“So, you wanna be a cop, huh?” a 53 year old Kyben would chuckle to himself, sitting in one of the large the large armchairs of his new house. The wood fire cast a soft glow over the room, and over the man’s ageing features. He showed his age; his face had become creased with worry and stress, even though he wasn’t worried or stressed about anything for the moment, his eyes had lost that spark they once had, and his body tended to make a lot more of those creaking and cracking noises. His voice had found that deeper undertone in the last few years, something of a very mild growl.

His eyes drew momentarily away from the journals, diaries and police notebooks that had incidentally not been handed in over the past years, only to cast over the youth sitting in the neighbouring armchair. A handsome young man of about … it was hard to tell given his size; he definitely had his father’s solid build, soft blue eyes and gentle, yet assertive nature. It brought a smile to the ageing man’s dry, cracked lips.

He mused over the thought; a Police Officer; following in his father’s footsteps. Perhaps… but in Hathian? It would be a rough place to start, but… no doubt, he would be able to train the boy up. It took a special person to be in the Police force, and even moreso a special person to survive in Hathian, what with all the below board activity and corruption that had managed to seep into the department. Some things never change.

“Well.” He answered the boys response, “I suppose I can tell you some stories…” he trailed off for a moment as he watched the young male’s face. Of course, he elicited the reaction he had intended to. After a brief pause, Kyben spoke again, “…ah, where to start?” he chuckled, the sound coming as a somewhat raspy, dry sound. It portrayed his ageing self well. Even at 53, the symptoms of various illnesses had crept in. Some age related, others stress related. Others simply ones that turned up overnight or over the course of time. “Yes, I suppose I can share some stories with you.” He spoke again, contemplating what the boys mother would think of the concept. Really, it didn’t matter. Circumstances were thus, and… it couldn’t hurt anything.

“Ah yes. I suppose that would be the most logical place to start.” He said again after a moment, his voice and inflection rising toward the end of the sentence as another chuckle past up from his throat. “…why did I join the Police Force?” he mused aloud. It was a good question, and… a simple one, too. “Well. I joined to help people of course.” He answered with a wry grin. “…and because I found myself always fascinated at the concept. An entire career devoted to the protection and service of society. What more could one want?” he laughed dryly, “Though it’s a shame around these parts. Not quite so noble or honourable. But alas, that’s something to be discovered in due course. Nothing stopping you from trying, though… it does seem to be something of a dangerous path to stray down. The right one, I mean.” With that, he fell silent, reaching forward with one of those strong, calloused hands, and pulled one of the journals over to him.

“Back in the day, I used to keep a journal.” He explained, leaning back into the armchair and letting the cushion overwhelm his senses, letting his body relax as it rarely did over the course of his life. “…I wrote once a day, generally before bed. Just a passage on what I’d done for the day; generally the moment that impacted me the most.” He smiled slightly at the thought. It’d stopped when she died… everything stopped then…

… he moved away from that thought, knowing that he best not dwell on it. That only led to depression, and… he couldn’t go there now. Forcing the visions out of his mind, he flicked one of the large books open. His eyes moved over the page and he smiled slightly. “…and an appropriate start.” He mumbled as his eyes narrowed on the page, taking the words in one at a time. He read the whole passage before letting his eyes shift from the page, up to the youth that sat before him.

“This one…” he started, his eyes drifting over the passage again before his lips curled into a wry grin. “Yes, this one will have to wait.” He finally mumbled, knowing he’d built up the suspense for nothing. “Can’t give too much away now, can we?” he teased before dropping the book aside; that was a more recent book, and… well, we can’t go telling the future now, can we? He reached forward, grasping another book from the table and flipping through it until he found just any old page. This time he skimmed it, his brow furrowing as he read over it. Murder. Appropriate way to scare someone off being a cop… especially this one.

“…mm. This one’s quite gory…” he murmured, his face shifting from the book, up to the boy. His gaze this time held an element of genuine concern, but it softened at the response he got, and he finally nodded. “Well…” he started off, musing over how to lead up to things. “…you, of course know Hathian isn’t the most pleasant of places.” He laughed dryly at his own comment, shifting in the armchair. “…of course you do. You’ve lived here for what, seventeen years?” he smirked softly at his own comment, giving himself a nod before getting into the story.

“...mm. Before your time and all.” He started with a faint smile, his head moving back down to the journal, as if reading it straight. “…what an eventful night it’d been…” he started, closing his eyes and allowing the images to flash back against him. “The Rejects… well. You know who they are, no doubt. …I’d just finished a discussion about them. Obviously unpleasant, as they always are when Rejects are involved.” He spoke with a steady, soft tone… at this point, the only emotion it gave away was a sort of pensiveness; reflecting back on past events. They made him smile, even if the memories weren’t the greatest. “…well, as luck would have it… I met this woman. Just a chance encounter… as they tend to be. She had such a great outlook on things. Such high hopes and… well… obviously she had her set of problems. As everyone does in this city… but she was special.” He spoke slowly, pauses creeping in reguarly as he near relived the moment.

“…well… everyone else had gone up for a drink… it was a quiet night, and… as luck would have it, only a limited number of us working. Two, perhaps? …yes, that sounds about right. …I’d been doing a sort of public relations thing. This girl I’d been talking to… had some recent issues with the department, and I took it upon myself to console her… which was good. We got to know each other and, well… she realised cops aren’t all assholes.” He chuckled softly, his sentences seemed to come with small pauses between them as he considered what he was saying, let his mind drift back to the events. Even with the huge gaps in time, he could recollect this one as if it were only days ago. How could you not?

“…ah…” he breathed out, running his tongue over his lips as they seemed to go dry. “…it was then the call came through.” He chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head as he spoke, sentences still coming with those small gaps, allowing his mind to tick over… and over. “…welfare check at Gein Burger…” he mused it over, speaking again after a brief pause. “Not an uncommon thing, really. People call emergency then hang up before the poor call taker gets any info. They just go through as welfare checks most of the time. Usually wasted time, but…” he shuddered at the memory of Fionn’s face that day. “…when I arrived…” he muttered, letting out a slow breath. “Ah… when I arrived, I came across a friend… girl I’d done coffee with a few times. Just friends; nothing more, but… she was white… pale as a ghost. When you see that on someone’s face… someone that just dialled emergency…” he shook his head solemnly. He knew what was inside… perhaps not at the time, but now… oh yes, he remembered it clearly. The stench, the aura the place gave off… everything about it.

After another deep breath, he continued, answering the response he’d drawn out first. “…exactly. I remember… I went over and hugged her. Tried to bring some sort of life back into her, so… I comforted her before I even bothered to go in…” he chuckled at the thought the crept into his mind; logical as it was. “I mean, obviously there’s no one getting killed in there if she’s standing outside in shock, right?” a wry grin met his lips at that, though his stomach continued to knot internally as he relived that very moment.

He could remember stopping; he pulled onto the sidewalk; the whole street bathed in the blue and red from the lights in his truck. The headlights shone onto Fionn, making her seem like a ghost; so pale, even moreso under the bright white light. The look on her face… then he remembered seeing it; the pooling blood through the window. Recalling the scene… it made his skin crawl. As hardened as you were, nothing could prepare you for that. Nothing.

“I was half right in that.” He finally said his voice growing quieter, a grave seriousness creeping in, “…if only I knew what I was walking into there. I mean… I saw the blood… through the window…” he swallowed, though his throat was dry by this point. “…I guess part of it was knowing. Knowing what was to the right when I walked in.” he scoffed at his own words and logic, “…it made me look left. Make sure there wasn’t going to be anything jumping out. No axe-wielding maniac. No crazed butcher… no. It was empty.”

He fell silent at that. Not silent-silent, but… he gave the boy a moment to let things sink in, and of course, to build the suspense. What good story didn’t have those long pauses between the good bits? Or rather, the gory bits… but weren’t they the good bits? He shook his head at the thought, lips parting just slightly to release a soft breath even as his hands rung together, his mind still playing over how to say the next part.

“…the first time you see a body part…” he said, going completely against how he’d planned to. It was the shock factor; he went with the natural response. Why think things through when you can just say them, anyway? “…a limb that’s not attached…” he continued. Even all these years later he could feel the bile creeping up his throat at the thought. It was clear, not just from the tone of his voice or the slight waver that began to creep in, but by his body language. He was grimacing, frowning. “…you want to throw up.” He finished, pausing again. When he eventually continued, his voice rose slightly, back to it’s normal self… almost. “Now this… this wasn’t my first time seeing a body part. I… I’d seen legs severed, arms… heads.” He shrugged softly. True. He had. It wasn’t an uncommon thing in Hathian, and even out in his country postings; car accidents where things had been splattered. People splattered… blood wasn’t something that disturbed him. Nor was any degree of gore; he could stomach that. It was when someone deliberately and intentionally mutilated someone, or… something. That was what got him.

“…there was blood everywhere.” He said, drifting back to his original story, and in turn, his voice grew more serious. Grave, even. That knotting in his guts came back; almost as though something was actually curling them and twisting them, even with the apparent brick inside. It caused the bile to creep up his throat and damn near choke him. Perhaps the malodour of the blood was doing that, too. To this day he could smell it as thick and strong as it’d been. It was so strong that day, you could damn near taste it. It crept into your mouth and choked you… yet at the same time, it was like sniffing drain cleaner; the stench shot up your nose and hit you right between the eyes in that way ammonia does, at almost makes you high with just one wiff… but no, this didn’t make you high… it did make you dizzy. Make you want to vomit.

He spoke again, “…it reeked. You could smell the blood… so strong that you could taste it. The metallic ring, the… it’s heady.” He exhaled, in his mind, his eyes were passing over the arm and up the counter, only to see what was on the grill. “…I think I was staring at the arm for a few minutes.” He murmured, still reliving things. His words were actually just behind the memories. “…then I looked up. And there it was…” he fell silent again.

“…there was a woman’s torso sitting on the griller…” came his words after a few moments. He didn’t really pause after he said that; his words sort of fell back into a normal speaking rhythm. “…her legs had been lopped off. They were stuck to her shoulders with… with railway pegs, or… trailer pegs… I don’t quite remember which, but… it took me some time to realise that’s what it was. They were just kinda... there. Like arms, only… not.”

The memory was as graphic as the scene; explicit. He could see the severed arteries still seeping blood even hours after they'd been dislodged, the torn flesh, the bone... He neglected to mention the bite marks and abrasions to the woman’s breasts and torso… and he also failed to mention the lack of a head. He wasn’t really sure if that was something that made things worse, or better. It was never pretty looking into the face of a corpse. The expressions… they sat with you for life… but it seemed this had to. Lack of a head? The lack of expression. Lose-Lose situation, really. Well, obviously, the person was dead? Not like that comes easy. Maybe those ones that choke on marshmallows; they kinda get the easy way out… I mean, who wouldn’t wanna die eating a marshmallow? He chuckled at his own thoughts as they digressed, but when didn’t they…

With a brief shake of his head to clear it, he looked up at the young man sitting in the other armchair. His eyes studied the other boys face for a reaction, and he simply nodded at it, taking a breath before continuing. “You don’t really see things like that. You just… you become aware of them, but your body… your mind blocks them out.” He paused here, making sure that his listener was understanding him. He nodded in reply before continuing, “…you take in everything else though, and it ingrains it into your memory. The smell. The smell is the worst… it lingers with you, and… you just can’t get rid of it. That’s what brings on the taste. The odour, the stench… it’s so strong that you can taste it. Both of them give you this feel… the hairs stand up on the back of your neck, the crawling around your skin… goosebumps. You feel your stomach curl and knot, bile creeping up in your throat…” he finished describing the sensations, though… even that said, it was only a mild version. “Words can’t describe it.” He threw in as an afterthought; probably the truest part.

“…I remember turning around to Fionn…” he said, deviating back to the story. His tone was somewhat neutral now, not allowing too much emotion in. The whole thing had been… well. It left him a bit of a mess, as it would. He could remember making his way out and dryreaching, clinging to the pillar… but that wasn’t something he said. “…turned her around and took her straight out… she didn’t need to see that. No one did. …I went around to check the back out. It’d been forced open. …I think it was about there that I called it in. Of course, the others were tied up at the time, so it was a wait.” He frowned at the memory. Yeah. Hours. “…secured everything and kept people out. Took photo’s…” god, yes he did take photo’s… staring through the lens and taking photographs over a mutilated torso, arm… blood pools and splatter. Yeah…

“…for anything serious like that, you do a running sheet. It basically says who came in, who went out, what happened… for the inquiry officers. Helps them out so they can determine what evidence is and isn’t viable.” He explained, “…started one of them. Kept it up to date. Eventually another girl rocked up… she kept an eye on the back while I processed the inside… noted down all the blood, where it seemed to be and how it seemed to get there. Attached pictures and wrote notes on it all… positions…” he tailed off for a second, swallowing again as he went over the scene in his mind. Something like that never leaves you, and… true enough, it was ingrained in his mind. “…bout a foot right and forward of the counter… the arm… to the left, massive pool of blood…” he paused, nodding slowly to himself. Affirming his recollection. “…grill was on… it was burning the flesh… I turned that off eventually. It was so strong. The smell, it was… just overpowering. Not even comparable to anything.”

He read out a line from the book, reading it word for word. “It wasn’t so much the scene that hit me hardest. Yes, the smell, the taste… the whole feel of things was so harsh and gruesome it could quite literally bring a grown man to his knees. No… that wasn’t it. It was the fact that another person; another human being with feelings like anyone else. Like myself, or like Erika… another person could do that. They could simply carve, behead, mutilate another. How?” he paused, not realising he’d right there mentioned the fact the corpse had no head. “…it’s something that you’ll likely come across in these parts, unfortunately. My country policing was… peaceful. But it’s… it’s an addiction. You crave it when you don’t have it.”

“After a few hours it came time to get the body removed. Didn’t look like anyone was coming to investigate, so… called the ambo’s to come get it.” He chuckled softly at the memory; yeah, the radio call was something to the effect of ‘need an ambulance, severed arms’. It got them there pretty damn fast, too… “…the came, took it away and lo-and-behold, detective Messing walked in…” he smirked, “Of course, typical timing… handed over the scene command to him. Gave him the running sheet and of course, bit of a heads up on what he was walking into…” he shook his own head at that, rolling his eyes. “If you can do such a thing.”

Another slow breath indicated that the story wasn’t over, but his words contradicted him. “…and that was the third of March, two-thousand-and-nine.” He fell silent, letting the words sink into the boy’s mind. “…actually not the most exciting story, really. That one… well. That one was one of those ones where you just go home and turn off. You can’t think about it after you finish work. You just… leave it there.” As he finished speaking he mentally scolded himself. He didn’t leave it at work. He’d neglected to mention the nights of sleeplessness after that scene. He’d neglected to mention it to Andi at the time, too… but that was the nature of things. You let too much out and… it comes back somehow. You sign up for a job, then just do it. If you can’t take it, get out. How true his words were in his own mind, but what a hypocrite it made him; it’d taken him until the next one to fully recover from that morning in Gein Burger… and after the next one, well… we all know what happens there.

He glanced down at his watch as he closed the journal, canting his head and looking over the boy aside him. “…and I think for you, it might be bed time.” He grinned, knowing the protests he got. “C’mon. I gotta be up early anyway, I work.”

With that, he pushed himself out of the cushy armchair, groaning and rolling his shoulders back in what’d become something of a trademark for him. “Mm. Alright. Promise, another one tomorrow night if your mother doesn’t chew my head off.” He laughed softly, knowing exactly what he was going to cop. Or maybe he didn’t… but either way. He made his way through to the bedroom, safe in the knowledge that this would be another one of those sleepless nights; something else to contribute to his ageing appearance, those black bags beneath his eyes.

…yeah, it’s a lifestyle, Policing.