Authoresses's Notes
Becky: Wow, we finally finished it! Seeing as this was planned as a way to pass the time until the release of The Dark Knight...it's only taken us...3 months? Six weeks of which was a holiday? Oh dear, oh dear...
Much love to Jess, who wrote the bare bones and kept pestering me to write :P If she hadn't, this would've taken a lot, lot longer.
Jess: Much love to you Becks ;) I mean...jesus what would I do without you - oh twin soul of mine :P Anyway...I digress...again...
Becky: Much love to Terry Pratchett, who I blame entirely for my inability to write seriously. :)
Equal love to 'ItsJustSomeRandomGuy' and his MarvelVs.DC series which is partialy responsible for this...things...creation. If you haven't seen it, you haven't lived ;)
Disclaimer: We, sadly, do not own anything that remotly looks like DC or Marvel comics. We do own anything entirely idiotic, impossible and made-up for this story.
This is a funny, rediculous story based around our wonderings of what superheroes do at parties. If that doesn't already give you a clue to how insane this is then you may have a problem...
There may be a surprise cameo in the next chapter by a particulary pessimestic 'super'hero. Guess right who it could be, get a cookie. Here's a clue : He likes beans.
Please review, everyone! If you liked it, just a "That was funny." would be very inspiring. Constructive Criticism is also welcomed :)
Warning: Ludicrous amounts of random ahead. Ye have been warned.
Moved to this section, because nobody reviews in the comic one. Thank you to the two people we didn't know who reviewed, out of over 100 hits!
Chapter 1: You Can't Ditch Da Vinchi
The terror, which would not end for another twenty years or so – if it ever did end – began, as far as anyone could tell, on the night of the explosion.
It was an impressive sight to see, (that is, for anyone a good few miles back and with a tendency towards pyromaniacy.) as the mushroom shaped inferno detonated into existence against the cloudy Gotham skyline, tinting the clouded night sky a concoction of bloody reds and oranges. Debris and fire relentlessly rained from the heavens like a dreaded apocalypse; citizens screaming in terror and despair as the cloud continued to grow, steadily enveloping more of the city in a haze of smoke.
"Jesus, what the hell?!" a young man, dressed in a dark blue uniform emblazoned with a rather scuffed up badge; marking him as a member of the cities less-than-shining police force, yelped as the bomb-like force shook the street, sending him, and his freshly baked donuts, sprawling onto the floor. Clancy Sheffield had never wanted to become a police officer; his dream of living the life of a high-class, witty, and dangerously handsome Los Angeles City Lawyer (just like he had seen on television!) were cruelly dashed when, at the age of twelve, he discovered that studying law meant actually having to study, instead of playing video games. So he became a Gotham City Police Officer, instead.
The street shuddered violently again. Clancy, who had barely managed to regain verticality, tumbled slowly over, with another brief yet strangely satisfying curse.
Barely two weeks on the force, and the young man was already contemplating an extremely early retirement, or maybe just running…very far away…
Glancing up from the faded tarmac, he watched the happily frolicking flames and wondered, as such overly dramatic people who watch too many films often do, whether this time it really was the Devil Gotham's masked protector was fighting and if, he gulped nervously, the "Bat" even stood a chance…
Clancy stood up, and contemplated his next move. With great deliberation, he turned around, and walked casually yet quickly in the opposite direction of the rampaging destruction.
He wondered where he should go, now.
He had heard the countryside was very nice this time of year.
But the insanity that shook Gotham City was no work of God, just of a madman.
Which, unlike the former, Gotham most certainly had in a bountiful supply.
--
"Are you sure about this?"
It was dark inside the mansion. The wind howled dramatically outside, shadows crept and danced across the walls, and had it have been raining; the rain would have definitely been pounding against the windows. Oh yes, it was that kind of house. The eager, male voice quivered slightly; whether due to fear or awe at his current whereabouts, no-one could really tell. The boy's eyebrows met as he squinted, trying to make out the dark shapes in the gloom. He began to recognize one to his left, a shadow slightly taller than himself and striding purposefully across the floor. He waved shyly to his friend.
"I mean…Bruce is a really busy guy, T."
His companion shrugged, and there was a slight glint in the darkness as he grinned.
TWING
Teeth, sparkling white.
The very best money can buy!
The younger man frowned, although only for a second. That was not the response he had been looking for. Clearly, more dramatic measures were required.
"He is the..." he took a large, deep breath. "Batman!"
This was greeted by heavy, meaningful silence. If the young man could see, he would notice the eye-rolling, yet still glee-filled expression of his friend. It was probably just as well, then, that he couldn't.
"Not to mention that he's a billionaire! But then again…" He glanced at his more than calm partner, who's financial predicament was certainly similar, to say the least. The boy sighed and rubbed his temples. How did he get involved in this again?
"Relax, Pete!"
"You're doing enough of that for the both of us…" Peter muttered to himself as the other man, seemingly having found what he was looking for, sat down, and was currently busy giggling to himself. "Seriously! You're sure he won't kill us!"
'This is ridiculous,' the boy thought angrily to himself, 'I shouldn't be doing this! I'm a nearly-not-quite-on-and-off husband for Chr- for Goodness' Sake! I should be at home! Working! Doing…manly things-' Peter's ranting was cut short, as his friend whacked him gently around the head, beaming.
"Honestly, when have I ever been wrong?"
"Well…"
--
"You sick bastard!"
"I know, Batsy dearest, I'd be irritated too! I mean – an orphanage!" the purple clad clown hovered several feet off the floor, as the Batman held him roughly by the neck. He scoffed in mock disgust and rolled his eyes, "How cliché can you get!"
The Caped Crusader frowned, and tightened his grip. The Joker grinned manically, clearly enjoying the situation. He waved his handcuffed hands vaguely at the obliterated building as if slightly repulsed that he actually did it, although really he was disgusted at the 'in hilarity' of it all. He was going to have to work hard to turn this into a joke…sometimes, the Joker mused, you just really want to blow something up.
"Sorry it wasn't something more dramatic and fun but at three o'clock on a Monday morning you can't really afford to be fussy."
"It's Wednesday, you ASS!"
The Batman dropped the beaming clown roughly to the floor, disgusted. Looking quickly around for any sign of his…'team member', he sighed. He hated, hated, hated working with Him. It always made himself look bad. At least the children would be fine.
Probably.
Unless his "friend" had spotted some other more pressing emergency, like a cat stuck up a tree that was probably on fire, falling over due to de-forestation, and was also the last resting place of some ancient hero who really wasn't pleased about being woken up.
Such is life.
He tapped a foot expectantly on the floor, and considered relieving his pent-up stress on the giggling vermin at his feet. But, knowing him, he would probably end up enjoying himself even more.
Batman sighed again, and sat down on some rusted pipe-railing as he waited for a reply from his partner before shipping this…lunatic back to Arkham. It was a trip he most definitely deserved.
The clown himself was now in hysterics, snickering and bashing the floor with his fist. Suddenly, he paused, before abruptly sitting up and dabbing fake tears from his eyes.
"Well, it could have been worse," he said solemnly to himself "…at least they were all terminal."
"None of them were ill!" Batman replied, against his better judgement - he knew that even having a conversation could be playing into the clown's stark-white hands.
"They weren't?!" the Joker cried, his hands flying to his mouth in pantomime horror "But I swear they were." he mumbled, before suddenly snapping his fingers like he had just solved an irritating maths problem.
"Oh yeah," he giggled, before lifting his voice proudly, "that was the other orphanage I rigged to blow!"
"WHAT?!"
But the clown's explanation was cut short as a second mushroom cloud appeared in the distance, the blast shaking Batman right to the core.
The Joker's sadistic laugh echoed through the desolate blast zone…
--
"What was that!" the young boy whispered, a slight edge of panic in his voice.
The other man shrugged and continued moving the furniture next to him, because in his experience this was what you did when you broke into people's homes… move furniture for no apparent reason.
"It sounded big…and…explosion-y" Pete continued, looking suspiciously at the ceiling in case it spontaneously fell on top of him.
"Shut up and help me move this fridge!" snapped his partner, who was struggling with the large double-doored monster of a food cooler.
There was a slight pause, as they both considered the towering appliance in front of them.
"Why do we need to move the fridge?"
"Because…because…because I said so, now get over here right now before it crushes my other foot!"
Gulping, Pete shuffled nervously yet quickly over to help his friend out. He really didn't want to be responsible for the death of the heir to one of the biggest weapons manufacturing companies in the world, as that type of business tended to attract some pretty scary friends.
"Even if you are an ass-"
"You say something?"
"Nope!"
--
"And that's everyone!"
The towering figure of Superman beamed triumphantly at the large crowd of sticky, smelly children in front of him. It had taken some effort, but he had managed to clear everyone out before the Joker's bomb detonated. However, the poor, poor Orphans in front of him did not look as pleased as he'd expected.
Obviously manners were not so readily taught in Gotham City as back home.
One child, a particularly dirty young boy currently investigating the depths of one of his nostrils eyed the Man Of Steel coldly, not impressed by the capabilities of his rescuer. He eyed him carefully, eyes going up, down, up, down, eyebrows narrowing.
Superman took a deep breath. "Is something the matter, my friend?"
The boy, satisfied with the state of his right nostril, moved on to his left. Still staring at the figure in front of him, he paused and seemed to have pinpointed exactly what it was that was bothering him.
"Mister. Why d'you wear your underpants on the outshide?"
Superman exhaled slowly. It was going to be a long night.
--
The long black car sped through the night, tires screeching and high-tech mechanisms whirring as it squeezed around, between, and often on top of the late night traffic. Passersby watched in awe as the midnight streak passed them, and wondered what deadly, important mission their Guardian was currently undertaking…
"Are we there yet?"
"No."
"Are we there yet?"
"…No."
The Bat-mobile swerved round the corner, narrowly missing a dithering old lady and a man purveying hot cross buns. It continued full-throttle down the surprisingly empty street, heading towards the outskirts of Gotham City. Steadily, the number of buildings around began to thin…
"How about now?"
"No!"
…and the street itself became more dirty, more unkempt, more alive.
"…Now?"
Batman grimaced, gritting his teeth in frustration. "No."
"…Can we put the radio on?"
"Twenty minutes! Can you not keep your mouth shut for twenty goddamn minutes?! I wouldn't be driving you anywhere if it wasn't for him. He thinks it would be nice. He thinks it'll help us understand each other better! HAH! So sit there, and for the first time in your sick, twisted, decrepit little life - BE QUIET!"
"HMPH…"
There was a brief, thoughtful pause, as the clown mulled this sudden explosion of information over. The Batman relished the sudden silence and returned his concentration to the road.
The Clown Prince of Crime smacked his lips together thoughtfully, looking around. His driver paid him no attention, glaring fierce-fully through his windscreen as if the road he drove on had done something to personally offend him. The Joker waved his arms as much as he could, pulling faces to mime being held in excruciating pain by the shackles that tied him to the seat. Batman, if he had even noticed this movement, which the Joker considered he almost definitely had (nothing got past that man. He knew this from personal, less successful experiences.), made no effort to respond, or even acknowledge the clown's presence. Disheartened, the Joker made another less pleasant face behind his capture's back, before returning to investigating his surroundings.
A quick scan of the car presented absolutely no means for personal amusement; there were no easily accessible televisions, game consoles, or other means of electronic entertainment. The Batman had also removed anything which could be turned into an easily disguisable weapon; there were no nails, scissors, or toothbrushes (Oh yes. It could be done.).
What was he paying him for?
The Joker tapped his foot impatiently on the raised floor below him. With a whirr, the clown's chair was flung back into a fully-reclined position, his feet now just brushing the floor. He laughed gleefully, thumping his foot this time on the pressure-activated button. His seat swung forward with a small clank. He paused, waiting to see if he'd caught the Bat's attention, before pushing down on it once more; the seat went back, whirr, forward, clank, back, whirr, forward, clank, back, forward, and back again.
"STOP IT!"
The Joker slowly brought his seat up, the chair squeaking guilty as he moved.
"Sorrrrrry." he mouthed with apparent earnest, sitting on his hands like a child who had just been scolded by their parent.
There was another pause as the clown sighed indignantly pouting. His new game had been so much fun…his eyes travelled round the dark interior of the Bat-mobile like a child in its very first candy store.
Well. An incredibly gloomy, depressing and well-buttoned candy store, anyway.
The Joker smiled. He would just have to find a new game then…
His wandering eyes settled on the large dashboard beside the dark figure of the Batman. On it was an array of glowing, twinkling lights amongst a sea of monitors, and one, huge, red, ominous button. It was the King of all buttons, the pinnacle of button design and execution. If ever anyone were to build a machine capable of destroying the Universe, it would be this button that turned it on.
And it would almost certainly be the Joker, beaming, who would push it.
Manoeuvring himself carefully on the seat so as to be able to reach his target despite his restraints, the clown snickered to himself. This was going to be fun.
Reaching casually forward, his mind raced with the possibilities of what this button could do.
Blow up Gotham?
Unlikely, considering the Batman's apparent opposition to his attempts.
Cause rains of Joker-faced fishes upon the masses?
Probably not physically possible by Bat-breath. Something to try himself later, then.
Dismantle the Bat-mobile?
With himself still inside it? Maybe not such a good plan. But then again, the look on Batman's face…
Wriggling irritably, the Joker was barely inches away before he felt the red hot glare of Batman on his neck. The Joker turned innocently, with a "Who, me?" expression on his face.
After a few minutes of relentless glowering had passed, he put his hands back on the seat and sighed; Batsy could be such a kill joy sometimes.
--
'This has got to be the worst twenty-four hours of my life.' The adolescent boy thought grudgingly as he struggled to remain balanced on his place atop the edge of the slightly bedraggled, and very rearranged couch. 'If I ever survive this, which is unlikely once Bruce sees this… mess, I will never, ever, tell 'T' my birthday…or where my house is. Or, ever get involved with him again!'
'No one in the world can be having a worse time than me!'
Somewhere, far far away, the God of Irony stirred from his slumber. He was a strange god, possessing an odd and often twisted sense of humour, but he enjoyed his work, and it was this fact alone which had prevented his removal from the "Official Lists of God-dom.". That, and the fact that none of the other gods actually wanted to get within a mile of his glorious self.
Sitting lazily up, the God looked down (or up, depending on your personal belief system.) on the world below him, listening carefully to the moanings of a certain grump-filled Superhero.
It was tempting, certainly. A statement like that was, as he liked to call it, simply asking for it. He flicked one impeccably manicured hand towards the Earth, and focused his Powers of Irony directly on the source of self-pity.
But then again, the God of Irony had a date this evening with a certain Goddess of Uncomfortable Silences, and he needed plenty of time to shower, do his hair, and threaten restaurant managers into last-minute reservations.
Peter Parker would have to wait.
Meanwhile, back on Planet Earth…
The previously, if bitterly, mentioned 'T.' was now skipping merrily around the room, putting up colourful streamers and once again, giggling to himself.
Pete was too terrified to ask what was so funny now.
"When did you say Bruce would show up?" he asked quietly, secretly hoping that his friend wouldn't have actually heard him; sometimes, T.'s mind really, really scared him.
"Oh soon, soon…" mumbled the billionaire, happily throwing confetti over the coffee table and Pete with aplomb.
The boy looked around for a clue. "How do you know?"
"Because all the explosions have stopped!" T stated slowly, as though Pete was the biggest simpleton that ever existed.
He wasn't, but it was rather close.
Their gazes met for a while in a slow, sarcastic stare, before Pete suddenly exhaled, blowing confetti all over his jeans.
'This is why,' Pete mused to himself, rubbing his temples, 'superheroes never throw parties…'
T. read the younger boys expression and narrowed his eyes dangerously.
"D-d-do you not w-want to stay anymore?" the older man whimpered, shielding his eyes as if he were about to burst into uncontrollable sobs.
Pete wasn't fooled. There was a subtle threat, hidden deep within the sulk. A warning…Mess with me, the world famous billionaire playboy, little Peter Parker, and your things in life will become quickly mine.
His girl-fiancé-friends furious face flashed before his eyes.
"I'd love to stay!" he squeaked, instantly grabbing some confetti and throwing it violently into an untouched corner of the room.
"Glad you can see it my way!"
TWING
--
"And that," said Superman loudly, puffing his chest out with pride, a toothy grin on his face as he stared at his slightly more interested crowd, "is why I wear my underwear on the outside!"
The young boy, hands now free from his nostrils, gave him a considering look, before shrugging and becoming engrossed in picking the dirt out his clothes. Which, Superman considered, judging by the state of them, could take him quite a while.
"Any more questions?!" boomed the Man of Steel, eyes scanning the gaggle of mucky children. Most of them just stared blankly in reply, leaving the Superhero feeling slightly dejected. He was used to such a warmer reception…
--
The Batmobile drove slowly up the criss-crossing drive of Arkham Asylum, Psychiatric Hospital for the Criminal Insane; or as some people believed, simply a dumping-ground for the freak-show of Batman's nemeses, with a security-system likened to that of a revolving door. It was a dark, decrepit building with about as much charm as a squashed cockroach.
It smelt rather similar, too.
The Joker grinned as the Asylum came into view. There really was no place like home…
He realized that it had been a long time until Batman had come here through the proper entrance; he preferred the back, side, or even roof entrances which he himself had installed. Ah, the lengths Bat-breath went to, to secure the Joker's place of rest. How kind.
"Batsy," the clown cooed, turned his head to stare directly at the side of the Dark Protectors cowl, "I know you haven't been here for a while…so I just wanted to let you know, that there have been a few…changes." He snickered.
Despite himself, Batman was interested. It was most likely that by these…"changes" the Joker was hinting at were some new trap to spring on him – he would make sure to be extra alert as they began to round the final corner of the Asylum's drive.
Whoever had designed that drive would suffer, Batman swore, as their ridiculous sense of architectural design meant he had to spend longer in his car with this damn bastard than was strictly necessary.
The "bastard" took the absence of reply for a lack of interest, and rolled his eyes in response.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
The Batmobile came to a steady halt outside the heavy set, yet remarkably easy to break-into doors of the Asylum, tires crunching on the gravel. Batman turned off the engine, and listened carefully for any clues to the Joker's "changes".
There was nothing, except a slight background noise of chattering voices. By Arkham's standards, this was extremely pleasant.
Relieved, although trying not to let it show, the Caped Crusader got out of the car, deciding to make a final check of the surroundings before removing the Joker, who seemed to be badly suppressing a fit of giggles. Batman looked at him curiously, before realising it wasn't him the Joker was laughing at, at all…
"Ex-chuse me!" a young, female voice rang out across the drive. Batman turned towards it, and could hardly believe what he saw…
Two teenage girls, barely of age, were stood beside the Asylum's door. Behind them, a pile of dishevelled blankets and a makeshift campfire, comprised solely of a lighter and whatever paper they could find to burn, suggested that the two had been camped out here for quite a while. The taller of the two girls, who had addressed him, held a Picket Sign emblazoned in Day-Glow paint - "Give Villians A Chance!", and waved at him. Her friend, however, a short girl, simply looked suspiciously at him from underneath a mass of bright purple hair.
"Sorry to bother you like this, we know you're busy and whatnot, but do you mind – who exactly is it you've captured today?" the brown-haired girl asked, smiling sweetly.
There was something about the t-shirt that she wore that Batman vaguely recognized…gold and red? He was sure that some-one, some-one used a lot of gold and red…
"And what, exactly, have you done to the poor soul?!" the smaller girl huffed, grabbing her friend's picket sign and waving it forcefully.
The Batman narrowed his eyes, ignoring the chuckles behind him.
"Shouldn't you two be in bed by now?"
The dark haired girl covered her eyes with her hand. Her friend, apparently enraged that the Batman, of all people, was advising her on her late-night social life, stamped up to the Dark Knight and, with great attitude, prodded his chest-plate with her index finger.
Her eye was indeed, twitching.
"Oh yes, I should be in bed, shouldn't I?! Then you, you, would be able to continue your…torture of innocent, sweet, human beings!" she scowled, gesturing madly towards the contents of the Batmobile, which beamed as the attention returned to him.
Batman followed her finger. "Innocent?" he asked sarcastically.
She held his gaze, trying to stare him down. But something about her statement had been bothering Batman…
"SWEET?!" he echoed in horror, whipping his gaze back at the Joker, who gave a "What can I say?" casual shrug of the shoulders, grinning horribly.
"Well, okay, maybe not sweet." The taller one waved her picket half-heartedly, while her friend gazed lovingly towards the Batmobile. "The point is, Batman sir, that it has come to our attention that there are basically no rules regarding the level of care your…erm…patrons receive. They are often beaten –"
"AND BOUND!" the Joker added loudly, whilst gazing sadly at his bonds. The younger girl swooned, and promptly fell into one of the potholes centuries of poor care had inflicted upon the Asylum's grounds. The Joker laughed sadistically. This could be fun.
"-yes, thank you Mister Joker, upon entry into this…establishment, where after they are given minimal medical treatment to their wounds, and little-to-no actual developments towards a speedy recovery and re-integration into public society. This is an abomination, a cruelty towards your fellow man which for one who claims to be fighting for the greater good seems slightly hypocritical. Do you not believe that one man can make a difference; that by curing their frailty of mind we could be regaining into our society a number of the most brilliant minds of our time and furthermore-"
"These people are insane." The Batman held up a hand, signalling for the girl to stop. She sighed, and looked at her feet.
The smaller girl by now had regained her footing, and was standing with her arms crossed across her chest. "Don't interrupt her! She's been practising that speech all week, she was really looking forward to say-"
The Joker coughed, and winked at her.
The girl began to topple over again.
Batman sighed, and stuck out an arm half-heartedly to catch her. She glared in gratitude.
"Most of the patients of Arkham are beyond help. Many, like him," the Caped Crusader jerked a hand roughly towards the clown, "enjoy killing people. You want them freed?"
The purple-headed girl frowned at him. "We can't help how we're made! These poor men-"
"-and women!" her friend added quickly, snapping her head up and glancing nervously around in case of a sudden attack by said women.
"Well, yes, I suppose them too, are all simply…misunderstood. They all, really, just need a great, big, HUG!"
Silence descended.
The Batman, at a loss for words, simply stared.
Whilst behind him, still restrained in the Batmobile, the Joker laughed, and laughed, and laughed.
--
Some time later…
"So you're saying that this little girl tried to hug the Joker?"
"Yes. But he kicked her in the mouth."
"You didn't help her?!"
"Have you seen how fast teenagers move nowadays? Besides, she needed to learn a lesson. Serial killers do not make good teenage heartthrobs."
The two heroes walked along Wayne Manor's driveway; Batman, shoulders hunched, cape swishing, and Superman, striding along, carelessly balancing the Bat-mobile on one finger.
"Well…if it was for the greater good…"
"It was."
"Your methods leave something to be desired, however."
"Oh really? Well, at least I actually got the job done, rather than faffed around rescuing little children's teddy bears."
"Teddy bears are a very important part of a child's learning process-what's that?"
The Batman's gaze followed his companion's finger, in the direction of Wayne Manor's doorway.
Or at least, what was usually Wayne Manor's doorway.
Now, it was simply more of a…hole.
With burned out remains of wood, and a puddle where Alfred's humorously musical doorbell used to be.
"Who could've done this?!" The Blue Boy Scout asked, aghast at this flagrant display of human nastiness.
His friend narrowed his eyes. He had a suspicion.
Putting a gloved finger delicately to his lips, Batman crouched, and carefully unhooked one of his wondrous devices from his Utility Belt. Superman eyed him quizzically.
"Smoke-bomb." He mouthed, sticking his head round the door-hole and throwing it, as hard as he could, across the hallway and into the nearest drawing room.
The two craned closer, listening. It was a few moments before –
"Oh look, a party popper!"
"Tony, I really don't think that's a party pop-Aw crap!"
Grey smoke billowed dramatically from the drawing room, snaking across the floor and dancing around the feet of the two figures who stumbled, coughing madly, into the hallway. One, seemingly recognising the Batman, waved cheerily, before falling flat on his face, whilst the other fought desperately, arm raised above his eyes, towards the door, and fresh air.
Superman laid a hand out, not unkindly yet still with an element of threat, as the boy grew nearer. His friend slipped past, a disgusted look on his face, and swiftly delivered a few swift kicks to the fallen body, which giggled.
Peter Parker lowered his arm as he walked promptly into the outstretched palm, the force knocking him back several steps. Blinking blearily, he looked up into the disapproving face of probably the most respected superhero of all time.
Why did this always happen to him?!
Desperate to redeem himself, Peter played the only trump card he thought would be acceptable.
"Happy Birthday, Bruce!"
Batman, stone faced, turned to look at the young boy.
"My birthday," he said flatly, "was four months ago."
There was a moment of utter stillness.
"Whoopsie!" cooed the fallen body of Tony Stark, whilst behind him in the doorway Peter Parker slowly collapsed onto the floor.
--
TBC?
Review Please!
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