#FlashMobWrites 1×27

Welcome to #FlashMobWrites Week Twenty-Seven

Come one, come all! This is an open flash fiction challenge with a musical inspiration, hosted by authors Cara Michaels (formerly of #MenageMonday, #WIPflash, and#RaceTheDate) and Ruth Long (of the wicked fun #LoveBites and #DirtyGoggles challenges).

Mob Rules

  • The challenge begins: Fridays @ Noon EDT (Eastern USA)
  • And ends: Saturday @ Midnight PST (Pacific USA)
  • Word count: 300-500 (no less, no more)
  • We love you and wish to heap praises (and random prizes) on you, so be sure to include your name (no, it doesn’t have to be your real name) and a way for us to get in touch (Twitter handles are encouraged)
  • A prompt choice is offered by each judge. Choose one (or both!) and include it in your story as given.
    • The prompt may be split between sentences, but no order change or dropping words.
    • Words may be added before or after, not in the middle.

The Inspiration

For your musical enjoyment only. You do not need to reference the video or song themes in any way for your story.

The Prompts

Cara Michaels: “got no business here”

Ruth Long: “later congregating”

Now pick your prompt(s) and post your story in the comments below!


31 thoughts on “#FlashMobWrites 1×27

  1. Tick Talk

    We had been listening to gasbag Hap Granger for more than two hours. My eardrums were getting exhausted and my brain felt like a hand grenade had exploded and salted my elegant mind with shrapnel. John, however, looked like he could go another couple of rounds, minimum.

    Granger had given us a sizable chunk of titillating gossip and a few facts that would probably lead us into a sinkhole. If I had learned anything from my previously pampered life, profiteers like Granger rarely gave anything of worth away.

    Gabi didn’t have much of a poker face when it came to her feelings about Granger. That was a story we should probably hear.

    After about an hour of talking and eating, Granger leaned back in the booth, rubbed his handsomely bulging gut like it was the belly of Man ‘o War and declared. “I’m a fat pig ‘bout ready for the abattoir, boys. Not sure I’ll be able to get behind the wheel.”

    “We appreciate your candour, Hap,” John said. “Hopefully we won’t have to bother you again.”

    “T’aint no bother, boys. I love to talk.”

    He truly was a master of understatement.

    “So, what’s next on your investigative journey?” Granger probed. He was smiling but there was a tiny twisted coil on his upper lip that could almost pass for the dawn of a sneer.

    John shook his head and cagily answered, “There are a couple of folks we hope to line up. We’ll see how that goes.”

    Not deflected one iota, Granger offered a bone. “Well, if I can help in any way, a few of my flock will be getting together later, congregating at my home for a friendly Lord’s Day game of draw poker. Y’all more than welcome to drop in.”

    He struggled out of the booth, wrote down his address, gave us directions, paid for breakfast, waved us goodbye and stepped out in the humid glory of a Crowbar City Sunday afternoon.

    In a couple of moments, during a lull, Gabi slipped into the booth. “So, how was breakfast?”

    I rubbed my stomach apropos Granger. “Damn good.”

    She chuckled and said, “You have him down to a T. He rubs me wrong but he sure loves stroking his ample prosperity.”

    “You gonna have any free time later to talk, Gabi?” John asked.

    “Sure. We close at 2:00. Heat just cascades in ‘bout then and its hell in the kitchen. Skully, my cook, says even the devils got no business here that time of day. Look, where will you stay tonight?”

    “We could go back to Ace’s.” I said.

    “I’ve got room. You’d be more than welcome. Lucy Squires is coming over for dinner. A Sunday night ritual. Jackson plays poker at Hap’s Sunday evenings so we usually have a girl’s night.”

    “Granger gave us a poker invite.”

    “Really! I’ve never been. Word is it’s where the real business of the town gets done.”

    “Well,” said John, “looks like our dance card is filling up.”

    500 social engagements

    Liked by 4 people

  2. Finding Clear Water

    “You’re gonna let him stay?”

    Zamora shrugged. “I can’t let him drive home and I have no idea where he lives. Might as well let him sleep it off here until he can stagger home.”

    Home. Greg didn’t really have one anymore. MaryAnn wanted the house and he couldn’t be bothered to return to the place he’d thought would one day contain his family. He was supposed to contact on-base housing to set up living quarters after his divorce hearing, but he’d forgotten and it was already Saturday. Government and military didn’t do domestic work on the weekends.

    “Don’t have a home.” Damn, was that his voice sounding so petulant?

    “Great, a melancholy drunk. I’m gonna make coffee.” Toby closed his book with disgust and strode off into the back of the shop.

    “Thanks, Toby.” Zamora sighed again. “Come on, Killian. Let’s get you a place to lie down.” She tugged on his arm to help him to his feet.

    Greg swore his body had become filled with lead. Even the act of standing took almost all of his super-human willpower. God, he just wanted to sleep in a comfortable, safe place. He shuffled after her, his gaze stuck front of his feet. The glossy concrete floor slid past him like ripples on a lake and some of his melancholy faded. Water was safe. Gotta get back to the clear water.

    “Here you go, Petty Officer. Just sit down on this futon.”

    Zamora helped him keep his balance as he slumped down onto the cotton-covered day-bed.

    “Would you be my clear water?” Greg had no idea where the question came from, but asking Zamora seemed like a good idea.

    “Clear water?” She tilted her head again. Or maybe it was him who titled because she caught him and pushed him back upright.

    “Yeah, clear water. Safe haven, home port, port o’ call…” Safe zone. Something MaryAnn hadn’t been for years. Tears started in his eyes and he blinked to hold them back. Why had she forsaken everything they’d had?

    “Oh, man, he’s got no business here with that kind of talk. You should get him a hotel or something, Zamora.” Toby scowled as he shook his head. “Or better yet, let him sleep it off in the alley.”

    “Come on, Toby. He might be pathetic right now, but that’s mostly the alcohol. He’s a decorated sailor in the U.S. Navy. Have a little compassion.”

    “SEAL.” Greg needed her to know he wasn’t really pathetic. Most of the time.

    “You’re a SEAL, Petty Officer?” Her face came close to his as she grabbed one of his hands. “Here’s a cup of water to start with. If you don’t drink this now, you’re gonna be sick and I won’t get the stench out of my shop for weeks. Drink.”

    He could barely get it to his mouth without spilling.

    “He’s a terribly pathetic SEAL at the moment.” Toby shook his head. “Coffee will be done in a minute.”

    499 #WIP500 words

    Liked by 4 people

  3. Magic Kills

    “We should discuss this later. Congregating on a corner surrounded by mundanes does not seem excessively intelligent to me.”

    Sade rolled her eyes at the dragon even as Sinjen stiffened beside her. “D’uh. Of course, it’d help if the two of you weren’t so freaking sexy.”

    A lazy smile slid across Nikos’s face though his eyes glittered as they flicked in Sinjen’s direction. The vampire curled a lip, offering a hint of fang.

    “You think I am sexy, Lady Sade?”

    “Swear to the gods if you call me that one more gawddamn time I’ll tie your fucking tail into a fucking knot, Nikos.”

    Sinjen laughed and Sade swore at least three women creamed their panties. Okay, four though she would never admit the vampire played havoc with her libido. Not that he hadn’t already figured it out during her stay with him in Chicago. He slipped his arm around her shoulder and tucked her into his side, much to Nikos’s dismay. Damn but she was tired of the Neanderthal chest-thumping but when dealing with an ancient Greek dragon and a master vampire who was once a Templar Knight, she didn’t have much choice.

    Ignoring the testosterone, Sade stepped off the curb as the light changed. “We need to find that wolf pack. That means a trip to the desert.”

    “I can fly you, kardia mou.

    “You think I’m gonna climb on your scaly, slimy back? Nuh-uh. We’re driving.”

    “You think I will sit in some tiny metal box with him?” Nikos sneered.

    Sade halted on the opposite corner, pivoted to face the dragon, hands fisted on her hips. “I don’t know why the hell you’re even here sticking your gawdamned nose in an official fucking FBI investigation, Drakon. I think you need to get your dragon ass out of my fucking space because you got no business here.”

    She heard Sinjen’s soft snort of laughter. His laugh was followed by a soft whuff as she nailed him in the gut with her elbow. Whirling on the vampire, she shook her finger. “And that goes for you to, sunshine.”

    Before she could continue chastising, the two men erupted. Sinjen jerked her to his chest and went to the ground with her. Nikos, gathering a glamour around him to hide his shift from man to dragon, shot into the sky, his wings sounding like a flock of pigeons beating against the cold, desert air.

    “What the fucking hell?”

    “Are you injured?” Sinjen’s words slurred together.

    “No. What the gawddamn motherfucking shit was that all—” Sade choked off her tirade when she saw the blood on Sinjen’s face. “You better not be hurt!” She managed the threat despite him collapsing on top of her. Before she could react, the vampire’s weight was lifted and Sade stared up at a massive gargoyle.

    “Gotta go, Sade.”


    “Run now, talk later, babe. Magic kills. Remember that.”

    She did remember, and she’d be damned if she lost Sinjen to its ravages.
    497 words

    Liked by 4 people

  4. “I need to go pay my respects.” Graham straightened his tie and buttoned his suit coat. “Are you coming with me?”

    “I’ll come.” But my feet didn’t obey the assertion of my mouth, and I stayed rooted.

    “Sooner?” Graham asked, one brow arched in unison with his tone. “Or later?”

    “I don’t suppose you’re okay with later?” Congregating with the dead I could handle. Kicking it with the immediate family of said dead? “Jesus, why did we agree to do this?”

    “Agree?” He shook his head. “I did no such thing. This is on you and Carlisle.”

    “It seemed like a better plan when we were drinking.”

    “Well it’s the only plan,” he said. “And I have a duty here. You do whatever you feel you need to do. If that’s going elsewhere to hide, so be it.”


    “Maybe I can draw the killer out on my own. Guilt by association and all.”

    His anger slapped me in the face.

    Guilt by association.

    “Chicken shit,” I grumbled under my breath. “Strap on your big girl guns. A funeral is not scarier than an attacking vampire.”

    Very true, but I could shoot my way through the latter.

    I crossed the chapel threshold and a wailing banshee channeling the fires of Hell grabbed me by the throat, her momentum propelling me backward.

    “Get out!”

    She choked the color out of the world before someone pried her loose. Dark stars bursting through my vision, I bent at the waist, coughing.

    “Steady now.” Graham guided me upright.

    “She’s with you?” A woman’s voice rose to earsplitting. “She’s got no business here.”

    “Anne.” He held up a warding hand. “This is neither the time nor place for a brawl.”

    “Mariele should be rolling over in her grave, but thanks to this she-demon, that?” She stabbed a finger toward the ornate coffin. “That’s an empty box. A bloody mockery of my grief.”

    “She’s here to pay her respects, like everyone else.”

    “Respect?” Anne’s eyes rolled like a spooked horse’s. “Since when do murderers come to the funerals of their victims, Graham?”

    “I’m very sorry,” I managed.

    “Shut your mouth. My daughter would be alive if not for you.”

    “You mean if not for the man who turned her into a blood-crazed monster,” Graham said softly. “Do you truly believe Mariele could slaughter a dozen people and remain the daughter you knew and loved?”

    She covered her mouth, muffling a sob. Spinning away, she stumbled along the aisle.

    “Harsh, English.”

    “But true.” He sighed. “One day, she might realize that.”

    “I didn’t expect a rescue.”

    “Belatedly realized I’d likely prodded you to do the exact thing I’d argued against doing.” He curled an arm around me and turned us to the exit. “You get me so spun around inside, Red.”

    “I seem to have that effect on people.” In my periphery, I spotted several mobile phones filming us. “Well, for better or worse, we’ve gotten people’s attention.”

    “Now let’s see about surviving the fallout, shall we?”

    500 WIP words

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Breakfast is Served

    Jacob lived on a dairy farm. His days began while the blackness of night dominated the landscape. Grass and shrubs were home to his precious milk producing cows. He maintained the milking station well lit. His herd remained hooked up to the machines when his ranch hand, Chester, called him outside.

    “Boss, what in tarnation is that light in the middle of the field?”

    Jacob scampered out to see what Chester was fussing about. He had grown weary of cattle thieves throughout the years and his experience made him reach for his double-barrel shotgun. It didn’t take him long to spot a bright light on the bottom of the hill.

    “I did a headcount. All the cows are here.”

    Chester spat tobacco and mumbled, “Maybe someone’s trying to steal old Bronco.”

    He referred to the ornery bull who mated with the cows.

    “I’m a go and see who’s out there. If I ain’t back in five minutes, you call the sheriff’s office.”

    “Boss, whoever it is is on your property, if I was you, I’d shoot first, ask questions later.”

    Jacob snickered, “I bet you would.” He shook his head recalling how Chester had served time for nearly killing his brother over his choice of music.

    Jacob hustled down the hill in his jeep. He mumbled, “I’ll blast the no good cattle robbing lowlife.”

    Upon arriving, he spotted a little fellow, covered in mud.

    “What in heaven’s name are you doing?” He pointed his shotgun at the scrawny, dark haired stranger. “This is private property. You’ve got no business here!”

    The stranger grinned and said, “I’m almost done, chief.”

    “Almost done with what?”

    A thud surprised Jacob. “I’ll shoot you, damn it!”

    The man tossed his shovel aside. Jacob followed it and spotted his prized bull on the ground with his head bashed in.

    “Get out of the hole, now!”

    The man grinned, and opened a lid to what appeared to be an old wooden coffin. He wiped his hands on the bull’s bloody head and disappeared from view. Jacob had no choice but to get closer. He leaned and saw the stranger dripping the bull’s blood on a corpse’s mouth.

    “What kind of a sick, city slicker are you?”

    Jacob froze when he saw the sack of bones rise from the coffin.

    The man said, “Master, I brought you a meal on wheels.”

    Jacob gazed, confused and disoriented at the odd pair. When he gathered his wits, he pumped his shotgun. The noise drew the creature to him. Before Jacob could squeeze a round off, his screams filled the night.

    The grinning stranger said, “Breakfast is served!”

    – 500 words


    Liked by 2 people

  6. @AvLaidlaw
    485 words

    In Dreams

    I don’t look for trouble, but there’s things that ain’t got no business here.

    Take this one. Spent two weeks tracking it down all the way from the big city, right down to this little shacksville where if the heat don’t kill you, the boredom’s going drop you into a coma. And sleep is a dangerous place to be these days.

    I watch it from the window seat of the diner. It stands on the street corner with a kind of surly grin on its face. Looks a little like James Dean to my mind. But I guess it’s supposed to be a kid from one of those boy bands, escaped from the dreams of some teenage girl.

    The dream creature puts its hands in the pockets of its leather jacket. Now I know for sure. No person’s going to be wearing a leather jacket in this heat. These little tells always give them away.

    I finish my espresso and throw down money on the table. Outside the heat makes everything slow motion. The sweat’s prickling on my scalp. The air’s hard to breath. I wait for the one working car in this town to roll past in a cloud of rust before I get across the road. But it’s okay. He’s still waiting. Unsure what to do. They always are once they escape the dreams and find themselves in reality.

    Closer. This is the moment. I reach inside my jacket for the automatic, solid and real in my hand. I could take it out from here but I want to be sure this time. Mistakes happen. That woman with the kid in Albuquerque, middle-aged with hair messed up and wearing a baggy white t-shirt. Should’ve know nobody would dream of her.

    But this one’s the deal. A shimmer in the air around it. And that face. James Dean hanging around this one car town. It can’t be real.

    I pull the trigger as I walk past. The gunshot echoes around the street. From the corner of my eye, I see it stand for a second then slump. Keep walking. A thud as it hits the ground. Don’t run. Don’t look back.

    The heat gets too much. Round the corner, I lean back against the wall and try to drag in deep breaths. I light a cigarette. It’s the only time I smoke, after dispatching one of those things. Helps keep me on edge.

    Police siren in the air. Footsteps on the sidewalk as people run towards it. I ignore them but not the woman staring at me. I risk a glance. Middle-aged woman with a kid, hair all messed up, baggy white t-shirt with a dark stain spreading across it. I’ve seen her a lot lately, always watching me, always silent, never really part of this world.

    I pop a couple of dexedrine and swallow hard. Sleep’s a dangerous place to be these days.

    Liked by 2 people

  7. I kicked a rock and watched it skitter down the gravel. Bitter northwest winds seeped into my thick coat and I shivered; I couldn’t feel my nose.

    Bitter cold air pricked my lungs as I pulled in a deep breath. I said some pretty awful things to my dad after supper. We were angry. I turned around on the gravel road and walked into my yard. My parents house sat square in the middle of several hundred acres, two of which were theirs and the remainder of which were rented by a local farmer. The square-framed farm house, which my dad Jacoby refurbished from a falling down junk heap, looked warm and inviting. Steam wafted from a roof vent, light spilled into the yard from the wide windows on all sides of the house.

    The porch creaked as I stepped onto its painted surface. My folks were having it fixed this spring, because it sagged in the middle and they were afraid it would give way. The screen door swung open on silent hinges. I pushed the inner door open and my glasses fogged over. I stood on the landing and looked at the door that led to the kitchen. Four steps and I’d face my parents. Or, I could go to the basement and hide until I got hungry.

    With a heavy sigh, I walked into the kitchen. My parents were in the living room. Dad Jimmy sat in his navy blue recliner, nearest the kitchen. In between them was a small square lamp table, littered with newspapers and dad’s nebulizer. Dad Jacoby sat on the other side in his brown recliner. Both were reading. I cleared my throat.

    “Well.” Dad Jimmy put the step down on his chair. “Come back to apologize?”

    I nodded. The hardwood floor gleamed under my dirty snow boots. I looked up to see my parents both walking toward me. Dad Jimmy stood in front of me, arms crossed over his broad chest. He had a scant few inches on me, but it worked.

    “I’m sorry I called you—” I stopped. I didn’t want to say that word again. “I know I got no business here calling you names. I’m sorry, dad.”

    “Apology accepted. You’re still grounded, but I’ll take one day off for your apology. Deal?”

    I nodded. “Thanks.”

    I hugged my dads and went up to my room. At least they hadn’t kicked me out. My sister had metal music blaring from her room, so I matched it with country music and kicked off a volume war.

    “Guys! Turn them both down before I sell your stereos!”

    It’s scary how well dad Jacoby can be heard through a closed door and a stereo set on fifteen.

    455 words

    Liked by 3 people

  8. @PattyannMc
    WC: 496


    “You bastard! Why did you lead me HERE? I ain’t got no business being here.” The house belonged to his ex, Gregory.

    A disengaged voice spoke to Jerrod. He cocked his head, listening to the incorporeal-sounding voice whispering in his ear. “Yes, you do! There’s someone here I want you to meet. Now, turn off the ignition, get out of the fucking car, and go inside. Do it now, or else.”

    Jerrod turned the idling engine off, anxiety lacing his muscles, contorting butterflies dancing the salsa in his belly. He’s clueless why he’s here or what he’s supposed to do, complying only so he’s not punished again, though he secretly enjoys it. Last time, it nearly killed him. He pushed the memories away, even though he ‘wanted’ punishing!

    The dark dense fog crawling around his legs freaked him out. He hated fog. Inhaling deeply, he crept up the sidewalk. Wild music reached his ears. Lights flashed behind the curtains. It’s a party. He stood at the door, considering, knock or just go in?

    His companion whispered, “Just go in.”

    “I don’t wanna do this! Please, don’t make me.”

    “Do it, or this time, you won’t survive punishment. I know you like to take it deep, but as deep as ‘I’ can go, THAT I promise you, you won’t enjoy. Now do it, go inside.”

    Jerrod smiled as memories of his last punishment flooded his thoughts – tied to a bed face down, hemorrhaging from his rectum, his screams muffled by a ball gag, almost suffocating. His companion is a brutal monster with an insatiable appetite for flesh. He forced the thoughts out of his head and walked into Gregory’s house.

    The room was laced in shadows; strobe lights flickered in rhythm to ear-splitting jams. People were everywhere making out, fucking or gyrating to the music. He saw Gregory huddled on the loveseat with someone. He felt like someone punched him in the gut, watching them make-out under clouds of marijuana smoke. The reek of alcohol stung his nose, and he wished HE were drunk! He wanted to forget this night. This was his third house so far.

    “You see her standing over there in the corner? Go make out with her.”


    “I hate her. Her light’s too bright. I want to – ‘dim’ her.”

    Sidling next to her, he made eye contact. She smiled at him. She’s drunk; she’d be easy. No one was paying any attention either. He leaned in and kissed her gently, baiting her, acting as if he was drunk too. One hand roamed her body while the other reached under his jacket. She was responsive, her gorgeous turquoise eyes closed, mouth hungry. He slid his hunting knife across her neck; the jagged edge caught her jugular. Her blood coated his face and chest, he moaned. As she slid down, gurgling, clutching her throat, he left quickly.

    “Bastard! Why?”

    “You’re evil and it’s what YOU desire,” his mind whispered back. “I’m just your conscience, disengaged.”

    Liked by 2 people

  9. Pingback: #FlashMobWrites Week 1×27 : Here | My Soul's Tears

  10. I kept hearing that damned song in my head. “Momma told me not to come!” That thing kept echoing round inside my skull, which didn’t make what I was doing any easier. My rational, logical side said, “Momma didn’t ever say such a thing.” Didn’t help at all. That song kept playing over and over.

    ‘Course, it could be the silly thing was stuck in my head ‘cause I was thinking, “I shouldn’t be here,” and “I’m fucking miserable.”

    I felt like some mobster in a gray pinstriped suit, with a matching gray hat, and a bulge under his left arm was next to me, saying, “You got no business here, kid. Leave. While you still can.”

    It didn’t really matter what was going on in my screwed up head. I was there. And God Damn-it, I wasn’t going to be the first person to say, “I gotta go.” I’d have walked barefoot on fresh lava before I did that.

    Once, I’d have found my way to a corner and hid. Or found a clear path along a wall, and paced back and forth like one of those cartoon characters that wears a hole in the ground. But I’d learned I had to mix in to learn new things, so I found a table with people at it, and sat down.

    Which was terrifying. I had to keep my hands on the table top to keep them from shaking. I could have moved them, but they’d have have shook like the tines on fucking tuning forks. I could almost hear them making tuning fork sounds. “Tiiiiiiiiiing!” and “Taaaaaaaaang!” So, I kept my hands on the table and told myself, “Try not to push your hands through the fucking table top.”

    I toughed it out, and watched people talk. Watched them drink beer. You know, that shit that tastes like the water left in the sink after you wash the dishes? And they were drowning themselves in it, like it was Diet Coke or something. They kept offering me drinks, “You’re supposed to relax, and have fun!”

    “But beer tastes awful to me.”

    I’d learned to observe normal people. How they behave. How they react to each other. When they laugh, when they get angry. I learned enough to kinda fit in. I had to sit there to learn more, and get better at blending in.

    It sucked to sit there, watching, and at the same time laughing, or smiling, when appropriate. It’s about the hardest thing I do. I knew it would take hours to wind down when I got home. I’d try to explain how it felt, but you either understand, or you don’t. And I fucking hope you don’t. Let’s just say it sucks donkey balls and leave it at that.

    I hoped I’d survive the stress long enough to get out of there. But until someone else left, I was stuck listening to Three Dog Night belting out, “Momma told me not to come.”

    497 Words

    P.S. – That that, Grammar Nazis!

    Liked by 3 people

  11. Before I turn away

    I saw the throngs of people entering your house and tried to look away, but the crowd and the excitement swept me up and I found myself inside your house before I could turn away

    Don’t bother asking me why I came, you’d probably believe it even less than I do, and I find leaving you a second time even harder than the first.

    I’ve got no business here, I know. Any right I had to worry about you ended in our divorce, but old habits die hard I guess.

    Looking at you through veiled eyes, I see what drew me to you originally. I see the kindness you spread, and the hope you give— but I see the price you ask as well. It is a heady mix.

    I find myself drawn closer to the center of your house, the scent of smoke and incense is stronger here and I find I can draw no closer.

    I am no longer part of your inner circle, I cannot invade your sanctuary and yet, as always, I long to see you.

    I long to feel your fire burning through my heart. I almost manage to convince myself that that fire burned out long ago, but then I see your smile and all is forgiven.

    “How can you do this to me, after all these years?” I demand, falling to my knees.

    “You were lost, and I gave you hope; you were cold, so I gave you warmth. You wandered through the desert with nothing to guide you but faith, and though you thought I’d left you— I have always been in our heart.”

    I sob, not sure if its from relief or joy but as I surrender, I feel a peace that I thought I had lost.

    The desert I traveled, the desertion I felt were mine, not yours— and you waited for me to figure this out believing in me, when I had forsaken everything else, you were there.

    When I believed you faithless, you were more faithful than I could ever been, and when I believed in nothing- you believed in me.

    Why is it the easiest of lessons, are the hardest to learn?

    In your eyes I see the answer: perspective.

    373 words

    Liked by 1 person

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