Sinister

Participants:

ghost_icon.gif tibby4_icon.gif zachery_icon.gif

Scene Title Sinister
Synopsis "I want to fucking tear you apart."
Date May 22, 2019

Ruins of Staten Island


It was fucking chilly on Staten Island.

Tibby sighs as she wraps her black long coat closer around her, the sleeves long as standard for the woman she walks slowly through the ruined, cracked streets.

Assignment: Reintegrate with previous contacts on Staten Island.

Tibby blinks and looks over a ruined, rusty car. Her booted feet give her a couple inches but she's still short, tiny almost engulfed fully by the black material of her loose fitting clothes. Pants that fall to her boots, platinum blonde hair so pale it looked almost white blowing in the wind. The sides had grown a little too much, she would need to shave them soon.

An old contact, that's what brought the pale haired woman out here. Ryan, he had bought her cover story. "Elia" had been working, kept away from the States for a time. He squinted at her, had to have noticed the difference from the woman he use to run guns with but she made it out of the meeting without raising too much suspicion. She had hoped.

The ghost is lounging on the hood of his Jeep, a cigarette in hand, speaking to a slender young woman in a downy grey coat.

He and his companion are talking about — nothing, really. The sort of nothing that constitutes preamble to sex. He's half-engaged, half-not. He suspects she needs to get paid for it, and while he's not a cheapskate about participating in the economy of the United States, there's something to be said about the role of ego in being able to attract a partner willing to participate free of charge. Sue him. She's cute though, and maybe trying to angle on him and steal his wallet? That's fun. He wonders if she has kids.

Beyond her, the pale figure in the dark is a mild curiosity for Ghost. Fleeting, for now. Something about the way Tibby moves. But it's a dismissible observation; she's huddling against the cold like everybody else. He's thinking about going back inside to the warmth of the bar, himself. You'll find that a lot of people in New York these days have something slightly 'off' about them; in the end, it's the flash of her white-white hair that draws his eye to a second look. He cocks his head and calls out past the woman he's actually sitting with.

"Are you okay, signorina?" Ghost takes a drag from his cigarette.

The loksop asking if she's okay makes Tibby stop, turning her attention to the smooth faced man and his… companion. Emerald green eyes clock the woman's gaze and how it flicks not as discreetly as she thinks to the ghost's pockets. Maybe he was the liberator of whores, first of his name.

It mattered little to the tiny pale woman. Her next course of action could be looked at as feminist, coming to her fellow woman's aid. A woman who might be impoverished, forcing her hand into that line of work. Tibby making all the assumptions but it was Staten Island. Instead of it coming from a place of sisterhood, she's just fucking cranky. "'Course," That smile is metallic, predatory. Tibby was okay, for now. Whether the Ghost remained so would depend on how tough that female companion was.

"Ya want his coin?" She's there within arm's reach of them both. Head tilted to the side with a raise of her eyebrows, pulling her sleeves up one by one in deliberate motion a flash of silver in the moonlight down by her hand. Tibby's metalike grin persists, "Go on then." Tibby would help.

Apparently. Ghost. is getting rooobbed? He frowns, but makes no particular move as the woman in the floofy grey coat hesitates for a fraction of an instant, then springs into action. She flips open his jacket, pulling the front panel open. Reaches her fingers over the lining, her long manicure going to pry at the wallet that sits bulky over his chest.

Slow motion, Ghost narrows his eyes at the pale woman and her knife.

And then fast motion, Ghost snatches the arm of the thief currently groping around his person. She's barely gotten her fingers around the scrap of leather that contains his identification and hard-earned cash money.

"What the fuck are you," the ghost says, "her pimp? A fucking comedienne? This is a shitty bit. Nobody's laughing, asshole." There is no way Tibby is her pimp, he has met several pimps before, in different parts of the world, and even if you correct the verbiage to something more acceptable like, madame, the vibe between the knife-wielding albino and faux chinchilla fur here is incorrect, their demographics, their aesthetic.

That's a good one. Elia the pimp.

The woman in the dark grey coat does what she should have been doing a few minutes ago but Tibby realizes how hard it must be, she's projecting. Whatever. She shakes her head, "No." Her hand rises and in the clear light is not a knife but two small blades, shaped into talons, attached to her dominant hand. They weren't meant for rushing someone but she was on edge, all this… cousin shit. Caspian. Her assignments.

The ghost seemed meaty enough to take it. Tibby swipes her hand down on his arm aiming to embed the claws there.

Five charges. Don't waste them. The words of the doctors at Crito sting in her head as she twists her, a black spot can be seen in the crook of her arm. There are more important things going on though for the ghost to focus on, like those talons.

Is that a spark?

Look. Sometimes you quit your job a little prematurely. Sometimes that job you quit was at the hospital where you still very much needed to 'liberate' some past-the-expiration date medication for your shady second job that you should probably give up but haven't yet. Medication that a certain kind of people on Staten Island can occasionally promise to provide.

… Still other times, a Zachery wanders the fucking streets of Staten Island completely fucking lost because he is very much out of his element, squinting down at his phone with mismatched eyes as he tries to figure out where the fuck he ended up. But he hasn't got a fancy phone, nor fancy services. He rounds a corner with his shoulders drawn high in annoyance and collar of his black peacoat up to protect against the wind.

As the three strangers across the street come into view, and he steals a glance toward the movement, Zachery's gait slows… and then halts, just as Tibby raises her hand. Oh.

He looks back down for a second, at his phone, then fixes his attention on the proceedings— and angles his phone casually upward, lens conveniently pointed toward the action. Don't mind me.

Welcome to the scene, Zachery, just in time to see a most inelegant of tableaus:

Specifically, a full-grown man and also a full-grown woman, whose arm he had been holding, simultaneously receiving a powerful electrical shock.

It proves to be a huge problem for the woman, that electrification tends to make your muscles tight. Ghost doesn't let go of her; he can't even let go of her if he wants to, because they're both suddenly convulsing, muscles ignoring every command. The woman's legs fold first as she jolts, and the weight of her is what topples the ghost off-balance, fumbling down onto the concrete in an elegant heap of muscle and sexy leather clothing.

Clunk. That would be the ghost's skull bouncing gently on asphalt, a mild insult to punctuate the extraordinary pain. Ow.

Oh. Well that…

Tibby's eyes widen a fraction as the shock takes the woman as well, so much for Girl Power. Tibby begins to topple with them but she rips her talons out, tiny specks of blood flying in a arc. A bit landing on her face. She didn't mind a little mess. She was good at cleaning up after herself.

Got a big plan, this mindset maybe its right

At the right place and right time, maybe tonight

And the whisper or handshake sending a sign

Wanna make out and kiss hard, wait never mind

Lifting her head to the sky with a half lidded gaze, the young woman rolls her shoulders. Cracks popping audibly. She was outside the Safe Zone, this wasn't calling attention to herself.. right. Right.

Something is caught in the corner of her eyes and she slowly shifts her head to see a man, Zachery standing on the corner with a phone in his hand. Directed at her. Tibby lets out a small sigh. Well. There's that. Drip. Drip. Drip. Blood falls to the cracked pavement below and the tiny pale haired woman turns her body, lazily almost. Dominant hand flexes.

Late night, and passing, mention it flipped her

Best friend, who knows saying maybe it slipped

But the slip turns to terror and a crush to light

When she walked in, he froze up, believe its the fright

Click.

A handgun is held in her other hand, safety flicked off. It's pointed at Zachery. Slowly, one foot in front of the other Tibby stalks forward, not worrying about the ghost and the fallen woman for the moment, probably a mistake. There was a Peeping Tom in the room.

"Delete." Continuing to walk forward, half lidded gaze sliding over the medicine man.

Its cute in a way, till you cannot speak

And you leave to have a cigarette, your knees get weak

An escape is just a nod and a casual wave

Obsessed about it, heavy for the next two days

Are you going to make her shoot you Zach face?

Tibby's grip resettles on the gun and she quirks a pale brow.

At the shock coursing through multiple bodies, Zachery stands completely still, just sort of… staring. The way someone might stare at someone getting mauled by a bear at the zoo, except if that were a good thing. His wide-eyed intrigue and the grin that's pulled over onto one side of his face fades only a little when head hits asphalt, nose wrinkling in empathy. Oof.

Only once someone is moving towards him does he tear his gaze away, his one eye darting to fix itself on Tibby's face, phone gripped a little tighter as a push of a button dims the screen. "H-hm? What?" His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, but the exhalation seems to force out a laugh at the same time when he finally notices the gun pointed at him.

Oh hi. Phone and all, his hands come up - his left is wrapped in a blue splint that immobilizes all but his index and thumb. "Whoah — look," instinct pulls him one step back, but doesn't seem to help him shut his mouth when he opens it to ramble, "I don't think that's, ah - that's wise. The gun, that is - actually. You could probably murder me, couldn't you? That would be bad. I should have thought of that. Whatthefuckdidyoujustdo."

Because he is definitely afraid, but also, against his better judgment, one hundred percent impressed.

Aaaaaa, thinks the ghost, unproductively on the ground. What the fuck. The woman beside him is twitching erratically and wants to get away, but her limbs aren't cooperating either. What is happening up there? Ghost tries to make his eyes point in the correct direction, but his head has skewed off the wrong way and the muscles of his neck are still coming off seizing. Is that some guy talking to Tibby? Sounds like a guy. He can't see shit from here.

But there is one particular part of Ghost's person that exists with some autonomy from this flesh bag.

And in a moment, Ghost has slipped the chains of his corpus and blinks at the world through fresh eyes. Zachery's eyes. He feels the edges of the phone in his fingers, the drub-drub-drub of his heart inside his ribs. The hysterical force of his own laughter. Despite that Ghost can well understand that there is nothing pleasant about being held at gunpoint, the current hospitality of Zachery's consciousness is far preferable for him.

《Yo,》 Ghost says, a dislocated voice only Zachery can hear. 《I'm the telepathic voice of the guy on the ground over there.》 Did he scratch his leather jacket, falling on the pavement? Ghost stares at himself from the blurry, monochromatic periphery of Zachery's vision. That would seem imminently fucking likely! What the Hell. 《If you can stall, I'll get the gun off her. Save the video for YouTube.》

It's only just a crush, it'll go away

It's just like all the others it'll go away

Or maybe this is danger and he just don't know

You pray it all away but it continues to grow

Tibby's head tilts again and her eyes narrow, those white scars peeking out around them in the light. Murder? Maybe. Yes.

BANG.

BANG.

One shot on either side of the space by Zachery, aiming for the wall behind him. Dust rains down on the man as she continues to walk forward, just a little faster. "Toss." To her, on the ground. She's good with either.

I want to hold you close

Skin pressed against me tight

Lie still, and close your eyes girl

So lovely, it feels so right

There's still more than enough bullets in the gun. And she's only, getting, closer.

There's another crack of her shoulders and her eyes are alight with something, maybe excitement. Maybe she's not as bored as she's been since she got here. Being bored is just a defense mechanism that she's very happy to not talk about but this was way more exciting than running into Tibby's cousin. She needed a new name, she hadn't thought of that. It was easy to just have nobody say a name at all. Klaus and Waugh didn't have to state her name every second when speaking.

She wants to be nameless. Ending up on that footage wasn't good for that. It also might make the bosses mad and Tibby hated displeasing employees. She likes having five star reviews.

I want to hold you close

Soft breasts, beating heart

As I whisper in your ear

I want to fucking tear you apart

The tiny woman begins to run forward.

"Hnuh?" This is the helpless noise that leaves Zachery upon there being a voice in his head that isn't his. Look, he knows it happens, this sort of thing, especially around these areas, but he's never actually experienced it.

So it may not be a surprise that he doesn't know to immediately act on it, either. Less of a surprise still is when he completely fails to do anything when bullets go flying. It is at this point that Ghost may realise that this peripheral vision skews on the… tighter side of things. On the right side of things.

The way it might when a left eye is missing entirely.

But there is something else. As Tibby nears, there is an awareness of how. Of her own heart beating as she stalks, of her muscles contracting as she kickstarts the run, of bones rolling in their joints. But brighter than, somehow, that is… the fact that so much of it just isn't quite… right, swathes of her body creating conflicts with inorganic matter that escapes his comprehension entirely. It pings in his brain like newly found locations on a treasure map, waiting to be explored, to be understood fully.

Not that he's able to focus on it, between the voice and the gun and the fact that his eye is locked on a madwoman charging his way while he can't seem to wipe the grin off of his face between nervous chuckles leaving him as his lungs empty themselves.

The phone? Is grasped tighter. And then, with all of the (lack of) grace that comes with no depth perception and all of the gusto that comes with a man quite possibly fearing for his life, it is tossed sideways and past Tibby. Towards Ghost.

From inside his new host's head, Ghost watches bemusedly in third person as the phone sails toward his prone body.

This is the problem, you know; he isn't actually a telepath or even an empath. His ability to predict the behaviors of those he inhabits on the basis of a few seconds of exposure can be extraordinarily poor.

《Fuck,》 Ghost concludes, eloquently. His body's coordination is very poor when he isn't actually inhabiting it, which is not really a unique or exceptional weakness, as far as he's concerned. But enough of that. Ghost hastens! He makes the jump. Slings himself back into the mass of smarting cells and twitching muscle fibers that constitutes his body, just in time for the phone to

bounce off his tummy. Which is rock hard, by the way. "Fuck," the ghost says, thickly, with his mouth this time. He forces his hand open, releasing the woman in the grey coat, who's groaning. He scrambles to grab the phone. One of his eyes is squinted smaller than the other, which is in no way a deliberate gesture of insult at Zachery's optometric condition. Should he help? The ghost is not the best Teo at helping people, but all things considered—

Ghost cuts loose a blast. Invisible.

A ripple in Tibby's direction undetectable for anyone but a proper psychic, a shocking discharge that mimics electricity like that which she just shot into his arm. Except that it isn't electricity, it's the bio-electric backlash generated by her own brain as the matriced energy of her consciousness is brutally shoved out of her own body for a split-second, before it snaps back in. But not as powerful as it ought to be; the ghost isn't exactly feeling well right now. (What do you get when a duo of little monsters mutually tries to give one another a taste of their own medicine?)

The ripple of invisible, backlash of energy that washes over Tibby makes that run falter and her flat expression switching to one of surprise. The shoving out of her body. It shocks a memory through her.

She use to do this. Tibby use to do this.

Oh no.

"…" Tibby falls to her knees and blinks, trying to reorient herself. It had been so long… so so long. It made her long for that connection, the hollow void that now sits where her ability use to be. Unable to access. Unable to leave her body, a prison. Was it a prison? The pale haired woman felt confused. "Don't. Don't tune me grief." She says it softly but the gun that is held shakily in her grasp, it had tumbled to the ground. Her emerald eyes track to it and she reaches. No. No.

If she wasn't angry before. She is now. The one eyed Joe. He must have done this, she doesn't suspect the man she shocked just a few moments ag- the phone.

That's what Tibby had been looking at, sailing through the air. Towards the man, the ghost. Her body had been turned, she feels herself again. She's there, she's here. No leaving her body. With a cry the tiny woman runs and leaps at Ghost. Talon held high. Eyebrows twitching and mouth hanging open, the look of a deranged, angry woman.

While all of this is going on, Zachery looks oblivious. He steps back, throwing a glance sideways to the empty street and the future place of a potentially clean getaway. His uninjured hand comes up to drag at his face like he's about to rub the skin on his cheek clean off. There is a lot happening and he doesn't know what the fuck the deal is with most of it.

But he does know that someone has his phone, and that it's too late to unpiss off the crazy woman now, so there may as well be video evidence out there somewhere of what led up to his grisly murder. Upon Tibby turning around, Zachery finds himself turning back to Ghost.

"Shit," he breathes to himself, but stays right where he is. Then, a little louder and with anxious amusement very much pulling at his words as he motions with BOTH ARMS at the ground in front of him, "UH. Throw it here! HARD AS YOU CAN. BREAK IT."

Ghost blinks at this impending convergence of events, even as his fingers close around the phone. So many things are happening right now, it feels like war again. Cool, apart from that electrocuting knives seem like they might be on their way to sensitive parts of the ghost's anatomy.

"Figlio di puttana," Ghost says.

The ghost is not good at compliance, just as he is not good at helping people, but maybe this one-eyed skinny fuck over there brings out the best in him? Anyway: the ghost complies, as well as he can. He throws his rangy frame up onto his feet, lurching to the right, clearing the line-of-sight between himself and the one-eyed man. Zachery's depth perception seems well-fucked based in the ghost's brief spelunk, but what else can you do? Ghost overhands the device, hurling the device in the other man's direction. If he were really throw-throwing it as hard as he could, it'd clear the street, but he has excuses. Anyway, the slender piece of glass and plastic goes flying.

Ghost doesn't stop to see where it lands. A lady is trying to kill him! [Again.]

Instead, the ghost rolls the dice on his own best move. He throws himself up as the woman comes careening toward him, kicks with not one but both legs, aiming a monstrous kick into her hip. Sure, it'll come at the expense of him having to fall back down on his ass, but that's what breakfalls are for.

The ghost is larger than the pale haired rage filled woman, a lot more so. As she stays stiff in the air poised to sink her talon into her flesh once again she's met by both of his feet slamming into her hip. The woman's form bends to the side and she is sent spinning and landing with a loud smack on the ground, back of her head first.

The gun goes skidding across the cracked ground away from the South African.

Usually, when something of this nature happens and the back of your head slams rather hard on the pavement you're left dazed. World spinning, you might even vomit. Tibby shakes it off and bounces to her feet with another crack and pop of her joints, veins bulging at the neck. The dried blood and scraps along her arms and back give her a horrible look and she feels the bone in her hip throbbing. She doesn't seem particularly dazed.

Power through.

Recalibrate, she's outnumbered. Eyes lift to scan the skyline, looking up the sides of the buildings. Fire escapes…? None worth the risk.

A tiny hand goes to grab at a nearby rock and she raises it in the air and sends it sailing towards the ghost hoping to hit him on the head and then she's running at him again.

After a TAK of screen cracking, the phone bounce-skids across the street. Zachery makes zero fucking attempt to move in to catch it. It's not quite what he asked Ghost to do. The mumbled words, "I don't know what I was expecting," only barely manage to leave his mouth before something else comes skidding in his general direction.

A gun.

Tibby's gun.

Zachery's gun? Yes.

Cogs a-turning, he moves forward with a start and snatches the opportunity and gun both, with some semblance of having held the latter before but little more. Regardless, it's immediately leveled halfway up toward Tibby.

He should probably move back a little. Instead, he steps closer. "Hi, can I just — HELLO! STOP for a fucking moment, will you?!" Like he's walking into a rowdy classroom. He'd probably sound angry if not for the fact that he sounds like he's having fun, somehow.

The ghost isn't really sure what's going on. Are we talking or are we fighting? Talking or fighting? If all three present (the lady has run off now) could stick to one agenda mutually that would be great, because while one corpse is a circumstance he has faced many nights of his life, two is exponentially more complicated. Especially if one of the corpses was trying to have a conversation before they got that way.

On the other hand, at least the one trying to talk has a gun, and is not currently pointing it at him. That's good.

Then the ghost gets clipped on his head, which is less good. The rock leaves a hot, wet spot forming on the roof of his skull, and reverberating percussion echoing inside of it. When Tibby comes for him again, he somewhat admires her gumption and mostly feels aggravated at her pugnacious resilience. But he's watching for her knife — arm — situation now, even as he moves to block her at her forearms,

(Ghost's excuse is: he didn't start it. That is both confusing and also, the usual case, these days.)

Then he walked up and told her, thinking that he'd passed

And they talked and looked away a lot, doing the dance

Her hand brushed up against his, she left it there

Told him how she felt and then they locked in a stare

W.. What the fuck.

She doesn't get to smile and tilt her head in delight as the rock lands on the ghost's pretty head. Instead she's being held up with her own fucking gun. Tibby freezes in the process of slapping a blow against the man's arm below her. She doesn't turn around, her shoulders roll again while head lolls to the side. Fingers flex and twitch in time with the muscles in her neck and back. Chest heaving up and down as her heart thumps loudly in her chest. Well this got a little out of control. Her foot nudges the rock with the ghost's blood on it, she ignores.

They took a step back, thought about it, what should they do

'Cause there's always repercussions when you're dating in school

But their lips met, and reservations started to pass

Whether this was just an evening or a thing that would last

Either way he wanted her and this was bad

He wanted to do things to her it was making him crazy

Now a little crush turned into a like

And now he wants to grab her by the hair and tell her

There's a wave of frustration that falls over her features and she closes her eyes and raises her hands, slowly backing up.

"W-wait-wait." Tibby's body twitches and she shifts her head so the small woman's profile can be seen by the one eyed man. "P-Please." Her accent is thick, truly leaning on her South African roots. Eyebrows raise and she looks down towards Ghost with a shocked expression on her face. "Wh-What is this?" She keeps backing up, in janky, jerky motions. Tibby stares past the display in her eyesight to the Italian man, her heart rate was elevated. Yea no shit. The shocked expression stays on her face and she's still marching backwards as Zachery marches forward. "D-D-Don't know how I got here. Oh my days," a hand going to cover her mouth.

When the opportunity arises, when Zachery is close enough. Tibby strikes out at his hand to shove the gun out of the way, not aiming to get it back. Fuck that. Instead she's turning her head, making brief eye contact with the man. Her expression is one that's malicious. She's having fun.

I want to hold you close

Skin pressed against me tight

Lie still, and close your eyes girl

So lovely, it feels so right

Wink.

And she's bending down to scoop up the phone that's cracked on the ground.

Zachery appears largely unimpressed by Tibby's act, though possibly charmed, sounding another chuckle. His gaze stays on her, eyebrows crumpling toward each other. When the gun is shoved aside, he offers no resistance past a tightening on its grip.

"You're both hurt." He glances at Ghost, but only for a second, still alert of the danger Tibby could prove to be. "But you are both also interesting. Are you done going at each other like cats in heat, or should I stand back and wait so I only have to take the one that survives to my clinic to fix them up?"

And then Tibby goes and reaches for the phone. She just had to, didn't she. Zachery turns, and he immediately points the gun to just beside to Tibby's legs to shoot into the street. Coincidentally, not being used to firing a gun, the recoil has him wince like an idiot while hissing, "SsSshit," quietly to himself. It's a good thing she was relatively close, because his aiming is very unlikely to be any sort of good.

If you want to consider something stupid in all this, it's the fact that the ghost never goes anywhere unarmed. And hasn't taken out any of his weapons. Maybe it's because his brain feels like someone caked it with rice crackle and it's being gently submerged into a warm milk bath. Abandoned by his playmate, he looks at the one-eyed man, as well as the woman picking up her phone. The corner of his mouth curls mirthlessly, but it looks like a smile despite everything.

His arm really hurts. He should go get that checked out. His pale eyes move from man to woman and back again, considering.

Evaluating. Deducing, that he isn't the one who has the gun pointed at him right now, technically. So Ghost feels safe enough (not: very) inquiring, pleasantly, his head momentarily back in Zachery's, 《Is your shit uploaded to the Cloud?》 It's the era of knife tasers and animal-shaped robots. Who the fuck knows.

The bang of the gun is deafening but Tibby continues to run as the phone is caught in her shaky fingers, there's an intense almost yowl of pain that emits from her lungs, eyes widening as she feels the bullet entering her leg. Close range or not, Zachery got lucky. Tibby not so much, except well. The phone. Throwing herself against the wall with a hiss and doubling over. Teeth bared while her head snaps up to stare directly at the man that just fired a gun and imbedded that hot piece of metal in her god damn leg. Ouch!! She wonders if this hurts worse than how the ghost is feeling over there. This little adventure had cost more than she anticipated, Klaus might say that she didn't anticipate anything at all.

He'd be right.

I want to hold you close

Soft breasts, beating heart

As I whisper in your ear

I want to fucking tear you apart

There's no more need for words with the few Tibby had used tonight in the first place instead she scoffs and lifts her nose as if trying to avoid the rank smell of Zachery and the Ghost. Doctor, clinic. She knows that much. It's enough.

Waving the phone in a taunting fashion the small woman limps off turning down an alley.

Well. Today did not go as planned. This may be the last time Zachery visits Staten Island for the foreseeable future.

His reaction to having shot Tibby is shock, first, before she just limps off? Leaving him standing there, clearly struggling fight back a laugh that leaves him on his next exhale anyway. Alright. Sure. WHY NOT just… leave. With his phone.

"God. I hate that thing you do." He turns to Ghost after he says this, annoyance buried under ill-timed amusement, "I don't… trust cloud things. Which, I guess, means I have someone to catch in case I nicked an artery."

As he leans forward to start ambling after Tibby, he digs into a pocket of his coat and takes out a card that gets flicked toward Ghost. "It's a bit far from here, but if you want to come by later, you'd be welcome." On his way to apparently hunt down a woman with her own gun, he calls cheerily over his shoulder, "Entirely confidential!"


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