Author's Note: Merry Christmas!
Enjoy!
Chapter 57 – Slaughterhouse Rescue (Part two)
October 9, 2004 = Saturday Sunset
~Eliza Flores~
I went through the door like a soldier on a mission, big SAW in hand. I expected a fight equal to that of the Mexican Army versus the Alamo. I expected the place to be packed with hunters entrenched so well that my presence would be considered a joke.
What I got was a big empty room.
Well, no empty in the fact there was nothing in it. It was obviously a hunter training facility complete with gun range and obstacle course. At the other end was a stair going up to some sort of balcony that also had some sort of office door.
I was just starting to walk towards it when I caught the glint of light at the top of the stair. My celerity kicked in just in time for me to slow time enough to see the bright burst of light of the shot as it fired. I dove for the cover of a crate, the sting of a bullet on my thigh telling me I hadn't been wholly successful in evading harm, but I was safe for the moment.
"Missed!" I taunted the sniper.
"I knew Johansen would lure the servants of Satan!" a thick German accent shouted down to me, echoing off the walls and faint as I listened. "But I set this trap for the archfiend himself! Where is LaCroix!"
"LaCroix isn't the type to do his own dirty work!" I shouted back at what I suspected to be the head hunter, Bach. "You want him, head for LaCroix tower in downtown LA. Hand over LaCroix or you won't live to find him."
"Perhaps when LaCroix has run out of minions, he will show me his face!" Back said, a look through the shadows telling me he was sighting me in. "And God will guide my shot through it. Before I send you to eternal damnation, any last words?!"
"God doesn't condone harming the innocent!" I shouted back at him. "Hand over Johansen or I swear I'll see you in hell!"
"You should have begged for God's mercy," Bach taunted back. "I will show you none."
"Hell it is," I yelled, then shadow-jumped to the balcony to land over Bach.
Bach rolled clear of my kick and I leveled the big Saw on him as he rolled to his feet. His face was a sneer of victory though as he pulled a cross from his belt and, and suddenly bright light enveloped him and I found myself knocked off the balcony.
I rolled to my feet, strewing loose guns and breaking the strap on my bag as I rolled to absorb the impact. I took a moment to check for weapons as I ran for cover, finding I only had the belt holding the Model of 1911 pistol I had just taken. I managed to get behind a stack of crates just as a gunshot sent splinters to follow after me.
Staying in the safety of the crates, I used the shadows to check on Bach, finding him and his rifle sighting on me. I didn't have many options, the rifle I was needing was too far away and it was suicide to fight a sniper with a pistol. Still, I could shadow-jump and move faster than he should be able to adjust for, but that was risking a lot.
A loud report of his rifle made up my mind for me as one of the crates broke into pieces. I couldn't stay put. So as he took a second to reload, I scrambled for my bag and the Kalashnikov. One quick glance as I picked up both the Russian assault rifle and my most recently stolen one told me that my Bach was likely the best sniper in the world as he had already retrained his rifle on me.
Once again, my celerity allowed me to see the bullet as it was fired, the smoke trail trailing its path to me before disappearing into nothing. I tried to roll to the side, but the bullet sent me flying along the rocky floor as it smacked into the Kalashnikov in my hand. Once again without weapons, I could only shadow jump for safety as Bach once again tried to kill me.
I landed on the balcony, not far from Bach and where he stood with his rifle. I formed a katana from the shadows and charged, but Bach just pulled his cross and held in front off him. The effect was immediate, it was like hitting a burning hot brick wall and I staggered back to eye him.
I was spared from having to choose where to jump to as Bach set hit rifle against the railing, apparently unwilling to risk firing the large weapon one handed. Instead, he pulled a katana from his belt.
"Ready to die, unholy demon?" he spat at me.
"I'm a Catholic," I told him, resolute in that statement. "I'm not some unholy demon to be sent to hell for all eternity."
"Then why can't you approach?" he challenged me, moving forward with his cross held in front of him. That burning wall feeling pushed me back and I eyed him with hatred. "Try it demon! Face a true man of God!"
I tried to push my katana forward, seeing if maybe I needed to make some kind of spear or chakram to get past his cross, but where the katana met the wall, it dissolved into nothing. My pistol was next, but Bach didn't even flinch as I put an experimental round into his chest. The bullet disappeared as he
Bach kept his constant march forward and pushed me back, and soon he had me backed up to the railing, and I realized I was out of options. Jean's tale of a true man of faith and a cross came to my mind, and with that in mind, knew I was going to have to jump.
But where?
Eyeing the spot behind Johansen, an idea came to my mind. His impenetrable wall of faith was in front of him, signified by the cross. If I could get behind him fast enough, I might be able to end this. With that in mind, I used my celerity to roll over the railing, then shadow-jumped to a spot behind Bach.
It was almost a shock to see Bach whirling on me, so it was in haste that I began popping shots at Bach like a Compton bad girl. My haste made me miss a lot, but a few shots grazed Bach's cross arm, which was protecting most of his body. The shock of being shot made the cross fall from limp fingers, the 1911 mirroring as I dropped the empty gun.
Bach's snarl was almost feral as he readied his blade, somehow getting his injured arm to work and maneuver his blade. I squared off against him with my shadow blade and tried to slash at his leg. Bach proved every bit my equal as he parried my blade, and even my celerity was somehow muted as we fought.
Bach also proved himself a master duelist in another way. As our blades met, he would slacken his wrists to allow his blade to slide past mine. This made me give ground to avoid a fatal slash. Again and again, Bach's prowess in battle made me give ground until my foot found the wall behind me. With nowhere left to retreat to, I made the last ditch effort to overpower the mortal in the best way I knew how.
Adding potence to my limbs, I knocked Bach's blade to the side on a successful parry of his slash then let go of my shadow-blade and grabbed the front of Bach's duster. While my intent was to throw him hard enough against the wall to leaven a Bach-shaped impression that would surely daze the hunter long enough for me to kill him, he surprised me by getting a leg between him and the wall shoving me to the ground.
My deathgrip on Bach's duster pulled the hunter on top of me, and a flash of steel was my only warning as Bach's katana slashed underneath my throat. If it weren't for my celerity adding speed to my arms, Bach would have decapitated me then and there, but I just barely caught the blade as Bach gripped the other end to saw through my neck.
"Now demon," he hissed in my ear, "You will be sent to the abyss from which you came!"
"I'm no monster," I grunted out. "I came only for Johansen."
"That is why you slaughter my men?" he challenged me.
"Only the ones I was forced to," I told him as I struggled to keep the blade from my neck. How a mere mortal was matching my supernatural powers was a mystery. "But I'm not the one kidnapping innocents and torturing them."
"Johansen is our guest," he said, as he kept up the struggle with the katana.
"What about Ash?" I asked him. "Were the cross burns from his capture?"
"That was an abomination," he replied. "He will be cleansed so that the innocent soul within can go to its just reward."
"And who are you to judge?" I asked him. "Judge not lest ye be judged?"
"Is that why you cannot stand Holy Light?" he asked and I felt my stomach fall. "Is that why you cannot face the Cross?"
I remained silent as my brain tried to find a way to survive. I was weakening, the blood fueling my potence draining and soon I would be at a severe disadvantage. Thinking back to all the powers I knew of, I had two last options, and both would mean my destruction. I could summon the shadows, send us both to the void in the hopes that what Bach would see there would scare him to death.
I quickly rejected that idea. Bach was clearly a match for me in every detail. That left me with a shadow-tentacle. Where before I had used them to ensnare my victims, I needed this one to do something drastic.
Summoning the tentacle on the ground in front of me, I closed my eyes to what I had to do. Willing the shadow into motion, it plunged into and through my chest and out my back and into Bach. Bach bucked at the violation of his being, but his hands went slack on the sword and I finally managed to shove it away to clatter across the floor.
I dispelled the tentacle, feeling Bach slide off as I scrambled back to my feet. When I looked back, his duster was covered in blood and he looked at me with a sense of betrayal as he took in the hole in my own chest.
"I-I never thought you had access to that power," he said as I stood over him. "How?"
"You should try to learn more about your prey if you intend to risk your life to kill us," I told him as I knelt beside him. "If I were the monster, I'd drain you of your blood and throw your lifeless husk in the trash. All I'm going to do is take Johansen home."
Bach gave me an incredulous stare as blood leaked from a corner of his mouth. "If you survive, you better not come looking for me as you did LaCroix," I warned him. "As I told you before, I'm no monster, but I'm not a fool either. I won't tolerate a hunter after me just waiting to ambush me. Attack me again at your own peril."
Bach just stared daggers at me as I picked up my empty pistol on my way to the door Bach had been guarding. A look over the railing at my scattered weapons made me sigh, knowing it'd be a pain to grab everything on my way out. My bag's strap had been ripped in the fall, and the contents had been spread all over. Likewise my SAW and it's accompanying ammo belts were also strewn with the ammo belts in several pieces.
That gave me momentary pause as my hand rested on the door handle as I looked back to Bach. He hadn't laid a hand on me when he threw me off the balcony, but just about everything I had had been taken and broken when I landed on the floor below. I had still won the fight, that Bach lay dying on the balcony with blood leaking from his mouth was evidence of that.
Opening the door, I found it was set up as a living quarters. In one corner sat a short-sheeted cot, a chrome plated shotgun propped up beside it. There was also a small religious shrine in a corner, and I had the feeling this was where Bach stayed. I went over to the shotgun, grabbing it by the pistol grip and examined it. It was bulky, short barreled and had the familiar pump shotgun feel I'd seen in the hands of police in movies. It was heavy, though, like a full ten pounds but there was also a sling which I put over my head to let it rest on my left hip.
The only other thing to the room was a doorway at the rear of the room. Going through it, I found another cot but on this one sat an older man in a bathrobe. He looked at me with a mix of hatred and sadness.
"I told you everything," he complained. "There's no reason for you to keep me here! Let me go!"
"Doctor Johansen?" I asked and he nodded.
"I am an archaeologist!" he went on. "You can't hold me here like this, I am a hostage. Bring me back to my hotel at once!"
"Tell me what I need to know, and when the sun comes up you'll be in police hands."
"Ja, ja, okay," he said. "Just get me out of these caverns and away from these crazies. I think I'm starting to get pneumonia."
"Tell me about the Ankaran Sarcophagus," I asked him.
"The sarcophagus?" he asked. "You went through all that trouble for the sarcophagus?"
I nodded and he shrugged. "Ja, I'll tell you, but , don't you think it would be better to get out of here before those men come back?"
"I dealt with them," I told him and he sagged in relief. "They won't give us any problems."
"I guess if you can get all the way here, you deserve the answers," he agreed. "Where should I begin?"
"Let's start with the history of the Ankaran Sarcophagus," he said as he stood up. "That is a long and interesting legend, lost and found throughout the ages. Tell me, are you familiar with the Assyrians?"
"No," I said as the name was unfamiliar to me. "Somewhere in the middle east, right?"
"Ja, well, the Assyrians lived in Mesopotamia, a region between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers," he said, acting more like a professor giving a lecture. "Most of this territory is now modern-day Iraq, Iran, Turkey and Syria.
"They were warmongers, conquerors, a people driven to expand by their kings. Even before the Romans, they migrated their conquered people to the territories to stem revolt, but, uh... I'm afraid I'm getting off the subject."
"Tell me about the sarcophagus itself," I said, bringing him back to the matter that prompted me to get to this point.
"Well, the markings on the sarcophagus seem to hint that is from some time between 1050 and 800 B.C., which was a period of fierce expansion by the Assyrians," he told me. "Oddly, for those years, only one king shows up on the historical record. While most likely he wiped all evidence of his predecessor's existence or passed the name to his heirs, one monarch, Messerach, the One-eyed King, is given credit for the territory and achievements of this time. But he would have had to have been over 250 years old! Like a Dracula or something."
"So?" I said, and he frowned as if he were treading familiar arguments.
"I find it hard to believe that a sarcophagus with a person as important as Messerach could remain in - oh, what is the word? - pristine or intact condition for so many years, but this is who is believed to be contained within."
"It is mostly a moot point, though," he said with a sigh. "Maybe you have not yet heard, but it was stolen from the museum before we had a chance to open it. Usually, we use equipment to carbon-date, X-ray, and take air samples before we pry open the lid.
"You compared him to a vampire... any reason?" I asked him as I wondered if there had been a breach of the masquerade.
"You know, it is interesting that you ask me that," he told me, his face lighting up at a thought. "The goddess on the outside of the sarcophagus was Lamastu. In Assyrian myth, Lamastu was an evil demoness who preyed on humans. Many people cite her as the mother of vampire myth, and the engravings on, and found around the sarcophagus portray a regal figure drinking the blood of his enemies. Now, this image is found in many cultures, specifically among those of royal lineage... but there is a quite scientific explanation.
"Which is?" I asked him absentmindedly, glad the masquerade was safe.
"A disorder known as porphyria. In short, it is caused by a deficiency of the iron in the blood, and in many cultures, for the nobility that could conceivably get away with the cure, the treatment was to... drink human blood."
"So Messerach drank human blood?" I asked him, wondering if I had heard him right.
"Perhaps," he said with a shrug. "Drinking the blood of your enemies is, if nothing else, symbolic. It can inspire fear in your foes and dissidents. Don't misunderstand me, I in no way believe it was a vampire. Vampires... that's what caused this whole mess - these maniacs believe they exist!
"Bunch of bull if you ask me," I said. "How do I open the sarcophagus?"
"Ah! Quite interesting," he said, getting almost giddy at something. "There is a surprisingly complex mechanical lock on the face of the sarcophagus. By sheer luck, we were able to find the key not far from the sarcophagus. Why no one ever found it and robbed it...it's perplexing."
"A key!" I asked him, and he nodded. "Do you have it?"
"How strange you would ask," he said, and I felt my insides cave as a brief flash of no rang through my mind. "I haven't seen the key since it was loaded into the Elizabeth Dane in Turkey. It was stolen before the sarcophagus, even! I am still hopeful that the police find both pieces before the contents can be disturbed."
"Do you have a copy of the key?" I asked him, then felt stupid for asking it. Ancient keys were likely hand made and not easily reproduced."
"No," he said, shaking his head at my stupidity. "It's not the kind of key you can copy at the hardware store. It's actually very sophisticated and I meant to study it at the museum."
I heard a brief rustle and I looked for the source. Not finding any, I turned back to Johansen.
"I answered all your questions," he pleaded with me. "Do you think, now, you could please get me out of here? I don't care who you are or why you've had so many questions about the sarcophagus. I just want to leave this place."
"Sure," I told him, placing an arm around his waist so I could jump us both to the surface. "Thanks for the information, doctor."
From my vantage point I had a good view of Bach as he stumbled through the door to collapse by the bed. He looked at me with a wicked, bloody grin as he pulled something from his duster pocket.
"Your time of judgement is here," he weazed, and from his mind I saw the explosive charges being planted throughout the caverns ceiling and how it was all wired to that simple trigger. He pressed the button, and an earthshattering boom nearly drowned out his final words. "I shall die knowing you die with me!"
Panic filled me debris crashed through the ceiling, crushing Bach in front of my eyes. I jumped, dragging Johansen with me through the shadows back to the road. When I turned around, the entire monastery slid off into the ocean, shrieks from the hunters who had been guarding the perimeter filling the night as the tried to save themselves from the falling rock and deep plunge.
"Those men," he breathed and I spun him to face me. I peered over my glasses to put him under domination, and he went slack.
"You will not remember anything more than that you were captured, and that you managed to escape when your jailer was sleeping," I told him.
At Johansen's nod, I shadow-jumped again, this time back to my motel room to change clothes. What I saw made me angry. The room was in complete disarray, clear signs that a battle had been raged. Holes and even slice marks adorned the walls giving evidence to the severity of the battle.
In the middle of it all sat Yukie on the edge of the bed, katana across her lap. She was still dressed in the shorts and tank I had dressed her in after her suicide attempt though now there was blood and rips in the material. With her eyes closed, she looked almost asleep until they snapped open. The visceral look in her eyes was instantly replaced with one of relief, and she set the katana aside.
"Mistress, we were invaded," she told me as she stood to join me.
"Any idea who?" I asked her.
"Īe," she said as she lowered and shook her head. "She was, hen'na, strange. Her eyes were diamonds."
"Diamonds?" I asked her and she nodded. "I'll ask around, see what I can come up with. Shouldn't be too hard to find though."
"I can say she got away with nothing," Yukie told me.
"Good," I said, looking through the debris of my room. "Still feeling the blood loss?"
"Hai," she said, sighing as she sat back on the bed. "I could barely fend her off. She tried to eat me."
"Eat you?" I said, appalled at the thought. "Are you sure she was kindred?"
Yukie shook her head at that. "Her teeth were not right. They were like broken glass."
"Maybe not a kindred," I mused as I removed the heavy shotgun and set it on the dresser. Once the strap was no longer covering the hole in my chest, Yukie went wide-eyed at it but said nothing.
"It's nothing," I assured her, as I removed my gun belt and set it aside. "You should see the other guy."
Looking at the pistol, though, I couldn't help but be reminded of the loss that was my weapons. My SAW, Glock, Uzi, MP5, and Kalashnikov were all in the bag I had lost along with all my magazines. All I had left was the 1911 and the funky shotgun I had stolen from Bach. If things went south, I might want something to help me out or prevent masquerade violations.
Yukie, however, remained silent as I stepped into the bathroom area to change clothes after Bach's bullet ripped a hole my pants and impaling myself with my own powers. In deference to my upcoming meeting with the prince, I dressed myself in a blue suit and two inch heels. I then had Yukie brush out and braid my hair while I sat in a chair.
Having decided to already stop by Fat Larry's house for more weapons, my mind went to the reason I needed more weapons in the first place. A monster, Bach had called me. He had also proved it. He had knocked me off my feet and repulsed me with nothing more than his faith in the Almighty.
Was I damned? Had I lost my soul when Simeon sired me? It was a pair of questions that had me so lost in my own personal conundrum that I didn't even notice when Yukie had finished. How was I supposed to get to heaven without my soul?
"Mistress?" she asked me, bringing me back to the here and now. "I am finished with your hair and makeup."
I only nodded, moving to grab my newly acquired pistol and shotgun before heading out the door to the Civic. The walkways were quiet and I soon had the weapons stashed in the trunk. In what could only be described as a fog, I got in and began driving, taking notice of Cherry's ass hanging out of a car window as she strove to make money on my behalf.
Is that what I had sunk to? Tearing young girl's lives away just to feed me even more money than I already could use. Seeing her though, brought me one sense of clarity. I used her as nothing more than a plaything, a doll on strings to do with as I pleased. I was conditioning her to the life of a whore, making her sister watch helplessly as day by day her sister became what I wanted and accepted it.
Was I truly a bad person? Had I lost my way? Was I now a monster who was hell bound?
One thing was for sure, the hunters had access to a power of their own. Whether it was based in religion was a debate for another time, but I couldn't stop thinking about that cross. Bach had used it and his own power to not only keep me away, but could kill me with it if I were cornered. No weapon, not even a speeding bullet, could pierce that wall.
But was it because I was kindred or did it work against any enemy of the hunter?
There was no way to answer that question unless Yukie could answer it for me, but even that was circumspect. Yukie, as she was Japanese wasn't likely to be Catholic but maybe she had access to something similar. If true, did she still retain that power even though she was now my ghoul?
Shaking my head, I had to remember an old saying taught to me when I was still learning the martial arts, "Don't let yourself be distracted." I might question my spirituality if I sat around a sanctum, but I was in the field now and not keeping my mind on my surroundings could get me killed.
Especially if the hunters near Malibu were any indication of how serious they could be. While I was confident that all the hunters at the mission had been eradicated, that didn't mean there weren't others around like the one that had chased me back when I was first turned. Some people were like that, loners, and they had the capability to be the most ruthless.
Still, as I pulled into Fat Larry's garage, I counted on my ability to meet and overcome any adversary. The lone wolf hunter had died by my hand, and Chastity had been an easy mark taking her by surprise and shooting her. It was clear though, that I couldn't rely on my own powers, so that brought me here to see the man with the best guns in town.
"My girl!" Larry said as I got out of the car. "What brings you here today?"
"Guns, Larry," I said, giving him a smile even as he looked uncertain. "Damn hunters hit me and I lost everything I had. I did get a few mementos, though," I said as I opened the trunk. Larry gave a sharp whistle as he pulled out the big shotgun and looked it over, but he just shook his head.
"Not a clue," he said, then racked the mechanism to eject a shell. He looked it over, then whistled. "Never seen one like this before, but I think I have ammo for it," he said as he examined a shell. "Russian made, 23mm shell or what we call six gauge. Gotta gangrel girl that uses eight, but she says they kick like a mule. Might wanna be careful firing this, and brace yourself against a brick wall."
"Think it'll rip kindred to pieces?" I asked and he chuckled.
"Oh yeah," he said, putting it back in the shotgun's magazine. "Look's like it's pure buckshot, and a shell that big would be like firing three or four twelve gauge rounds at once. Get a good chest shot and should kill pretty handily."
"Good," I said as he put the weapon back in my trunk. "I'll take a bunch. Also need a new MP5."
"Was just working on one," he told me as he picked up the 1911 and it's gun belt. "Now this little baby I know well; a Colt 1911. Carried one in 'Nam and she saved my life more than once."
"Well, it's carrying on the tradition," I said flatly. "She saved mine with Bach. Why do they call it the 1911?"
"Because it was made in 1911," he said with a chuckle. "This design is almost a century old, but still every bit as capable as the Glock you carried."
"Wow," I said, watching as he checked the rest of the belt.
"Rifle magazines," he said as he checked the bullets. "Steyr Aug in 5.56, wow. Probably got the full automatic option too. Shame."
"If I find anymore, I'll know to look," I told him as I watched him pull the knife free.
"And the bayonet for one, too," he said as he studied it. "Still makes a good knife, though if you want I can get you a sheath to stick it in your boot or bigger or smaller knives."
"Don't bother," I said, as he put the setup back in my trunk.
"Well," he said as he led me to his workbench. "Been modifying this MP5's forward sight to hold a laser pointer. Streamlines the look and makes it more accurate in my opinion. Also, not your standard MP5, this one uses forty caliber Smith and Wesson which is more powerful than the standard nine mil."
"Nice," I said as he handed me the weapon. It was certainly sleek and after adjusting it to my stance felt good against my shoulder.
"Might rig a few more like it," he told me. "So, want some spare mags for that?"
"Sure," I told him. "Also, got a spare bag to hold it in?"
"Eh, not right now," he said as he led me down to his armory. "Not much for cases either. Kind of useless to me and takes too much to store them."
"Heard that," I told him. "I kind of prefer to keep my weapons handy."
"A gun in the hand is worth two on the rack," he joked with me and I gave him a small chuckle. "So, let's see, magazines..."
He rummaged through his boxes, handing me six spare magazines for the MP5. I stuffed them in a pocket while Larry began to rummage through another box that contained more clips, and then he held one up. "Saw you only had one mag for that Colt. Figured you might want more."
"You'd figure right," I told him as he handed me four more that I stashed with the others. "Ammo?"
"Let's just do it by the can," he said as he grabbed two cans to slide next to the staircase. He then he went rummaging through several more cans, looking at the lettering on the side before setting them aside. When he finally found what he was looking for, he popped the top then shook his head.
"The only 23mm I have is for anti-aircraft platforms," he said, shutting the can back up.
"Anti-aircraft?" I asked, and he chuckled.
"Trying to be prepared," he said as he restacked his ammo cans. "Never know what people might want at a moments notice."
"Boy scout," I called him and he just laughed.
I looked around the room at the rows of weapons and looked for anything that might be useful in handling multiple opponents. Problem was, I liked the idea of traveling light with just the one submachine gun and pistol to weigh me down. The larger Kalashnikov wasn't the worst weapon, but was restricted to full auto, was hard to hide and took up so much room in my bag.
As I eyed the M60's, I would have loved to take one, but with my Ninja back in my possession, and soon to be my principle ride, it would be impossible to carry without drawing attention.
Shaking my head, I decided to stick with the two weapons for the time being. The pistol was good for close-up work and the submachine gun was good for multiple human targets. If I had to fight multiple kindred targets, I was just going to go samurai on them with one of my shadow-blades.
"I'll do some checking for ammo for ya," he said as he joined me at the stairs. "You got such an oddball that I never even heard of it."
"Thanks Larry," I said as we went back up the stairs. "I'd love to be able to use it more than a few times."
"I hear ya," he said as he brought the ammo cans up.
"So, how much?" I asked him, and he just chuckled.
"Let's just say a thousand," he said as we loaded the items I had just purchased into the trunk of my car. I took out my checkbook, noticing the book from the Giovanni mansion next to it. After paying Larry, I slipped several more checks into my jacket pocket for easy access later before shutting it back up in the trunk.
"Pleasure doing business with you," I said, getting back into my car as Larry opened the garage door.
I pulled out, and with nothing else to do, headed for downtown. It was time to check in.