A/N:
This chapter was driving me nuts. My notes for this chap before I wrote it were [Boss meets with Saints]. That was it. It became so frustrating that I nearly quit this story altogether.
Luckily, my good bud, High Mage Lady Hawkmoon was there to help me through it. She gave me a lot of encouragement when I really needed it.
Consequently, I'm dedicating this chapter to her. Thanks, HMLH!
Episode 3: Retaliation
Part 11
Bavogian Plaza, Red Light District, Stilwater
Monday, May 9, 2011, 3:20pm
Club Purgatory
The Boss's Room
Shouldering the backpack she retrieved from the Saint named Bobby upstairs in the Mission, Tamara followed Dyson into the Boss's room. It was a work in progress.
The floor and connecting bathroom had been redone – they looked brand new. The walls were another story: not one of them was finished. There were many holes in them, two of which were so large and deep that you could see the support studs as well as random wiring that was connected to nothing. There was a large queen-size bed dominating the middle of the northern wall of the room, the down comforters a mix of Saints Purple and Ivory White. Next to it was a large dark-grey reinforced safe bolted to the ground, keeping the Boss' stash secure. The rest of the furnishings left a lot to be desired.
In the southwest corner of the room, was a large wooden table that had seen better days. Around it were five figures.
"Yo, about time your ass showed up here!" one of the five called out in an amused tone as Dyson walked through the door. He was the second-in-command of the Saints – Johnny Gat.
A well muscled Asian American, Johnny stood about 5'9". He wore his white tipped hair in a flat top and his rectangular silver-wire glasses were slightly tinted. He was dressed in his signature black pinstriped slacks with a white tee under a purple silk shirt. The purple shirt was perhaps half-a-size too small and clung well to Johnny's well-defined torso Tamara noticed with not a little appreciation.
"Ah, it's been a while hasn't it, Mr Gat?" Dyson replied.
"Mr Gat?" the senior Saint asked with a grin. "The fuck you getting' all formal for? Makes you sound like Legal Lee. Don't know if I like that – he didn't do so well at my trial, y'know?"
"But you did make it out of there, though, didn't you?"
"No thanks to Lee," another person interjected as she sauntered forward. She was an athletic woman of mixed Chinese and American descent in her mid-twenties and standing about 5'8". Her long hair was currently pulled back in a high ponytail. She had added highlights to it since the last time Tamara had seen her: the natural black color now had neon purple tips. Her features were soft and her full lips were twisted into a confident smirk as she approached the pair. It was none other than the Leader of the Third Street Saints herself.
"Tamara," the Boss addressed the Wheel Woman of the Saints as her smirk became a smile of friendship. She held out a hand and grasped Tamara's, pulling her close into a half-hug/half-shoulder bump.
"Hey, Boss," she said with a nod and a smile of her own. Tamara's gaze continued beyond the Boss and Johnny. Around the table stood the other Lieutenants of the Saints: Pierce, Shaundi, and Carlos. The big-time players were out. Her eyes quickly fell onto the table itself.
Atop it was a large fold-out map of Stilwater and the surrounding bays. Various colors were marked on the map – yellow, red, green, a few grey areas and some smattering of purple. She understood immediately; this was a war council and battle plans were being made.
"Oh, hey, I see ya got business ta take of," Tamara muttered quickly. "So I'll just scat."
"Fuck that shit," the Boss responded as she briefly glanced back at her assembled Lieutenants. "You can stay. You've proven yourself. Gave me rides before I owned my first car." She faced Tamara once again. "Hell, you've been a homie and a friend to me longer than anyone else here."
"'Scuse me?" Johnny called out. "I met you first – at your canonizing, remember?"
"Yeah, but I didn't like you then," she called over her shoulder with a grin. "Always thought you were a stuck-up prima donna with an attitude problem."
"And now?" her second-in-command pressed, eyebrow raised.
"Now?" The Boss snickered. "Now I think you're a stuck-up prima donna with an attitude problem – and some mad skills."
"Throw in 'bad-ass' and I can live with that," he grinned.
The Saints' Leader laughed loudly then she turned and focused her attention on her cleaner.
"Dyson," she greeted.
Tamara glanced over at the Saints' hitman as he moved forward. He'd taken off his Aviators and tucked them away. He always did that whenever he was near the Boss – he wanted to look upon her without any obstruction. He always stood a little taller, a little straighter when she was near and his cornflower blue eyes never left the young woman's face.
Tamara took a half-step back and swiftly averted her gaze in shame as a momentary pang of jealousy jabbed ever so lightly. She knew she had no right to think that way and quickly suppressed the feeling. But, she thought, to only have him look at me that way; hell, to have any man look at me that way. What Dyson and she had was fun, but Tamara did (sort of) have her boyfriend, Trey. And Dyson…
She glanced back up at the enforcer.
Dyson still loved the Boss. After all this time – all the years, all the waiting. He dropped everything to go see her whenever she called. In a way, he was her faithful hound. The Boss didn't treat him like that, of course, but still…
Her gaze flitted over to the Boss. Friendship was displayed on their Leader's face and in her eyes. It was warm, deep and affectionate, but it was just friendship.
Tamara shook her head as she remembered times past, just over five years ago. Dyson and the Boss had been lovers then. They rocked the city and all of the Saints expected them to ascend to the throne should Julius ever fall or step down, but the incident at the Alderman's yacht changed all that. It changed the Boss…
Shortly after her return from the coma and from Stilwater Penitentiary itself, when Dyson, Will and Tamara had returned to her side, the Boss had confided in Tamara when they had been alone one day. She still had her memories of a lot of things that had happened before the accident, but the feelings were gone. She had told Tamara that she felt a strange disconnect with the memories – a detachment. It was almost as if her memories were like a movie: she was outside looking in. She still had emotions, but now everything took a backseat to a constant dark, cold anger that seemed to want to overwhelm everything. Only constant violence seemed to stem the anger she almost always felt.
It seemed the accident took more from the Boss than just four years of her life.
"You guys bring me a gift or something?" the Leader of the Saints asked, eyeing the backpack slung over Tamara's shoulder.
Dyson hesitated a moment then his familiar grin lit up his face.
"Sure. Hand her the bag, Tamara."
"But what about our cut?" she questioned.
Dyson's eyes flicked over to her with a dark glare.
"A'ight. Damn," she mumbled.
The Boss's eyes narrowed. "What's going on?"
"Do you, by any chance, know of a Saint named Tommy?" He took the proffered bag from Tamara and handed it over to his Boss. "He had some… little minions with him, so he may be the leader of a crew."
"Uh," Pierce said as he cleared his throat. "One of my boys, uh… One of my crews is headed by a kid named Tommy. Skinny white boy, blonde hair?"
"Yes, that sounds like him," Dyson purred as he leaned forward. "He's done at the Hideout and the Red Light District. He and his crew can hang at the University Loft in Frat Row but he's not welcome here anymore."
Pierce hesitated for a moment. "You mind tellin' me why? I mean he is one of my top moneymakers."
"Because I said so," the enforcer stated matter-of-factly. "You don't need another reason."
"You ain't the Boss," Pierce retorted. "You don't get to just make that kind of call."
A dangerous look danced across Dyson's face as he took a step forward.
"And you obviously put more importance on your place in the grand scheme of things, little man." The enforcer flipped the side of his duster back revealing the .44Shepherd on his right hip. "Allow me to enlighten you on just how replaceable you are." His hand moved toward his revolver.
Pierce backed up, worry on his face. Shaundi and Carlos started moving out of the way just as the Boss interspaced herself between her enforcer and the current target of his wrath.
"Dyson, stop!" she commanded. "What's going on?"
"One of the Saints, a girl, was attacked by Tommy and his boys," Tamara explained quickly.
The Boss hazarded a glance in Tamara's direction while keeping herself in front of Dyson.
"She was fightin' them when Wexor and me showed up," the Wheel Woman went on. "We thought they were tryin' to assault one of their own… maybe even rape her. We weren't sure."
"The fuck's up with your crew, Pierce?" the Boss growled over her shoulder at him. "Yeah, I'm gonna agree with Dyson on this one. Just be lucky he didn't blow your boy away." She turned back toward the enforcer. "The girl okay?"
Such was his focus on Pierce it took Dyson a moment to realize he was being addressed.
"Hmm, yes. She seemed fine when we left." He nodded as he finally looked at her. "Tough little thing – I quite liked her attitude."
"Yo, we gonna do this, or what?" Johnny called out from behind the table, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that Dyson had been ready to kill one of the Boss's Lieutenants. "These green fuckers are laughing at us and its time they paid."
"Yeah, okay," the Boss agreed, then she looked back at Dyson. "Can you focus on the shit we need to do? You alright with this now?"
"I'll do whatever you require of me," he said with a slight nod, then he flipped his duster back in front of his revolver indicating the matter with Pierce was settled.
"Good," said the Boss, "cuz we're gonna pay these Samedi fucks for hurtin' the Saints. For hurting' my Saints!"
She moved back over to the table.
"Alright, listen up," their leader began as she pointed to locations on the map. "We control Bavogian Plaza, Frat Row, Pleasantview, and Shivington. We're getting some decent green from them as well as some of the businesses located in those neighborhoods." She leaned in at the map. "There's also a trickle of cash coming from Old Stilwater and the Stilwater Caverns, but nothing to brag about."
"What about Pilsen?" asked Shaundi. "I thought we had that, too."
"A bit of'a mix-up as to who was in charge of the party on that one," the Boss remarked dryly. "It slipped through our fingers. Won't happen again, right?" She glanced at Carlos who dropped his head quickly.
"No, ma'am, er, Boss," the young Hispanic Lieutenant muttered.
"Anyway, that's in the past," the Boss looked up again, eyes alighting on each of them in turn. "We been hit – twice – by these voodoo fucktards and that shit's done. Thanks to Shaundi, we know there's a half dozen helicopters bringing in new product to the Samedi territories this Friday. We're gonna stop'em."
Dyson narrowed his eyes. "So a concerted effort. Each of us takes out one of the copters."
"Nope," the Boss grinned. "One vehicle with me in it. I'm icing these motherfuckers personally."
"You want me as shotgun? You drive, I kill?"
"Nope," the head of the Saints said with a shake of her head. "Pierce is driving me."
"Excuse me?" This time it was Tamara who spoke up. "The doo rag wearin' whine-ass is gonna be your driver…? When I'm one of your choices? Wow – we almost ended our friendship."
The Saints' Leader snorted.
"No, Pierce an' me, well, let's call it a… bonding experience," she explained. "Sort've a 'get to know your employees' kinda thing'.
"Then what am I doing here?" the cleaner asked.
"Well, you got your choice – you and Tamara can ride with me and Pierce in the back..." the Boss started.
A barely contained squawk of protest came from Tamara, but Dyson broke in.
"Or?"
"Or," the Saints' leader continued, "you two can help Johnny, Shaundi and Carlos capture the Ultor Dome Neighborhood from the Samedi." A dark grin formed on her lips. "Apparently, the General used up a good portion of his soldiers that were supposed to be in control of that territory to attack us here at the Mission. Lost a lot of'em, too. It should be easy to take."
"Well, then," Dyson murmured, "if the Neighborhood is as weak as you say, Johnny should be able to take it in his sleep, much less with the assistance of two of your Lieutenants."
"True dat," Johnny was quick to reply. "But the Saints've been attacked a lot lately. Boss doesn't want anyone goin' alone." He put a hand up to the side of his face and whispered loudly. "It's cuz she's worried 'bout me. Ain't that sweet? I'm her favorite."
"No," the Boss growled in annoyance. "It's cuz that 'hood will be worth a lot after it belongs to the Third Street Saints. You goin' off on your own will most likely wind up with the place leveled and of no use to anyone."
Johnny rubbed his chin. "Yeah, that may happen. But it'd be fun."
She let out a heavy sigh and started picking at a thin silver chain she'd been wearing. It was a necklace with two small silver medallions on them.
"What's this then?" Dyson asked. "Something new from On Thin Ice?"
"No," the Boss replied. "A present."
"A what?" the enforcer blinked unsure that he heard correctly.
"A present, from Carlos." She turned to look at her youngest Lieutenant. "Who're they again?"
"Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe - The Mother Mary," the young man said with a quiet smile. "And Saint Leonard."
The woman turned back and looked at the medallions for a moment, then she smirked.
"Yeah, the Patron Saint of Criminals. They got one of them; ya believe that shit?" She chuckled lightly. "Carlos gave it to me as a present – said they're for protection. He says I need lookin' after."
Tamara noticed a grim look briefly flash across Dyson's face – never a good sign.
"Did he indeed?" the dark man muttered as his eyes flicked over to Carlos and began to bore into him. The quiet smile vanished from the young Lieutenant's lips.
The Boss focused on Dyson again.
"So anyway," she continued, bringing Dyson's gaze back to her. "Which'll it be? Going with Pierce and me?" Behind her Johnny frowned and shook his head 'no'. "Or going with Gat and the others?" Johnny nodded with a wry smirk as he pointed to himself, obviously in favor of the latter.
The Saints' cleaner looked down and briefly examined the map, finally coming to his decision.
"Neither."
"Ya wanta run that by me again," the Boss mumbled. "I'm not sure I caught that."
"I said neither," repeated Dyson. "I'll strike here." He pointed to a spot on the north side of the river that split Stilwater into two halves. "I'll take the Elysium Fields Trailer Park. It's one neighborhood, I can do that."
"Okay, well, that's not an option," the woman remarked. "Or weren't you listening?"
"If we start hitting the Samedi on multiple sides, there's a good chance that they're going to retreat away until they can recover," he explained. "They already have a foothold in Northern Stilwater. If they somehow manage to press further north into the Ronin's holdings, then we'll have to split our forces to deal with them. And as you say, we're low on Saints right now. We don't have the man-power to beat them like that."
"If you don't want to go with either me or Gat, why not…" she looked at the map. "I mean fuck, why not go to Stilwater University? They're having some sort of Student Union thingee up there, when'd you say, Shaundi, this week?"
"Yep," the Lieutenant with the dreads replied. "The Samedi are trying to recruit from Veteran Child's old haunt."
"Yeah, do the University instead," the Boss nodded. "You go to Elysium Fields, you got no back-up. We have NOTHING over there. You'll be cut off and alone."
"You don't think I can handle it?" the cleaner inquired.
"Why you arguing about this?" she wondered aloud. "What's your problem today?" She started reaching her hand up towards his face, a questioning look in her eyes.
There was a sudden, solid knock on the door drawing the attention of all within the room.
Frustrated, the Boss cried out, "Who the fuck is it?"
"It's Dice!" a girl's voice hollered back. "I need… need to talk to you about something."
The senior members of the Saints looked back and forth at one another until the Boss finally called back.
"Come on in!"
The door opened and in came a short girl, barely reaching 5'2" in her tennis shoes. A look of determination was in her hazel eyes that quickly evaporated when faced with all of the high ranking members of the gang before her. She stopped about five feet inside the door, her mouth slightly agape.
"Well?" the Boss asked after a moment.
"Huh?" the short girl replied.
"What. Do. You. Want?" the woman said in exasperation.
"Uh, I'm here," the tiny Saint explained, "...to help. Er, I mean I want to help." She paused. "Um, that's okay, right?"
"Yeah," her boss said. "You can get me a beer. Actually fuck that. Go get me whatever's the most expensive red-colored crap we got downstairs."
"Uh, no."
"Excuse me?" The Boss's eyes widened in surprise. "Did you just say no?"
"I mean," the short girl was looking very uncomfortable. "I meant that's not why I'm here. I want to help you get the Samedi."
"Uh, sorry Boss," Pierce apologized. "She's part of my crew and doesn't know what she's sayin'." He stepped forward.
"What? Yeah, I do," she replied to Pierce. "I wanna get the Samedi."
"Why you bein' like that?" Pierce grumbled at the new arrival as he moved up to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and began to turn her around. "This is not the time."
"No," Dyson called out suddenly. "Let her stay."
He looked over at the Boss with a smirk.
"This is her."
"Yeah this is Dice," the Boss confirmed. "I know who she is."
"Really?" the little Saint squeaked before she realized she'd spoken aloud.
"I mean she's the girl that was attacked upstairs," the cleaner continued. "She was fighting three guys at once and doing rather well." He glanced over at the short blonde. "I was most impressed."
"You were?" Dice muttered. "I mean, uh, thanks, um, sir."
"So," the Boss leaned in close, "You think you're ready for the big time shit, huh? You want to step up with us? Why should I let you?"
The tiny Saint paused a moment at the intensity in the eyes of her leader.
"Well?"
"Actually, I'm, uh, doin' it for someone else," the blonde girl stated. "Artemis, well, he's the leader of my crew and he was hurt, so now I'm kinda in charge at the moment." She took a deep breath. "He, um, was wounded trying to get me and Bert and Dominic out during the Push-back in Shivington. He should really be here, not me."
Pierce started to say something, but Dice cut him off.
"But he's not, cuz those Sons of Samedi bastards hurt him." She stood up straight. "And not just him, they hurt all my friends. They killed Barry and shot Bert and they tore up Blake pretty bad. And Corey; they killed Corey right in front of me." Anger started overcoming her features. "When we first got Shivington, when Chaz first joined we fought Taibot and his crew, but we let them all go. Then they're gonna turn around and keep fucking with us – keep killin' us? Fuck them; they need to pay and I want in on that!" The edges of her eyes started to glisten as she finished.
Silence hung heavy in the air for a moment. Finally the Boss spoke.
"I know what it's like havin' a friend shot right in front of you and being unable to do anything about it," she muttered as she rubbed a hand over her stomach near a long healed scar. Her eyes seemed unfocused for a moment. "Thought I was big and bad-ass then, goin' to the rescue, goin' to save her from the Rollerz." She cleared her throat. "Shit doesn't always work out like that, though. Died right next to me."
The Boss focused on the girl again.
"This shit's real," she explained. "We're going on the offensive now."
"'Bout damn time," Johnny mumbled under his breath. The Boss glanced over her shoulder with a 'Not now' look.
"Shit'll be more dangerous than usual," she went on, looking forward once more. "I don't know if you're ready for that."
A look of disappointment crossed Dice's features. She stood still, not knowing what to say next.
"Give her Stilwater University," Dyson offered. "If it's just gonna be some low-level recruiters, it should be easy enough for her."
"Only if she has a full crew," the Boss retorted, then she leaned toward the little Saint. "You got a full crew?"
Dice blinked. "Uh, sure? I mean, yeah. Artemis is hurt, but I got someone fillin' in for him, so, uh, we're all good, uh, Boss."
"That'll leave Elysium Fields for me," the cleaner said.
"This again," the Boss groaned. "You know what? Fine, do it. Blow it all to shit, but I better still be getting' some money from the territory when you're done, you get me?" She turned to Tamara. "You watch over his crazy ass; I don't need to be losing anybody else right now."
The Wheel Woman nodded.
"Be careful, you two," the leader said with a nod. "Just get it done and do it right."
"You want it in the papers?" the hitman grinned. "You want it biblical?"
"Make it apocalyptic," she responded with a grin of her own.
"Yo, hold up!" Johnny interjected. "He gets to blow shit up, but I gotta be good? How the fuck is that fair?"
"Hmm," Dyson said with a half-smirk on his face. "Apparently, you aren't her favorite, after all."
In just four days, Dice was going to die.
The meeting was over, and Dice had managed to survive it. She walked in and talked to the Boss herself. She told her what she wanted, why she needed to be part of anything the Saints were going to do to the Samedi.
I did it just like Mr Kind said, she mused to herself. I did it on my terms. I made the situation mine. I owned it.
Then another thought surfaced.
He supported me, she thought with a nod. The most dangerous member of the Saints – well, next to the Boss, and, uh, probably Johnny Gat, too, and Stammer was kinda strong, but yeah. She allowed herself a brief smile. Mr Kind actually backed me.
"And the Boss," she muttered aloud. "She knows who I am. Knows my name." She looked up at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. "Maybe I'm not the schmuck I think I am."
She brushed her hair back a little, primping herself. Then she paused, being a bit more critical.
"She said I needed a crew and I told her I had one… but that wasn't true." She shook her head. "Artemis is down for the count. Blake's tore to shit. And Chaz, hmph, Artemis sent him home and I have no clue where the fuck he lives."
She sighed as she turned on the sink. She cupped her hands together, then splashed some water onto her face. As the droplets ran down her cheeks, she looked at her reflection once again.
In four days be ready, the Boss had said. We hit the Samedi on Friday.
"I got no one. No crew, no plan. Nothing."
She lied to the Boss and had absolutely no clue how she was going to deal with the Samedi recruiters at Stilwater University in just four days.
"I guess I am a schmuck after all."
When the Boss finds out she deceived her about having a crew ready for the mission, she would kill Dice, probably in some very horrible, painful way.
Yep, in just four days, Dice was going to die.
Dyson was lost in thought as Tamara drove him back to his hideout in Little Shanghai.
He had sent a text to Stenno, one of his best contacts, concerning the need for information regarding the Elysium Fields Trailer Park.
Why you arguing about this? the Boss had asked him. What's your problem today?
He hadn't meant to question her in front of her subordinates. He hadn't meant to disrespect her.
Truth be told, she made him nervous. Being around her was uncomfortable and he didn't seem to think clearly when he was near her.
He knew why – it was obvious. He still had feelings for her, still wanted to be with her, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. It'd probably never happen. He had truly lost her the day of the accident on the Alderman's yacht.
What's this then? he'd asked upon noticing her necklace. Something new from On Thin Ice?
No… A present, from Carlos.
His teeth ground in hatred and, he was loathe to admit, jealousy. He'd almost pulled his gun and shot the young Hispanic Saint right there.
The line between Wexor and Mr Kind was becoming blurred again. Wexor wanted to tell her how much he loved her, how much they should be together again.
But the ever-vigilant Mr Kind would not allow that to happen. He'd been weak, vulnerable, open. Never again.
It was one of the reasons why he told the Boss to call him Dyson from now on. Her voice speaking his name, Wexor, was a siren's call that he could never resist. Too many memories from their time at the old church from their time cleaning up Stilwater the five years ago.
The constant war within himself was enough to drive even the most stable of individuals mad, and he was far from stable to begin with.
"We're here," Tamara announced as she hit the button for the garage-door opener. "So what's the plan for the trailer park."
Dyson glanced over at his driver.
"The plan for tonight is that you go see Trey," he stated matter-of-factly.
"Wha…?" she began, but he cut her off.
"Just go," he muttered. "I need time to think, to be alone for a while." He looked down. "I'm just tired right now."
Tamara searched his face for a moment before giving in.
"Whatever you say, boss."
She watched as he got out and walked to the warehouse entrance through the connecting garage. He punched the code on the keypad next to the door and went in. She watched as he entered, then she backed the car up, shifted gears and drove off down the street, making sure to hit the automatic garage-door button again before she got out of range.
…
…
Had Dyson not have been so lost in his own thoughts or Tamara not been so concerned for him, either of them may have noticed a black Justice parked across the street. They may have noticed the two individuals loitering unobtrusively near the vehicle. But, as it was, they didn't.
Neither noticed one of the pair, a short, bald man, dash across the intersection. Neither saw him launch himself forward just before the garage-door slammed shut. And neither was able to see him expertly tumble into a perfect roll, clearing both the garage-door and the security camera watching the warehouse's entrance.
"So, it's to be as simple as this, then," he muttered in a voice that hinted at his British heritage. The price on the head of the owner of this building was a quarter of a million dollars. Not a small sum at all.
He clicked on a small blue light. The clear contacts he had over his pale green eyes had been attuned to the light, allowing him to see perfectly in the darkness without alerting motion sensors that relied on normal light.
He looked around the garage and found his target: an oversized industrial ventilation shaft in the ceiling near the northwest corner of the garage. He pulled one item out of the small pack at his back and set it down then reached in for a second item – a specialized muffled mini-drill that quickly (and quietly) removed the screws holding the vent's cover on.
Once the cover was removed, he replaced the drill into his pack and picked up the item he had set down – a black, GDHC.50 with a flash-suppressant silencer.
As he hauled himself into the ventilation shaft, the man, named Isaac, shook his head. He had warned Wexor, years ago when they ran in the same circles, to improve the security at his building. Arrogantly, Wexor never listened – he was too busy trying to follow up with that trollop who lay in a coma at Stilwater Penitentiary. Now Isaac was glad his old companion never heeded his advice. It made his current job so much easier.
Although it really didn't matter, for Isaac was deadlier, more sadistic, and more skilled than the man known as Mr. Kind. And tonight, he would prove it.
A/N: Whoa, who the hell's this guy? And what's going to happen to Mr. Kind?
Well, tune in next chapter where we WON'T tell you. That's right, Mr. Kind won't be around for a while… if at all. Hm, that's sucks…
Also, thanks to shadow182angel for letting me snitch a few things from her story, A Saint's Resurrection.
Thanks for reading!
