Jane Welsh: good money after bad!

Senior investment consultant with tears in her eyes, that is Jane Welsh. From Watson Wyatt she comes with a distressing story of good money after bad - O Jane, dry your eyes, it has not happened. According to those familiar with the howling wind in the desert and the emptiness of our civilization, Apollo Management has dropped plans to raise an annex fund. Investors do not have the cash nor the will. WOULD IT BE GOOD MONEY AFTER BAD? Yes! But what is bad money? Sick, evil, degenerate money, the sort of filthy banknotes Jack Pickles carries around in a clip. Money that Satan has touched. And what is the good money that often follows? The money that spews out of the mouth of Big Herb, with flames! The money that Ganesh hoovers up with his trunk.

Investors should not put the money of Big Herb and Ganesh after the diseased money of Jack and Satan. I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS. That is common sense. One money burns forever, never burns out. The other money becomes ashes. Jack and Satan crave money, but they are the destroyers of money!

I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO DESTROY. I KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO CREATE.

O Master, you know it all!

Yes, my child. Moving on to something else, that only a few of my dear readers will understand: I am destroying! People will call me a devil. But I am also CREATING. Soon, people with a suitable consciousness will consider me a god.

O Master, you create and you destroy. It's a fucking revolution, is what it is!

Nicholas-Applegate Capital Management's …

… Global Select Fund has increased its exposure to financial stocks, according to Reuters, according to something I read Reuters, according to the words of a Reuters journalist burned into my astral mind, Reuters, Reuters …

… Christopher Herrera has seen attractive valuations, has seen the light, has let this wondrous light enter him, Reuters …

WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO UNDERSTAND?

THIS IS NOT SOMETHING YOU CAN DISMISS.

O Master, we are breaking new ground, are we not?

Fuckin' A! Fuckin' A!! Fuckin' A!!!

Philip Johnson is joining Jupiter Asset Management

Yes, yes, yes. Philip Johnson is leaving Marshall Wace, the way he left M&G, the way he left the womb, the way he left the astral plane, the way he left his body in another life, the way he left … yes, he keeps on leaving, and coming, and going. This eternal man, wise man, holy man -

O Master, is Philip an eternal man? Is he a wise man? Is he a holy man?

O my child, he is all of these things.

WE LOVE PHILIP JOHNSON.

WE LOVE HIM.

WE LOVE THIS ETERNAL MAN.

You shall become strangers to those who know you

O bankers, O traders, O children of the City, warriors of the crunch, sometimes I am not even human - do you realize this?

At the end of summer, a night in a sky of my choosing, astral wanderings, I am a storm of blood and fire! This is not about money. In my highest of highs I am beyond money. Just blood, fire. A spirit burning and smoking! My soul stinks!

Will you follow me? Are you brave enough? Can you go beyond?

Yes! Yes! Yes!

Oh, I hear you; but I do not know whether you will be able to cope with the expansions I have in mind. So will you still follow me? Everything you believe, everything you know, is bullshit. I will smash your fantasies. I will give you a new way of seeing. Your mystic eyes will float in my direction in your dreams. You will be lost in my subconscious. You will have no reality. Your thoughts will come through me. I will give you emotions. Money will not exist on this level. This will be something there are no words for.

You are breaking through. You are so close. You must let go. I let go a long time ago. I lost everything. I became empty. Just a voice hollering in the desert now. That is where my power comes from. I am as free as God. Slaves fear me. O my children, be strong!

Hansruedi Schumacher and Matthias Rickenbach

O Master, who are these characters? Master? Hansruedi was a UBS banker, wasn't he? Or have I got that wrong? What about Matthias? Who is he? Master, do these people really exist? Is this just some sick joke of yours? Hello, Master … er …

Hogarth Davies Lloyd is suing Nomura!

Eh? What? Why? What the hell is going on? Okay, everyone, calm down!

O Master, does that include me?

Right, Hogarth Davies Lloyd is a headhunting firm (in the modern sense) and it is suing Nomura because Nomura has not paid for a wild bunch of ex-Lehman bankers who were hired by the Japanese bank (in London) with the help of HDL last year. Or something like that. HDL wants its money. Basically, that's what we're talking about.

Only one question: were the Lehman Brothers bankers worth paying for?

I have been speaking to the head of human resources at Nomura, Stephen Sidebottom, and he told me, 'Michael, er - man, do you have any idea what state these Lehman freaks were in when we took them on last year? (I have a vague idea, Stephen.) A vague idea? Sod 'a vague idea', Mike! Let me tell you, their auras were an absolute disgrace! (I know all this.) No, listen, Michael. Their chakras were not whirling at all. (Not one little spin?) No. Dead chakras. And we had to get a team of shamans in - at considerable expense - to deal with this. (Shamans? What shamans? Why didn't you call me?) You're too expensive. (It seems to me, Stephen, that you don't want to spend any money at all. You have to pay for talent, you know.) We used Keith Busby and a few of his associates. (Keith is a financial psychic, not a financial shaman.) What's the difference? (Oh, for fuck's sake! I have been writing my blog for over two years now, and you still don't know the difference?!) Michael, I don't read your blog. I'm not into all this voodoo nonsense. (IT AIN'T FUCKING VOODOO NONSENSE!!! It's mystical capitalism. And if you're not into it, why do you care about your employees' auras and chakras then? Answer that one.) Mr Fowke, it's just the way things are these days. We're pragmatists. We know you can't run an investment bank in the current climate without at least paying lip service to this voodoo tomfoolery.'

Dear reader, I won't tell you what I said to Mr Sidebottom after that, but you can imagine, can't you? You know the sort of temper I have.

And Hogarth Davies Lloyd? Forget about taking Nomura to court. I want to see heads on spikes!

Is Todd Edgar going to Barclays Capital?

That's what everyone wants to know. Is Todd Edgar going to leave JPMorgan and work at BarCap on its foreign exchange trading desk? And is he taking his four mates with him? That's what everyone wants to know. BarCap is offering a package of £30 million in pay and bonuses. That's what everyone wants to know. Eh? O Master -

Forget it, my child.

I have been speaking to Todd Edgar -

That's what everyone wants to know -

And he told me: 'Mikey, everyone wants to know what I'm planning to do. But the truth is, I don't know what to do, man. Sure, the money I'm being offered is very attractive, but I'm worried about all the supernatural shenanigans at BarCap. (Why, Todd? Why are you worried?) Well, man, I ain't into all this voodoo shit. (Todd, it ain't voodoo shit. It's mystical capitalism.) No, man, it's voodoo shit. How do I know Bobby Diamond won't steal my soul? How do I know I won't wake up in the middle of the night to find the ghosts of dead financiers crowding around my bed, with terrifying expressions on their faces? (Todd, mate, what have you been smoking? The ghosts of the dead financiers have got far more important things to do than play tricks on traders in the middle of the friggin' night. These are serious guys. You've been watching too many movies. And why would Bobby steal your soul? You think you're so special, so wonderful, that the boss of an investment bank really wants your soul? Give me a break. Besides, I haven't even taught Bobby how to steal souls yet.) Bobby doesn't know how to steal souls? (No. He floats around on the astral plane, but that's about it.) Well, that's a relief, Mike.'

Jesus. Some people.

Craig Packer talks about the windows and cycles of his mind …

Craig Packer is head of Americas leveraged finance at Goldman Sachs, and I wouldn't have it any other way because I believe he is doing a great job.

BUT LET THE MAN SPEAK FOR HIMSELF!

Craig says: 'I look out through the windows of my mind - no, not my eyes, these are mystical windows in my subconscious - and I see the world in different colours. Rainbow colours, you could say. I have a blue window for when I'm depressed. I have a red window for when I'm all fired up and ready to do business: I can get very passionate. And I have a black window - oh man, let's not go there, you dig? I have a yellow window, a green one, a purple one ... but, er, all you really need to know is that I see the world in different colours.'

O Master, what about the cycles? Is Craig going to tell us about the cycles of his mind, how it all changes and shit, repeating, going back to the way it was and starting again?

YEAH, CRAIG, COME ON, MAN!

Craig says: 'I did not agree to that, Mr Fowke. When you contacted me earlier in the week, I made it quite clear that I would only speak to you about the beautiful mystic windows of my mind. Cycles? That's too personal, man.'

Well, that's a disappointment, isn't it? And I've never seen the colour black in a rainbow, but whatever.

Jim Morrison to create 7,000 jobs in 2009!

Yeah! And that's from Reuters! No shit! Dear reader, you will have to look for yourself. I was going to link to the Reuters article, but I'm a bit rushed off my feet at the moment. I've only had a quick glance at it. But you know where the Reuters website is. Do I have to do everything for you?

I have been speaking to Arthur Simmons about this fucking mental story - and it is a fucking mental story, let's be frank. Arthur knows more about it than I do. This is what he had to say: 'Michael, it's pretty amazing. Jim Morrison, the rocking and rolling shaman, dead for years, has decided to give something back to the shamanic community; and I take my hat off to the fellow. (Arthur, man, what has he got planned?) He will be taking on 7,000 trainee shamans, on the moon, and - (Eh? What do you mean, on the moon?) That's where his spirit resides now, man. You even wrote a post about it last year. Don't you remember? (No. I must have been stoned. Are you sure?) Yeah, Mike. Go back through your archives. Something to do with Guy Hands. (Guy Hands?) Yeah. Mr Hands was going to become a tax exile on the moon. Or so you claimed, anyway. (Arthur, I must have been fucking stoned, man.) You must have been. But Reuters has picked up on the story now. I think they're going on a moonlight drive with Jimmy - and Jimi as well. (Jimi as well?!) Michael, go back through your archives. (I'll take your word for it, Arthur.) I tell you, man, you make me laugh. You write this crazy shit - and it is crazy shit, let's be frank - and then you're surprised when the mainstream media follows your lead. What do you expect? (Arthur, man, I didn't write any crazy shit about Jim Morrison creating 7,000 jobs! That's Reuters, man. They are the ones with all the fucking drugs, by the sound of things. They've probably been dealing to that Andy Lynch nut. No wonder the poor lad is so confused.) Yeah, he is confused, that one. (Arthur, hang on - is this an astral moon we're talking about?) The Morrison moon? You tell me, Mike. As far as I'm concerned, this story is bullshit. (I thought you believed it?) Nah. This is between you and Reuters. I'm not getting involved.'

I like Arthur. I do. But he can be bloody infuriating at times.

Andy Lynch: "chunky losses" at Santander!

For those of you who don't know and may not even care, Andy Lynch manages the Euro Dynamic Growth Fund at Schroders. That's the sort of man he is, and I'm not going to judge him. Anyway, he reckons Santander is going to have "chunky losses" on its loan books in the next few years - mainly because the management team at this banco can't walk on water. And it gets better. Andy told some Reuters cupcake: 'It's a bit like heroin. You keep having to take more of it to get the same hit.' Fuck me! But what does it all mean?

LET THE MAN EXPLAIN HIMSELF.

Andy says to no one in particular, for he is drowning somewhere in the depths of his subconscious and he ain't never going home: 'It's a chunk a hunk of burning love, man. You think I don't know about the desert? You think I don't know about losses? I HAVE BEEN LOST! I HAVE BEEN FOUND! But I don't care. You know why? BECAUSE I AM ADDICTED! Addicted to the love that burns forever - great big chunks of the shit, streaming down a river of consciousness from the universal Godhead, through Big Herb, through Ganesh, and straight into my eyeballs where they hit me harder than any fucking drug, man! And that's what I've been trying to tell the senors, but they won't fucking listen! They cannot dig these chunks. So they will suffer the loss of chunks. Loads of them. I can see into the future. I know it's coming. THEY WILL LOSE EVERYTHING if they are not willing to rock us on the water, baby. Be my, be my baby, be my little baby. BUT THAT'S BESIDE THE POINT! What I'm trying to say, what I mean is, it was party time in Spain. It really was. But now, now, oh, let's just overhaul our portfolios. Can you dig that?'

As I said, he is talking to no one in particular. Maybe we should just leave him be.

Thames River Capital may launch two new credit funds!

This is potentially exciting. But will it happen? Or will our dreams die sad, lonely deaths? For they are our dreams as well. Charlie Porter, the chief executive of these mad mystic outlaws, says he wants to share his dreams with everyone. And that ain't the peyote talking, man.

Charlie told me: 'Michael, I dig the love you've spread everywhere. And now I'm spreading mine.'

And I told him: 'Charlie, you're like an eagle in the sky. That's how I see you.'

O Master, he ain't no ragged buzzard bastard. Watch him fly!

That was the peyote talking.

Stephen Drew and Simon Ulcickas have joined recently. They will be working in the credit team that will manage these new funds - if they ever come into existence.

O Master, aren't Stephen and Simon in existence yet?

Well, my child, I'm glad you asked that question. And that ain't the peyote talking. There is trouble brewing at Thames River. A lot of its employees do not actually exist. Some of them are mere thought-forms on the astral plane, which I suppose you could argue is a form of existence. I mean, thought-forms do exist. Otherwise we would not be talking about them. Having said that, there are people in this world who insist on talking about unicorns the whole time. But unicorns do not exist. Anyway, besides the thought-forms, there are some other characters I just don't believe in at all. James Van den Bergh, for example. He recently joined the European equities team. Or so they say. But we have no proof of that. He joined from SAC Global Investors. Or so they say. But I have friends at that firm, and they have never heard of James. NEVER HEARD OF HIM! He does not exist. Or so they say. The other they.

O Master, this is so freaky. What's going on?

Evil cosmic forces -

Evil cosmic forces?! What the fuck?!

Yes, my child, the forces of evil - basically Jack Pickles with Satan backing him to the hilt - are trying to put the kibosh on Thames River Capital's plans for the future. And -

O Master, we did not establish the reality of Stephen and Simon. We left them hanging in the air, as it were.

LET THEM HANG IN THE FUCKING AIR!!! I have bigger fish to fry, my child. We have to concentrate on Jack. I am still hoping that - - - - - will be able to deal with him, if you get my meaning. That girl is our only hope.

For fuck's sake, O Master, why don't you just say her name?

A TIME WILL COME!

Whatever.

A time will come. - - - - - will be known by the ones who need to know. And, by the way, Charlie will end up owing me a fortune. I'm going to be the making of that cat. Mark my words.

You've drifted off with such a nutty girl, man. O Master, I fear for your mental health.

WE ARE ALL DRIFTING!!! And she's not a nutty girl. Have a bit of respect.

Helter Skelter

I. IT AIN'T ALL ABOUT LOVE

It ain't all about love in the desert. Sometimes there is murder and mayhem too. You just have to live with it. It's the flip side of all the goodness I've been laying on you. You have to deal with it.

You are more than merely my children. You are souls, millions of years old. You can handle a bit of pain. Think of what I have to go through. I get Jack Pickles in my head, fucking with me. There is a thunderstorm for us in this mood I'm conjuring up. Thunderbird! Snakes in my eyes! This is another delayed reaction to the ceremony in the desert. You can't just pick the good stuff. You gotta take it all. WE KNOW OUR ENEMIES ARE WAITING. They would if they could.

AND I SEE HER COMING. HERE SHE IS! But not the golden-haired angel, someone else. I am so fickle. Yes.

Don't be scared, baby. If you can get through this, you will become stronger.

THIS IS NIGHT-TIME IN MY SOUL. This is how I feel. I want you to feel the same way. Pain only hurts you for a little while. But DEATH GOES ON FOREVER. They will get used to it. I'm hovering above you, baby. Coming down to get you in the astral dark. WE AIN'T GOT NO CIVILIZATION NOW! How do you feel? How do you think THEY feel? It's all over for them.

These could almost be the words of Jack. Almost.

Take it. Take it. Do it. Do it. You know what I mean. Baby, baby, baby, I love you.

SHE'S DRIFTING AWAY! But she knows. She knows this is for her. And I will see her again.

Baby, I love you like money.

THIS IS PROOF that there can be love even in darkness.

II. CLEANSE THEM WITH FIRE!

At times like this I think I really must be insane. Feeling think it. Hazy, eh? When a voice cries out to me - from the night sky or from the bowels of hell? I don't know. Let me speak the truth to you, dear reader, I have no idea where such a voice comes from, a voice that says CLEANSE THEM WITH FIRE! How would you like a voice like that? A voice that doesn't fuck around. Straight down to business. Revolution, man!

I have responsibilities. I do. My children (you?) expect me to care for them in the desert. But they are scared of me. They know I am capable of anything. They know my darkness. My pain. My crazy head of visions. Oh, I control them, but I cannot control myself. I may not even be myself. I may be someone else. That's a disturbing thought. I am other people, yes? In fact, it is quite possible that I am a vessel holding a multitude of voices. Where is the silence? Give me peace.

My latest muse is here again. Not the golden-haired angel, no. She is here. Floating. Staring at me from above. I won't name her. She'll be reading this later. She does not want to be associated with insanity. At least, not in public. But in private is something else. Floating in the desert sky. Beautiful girl. Such a beautiful girl. Can she give me hope? Can she stop me going on a spree, when I get back to the Wharf? The FSA! O my children, we could blame it on some disgruntled traders. No! What is this madness?

CLEANSE THEM WITH FIRE!

I suppose the voice wants something on the walls. A bit of drama.

She's drifting away! Come back!

O - - - - -, you must save me. Stop me going over the edge. Get rid of the voice for me. If you love me, you'll help me. I want to be normal. Please!

III. FEEL THE NEED!

Does she feel the need in me, flying into outer space? In her inner space, she sees how I'm walking and how I'm talking. I know the cosmos loves her as much as I do. Her acid eyes are everywhere we want them to be. She never loses her touch.

O - - - - -, I need you by my side to be my guide. Your love is better to me than cherry pie, better than money.

After the sinners had had their contracts cancelled in the astral desert of our nightmares, there was still time left for peace and love. I didn't want to go into the darkness. Some might say, will say, it is the darkness of Jack Pickles. The hell we could all do without. But is darkness necessary?

AND HERE SHE COMES AGAIN! And there she goes. Floating.

Is she asleep? Is she dreaming? Is she aware? Does she know?

O Master, could she kill Jack Pickles? Is she the answer?

O my child, that's what I'm wondering! Is she the answer?

O Master, she's falling! Catch her!

O - - - - -, don't worry! I'll catch you.

SMASH!

O Master, what happened?

WE ARE ONE!

O Master, is this a joke?

No! We are one.

Steven M. Hazan, Michael R. Benson, John T. Burke …

Any more? No, that's it. Right, we've got Steven M. Hazan from Hazan Capital Management. We've got Michael R. Benson from TJM Proprietary Trading. And we've got Benson's boss, John T. Burke. Yeah, more SEC stuff.

But do you know what? I reckon they might be innocent.

Were they naked and abusive in the desert? The SEC doesn't know shit about the desert. Until I've actually spoken with Steve, Mike and John, I'm going to give them the benefit of the doubt. That's the sort of man I am. That's the sort of shaman I am. That's the way I groove, baby.

Charles Schumer: the dark reaches of the market

New York senator Charles Schumer is worried about things lurking in the dark reaches of the market. Dark pools! Demons and shit.

Well, he is right to be worried.

It's Lloyd again!

Yeah, just got off the phone - AGAIN! Motherfucker! I didn't get to bed until four this morning. You know, getting those names for Lloyd. Yeah, I got them. Poor survey bastards are in trouble now. That'll teach them to bad-mouth Goldman. But Lloyd still ain't happy.

This is the latest shit from that goombah:

'Mikey, can you come to New York? (Fucking hell, Lloyd. What now?) Our shamans are out of control. I give them a bonus. Expect them to be sensible. And what the fuck happens? (I don't know, Lloyd. Tell me.) The crazy sons of bitches go out and buy the most expensive fucking grimoires they can get their fucking hands on! A million dollars for one of these books! Can you believe that shit? (Lloyd, I'm sure they need the grimoires for something.) Michael, I told these dumb fucks the world is watching us. No sports cars! No vintage champagne! No Rolex watches! And no fucking rare grimoires! (A million dollars. Are you sure?) Mikey, I saw the fucking receipts! Some Pope Honorius III or some shit. I don't know. Rare fucking books - what do I know? What's wrong with going to the fucking library? Am I right or am I right? (Lloyd, you're not wrong, but -) There's this one motherfucker, Paulie - (Yeah, he's a good kid, good shaman.) Mikey, he walks straight into the office, showing everyone, a wedding present for his wife. And what kind of wife is this? You know what I mean? Anyway, I says to this prick - didn't I tell you not to go buy anything? And he says it's a wedding gift from his mother. Under his mother's name. And I was like - are you nuts? Are you fucking stupid? What's the matter with you? You gonna get us even more bad publicity. What's the matter with you? Then he says again - it's under his mother's name. Like I didn't hear him the first time. Like I'm a fucking fool or something. I nearly fucking whacked him on the spot. So, Mikey, can you come to New York, straighten these pricks out? (Lloyd, I don't have to come to New York. I'll just go on to the astral plane again. It means another night without sleep.) You're a good guy, Mike. You know that? A true gent.'

Yeah, yeah. Whatever.

Nick Tranter has been hired by Execution

Yeah, Nick Tranter (he used to be a derivatives specialist at BNP Paribas) has been hired by that equities broker, Execution.

Garreth Hodgson, head of European equities at Execution, reckons everything is going to be shaken up now.

Interesting.

But I wouldn't shake too violently. The cosmos. I presume Garreth was referring to the cosmos. I wouldn't grab hold of this fragile cosmos with a crude financial mind and shake it until money explodes before our very eyes. An explosion of cash could be dangerous at this point in time. Since the ceremony in the desert, there have been signs that we are moving out of the New Depression. I am not saying the crunch has been crunched, but I am saying that Ganesh the elephant god has been smiling a lot lately in my dreams - and that can only be a good thing. Dear reader, have ye ever seen a big smiling elephant? It is not something you would forget. I'm pretty sure Garreth is familiar with the smiling face of Ganesh, and that is why he is so excited. Also, I should imagine that Ganesh is familiar with Garreth's dreamy face in the night-time. But Garreth! O Garreth, be careful with the shaking!

Same goes for you, Nick.

Goldman Sachs' reputation ain't damaged

Some bastards going by the name of Brand Asset Consulting have been putting the word about that Goldman Sachs has been damaged by the events of the last year. Yeah, they did a survey. They asked 17,000 halfwits what they thought of the bank.

Now, I have just got off the phone to Lloyd Blankfein. And, yeah, he's pissed again. Real pissed. Here's the edited highlights:

'Michael, I want those names. (What names, Lloyd?) The names, Michael. The names of the fucking deadbeats who took part in that survey. (All 17,000 of them?) Yeah. All 17,000. I'm gonna open their holes like this - excuse my French. I'm gonna make them wish their fathers had never met their mothers. (Lloyd, I'm a fucking shaman, not a private detective.) I ain't getting no private dick retired cop to go poking around on confidential Goldman business. I want you to do it - astrally. (Ast - what, Lloyd?) Michael, don't make me lose my fucking temper. Go on to the astral plane. Find out what you can about these Brand Asset Consulting schmucks. Get the friggin' names. Bring them to me. Capiche? (Yeah, sure. I'll be invisible that way. But I'll have to get a team together.) Okay. (It'll be expensive, Lloyd.) Michael, you're talking to Lloyd Blankfein here, remember? Not some bum on the sidewalk with snot all over his raincoat. I don't give a fuck how much it costs. Get the names.'

For fuck's sake! That's my night ruined. I hardly get a minute to myself these days.

RWC Partners: some new analysts to work with Mike Corcell

Oh dear. I was afraid this might happen. RWC Partners has hired some new analysts to work on US long-short funds with portfolio manager Mike Corcell. The analysts are: Gabe Marshank, Alex Robarts, and Sam Weeman. Also, a trader, Hayes Varey, has been thrown into the mix for good measure. Oh dear.

Jesus H. Christ! Will these people never learn? Doesn't RWC know what happened when Corcell was at Threadneedle? Doesn't it know about Mike's bad trip in the desert with FIVE FREAKIN' ANALYSTS who subsequently went missing?

I have been speaking to Arthur Simmons about this absolute sociopath, and this is what he said: 'Shit! Is history going to repeat itself? I'm afraid it might, Mikey. Everyone knows this Mike Corcell dude can't be trusted to work alongside analysts. He hates them. Ever since the desert. (What happened out there, Arthur?) Well, Michael, this is just hearsay. No one really knows what happened. (Not even Corcell?) Man, he was so stoned. He reckons he can't remember anything. But I heard this from one of the ghosts of the dead financiers. Apparently, it was a team-building exercise that went wrong. Corcell and the analysts were trying to merge with one another and the cosmos. (Total oneness!) Exactly. But there was some bad acid involved, and things turned nasty. (Fuck! What happened, man?) The analysts all directed their razor-sharp intellects against Corcell. They started analysing him. (There's always a danger of that, Arthur.) Yeah. They destroyed that man's life! Tore him apart. They saw the devil in him. Or at least they claimed to. But they saw Jesus too. Do you have any idea what that can do to a man's soul? (He must have been confused, Arthur.) Confused? He was driven insane! (So what happened to the analysts?) No one knows, Mikey. No one knows. A search party was sent out. They found Corcell in a cave, crying hysterically, naked, covered in some sort of red paint - (Blood?) - I don't know. It was all hushed up by Threadneedle. (Jesus!) Yeah. I don't envy those new guys at RWC.'

Listen, Gabe, Alex, Sam - if there is anything you want to talk about, anything at all, just get in touch. I am here to help.