Night Of The Wolf – Part 15

The underground chambers of the Dalishkova temple in Helias were dark and cold as death. Hewn from limestone and dolomite rock that had formed a cave system centuries ago, the early followers of the Salt God had built their first temple of refuge here. In more recent years, it served as a training ground for the initiation of Knights. And while most initiates were given a map of the area for mock combat exercises, other chambers were either off limits or not listed. The Resurrection Pool was one such chamber. Sealed off since the First Revival movement over two millennia ago, it had recently come back into use by the rogue sect of Dalishkova known as the Cult of Archaides.

Blind Ricard knelt by the pool, swaying his hand to and fro through the white organic matter his trusted helpers had poured from an assortment of ceramic jugs earlier that morning. Still a bit shallow and not quite lukewarm enough for his preference, though it would certainly do. When frigid, the substance created a chemical reaction with limestone, causing a heating effect that took an entire day to dissipate to proper levels for the task to which he was entrusted. Known to authorities as The Sculptor, Ricard had been broken out of his solitary prison on Alabaster Bay and hired by Marco Corcini for his ability to resurrect the dead across frequencies. With the rise of Archaides, it seemed that he, too, was given a second lease on life.

But Ricard was old, eighty years by Earth standards, and he knew his time would come soon enough. The order he descended from was all but wiped out during the purity purge of the Second Revival, and their secrets had gone with them. He was the last of his kind, blinded by intention once it was discovered that he possessed the gift of visualization as a child. It had been fifty years since he’d knelt at this very pool. To feel the healing power of the substance cascading through his arthritic hands again was nothing short of a miracle, and not one he took for granted—he’d been lucky enough to be imprisoned before the law required the hands of all remaining Sculptors to be broken or amputated. Still, he hated being out of practice for so long. This would take some work.

“Has it all come back to you?” a deep voice echoed from the chamber entrance. Marco.

“The voices of the dead do not speak with much clarity, I’m afraid,” Ricard replied. “But I can hear them beginning to whisper from the cracks of time in which they dwell,” he shivered. “Yes…the stream is getting louder as the flesh cools. So many souls, crying out for release.” His heart began to pound with an excitement he’d not felt in decades as the liquid swelled at his touch.

“I imagine this must be quite a treat for you.”

“Indeed. If I were to be granted a dying wish, this would have been it. I never thought I would live to see the rise of so similar a power again on this island. But knowing that I may serve you is quite enough of an honor.”

“And you know the one whom I seek.”

Ricard hesitated. “It will come with some difficulty, but I believe it can be done, as with all things in time. It is no fair irony that those who have been departed for much longer hold a more solid place on their respective frequency. Younger souls are difficult, their nature more erratic, prone to scattering. But one way or another, people find themselves.”

“Enverniam is not a difficult place to reach.”

“For a trained Dalishkova Knight speaking to other departed Dalishkova, of course not,” Ricard explained. “Making contact is fairly easy, provided you know what you are doing. Bringing a non-anointed soul back, however…that is another matter entirely.”

Another pair of footsteps entered the chamber from the entrance, lighter than those of Corcini. Ricard drew his blind gaze away from the pool. From the presence of warmth in the air, he detected it was a female, dark-skinned and desperate. Ermina. The level of salt excreted from her pores signified she had rushed to arrive here. Her breath, which she attempted to disguise, also gave off an aura of intense worry, perhaps rightly so; Marco did not tolerate tardiness.

“You were supposed to meet me an hour ago,” the man said, his tone cold.

“The subways in Cavarice were backed up, and traffic-”

“No excuses, plan better,” he cut her off. “You said you met with the German girl.”

“I did…what are you doing down here, anyway?”

“None of your concern.”

“Of course…I know it is not my place to question.”

“You gave her the amulet?” Marco ignored her.

“Yes.”

“And yet we’ve detected no incoming reception from it. Why is that?”

Ermina sighed. “I observed her a while before we spoke. In those few minutes, I managed to pick up a variant shift in the electrical pulses coursing through her body, like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Humans here generate an energy signature comparable to those on the Earth plane, but…this was different. Stronger. A lot stronger…” she paused.

“Go on.”

“As if it could power several city blocks alone. She could easily have destroyed the amulet the moment it touched her palm.”

“And knowing this, you still allowed her to take it.”

“It was just a theory-”

“And you returned to Helias. Had you informed me of this prior, I would have kept you in Cavarice for reconnaissance. She’s the only one who can lead us to Tesla.”

“Not the only—ack!” The woman struggled as Marco began to choke her. “Please…”

“I do not intend to move on Constance yet. This is sensitive information for which I will not tolerate carelessness. You are well aware of the protocol we all must follow. Helias will not fall to the dogs again!” he spat, turning to Ricard. “Are you picking up anything yet? The life waning from her pathetic body, perhaps? After all, we can always sculpt her a new one!”

Ricard sighed. “All due respect sir, I’m beginning to lose focus.” It wasn’t true, of course. Ermina was not even half dead, and Marco had only done this to get a rise out of the man. It was his way of telling him to work faster. But the aging sculptor was not about to reveal the true extent of his perceptive powers in case this regime, too, were to one day meet its demise. Marco huffed and let go of the woman, who coughed and slumped to the floor gasping for breath. Ricard turned his attention back to the pool, where the organic matter now formed more favorable clumps between his fingers. So much more to work with, he smiled.

“You will return to Cavarice at once and await my instructions,” Corcini spoke to the woman.

“Yes sir.” Ermina continued coughing as she exited the chamber, her footsteps fading up the stone stairwell and back to the surface. There, she would emerge from a secret passageway that ended several blocks east beneath the ruins of an ancient guard tower. Ricard’s ancestors were once stationed there. And while this seemed a random thought at first, the old man knew everything was connected throughout the realms to serve a purpose. If he began by calling forth the most ancient souls first, it was inevitable that they would lead him to the more recently departed.

“Forgive me for that display of cruelty,” Marco said. “I imagine you’ve suffered enough in your lifetime.”

“Silence please, if you may,” Ricard replied. “A face is forming.”

The old man dipped both hands into the pool now, carefully tracing an assortment of shapes as they came into focus in his mind’s eye. If he did not take his time, it was possible to ruin the sculpture and lose the more important details. The organic matter would form itself into a body without a face. Then, that soulless entity would escape and wreak havoc across the frequencies. Lord knew the Dalishkova didn’t need another Flesh War on their hands.

The molding was a struggle to keep up with for a man of Ricard’s age. The images often passed through his mind much quicker than his frail hands could keep up with, though he quietly recited the Twelve Pillars, which allowed him to stay focused. The entire history of Helias came rushing through his fingertips and coursed through his veins now—the earliest Greek settlers who’d gotten lost at sea and stumbled upon the isle after kidnapping the Oracle Helene, their defeat of the Reapers with her help, the founding of the Dalishkova religion under her name and the gracious Salt God who had saved them. The First Revival, in which older Greek gods came back into favor among the youth, prompting a major reformation of the Dalishkova religion, and then the Second, which purged such ideas. The return of the Reapers and subsequent arrival of Charles DuPont, who proved a nuisance until he made a deal to rid Viktorium of the creatures in exchange for his permission to remain. The building of the Cavarice wall, his departure, and then the recent attacks…all told through the eyes of the false flesh. You fool.

“Ah, there you are,” the man smiled. “Yes…you’ve been through quite a bit of pain, haven’t you, my boy? So much pain and anger. But not to worry,” he whispered, stroking the outline of a child’s face that had formed in his tender hands. “You will return soon enough from Enverniam and have a new home here in Helias. We will take great care of you…Quentin Vaugrenard.”

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Ghost Frequency & Stabilization: A Brief History of Viktorium (Part III of V)

by Benoît Laurent

“I have searched during many years for some process or means to test the possibility of future existence by scientific experiment, and I have devised one, which, to my great disappointment, has failed. But perhaps some more skillful experimenter might succeed if I suggest to him the course…” – Nikola Tesla

 CONQUEST. It is perhaps an unfortunate fundamental truth of modern society that no great nation could ever hope to exist without it. Throughout the darker historical periods of our planet, such battles have often been waged without mercy or regard for innocent life. In the Modern Age of course, most civilized countries have done away with senseless barbarism. Perhaps that is only because we have forgotten what is necessary to found a country.

Long before Viktorium existed as we know it today, there were certain ‘anomalies’—for lack of a better term—which had to be cleared before habitation could commence. These anomalies are generally benign today, though still present throughout the world to varying degrees. It has been theorized that we may never truly be rid of them, though the number of such occurrences which pose a genuine threat is far fewer than it once was. It seems to dwindle with each passing year—major events are thankfully rare. But just what are these anomalies, exactly?

No one quite knows. Most of us call them ghosts, though that is an oversimplification. It is also an affront to our fundamental understanding of how Viktorium itself functions. Many new arrivals often stop me in the street to ask what all the fuss is about when they first catch sight of the Dispatchers making their rounds, patrolling the city walls or rushing through the marketplace in pursuit of some invisible entity. I must confess that most of the time, I am guilty of using the word ‘ghosts’ myself to describe what they are chasing after. Of course the arrivals balk at this answer. It is never good enough. There must be a more logical reason why these young men are leaping over rooftops and shoving citizens out of the way like rag dolls. At this point, I resolve to give them the long version I had hoped to avoid.

It is the same reason why paranormal investigators and ghost hunters document such phenomena on the Earth plane; something has crossed over into our realm on a separate frequency that should not be here. From a purely scientific standpoint, we now know that everything is made up of variable frequencies stacked on top of one another to form the basic fabric of reality as we perceive it. Earth’s reality, for instance, is one frequency. Viktorium is just a step above, where particles of matter vibrate at a much higher rate so as to escape the pull of visible light on the other side. And yet while neither of us can see each other, we both exist on the same planet.

Problems arise when those particles become shuffled about through specific circumstances. It is theorized that a particularly grisly death, for instance, has the potential to shatter the soul to the farthest imperceptible frequencies—grisly deaths, perhaps like those which occurred in Bezonvaux at First Crossover. Left to their own devices, these parts and pieces of the human soul then coalesce into bonds and seek out their own, drawn together by mutual emotional energy such as rage or fear. They often appear as disparate voices, cloaked distortions casting impossible shadows, abrupt changes in temperature or gravity.

On the Earth plane, they cause the phenomenon known as a ‘haunting’. In Viktorium, they have the potential to do far greater damage, up to and including complete destabilization of our reality. Fortunately, the great Charles DuPont envisioned a solution for this. Enter the Dispatchers!

The Conspiracy

Warned by Tesla that that the anomalies could pose such a threat, Charles wasted no time reverse-engineering his current machine for travel to Viktorium into something more sinister. A series of wrist-mounted prototypes were constructed not for the purpose of travel, but for ablation. His goal was simple—cut out the cancer. No one wants to live, much less vacation, in a haunted house. Especially not a house possibly haunted by the souls of those who died during First Crossover in the famous Viktoria I disaster. Of course it is quite possible that other habitable frequencies exist higher than ours, though we know of no way to travel there and even so, Charles himself was not willing to dream that big. Stabilization would be far too great a task to accomplish on his own, and it was enough to reinforce Viktorium.

To this end, he enlisted a team of several trusted men and their sons—physicists, electrical engineers, and hunters, all of whom were thoroughly screened. In addition to these, DuPont also appointed a rather curious Afro-German man by the name of Karl Richter, a seismologist who claimed the ability to track phenomena using gravitational waves. With their combined knowledge, the culling soon began. But this, too, was to be a disaster from the outset. A crucial element was missing from Charles’ equations. Something he had forgotten from his first foray into this land, and which he would later put to use in his improved machines.

A delicate balance in electromagnetic resonance must be maintained for any life to remain within reach of Viktorium’s frequency. It is known as the Law of Trade. We must consistently import a certain range of dense matter equal to or greater than what is dispatched. Nowadays, this is no longer a problem. Plenty of people arrive here every day, and so less phenomena poses a justifiable threat to warrant removal.

In the beginning however, it was a major concern. Bodies were needed for the gateway to remain open, and lots of them. Every action taken to open the door requires an equal countermeasure for stability. It is no secret at this point that Charles obtained numerous cadavers for this purpose as a temporary fix whilst he perfected his sales pitch to con rural French citizens into his colonization efforts. There is much debate on exactly where he obtained the corpses; he claimed they were donated by science, but of course this has never been verified.

Even more puzzling is the fact that in the months both before and following the First Crossover incident, thirteen males in the surrounding towns of Garronville, Ornes, and Douamont went missing. Rumors began to circulate of a murderer on the loose. At least four women from Garronville were admitted to a psychiatric hospital within a week of each other after suffering a fit of hysterics, claiming a ghostly apparition had snatched several of their relatives out of thin air. Viktorium, it seemed, was not as stable as DuPont had previously thought.

In order to understand the nature of what occurred in this conspiratorial conquest, one must first become acquainted with the term ‘dispatching’ as it applies to anomalies. Charles knew from the beginning that any loss of life was an unacceptable compromise. Eradicating the anomalies outright would throw off the resonant frequency of our world, leading to a massive collapse. By the same token, he didn’t wish to find out what might happen if a living person were to die here, either. It was out of this reasoning that the Dispatchers squads were conceived. For all intents and purposes, they would serve as policemen, keeping citizens in check whilst properly disposing of anomalies.

The wrist-mounted phase units they wear—which at first glance appear intimidating—are intended to fire variable electromagnetic pulses that break apart and scatter clusters of these anomalies, dispatching them to different frequencies where they can no longer cause any harm to our citizens. This is typically done in teams of three; one will fire a unit that discharges infrasound, drawing the anomaly into visible light. Another fires a torch to ensure it remains visible long enough for the third to discharge his pulse array and scatter the apparition, dispatching it into the dark unknown. Unfortunately, an unstable Viktorium combined with overzealous dispatching had the unintended consequence of reaching back to Earth’s frequency. Living people had become victims of the Dispatchers because no one could see what was happening on the other side. To everyday citizens, fireballs appeared out of nowhere and set their towns ablaze. Lightning bolts zapped their relatives into oblivion, or infrasound drew them into a panic.

Fortunately for Charles and his team, another unintended consequence occurred. Viktorium suddenly began to stabilize on its own. It was soon discovered that contrary to what he had previously thought, those who went missing on Earth’s frequency were not lost, as had happened with the Viktoria I—these people instead materialized in the outer reaches of our world, fully alive and with measurable vital signs. I wish I could say that our bold first leader only used this information to improve his ghost machines to facilitate travel. He did, of course. But given his prior record of egotistical decisions made at the expense of others, it is unlikely DuPont stopped there. Those times were desperate, and desperate times as we all know often call for the most unorthodox methods. Yet that is where the paper trail ends.

Various theories have been put forth as to why some people in Viktorium seem to age whilst others do not. These theories range anywhere from the highly plausible—that DuPont was not above kidnapping people, faking their deaths, and granting them a new identity—to the most absurd—that the apparitions, knowing their place of residence is threatened, prey upon the living energy of human hosts. If the latter was true of course, citizens would be dropping dead in the street every hour.

I do find it suspicious, however, that the Dispatchers and those close to them up until now have always seemed to age. This fact has never changed, despite concern among some of our more progressive politicians that DuPont may one day be able to use this to his advantage and plot his return. Following his exile to a range of higher frequencies, new contracts were drafted for every Dispatcher squad. These contracts are, oddly enough, so confidential to the point that they were destroyed after one viewing; the only person with remaining copies in their possession is our governor. In addition to this, I also find it suspicious that the old courthouse which sits at 1500 Rue La Monte in the Barreau district has not yet been demolished. It is unknown if all remaining records were in fact confiscated from its halls following DuPont’s exile.

Taking all of this into account, I would encourage both my fellow citizens as well as our new arrivals to remain wary at all times. Things in Viktorium have never been quite what they seem on the surface. If you are reading this paper on the street right now, please do me this honor. I would like for you to avert your eyes a moment and look above you this very second. Look, high above, to where the city meets the clouds. Can you see it? Our tall, sleek skyscrapers inspired by Roman architecture. The grand scope of a white and silver horizon, the Metropoliès at the very center, squeaky clean and shining and full of so much promise.

Now look back to the ground on which you stand. Look back, at the rust-ridden, condemned sectors of our city. The Barreau block, the polluted waterfront that once sparkled so crystal clear, the parks in a horrid state of overgrowth and decay. Look at the orphaned children on the street with sad, sunken eyes. Look at their distended stomachs, their dirtied hands, those which perhaps sold you this very newspaper you are reading right now. And look also to the jobless, the old man begging on the corner in the same sector, or even a recently evicted adult who was once promised an education of the highest standard.

These people are all your brothers and sisters! Do they not deserve the same equal treatment, the same chance as the rest of you? At least their desperation is honest and comes from a place of necessity. And yet this greedy lie which continues to be perpetuated by our current political lineup is permitted to continue. It is permitted because you, the average citizen, refuses to vote otherwise! I tell you, friends, you live in such blissful, ignorant opulence! If you have read these articles, if you can grasp the depth of what I am saying, I must encourage you to do some research and investigate further.

Go downtown to the Barreau district sometime. Visit the old waterfront, survey the empty parks filled with garbage. Learn of our history. For if you do not, you ignore it at your own peril.

Thanks again for reading, folks! I apologize for the late issue, but further research was necessary in the writing of this article. If you are enjoying this series on our history, please don’t forget to follow me here, as well as DuPont Steamworks and our Director of Viktorium-France Transit for all the latest updates!

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Prelude: A Brief History of Viktorium (Part I of V)

by Benoît Laurent

IT BEGAN WITH THE DREAM of a young boy, as all things must. An innocent childhood fancy imbued with the spark of imagination. Throughout the course of his life, this spark would be heavily nurtured. His parents indulged him, this boy, as most born to affluence would—with immediate response to every demand and a condescending attitude toward his peers. This of course would leave him unprepared for the devastation that was to follow in his personal life as he dealt with its natural lessons such as death, betrayal, and above all, failure. ‘But what if one did not have to learn such things?’ he thought. This question, more than any other, became the primary driving force behind his life pursuits as he reached the age of adulthood.

Thus, the unchecked spark of indulgence was permitted to grow unto its logical conclusion; a dream so grandiose and decadent, its creator would soon realize there was no room left for it in the real world. And once he discovered Viktorium, that was it. The only reason this man ever needed, as it provided an excuse for everything from his narcissistic behavior to his mad scientist tendencies. The fact that it was a literal escape from the real world was perhaps the icing on the cake. ‘Ah, so one does not have to die after all! How might I exploit this?’

Have you all eaten your fill yet?

The man I am referring to of course is Charles DuPont, ‘First King of Viktorium’ as he no doubt likes to be known. By no coincidence, today so happens to be his birthday. I for one certainly hope he is enjoying it where he belongs—in exile!

Unfortunately for Viktorium—and in particular, our fine capital of Cavarice as it stands today—exile was not quite enough to repair the damage that was already done from fifteen long years of his leadership. We still have our share of problems to clean up, and that’s exactly where we lack guidance. Who is responsible enough to lead us into the next era as a Futuristic society? Mayor La Cour and the Republican Council certainly aren’t cutting it. The fact that everyone on both sides of the political sphere fancies themselves the next supreme is not the least of such concerns; they ousted DuPont with no clear backup plan in mind, yet they refuse to take responsibility for the ensuing mess unless it furthers their own agenda.

And that is the very crux of the issue. Our current politicians in power were among the first to arrive here. No one in their rational, living, thinking intelligent minds could ever have conceived of the idea of having major responsibilities in the afterlife. Indeed how could they, when the very man who founded this place was just as irresponsible and naïve as they, so much so to have marketed it as a vacation destination? After all, death is the great respite. If you wish to escape death, you must take responsibility for the technological power that permits you to do so. But as is death, so is life! In Viktorium, you must work to earn your fill.

And to that end, I feel I must issue a sincere apology to all new arrivals. Many of you were duped into believing this to be a vacation destination, whilst those of you who came long after perhaps thought you were entering Heaven. Even the criminals recently executed that arrive here are those whom you must now consider your brothers, a rather Marxist law which has been upheld with disastrous results. Article IV of the Constitution of Cavarice which states “No arriving citizens shall be judged for Earth crimes” was the worst of DuPont’s edicts left over as a relic of his former cabinet. But not to worry, you’ve got our fine upstanding Dispatcher force for that, another organization that is not without its share of problems, and certainly not free of corruption either. So where did this all start, you ask?

The Man, The Machine, & The Movie Star

FIRST CROSSOVER, 1906. A man enters a poor rural village claiming he has recently developed a very special vacation destination which has yet to be used. All he needs are enough willing families of the general public to test it out for a couple weeks, which he will allow them to do for free. He uses all sorts of scientific words to describe the location, which you wouldn’t listen to anyway because he keeps pointing at his scantily-dressed assistant. All of your attention is focused on her. You trust him not because he smiles, but because the girl smiles. He goes at the men first.

“If you gentleman bring your wives to Viktorium for some much deserved relaxation, I can promise you they won’t soon forget it!” The girl captures your attention with all sorts of flashy poses as he displays a map of the area. “This is the most sophisticated restaurant in town, just off the waterfront. They serve only the best aged wines, delectable dishes of seafood including the finest caviar, and the best chocolate cakes for the lady here, if it so happens to be your wife’s birthday.” He smiles and pats her behind as she caresses her neck and coos in submissive adoration.

Now any intelligent man from the city could see through such a ridiculous act, but the town of Bezonvaux unfortunately had little experience with carnival marketing tactics. They were simply happy to escape their troubled lives through any means necessary. Then again, that is precisely why Charles DuPont had chosen them to test his machine. Also chosen as part of his marketing act was a then twenty-five year old model and actress by the name of Constance Renou, now the Director of Viktorium-France Transit. Charles’ relationship with her, as well as her role in the deception, remains unclear to this day.

What is most clear, however, is what occurred one month later at a date now known as First Crossover. The very mention of it in Viktorium is enough to make one shudder in abject terror, and rightly so. The Viktoria I machine was the biggest technological disaster of our age. Not that Charles cared. He got what he needed most out of the deal in the end—test subjects. Because for all of his credit as a scientist and innovator, DuPont was still the same ruthless, conniving human being he had been as a child. He had to have his way no matter what, and he would go to any means necessary to get it.

On the night of First Crossover, two hundred and thirteen people entered the Viktoria I never to be seen again, either in Viktorium or anywhere else for that matter. According to Charles himself as he stood trial, the crowd formed an orderly line and talked of their excitement. One by one they stepped into the chamber, each accompanied by a green flash that grew ever brighter. The last lit up the entire sky even ten kilometers away. And just like that, the peaceful village of Bezonvaux was gone forever. The following is from DuPont’s court statement before he was exiled:

I tried to stop it. I had noticed earlier that the matter density array was misaligned to a variance of a few degrees. At first, I thought it was within acceptable limits. When they began entering, everything seemed fine. But the flashes got brighter as time went on, and I realized the phase emitter was failing to compensate as it should have. There was a critical overload and I couldn’t be sure the rest would materialize on the other side.

After the first fifty people, I told them we had to stop. But they kept pressuring me to continue firing the switch. ‘You promised us!’ they said. I had never seen a crowd of farmers so upset and angry. Some of them were carrying pistols, others rifles. I was certain more were carrying knives. Despite the fact I had my own pistol, I was outnumbered.

Viktorium was no assurance for me either. I knew if I died, I would come here and the ones who had crossed might make further attempts on my life. We’re still not yet certain what happens if you are killed in Viktorium. Where would I go? But I thought they might have gotten through. How is this all my fault again? Surely they must be alive somewhere! We just have to keep looking.

But of course nobody wanted to look, and they won’t bother. There is far too much power at stake. The fact that Charles’ machine was an eventual success is all that matters to Viktorium’s current politicians now. They just needed the right scapegoat to exile him, because even that was difficult enough. He is a most intelligent man, but I digress. The machine must keep running at all costs, even if it should send us to the Reapers!

That was Charles DuPont’s philosophy, and it is that of our current Parliament. So does it not seem strange to you that the parts are still defective, even if the body has changed? Are we truly expecting a different outcome in this world, and will we also expect one in the next, so long as the same tired cranks are still in power? Of course not! These little power plays they make every damned election year are blatant misdirection, folks! The corporate wheels are still turning, and this is the very essence of The Man, The Machine, and The Movie Star.

Because while The Man hides in a magic box somewhere no doubt holding the secret to his miraculous return in his bloody hands, The Movie Star is still here to draw our attention, operating The Machine to the horrid detriment of our society.

God Save Viktorium! God Save Us All!

Thank you all for reading and please stay tuned for Part II in my series of Viktorium’s history in two weeks! Also be sure to follow my Twitter account here, as well as the Director of Viktorium-France Transit.

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