protestations of innocence filling the air. Benson watched on a moment in confused silence, then started to take a step back, helped along by a few glasses thrown by folks who'd been overdoing the Christmas cheer. One of the glasses shattered, sending liquid trickling down into the makeshift stable that was home to our nativity scene. Then the liquid got into the lighting, causing it to spark. And the sparks caught the hay, and the hay caught fire. And the goat-unicorn, seizing it's opportunity, promptly did a runner. Right into the crowd. The mayhem of a goaticorn charging point first into a crowd of preschool children is a sight to behold. Such a sight, in fact, that it somehow managed to distract attention from the rest of the nativity. In particular from the liger, which now found itself alone with the monkey. In retrospect, the sight of an enormous festive liger devouring the monkey baby Jesus, live and whole, could be seen as a poor choice for Christmas morning. But with the fire, the fistfights and the disorder that soon became a full-blown riot, the fate of the Simian Saviour was seen as less of a priority. In total, the estimated damage came to around £23 million to businesses and more to homes. The cathedral, a fine piece of pre-Reformation architecture, was burned to the ground. A total of nineteen people missing, presumed dead, over a hundred injured. And countless lives ruined, marriages destroyed, children subjected to trauma that would take years to heal. A few months later, I would return to the town, visit the SSRI office on North Street. Had a meeting with Benson. I noticed out of the window, this breathtaking view of the hills rolling out onto the distance. It wasn't until I had left that I realised why it hadn't struck me before; until recently, the cathedral had been in the way. Funny old world. Needless to say, we didn't get invited back for another Christmas. After a while, the council would offer us a sizeable sum simply to leave the town and never return. Some people just don't have any festive spirit. |
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