Logs:KFD - To Be Continued?!
KFD - To Be Continued?!
|Characters:||Kinsey and Alabama, with Prosper as ST. Coterie: Roses on the Table|
|Summary:||Fate comes calling in the form of long awaited revenge.|
|Disclaimers:||Violence, language, graphic depiction of injuries, death.|
Sounds of the scene: http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=5fMossquF8U
Kinsey has had a bad enough time concentrating. Her Switch dying in her hands just now was just adding onto it. The week brought nothing but a pervasive sense of impending, unassailable dread. Something was coming. Something immovable. Something you cannot run and hide from. The clues and signs were coming more frequently. One morning it was crows, silently observing her wherever she went. Another was when she was channel surfing to clear her mind, commercials for funeral homes and commercials for unsolved murder documentaries. Back to back to back. It just didn't stop... and then the day came.
A quiet afternoon. Nobody texting. Nobody calling. Social media seemed locked in a complacent standstill. Not even Prosper was found snooping in shadows or stalking the young woman. An eerie peace found in that time between what she knows is an inescapable finale and her next breath.
The text came from a number she'd never seen before. Unknown, it read on the smartphone display.
TXT - You took something from me.
TXT - I took someone from you.
TXT - Your little brother is scared. Meet me in Leonidas. Off Henrietta Street. You'll know when to stop.
Her brow knits into a deep frown. Not even Animal Crossing could distract her now. Kinsey doesn't even recall seeing the low battery alert pop up when her Switch is just suddenly dead. A sigh. She gives it a slight toss aside and onto her bed. Her lips purse as she stares up at the ceiling. Every heartbeat seems to strengthen the pervasive sense of dread that taints everything. Well, there was no sense in hanging around, was there? She's already decided she didn't want any of them to find her and have to see it, no matter what happens.
Notes have been left behind and Kinsey was getting ready to head out the door when her phone alerted. Fuck. She'd been hoping to slip out unnoticed and it was probably ... a cold chill runs up her spine and causes her to shiver. Her eyes stare at the messages on the screen and it takes her a moment to process them. A wave of nausea rushes up from her stomach and Kinsey swallows it bak down. Bryce? Her shaking fingers type a reply.
TXT - Don't you fucking touch him.
Kinsey shoves a kitchen chair out of her way and begins going through nearby drawers. One of them had a gun, right? Prosper. Pan. Bam. None of them struck her as the kind of person to not have a gun in the house. But either from the nerves or that she just isn't looking in the right place Kinsey bolts out of the house with only a butterfly knife in her pocket, leaving behind her skateboard and all of the things she would have normally taken with her.
Been a long hard day of doing nothing. Alabama is outside the residence, having a smoke and thinking about rifling through Pan's stuff to see if she can find some Molly. That sounds like an excellent Friday night. Except... what's that sound crashing down and out of the house? Out bursts a Kinsey in full flight mode and Bam has to step sideways in order to avoid getting smooshed. "OH! Hey! What's the hurry Kinz-in-ator?" The little ghoul grins and ashes out her smoke before approaching, providing she can get Kinsey to stop. "Were you heading out? What are your plans for tonight?"
The text that returned fire after Kinsey's response was literally just a smiley face emoji with a squirt gun emoji pointed at it. Then a clock emoji. The message was clear as can be in cartoonish, horrific colors. Her frenzied ransacking first the house turned up none of Pan's likely illegal arms and Prosper's were locked up in a shockingly secure and responsible manner. The kitchen knives, however, were an easy grab and freshly sharpened. Metal slides on wooden block with a whisper before she stows the heft blade for safe keeping.
The clock, both Kinsey's and that of her newfound nemesis, was ticking. Leonidas wasn't a short drive and perhaps the captors knew it. Of course, they could take the truck... Prosper's low rider was gone. Something about business in Shreveport. There was, however, a very fast looking street bike parked out front. Freshly washed and oil changed. The sun was on its downward crawl toward the horizon but wouldn't be taking the light from New Orleans for a while yet. They had time. Or so Kinsey hoped.
The response that came via text put her on a whole new level of determination, one ensures she doesn't hear Bam as frantic thoughts run through her mind. Spotting the bike she's momentarily torn, looking from it to down the street and then back. She can't drive. Of course few days ago she couldn't ride a horse either. Kinsey bolts back into the house and snatches the keys off of the wall. As she's rushing back outside her eyes catch a metal glint near the umbrella stand and she plucks Pan's ball bat up and swings it over her shoulder. The short skater throws one leg over the bike and starts it up, flips up the kickstand like she would have on a bicycle and takes a moment to look over the controls. Straight forward right? She's seen people drive. Bike in gear.. girl with excellent balance.. Kinsey twists the accelerator.
Kinsey felt the exact brand of gut wrenching fear that her distant tormentors had in mind. It sped her actions, leaving little time to think. Only react. Just go, go, go until she reached the finish line. What she would win when crossing that line? Well, the texts illustrated what would happen if she didn't. Upon grabbing the keys off the wall, the fob and charm jangling together with the street bike keys. Bat snatched up, Kinsey cranked that speed demon to a scream and it -took off-. Holding onto the grips, trying to keep low and hold balance. It isn't easy but necessity breeds adaptation and she handles it well.
All the way to Leonidas. It's a dangerous place. Hit hard by crime and violence long before Katrina and long after. It's no wonder she's drawn here, goaded to this place. The street in question was more like an industrial park stretch haunted on both sides by the ghosts of production. Factories shuttered, warehouses half collapsed still to this day. It's a playground of broken glass, rusted steel, boarded windows and spray painted brick. Small parking lots, cracked and uneven, frame the two lane road that stretches down a dark, dark one mile stretch.
The slice of a single head lamp cuts through the desolate area like a knife. It was exactly what they wanted to see. The high beams of two vehicles flare bright and harsh down the road. Three shadow cast figures standing behind the glare of halogen lights. They click off. Then on. Clearly, these were the gentlemen who wanted her attention so very badly.
The ball bat, for the moment, was literally tucked down the back of her shirt with the end wedged under her denim shorts to keep it from falling out so that she could have both hands on the handles. She might have wanted to steer with one hand and hold that bat out like some sort of street samurai but let's face it Kinsey was lucky she'd not laid that bike down the moment she took off. She slowed the bike to a crawl as she turned down the street and the two sets of head lamps flared up, off and then back on again.
Her face was set with a look of vicious determination. You could fuck with her but you didn't fuck with friends and family. The bike is inched forward and the tip of her tongue darts out to moisten her lips and distract from the fearful hammering of her heart in her chest. She squints her eyes against the headlights as she gets closer and brings the bike to a stop. "Fine. I'm here," she calls out. "Let my foster brother go. Just us! Whatever the fuck I did, we'll settle it just us..."
It takes either a certain level of depravity or righteous anger to kidnap a boy. To bring Kinsey here, like this? Few people her age have the tenure on this earth to make such an impression. To make such an enemy of a person that they'd go to such lengths to draw a young woman into a trap like this.
Which, as she inches that bike closer down the beams of harsh blue-white light, she surely must know it to be exactly that. A trap.
"If I w-w-wanted to settle this by ourselves? I wo-w-would have just come to that fancy house and shot you in your FUCKING FACE!" The voice from the man wreathed in shadowy black between the two vehicles, it sounds familiar. A gravely, nasal tone hindered with a stutter born of pure fury... and a bit of brain damage.
The passenger doors of both cars open simultaneously. The detail lacking black shapes of average build men slip out, one dragging a young boy with him. Hands bound, gagged and breathing rapid. Fearful.
"Turn of the b-b-bike. Throw the keys and I let him go. You w-want that, right? I want you to f-f-feel as helpless as I have. Trapped. Throw the f-f-fucking keys!"
Kinsey succeeds at a Larceny roll!
The squint turns into a sharply narrowed glare as the voice jogs memories of the night that started everything. A high school. A resource officer from NOPD. An electric guitar. Her own righteous anger. She knew it was a trap the moment she got the text. The day had been coming for longer than the three years ago the incident that set it all into motion happened. Narrowed eyes count the number of figures that she can see.
"Alright. You got it," Kinsey says, letting some defeat slip into her voice as she switches off the ignition. Her thumb tucks down and her fingers twist while it looks like she tugs at where the key would be in the ignition. Kinsey's fingers slip the key, still in the ignition, off of that ring of house keys and she holds it up.. then tosses the keychain, fob and all, toward the sedans so that they hit the ground and slide forward along the pavement in the light. There are so many comebacks that Kinsey has and she has to look at what she assumes is her foster brother's outline to keep herself from spewing any of them. "There. He's just a kid, you're not a monster, right? Not like me. You're the hero. Hero's don't hurt kids. You got the keys, you got the bad guy.. so let my little brother go."
The man in the middle, not much taller than Kinsey herself, leans to the side with all his slight weight upon a broad footed cane. Arm trembles as he steps forward when Kinsey throws the keys. She knew that voice even when strained with years of hatred and nagging brain trauma. Thinning red hair slicked back from his pale, ruddy face. A smooth, fat scar bisecting his hairline in an arch above the right ear where Kinsey had brained him way back when.
"Yeah. I know I do. The real kicker?" Grip strained on the cane handle, he shuffle steps forward once more, pointing his free hand at her accusingly. Key chain landing audibly between split asphalt plates. "It's not enough. I l-l-lost everything because of y-y-y..." Choking on his frustrations, former NOPD Officer Irvin Gates pauses to regain his composure. One of the two hard to distinguish men rounds the hood of the sedan, high beams flicker between his legs before he reaches down to pocket the key ring and fob. A tire iron in his free hand.
"Who said I want to be the g-g-good guy? I lost my house! My wife! My f-f-fucking hair! No, no, Nnnnnnno. Jimmy. Show him her 'brother'." Irvin sneers coldly. The man on the other side dragging the sleight masculine figure into the light and ripping his hood off. Really just a ski-mask put on backward. The stunned and battered face of a teenage Korean kid, is clearly not her brother. He coughs, ribs broken and nose mashed. "... I didn't know it was his car... please..."
Irvin, scowling hatefully in the glare of lights casting his face in an almost ghoulish relief. "Never had your b-b-Brother. Just this dumb f-f-fffffucker. My old partner had th-them pulled over. Your family. I don't w-w-ant to be a hero. I want rev-v-venge. I'm going to w-watch these guys beat you to d-d-death. It's been a dream of mine. D-d-dreams are important, right? Isn't that what the p-p-poster in the hallway said? The one within my blood on it?"
There is a wash of relief down her back when the revelation comes that it isn't her foster brother. It's a short lived feeling. She didn't want something to happen to some poor kid who'd just been joyriding in a stolen car either. The creep of fear rising up her spine solidifies into some sort of bizarre confidence. She was going to die. It was just like the lady said, and she was going to die being true to herself. And what is Kensington Lorelei Braddock if not that same little girl willing to stand up against systemic oppression?
"Jesus fucking shit," Kinsey replies, a little laugh rising with her voice. "Fuck. You really had me you know that you fucking cumwad? I was legit scared of a dirty fucking cop with a stutter for a second." She shouts back at him. "Did you dream this up all by yourself? Because the brain trauma shows, you really shouldn't have showed your hand until you had me surrounded." Kinsey smirks into the headlights as her fingers touch the key still in the ignition. "RUN KID!" She shouts as the engine starts, she guns the throttle and the bike takes off forward with Kinsey's feet braced at the sides. She keeps the bike on track for as long as she needs to before diving to the side and letting it spin forward at the man with the cane.
Kinsey rolls 1 Success to Ghost Ride the motorcycle.
It's not often that someone gets to feel the kind of relief Kinsey now does down here in Leonidas. This place is one of the neighborhoods the smarter locals avoid. For a reason. Things typically end in body bags an unsolved cold cases around here. It's the laugh she gives that sets Irvin off like a firecracker.
He visibly trembles with outrage as his stuttering threats shout into the dark, mile long stretch of forgotten industrial park. "NO! Y-y-you don't get to fucking laugh! This is my LIFE you r-r-ruined! I waited until today! Today, t-t-the anniversary of you des-des..." Irvin, choking on his own outrage grips the fender of the sedan he's standing next to so he can point his cane menacingly. "I'll show you b-b-brain trauma! Get her, you idiots!"
The street bike screams in its red line rev before Kinsey releases the brakes. Lurching up onto one wheel, the motorcycle barrels down the middle of the street at Irvin. Kinsey jumping free just in time for the bike to careen wildly at the infuriated ginger mastermind.
It's anarchy now. Plans fall to the wayside when Prosper's motorcycle connects with the man between the two sedans. Metal and man alike shriek with the frame twisting impact, pinning Irvin to the cars right front wheel well. The Korean car thief stumblingly gets to his feet as the two goons charge Kinsey. Knife and tire iron. Tattoos and cheap booze. Local thugs with no morals an too many debts.
Alabama is huffing down a cigarette at the exact moment Kinsey jams out the door all in a panic. "What? What is going on? Kinsey, are you okay? Do you need help?" But Kinsey offers no response, she just heads out to get on a... bike? Bam wonders if Kinsey can even ride a bike... the burnout and subesquent erratic driving says... maybe? But the little ghoul is still quite worried about Kinsey, so she pops in her own dilapidated truck and speeds off after the girl, just to come up on quite a mess and finally Kinsey trying to run someone over. "What the living fuck is she doing?" Bam slams on her own breaks and jumps out with the intent of finding where Kinsey bailed off and making sure she is okay. Alabama ignores the people, at least for now.
With much better physics than any video game she's played Kinsey stuck that landing, rolling off to the side as the bike goes flying. If it weren't for the headlights she was sure she'd be able to see spittle flying from his mouth as he stuttered and screeched. The figure running up behind her finds Kinsey rolling to her feet and reaching for the ball bat she has tucked down her back. Kinsey's eyes connect with Bam moments before she would've started swinging, prompting her to halt for a moment. "Bam? The fuck are you doing here?! You're gonna get yourself killed!" she shouts. "Go home! I have to do this!" Kinsey rolls her wrist to swing that bat around with a flourish of fucking style while lifting it into both hands and turning on the advancing, presumably, dirty cops. "You know," Kinsey shouts, intent on keeping them riled up and perhaps angry to think rationally. "Your wife was probably already thinking of leaving you. I just gave her the opening she needed to trade up in the world!"
Kinsey deals 1 Bashing to Knife Goon.
Alabama deals 2 Bashing to Tire Iron Goon.
Kinsey is far too distracted by Bam's arrival and the two men rushing at her to take notice of the man sneaking off to the roof. Bat in hand Kinsey met the one on her left head on, ducking low in a slide on the pavement and swinging the bat at his right knee as she rushes past.
"I'm not going home Kinsey! What the fuck is going on?" She's yelling at Kinsey even as the skater girl is putting the moves on one of the guys. So What's left to do? She jumps in, landing a pretty good connect on one of the guys that seemed hell bent on getting to Kinsey.
This isn't the first time Leonidas has seen violence in the streets and it won't be the last. Two local hire strong men squaring of of against two much smaller women in the middle of an abandoned industrial park? A twist on an old classic, maybe? The twist being that the two goons are unexpectedly outclassed. Kinsey's bat kisses the inside of one mans knee, hobbling him as he swings in with the blade and misses wildly as he cries out in surprise.
Alabama jumping into the fray, one of the thugs turns his attention on her after taking a right hand to the jaw. Shaking the stars from his eyes, he grunts and changes his grip before missing Bam by a far sight.
The screaming started just after Kinsey let go of that motorcycle. Irvin, unable to move in time, was trapped between the wrecked sport bike and the wheel well of that black sedan. Crippled and crushed, it's an injury no man walks away from. Ever. Blood and transmission fluid mingle in a burning hot pool as the mangled, would be revenge artist screams incoherently for Kinsey's death. He needs it. He can't die without settling that debt and as he bleeds and screams, it looks like he just might.
Roofside, the man who lost a partner to Kinsey's electric guitar three years ago, levels his rifle upon the back of a young skater punk fighting for her life. Eyes narrowed and finger hovering on the trigger as he steadies his breath for what he now has to do.
All the while, a seemingly forgotten young car thief with his wrists bound in zip ties, sees all this and... runs. Oh, boy does that kid run! Huffing and puffing, wheezing past the pain of cracked ribs as he makes his bid for escape. The gunman up top? He could care less tor that target...
Alabama deals 3 Bashing to Tire Iron Goon.
Knife Goon deals 1 Lethal to Kinsey.
Tire Iron Goon deals 1 Bashing to Alabama.
Kinsey's feet scrabble against broken glass and other detritus on the pavement as she gets to her feet following that slide. Alabama's question isn't forgotten, though Kinsey is definitely trying to figure out what the short version of the story would be. "Shitty cops turned dirty cops. I hit the stuttering one in the head a few years ago with my guitar when he tried to arrest me. They said they took my kid brother and I had to meet 'em here." Kinsey draws in a breath, still oblivious to the sniper, as she closes the gap between her and the thug with a knife. "Was some poor Asian kid though because they're PIECES OF SHIT!" Kinsey shouts in anger as she drives her fist toward his kidney.
Alabama interrupts Kinsey's story with a glance up. She notices the glint of something up above and starts yelling at Kinsey. "They want a piece of you? They're about to get it! Up on the rooftop, Kinsey! RUN!!!" And just after pointing in that general direction, Bam feels that guy coming at her and landing a little slug. OOOF. It's just enough to really piss her off though and she turns back and just clocks the dude will pretty much all she has got.
Blood and burning plastic. It's the smell of wreckage and carnage. This was not the way Irvin wanted any of this to pan out. He can barely see the brawl over the increasingly heated gas tank of the street bike as flames licked beneath the plastic body kit of the bike. "KILL HER! Kill HERRRR!" He screamed in blood choked outrage. His screams turning to gasps as punctured lung fills bit by bit.
The knife thug, focused on the scrappy little punk throwing bats and punches, slices that blade in with a flash of steel. Knife edge scoring Kinsey's upper arm as she just barely misses a swing at the thickly built mans kidney.
Tire Iron, however, has another problem entirely. Taking a stunning blow to the jaw, he stumbles back a step. Blinks dully and snarls before swinging that tire iron downward. Clipping Alabama in the process with forged steel.
"Shit." James Turbull mutters stop the roof. Alabama pointing him out, the man grits his teeth and shifts weight. He was just here to make sure Irvin got his. It looks like he finally has but not how either man envisioned. Crosshairs steady on that spot between Kinsey's shoulder blades as he exhales slooooow to let the world come into focus through the scope. Steady goes it, Jimmy.
Kinsey deals 2 Bashing to Knife Goon.
Sharp Shooter deals 7 Lethal to Kinsey.
The slice of a knife across her bicep comes as Alabama points out the shooter on the roof. She had to hand it to Officer Gates, the former cop wasn't taking any chances in getting his revenge over the teenager who'd planted her electric guitar over his head in her own bid for revenge three years prior. There's a sense of calm inside Kinsey, though. She knows how it ends, she just doesn't want Alabama to get caught in the crossfire. Her left hand grasps the wound that cut deep into her right bicep making swinging the bat difficult at the moment. Instead Kinsey twists and puts all of her force behind her foot as she aims a kick at the knife-wielding thug's solar plexus with the intent of taking the wind out of him. She doesn't even hear the shot ...
There's this moment of calm, they say, before you pull the trigger and end a life. Where everything comes brightly into focus. A breath in. Never hold it, let it out slow as you squeeze the trigger... James 'Jimmy' Turnbull, SWAT sniper by trade and dirty cop by deed, watches through the crosshairs as Kinsey tried to take control of her fate once and for all. Fate had other plans.
Her heel connects to the mans chest, driving the air from his lungs and sending the man tumbling back into the bumper of the un-wrecked sedan. Him and his cohort both freezing in their tracks when the shot rings out. Everybody does. The world goes silent, everything stands still... everything but the round punching Kinsey between the shoulder blades with the force of a head on car wreck pinpointed to one tiny spot. It's a red ruin, splattering a fine mist across her attackers stunned face. Both men stare stunned... what else can you do?
Alabama watches in absolute horror as her friend is hit and falls to the floor. "No! No, no no!" She starts to come unglued as what has just happened starts to register more and more in her mind. "Kinsey??! NOOOO!" She drops down to roll Kinsey over and realises, there is no chance she can revive her. There is practically nothing left of her torso. But she grabs her phone anyway from her back pocket and calls 9-1-1. Masq breach? No way! She's mortal and since Bam can't save her, maybe someone else can? Except... the damage is done. It's not fixable. She's almost positive. STill... a call happens. 9-1-1 and Bam drags her body under cover of near by structure, just in case.
It doesn't hurt. That's the strange thing to her. There's no pain, just an overload of warmth as the bullet passes through the center of her chest and rips delicate lung tissue like tissue paper. The mist of blood can be felt on her face as she drops to her knees and slumps forward on the filthy pavement, a hole torn through the center of the head on her black smiley face t-shirt. Alabama's scream sounds distant and Kinsey is barely aware of the world as she's rolled onto her back, blood gushing into her lung and out the hole in her chest with every rapid beat of her weakening heart. So much blood.
Kinsey quickly begins to grow pale as her body slips along a steady, rapid decline into hypovolemic shock. Kinsey stares up at the sky as it trends closer toward night. A little girlish chuckle rises above the gurgle as a freaked out Alabama calls 911. "..go home.. okay? Before.." Kinsey vaguely reaches for Alabama, either trying to push the phone away from her hands or get her to look her way. There's a wet sucking sound as she tries to breath, a morbid gurgle in her throat. "..Two're cops.. they'll try .. to pin it on you.. if you care about me at all, get t'fuck out of here.." Kinsey, losing her grip on lucidity, starts to laugh. If Gates was still alive? He was damned sure going to hear her laughing on her way out. The sound high, absurdly happy and wet. "..protect.. and fucking serve.. my fucking ass.."
Perhaps the only peace found in that space between a trigger pull and the punch of lead isn't had by the shooter. James Turnbull doesn't feel it. He doesn't get a sense of accomplishment. Nor one of closure. He gets the cold, gut wrenching sensation of loss. As he ducks down from the edge of the roof, there's a second when he considers turning the gun on himself. He instead chooses escape. Alabama's scream snaps the shooter from his moral turmoil. Jimmy takes his leave. Quiet. Careful. Gone.
The peace found here isn't picked up by the hired thugs. One holding two of his own teeth in a fist, the other painted red with Kinsey's blood. Both men panic, scramble and go for the second parked sedan. Irvin is long dead, fire licking the fender and hood of the ruined car and motorcycle. They jump in the non-engulfed car and back out with a screech of tires while Alabama tries desperately to drag her friend to cover.
Kinsey finds that tranquility in an odd moment of acceptance. She was the only one that believed it was coming. As indicated but at a ghastly cost. A hole the size of a softball in her chest, blood thickly coating asphalt as she's dragged behind the cover of Alabama's truck. The call to emergency services gets the sirens howling in the distance as Kinsey looks up with darkening vision to a frantic Alabama. Even in the face of death, her attitude remains as staunchly rebellious as ever. The lights from the sedan feet of them, the car racing off into the dark of Leonidas. Leaving just Kinsey. Alabama. Carnage and the smell of burning rubber and plastic.
Alabama is totally confused. Why? Why did this happen and who did it and what is she suppose to do?!!? Kinsey seems out of words at this point and Alabama notes she told her to GTFO. The cops/ambulance have been called and there really isn't more for Bam to do here. If she's going to get framed, then she's going to get framed -- nothing she can do about that now but run. Alabama kisses Kinsey now. "I love you Kinsey. I'm so sorry! Fight hard, okay? Fight just as hard as you can." And then she's gone, using celerity because fuck these assholes and a masq breach. They can all bite her. Seriously. She just leaves.
Any words that Kinsey tries to say in response are nothing but the wet gasps of a dying girl. Perhaps she's vaguely aware of Alabama kissing her forehead and telling her that she loves her. The last hints of laughter meld into the horrific gurgling that comes with her agonal breathing. Slow. Slower. She doesn't even hear the sirens in the distance or know that Alabama has left. Kinsey can only feel warmth, this odd blanket slipping around her and drawing tighter as her pulse slows.
The flash of lights are dull in her eyes as they stare up focused on nothing except perhaps the sight of two friends, ears hearing breathless squeals of joy while riding a horse to freedom, the warmth coming in the form of cuddling on sweet grass and the taste of spaghetti-with-an-aaaaise and the fierce kisses and possessive tugs of the one she loved most. If it was true that you saw such things when you died then it certainly explains the smile on the young girl's pale face as her heart makes its final, weak attempt at holding onto life. There was nothing left to pump, though, or at least not enough for there to be any benefit. Her last breath is a gurgled wheeze, not even audible above the sounds of approaching vehicles.
oO( Kinsey takes 7 Aggravated )Oo........................................o
Initial Health: [*][X][X][X][X][X][X][X] - 8 of 8
Final Health: [*][*][*][*][*][*][*][*] - 8 of 8
Kinsey takes ungodly aggravated and is now critically mangled.
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