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Stick to What You Know; Tag: Spider-Man and Others?
Topic Started: Jul 14 2011, 08:18 AM (392 Views)
Chris Galford
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Hyper-Concentration/Focus
July 2nd
335 West 38th Street Apartments (1 PM)


Midday Manhattan, busy with traffic and pedestrians. 4th of July weekend brings in more tourists, more money, and more security at events for those ever popular hooligans…which means a white delivery truck behind apartments on West 38th Street should be safe for Charlie McClane to drop his electronics off, right? He was 6’6’’, 250 lbs, red-headed, tattoos covering his arms, and was not going to take the gravity of this delivery too lightly.

“Let’s get a move on here!”

The last two months of late night robberies of local electronic stores and pawn shops have been pretty profitable, selling them on the underground. HDTVs, sound systems, speakers, everything for home. Today, though, was focused on moving the stolen property from the New York Pawnbrokers Inc. on Rivington Street in late May. Charlie had to hold on to this particular merchandise because Pawnbrokers went very public about it. It was on the local news for a week straight, pleading with the stations to televise a phone hotline, reward money, referring any info to the NYPD. After two weeks of nothing, they tried keeping their next step under wraps: private investigators. Chris was called up third…third! He loved finding that out from the detectives he talked about during the case, but he never let pride get in the way of taking a case on; he’d make them pay later. Taking a look at suspect profiles, McClane was a great fit; late at night, crews of four or five, and it was an all-out assault for anyone who got in their way, just ask all the battered and bruised security guards from the crimes.

“I’m not paying you to rest, get those boxes upstairs!!!!”

Charlie was harassing some idiot taking a smoke break. Chris tailed him the day before, following him to this back parking lot. Charlie went away, Chris stayed and observed a few blocks away, and Charlie was back within two hours, his cellphone glued to his right ear. Chris figured some delivery was heading here and when Chris zoomed in for details, all he got was “1 PM tomorrow” before he went inside. And here Chris was, inside a hallway to the right of the parking lot, taking photos of them unloading with a Panasonic Lumix DMC-FZ40. After enough general takes, he slowly poked his head back out to check the view...A few seconds later, Chris’ sight was right behind Charlie, watching him slam another worker to the wall. Small, Asian, and he picked a bad time to drop that speaker system.

“Listen to me, you little shit! I’m not paying you for much. Carry the fuckin’ box, ride the elevator to the 5th floor, apartment 5…single 0…7….and drop it off there. What’s so hard about that?!”

“I-I-It’s my tenth b---“ Charlie spit in his face, that’ll boost the morale, whispering to him in his ears.

“You should stick to what you know…Following orders, getting paid, and not complaining about it…Me? If my workers are bad, they disappear and I coerce new ones, just that simple…” Charlie turns back to a guard, kicking the dropped box over. “Make sure the price of that goes on top of what he owes me! Get back to work!” Charlie stormed into the building, while the box bounced off the van’s tire. When it landed, Chris felt his jaw dropped at the big white label on top.

“Mailing label?”

Chris blinked really hard and his sight returned to normal, but it came with a nasty headache. He didn’t know if was himself stopping the sight-seeing or just his lucky moment, but forcing it always brought out the Tylenol. He tried shaking it off and raised his camera, quickly shooting full-frame and particulars on the label. He got his cellphone out and soon realized he had no Tylenol.

“I gotta walk four blocks for relief? Fu--Hello? Hello, yes, I need to speak with a detective…”
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Spider-Man
Unregistered

(Sorry for the wait, let me know if anything needs changing. )

The city was a nasty place to be. Criminals on every block, freed killers and mobsters roaming the streets without worry from the law, uncaring for the lives around them... It was indeed a place no innocent life should have to live in. The purification of a city began with individuals and, in time, would heal into something magnificent. The daily grind, however, proved otherwise. No matter what was done, something wanted something they couldn't have and they would do whatever it took to get it.

And lately, someone had a fancy for expensive electronics.

Local stores and pawn shops which sold the devices had been raided and wiped clean. There was little pattern other than the connecting objects that were taken, so Spider-Man had kept an ear out on patrol. It was an easy thing to track, really. There were only so many electronic stores in any given area, so once their locations had been memorized, he had altered a typical patrol of his heroing territory just slightly to accommodate the needs of the citizens. Those accommodations called for both discretion and action.

Hovering over the top ledge of the apartment building, the webhead watched diligently as the headmaster of this little plot aggressively abused one of his cohorts. Spitting in the man's face, basically slapping him around like a toy without resistance, the man was clearly out of line. On top of that, the shipments being moved up into the building seemed to be of importance too. Perhaps the stolen merchandise...

Fifth floor, apartment 507. Really, these people just spoke so loudly that all of New York could hear the man speak. The seething man stormed into the apartment complex and quietly, Spider-Man rolled over the edge of the building above the men, dropping like a silent owl. Catching his person on a window sill, the arachnid raised a window on the fifth floor and perched on it, looking inside carefully. The fifth apartment was just ahead, the door lightly ajar, and a man that had just dropped off a package inside of it walked out quietly and ignored the side of the building Spider-Man was on, making his way to the stairs. Creeping in, the vigilante moved into the door, entering what could have been an oasis for criminals. Boxes standing high, expensive gadgets piled up to the ceiling, it was a packrat's paradise.

Examining it all, Spider-Man walked in, hidden eyes rolling over the many boxes. How many thousands of dollars of products were here?

Before he could devise a solid number, however, he heard harsh stomping and scruffing as Charlie pushed one of his workers into a wall, charging up the stairs.

Spider-Man faced the doorway and Charlie charged in, taking a moment to realize who exactly was standing in front of him.

"Shi--" Charlie's eyes went wide.

Yeah. That was the normal reaction.

The criminal turned and bolted back into the hall and the arachnid stalked after him, watching his head disappear down to the next floor. Moving back towards the window of entry, Spider-Man peered over the ledge, watching as the men below looked among each other as Charlie gave a yelp.

A step further, and he descended to the sidewalk, landing right in front of the door, just as Charlie was about to come out of the door. Amongst the pool of criminals, Spider-Man shot four of them a few looks, then his still visage settled on Charlie.

Hopefully someone had a hose, because this sidewalk was going to get messy.
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Chris Galford
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“Code 420303099101987654622100113949 and you owe me some Tylenol for repeating that...”

Chris grabbed the water behind him while the detective did a quick inventory check of the label code. The headache was there, but it wasn’t; a slight turn of the head would trigger the attack, but not moving at all would build up the anticipation of it. He took a big gulp of the water, wiped his forehead with it, and put it down in favor of the camera. New York had gotten a little hot out over a few hours.

”It’s your lucky day, Galford, that’s the cheapest speakers of the bunch stolen. We got him.”

“Nice,” Chris said with a laugh, poking his head out to check on the guys in the parking lot. “How long to get down here?”

”Ten to twenty minutes if I’m lucky...and I won’t mention a private investigator chir---”

“Hold it,” Chris heard something come from inside the building. He isolated it while the guard from earlier turned backed to the inside corridor.

“---DER-MAN’S HERE!!! GET IN HERE AN-OH SHIT!!!”

Before Chris could even comprehend the statement, a red figure landed behind the guard and everyone turned around to him. Chris also turned his attention and when the figure spun around to the surrounding guards, it was the same emotionless face Chris saw at the library two weeks ago; the same face that threw a homeless man through a window to his death; the same face that graced the cover of the Daily Bugle so many times when Chris looked up articles on him: Spider-Man. Chris took one photo and made it count: Spider-Man was ready to pounce and looking down that corridor, where Charlie McClane had most likely shitted himself moments before. He returned the world’s noise back, but kept Charlie’s voice low in the background in case he said something else.

“Why don’t you tell them Spider-Man’s here?”

”Wait-what? Spider-Man’s there?!”

“Yeah, you know, red and blue costume with no face, the Daily Bugle’s only reason of existence, murderer of New York hobos, yeah, that Spider-Man! Get down here now!!!”

”Don’t do any---

Chris dropped the phone and ran across the street, stopping and kneeling next to a brick wall near the parking lot, still out of sight from the gathering. He still had his camera and immediately took out the memory card, putting it in one of his lower jean pockets. Chris wanted to ensure his evidence was protected in case things got hairy. That’s also why his .45 Smith and Wessen semi-automatic came out his behind his back; he wasn't taking any chances.

“The hell are you doing, no, what the fuck are you doing here!?” Chris said to himself, trying to rationalize the situation in his head. He could only imagine what Mr. No-Face was going to do to them if he threw the homeless to their deaths. The image of him just staring down at him, at the broken corpse, was reappearing when he closed his eyes. No remorse, no expression (probably a reason for hiding his face), Chris wondered if he was really admiring the act and that, more than anything, bothered him…Even more than reading the same old shit printed on different days that was the Daily Bugle.

”WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!?!? SHOOT ‘EM, KILL ‘EM, DO SOMETHING!?!?!?!?”

Charlie had given his well-stated orders. Chris poked his head up and the goons began their charge. Chris sneaked up the side of the nearest car parked in the lot and readied his Smith and Wessen, leaving the camera behind. He poked his head around the end of the car for front-row seats to the battle. He didn’t know what to expect: a mass murder of street goons, the goons stringing Spider-Man up, Charlie waiting to pounce if he knew what that word meant, but Chris was going to wait it out...Well, for as long as his headache would let him.

"Ugh, they better come closer to ten than twenty minutes..."
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Spider-Man
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It was an easy assessment to make. A few cronies and their leader still inside the building, Spider-Man couldn't find any more of a mockery of a crime syndicate. He knew crime syndicates well, having stood against them on more than one occasion. Some like the Maggia or even the Kingpin's old crew, Hammerhead and all, there were an infinite number of villains who dabbled in ladders that stood higher than skyscrapers, intricate webs of corruption. This? This was no more a joke to Spider-Man than a child stealing candy from a baby.

It was easy to tell exact, especially as the screaming began.

"SPIDER-MAN'S HERE!!! GET IN HERE AN-OH SHIT!!!"

Yes, yes. Everyone had their own kind of scream. Some were vulgar, some were shrill like a screaming rabbit. Most, however, were almost all contained in fear. Charlie was a bit different -- his was a commanding cry. He may have thought himself to be big, but compared to those listed before he was just a small guppy in a fish tank waiting to be thrown into an ocean of sharks.

Dropping amongst the men in the service of the electronic thief headmaster, Spider-Man did not bother waiting for the men to bring out their guns. As Charlie commanded them to do so, the arachnid let nature run its course. One or two might, yes, but in the end, stray bullets would only find themselves implanted into the building. He moved quickly, throwing himself forward at the man to his right, a full-powered fist planting itself into his chest. He flew away and the arachnid rotated, his foot rising into another with enough force that he soared into the brick outer skin of the next building.

Guns were drawn on the other side and as he finished his rotation he planted the foot into the ground and lowered himself back onto his heel, both his hands rising with his middle fingers curled. Ejecting a web, the adhesive flew and latched onto both of their arms. A bullet fired but was caught in the web, just as the arachnid yanked the two men back by their arms. As soon as they got close enough, Spider-Man released the webs, catching the men by their clothes and slamming them hard into the concrete beneath them.

It was quick and it was easy, and Charlie didn't have the time to turn and run. Shooting a web through the doorway, he caught the leader of this little gang, yanking him out into the public, half in the road. He gave the man a chance to recover, still glued to his webbing. This sort of animal needed to be kept alive. He was high enough to save; cronies were easily replaceable. Ring leaders? Those were meant for the justice system.

Charlie, however, had a different idea. He growled and threw a punch and it struck him in the chest. Pain immediately set in on Charlie's face.

"You broke my wrist!"

The eyes of the arachnid fell into a thin line. A harsh shove to the car that had been loading their electronics and Charlie crumbled, a layer of webbing covering his body and holding him there for the cops. A quick survey and the other men were also coated in a layer of webbing, though their conditions were much worse than Charlie's. Broken bones met them all, internal injuries abound. There was to be no mercy, not even for the men who had no other choice.

He looked over his shoulder, aware of a foreign presence hiding behind a car. There was a chance it was a bystander, someone hiding from the crossfire, but there was also a chance it was another criminal...

Throwing himself into a backflip, the arachnid landed on the car right above where Chris was hiding, his face leaning forward, pressing into the detective's. If the man had the sense enough to flash a badge, he would go unharmed. If not, well, holding a gun out in public was an easy designation of a criminal...
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Chris Galford
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Chris let nature take its course and watched in awe of Spider-Man’s raw strength, taking two hooligans out with a punch and a kick. Chris could hear their bones breaking from the impacts. Then the guns were drawn and the masked man greeted them with…webbing? “That’s how he left the library,” Chris remembered as the two men were flung towards Spider-Man and slammed equally as hard to the gun, more broken bones. And just like that, there were none left…

”Fucking h---”

Charlie couldn’t finish the reaction under his breath as Spider-Man dragged his ass out into the massacre outside. He just stared at Charlie and Chris wondered if he was going to witness a second murder in three weeks. Charlie’s response was to fight back and he threw a fist dead center into the sternum, resulting with the little bones in his hand fracturing on impact.

“You broke my wrist!” Chris chuckled quietly, “He doesn’t move a muscle and it’s his fault, hurray responsibility!”

Chris waited intently for the next action in anticipation. Spider-Man took Charlie and pinned him to the transport van with his webbing…and that was it. No climbing to a higher point and giving him a proper send off, no snapping his neck quick and easy, he was letting him live? “What…the…fuck?” The harder Chris questioned the situation, the worse his headache got. The events from the library and now were conflicting and Chris didn’t like contradictions, in his cases or in real life.

“I’ll be out of jail….by the end of the night, Spider-Man, you hear me?!”

Spider-Man ignored Charlie’s rant, but he looked over his shoulder to where Chris was hiding; it wasn’t a coincidence.

“Oh shit…”

Chris caught a glimpse of the acrobatic flip and rolled backwards out of the way. When Chris recovered, Spider-Man was on top of the car’s roof, glaring at Chris…who had both hands on his Smith and Wessen pointed at his face. Spider-Man just leaned forward into the gun’s direction, those eyes just piercing Chris’ memory from the library. No emotion, no reaction, just a faceless glare Chris would love to forget. It wasn’t making his headache any better and it showed on Chris’ face.

“I’m a P.I., not one of McClane’s hooligans, back off!”

He could have done without the “back off” statement, especially after witnessing Mr. No-Face’s handy work just now, but that was the headache talking. Chris didn’t want to reach for his ID in his wallet and present such a perfect opportunity to get annihilated, so he kept both hands on the gun. Chris breathed heavily, but the gun stood still as he couldn’t resist the question in his head.

“You spare McClane but not the homeless man?”
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Spider-Man
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The red and blue clad vigilante hovered over the shielded officer, looming right before the barrel of the gun with a dead, silent stare. The moment any sign was shown on the musculature of that trigger finger, Spider-Man had every intention of ripping it off the man's hand and throwing it down a sewer drain or at a dog to eat. Guns were simply weapons of destruction, far less so than the body of someone such as him. Never the less, the glazed over lenses of the webhead gazed at the man in a deathly manner, a faceless and unsympathetic sentinel to a horror that could come at any moment.

"I'm a P.I, not one of McClane's hooligans, back off!"

Spider-Man paused. A P.I.? Really? Doing what? Sitting in a car on the other side of the road with a pair of binoculars and doing absolutely nothing to stop the crime. The fact that this man dared to call himself a P.I. or even hold a gun was insulting to the occupation.

Spider-Man gave an audible scoff and slid off the car, planting his feet onto the pavement. Running his eyes over the disarmed and crippled men, Spider-Man was quite ready to leave. That was, until the private investigator decided to open his mouth with a snarky comment.

"You spare McClane but not the homeless man?"

The arachnid shot a look over his shoulder, for a moment glaring daggers at the man.

"I have touched no homeless man," Spider-Man said flatly. "Only a criminal. If it pleases you, your 'McClane' is over there," he pointed to the criminal webbed to a car. "I have left him for your justice system to be of slight use. The evidence is overwhelming. Fifth floor, apartment five-zero-seven. He is an example for these cretins," Spider-Man looked over the other men webbed to the earth, groaning complaints about broken and fractured bones.

"If you believe McClane has been spared... Then you are welcome to put the gun you hold in your hand against his head and shoot. He's not going anywhere." Spider-Man raised his hand and aimed for a nearby building, shooting a web in preparation for an exit.
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Chris Galford
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Chris could hear the scoff even through that mask, not sure whether Spider-Man believed him or was unimpressed with the declaration. Chris watched him get off the car and actually start to leave. “Unimpressed,” Chris’ mind said, slowly getting up off his knees, gun still out. But something got under his suit as his head shot around to Chris’ question; Chris could feel the anger seethe through the mask.

“I have touched no homeless man, only a criminal. If it pleases you, your ‘McClane’ is over there. I have left him for your justice system to be of slight use. The evidence is overwhelming. Fifth-floor, apartment five-zero-seven. He is an example for these cretins.”

He made a motion to McClane, still stuck nicely in a webbed pouch to the truck, like he’d suddenly moved from where he’d put him last. Chris didn’t bother to look, still hearing Charlie shout obscenities with less and less enthusiasm.

“I can see that, for all of West 38th to see. But he was already nailed to a wall before you showed up.” Chris’ mind was starting to fume. He’d already overheard the apartment number and the mailing label shot tied him directly to the NY Pawnbrokers heist and assault. It wasn’t as spectacular or as flashy as laying out an entire posse of goons in a parking lot, but Charlie’s lockup was occurring regardless. But he wasn’t letting go of his original train of thought.

“And what’s the example you set? Spare the criminals that have some ‘legal’ use? Give the man that’s sent three guards to a hospital through premeditated acts a chance to rat his organization out for a reduced sentence while the lone random act gets the death penalty?” To Chris, it suddenly became a question of consistency. Some prosecutors don’t plead down, some judges only hand down maximum sentences, but they’re consistent about it; you knew what you were getting. Letting one criminal die and another live was not only inconsistent, it made it appear Spider-Man valued one criminal’s life over another…

"If you believe McClane has been spared... Then you are welcome to put the gun you hold in your hand against his head and shoot. He's not going anywhere."

He turned around a shot that webbing to another building, presumably to leave. Chris scoffed; even louder Spider-Man did earlier. He was going to leave the dirty work to someone he just met? Was this murder beneath him? Chris finally lowered gun, but couldn’t hold in the building frustration anymore.

“That’s not my call, but it’s one you make all the time. You get all dressed up to play judge, jury, executioner, and you pick and choose who gets it. McClane is a bone you give to the justice system to appease it, to get it off your back. You don’t even believe in it! And the sick part is, while I watched you hang on that library wall, I thought you were admiring your handy work, like some action junkie. What gives you the right to decide who’s got some fucking use?!”
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Spider-Man
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"'Nailed to a wall'? Is that what you call sitting in a car and doing nothing?" Spider-Man asked off-handedly, finding the idea of being 'nailed to a wall' oddly fitting for someone he had captured. Like so many criminals, McClane was just another fly of criminality within the city. This city had an infestation and since Spider-Man had begun to act a little more aggressive, the infestation had drawn back into its hole for the most part. Many criminals didn't act so openly now, drawing the attention of the red and blue vigilante as he swung over-head.

"Have you ever examined nature, officer? When you cut the head of a snake off, not only does its body continue to writhe but its poison continues to be lethal. There are many snakes in this city, some you could not comprehend even in your occupation. Snakes may die easily, but they live on. This man," Spider-Man nodded at McClane, "is the head of a serpent that is still poisonous. His fangs need to be pulled out of his skull."

The lensed eyes of the arachnid narrowed at the man, who promptly began to perspire at the notion of having his teeth pulled out of his head.

"The infestation remains despite that, but those that are of the body," he looked to the other men webbed to walls and the ground. "They are nothing. Expendable. It is easy to transplant the head of one serpent onto another. I treat them no differently than the head does. A snake will eat its own body to claim infinite power."

His web attached to a nearby building and the arachnid tensed his hold on it. Looking at the P.I., Spider-Man mused. "Curious. Has Spider-Man not always been pursued by the justice system? Has he not always been accursed by the media and scorned by the Bugle? Despite the work that he has done, he continues to do this work without compensation. I am delivering your McClane to you because he is the head. If the head is buried in the ground, its venom will bloom into another serpent. If the head is held captive, then it will not be able to sink its fangs into something new, provided your system can accomplish what it is capable of."

"As for the library," Spider-Man paused for a moment as if struggling to remember. He shrugged. "I was making sure the arm stayed broken. Watch a nature documentary, officer. Spiders do not eat everything that wanders into their web, not immediately. They first must turn the innards to jelly. If you would like, I can break into his cell later and deal with him then. I will leave a special note for you thanking you for reminding us."

With that, the arachnid took to the air, off to perform another next quick solution of resolving crime in this city.
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Chris Galford
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(OOC: Guess I should wrap this up...two months after the fact lol)

"'Nailed to a wall'? Is that what you call sitting in a car and doing nothing?"

"It's called doing my job...I don't get my photos, he doesn't get charged, and you've given more fuel to the Bugle's fire..."

The man who swung around attacking the smut of the city describing he job as "nothing", what a shock. Hearing him compare McClane to a poisonous snake was being generous; Chris figured McClane couldn't even the spell the word. McClane was still to wiggle out of the webbing he was stuck in and wasn't too thrilled about hearing the masked man threaten to pull his teeth out. Then Spider-Man went on about his "struggles" with the system he didn't abide with and the Bugle, trying to justify he reasons for leaving McClane over there and not in a body bag.

"If the head is held captive, then it will not be able to sink its fangs into something new, provided your system can accomplish what it is capable of." Chris scoffed.

"Provided 'my' system can accomplish...Do you hear you---No, how about this: you just keeping picking and choosing who's got some worth to you or 'my system' and I'll keep doing nothing, giving the cops the ammo they need to put that asshole behind bars."

At this point Spider-Man had used his webbing, seemingly signaling his impeding exit as Chris responded.

"As for the library......I was making sure the arm stayed broken. Watch a nature documentary, officer. Spiders do not eat everything that wanders into their web, not immediately. They first must turn the innards to jelly. If you would like, I can break into his cell later and deal with him then. I will leave a special note for you thanking you for reminding us."

Before Chris could react, the man leaped into the air and spun off into the distance. Chris ran a few steps for some reason.

"ONE DAY, YOU'LL GET CAUGHT!!!!!!!!!!"

He shouldn't had shouted that. One, if he'd been so elusive in the past, that was just an empty statement. Two, and more importantly, it worsened the headache. Chris covered his face with his hand and using the other to stash his Smith and Wesson in his back. Chris walked over to McClane, who had remained silent for the most part. Chris' presence seemed to wake him up as the sounds of sirens inched closer and louder.

"You should have capped him..." Even with the headache, Chris chuckled.

"And then lower myself to his levels...or yours? I'll pass..."

"They'll cut me a deal, I'll be out in two years, max..."

Chris kept a smile on his face as he took out the memory card from earlier in his pocket. Some cop cars arrived as he spoke.

"Multiple charges of ossession of stolen property, assault with a deadly weapon...throw in a conspiracy charge with your hooligans..." Chris faced off with the red-head, his headache mysteriously disappeared at the moment. Officers were coming and asking Chris to step aside. Chris lowered the card back to a pocket.

"...I wouldn't get comfortable, Charlie..."

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