Ian Galbraith observed his surroundings with shrewd knowing. In the warped spacetime continuum that exists within a Supermax prison, a ten-second window is like a wormhole into eternity- and fights of such magnitude on the inside equates to a twelve round slugfest in the extended, relativistic orbit of everyday life. As a group of rough thugs encircled him. Ian remained calm, his extraordinary cool under pressure had well been noted; a trait that growing up in the tough streets of Glasgow breeds in you. Ian was not the strongest fighter but very few could match his speed, agility and sensitive feel, he reacted dreadfully quickly. In a fight, the other stuff mattered but speed was of the essence. In the blink of an eye, much can be accomplished.
If one knew how. Windpipes severed. Jugulars ripped out. Spinal cords pierced. Spleens punctured. "It's important to know what ya doing , lad", his con-man turned mob-boss grandfather had told him. Under his tutelage, he learned Muay thai, Jiu jitsu and wing chun enforcing such knowledge with anatomical details. From the very beginning, Ian was groomed for a life of crime and in such a world as that, the impenetrable moral crevices that lurk unseen and ungovernable, in the fear-darkened corners of that shadowy world, such ruthlessness might actually be construed as adaptive instead of fire-setting. And might in the long-run contain trouble, instead of igniting it.
The world, he lived in was a hostile environment on the fringes of society. It has a different set of rules than the inner world. It's a community within a community. His grandfather had always said, "If you don't stand up and be counted, someone can move in on you any time they want. So you have to do something about it." No one can do it all the time but you do it once or twice and word soon gets round: Don't mess with these guys. Prevention is better than cure. Carpe noctem. Prison was simply a more tightly knit community of criminals. "In a hostile situation, your best option was to match the aggressive intentions of a potentially violent individual and go one step beyond them. Only then can you gain the psychological ascendancy, to show them who's boss and begin to talk them down. How better to assert your authority than to show your opponent they're beaten before they even start" A monster of a man at around six foot five, with brutal, char-grilled stubble and a piercing cobalt stare, he has the brooding, menacing, sub-satanic presence of a lone ultra-violent killer.
