Before Crisis: The Beginning

Before Crisis: The Beginning

By DarkAngel

Disclaimer: 'Tis owned by Square-Enix, not me.

Chapter 23: Some Days, It Doesn't Pay to Get Up

St. Andrew was dreaming again. He had been a boy again living with his parents, who were both still whole. They'd been talking about what to do that weekend, when a faint ringing sound broke through their conversation. And suddenly, the house and his parents were melting away, replaced by his aunt, though she wasn't his aunt as he remembered her. Aunt Louella had been a cold, pinched-faced old hag; this woman had his aunt's features, but he knew for a fact Louella would never have done up her hair in bright bubblegum pink. Nor would she have worn a bikini with a bunny tail on.

As he watched in horror, Louella approached him, her hips swaying in a lascivious rhythm. He gulped as she pressed her chest into his face. She opened her mouth.

Ding.

With that ringing noise, the scenery changed again. Now he was in bed, just like he was supposed to be. Except that there was someone there with him. St. Andrew opened his mouth and made a yelping noise.

Wait. A yelping noise?

He tried to sit up, but found himself falling down again as his four legs tried and failed to coordinate.

Four legs? His panic mounting, St. Andrew looked down. In place of arms and legs were four fur-covered appendages which were awkwardly scrambling, trying to gain some ground. With each attempt he failed, only managing to mess up the sheets of whoever's bed he was in. Why the hell was he here? Why in the name of the gods was he a puppy?

Unfortunately, his thoughts seemed to vocalize in the form of several yips and barks, so the person sleeping in the bed woke up. There was a groan, a stirring as sheets moved, and the person sat up, blinkingly sleepily. St. Andrew's heart right about abandoned him at this point. Samantha?!

"Augh!"

Now he was in a darkened room. Whipping his head around frantically, St. Andrew looked around. It looked familiar; this was his room. A second thought made him jerk, and now he yanked the sheets off of himself, looking down to check. He breathed a sigh of relief. He had human legs. He was definitely awake this time. Maybe.

He was just about to reach out to pinch his arm when the ringing sound came again. St. Andrew jumped a mile, expecting something horrible to happen, but the ringing only continued. His head whipped around, settling on the black PHS dancing on his bedside table. Immediately he reached out a hand for it.

"I'm going to install a special alarm, just for you," Tseng's voice said sharply. "Do you have any idea how many times I tried to call you?"

"Uh…" St. Andrew rubbed at his head with one hand. No…? He didn't dare vocalize that, however, choosing instead to mutter an apology. It wasn't his fault he was a deep sleeper and Tseng called at the most godforsaken hours ever known to man. Didn't he ever sleep? St. Andrew didn't vocalize any of this either, instead focusing his mental effort on trying to get what Tseng was saying through his sleep-soaked brain. Eventually it got through.

"Right," St. Andrew said at that. "I'll be there in…" He thought. "Half an hour," he decided. "Sorry, Tseng, but that's the fastest I can move. The others are gonna have to wait." He mostly ignored the other man's sharp reprimands; it was nothing he hadn't heard before, and instead he began the search for his trousers.

By the time St. Andrew made it to the train station that was to serve as the rendezvous point for his next mission, it was six in the morning. He was supposed to be escorting some Shin-Ra scientist, though what Tseng had said was that the it wasn't the scientist that was so important, but what she had with her: a disk with classified, top secret data on the company's SOLDIER branch.

"The mainframe which normally houses the data is being moved; there's been some trouble, and the company doesn't want to take any chances," Tseng had explained. When St. Andrew asked why they didn't just use a secure channel to send the stuff through the company's intranet, Tseng had gone through another lengthy explanation involving interception of signals, of "unstable elements" in the company's ranks, and so on.

"Everything's on a need-to-know basis," Tseng had concluded at last. "You and Laylee aside, nobody else knows about the true nature of this mission." As far as the regular soldiers assigned as part of the scientist Laylee's guard were concerned, they were escorting her because she herself was in danger from hostile elements… which would undoubtedly be quite true if AVALANCHE or another enemy organization were to find out about just what kind of payload she was carrying on her person.

As the six o'clock train rolled into the station, St. Andrew took the opportunity to look around. At this hour there were mostly only Shin-Ra employees boarding in order to get to the company in time for work. And there, on the far side of the platform, was the escort: three soldiers in uniform, and one woman in a blue one-piece dress.

Walking over to them, St. Andrew used the seconds he had in closing the distance to size the group up. The soldiers were all wearing masks, save one blonde boy who couldn't have been a day over fifteen if St. Andrew wasn't mistaken. As far as Shin-Ra Company grunts went, they were unremarkable, though the wide-eyed look the boy was sporting, along with his nervously darting eyes wasn't exactly what St. Andrew liked to see, especially on a mission that could possibly turn quite ugly under the right – or wrong – circumstances. Maybe that's why the others are wearing masks, he thought. The thought did little to cheer him.

The scientist – Doctor Laylee – was standing with her hands at her sides, her expression neutral. St. Andrew had his doubts as to whether she'd be able to defend herself should the need arise, and, coupled with the soldiers, St. Andrew realized with a weary resolve, it would probably be all on him to do the job. Great. Dandy. Sighing, he whipped his PHS out of his pocket.

"I'm at the station," he said.

"And Doctor Laylee?"

"She's already here," St. Andrew replied, flicking his eyes over at the group.

Tseng went over the mission once more, driving home the point, not for the first time, that the disk's safety was paramount. St. Andrew had the distinct feeling that if it came between the Doctor and the disk, it wouldn't be much of a contest as far as Shin-Ra's execs were concerned. He sneered inside. Well done, Shin-Ra! St. Andrew may not have been the most scrupulous human being on the planet, but even he hadn't sold his boys out in the run-ins with other gangs. He supposed that was why Shin-Ra had beaten him: it took a kind of ruthlessness that he didn't have in order to scrabble your way to the top. Grudgingly, St. Andrew thought that he might yet have something to learn, at least as far as that was concerned.

Pushing that thought aside, he approached the waiting escort. He introduced himself, noting the shuffling of the soldiers. The blonde one narrowed his eyes a little. St. Andrew had heard that for all that Shin-Ra was a large corporation there were rifts and a competitiveness bordering on hostility between its subdivisions. Soldier versus SOLDIER. Turks versus the average Shin-Ra grunt. It was all a fight for recognition and territory, which St. Andrew could understand. Maybe that was why he didn't bother with returning the boy's glare, focusing instead on his charge, the good doctor. For her part, her neutral expression changed to one of slight relief.

"The pleasure is mine," she said in response to St. Andrew's introduction. "I feel safer knowing that the Turks are here." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the soldiers shift some more, and the boy's jaw tighten.

"Let's go," St. Andrew said shortly. He didn't think there would come a day when he'd be the one thinking that someone else was being childish, but let's face it – the Turks were the best at this kind of thing – all that special training wasn't for nothing. And the attitude of the soldiers, combined with his earlier assessment of him only solidified this thought in his mind.

They'd only been walking the short distance to the end of the platform – there would be a train arriving shortly that was 'out of service', which would take them to the location of the newly relocated mainframe – when there came voices. St. Andrew whirled around.

Well, that had been fast. AVALANCHE members were shouting at each other from the other end of the platform, gesturing at the escort. How had they come here so fast, anyway? Behind him, the soldiers moved into position, surrounding Laylee. St. Andrew took a step forward.

It was like one of those showdowns on those old programs he had watched as a kid: the two sides coming to a stop mere feet in front of each other, sizing each other up before turning around and walking those ten paces before the duel. The AVALANCHE members were all hooded and masked, preventing St. Andrew from identifying any distinguishing features, but he knew determination when he saw it. One of the enemy operatives took out a weapon. Doctor Laylee let out a scream.

"Hey, stay cool, doc. We'll clean this up real fast." His eyes flicked to the soldiers, who had readied their own weapons. Next in this duel came the sizing up, he supposed.

"Give us the woman if you don't want to die," a brown-clad operative said, tilting his weapon meaningfully.

"There's no way we're going to let you have her!" the blonde shouted. St. Andrew cringed. Wow. Talk about clichéd. Ignoring that, he merely eyed the AVALANCHE contingent, letting the boy's words penetrate. Now that the challenge was out, he might as well wait to see what happened. There was no point in expending unnecessary breath himself.

"I see you want to do this the hard way," the lead operative said. Holy hell. Where did they learn lines like these? They'd been watching far more of those dramas than St. Andrew ever had, that was for sure.

Ten paces time. Both sides raised their weapons. St. Andrew had already released his EMR from its compact state. He kept an eye on the opposition. They were moving forward.

And it was showtime. St. Andrew moved forward, swinging out, scattering the enemy. Whirling back on his heel, he aimed a low sweep at one of the operatives, making him stumble a bit. One of the soldiers took that opportunity to crack that same operative on the head. He went down with a thump. St. Andrew looked up.

It was the blonde. St. Andrew's eyes narrowed. Not bad. But still, their primary job was protecting Laylee. The other two soldiers were there by her side to deflect any attacks that came her way, but this kid –

"Back off, kid. You're in the way!" St. Andrew barked. He gestured with one arm and jerked his chin at the escort. Why weren't they moving the doctor to a safe place? Why were they just standing there?! He glared at the blonde, who glared right back.

"No," he said, hefting his gun, turning it onto another operative. "We're here to protect the doctor, too."

Well, duh. St. Andrew snorted. That was the whole point. It would be better if they got the doctor out of harm's reach and just let him to his job. Now wasn't the time to argue about it though, so St. Andrew merely told the kid not to go and get himself hurt; the last thing he needed was anybody taking themselves out due to gross stupidity.

"And one more thing," the blonde said. "The name's not 'kid'. It's Cloud."

"Right." With the pleasantries out of the way, St. Andrew supposed they ought to finish this fight and get Laylee out of here as fast as possible. AVALANCHE was already onto them; doubtless they were going to throw more than just these few pieces of trash at them.

The kid – Cloud – really was a useless fighter though. He spent more time dodging blows and awkwardly trying to line up shots with his rifle than actually doing any damage. With dismay, St. Andrew watched as one shot from Cloud's rifle pinged off a lamppost and ricocheted into the area below the platform. Rosie or Rafe or even that loud-mouthed Samantha would never make that big a mistake, not even in their sleep. Shiva help me, he thought. With a swing of his arm, an arc of lightning hit the man Cloud was fighting straight in the chest. St. Andrew dealt with the last operative with brute force, using a combination of his fists and EMR to knock him down. To his chagrin, though, a shot rang out and St. Andrew turned around to find Cloud staring at the operative lying twitching on the ground.

Okay, so he wasn't all that useless with that gun. Grudgingly, St. Andrew titled his head in thanks. Cloud nodded back coolly. Turning back to the escort, which had drawn back some marginal distance away from the fray, he started to walk forward to join them. Shrugging, St. Andrew threw over his shoulder, "Hey, things turned out all right. Just don't overdo it, Cloud, yeah?"

"…right," the boy mumbled. Looking back, St. Andrew grinned.

"Well, let's get going then. No point sticking around here waiting for more of those goons to show up, right?"

"Yeah." Cloud straightened, and, adjusting his rifle, passed St.Andrew, running to rejoin the group. St. Andrew took up the rear, keeping an eye out for any more sources of disturbance. The train they needed wasn't here yet. Glancing at his watch, he whistled. That whole skirmish had happened in under five minutes. The train would get here in the next minute and a bit. To St. Andrew's mind this was cutting it fine; anything could happen in a minute. AVALANCHE was all the proof one needed of that.

And sure enough, voices were ringing out again.

"Oi! We've found the doctor! After her!!"

"Tch." St. Andrew clicked his tongue against his teeth, annoyed. If Junon was any indication, AVALANCHE would doubtless have pulled out all stops and sent a whole legion here. Turning around to face the enemy, St. Andrew readied his EMR once more. "You guys aren't getting through," he said lowly.

An operative just in front of him made a derisive sound. "You might want to look at your situation before you go saying stupid things like that." With a barked order, St. Andrew found himself surrounded on all sides by operatives. He saw that several more were running toward the escort. Shit.

"Fuck. Surrounded, huh." St. Andrew sized his opponents up. Some carried guns, some carried melee weapons like knives and sticks. Others were raising their fists up at him. And those other operatives were getting closer to the doctor with every passing second. He didn't have time for this. Holding his EMR out lengthwise, he spoke a short spell. With his opponents out for the count, St. Andrew sprinted at the remaining men.

"Out of my way!" St. Andrew knocked one guy cleanly on the head, smashing another in the face. Where the hell had Laylee gone? She had just been there a second ago. Where the fuck was Cloud?

A scream cut through the air. There! St. Andrew picked up speed. There, at the end of the very end of the platform almost at where the barriers leading to the ticket gates were. Cloud and the others were covering Laylee, but from what St. Andrew could see, they weren't holding up well. They were fighting some operatives, and the operatives were clearly gaining the upper hand. Even as St. Andrew came on them, Cloud was jumping in front of one of his comrades yelling something. For his effort, the AVALANCHE operative clipped him with a bullet. Cloud staggered.

Looking beyond his adversary, Cloud spotted St. Andrew and yelled to his comrades. "I'll handle this. Take the doctor and run!"

St. Andrew thought for a moment of ignoring Cloud and helping out. The escort hadn't really been holding up all that well with the three of them. Cloud alone couldn't possibly do better. St. Andrew knew where his priorities were supposed to be, and they were with the doctor – or rather, the information she carried. But…

Fuck this. St. Andrew ran at the operatives closing in on Cloud. The boy's eyes widened as though to ask what the hell he thought he was doing. "Go!" he shouted. "Laylee and the others have already gone ahead." But St. Andrew shook his head. The kid wasn't going to die on his watch, not if he could help it.

St. Andrew and Cloud made quick work of their adversaries. Catching his breath, St. Andrew looked over at the boy, narrowing his eyes.

"Don't you look at me in that way, you ungrateful boy." There was a loud smacking noise, followed by the sound of feet stumbling back, of someone falling down. "You're exactly like your father. I don't see what Leanne saw in filth like him." The same voice took on an aggrieved tone. "She wouldn't be dead now if it wasn't for you! Get out! Get out of my sight, boy, before I do something I really regret!"

That was it. Cloud reminded him of him when he had been younger. It was the eyes, St. Andrew decided. They had that same determined resolve not to let anything stand in his way that St. Andrew had possessed when he'd been living with his aunt. It hadn't been long after that incident when St. Andrew had decided that enough was enough, and had left his aunt's house, to strike it out on his own.

So be it then. St. Andrew took a breath. "You really ought to be careful, you know. Throwing yourself headfirst into these things is good sometimes, but there's also the chance you'll get killed."

Cloud shifted. "I'm not… I'm not trying to be a hero or anything." He sounded defensive, uncomfortable. St. Andrew supposed Cloud was telling the truth: he really wasn't going out of his way to display his heroism; he honestly thought what he was doing was right, and for the best of everybody else here. Put simply, the boy was painfully naïve. St. Andrew didn't think he'd been quite that green, even when he was younger.

"It isn't just looking out for your buddies, you know. If you end up dead, they'll suffer just as much as if they'd taken the hit themselves. You can't always follow through." Sometimes you had to trust your mates to do their own thing. It was hard looking out for others and looking out for oneself sometimes. St. Andrew knew this all too well. He had looked after his boys long enough to know that. He also knew that the desire to overprotect could be harmful. He wanted Cloud to know this. He wasn't exactly sure how to put it into words though, and he scratched at the back of his head, watching Cloud for a response.

"I… just…"

Whatever Cloud might have been about to say was cut short by another scream from Doctor Laylee. St. Andrew and Cloud turned simultaneously to see yet more AVALANCHE operatives come within range of the escort. St. Andrew swore.

There were three of them. Two of the ones in the brown jumpsuits he'd become used to seeing, and one in a black one. The guards immediately took up position in front of Laylee, using themselves as shields to protect her. The brown-jumpsuited operatives made to move forward, but the one in black held out an arm, stopping them. He seemed to stop for a moment, and then, with horrifying screams, the guards toppled right at Laylee's feet.

What the hell had that been? St. Andrew hadn't ever seen something like that. It had been a sort of smoky figure. It had looked kind of like a skeleton holding a scythe. There had been a flash of purplish-black light that came down in an arc, and then, the men had toppled over. What had happened there?

"Everyone…" Cloud muttered, his voice disbelieving. He picked up speed. St. Andrew yelled.

"Damn it kid, hold it! You wanna die!?" He was pretty sure that whatever that thing was, it hadn't just knocked the guards unconscious. Damn it! He ran faster.

By the time St. Andrew had reached Cloud, Laylee and the AVALANCHE operatives, Cloud was yelling that he'd never allow her to go with them. St. Andrew groaned. He was so dead. The black clad operative smirked, sparing only the briefest of glances at Cloud and St. Andrew.

"Don't move. If you do, she's dead."

St. Andrew stopped, gritting his teeth. Cloud made a frustrated noise. Just then, St. Andrew's PHS rang, buzzing in his pocket. All heads turned to look at him.

"Go ahead. Pick up the phone." The operative in black sounded gloating. "Tell them just what kind of situation you're in." The other two operatives, who were clearly lower in the hierarchy, laughed sycophantically. St. Andrew, teeth still grinding together, fished his phone out of his pocket.

"Report, St. Andrew."

Veld. "Laylee's been captured," he said, realizing as he spoke that he'd been clenching his jaw too hard. It twinged when he moved his mouth. It's AVALANCHE. They're using some kind of magic I've never seen before." He glanced at the dead soldiers. "It instantly killed two of the guards."

The Turk leader wasn't in the least happy, judging by the edge in his voice. St. Andrew grimaced. Why was everybody on him like this? It wasn't as though he'd made any tactical errors. This was just rotten, shit-ass luck.

"St. Andrew, you know what's at stake here," Veld was saying. You have to protect the SOLDIER data at all costs."

Yeah, but if he did that, everybody here would be as dead as the boys cooling at Laylee's feet. St. Andrew pointed this out in a low voice. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the operatives begin to move. They were coming around on either side of Laylee, taking her arms.

"Move," Veld ordered. "Even if there are casualties, we have to keep that disk safe. Can you do it, St. Andrew?"

Well, he could, though he couldn't exactly say he was one hundred percent willing. St. Andrew muttered an answer and shoved the phone back in his pocket. Tightening his grip on his weapon, he fingered the Materia slotted into it.

"Doctor Laylee, duck!"

Everyone whirled around to face him. Cloud's eyes widened. And then St. Andrew was forced to stop, because Cloud was turning his weapon on him, his expression one of furious disbelief. "What do you think you're doing?!" he yelled. St. Andrew's jaw tightened once more. So much for the element of surprise. He hadn't expected Cloud to do that – jump in front of Laylee and aim for the home team. The AVALANCHE leader laughed.

"It looks like it doesn't matter what happens to the woman."

"That's not true!!" Cloud said, looking desperately from St. Andrew to the operative. St. Andrew groaned inside. This was just great. Did he actually think he could bargain with these lunatics? They'd had no qualms about trying to blow up Midgar a while back. They weren't the type to negotiate.

St. Andrew pointed his EMR at the kid. "Move, Cloud!"

"I can't do that," Cloud said, that same look in his eyes from before. His voice was shaking, but he was looking at St. Andrew steadily. "If we make any sudden moves, the Doctor's life is in danger."

"Move!" St. Andrew snarled. Forget seeing a part of himself in the brat. He hadn't been this ridiculous, not now, not ever! "Don't interfere with my job, damn it Cloud! Move!"

There was the sound of metal screeching against metal. Fuck! The train! St. Andrew's grip on his EMR tightened. He advanced on Cloud. The doors to the train opened. And then the AVALANCHE operatives were dragging Laylee into the train. Cloud whirled around. The doors were closing. The train was starting to move. Cloud swore. Without a glace back, he jumped onto the train, skimming his way in just as the doors shut. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. St. Andrew watched the train go, swearing an entire litany of f-words in his head.

Now it was just him and the black-clad AVALANCHE leader. He had been watching the train, and now, as it left the platform, he turned his attention back to St. Andrew.

"A kid. We don't have to worry about him. You're a different story."

The stream of swear words bubbling around in St. Andrew's head grew more colourful.

"Death to the Shin-Ra!"

St. Andrew only just brought up his rod in time to deflect the downward stroke of his adversary's sword. As it was, this didn't seem to bother his enemy. The man just laughed and kicked out, catching St. Andrew in the midsection. St. Andrew stumbled back, trying to catch his breath and prepare for the next attack at the same time. As it was, all he could do was roll and swipe out, gasping, while his opponent leapt nimbly out of reach. The operative kept going, backing away even further out of reach. What the hell was he up to?

And then St. Andrew understood. He was standing back to cast a spell. It was probably that same spell which had taken down those soldiers.

The lucky thing about St. Andrew's EMR, however, was that it wasn't just a melee weapon. Reno had taught him a lot of the basics in those first weeks of training. In addition to being able to deliver physical blows, the EMR was configured to conduct electricity. St. Andrew remembered shocking himself with the damned thing when his finger had slipped on the switch that would turn the juice on. That electrical charge could be thrown out to a distance of up to 2.5 metres in a more or less straight arc, though as Reno had demonstrated, with enough practice, the direction could be manipulated to some extent.

But that wasn't the coolest bit. Reno had grinned, holding his own EMR sideways so St. Andrew could see the Materia slot.

"See that? It's only got the one Materia slot. You can put anything you like in there. 'Course, as with any Materia, the more you use it, the more your weapon will take on that particular Materia's element. But if you put in a Lightning-based Materia..."

And he had demonstrated how with a Thundaga Materia, the distance the attack covered could be much larger. There had been a sizzling hole taller than he was in the wall where they had been practicing.

St. Andrew grinned. Readying his attack, he calculated the angle he'd need to hit the enemy. He didn't have to think too hard, as it seemed like his opponent liked to stand still while casting magic. Summoning his will into the Materia, his grin widened.

A huge arc of golden light shot out from his weapon, surging with alarming speed toward the AVALANCHE operative. It hit its intended target, and St. Andrew watched with satisfaction as the body of the operative jerked and sizzled.

St. Andrew stood back to admire his handiwork. The man had crumpled, his clothes sizzling. Even from this distance, St. Andrew caught the stench of burnt fabric. But then, to his dismay, the man got back up.

No. That attack should definitely have killed him. How he could stand up was beyond reason.

The operative lifted his sword. St. Andrew ran at him. They met with an almighty clanging of metal against metal. St. Andrew pushed hard against the other guy, then, taking a step back, made a swipe at chest level. The operative stumbled back. So he wasn't completely unharmed. That was something. Maybe if he could line up another lightning shot…

A whistling sound rent the air. St. Andrew only got out of the way in time. The AVALANCHE operative snickered. St. Andrew swore. That sword had a longer reach than he thought. In retaliation, St. Andrew swung out his EMR which was dodged.

They kept on like that for a time, each man avoiding each other's attacks. St. Andrew had no idea how a man who had been so thoroughly electrocuted that his insides ought to be charred to juicy perfection could move so fast. What the hell was he made of? Frustrated, he swung out, but missed again. He had to do something else. Close range physical attacks just weren't going to work on someone as fast as this guy was.

Magic, then. St. Andrew had a couple of other Materia slotted into his bangle: Gravity and Comet. St. Andrew thought about the possibilities for a few moments, then grinned again. Why not? Nothing was half as fun without a challenge, right?

Swinging out once more with his EMR, his grin widened as the operative did exactly what he expected and jumped back. Then, before he could go on the offensive, St. Andrew called on his first spell.

The gravity spell did the trick. The operative was running, but in slow motion and on the same spot. The pull of gravity was slowing him down to the point where St. Andrew could move against him without any effort. He readied the lightning spell again.

This time it did the trick. St. Andrew watched with satisfaction as the man fell, sizzling and twitching. This time he didn't get up.

That just left the matter of recovering Laylee and that disk. Just as St. Andrew was thinking this, the phone rang. Veld. The man must have been psychic or something, St. Andrew thought as he explained the situation. They spoke for a while. Then –

"You want me to chase a train?!" St. Andrew exclaimed. The train had left some minutes ago. It ran considerably faster than he did. Had the boss accidentally inhaled something from Hojo's labs?

But Veld was being perfectly reasonable, as it turned out. Apparently there were service tunnels running under Midgar proper where the trains ran.

"There are paths you can use there," Veld explained. "Get down to the tunnels!"

St. Andrew flipped his phone closed and sighed. Damn, but this day was turning out to be long, and it wasn't even half over. Taking one last look at the dead operative, St. Andrew sprinted for the nearest access point. He had a train to catch!

To be continued…

Author's Notes: Wow. Thank you for the encouraging response to this story. I was pleasantly surprised considering how long it had been since the last update. So, to all those who put Before Crisis: The Beginning on their author alerts or favourite story lists, thank you so much! I can only hope what I do in the future will please you. :)