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Welcome to Year Eight

"Love keeps her in the air when she oughta fall down, tells you she's hurtin' fore she keens. Makes her a home."

Year Eight and Still Flyin'! Thank You, Everyone!


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 CantonTown, Atillian: Season 1, Episode 1
Alekzander
Posted: Mar 16 2008, 07:36 PM


'Coat


Group: Members
Posts: 32
Member No.: 515
Joined: 18-January 08



Alekz had just finished packing his belongings into his meager duffel when he saw a terrified woman run by. Scratching his head, he seemed to recall her having been aboard the ship that had just come in.

Grabbing an extra bottle of vodka and his stuffed orange orangutan, he wandered back out into the dusty streets, meandering back towards the Atillian. As he neared, he could see a handful of black-masked individuals with rifles hiding in the nearby canebreaks, and a whole heap of trouble all around the ship.

Bullets richocheting all around him, Alekz wandered back up the ramp, taking a swig from his vodka as he entered. Arriving back in the cargo bay, he sniffed at the air. "Eet is smelling like mama prokouriakofs egg goulash in here. As a bullet ricocheted off the ramp a few inches from where he was standing, he turned and glared out into the cane breaks and shook his orange orangutan at them in annoyance

"Why don' you be learning how to shoot, ah!?" he hollered, wandering further inside.


. "Whoever wants to talk about passage, stay put until this gorram go-se clears out." Watching the captain level the gun at the Magistrate, he suddenly hoped he'd shoot the man. Would make it a lot easier to get off this mud-heap.

"I did the job; I get paid. You owe me some coin."

Having spotted the bullet riddled case of money at the bottom of the ramp, Alekz took another swig of Vodka and walked calmly back down, rounds clipping through the air all around him. He set his stuffed animal down and carried the case back up, narrowly avoiding being hit several times.

"Here is money." Was all he said as he dropped the case at Rahl's feet.

Taking yet another swig of his vodka, he started back for the cargo ramp, intending to retrieve his orangutan. He was a bit confused on what he was doing aboard the ship, but he hoped it had something to do with his resignation as Medic among the Mudders.
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Reggie Hopkins
Posted: Mar 16 2008, 08:41 PM


Troublemaker


Group: Members
Posts: 60
Member No.: 414
Joined: 16-August 07



"RUN!, RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

Reggie watched as the scarred woman scattered the cargo on out of there. Angrily, he fixed the turrets on her position, firing off several rounds. The blast knocked her off her feet and turned but the revolutionary she was running alongside into a bloody mess. Reggie smiled, rolling around the coffin nail in his mouth. He looked at her through the sights, staring with wide, tearful eyes at the fresh corpse next to her. He had her dead to rights. "Run, run for your life, san ba."

She looked up at him, unadulterated rage burning in her stare. Reggie would remember that look for the rest of his life. It was a look that told him that these people and this ball of nothing was worth more to her than anything would ever be worth to him. A look that drove home how shallow and fragmentary Reggie's value system was. When a person lost everything, all they had left was their pride. Reggie fought for every piece of coin, every nice shirt, every little toy because he never wanted to get to that point. He knew he didn't have enough pride to sustain him. With an animalistic howl, she raised her weapon and sprayed the turret.

"Gorram!" Reggie ducked down as the windows of the turret exploded around him. Poking his head up quickly, he lined her up and fired another burst. When the smoke cleared, he saw that she had been hit. She was lying on the ground, twitching, her gun hand a bloody stump. She was bleeding from the side and there was a gaping wound in her chest. Slowly, amazingly, she started crawling to her feet, but it didn't matter. Reggie could see that she was done for. She looked up at him again, the same fiery storm in her gaze as blood trickled, then poured from her mouth.

"Gorramit, quit starin' at me, girl," Reggie whispered. For the first time in his life, he was genuinely afraid. The way she looked at him, like he was a worthless piece of scrub, was doing more damage than any bullet. "Don't you know you're dead yet?"

She knew, Reggie realized, and she didn't care. Fighting for all these popsicles running about, for this worthless patch of mud, for the dead piece of go-se lying next to her, fighting to the last breath. That was her life. She wobbling raised her sidearm with her one good hand, intent on using every bullet she had left.

"QUIT STARIN' AT ME!" Another blast from the turret's guns and that was it. One shot caught her square in the forehead. Those angry eyes rolled back, and she stood there, teetering, held up by nothing but pure obstinance, before falling backwards into the mud, dead.

Reggie slumped back in the chair, breathing hard. He reached inside his coat pocket for his handkerchief, and was startled to see it covered in blood. He looked inside and saw the wound, below his right breast. With the adrenalin surging, he hadn't even felt it, but he was feeling it now.

"RUTT!!!" He screamed, sliding down the ladder of the turret. He took a few steps before falling on the catwalk. Looking up, he saw The Breeze crawling on the other side, coughing up a lung. "Gorramit, Breeze, y'all better not have been shot, 'cause I... somebody get the gorram Doc." Oh wait, we ain't got one. Rutt.

Reggie just laid there on the catwalk, panting and counting screws in the ceiling. "Quit starin' at me," he rasped, but inside of Reggie's head, she would never stop.

[occ: Mandy's death approved by E. Barry Manilow was crushed, however.]
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The Breeze
Posted: Mar 16 2008, 11:44 PM


A little nutty


Group: Members
Posts: 161
Member No.: 340
Joined: 29-May 07



"RUTT!!!" The Breeze looked over her shoulder at the dulcet tones of the jerkwad, squinting through the haze on involuntary tears as he thudded down butt-first on the catwalk. "Gorramit, Breeze, y'all better not have been shot, 'cause I..."

The Breeze swelled up indignantly, or tried to, but she ended up making an obscene horking noise and double over coughing again at the sudden intake of the noxious fumes. "Shot?" She shrilled. Shortness of breath made her sound more like a mortally offended mouse than the tone of righteous indignation she was going for, but... eh. thems were the breaks. "The-" cough "rutters rutting-" cough, cough "POISONED me! I'm gonna die! She couldn't die! There were so many things she hadn't done yet! She hadn't even gotten to 'I' on her alphabetical list of fetishes!

...Okay, she wasn't going to die. But she still smelled like this whole gorram mess, and who'd want to cozy up with a septic-vat with tits? Nobody, that was who!

Reg was still talking, interrupting the pleasant thoughts she'd been having about the ice torture she could be having with the far less pleasant, "...somebody get the gorram Doc." What the hi-ho?

She opened her mouth to question him, or maybe laugh at him- then she noticed the coppery smell. For a moment she couldn't breathe, but for an entirely different reason, but then her feet were moving, rocketing her over to him so fast that she was stumbling. "Veg!" She hissed, high and shrill. "You're bleeding, gorramit! Reggie!"

"Quit starin' at me."

The Breeze sucked in a horrified breath, blinked, and reeled back a little, massaging her temples. Whoo. Lightheaded. Okay, she was ready again. The hwun-dan was bleeding. Bad. Very bad. But fixable. Just had to get a doctor. Higgy had a doctor, right? Right. Just had to get him. "I'll be back," she choked out, and stilled her throat, though her heart hammered on, and her throat burned with heavy, panicky gulps of air. Which side's the rutting heart on?! "Try not to die afore I get back, hey? I still gotta mash yer face into the dirt." She opened her mouth, raising a finger to wag, poke him, or punch some ruttin' sense into him, and- she hesitated.

Then her hand was on his shoulder, and she was looking into his eyes, pressing a quick, light kiss to his temple. Her face burned. "So... just sit tight. Okay?"

She fled.

"Cap! Nab that doc! Regg's bleedin' enough fer a blood bank over here!"
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Alekzander
Posted: Mar 17 2008, 12:50 AM


'Coat


Group: Members
Posts: 32
Member No.: 515
Joined: 18-January 08



"Cap! Nab that doc! Regg's bleedin' enough fer a blood bank over here!"

Having safely retrieved his orange orangutan, Alekz placed him carefully atop a cargo container, telling him to stay and behave. Without waiting to hear which doctor the captain was supposed to be retrieving, Alekz thundered up the stairs, vodka still in hand.

Finding the dark-skinned man with blood everywhere, he immediately dropped his duffel to one side and yanked it open, pulling out bandages, spilling them haphazardly all over the catwalk.

Without much care as to bedside manner, he tore the shirt from his chest and eyeballed the mans abdomen, taking care to lean him slightly forward and check for exit wounds.

"Be leaning back, and breathing easy... you are very lucky, is just tiny hole... Maybe you are being shot by leetle hand-gun from long distance?"

Tucking his duffel behind the man as he leaned back, he grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured it lightly over the wound, ignoring the sharp, disgruntled gasp of pain from the man, he quickly opened and applied a fresh compress to the wound, holding it firmly and sealing off air from the puncture and stemming the flow of blood.

With his free hand, he took a swig of vodka and then thrust the bottle into Reggie's grip.

"These is good medicine, gonna keep you shiny, shiny, o-kay?"

Picking up a swathe of gauze, he did his best to mop up the excess blood, discarding the soaked bandages, all the while keeping his hand firmly against the compress. Grabbing and opening another fresh compress, he swapped it out and quickly wrapped it in place with a longer swathe of gauze, taking care to look for swelling and bruising.

After a few moments of listening to him breathe heavily, Alex hoisted him to his feet, taking care to hold the bandage firmly in place, He looked like he was on the verge of shock, but stable enough at least to get to the infirmary, or to the med-hut if necessary.

Turning to the crazed looking female who had originally come looking for a doc, he spoke up... "Ese these ship having medic facility? These man ese needing bullet removed from the abdomen."
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Rex Yangtree
Posted: Mar 17 2008, 07:33 AM


Have Guns, Will Travel


Group: Members
Posts: 221
Member No.: 467
Joined: 13-November 07



The Captain moved towards the crate issuing orders, "Whoever wants to talk about passage, stay put until this gorram go-se clears out. Whoever's free, help get the bodies off my floor. Find my pilot and my mechanic once they're finished working and get them down here and I don't want anymore gorram slaves running off my ship! Magistrate..."

Then the ship's Captain laid it out for Higgins.
Aleks had the money case then someone shouting for a medic got his attention.

Rex sat on the edge of the ship's ramp, looked at the cane.
A second wave would be good strategy right now, while everyone is broken and scrambling about like after a crash. Intiution, which he practiced not relying on, suggested the rebels wouldn't be doing that.
Good tactics would come later, now is was enough to just scatter some workers.

Later they'd need something a bit more substantial to feel like they'd won something.
Gorram, maybe this would be good to stay for, a little insurrection to put down.

He looked at Higgins,
nah, burned that bridge a bit, and I'd just end up stacking Fess up to play Brutus to Maggies' Cesar. Not smart.
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Magistrate Higgins
Posted: Mar 17 2008, 12:19 PM


'Coat


Group: NPC
Posts: 24
Member No.: 126
Joined: 7-August 06



Higgins found himself shaking with fury as the gunfire raged. The workers fled, except for those few injured. Who dared step up against him? Who dared this insurgency? At first, he was ready to blame Rahl and his people- The voice was clearly coming from inside the ship! Someone had to be on his bridge giving the command for the workers to flee!

The reaction of the trader ships crew quelled that theory as they gladly opened fire on the rebels. At least that was something- The familiar choking gas-stench of galadonium processing filled the bay, and Higgins ducked down again, choking against it, eyes watering.

"I delivered laborers. They're on your moon; now you get to find them."

Higgins opened his eyes. A steel barrel, inches from his face led up to the steel-locked gaze of Captain Rahl. Slowly, Higgins straightened to his full height. These people were feral dogs- Never show them fear.

"I did the job; I get paid. You owe me some coin."

Magistrage Higgins turned to flee.

And turned directly into a huge rock-solid mountain of flesh. Sweat dripped down the behemoth's face, the blood of the dark haired one still on his fists as he clenched them over his arms. Dead eyes, eyes that watched Rahl for the kill sign, stared forward over Higgin's head. The Warlord was primed to slay.

Staggering back as the initial flush of terror began to fade, Higgins came the realization that he had lost. There was only one way out of this with any dignity still intact.

"I ...ah..." Higgins turned back around to face Rahl, his voice only slightly shakier than his hands as he straightened his waistcoat, " *ahem* I'm sure we can find a suitable agreement. After all, if a man can't accept defeat with grace, he's nothing more than a loser."

"Yangtree?" Higgins glanced over his shoulder, seeking the man, his voice steadying somewhat, "Give him the coin."

"But Rahl," Higgins hesitated, shifting slightly, staring down the barrel of the gun, fully realizing that if his next words were foolishness, he would die here, surrounded by stench and mudder-hate, "Don't just consider it a gift in exchange for damaged goods. I'd prefer...as I'm sure you would, that this incident remain... quiet? That," He gestured the case, "Plus another 10,000, delivered to you by my bank representative on Santo?"

OOC: Adam godmodded with GrimJack's permission! Thank you, Grims!
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Jeno
Posted: Mar 17 2008, 01:34 PM


Kates Crew


Group: NPC
Posts: 5
Member No.: 483
Joined: 26-November 07



Higgins Moon Port Authority Offices:


"Sorry about this, Fess." Jeno mumbled sincerely.

The heir to Higgins Moon shrugged deferentially. It was hard to do more with the bands of tape that strapped him effectively to his desk chair. "Probably should do my legs, too, or they'll smfmfmfmf...."

"You're right...We can't have them suspecting." Jeno finished fastening the tape over his mouth, then drew back his elbow, prepatory to strike, "Sorry, again."

Fess's eyes widened a moment, then he nodded in agreement. Before he had time to think about it, Jeno smashed his elbow into Fess's cheek, sending his glasses flying, "That should bruise beautifully. Maybe you can use it for sympathy votes with the ladies."

Overriding the Atillian's com system from inside Port Authority hadn't had quite the effect Jeno had hoped for. From the report that was feeding back to him, the crew had hung together, not falling for the ruse that there was someone on their bridge. And the slaves had been far too slow to run.

Mandy. And then there was Mandy.

The fire-eyed girl who had found him wandering in the woods and taken him to their hide-away, who had recognized him as a Black Islander. The rebellion was her idea, but she'd lacked the military skills, the leadership ability, and the technical knowledge. All things the former Alliance pilot had in spades. All Jeno lacked was strong hands, and Mandy had found those for him. Run-aways, stow-aways, disgruntled and frightened plague survivors- their hands, her voice, his mind.

Mandy had rallied them all with her youth, with the flame of freedom behind her eyes, with the power of her words. And now that fire had been extinguished, put out by blood and bullets. Any other man may have been discouraged. Any other man might have laid down arms and slept the rest of his days in silent sorrow.

Jeno was not that man. He had fought for the Alliance and his eyes had watched farmers armed with basic rifles fire on armored Alliance aircraft, had watched more men stand and fight for what they believed in the face of the overwhelming. He had seen men and women who believed do the impossible.

His hand lingered over the landlock controls. It would be so easy to ground that slave ship. And then what? Burn it to the ground? With what? They needed to regroup, rebuild. And they would do it.

They would do it in Mandy's name. The Black Island Resistance would do the impossible.



Why don't you believe,
you can hold your head up high?
If you believe,
You can take it if you try.

When you believe-
You need fear no one.
When you believe, you will do what must be done.


lyrics: Dalriada: "In the Blood"
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Rahl
Posted: Mar 17 2008, 08:51 PM


Acquired taste-like pickled pig's feet


Group: Forum Moderators
Posts: 113
Member No.: 339
Joined: 27-May 07



"Cap! Nab that doc! Regg's bleedin' enough fer a blood bank over here!"

The Breeze's voice cut through the bay like a knife twisting into his gut. Good gorram; another crew member hurt, another person injured after putting their trust in him. What would he do now; how could he finish the deal and check on Reggie? Rahl hesitated in the moment it took Adam to move into position behind Higgins. He watched as Alexzander, the medic who'd greeted them to treat the cargo, immediately left. The Captain nodded, silently signaling The Breeze to watch the medic as Higgins began to talk.

"I ...ah...*ahem* I'm sure we can find a suitable agreement. After all, if a man can't accept defeat with grace, he's nothing more than a loser. Yangtree? Give him the coin." Those simple words were music to the Captain's ears.

"But Rahl...Don't just consider it a gift in exchange for damaged goods. I'd prefer...as I'm sure you would, that this incident remain... quiet? That plus another 10,000, delivered to you by my bank representative on Santo?" The initial warning tone claimed Rahl's attention; the promise of more coin held it. Such a tempting offer...to keep things quiet.

Would things keep quiet? "You seem to have had a run of bad luck of late. We are here, by order of Ramses Silko, to help you over-come that." Silko had eyes everywhere. "Speaking of running, you aren't considering that, are you? Leaving your crew on that rotten sunbaked moon and running away?" Rahl could only be in one place at a time, could only watch one at a time, needed to check on Reggie, needed to get the coin, hoped desperately that things would keep quiet, that word wouldn't travel as it likely would. Ten thousand credits delivered on Santo...a pilot overhead bleeding...new passengers waiting... "Silko likes things to go smoothly. Your mistakes put gravel in the gears, grinds things up."

"No more lost cargo, no more devalued shipments, no more mistakes, no more evidence left in plain sight... and that all equals no more bad luck. Dong ma?" The faint itch of remembered pain fleeting across his chest, Rahl made his decision. No more bad luck. He needed to take care of his crew, needed to get coin to Silko.

"Done. We'll be landing on Santo in two weeks. I expect it once this bird hits soil. Now, get off my ship and take your goods with you." He nodded to the handful of laborers that hadn't managed to escape. "Adam, get them off my ship." Not watching the bloodied mass of muscle approached the fleeing slaves, not listening to the Magistrate's futile attempts to keep the small knot of workers together, Rahl turned his back, quitting the cargo bay.

Passengers, Rahl decided, could wait a moment. The ship wasn't leaving yet. First, he needed to check on his pilot. He moved quickly through the abandoned common area, long stride coupled with nervous energy and the ever-present, gnawing guilt, the fear that more innocent blood would appear on his hands. Once he reached the infirmary, he started pacing, wanting answers, praying under his breath between muttered swears. Gorram luck...always seemed to turn and bite you in the pi-gu just when you thought things were going well.


Higgins and Adam GMed with permission.
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Alekzander
Posted: Mar 17 2008, 10:16 PM


'Coat


Group: Members
Posts: 32
Member No.: 515
Joined: 18-January 08



ATILLIAN - INFIRMARY

It hadn't been easy, but Alekz was pretty sure Reggie would live, barring a terrible infection or being suffocated in his sleep by the bilious woman who so eloquently said "If you die, I'll kill you!" every few moments as he worked. He had been lucky... Alekz gave him that.

When choosing to load a firearm, you had two distinct choices in ammunition. The first type, and the type mostly widely used in warfare, were low velocity, high accuracy rounds designed to injure their targets, not kill them. By forcing your enemy to drag their wounded from the field, you eliminated three or four soldiers with a single hit. The second type was pretty much the exact opposite.

Acting decidedly against Reggie's karma, the round that penetrated his abdomen had been the former type.

Had it been a half-inch lower, it would have slipped through his rib cage and punctured through his liver.
Had it been a half-inch higher, it would have slipped between his rib cage and punctured through his lung.
Had the gunman been a mere 20 feet closer, it would have shattered his rib and perforated countless organs with razored shards.
Had the gunman been using a high-velocity, high-caliber firearm, such as the one Reggie himself had been using... it would have blown straight through his chest, tore a gaping hole through his entire right side and exploded through the back of his rib cage and continued on, taking with it any chance of survival.

Instead he was suffering from a shallow puncture wound and a fractured rib...

The extracted bullet would be a souvenir...
The carefully dressed wound sore for a time...
In time, the scar would be a tale to tell...

But Alekzander did not tell the man how lucky he had been... He did not tell him of how close he had come to death... there was a far sinister force at play on the man's mind, and it was often a fate far worse than nearly dying.

Injecting a small dose of morphine into the man, he left him muttering about a woman who wouldn't stop staring at him. Only time would tell if that emotional wound would heal... it was beyond Alekzander's skill to tend.

Tragic as it was, Alekzander felt no pity... he had run out of that particular medicine long, long ago.

Rinsing his hands, Alekz headed from the medical bay to find his discarded duffel and the clean shirt therein. He didn't know how long he had been there, but he hoped there were no more gunshots wounds to tend to.


Breezy GMed with permission
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Rex Yangtree
Posted: Mar 19 2008, 09:00 PM


Have Guns, Will Travel


Group: Members
Posts: 221
Member No.: 467
Joined: 13-November 07



Rex assembled the money and readied it for passing to the Captain as all other non-crew were hustled off the ship. He remained at the end of the cargo ramp, watching the giant man follow his Captain's orders.

He kept the rifle slung across his shoulder, but was ready for quick use; in case of the rebels returned or the sudden attack of the behemouth.

Gear.

"Tell your Captain I've gone to fetch my gear, in case he gets time to take me on as a passenger. Might mention, I do pay cash."

He started to turn. "and I could help with.." tactical methods to avoid more bumruttery... lower the lingo down a grade or two.. and don't get smart..

The large man didn't look to comprehend ... much.."Well, tell him I'm a good planner, shooting preliminaries and such."

He took one last close look at the man's eyes, nodded respectfully and went to get his gear. Rex Yangtree returns, sets up just off to the side of the ramp, waited for the Captain or a representative. He sat on one of his two trunks, keeping watch, both toward the cane and up the ramp.

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The Breeze
Posted: Mar 20 2008, 12:28 AM


A little nutty


Group: Members
Posts: 161
Member No.: 340
Joined: 29-May 07



Rahl's restless pacing was grinding at her last nerve. She glared at him, trying to telepathically inform him that he was dingleberry, but he didn't seem to get the message -or maybe he was just a jerk- because he kept trying to drill a hole through the floor with his feet. Eventually she started to tap out music notes on the counter, just to drown out the steady tread of his boots. It didn't really work.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She found her gaze fixed on the ceiling. The ceiling seemed safe. It had an air duct in the corner, which was good, and it almost certainly wasn't going to be shot anytime soon, which was even better.

When she felt that she could look at Rahl without wanting to stick needles in places he wouldn't like at all, she allowed her eyes to drop downward. Yup. Cap was still pacing. And Reggie still had a gaping hole -oh, sorry, they'd had a medic in- stitched up gaping hole in his chest. That view wasn't exactly the highlight of her week.

Needless the say, maddening as it was, she found that watching Rahl trace around the infirmary a heck of a sight better than that.

He wasn't saying much. That kinda got on her nerves, too. He'd been quiet for so long that she'd begun to wonder why he wasn't talking, or, for that matter, why she wasn't either. Maybe she should.

She forced her hands to still by slamming them down on the counterspace between her legs. "So!" She chirped, too loud, too cheerful within the stark silence of the med bay, but she was desperate for something to break the silence. It bothered her. "How'd we do?"
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Rahl
Posted: Mar 20 2008, 12:55 PM


Acquired taste-like pickled pig's feet


Group: Forum Moderators
Posts: 113
Member No.: 339
Joined: 27-May 07



All action resumes on-board The Atillian.
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BIR
Posted: Mar 21 2008, 06:13 PM


Black Island Resistance


Group: NPC
Posts: 4
Member No.: 553
Joined: 7-March 08



Every war begins with a first shot fired, a single round stating intent. Where every war begins the same, there is no such certainly on how each war will end. A single bomb blast? A signed treaty? A long and slow wearing of battle until each side is utterly lost?

Yes, all wars begin the same.
Who can say where one may end?

Pro Licentia.
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