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FIC: Alien End-Game (6/?)

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  • Keith
    FIC: Alien End-Game (6/?) I should go with you, Kennedy insisted. Giles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Bloody Slayers, it seemed pig-headedness was a
    Message 1 of 2 , Aug 20 1:09 AM
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      FIC: Alien End-Game (6/?)

      "I should go with you," Kennedy insisted.

      Giles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Bloody Slayers, it seemed
      pig-headedness was a trait in every single bleedin' one of
      them. "My dear girl," he starchy replied, "I'm quite capable of
      looking after myself."

      The diminutive beauty glared up truculently. "The Groosalugg," the
      heiress thumbed over her shoulder towards the Deeper Well, "said I
      was your Protector!" Giles opened his mouth in a protest. "Willow
      would want me to protect you."

      Ah, Giles grimaced, a woman's most potent weapon, emotional
      blackmail. Bugger, he was only a mere man and as such totally
      defenceless. "Very well," he grumpily conceded. He was momentarily
      dazzled by the heiress' smile. "You'll drive down with me, then
      grab a car, and drive back on your own. Who do you want to lead the
      Slayers in your absence?"

      "Athena," was the unsurprising reply. Not only was the Greek Slayer
      Kennedy's best Slayer friend, she was the second oldest, and a
      fellow Council-discovered Potential, meaning her training was not in
      doubt.

      "Very well," Giles nodded. "Then go and tell her." The young woman
      turned away. "And Kennedy?" The beautiful brunette stared
      enquiringly at him. "Thank you. Willow would be extremely touched
      by your loyalty."

      The journey to the near-by village was a nail-biting affair. They'd
      driven through the narrow, winding country lanes leading to it
      without lights for fear of alerting enemy patrols, eyes straining
      through the darkness. Twice they'd been forced to pull over as
      Death Gliders flew overhead.

      Upon reaching the village Giles parked up outside just the sort of
      country pub he'd have loved to spend an afternoon in. If Andrew
      would leave him alone for long enough of course. Smartsville was a
      typically rustic country village, complete with thatched roofed
      cottages, carefully-tended gardens, and even a communal green. He
      shook his head as he climbed out.

      "What's wrong?"

      Giles started at his companion's whisper. In the village's dark
      silence it was easy to forget he wasn't alone. He looked towards
      his companion. "I was just thinking that even if we win, nothing
      will ever be the same again."

      "When we win we'll just have to make everything better than it was."

      Giles smiled slightly at the Slayer's spirited reply. "Quite right,
      dear," he murmured before turning to the other cars'
      occupants. "We'll need SUVs or People Carriers, spread out, but
      stay in eye range of your partners."

      It took almost half an hour and him breaking into four garages to
      find a suitable car, a dark green, 3 year old People
      Carrier. "Excellent," Giles beamed.

      "Jaffa, kree!"

      "Oh bugger." Giles started to turn to face the quintet of aliens
      behind them, hands rising in supplication.

      Before he could order her not to, the always reckless Slayer was
      blurring into action, drawing her two knives and flinging them at
      the two nearest Jaffas. Both knives thudded into the invaders'
      throats, but the second got off a shot that seared into the beauty's
      chest, twisting her around and sending her crashing to the ground
      like a puppet's whose strings had been cut. "Yooooowwww!"

      "Bastards!" All thoughts of biding his time fled at the Slayer's
      screech. Leaping forward, he cannoned a left hook into the nearest
      Jaffa's mouth. Even as he drew back to slam a follow-up right cross
      into the alien's mouth, a pain exploded in the back of his head.

      Head swimming, he stumbled down to one knee. Before he had chance to
      react, the staff weapon crashed into the back of his head again and
      he fell forward, face bouncing off the wet tarmac.

      * *
      *

      Faith grinned as she watched Xander joke with Dana and Rona. He was
      so damn good with them, so caring. And, her smirk widened, he was
      hers. A for real great guy, nothing fancy, not rich, or wicked
      smart, or movie-star handsome, but a decent man who tried his
      hardest by the people he cared for. Damn, she was so sick of
      strutting assholes who thought the best way to get a chick was by
      treating her like shit.

      Her smirk faded as she remembered the last two days, the frantic
      journey to Chicago to find Spawn. There had been more than the
      occasional close call with Jaffa land and air patrols, but that
      tension had been nothing next to being cooped up with her pop having
      to restrain her urge to punch her fist through his face while he
      stared at her like he was a desert nomad and she was an oasis. If
      the fucker was looking for salvation, she sure as hell wasn't gonna
      play ball.

      "I saw you kissing Xander before."

      "Oh for fuck's sake," Faith muttered under her breath. First pops,
      then his best friend, and now his main squeeze. Who next? His
      freakin' Sunday School teacher? Faith didn't bother to turn towards
      the blonde. "Look," she drawled. "I had enough wicked step-fathers
      growing up. I really don't need a wicked step-mon now I'm all woman
      sized."

      "General O'Neill is a fine man," the older woman didn't miss a beat
      at Faith's faked yawn. "All he needs is a chance. He's really
      hurting -."

      "He's really hurting?" Faith spun to face the Colonel, the last of
      her patience evaporating. "He's really hurting?" Faith jabbed a
      finger in the other woman's face. "What about all the Christmases
      and birthdays he wasn't there for? What about all the times the
      other kids laughed at me for not having a pop? What about all the
      times I thought I was the most alone person in the world? What
      about all the times he should have been there to protect me!" Faith
      finished with a scream. Why did this happen now? Why not twenty
      years ago when she needed him? "You stay the fuck out of my way
      unless," she snatched the shocked soldier's P90 out of her
      hands, "ya want this shoving up your ass!" Realising that everyone
      was looking at her, she dropped the gun at the other woman's feet,
      and looked challengingly around, her gaze stopping at her biological
      father. "You, you're a fuckin' sperm-donor and that's it! Ya ain't
      got any claim on me," she looked over to Xander and the
      others. "They're my family, not you. And I don't want any more
      family, `specially those who turn up two decades too late. Once
      this is over, I see ya again, it's the beating of your life as a
      receipt for all the stuff you weren't there for."

      * *
      *

      "Who is this Buffy?" Illyria demanded.

      Connor shrugged. "A Slayer dad dated before Cordelia. Dad talks
      about her, but I zone out. Listening to him talk about her is the
      greatest known cure for insomnia," the hybrid shrugged again. "Seen
      photos, okay I suppose, but not a patch on Cordelia."

      "And this Riley?" Illyria continued. "Who is he?"

      Connor looked towards the apparently military officer. "That I
      don't know," the vampire's offspring admitted.

      Illyria stalked over to the vampire slouched against a half-
      destroyed wall. "Your grief flows off you like a waterfall," she
      snapped. "Build a memorial to your mate with the bodies of your
      victims."

      The half-breed briefly changed to his demonic face before
      straightening and nodding. "Yeah," he agreed. "That sounds like a
      plan. Riley, let's go!"

      * *
      *

      Kennedy groaned as she awoke, soft fingers trailing down her
      face. "Are you alright?" Lady Croft whispered.

      For a second luxuriated in the beautiful woman's touch. And then
      she jerked as she flashed back to the fight. "Giles?" she
      frantically looked around as she struggled to a sat position.

      Frank Martin crouched down beside Lady Croft. "We thought you split
      up?"

      "No." Kennedy's eyes widened as realisation hit. "We need to find
      him and fast!"

      Kennedy tried to struggle to her feet, but although her wound had
      already begun to heal, Martin was able to place his hands on her
      shoulders and force her weakened body back down. The shaven-headed
      man stared down at her, apparently unfazed by her wilting
      stare. "We need to get you some medical treatment. If you weren't
      a Slayer, you'd probably be dead or dying." Kennedy's protests were
      ignored as the man humiliatingly scooped her into his arms and
      carried her into the waiting vehicle.

      The journey back to the others was a grim affair. Every twist and
      turn of the country road sent waves of pain crashing through her,
      but the physical hurt was unimportant next to the crushing knowledge
      she'd failed Willow.

      By the time their convoy reached their base her physical pain had
      eased but her guilt had changed to a deep despondency. She allowed
      herself to be helped but not carried out of the car by a solicitous
      Lady Croft.

      The king strode into view, Galahad and Lancelot flanking him as
      always. The monarch looked around. "Such marvellous ve-." Kennedy
      had to resist flinching when the legend's eyes hardened. "Where is
      sage Rupert?"

      "I…I lost him," Kennedy stutteringly admitted.

      "Lost him?" Arthur's sword hissed as he drew it. "You were
      attacked?" Too intimidated by the legendary monarch and guilt-ridden
      by her failure to speak, Kennedy could only manage a nod. "And yet
      he lives!"

      "How do you know?" Bond demanded, the secret agent's tone clearly
      sceptical, even as her eyes shot up to stare at the centuries-old
      regent.

      Arthur's eyes snapped to the British spy. "He is my summonser, I
      would know it it was otherwise." The king turned his searching gaze
      back to her, eyes boring into her soul. "Will you join us in
      searching for the man you are foresworn to protect?"

      "We have our orders-."

      "Orders!" The monarch cut off Bond with an impatient shake of his
      head. "Orders are unimportant next to the principles I built my
      kingdom on, the virtues of honour and loyalty." Again the legendary
      warrior turned to her. "Will you join us?" Kennedy nodded. "Ah,"
      the king smiled. "You have spirit, lass. You remind me of fair
      Gwen. Come, we will march now!"

      "Uh," Kennedy raised a hesitant hand. "We could take the car?"

      * * *

      "Maybe I should speak to her?"

      Jack didn't bother to look up from his console at Daniel's
      suggestion. He didn't have to ask who `her' was. "You're a great
      negotiator, Daniel, but you'd have more joy brokering a Tok'Ra –
      Goa'uld treaty."

      "Maybe if you give her time…"

      "Time?" Jack turned to his friend. "She's had plenty of that.
      Twenty-three years of it to build up a big hate for me."

      They turned to the left at the sound of gravel crunching. Jack
      looked up from his seat to see his daughter's Watcher and apparently
      new boyfriend staring down frostily. Jack winced. Just how much
      had the one-eyed man heard?

      "We're heading for the suburbs he was known to patrol and looking
      for signs of him attacking Jaffa patrols," Daniel replied in his
      trademark reasonable tone.

      Which failed to defrost the one-eyed man's gaze in the
      slightest. "That's it?" he demanded. Jack nodded. The young man
      shook his head and snorted. "American military strategising in
      action. Gotta love it!" the youth turned on his heel and walked off.

      Daniel looked expectantly at him. "What?" Jack snapped. The
      archaeologist looked towards the departing man. "I don't suppose
      I'll get any peace otherwise. And for the record, I hope you're not
      going to nag like this when we're married!" Sighing slightly, he
      rose and hurried after the younger man, while all the time wondering
      what he was going to say. Finally he settled on banal
      praise. "Your record as a demon hunter is very impressive,
      especially considering your lack of formal training or special
      powers."

      "Look," the young man turned to face him, his face older than anyone
      his age should be. "I've had enough of people trying to use me to
      get what they want. Faith's my Slayer," a look of wonder flickered
      across the Sunnydaler's face, "my girl. If she doesn't want you,
      then what she says goes. And if," Jack had to stop himself from
      flinching when the younger man's eye blazed, "you hurt her, your
      tame Jaffa, the whole air force, hell the entire military won't be
      able to stop me dismembering you."

      "Damn it," Jack muttered as the young man turned and walked
      away. "I don't want to hurt her. I just want to get to know her."

      * *
      *

      "This prison ship," Angel spoke distractedly, just wanting to keep
      his mind off the hollow pain inside him. "Why do the goa'uld use
      this for all the super-powered types? They don't seem the merciful
      type." Angel cast a look out of the window, staring bleakly at the
      crushed buildings, scattered fires, and corpses littering the
      wasteland. "And logically speaking, these people are the sort you'd
      kill first, not keep alive."

      His question was directed at Riley but it Master Bra'tac who
      answered. "You are correct," the pock-marked Jaffa replied. "A
      wise warrior slays their most powerful opposition at the start of
      the battle, when they themselves are at the strongest. But the
      goa'uld are an arrogant people, and a parasite race that are
      constantly searching for better, stronger hosts. They will
      doubtless be experimenting on your world's heroes to see if there is
      anyway they can be made suitable for implantation, utilising their
      powers without losing control they crave."
    • Keith
      FIC: Alien End-Game (6/?) I should go with you, Kennedy insisted. Giles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Bloody Slayers, it seemed pig-headedness was a
      Message 2 of 2 , Jan 19, 2007
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        FIC: Alien End-Game (6/?)

        "I should go with you," Kennedy insisted.

        Giles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Bloody Slayers, it seemed
        pig-headedness was a trait in every single bleedin' one of
        them. "My dear girl," he starchy replied, "I'm quite capable of
        looking after myself."

        The diminutive beauty glared up truculently. "The Groosalugg," the
        heiress thumbed over her shoulder towards the Deeper Well, "said I
        was your Protector!" Giles opened his mouth in a protest. "Willow
        would want me to protect you."

        Ah, Giles grimaced, a woman's most potent weapon, emotional
        blackmail. Bugger, he was only a mere man and as such totally
        defenceless. "Very well," he grumpily conceded. He was momentarily
        dazzled by the heiress' smile. "You'll drive down with me, then
        grab a car, and drive back on your own. Who do you want to lead the
        Slayers in your absence?"

        "Athena," was the unsurprising reply. Not only was the Greek Slayer
        Kennedy's best Slayer friend, she was the second oldest, and a
        fellow Council-discovered Potential, meaning her training was not in
        doubt.

        "Very well," Giles nodded. "Then go and tell her." The young woman
        turned away. "And Kennedy?" The beautiful brunette stared
        enquiringly at him. "Thank you. Willow would be extremely touched
        by your loyalty."

        The journey to the near-by village was a nail-biting affair. They'd
        driven through the narrow, winding country lanes leading to it
        without lights for fear of alerting enemy patrols, eyes straining
        through the darkness. Twice they'd been forced to pull over as
        Death Gliders flew overhead.

        Upon reaching the village Giles parked up outside just the sort of
        country pub he'd have loved to spend an afternoon in. If Andrew
        would leave him alone for long enough of course. Smartsville was a
        typically rustic country village, complete with thatched roofed
        cottages, carefully-tended gardens, and even a communal green. He
        shook his head as he climbed out.

        "What's wrong?"

        Giles started at his companion's whisper. In the village's dark
        silence it was easy to forget he wasn't alone. He looked towards
        his companion. "I was just thinking that even if we win, nothing
        will ever be the same again."

        "When we win we'll just have to make everything better than it was."

        Giles smiled slightly at the Slayer's spirited reply. "Quite right,
        dear," he murmured before turning to the other cars'
        occupants. "We'll need SUVs or People Carriers, spread out, but
        stay in eye range of your partners."

        It took almost half an hour and him breaking into four garages to
        find a suitable car, a dark green, 3 year old People
        Carrier. "Excellent," Giles beamed.

        "Jaffa, kree!"

        "Oh bugger." Giles started to turn to face the quintet of aliens
        behind them, hands rising in supplication.

        Before he could order her not to, the always reckless Slayer was
        blurring into action, drawing her two knives and flinging them at
        the two nearest Jaffas. Both knives thudded into the invaders'
        throats, but the second got off a shot that seared into the beauty's
        chest, twisting her around and sending her crashing to the ground
        like a puppet's whose strings had been cut. "Yooooowwww!"

        "Bastards!" All thoughts of biding his time fled at the Slayer's
        screech. Leaping forward, he cannoned a left hook into the nearest
        Jaffa's mouth. Even as he drew back to slam a follow-up right cross
        into the alien's mouth, a pain exploded in the back of his head.

        Head swimming, he stumbled down to one knee. Before he had chance to
        react, the staff weapon crashed into the back of his head again and
        he fell forward, face bouncing off the wet tarmac.

        * *
        *

        Faith grinned as she watched Xander joke with Dana and Rona. He was
        so damn good with them, so caring. And, her smirk widened, he was
        hers. A for real great guy, nothing fancy, not rich, or wicked
        smart, or movie-star handsome, but a decent man who tried his
        hardest by the people he cared for. Damn, she was so sick of
        strutting assholes who thought the best way to get a chick was by
        treating her like shit.

        Her smirk faded as she remembered the last two days, the frantic
        journey to Chicago to find Spawn. There had been more than the
        occasional close call with Jaffa land and air patrols, but that
        tension had been nothing next to being cooped up with her pop having
        to restrain her urge to punch her fist through his face while he
        stared at her like he was a desert nomad and she was an oasis. If
        the fucker was looking for salvation, she sure as hell wasn't gonna
        play ball.

        "I saw you kissing Xander before."

        "Oh for fuck's sake," Faith muttered under her breath. First pops,
        then his best friend, and now his main squeeze. Who next? His
        freakin' Sunday School teacher? Faith didn't bother to turn towards
        the blonde. "Look," she drawled. "I had enough wicked step-fathers
        growing up. I really don't need a wicked step-mon now I'm all woman
        sized."

        "General O'Neill is a fine man," the older woman didn't miss a beat
        at Faith's faked yawn. "All he needs is a chance. He's really
        hurting -."

        "He's really hurting?" Faith spun to face the Colonel, the last of
        her patience evaporating. "He's really hurting?" Faith jabbed a
        finger in the other woman's face. "What about all the Christmases
        and birthdays he wasn't there for? What about all the times the
        other kids laughed at me for not having a pop? What about all the
        times I thought I was the most alone person in the world? What
        about all the times he should have been there to protect me!" Faith
        finished with a scream. Why did this happen now? Why not twenty
        years ago when she needed him? "You stay the fuck out of my way
        unless," she snatched the shocked soldier's P90 out of her
        hands, "ya want this shoving up your ass!" Realising that everyone
        was looking at her, she dropped the gun at the other woman's feet,
        and looked challengingly around, her gaze stopping at her biological
        father. "You, you're a fuckin' sperm-donor and that's it! Ya ain't
        got any claim on me," she looked over to Xander and the
        others. "They're my family, not you. And I don't want any more
        family, `specially those who turn up two decades too late. Once
        this is over, I see ya again, it's the beating of your life as a
        receipt for all the stuff you weren't there for."

        * *
        *

        "Who is this Buffy?" Illyria demanded.

        Connor shrugged. "A Slayer dad dated before Cordelia. Dad talks
        about her, but I zone out. Listening to him talk about her is the
        greatest known cure for insomnia," the hybrid shrugged again. "Seen
        photos, okay I suppose, but not a patch on Cordelia."

        "And this Riley?" Illyria continued. "Who is he?"

        Connor looked towards the apparently military officer. "That I
        don't know," the vampire's offspring admitted.

        Illyria stalked over to the vampire slouched against a half-
        destroyed wall. "Your grief flows off you like a waterfall," she
        snapped. "Build a memorial to your mate with the bodies of your
        victims."

        The half-breed briefly changed to his demonic face before
        straightening and nodding. "Yeah," he agreed. "That sounds like a
        plan. Riley, let's go!"

        * *
        *

        Kennedy groaned as she awoke, soft fingers trailing down her
        face. "Are you alright?" Lady Croft whispered.

        For a second luxuriated in the beautiful woman's touch. And then
        she jerked as she flashed back to the fight. "Giles?" she
        frantically looked around as she struggled to a sat position.

        Frank Martin crouched down beside Lady Croft. "We thought you split
        up?"

        "No." Kennedy's eyes widened as realisation hit. "We need to find
        him and fast!"

        Kennedy tried to struggle to her feet, but although her wound had
        already begun to heal, Martin was able to place his hands on her
        shoulders and force her weakened body back down. The shaven-headed
        man stared down at her, apparently unfazed by her wilting
        stare. "We need to get you some medical treatment. If you weren't
        a Slayer, you'd probably be dead or dying." Kennedy's protests were
        ignored as the man humiliatingly scooped her into his arms and
        carried her into the waiting vehicle.

        The journey back to the others was a grim affair. Every twist and
        turn of the country road sent waves of pain crashing through her,
        but the physical hurt was unimportant next to the crushing knowledge
        she'd failed Willow.

        By the time their convoy reached their base her physical pain had
        eased but her guilt had changed to a deep despondency. She allowed
        herself to be helped but not carried out of the car by a solicitous
        Lady Croft.

        The king strode into view, Galahad and Lancelot flanking him as
        always. The monarch looked around. "Such marvellous ve-." Kennedy
        had to resist flinching when the legend's eyes hardened. "Where is
        sage Rupert?"

        "I…I lost him," Kennedy stutteringly admitted.

        "Lost him?" Arthur's sword hissed as he drew it. "You were
        attacked?" Too intimidated by the legendary monarch and guilt-ridden
        by her failure to speak, Kennedy could only manage a nod. "And yet
        he lives!"

        "How do you know?" Bond demanded, the secret agent's tone clearly
        sceptical, even as her eyes shot up to stare at the centuries-old
        regent.

        Arthur's eyes snapped to the British spy. "He is my summonser, I
        would know it it was otherwise." The king turned his searching gaze
        back to her, eyes boring into her soul. "Will you join us in
        searching for the man you are foresworn to protect?"

        "We have our orders-."

        "Orders!" The monarch cut off Bond with an impatient shake of his
        head. "Orders are unimportant next to the principles I built my
        kingdom on, the virtues of honour and loyalty." Again the legendary
        warrior turned to her. "Will you join us?" Kennedy nodded. "Ah,"
        the king smiled. "You have spirit, lass. You remind me of fair
        Gwen. Come, we will march now!"

        "Uh," Kennedy raised a hesitant hand. "We could take the car?"

        * * *

        "Maybe I should speak to her?"

        Jack didn't bother to look up from his console at Daniel's
        suggestion. He didn't have to ask who `her' was. "You're a great
        negotiator, Daniel, but you'd have more joy brokering a Tok'Ra –
        Goa'uld treaty."

        "Maybe if you give her time…"

        "Time?" Jack turned to his friend. "She's had plenty of that.
        Twenty-three years of it to build up a big hate for me."

        They turned to the left at the sound of gravel crunching. Jack
        looked up from his seat to see his daughter's Watcher and apparently
        new boyfriend staring down frostily. Jack winced. Just how much
        had the one-eyed man heard?

        "We're heading for the suburbs he was known to patrol and looking
        for signs of him attacking Jaffa patrols," Daniel replied in his
        trademark reasonable tone.

        Which failed to defrost the one-eyed man's gaze in the
        slightest. "That's it?" he demanded. Jack nodded. The young man
        shook his head and snorted. "American military strategising in
        action. Gotta love it!" the youth turned on his heel and walked off.

        Daniel looked expectantly at him. "What?" Jack snapped. The
        archaeologist looked towards the departing man. "I don't suppose
        I'll get any peace otherwise. And for the record, I hope you're not
        going to nag like this when we're married!" Sighing slightly, he
        rose and hurried after the younger man, while all the time wondering
        what he was going to say. Finally he settled on banal
        praise. "Your record as a demon hunter is very impressive,
        especially considering your lack of formal training or special
        powers."

        "Look," the young man turned to face him, his face older than anyone
        his age should be. "I've had enough of people trying to use me to
        get what they want. Faith's my Slayer," a look of wonder flickered
        across the Sunnydaler's face, "my girl. If she doesn't want you,
        then what she says goes. And if," Jack had to stop himself from
        flinching when the younger man's eye blazed, "you hurt her, your
        tame Jaffa, the whole air force, hell the entire military won't be
        able to stop me dismembering you."

        "Damn it," Jack muttered as the young man turned and walked
        away. "I don't want to hurt her. I just want to get to know her."

        * *
        *

        "This prison ship," Angel spoke distractedly, just wanting to keep
        his mind off the hollow pain inside him. "Why do the goa'uld use
        this for all the super-powered types? They don't seem the merciful
        type." Angel cast a look out of the window, staring bleakly at the
        crushed buildings, scattered fires, and corpses littering the
        wasteland. "And logically speaking, these people are the sort you'd
        kill first, not keep alive."

        His question was directed at Riley but it Master Bra'tac who
        answered. "You are correct," the pock-marked Jaffa replied. "A
        wise warrior slays their most powerful opposition at the start of
        the battle, when they themselves are at the strongest. But the
        goa'uld are an arrogant people, and a parasite race that are
        constantly searching for better, stronger hosts. They will
        doubtless be experimenting on your world's heroes to see if there is
        anyway they can be made suitable for implantation, utilising their
        powers without losing control they crave."
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