Last Hours of Dennis Frayling
Roleplaying Log: Last Hours of Dennis Frayling
IC Details

Two radically different detectives track a grizzly murder and get a lot more than they bargained for.

Other Characters Referenced: Constantine Batman
IC Date: February 14, 2019
IC Location: Abandoned Power Station - Bronx
OOC Notes & Details
Posted On: 15 Feb 2019 08:19
Rating & Warnings: R
NPC & GM Credits: Dennis Frayling
Associated Plots

* * *

Last night, Dennis Frayling murdered his family in their home just north of Gotham City. He's been on the run since.

Tonight, Dennis Frayling arrived in Limbo.

Frayling's family, not entirely trusting of the Gotham PD, has retained the investigative services of EXC Enterprises.

Earl Everett, the World War II operative known as 'Master Mind Excello,' has traveled to a burned-out power station in an especially dodgy stretch of dilapidated commercial real estate in the Bronx.

The Fraylings' home looked like nothing short of a slaughterhouse, the walls painted with a mix of arcane and unrecognizable markings.

"Note to self," Earl says into an analog tape recorder he holds in one hand as he steps out of the back of a town car, "this looks familiar. I believe …" He touches his temple with his free hand. "Yes. I believe there used to be radio programs broadcast from here, or near here …"

He walks toward the front entrance to the power station, its door kicked in by some other party at some indeterminate point in the past.

* * *

This is so more Batman's thing. The investigative. The detective work. Still he has been training Misfit for some time now and it does rub off.

The Frayling house and police records pointed to something absolutely awful in Gotham. Also something more arcane and supernatural than the average sociopathic Gotham criminal. Most of them just have animal nicknames but don't do whatever evil rituals were in that house. So Misfit decided to chase this one down.

She is tailing Earl now, he seems to have some sort of lead and it goes all the way to the Bronx. Thankfully again Batman training which means Misfit is pretty good at ninja-batting someone and following them. Even into power plants.

* * *

No blame could be placed, were an uninitiated observer to mistake Limbo for Hell. For there are in truth many similarities - suicide forests and stinking swamps, flaming tombs and fire-breathing monsters, an army of twisted-headed beasts stumbling, groping, in the darkness that ignorance brings - it lacks, it seems, only the Devil himself.

For though, like Hell, Limbo was built to be a prison, it was meant to contain things far stranger and far older than mere angels that fell from grace.

And perhaps that is why time does not 'work' in Limbo, why an hour can be an eon or an eon an hour, why relativity is absolute and individual and there is no stability or continuity at all beyond that which is forced into existence by the very strongest of wills.

Perhaps that is why Dennis Frayling has had time to grow old.

An ordinary man who fell into Limbo, even an ordinary killer, would not last. But Dennis Frayling had a thing of value - the untainted souls of his family. Purity, in Limbo, is currency and weapon both, and Dennis Frayling parlayed both with skill beyond what would ever have been expected from him.

Dennis Frayling was one hundred and forty-seven when the blood moon rose, tonight, when his minions tore open the veil between worlds.

The power station is *cold*. Everyone, when encountering a raw portal to Limbo, always remarks on that. On how cold it is. It leeches heat from dimensions that it touches; Hell, it seems, is hungry.

Dennis Frayling is leather and scar and wrinkles, wearing robes of red and armor of black, burning glyphs shining on mummified skin and burning eyes in sunken sockets.

He says something, in a language no human tongue was ever meant to speak (and, for Dennis Frayling, the act of speaking it required rounds of mutilation), and the words alone are enough to send a wave of force exploding outwards in Earl Everett's direction and splintering doorframe behind him.

Dennis Frayling's lips crack, and bleed. "Hu-man," he says, a foul and guttural hiss to a thing that stands at his side, larger than a man, with the shape of a man but not the geometry of a man - made, it seems, of nothing but wrong angles, of shadows that do not fit together, of light hitting things that do not exist. "Earth," Dennis Frayling says.

And Dennis Frayling begins to laugh.

* * *

As Earl steps over the threshold into the power station, he frowns. Then, he staggers backwards, nearly falling until he catches himself on the door frame. "Nghhhrhghh," he grunts, eyes shut tight. A thin line of red trickles down from the man's nostril.

The light in the hallway is faint and flickering and emanating from a room opposite the entrance, roughly thirty feet off. Strewn all about the corridor is garbage from squatters, the walls covered in graffiti reflecting at least a dozen different languages - not all of them currently spoken by humans.

In the room - which is rather small, perhaps 12 feet by 12 feet - is a set of items arranged in an asymmetrical formation: half a set of child's teeth, several spent bullet casings, a plastic rose, a class ring, and a television set that shows static but does not make any sound.

Earl exhales through his nose, spattering his handkerchief with red dots, and steps slowly into the room, staring at the items. He holds the recorder up to his mouth. "I am standing in what appears to be … I'm not sure. A break room? An office? But it is not that any more. An assortment of objects that I /believe/ are from Frayling's family are here. Some strange ritual fashion. But for what purpose?" Earl sighs. "I have no idea. But it does not take my abilities to foresee that this will not end well."

Just then, the sound of static can be heard softly, slowly increasing as though the volume were being turned up.

A voice comes through on the television set: a man's voice, laughing. Two words follow, but they are garbled in the static.

* * *

In the room, Dennis Frayling becomes visible to Earl Everett, his obscene geometry coming into focus in proportion to the volume of the television's static.

Earl's eyes widen, and he screams.

* * *

Well this has all gone to hell, pun intended, is what Misfit thinks as she tails Earl through the power plant and all of the refuse.

Evil graffiti - Check.

Various objects that should not be but seem to have arcane or mystical purpose in their number and orientations - Check.

The sheer cold settling into the building, and yes it is winter but this itself is unnatural — Check.

EVP, or electronic voice phenomenon on the TV - check.

All of that said Charlie was not really expecting an actually honest to god hell portal to crack open and a disturbingly horrible Dennis Frayling to emerge all wrinkles and scars in red robes. She really despises infernalists, even if she isn't one to talk these days.

As Earl screams Misfit will slinks from the shadows behind him putting herself in harms way shielding the detective. Who as far as she knows is normal. In her right hand is a razor sharp batarang and her left is a closed fist. She is trying to figure out what Dennis may do next. "Dennis Frayling" pause "Do not open your mouth or try to cast another spell." worth a try.

* * *

Every motion of Dennis Frayling's body speaks of Earth's rejection of him with its creaks and cracks, its splintering and fraying. Men of Earth were never meant to live so long, but Dennis Frayling has not been a thing merely of flesh for the best part of a century now. It is magic that sustains him, the words that burn on his skin, the black iron that braces his withered bones, the gems with which he replaced his eyes.

Peruse the very darkest of grimoires and you will in time encounter the concept that the human soul is splintered into fifths, and that from each fifth may be hewn a Soulstone. Dennis Frayling, during his time in Limbo, produced two of them: one each from the soul of his wife and the soul of his youngest daughter. They are not proper Soulstones; crudely formed and from the *entire* soul (a grotesque waste of resources indeed), however, they are nonetheless items of obscene power.

They are also Dennis Frayling's eyes. Look close enough, and you can see the torment of the spirits within them.


Dennis Frayling's right arm hangs at his side, a dead thing. Two fingers of his left end with iron nails; he beckons with those, and a rictus grin. "Kkkk-ut? Yes."

The shifting thing of shadow and angle to his side moves to the side, and away, and towards all at once. It has passed you, and swatted you aside, and not even approached you all at once - they all seem to have happened, and at the same time, but only one actually transpires. You can feel it, somehow, the damage being done to time by the horror taking place here.

Behind Dennis Frayling, a portal to Limbo crackles and flickers. There is ice on the ground, and the ceiling, spreading as the portal widens. And, within the portal, there is Hell - an army of demons, monsters, dragons, nameless horrors, waiting for some signal to join Dennis Frayling in the realm of his birth.

"Come. Yes? Kk-kut with us. All world, canvas now." Dennis Frayling inhales deeply. A claw points to Misfit. "Yes. You are like us. You kkk- you heard the gospel? Yes. You made the kk-cuts. Cut God, now. Cut all." The gesture is sweeping, commanding, as the scepter of Dennis Frayling's arm moves, pointing towards Mastermind Excello. "Kkk-cut him. Join brothers. Ssss-sing with usssss. Sss-sing of kkk-kuts."

* * *

Excello falls to the ground from the surprise of Frayling's sudden and disturbing appearance. He scrambles to get back to his feet, but before he can someone else has moved between him and the dessicated man.

"Wait!" Earl calls, reaching into his jacket. He retrieves a pistol and holds it close, pushing his back against the wall to help him stand upright once more.

"He - it - gah, such a foul presence," Earl says with a sneer. "An abomination that feels like metal in my teeth." The thin trickle from his nose flows back down toward his chin.

He points the gun at Frayling, slowly cocking it. "I would prefer not to do that again." Without glancing at Misfit, Earl clears his throat and adds, "Are you well-versed in this sort of … situation?"

Then, Frayling's arm moves, and Earl's hand is numb. He nearly drops the gun, his left hand clapping about his right to keep it from falling. His eyes widen again, mouth agape, as the portal opens behind Frayling.

"So - so much noise! The inhuman cacophony - cannot push it out - tsrahh," Earl hisses, tears falling down his face. "Come no closer!" he shouts, throwing his arms out before him and squeezing his trigger finger with his off-hand, his aim nonexistent.

* * *

Charlie watches and damned if Frayling does not obey her command to not say anything more or cast any spells. Knife indeed, the young woman's hand snaps up to launch the razer shaped bat of metal and then the shifting thing of shadows fluxes and time has damage done to it.

The young batling does not drop her bat-a-rang but she does flicker with reality itself as the horror of that almost and not quite attack ripples outwards. A slash of crimson smoke and a flash bang of chaos magic as she teleports off to the side in the room. Trying for an angle, and on the opposite the shadows on Frayling's side. What the girl did is not the stuff of SoulStones, but it was an innate use of chaos magic, tainted with a touch of hell, that managed to convince reality itself she had always been in the spot she now stands.

When the horror addresses her and he gives her such a command she frowns very unhappy then bares her teeth, canines sharper than they should be. It goes well with her slightly pointed ears. "unfortunately." she notes to Earl even as he fires on the monstrosity. "I killed more than one like him in hell when I was lost during the invasion. There is a price though to those deaths and they were demons not .. once human." and Batman and Red Robin don't want killing she knows.

Now Charlie is trying to decide if she should kill him and if it would shut the portal or not. "Frayling!" pause "You do not belong here any longer, go back and do not return." before she has to do something that will cost her even more now than she already gave up.

* * *

Some bullets are special, made for a certain stag or a certain person, and in the moment of aiming the barrel turns into a dowser's wand and aims where the *bullet* wants to go.

Earl Everett's bullet wants to go into Dennis Frayling's head.

And it does.

For all the good that does Earl Everett.

There's the crunch of dry bone and a puff of dust and there's the sound of Dennis Frayling laughing, as something blue and black that might have once been blood runs down between the burning sockets of his eyes and across the withered, ragged notch of his nose.

"Yyyyou hear," Frayling says to Mastermind Excello. "Nnn-no-Not ears-hear, hear with your kk-soul, hear like I heard. Yes?"

Yes. Languages no human was meant to hear, screaming as if directly into Mastermind Excello's soul. From beyond the portal and from the very room, from the inferno of what was once Dennis Frayling's mind and from the shadow-thing that pulses and twitches and exists and not-exists at his side.

"Ssssssing, yes? Hear it ssssssss-ing. Sssss-sssing with it."

And then, to Misfit.


And again, Dennis Frayling laughs.

"Home, now. To kk-cut, and ssssing, and hurt, forever and ever and ever, amen."

Dennis Frayling's hand rises, as if to signal his troops.

They do not follow.

In another world, in other circumstances, it might be humorous.

Here, it is respite.

Dennis Frayling turns, away from Misfit and from Mastermind Excello. "Hhhh-what?"

The chorus, Excello can hear, is quieting. At the furthest edges of the massed army, first, but growing closer. The sounds of violence, of rage, then of reverence and silence.

* * *

As his bullets do nothing discernible to Frayling, Earl grimaces, sliding along the wall toward the door. "No …!" he whispers, barely audible. "This - this thing … it cannot be allowed to prevail."

Then, an unholy chorus resounds in his mind. Excello presses his hands against his ears, struggling to breathe. "No!" he whispers again. "No, no, no …" His eyes dart about the room as though looking away could muffle the sounds of the damned.

Then, Earl spies something that makes him clench his jaw.

CThe man shakes his head and groans. "Of course, of course," he mutters - although to those who do not hear the massing army, his muttering is nearly a shout. "It should have been so obvious to me. This demonic interference has thrown me … !"

He turns his aim toward the television set. "I am /sure/ that the heroes of today have some witty saying to offer about tuning the television! All I can say is that I want this confounded noise to /stop/!"

Eyes narrowing, Earl fires several rounds at the screen.

* * *

Right about now Charlie is deeply regretting letting Raven destroy the demonic sword that was her companion in hell. It killed so many demons and might be able to do something about this monstrosity.

She can't hear the change on the other side of the portal but what Charlie can see is that he is confused about something and just opened an opportunity by turning his back to them.

A frown over to Earl as he seems to kind of lose it and shoot the TV. Maybe that is integral to the portal but she doubts it. So Misfit closes her eyes and lets her head loll forward dipping her chin. A chain snakes into being, not having been there a moment ago as it wraps around her waist and a dark tome is hanging there with her utility belt. The book is hard to look at, it looks to be some sort of leather but the runes on the surface crawl.

Charlie didn't pull it from her room to her because she wants to cast a spell though, no she reaches to snag the chain and then leaps forward and tries to loop it over the guy like a garotte, demonic soulchain .. that might be able to clamp down on the guy.

Worst case she can return him to hell more directly but she really doesn't want to do that for so many reasons.

* * *

More and more the sound from the other side of the portal is hushed - there is the wind of Limbo, there is quiet whispers, and there is the sound of hoofbeats on stone. In the distance, the gathered army begins to part - a great wave of abominations splitting slowly apart and falling to their knees in deference to some yet-unseen figure that approaches.

"No. No, no, no!" is Dennis Frayling's protest, eyes burning brighter with rage. "Not fair. Not fair!"

And then the chain is around his throat.

He screams - his tongue is bloated and purple and dead, cut and split in ways that are hard to even imagine - and he claws at Misfit with his one good hand, iron claws biting into her skin. He stinks of rot, and death, and corruption, and even with his throat crushed he spews forth an endless stream of profanities in the language of Hell.

"Off. Off!" he demands, dropping to his knees with Misfit on his back. "Hk- traitor! You stink of us, you hear the chorus spit in your soul, and you fight? Traitor!" is Dennis Frayling's hissing condemnation as he works his skeletal digits between his throat and Misfit's chain and manages to force it loose, manages to project enough force to hurl the girl away from him.

"Kill. Kill all!" Dennis Frayling commands of the thing of shadows and angles that accompanied him. "Kill them!"

But it is still. More than still, it has prostrated itself before the portal.

In which there stands something that looks not unlike a woman.

Its skin is whiter than fallen snow, with lips as red as blood and eyes that shine gold with light; it bears vast, red horns at its head, and is garbed in armor that shines whiter than purest silver, with a sword in its left hand that seems to burn even the air of Limbo around it. It - she? - is taller than a man, with legs like a goat and black hooves with edges like razors.

She surveys the scene. She looks to Misfit, to the angled-thing that bows before her, to Earl Everett, and at last to Frayling.


"Hnnn-no! No, not fair! Not fair, I-"
"Enough, Dennis. *More* than enough."

* * *

His head shaking groggily, Earl can only blink, his expression a mix of confusion and abject terror at the alien sight before him.

He tries to move, to reach toward Misfit, but his limbs do not respond. He can only stare at the newly arrived horned creature, eyebrows raising just slightly in shock.

"But …" he whispers. "I thought … I had already met the bride of the devil …"

Earl pauses, eyes unfocusing for a moment.

"Unless that /is/ … the …"

He lets the rest of his epiphany remain unspoken.

* * *

Well hell and back. Charlie takes the claws as they cut through her armor and into her flesh causing her to bleed very crimson, very human blood. She doesn't seem remotely intent on letting go of the choke hold on the monster. His words are striking way deeper sucker punches to the girl than his claws.

Does he think she doesn't feel the poison in her blood. The book whispering to her in her sleep. The ease it would be to just return to one of the hell dimensions. She was innocent when she got stuck there before. She is still innocent in a way that is unusual for having been there too long. She will not be giving in just because a monster is calling her a traitor.

When Frayling gets that grip around her chain and throws her off him violently, she vanishes mid-air in a slash of crimson and a flood of chaos magic, reality re-ordering itself at her whimsy so she skids along the floor crouched on her feet. The chain to her book still wrapped between her closed fists, still a makeshift Garrote.

It is worth noting that while Misfit's armor is still clawed and penetrated her skin, is smooth and flawless once more as if she was never clawed, even with those evil iron nails of Frayling.

The magic of chaos, ruby in it's intensity pulses round her and within her as Charlie crouches and stares at the new arrival and Frayling. It is pure like honey glistening on a honey comb. Entirely too attractive for anyone's good.

She glances concerned at the detective, but if she tried to teleport him to safety he would just die like they all do. "Shhhh" she hisses at him not wanting him to draw this things attention to him.

Then Charlie's attention goes back to the new demoness and the warlock. "I will return you both to hell if I have to. We can do this easy or hard." not entirely false bravado either, she isn't fronting. Charlie seems absolutely convinced she holds a nuclear option.

* * *

"Oh, child."

Her voice resonates. She speaks English that is accented with Russian, and with older, stranger things; with the language of demons, and with a trace of what is in truth 13th century Tuscan Italian.

"Hell has nothing to do with this."

When she steps through the portal its edges begin to burn, the ice that has formed around it to melt; the thing of angles and shadows, procumbent and moving on knees and elbows, refuses to look up as it scurries back into the realm from whence it came. The portal was never a thing that was easy to look upon but seeing a hole in space burn its way closed seems stranger still.

"Dennis Frayling."

"No! No, I-"

"Dennis Frayling," she continues, speaking over him. She stares down at his face, her blade oriented so that its tip smolders a mere inch from his face, "Late of Gotham City, died on February the 14th of 2019."

"No no no no no," continues Frayling, hissing, clutching at the side of his head with his good arm, nails biting against his temple. He's younger with every word, every second.

"Suspected in the so-called 'ritual' murder of his family, Frayling's movements in the last hours of his life cannot be traced. His remains were located early in the morning of the 15th, following reports of gunshots at an undisclosed location in New York City."

"no, no, no, no-" his chorus continues. He is rocking on his knees, as years melt away from his body, as runes turn to scars turn to wounds turns to unmarked flesh.

"No foul play is suspected in Frayling's death. Speaking on condition of anonymity, detectives say it is believed that Frayling took his own life."

The fire in Dennis Frayling's eyes goes out. Gems fall from his face to the floor. Dennis Frayling, 46, is weeping, clutching his face in his hands.

For a moment there is the scent of gunpowder in the air. Blood begins to pour from from the bullet wound between his eyes.

And then the back of Dennis Frayling's head explodes in a shower of gore, and he falls face-forward to the ground.

* * *

"Nnnghh," Earl grunts, pinching at his brow with his index fingers and thumbs. "I sense - I feel - the family. What of them?" he asks quietly, not yet looking to or at anyone in particular.

"Frayling's family. Their fates remain unresolved - do they not?" Earl asks these questions more loudly, glancing first at Misfit and then at the otherworldly creature who pronounced the sentence upon Dennis Frayling.

"Let them rest in peace!" Excello calls, his voice growing more confident. "They deserve that much, at least." His hands do not relent from their grip on his temples, though.

* * *

One of these days Charlie is going to get really tired of people saying things like Oh Child to her. Also to be fair, one hell dimension and another all kind of look the same to those not a connoisseur of the other realms. This teenager is definitely not the Sorcerer Supreme for goodness sake.

The unspooling of the Warlock has Misfit let go of the book's chain, and it wraps itself around her waist and then fades back out of existence. The artifact is linked to the soul (or perhaps is a soul, or both) and obeys the return not needing it.

When the detective speaks back up and makes demands of this exceptionally powerful force Charlie winces a little bit. Then she cocks her head to the right and narrows her eyes behind those orange lenses of her goggles. "Thanks." for the dealing with Frayling, and her hand lifts and points. "The gems yes?"

* * *

"His wife, and his youngest daughter, are the gems. He groped blindly in the dark, but he found enough to damn himself and his family, found enough to cut into my realm before I was born and while I was dead, enough to hide from my sight in the blood-mists until he cut open the world."

With her blade she gestures to the gems on the ground, between her and Frayling's corpse. They are smaller than eyes, but not much, and round; they are a faint, pale blue in color, and to stare too long is to feel a crushing sadness within them.

"Can you be trusted to release them, detective?" she asks of Mastermind Excello. "Can you be trusted to assist him, girl?" she asks of Misfit.

"They do not belong in my realm. They are bastardized magic, yes, but true enough to what they were meant to be that they would be weapons in the wrong hands. Not enough to fill a Medallion, but enough to harm."

* * *

"I … I do not know how to weigh 'trust' from a demon," Earl says quietly. "But I will do everything I can to help ferry those souls to the destination they have earned."

He slumps against the wall and sighs heavily. "What days we are in, now. I long for the time when I could anticipate so clearly the machinations of the Germans. How is a man to understand the politics of Hell?"

* * *

"I do have a name, you can call me Misfit." of course the echos of magic, pure as a Ruby Gem, around her echo with other names, ones masked and smothered by magic Charlie doesn't even know exist. She is probably addressing the to The Detective more than Illyana.

Her attention does not shift from keeping an eye very sharp on Ilyanna. "Thought so." about the gems, even if she isn't entirely sure why she thought so, when she stops to consider it. "I'd be happy to free any trapped souls, though I do not know how." it pains the teenager to admit she doesn't now about things like this, about magic.

As the detective slumps against the wall and goes whimsical Charlie frowns again and then looks to Ilyanna. "I think you are much for him."

* * *

Her bottom lip is pressed forward. Her eyes are cast on the gems. The look in them is not hard to spot:

It is desire.

"*I* cannot be trusted to release them. There are things for which I require power. And, in them, there is power - misapplied, malformed, bent and broken, yes, but power, power enough to let a callow little murder live far beyond his three score and ten, to raise an army, to cut a hole in the world."

* * *

She sheathes her blade. It's difficult to say where - it rather looks as if she sheathed it within a yawning blackness that should house a soul.

And when she does so, she is human.

Well - close enough.

She is still deathly pale, and she is blonde, and she wears black leather with a black fur jacket.

With the tip of a boot, she sends one gem and then the other rolling to exactly where you stand.

"You'll want - *Constantine*, I think. That will be *fun* for you. I'll let him know you're coming."

* * *

Charlie's focus on Illyana narrows, eyes squinting for a minute as she watches the sheathing of the sword and then the young mostly human woman before her. "Who …are you." she just seems absolutely puzzled by what she just saw

The roll of those gems though has her crouch, not taking her eyes off you and she scoops them up with her gloved hand. "Oh great… Constantine… I've heard.. a little there. Okay I will seek him out and we will get these souls freed so they can rest." her eyes flick to the detective, and yes she will probably make him go along too so he knows the deed has been done.

"Thank you for the help … really… for a minute there I thought I was going to have to kill him…" and yes that thought resonates poorly for the young woman, she is innocent still despite all of it. She is not one to murder.

* * *

"I am the Darkchilde. Daughter of Belasco, chosen of the Elder Gods, Wielder and Forger of The Soulsword, Queen and Warden of Limbo. It is my job to prevent shit like that," she gestures to the corpse of Frayling, his life unwoven and then ended with nothing more mystical than a bullet, "From happening. And this time, I couldn't stop it *all* the way. So, you may call me Illyana."

She glances towards the door.

"You'll want to go soon. The police arrive in another fifteen or twenty minutes. And - Misfit?"

There's the scent of ozone in the air and a blinding light; Illyana's arms are outstretched, and the lower half of her body is gone - she 'stands' in a shimmering 'disc' of light, and there is a quiet rushing noise of air being displaced.

"Be very careful with your reading material."

And, then, she is gone.

* * *

This is the second time in a very short while someone else has teleported on her. Charlie mutters "I really wonder if I am that annoying when I teleport….." she frowns and looks down at herself, the book not there but the chain always there. "Also don't you think I don't know it."

Another glance to the detective. She steps over to murmur "You should go if you are going. I'll find you after I find out where Constantine is without giving him an aneurysm and we will take care of these soulstones." one more glance back to the spot the disc was with Illyana. "Also who the hell that was, Limbo.. that sounds pretty hellish from the look of the denizens.."

With that Misfit pulls her own vanishing act, vanishing with a slash of red smoke as reality rearranges to accommodate the young woman.

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