Demented, As It May Seem…
For the rest of the night, I feel like I'm trapped in fragmented dreams, neither sleeping nor fully awake. Nothing seems clear except for flashing images that I can't seem to recall the moment they've passed, despite that it feels like they have some kind of meaning or clarity, and every now and then, Tseng mumbles something in his sleep.
It's almost like he's trapped in restless dreams as well. Only unlike me, he never wakes, and I watch over him with concern as he contorts his face as if he's grimacing from time to time before I fall back into a restless sleep that is continuously interrupted.
Every now and then, I see the snow as it is in my other dreams, and I see Tseng, and every now and then, I see a flash of a figure that I can't make out standing over his lifeless body outside of the Temple of the Ancients. It almost seems clear to me though, familiar somehow, as a white light encompasses the figure before it turns to fire a shot at something behind it as if it's on guard.
And I wonder…
I wonder as I feel the ground shake while the Temple collapses upon itself and I remember Cloud attacking Aerith shortly afterwards as if it were happening now. It was like he was possessed, and I recall him telling me at Modeoheim how Tseng mentioned something about how she reminded him of his daughter, and I wake up to watch over him again… She was an Ancient.
I have so many questions and no way of knowing how to ask as thoughts of Cloud's story plays over in my head again, almost like his words were meant to tell me something that I wasn't hearing at the time. But I have no idea what it was that I was supposed to pick up on, and I watch Tseng again, uneasily focussing on the tattoo on his forehead—nothing more than a black dot, a mark of the worshippers of the Ancients. It's what Sephiroth called him in a past dream.
Then I subtly frown at myself while coming to the realization that all I ever seem to do is question, watch, never really knowing, and always assuming.
At some point though, I must have fallen into a deeper sleep because by the time I open my eyes again, the sun is shining and Tseng is drinking his tea, picking at a breakfast of eggs and toast, and reading a newspaper that he must have gone out to fetch.
"It's about time you awoke," he mutters, half-chewing the remainder of what's in his mouth and pointing at the old clock by my bedside. All the while, he keeps his eyes glued to the paper and snorts in amusement at something he's reading and I turn to see that it's past noon.
"Why didn't you wake me?" I tiredly ask as I sit up and rub at my eyes before swinging my legs over the edge so I can stare at the floor as if I'm in a daze.
As a response, he indifferently shrugs and grabs a napkin to wipe his hands off before turning the page and continuing to read. Then after a long pause and a short snicker over the article he's reading, he detachedly comments that, "I had some things I wanted to do, and after last night… Well, I felt you probably wouldn't appreciate it if I woke you up."
Then he stands, stretches his legs, and refills his tea.
"What kind of things?"
"Research," he mutters before he sits back down and continues to slowly eat his breakfast as if he's preoccupied with something else.
"Research on what?"
"Nothing important," he answers, and I frown at his unending secrecy before I gasp and grab at my head as a strange figure in the white light flashes through my head again.
But he doesn't seem to notice and I find myself looking around in a daze while feeling like I'm not really here as he turns the page again, spoons some more egg onto his toast and takes another bite before telling me to get dressed if I want to get going.
"What?"
"Well, at the rate you're going, I doubt we'll be able to leave today if you don't pick yourself up," he says, almost sounding garbled as he puts some more egg onto his toast and reaches for the salt. Then he sighs and mutters that he expected no less from me anyway, and I knit my brows while looking down at the blanket tangled around my leg before wondering what in the hell he's talking about.
"Where are we going?"
"To the Northern Continent," he says, almost like he's annoyed with me and feels that I should have already known. After that, he sighs and shakes his head while I feel a strange panic that starts to expand from my gut when he adds, "It was your idea."
Then he wipes his hands on a napkin, gets up, and goes to the bathroom while I sit there and wonder how in the hell he could have concluded that it was my idea.
The answers to my questions only create more questions though, and with each question, I receive only more questionable answers, and my head is starting to hurt as I avoid Tseng's eyes after he comes back out. They watch over me in disdain while he sits on the chair by the table. He's in the shadows complimented by the darkness as it makes him appear more looming while he addresses me.
His left forearm rests over the table while his wrist relaxes, allowing his hand to drape over the edge in a careless manner. His hair is slightly damp at the ends from the shower he took earlier and his frustration strikes me as authentic, even though I have a difficult time believing that it is. All the while, I remain on the edge of the bed, almost blinded by visions of obscure images that mingle with a reality I begin to question by the second, and I hold my head in my hands, supported by my elbows on my knees, and I deny everything he's told me since he came back into the room.
That's not what happened… I tell myself, over and over while questioning why I wouldn't recall such a thing. I never told him that I knew where he was cured from death. I never told him where I thought the facility was, and he grows angrier with me as I deny that I ever said what he tells me I said, and I grow frustrated and tired of whatever game we've been playing.
"For Leviathan's sake, Vincent!" he finally spits out. Then he roughly pushes his chair back and grumbles in Wutian as he stands, sounding unnatural somehow. Then he towers over me with eyes I can feel as they pierce through me, growing darker while I refuse to look up and see if they really are as dark as the abysmal penetration I feel from them, and he accuses me of doing to him what I believe he's doing to me.
"I can't, for the life of me, figure out what the hell it is that you want from me," he tells me. "You pull me close. Then you push me away. You want to help. Then you don't want to help—You do it repetitively!"
I'm not pushing him away though. I'm simply denying that, "I never made that offer," as he tells me that he only had an hour of sleep last night while I know different, and that he's more than just tired from not getting enough sleep before he wanders off into another Wutian rant about how inventive I am when it comes to manipulating him into getting my own way.
"Since day one," he says, "you've done nothing but contradict every thing you say and do, and you've done nothing but disagree, even with the things you agree with!"
"What in the hell are you talking about?"
"Why, Vince… Why would you tell me that you want us to go to the Northern Continent so that you can help me find out what's going on and then deny everything? Why would you press so adamantly and say that you think it's somewhere near the ice-fields…? You said you were positive that you saw something when you were there with Cloud and his friends. You said that you thought it would be the best place to start, and now you deny everything! Why?"
"Because I never said that I would help you," and for a moment, he looks shocked as he stands there speechless and stares at me as if he's trying to work something out in his demented mind.
"Is this a game for you? Do you hate Shinra so much that you have to take it out on them by messing with me…? Or is this some sick kind of revenge that you're taking out on me for something I don't realize I did to you? Is that what this is? Leviathan… I have no idea why I never saw this before," he mutters before he quickly shakes his head and stares at the floor while coming to the conclusion that, "I can't keep doing this… it's like you've set out to do nothing other than jerk me around since the day you refused to get out of my life."
Then he pauses as I pause, and for the first time since he grew angry with me, we both stare at each other as if we're seeing something neither of us wants to see as the fire in his eyes suddenly drowns in a clinical curiosity and he asks, "Is it possible?"
"No," I mutter, knowing that he's wondering if Chaos possesses some level of intelligence and has mastered the art of conversation, and I can safely say, "No," again.
It's not that I feel I need to repeat myself to convince myself. It's more because I'm so convinced that I don't need to be convinced that I can say it a second time while almost wanting to laugh at the notion in disbelief.
"Hm," he mutters then, and he shakes his head while heading towards the door and I find myself bitterly musing that, "I take it you're leaving again."
But his response probably stings more than my own attempt to sting him on the issue of how he strikes me as someone that constantly tries to run away from his emotions.
"There's nothing to leave here, Vincent… whatever you are—were, if anything, obviously died a long time ago."
"Asshole."
"Hm… More of a fool," he mumbles to himself before he slicks his hair from his face and quirks his brow, "especially after thinking last night meant anything."
He doesn't leave though, oddly enough. He doesn't even move. Instead, he lets out a heavy breath and stands there like he wants to do or say something that he's not doing or saying. Or maybe he's expecting something.
"Vince…?" he says with a suddenly strange sound to his voice, "Vince… Are you all right?"
I don't know…
All I can focus on is another reality where a bright flash sends Tseng flying backwards into a mixture of mud and snow. It's a cold place that looks like the Modeoheim area as he awkwardly turns himself onto his belly and grimaces while pushing himself up onto his knees before wiping at his eyes with a muddied hand in a sense of urgency.
"Shinra… dog…" comes a taunting voice behind him, and he continues to wipe at his eyes as if he can't see. "Was that light too bright for you?"
"Genesis…" Tseng gasps out as if he's suddenly realizing something before he grabs his gun and blindly fires behind him.
He misses though, every shot, unable to clearly see as a man in fading red walks up to him with a sleek stroll and smiles while grabbing the Turk by the back of his collar with an inhuman force and movement. The action chokes Tseng as he's lifted from the ground and thrown in a way that twists him around before his back forcefully hits the wall of what looks like the outside of an old bath house, and Tseng painfully grunts.
"That's not very nice of you," the man in red taunts before he reaches back and rips the elastic from Tseng's hair, along with several hairs that were still attached to the Turk's head, "Especially after everything we've been through together."
Then the man leans closer and digs his gloved fingers into Tseng's jaw while forcefully turning his head so that he can whisper something into the Turk's ear that causes Tseng to gain a second wind and he violently pushes the other man away.
"Don't you ever wonder?" the man in red tauntingly asks, "Sleeping with Sephiroth… Someone like Sephiroth… and look at me now. A prophecy. I was just like him," he musically says. "Don't you ever wonder what the deeper repercussions might be for you?"
Tseng doesn't answer him though. Like always, he never answers anyone. Instead, he only fires his gun again and gets thrown back by a well-aimed spell of Fire3. Then to continue with his stubborn streak, he shakily pulls another elastic out of his blazer's pocket and pulls his hair back while he's on his knees and grimacing as he tells the man that, "Zack and the others… will be here soon… I didn't come alone…"
"You really are a dog—always hiding behind others," the other man muses, almost like he's amused by it before he calmly turns his back to Tseng and walks into the shadows. "How sad and delusional you must be… Miserable... Tonberry…"
And suddenly he's back at the temple as if stuck in an endless loop, doomed to play it out for eternity. Sephiroth's sword pierces through Tseng's abdomen from the back. Tseng stands still, in shock from not seeing it coming let alone realizing what just happened, and Sephiroth leans into his past lover from behind and whispers into his ear, "Forgive me."
Then he pulls the blade out, suddenly someone entirely different than he was a moment ago, and he coldly watches his lover's knees buckle as the man keeps his hand over his gut as if he can keep his wound protected from bleeding out.
"Don't fight it," he soothingly says, whispering it into Tseng's ear as he grips his gloved fist into the back of the Turk's hair, causing him to wince. It's a smooth purr that almost sounds sadistic as he affectionately rubs his cheek against Tseng's and lets go to gently stroke the man's hair, ignoring the trickle of blood that the Turk uncontrollably coughs up as he's coaxed to resting his head on the Soldier's shoulder. Then he slips Tseng's locket into the Turk's pocket as if he'd been holding onto it for him, or found it, and he lightly kisses Tseng's ear with a disturbingly cold look in his eyes. "Consider it a parting gift."
"Tseng?" I call out, a strange weakness to my voice as I blindly reach out and recoil from the snow that lands on my gloved hands, a warm gun still smokes as I quickly sheath it, noting the dancing red glow on the thick carpet of dull white from my cloak as it blows furiously in the wind.
"Tseng!"
It's as if I'm alone with nothing but the witch's song on the winds, sounding almost mournful and close, yet distant and surreal.
"Tseng!"
My legs ache as I try to follow what could be a trail and I note that it's not night. Nor is it light out. The sky is grey and heavy with clouds that travel from the force of the winds. It makes everything else grey, dire, heavy.
In the back of my mind floats a name, one that only comes to me when I don't focus on it, one that holds the answer to what's happening, and I grit my teeth, angered that it won't come clear enough for me to hear or say it.
Instead, I only see white, bright, glowing… white, yet dull and blue glacier that's so far away that it almost seems grey, looming, bluish-grey, watching, and I ironically think…
Steel… and I think that it means something.
But I don't know what.
"Chaos…!" I hear Tseng choke out, and I can't help but notice another figure I've never noticed in the dreams before and I stop in my tracks to try to clearly make him out.
"Chaos… let… go…"
He's wearing red, unaffected by the wind and perfectly still. Hair, clothes, all perfectly still as the snow viciously blows around him, past him. He's smirking, it seems, almost smug as he watches me, focussing on me like he's amused by something.
"Chaos… you're…"
"You're going to have to let go," the man in red musically says, whimsical, hypnotic, "And turn a blind eye."
Then he smiles and lowers his head so he can look at me like he knows a secret he's not sharing and quizzically asks, "Surely, you don't want to be alone forever… Do you, Valentine?"
"Wha—?"
"Cho-king… Chaos…" Tseng gasps, clearer this time when I suddenly snap back to the present and realize that I've got him pinned against the door as he struggles to loosen my grip around his throat, struggling for air.
"Kjata…"
Despite the level of repulsion I feel toward myself right now, and I feel sick to my stomach over that fact that I think I may have attacked Tseng, I grip my fingers harder into his neck and then throw him against the kitchen cupboards. He hits them hard, crashing and grunting as one of the cupboard doors breaks off its hinges from the impact, and he quickly reaches for his gun the moment his head clears enough to realize he's been released.
All the while, he chokes violently and holds his neck with his other hand as he fumbles to his feet and staggers forward, gun shaking in his hand as he tries to regain himself and steal his breath back.
"It was you…" He manages, and he starts coughing uncontrollably as he staggers toward the middle of the room and I stand there, dumfounded and not knowing what's going on, let alone what he's talking about.
"I kept telling myself that it wasn't," He says, regaining himself by the second, "I kept telling myself that you couldn't have—Stay Back!"
He stops for a moment, aiming his gun more frantically at me, eyes wide as if he's completely forgotten that it's against his policy to show fear as I take a step forward in an attempt to apologize, or at the very least, try to calm him down enough to try to make things right although it might be too late for that now.
"You're the one that shot me!" he suddenly yells, and he fires a shot in self-defence as I quickly move on instinct, fast enough to grab his wrist so that the shot hits the ceiling and causes dust and debris to fall on the back of my shoulders. It's almost elegant the way the dust settles, unnaturally slow as if animated, and he attempts to struggle away as I hold him still and see flashes of what just happened as if I'm being shown.
He asked me if I was all right, and when I didn't answer, he sighed, and said, "Never mind… Obviously your personal little world is more important to you," and he grabbed his coat, slipped on his shoes, and was about to walk out before I lunged and attacked him.
Only it wasn't me. It was Chaos. It spawned for no other reason than to stop him for whatever reason it might have had, and when Tseng fought back, Chaos did everything that it could in its primitive reasoning to subdue him. Why though, I don't know. Ever since I've been bonded with this demon, it's never spawned for any other reason than to protect its host, itself, for nothing more than self-preservation and suddenly I'm wondering why it would have spawned to stop a mere Turk from walking out on me.
He's more to me than a mere Turk though, and he's more to me than just another person, more than just a friend that drives my mind into oblivion. He's someone that I'd go the extra mile for. I'd give my own life for him and I'm realizing it more intensely at this moment than I have in the past, although I've wrestled him to the floor in as violent a manner as I think is possible after I send his gun skidding across the floor under the bed and away from us both after smashing his wrist into the floor to make him let go of it.
"I never meant to hurt you!" I tell him, behaving and sounding almost as frantic and panicked as him. Only I'm guessing that I'm not the only one reflecting on the fact that his lover before me tried to kill him as well, and I'm guessing that the chances of him believing me at this irrational moment are beyond slim.
Maybe that's why I'm panicking as he continues to try to fight against my inhuman strength in an attempt to get as far away from me as possible.
"You had no intention of telling me," he grunts out. "Why?" he asks, before almost sounding defeated. "Of all the people, I thought you were different—I thought I could trust you."
And there it is again, that trust issue of his. He's brought it up before. It flattered me and now I'm suddenly wondering why I would be the only one he could trust when he has his Turks, Rufus, Elena, and his precious little Reno. Of all the people, I should have been the one he trusted the least. I shouldn't have been the one he came to back in Kalm as if he was looking for someone, something. Nor should I have been the one he chose to come to after he disappeared, almost acting like he was hiding from something unknown.
"Leviathan…" he breathes out, struggling as if he hurts. Then he starts to laugh as if he's laughing at himself. "Sephiroth was right."
"Right about what?" I chillingly ask, gripping into his wrists even more and positioning myself so that he can't take any of the cheap shots I've become familiar with from him before we both stop as if we're stunned when a weak knock on the door breaks us away from the present matter and meekly asks in a timid female voice, "M-Mr. Valentine…? Is everything all right?"
"Kjata," I mutter, still pinning the Turk below me and quickly adjusting his wrists so I can hold them both with one hand before I cover his mouth in an attempt to stop him from calling out for help. I know I'm not making matters any better, but—"Yes?" I call out as calmly as I can while Tseng's muffled attempt to prove that I'm lying goes unheard.
"There were some complaints about some noise…" she hesitantly adds, "Someone said they thought they heard gunfire."
"They did," I answer, calmly again as I remember a vial of dream powder that I keep in the nightstand near our heads and quickly pull it out, smash the opening on the edge and dump it onto Tseng's face before he has a chance to retaliate to the instant effect it has on him.
Strange, I think, it doesn't normally work that quickly.
I'd say I was sorry but I doubt it would make any difference now that he's out cold. Though I mutter it under my breath anyway. Then I quickly throw some clothes on, uncaring how out of place I look with his pants, a bare chest and a strewn shirt that I yank out of a drawer of the dresser I never use as I walk by it to open the door enough to show her absolutely nothing.
"I…"
All I can think is that I don't think she believed me when I told her my gun went off when I was cleaning it. I assured her I'd pay for the damages and she nodded, but she had that look in her light brown eyes that suggested she may have heard more than just a gun, like Tseng yelling at me, maybe. Yet she said nothing as she warily looked at me through sandy-coloured strands of straight hair that fell loose from the maiden's bun. It was pulled back loosely, and she bit on her bottom lip, looked down, and apologized for disturbing me.
Three hours later, Tseng is tied to my bed and I'm wondering why I'm doing what I'm doing as I grow too eager to continue waiting for him to wake up and I throw a glass of dirty water into his face to speed up the process. For some reason, I'm unable to control the animalistic urges that course through my veins as I pace back and forth at the foot of the bed, constantly looking at the window's thick covering, past the small opening that reminds me of a tear that reveals another world from my own—the outside world, reality.
I don't know what I'm looking for though, and Tseng chokes on the water he must have inhaled when I threw it into his face and he struggles to get up before realizing that he's bound by a phone cord around his wrists, a tie around his ankles, and a pair of old socks that bind them both together in the fashion of a hog-tying.
"What the hell is the matter with you?" he finally asks, sounding as if he hasn't entirely cleared his throat while I continue to focus on the tear through the curtains as if I'm ready to defend against a predator.
"Don't worry, Shinra dog, I'll protect you from him… just like a dog needs 'protecting'…"
It's the same man that was talking to Sephiroth in my dream.
He holds Tseng up by the scruff of his neck, choking him before everything suddenly changes and the same man is standing outside, lifelessly watching the Temple of the Ancients crumble to the ground. But he's not suffering from any signs of degeneration like before and the colours of crimson on his clothes and the copper highlights in his hair stand out as if to emanate a vibrant hatred, or an insatiable hunger.
His hair is dark auburn, too red to be brown and too brown to be red. It's medium in length and the ends look like they were cut with a razor. His eyes are the same as Sephiroth's—the same colour. His clothes are similar too. Though unlike Sephiroth, he's fully clothed, honouring the standard style of the soldier's uniform underneath his crimson overcoat that is also similar to Sephiroth's. Though it's clad with black armour instead of the plain colour of steal.
What sets him apart from Sephiroth the most though, is the passion in his eyes. There's a sharp mind behind them, one that's in control, and there's an intense hatred for something particular. Unlike Sephiroth's cold and unfeeling eyes, this man reflects something personal, something intense and focussed.
At some point, he quickly turns his head to watch something else and he coyly smiles as if he was waiting for it, expecting it.
Sephiroth doesn't seem to notice him as he drags his lover from the temple and attempts to ensure the Turk is dead though, and the other man simply watches, still smiling as if watching is enough to satisfy him. It's almost as if it fills him with something more than satisfaction as his eyes narrow and his lips curl more coyly, and he quietly says to himself that, "Trying to protect him? Surely, it must be strong."
Soon after that, as debris from the Temple ruins lingers heavy in the air, another figure appears. It almost runs as if it's concerned about the Turk as helicopters violently sway the treetops overhead. I can't make the figure out though, despite the twinge in my heart at the familiarity of the way that its coat blows, and I grow more frustrated over the fact that I can't even tell if it's male or female. There's too much light coming from it. But the man in crimson seems to have been expecting the other person and he quickly smirks, straightens up more than he was, and walks up to the figure from behind to make his presence known while calmly stating that, "I can help you…"
Almost before he finishes speaking, the other figure quickly turns around and fires something at him, and the man in Crimson quickly blocks it with his sword, almost as long as Sephiroth's but broader and more decorative, tinted with crimson accents, and he coyly smiles again before splitting into two separate beings.
One looks at me as if it knows I'm watching through the curtains and causing an eerie chill to run along my spine. It's stronger than Sephiroth's presence in the other dreams. The other half looks at the other figure and they tauntingly say the same thing to both me and the other, "For a price… of course…"
"What?"
"I said, 'What the hell is the matter with you?'" Tseng answers, trying hard to remain calm as he talks through his teeth, almost grinding them as he does it and completely unaware that I wasn't talking to him.
"First, you act like a stalker," he says. "That's right, Vince—a stalker," he emphasizes, attempting to walk through the steps of his annoying logic. "Then, you act like you might… feel something," and he takes a short moment to softly laugh after that before concluding that, "You didn't stop there though, did you…? I should have seen the signs."
"That I've completely lost my mind?" I mechanically assume, figuring that it's the most logical conclusion either of us could come to.
"No," Tseng mutters, and shows that he's flexible enough to pull his wrists far enough towards his mouth to try to chew his way out of the dirty socks and cords that are binding him.
"I'm afraid it's worse than that… Every time you acted irrational or violent over your feelings, or the threat of me leaving… all I could think about was Sephiroth. You fly off the handle like he did when something threatened his security," he confides. "Though, he did it far more gracefully than you, and I didn't want to admit that I was living it all over again."
"Living what?"
"What happened to him," he says, and manages to loosen the knot on the socks enough to start pulling it loose before he detachedly says as if it's a fact, "It's happening to you, and I'm afraid that… my role in this sick experiment is endless."
Like hell, I think to myself.
If he's insinuating what I think he's insinuating, he's wrong—dead wrong—and out of nothing more than sheer anger and lack of control over the fear of the possible reality in regards to what he just said—that I'm losing myself to Chaos—I pounce onto the bed and find my hands around his throat again, and Tseng hysterically laughs at me over something that frustrates me even more.
"Stop it!" I growl before backhanding him and causing him to laugh even harder at me. "I said, 'STOP IT!'"
But he doesn't, and I'm left with no other option than to get away from him, grab his gun that he tried to use to protect himself from me, and I fatally fire at him.
It was the only way to stop him, I tell myself, to stop the madness as his body disintegrates to dust and leaves no trace that he was ever there.
Silver strings in the form of spires travel upward from where he was, iridescent and accompanied by dust, glittering. My knees give way and clash with the floor as I watch the endless dance, upward, hypnotized by its likeness of cooling snow and welcoming the deadening silence that it awakens in me.
And for some reason, I start laughing at it.
I haven't laughed ever since the days when life ran through my veins and suddenly, I can't stop myself. It started with nothing more than a snort, then a small giggle, and the fact that it sounded so foreign to me, it made me laugh more, and the fact that I gave myself to him or imagined the whole damned thing made me laugh even harder.
It had been so long. I'd forgotten what I sounded like; what it felt like. I was laughing so hard that I didn't even hear the door open, or the sound of keys clanging together as they were pocketed until it was too late.
And the laughter stops as I set my hateful and suspicious eyes on the figure at the door. He has a bag of groceries in his arms and I quickly aim the gun at him, his gun that is suddenly my own gun. It's as if he's a threat to everything that represents humanity, or maybe just my own sanity.
He doesn't view me as a threat though.
Instead, he only looks at me like he's not amused in the least before he takes note of the damage to the bed and the ceiling from the gunfire. Then he quickly assesses the rest of the room, the messed bed that portrays a struggle, the broken vial that portrays desperation, and the broken cupboard that portrays domination before he regards me with parental scorn.
"Leviathan, Vincent… What the hell have you been doing?"
"Vince," I correct, not even sure if there's anything left to surprise me anymore while I squint from the bright morning sun that shines through the curtain as it's blown by the wind from outside, and Tseng goes on to close it as if he's annoyed at the fact that I've apparently opened it wide while an approaching storm looms over the horizon.
"I… shot you…"
"What?"
"I shot you… I'm the one…" I repeat, feeling like I'll explode if I don't confess to my guilt, "I'm the one that did it…"
