Howard's 11: Triple Play

February 1, 2015: SHIELD agents try to get some information out of the three lowlifes they apprehended in New Jersey.

The Triskelion



  • Virgil
  • Cass Wren
  • Jonathan Rossi

Mood Music:

One, two, three lowlifes all in a row. Each is secured to a chair in an interrogation room.

Rossi keeps looking around with eyes wide as saucers, trying desperately to scratch at himself. He's sweating bullets and shaking perceptibly.

Wren sits, her shoulders forward, wrists clasped in irons, a sour look on her face. Without her jacket, the dull metal melded to flesh is all the more evidence. She's sporting a wicked shiner, courtesy of Captain America. Her knuckles are bloodied and calloused.

Virgil reclines in his chair, feet kicked out, formerly slicked hair now dishevelled in a roguish way. He looks self-satisfied, smug, and relaxed.

Background checks on the three captives came up with varying degrees of information.

Jonathan Rossi, a member of a New Jersey gang known for chopping up cars and lifting stereos. He's a street thug, and not a particularly high level one at that. He was actually a police informant once upon a time.

Cassidy Mallory Wren, former US Marine turned mercenary after a dishonourable discharge in 2007. She was kicked out for allegedly working the black market while stationed in Morocco. She's been muscle for hire ever since. Curiously, there's no hint of her having any metahuman abilities anywhere in reports, or in various medical tests she had while a member of the military. The metal attached to her body seems to be a recent development.

Virgil…now, Virgil is much more of an enigma. They haven't been able to turn up anything about him yet, other than the obvious. He is Cajun, or else affects a Cajun accent. He's in generally good health, and has some kind of strange chemical compound in his bloodstream that preliminary scans haven't been able to pinpoint. If he has any means of suicide integrated into his body, it's very well-hidden.


Steve Rogers is dressed in full, and bright, red, white, and blue and carries a brown satchel over his shoulder as he makes his way into the interrogation room that holds Rossi. He gives a nod to the shaking man and then sits across the table from him.

"I know you must be very scared right now with everything going on, Mr. Rossi. But I'm here to tell you you've got a way out. You can use the truth as your guide and, ultimately, that's what is going to set you free."

Steve begins digging in his satchel, "My name is Steve Rogers. I was one of the agents who brought you in last night and I work here at SHIELD. I'd like to ask you a few questions, when you're ready."

He produces a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a couple of cans of soda. "Since we don't know each other, I wasn't sure if you were someone who drinks diet. You look like you're in pretty good shape, so maybe a little bit of sugar wouldn't be bad. Have they given you anything to eat, yet? If not, I can get on that right away. Sometimes they can be a bit gruff down in the containment cells. Stay clear of Agent Hughes; he's the mean one. Agent Carson is the one I'd stick close to."


Interrogation rooms, yet another amenity which the Triskelion happens to have a healthy number of. Hill's lucky contestant is the woman with the metal bonded to her skin, which should prove to be interesting. Power-wise, she's outmatched. Hopefully the shackles will hold, though security detail is never far away. The Assistant Director lets Wren sit for a spell before stepping into the room, alone, in her standard black and white uniform with a folder in her hand.

Just how much of the folder's contents are actually related to Wren is impossible to tell, though it sure looks impressive. Full life's story, in the palm of her hand. Deception can be a useful tool.

"I can only imagine what that must have felt like," she starts off while letting the folder flop down onto the metal table between the two. "Armor-plated epidermis. Which, apparently, you hadn't been born with. You tested negative for mutant or meta DNA. Which means you're rocking some pretty impressive aftermarket accessories there."

Here she makes a point of looking quite intently at Wren's clearly bruised face. Metal skin! And she still bruises from a solid punch.

"Nice to see that all of the trouble was worth it. I wonder if it stops bullets as well as it blocks blunt force trauma?"


Natasha looks pretty amused as she sits across from Virgil. She's dressed neatly in her SHIELD uniform, wig off, looking cool and dignified and relaxed and like someone quite confident in her role of judge, jury, and executioner.

She sits with crossed legs and nothing on the table — no files, no folders, nothing. Virgil's own expression is reflected on her own face: smug, confident, comfortable.

"Hi," she says. It's often a good beginning. "How long do you figure you're going to be here?"


Ever seen a very small dog shiver in discomfort and cold after being lifted out of the bath? That's Rossi. He stares at Steve with eyes as big as saucers. He eyes the cigarettes, the pop. He licks lips that have gotten increasingly chapped. "I ain't no snitch." Which sounds like a lie.

Wren stares down Maria. There's something incredibly dangerous in her eyes. As she moves, the cuffs grate against metal-clad wrists. She says nothing.

Virgil's smug look does not evaporate upon seeing Natasha. In fact, he blatantly checks her out as she walks into the room. His eyes are hooded, his lips slightly pursed. "What are you charging me with, exactly?" he drawls. "What evidence do you have that I was doing something criminal? That it wasn't just an alleyway brawl?"


"If you'd prefer it, I also have Fresca. Do you like it? Frankly, I love the stuff. I have it back in my office—we could get someone to get you a can if you like it," Steve says, blatantly ignoring the comment about the snitching for now.

He slides his hand into his case and produces Jonathan Rossi's file, sliding it over to him. "It says here that you are very much a snitch. That you once were an informant for the New York Police Department. Believe it or not I date a gal who works over there. I could call her and ask about your name, but I don't want to have to do that, Jonny. I'd prefer if you just came out and told me everything."

Cap sits back and exhales sadly, "I don't pretend to know a lot about the inner workings of these criminal industries. I'm really kind of a simple man, to be honest. But one thing I do know is that if they were to know about your history of being an informant, then many of your friends would turn into enemies. Jon, I really don't want anyone to get hurt. Least of all, you."


Yeah..Hill isn't surprised to see Wren giving her the silent treatment. She had counted on it, pulling out the other chair so she can settle in at the other end of the table. Arms rest upon the chilly surface, fingers lacing together as she quietly regards the other woman for another moment.

"The Marines didn't work out for you. I get it. Some of those boys can be right assholes. They'll make stupid calls, say and do things where they're just asking for a beatdown. I've done my time there, got the scars."

"Leaving's not the hard part though, is it. It's having a permanent blemish on your record. Years of service and devotion and all it takes is one label to royally screw you over forever. It's no surprise you turned mercenary, I would have if I were in your situation."

"'s our dilemma," Hill continues while looking down to the file and sliding it around front and center before herself. "You caught a bad gig. Not gonna lie to you. You're in a bad situation here, Wren. I'm well within my right to keep you in a cell for a very long time, but I just don't see that it's going to do either of us any good."

Looking back to the metal-infused inmate, Hill puts out the offer. "Tell me what you can about this guy, Virgil. Tell me about how you came to find him and work for him. Give me everything that you know and we'll mark this whole thing up to a moment of bad luck and you can be on your way."


"Oh. I'm sorry. You're laboring under the misapprehension that we're the police. Does this look like a police uniform to you?" Natasha actually laughs a little, her eyes still narrow, still amused. Maybe even a little brighter when she sees him give her the once-and-a-half over.

"I mean, even if street brawls weren't actually assault — which they are — and even if we didn't have evidence of your little exchange attempt — which we do — and even if we didn't have the others from that botched-as-hell transfer in other rooms right now — which we do — you were carrying around, with clear intent to use, a potential WMD. Which means we can keep you here on terrorism charges. How long do you think we can keep you on terrorism charges?"


Rossi swallows and shifts uncomfortably in his seat at the sight of the file. Of course, of course they'd have access to that. Idiot! He curses under his breath and flexes his fingers. "Look, when I did that, they promised me they wouldn't tell nobody. Nobody! That was a promise. You let that get out, ain't nobody gonna snitch for the police ever again. You gotta protect us, you know. You gotta." Shift. Shift.

Wren shifts again and squares her shoulders. "So you're going with the sisterhood angle, are you?" she chuckles roughly and kinks her neck. The sound it makes is half bone, half metal on metal. "Interesting tactic." She arches her eyebrows and tilts her head. "If you really were a Marine, you know that I'm trained to stand up to whatever interrogation techniques you throw at me." But then she listens. She watches Maria, sizing up the other woman as she speaks. "I want all of that in writing. I want it witnessed. I want some kind of guarantee." There is a pause, then, "Here's a freebie. I wasn't working for Virgil. I was just guaranteeing the exchange. On behalf of a third party. Whose identity is not on the table in this deal."

Virgil laughs. It's an arrogant, if oddly musical sound. He claps his cuff-hands together and smiles slyly. "Oh, how fun! A shadow organization. You people are quite delightful. Please. Tell me what you want from me. Perhaps I can even accommodate you." This is when they could use a psychic, to figure out if his confidence is tactic, or if he really does have a way out of here.


"Well," Steve says as his head tilts a little bit towards Rossi, "The problem you have is that I'm not a member of the police. I'm not breaking any promise to you. And despite what you might think, the NYPD didn't exactly want me to have this. They acted in good faith, Jon. The problem is the circumstance, and you're the victim of it. Like I said earlier, the truth is all that will set you free."

Cap sighs sadly once more, "I'm not one who is prone to threats, Mr. Rossi, so understand you're making me rather uncomfortable here. But I'm going to give you one more chance to tell me some things, to tell me the truth. And after that, I'm going to head downstairs and go get Agent Hughes so that he can conduct the interrogation in the ways he is so—" pause "experienced in. And while he's doing that, I'm going to turn off the camera in here. And then I'm going to go call my girlfriend at the NYPD to find out what sorts of people you're afraid of. And then I'm going to make another call."

Cap shrugs his shoulders, "It's time to decide what team you're really on, Rossi. I'm patient, but the world is burning, and I don't have time for this."

Hill continues to give Wren the same level stare. "If that's how you want to think of it. You're certainly no sister of mine."

The sound is ..mildly disturbing. Fortunately, this Director's got an excellent pokerface.

"Oh, I know plenty well. That's why I'm not going to bother wasting our time with that useless bullshit. Time is money, Wren. I'm just trying to level with you, here. Trying to break you isn't a good use of my afternoon."

Hmmh. Setback. "Guaranteeing the exchange for someone -else.- This isn't going to help your situation any, Wren. Now you've told me that there's another player in this game, yet you're refusing to offer me anything else. Do you know what this translates to in writing? It's real simple, though they don't let us bring pens into interrogation rooms for obvious reasons. Want a verbal copy for now?"

"-You're fucked.-"

"You understand how this game works, merc. Nothing comes for free. You give me something that I can use, something that I -want,- then you might get your guarantee. If you've got neither then you're wasting -my- time, I'll get the boys to toss you back into a cell and we'll all call it a day."

Psychics are fun, but confident — overconfident — bastards are even more fun. Watching the confidence crumble is the best part, but that may take some time.

Natasha rolls her eyes and sighs at the comment. She even yawns.

"We could try that. Sure. I'm not going to bother asking what you were buying; Rossi's so close to rolling over it's like watching someone train a puppy. And you know how this works. Whoever gives us what we want fastest wins. That's the suspect who wins, by the way. I really don't mind being last with the news. I don't have the kind of ego that finds that problematic. If we already have what we need, if you can't give us anything, than we really have no reason to be warm and snuggly. Which you know. Though apparently you've never actually been arrested — still running you through Interpol and a few other databases, but I've gotta tell you, time isn't really on your side."

She lifts her chin slightly: "Where'd the Stark tech come from?"


Rossi's eyes widen even more. If they get any wider, they're going to pop right out of his head. He stares at Steve, swallows, bites his lip. "Look, look look. They didn't tell me much of nothin'," possibly because he's a known snitch and a coward. Possibly. "All I know is my uncle calls me in to the shop one day. He says, Jonny, I got a job for you. Go with Wren to the Knucklebone and help Manny make contact with this guy. He says he got a contract from someone to handle a deal. Some kinda fancy old tech that was salvaged a few months back from a blown up lab down by the docks in Jersey. We got some of it, they got some of it, and they want more. Now, this ain't the shit we usually deal in, so I don't know why he's sending me. But this Wren chick, she's scary and she seems to know what she's doing. I'm mostly there to make sure Manny don't double cross us and make sure everything goes smooth." Which is obviously didn't. "I swear to god," he sweaks. "I don't know more than that, man!"

If Wren is at all intimidated by Maria, she doesn't show it. She flares her nostrils and somehow manages to look just a little bit scarier, despite the wicked shiner and the shackles. "Look, I have no loyalties to the other side of this exchange. It broke down. They didn't act according to their deal. I'll sing like a goddamn canary about those Louisiana bastards. I actually worked for them once, so I actually have a good song to sing. But I say word one about my current employers, and I'll be gutted like a fish even if you do let me out." From the way she says it, it sounds like she thinks she'd deserve that fate. She still, it seems, has a sense of honour.

"Rossi? You mean that drug-addled child?" Virgil laughs with the levity of a man having cocktails at a posh reception rather than one shackled to a chair in the heart of the Triskelion. "He doesn't know a damned thing. Not of any consequence. Neither does that abomination of a woman. Oh, they'll give you crumbs. You'll chase your tails. But all that will do is…" he pops his lips, "…lead you in a grand cercle." The last two words are spoken in French.


Steve nods, "Good, Jon. I can work with this." He reaches over towards the can of Coke and snaps it open, taking a sip. "Tell me more about Manny. Who is he? Have you done any jobs with him before? And what's all this tech about? Weaponry? Something else? What about the lab? Who owned it?"


"I'll say," Hill flatly replies regarding the deal breaking down. "Kind of a shame, really. You only had one small part to play and things still went south. Tough break."

One step at a time. Focus on what she's willing to share, and maybe a little bit further. Here she leans back and loosely folds her arms together. "So let's hear how well you can carry a tune. Louisiana bastards and armor implants. Looks like they might have tinkered with your muscles a bit there, too. That's pretty hardcore, Wren. You're looking a little tense though, everything working out as it should?"


Natasha has her head tilted slightly to the side. She's listening to Virgil, but she also has another two conversations going on in her head. It's a bit to keep track of, but she's lucky enough to have the right kind of mind.

"Yeah, I heard the clang when my partner hit her," she muses. "What's going on there, anyway? As far as I can tell, apart from having metal grafted to her skin, she's not physically abnormal. Who does that to themselves?"


"I don't know, man. I don't know," groans Rossi. "Manny's a guy, you know? Brings outside contracts to my uncle every now and then. For people who need a buffer." Or fall guys. Or canon fodder. "Slippery as shit, but his jobs pay." He swallows. "Hey…hey, I'm dying of thirst, here." The big eyes get a little more pathetic looking as he eyes Steve's Coke.

Wren shifts again, the metal-on-metal screeching echoes off even the dead walls of the interrogation chamber. "That's a stupid question. Obviously not quite working out for me." She smiles, but it's a fierce, wild sort of smile. "Ask better questions."

"Who does something like that?" Virgil echoes with a shrug. "Oh, I think you know the answer to that. Someone who doesn't want to be left behind. Someone who doesn't want to be caught flat-footed. Someone like you." He smiles, sharklike, and lifts his chin. The smugness is palpable. "Well, as lovely as this has been, I'm afraid I have to be on my way. Adieu, madam." A circle of light spins around the base of Virgil's chair. A symbol etches criss-cross in light. And then the floor falls away and Virgil drops through, leaving behind a faint burn mark on the floor, and a puff of brimstone-smelling smoke.

Somewhere in Fitz' lab, a scanner being calibrated for Operation: Wand makes a little pinging noise. A pity the device to stop dimensional intrusions isn't up and running yet. They might still have a less than smug Virgil in custody.


Steve slides the other coke towards Rossi. "So, tell me about your uncle," the Star Spangled Avenger says with almost a waggle of his eyebrows. "Presumably, from what you're telling me, leaning on your uncle can get us Manny. I like the sound of that, Rossi. I /really/ like the sound of that. If this all works out and we get the big guys, maybe I can talk to the Deputy of Director and use words like: Witness and Protection."

Steve adds, "And don't forget to tell me more about the tech."


Hill frowns slightly, though it isn't because she's confused. She's pretending to be concerned. "Did someone else do that to you, Wren? From what I gather this is the sort of thing your pal with no name might have put you up to in order to instill obedience. Who wouldn't want their very own super soldier working for them, right?"

"There's a reason for me asking. You know this game, too. Let's face it, sweetie. You're looking like hell. So, I'm going to try this again. Tell me what you can about those implants and I'll have the guys here check things over for you. You want it fixed? We'll fix it. You want it removed? We'll remove it. Nice and simple."


"What just — what just happened?!"

Natasha springs to her feet, hands out, looking left and right and all around. If he's coming back, she plans to be ready for it. Reaching up to her comm unit, she reports in: "Virgil just vanished. Nothing but a burnt spot on the floor. Where have we seen something like that happen? I want readings in this room, and I want them now."


"Oh, come on! He's family. You don't sell out family." Rossi turns his palms up and makes a low whimpering sound. He fumbles to crack the can and then drains it in a few hungry gulps. He lets out a belch, but then murmurs an apology. "Look. Manny has a place in Red Hook. I can give you the address! Then you don't need to go through my uncle." Better to sell out a broker than blood.

Wren smiles and chuckles, but it's a dry sound. "This was my choice. I asked for this. What makes you think I'd want it removed?" She shifts. There's the sound of one of the metal cuffs buckling under her strength and the strength of the metal skin. It's not a threat per se, but it could easily be interpreted that way.

The symbol is quickly fading, but if Natasha is quick with a camera or just has a particularly good memory, she might catch it before it's faded entirely away. The dimensional energy associated with it is quickly dissipating too. All traces of it save a slight burn mark on the floor will be gone in seconds.


Steve hears Natasha going ape over the coms, but does his best to remain calm unless she calls for backup. He gives Rossi a nod and slides him a pen and piece of paper from his satchel, "I think that's a far better approach. There's no reason to involve your uncle if we don't have to, right?"


"Because you look like hell and you sound like hell and you've just admitted to me that it's not working out so great for you," Hill points out. "I could go out and get my eyebrow pierced because I wanted to, doesn't mean that it's going to work out for me in the end."


Speaking of things working out in the end… Romanoff's call is almost enough for Hill's neutral expression to crack. Here, amidst -all- of the Triskelion's lockdown efforts, reinforced security measures in the works, extra armed detail at every corner, sign in triplicate on the dotted lines before taking a dump…

-Someone just escaped from custody.-

To say that she's absolutely livid would be an understatement.

"If you'd rather keep it I'm sure we could spice it up with a couple of magnets off of the fridge. And hey, at least I know that you're recyclable when we're done with you."

This isn't going well. Either someone else can take over the interrogation or Wren can go back in her tiny box for a while. Hill's got the next big security breach to worry about, instead.


Natasha is angry and unsettled. But she was quick enough to see the symbol before it disappeared, which is a start.

And now? After security gives the room its full sweep to make sure the guy's really gone, not just invisible, she's stalking out to figure out what just happened here. How he got out. Where he went. And what — or who — helped him do it.

"Right, right," says Rossi. He reaches for the pen and scrawls an address down in shaky handwriting. "That's his place. That's where we always found him." He did good, right? He smiles an awkward smile.

Wren seems to have sensed something in Maria's demeanour. Either that or she's just decided the conversation has hit a dead end. Whatever it is, she is no longer volunteering anything. She folds her arms over her chest as much as the cuffs will allow and just looks at Maria. The good thing is, she doesn't look like she's expecting to be rescued?

Virgil is well and truly gone. Not a trace of that smug bastard anywhere. Well, except for in the blood they took from him when he was processed.


"Excellent," Steve responds as he takes the paper back and nods towards Rossi. "You've been rather helpful, Jon. We're going to need to keep you around for a while, but I'll be giving my superiors a really good recommendation regarding your cooperation. That will definitely work in your favor. Is there anything else you can tell me before we go?"


Who wants to see a pissed off Assistant Director! Hill takes the file and leaves interrogation three, closing the door to keep Wren in the dark where she belongs. A moment later and she's back out into the hall, already bearing witness to a mob of armed and uniformed agents rushing into the scene.

"Would someone -kindly- explain to me why I'm suddenly down one suspect!" she all but bellows down the hall. At least she remembers to turn off her comm first so the others don't get an earful.

"Last I checked the buzzword of the month was 'security,' people. I'm not feeling very secure over here! Someone figure out what the -hell- just happened before we -all- lose our damn jobs!"

"This entire year can go right back to Hell where it belongs," she mutters to herself with a heavy sigh.


"So remember how we were working on dimensional security?" Natasha is striding up to Maria. She's much calmer, but she's still visibly irritated. She's gained a tablet in the bare few minutes that have passed, scrolling through what appears to be a list of dossier summaries.

"I have a lead, though. We need to do some more analysis of Virgil's blood, but the only way he could have escaped — that we know of — is through a dimension shift. And while I can't promise I know who did it for sure, I know someone who can do what just happened in there. We'll go back to the cameras and check."


"Just…" starts Rossi as Steve goes to leave, "…just that my uncle kept mumbling about the Cajuns, the Cajuns. I think Virgil's people are out of New Orleans." Not exactly news at this point, but he's grasping at straws, searching for things to toss Steve that might speak well in his favour without selling out his own family. "And they want all the tech real bad." He slurps what's left of the coke and suddenly looks very, very worn out.


Steve nods to Rossi, "That's good information." He grabs the door handle, turns it, and is just about to leave when he stops and adds something more, "Thank you for your help."

After leaving the room, Steve heads straight towards Natasha's room to see what in the world is going on.


Dimensional..shift… -Grand.- Back to comms she goes. "This is Director Hill, we've got a level five breach. Suspect is known only as 'Virgil,' potential MSE. Full sweep, inside and out."

"This shit's gotten so complicated lately," Hill continues to grumble with Natasha's initial report. The guy was locked in a cell, in chains, with -Black Widow.- However he did manage to escape, it had to have been a fast exit to slip out from her web.

Claiming a quick breath and turning back to Widow, she says "Do what you have to but -make sure- that you clear any names past me before you bring home any strays. If you're even planning to." Because, heck. It may not need to come to that.

Seeing Cap coming out to join them with the next round of domestic commotion, she calls out "Nice work, Rogers." Yes, he had the easy one of the three to question, and yes, his relaxed demeanor had been a perfect fit for the job, but he did gather a good bit of useful intel.


"Just one, Agent Hill. Howard Stark."

Black Widow strides past the interrogation room she was in to the observation chamber outside it. She's still steamed by the way the guy just vanished. Gesturing for Hill and Rogers to join her, she closes the door behind them and pulls up the security footage.

There it is again. Chatting back and forth, and all of a sudden… bamf. Bamf, and a symbol scorched into the ground before it fades.

"I knew I'd seen something like this before," she says, docking her tablet to a port on the console. A dossier appears on the screen: Celestine Bineau. A light-skinned African American woman, rather pretty, slightly smug-looking. With that sort of expression where she's certain she knows something you don't.

"She's a mutant. We have a report of a SHIELD agent witnessing her creating portals by drawing veves — a sort of mystic symbol used by practitioners of Voodoo. That symbol we saw looks similar. She may have other powers we don't know about, but we know she can create dimensional portals without having to be present at their locus."

She taps the screen, waves it to the side, connects Celestine's dossier to Virgil's. "We found no evidence of mutant or metahuman characteristics to Virgil's blood, but there is an unidentified substance. Possibly a masking agent. Possibly a tracking one, to ensure that his bug-out team knows where he is and can teleport him out."

Natasha counts on her fingers: "Everything here points to New Orleans. That's Bineau's home base, too." Second finger. "The device Virgil had was seventies-era Stark tech. Howard Stark may have some insights as to what might have been looted from that location." Third finger. "Operation Wand needs to shoot up in priority. Speaking as a security expert, boss," she adds to Maria. "Seems like people can just walk right in and out without it."


Steve nods at the information that Natasha gives, "Well, I suppose that our next stop is New Orleans." He looks to Hill, "Do you want me to start prepping a Quinjet?"


"Romanoff gets a cookie," Hill replies to no one in particular. Here she's just been given a ton of useful intel, more than what could be pulled out of Wren with their limited time together. Howard Stark seems a given, what with the 70's era tech with his own name stamped on the side being a cornerstone in this investigation. Celestine Bineau is a new element, however. Though it sounds like just the sort of thing they needed to have yesterday.

"Operation Wand -is- a top priority, we can't just lock the doors to dimensional rifts," Hill almost growls in frustration. "And until we figure it out the entire Division is making one hell of a fool of itself for all of the world to see. Believe me, I'm not thrilled about it."

A look, and a nod, are returned to Steve. "Sooner the better, Rogers. I'll grab some extra hands."

They might even have agents still attached to them, too!


Mmm, cookies.

"Just so long as our eggheads have everything they ask for," Natasha agrees. She nods to Steve, too: "Let's start gassing up the car. One of us needs to go talk to Stark, see if he can figure out what was in that thing — and what we're going after. If he knows what sort of tech we're going to be rushing into, we'll be able to prepare."

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