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Taco Con

             The vacant, abandoned parks, silent, concrete walkways, and decrepit alleyways of Lotebirma were highly unpleasant places. Unfortunately, some individuals traverse these areas to save time on their routine travels. Curious troublemakers also dare to enter them seeking thrills and excitement. For the anti-criminal gang known as Drift, these areas were explored for both reasons. The third reason was to find illegal activity to disrupt.

 

            On an average, cool, sunny Autumn day, Wilson and Randolph were jogging down a concrete path close to a strangely named street. The nearest business was a car repair shop on the other side of the road. Everything around the alleyway was unkept, wildly growing nature. The skunk and rat hybreeds were chatting causally about their interests.

 

            “I just think the Bad Cat franchise could use a few more characters. Like a rat,” Randolph said as he speedwalked next to Wilson. “Come on, buddy. Admit it. I would make a great model for a Bad Cat character. A cartoon rat in the hat!”

 

            “I hate to break it to you, Randolph, but I don’t think that would fit with Bad Cat. It’s too cute and kid friendly,” Wilson replied.

 

            “Kid friendly?” Randolph said in a slightly annoyed tone. “What’s kid friendly about a rat wearing a burglar’s cap?”

 

            “Well, when you say ‘hat’, people may think a top hat or-.” Before Wilson could finish his sentence, the two friends saw something in the distance that caught their attention. “What the hell?” Wilson whispered.

 

            Parked on the side of the concrete walkway was a taco truck. The logos were chipped, and the metal shell was exposed on its corners. Randolph sensitive rat nose picked up the alluring smell of cooked meat and roasted vegetables. He closed his eyes and grinned at the smell, but quickly snapped out of his moment of temptation. Wilson was not amused or thinking of food at the sight or smell of the battered food truck.

 

            “What’s a food truck doing in a place like this?” the skunk boy asked, feeling suspicious. Randolph shrugged and began walking towards the truck.

 

            “Don’t know. Let’s find out,” he said with another grin. His rat tail gave a small wag of anticipation. The troublemaking rat teen could practically smell mischief on the horizon. Wilson followed him, keeping his guard up in case of any unexpected threats.

 

            Once they reached the order window of the taco truck, Randolph suddenly lost his smile. Wilson noticed, but before he could ask what was wrong, someone poked their head out of the window. It was a rather trashy looking, skinny, messy haired anaconda man. His spot patterns and forked tongue made his species clear. Unlike most anthropomorphic snakes, hybreed snakes have legs, have the longest tails of all scalies and normal shaped toes. The reptile, who appeared to be in his mid-twenties, gave Wilson and Randolph an unwelcoming stare.

 

            “Whada you kids want?” he asked with a hint of disdain. Wilson looked to the side of the truck and saw a slightly torn menu stuck to the glass window. He looked it over and saw one he liked. He did not notice Randolph was sniffing rather hard. Wilson began his order.

 

            “I’ll have a chicken wrap with-.” Suddenly, Randolph covered Wilson’s mouth, silencing him without warning. The rat boy grinned wide and shook his head.

 

            “You know, my friend is kind of on a diet. He needs something less calorie dense than a taco from a food truck,” he explained. “Come on, bro. Let’s find you a smoothie instead.” Wilson was confused at first, but decided to trust his expertly tricky friend. He knew Randolph was not only a troublemaker, but he could spot mischief a mile away.

 

            “Yeah, he’s right,” Wilson nodded. “Let’s get out of here.” Giving small smiles to the snake hybreed, the two friends walked away. Once they were no longer in earshot of the shifty reptile man, they stopped to talk. “OK, buddy. What’s the deal?” Wilson asked. “Did you smell something suspicious?”

 

            “Yeah. Literally,” Randolph answered. “I could smell king shaves and crocko pepcaze among those stenches of cooked meat and fried veggies. No sizzling hot meal can block out those scents from me.” Wilson was shocked. It was a good thing Randolph dragged him away from that truck when he did. He would not have wanted a meal prepared within ten feet of those notorious drugs.

            “Damn. Thanks for warning me,” he thanked him. “But the question is, what the hell is he doing with drugs in a taco truck?” Randolph narrowed his eyes in a curious glare and stroked his whiskers.

            “Must be some sort of business disguise,” he reasoned. “I don’t really think most people would expect a drug dealer to be manning a taco truck. Must be trying to hide from robbers like the Spot Mobbers.”

 

            “Or vigilantes like us,” Wilson said with an angry look. “I can’t stand those drugs. The horrible things they do to people is practically demonic.”

 

            “That’s more literal than most people think,” Randolph pointed out. Many drugs, like the ones in our world, are often used for a sick, depraved sense of pleasure that ends in a life ruining addiction. On Mother Earth, drugs are used for more forceful purposes. The illegal controlled substances can alter personalities and turn a person aggressive and bloodthirsty. They can also spawn wild, dangerous fearlessness and animalistic energy. The kind that can cause heart attacks and permanent damage to the body. Wilson and Randolph stared back at the taco truck, seeing the sinister anaconda man watching for customers out the window.

 

            “Well, if that slick, slithery punk really is a filthy drug dealer…” Wilson said.

 

            “I’m on it,” Randolph said, knowing immediately what his friend wanted to do. The rat boy pulled out his outdated flip phone and dialed the number of their fellow teammate, Alan Raybee. The rough, tough, six-and-a-half-foot brute of a rabbit boy. Wilson stared back at the truck as Randolph talked with their friend on the phone. “Yeah, it’s me, buddy. We’ve got trouble at the concrete walkway near the abandoned park west of Grand Zicious Plaza. Get over here asap.” After a few seconds, he hung up the phone and faced Wilson with a haughty grin. “Let’s do this,” he said, offering his fist for a bump. Wilson obliged and tapped his fist against his friend’s.

 

            Only ten minutes later the other two members of Drift arrived. Alan was with Cruz, an iguana boy, and the sharpshooter of the gang. The red eyed reptile saw the food truck and instantly gave a disgusted hiss, sticking out his forked tongue.

 

            “Damn, boy. That rig’s packing a stash of hell crafted chaos in a can.”

 

            “It won’t be for long,” Alan muttered. The two young men saw Wilson and Randolph and quickly arrived at their hiding spot behind an abandoned bus stop and dead tree.

 

            “Well, took you long enough,” Randolph teased with a grin. “No, seriously. You guys are right on time.”

 

            “Whatever. Just tell me when I can clobber that drug peddling bastard,” Alan said, slamming his fist in his palm. Obviously, the towering, long eared brute was already eager to start a beatdown.

 

            “Patience, buddy,” Wilson assured him with his hands up. “We gotta come up with a plan to stop this operation permanently.”

 

            “Yeah. To take down that mobile fenth lab. Not just teach that dealer a lesson.” Randolph added.

 

            “Bro, how we gonna wipe an entire taco truck load of drugs off the face of the earth by ourselves?” Cruz said with a shrug. “That sucker may not be huge, but its solid.”

 

            “Careful planning and research,” Randolph replied with a confident smirk and flick of his long, rat tail. “OK, guys. Listen up! We’ve got to learn the layout of this operation before we move in for the bust.” He opened his arms to indicate the intention to huddle. “Here’s the plan.” The three young men leaned forward and formed a concealed circle around their scheming friend to quietly listen to his plan. Not a single creature lurking around heard a whisper of the rat boy’s brilliant spying scheme.

 

            Fifteen minutes later, the anti-criminal gang took their positions to further understand the taco con. Alan loitered behind a tree and kept his eyes on the taco truck from the side. Cruz, being rather bold and determined, hid in an abandoned, rusty dumpster for a front view of the truck. Wilson hid in plain sight by the fence separating the road from the old, decrepit area. He was out of sight behind the truck. This hiding place helped him see the drivers door of the truck. The window was open, and he could now clearly smell the vile drugs. The stench was wafting through the air, making his nose burn. Randolph also lay in the open, but was much closer and inconspicuous with his quiet footsteps and sketchy demeanor. He was out of view of the drug dealer, standing at the side of the truck. Anyone who approached the truck likely would have thought him to be a random junkie. Randolph’s ability to play the part of a helpless, absentminded loser instead of a clever trickster was one of his most notorious talents.

 

            After scoping out the layout of the truck, the friends needed only one thing: To wait for a customer. Cruz poked his head out of the open dumpster time and time again, growing anxious for action.

 

            “Damn, boy. Somebody snap the boredom string and get to that drug dump already,” he mumbled in frustration. He tried not to tap his long, reptilian toes on the dumpster’s bottom. Alan was also losing patience. The rabbit boy was itching for action. He scratched his head and cracked his knuckles as he sat in his hiding place.

 

            Finally, the sound of fast-paced, strangely rhythmed footsteps began to rush towards the truck. All four of the friends turned their heads up and saw what they would describe as a jumping addict. A hyena man with a bandana, tight, torn jeans and unbuttoned vest scampered over to the truck like he was walking on hot coals. With a mad, mentally unstable smile, the crook slapped the front of the truck multiple times then gave a loud shout.

 

            “Open the chamber, motherfucker! I need my fix!” The anaconda dealer poked his head out of the truck’s window and gave a sinister smile.

 

            “Sup, bro. What’ll it be this time?” Randolph and Alan listened closely. They wanted to know exactly how this illegal transaction operated. The hyped hyena was bouncing in place as he spoke. Clearly, he was dying to get his next dose of chaos and deadly pleasure.

 

            “I’ll take seven shootings of fenth and a cup of king shaves. Oh! And a bag full of pep. Make it snappy!” The wild drug user spoke in a fast-paced, unhinged chatter.

 

“Coming right up, buddy,” the dealer replied with a confident, horrid chuckle. He ducked into the truck to fetch the illegal substances. The hyena addict clenched his sharp, carnivorous teeth and began to twitch as he waited.

 

Alan rolled his eyes and Randolph gave a disdainful face palm. That sorry loser begging for drugs had gone far down a road of insanity and denial. He will never last long.

 

            “That sorry bastard will be dead by the next full moon,” Alan remarked in a quiet whisper.

            Wilson crept closer to the back of the truck to peek inside as the dealer prepared the drugs. What he saw nearly made him gag. Among the messy supplies of various food items for crafting tacos, small tanks that reeked of chemicals and cardboard boxes of unspeakably vile substances lay on the floor and around the counters. The spying skunk boy watched as the anaconda dealer filled large tubes with clear, thick fenth, stuffed a paper bag with the grey, powdery crocko pepcaze, and filled a large paper cup with dry, flaky, foul smelling king shaves. Wilson felt as if his furry white face was turning green with disgust.

 

            After fiddling around with his products, the anaconda man stuffed it all in the plastic bag and stepped over to the window where the wild addict was waiting. The hyena rummaged through his pockets as his entire body shook with madness. Finally, after dropping a few loose coins, he handed the dealer a couple hundred-dollar bills and snatched the bag. He ran away like his life depended on it.

 

            Wilson, Alan, and Cruz looked at Randolph, who gestured for them to follow the drug carrying punk. Each one of them emerged from their hiding place and followed the hyena crook without being seen by the dealer in the truck. The addict ran past the sparce brush of sickly trees, crossed the street without looking, and dove behind some tall, thick bushes. He sat on the ground and began breathing heavily, his tongue hanging out and his carnivorous teeth bared. His long ears and short tail pointed straight up with excitement.

 

            “Finally,” he gasped. Before he could reach into the bag full of his precious drugs. Alan leaped behind him and hit him on the back of the head. The hyena crook flinched and turned around, but Cruz and Wilson quickly tackled him and pinned him down. “What the fuck?!” the addict screamed. “Who’re you freaks?!” He thrashed wildly under Wilson and Cruz, nearly throwing them off his back.

 

            “Hurry up, dog! He’s a wild animal!” Cruz shouted as Randolph stepped in front of the drugs.

 

            “What’re we dealing with here?” Alan asked as he watched with his arms crossed. Randolph kneeled down and emptied the plastic bag. It did not take long for him to get the answers he needed.

 

            “Yep. One look at these insanity drivers and it’s clear as day,” he said with a nod. “This dealer is the real deal. Legit as fuck.”

 

            “Keep your filthy hands off my drugs!!” the hyena howled as he continued thrashing under Wilson and Cruz.

 

            “This guy is gonna bust my shins in a matter of seconds,” Wilson warned his friends.

 

            “Can I burn those monster makers now?” Alan asked. “I can’t stand to look at those drugs.”

 

            “We can once we get a light,” Randolph assured him. Upon hearing this, the hyena addict suddenly lay still. His calm caught Wilson and Cruz off guard. In an instant, the desperate crook let out a hyena howl and flung the two of them off him. Instead of just grabbing his drugs, though, he did something that shocked Wilson and his friends. One by one the mad addict hurriedly ingested and inhaled vials and handfuls of the substances. The members of Drift could do nothing but watch as the insane hyena man drove himself deeper into a deadly high hole. His eyes quickly became bloodshot as his breathing quickened. Then, after he seemed satisfied, he grabbed the remainder of his illegal substances and fled, laughing hysterically. The four friends watched as the addict ran off, disappearing from sight within the suburban environment. As the eerie laughter faded away, silence fell among them.

 

            “Bye,” Alan said in a disdainful huff.

 

            “Damn. That dog ain’t gonna last long after that high drive,” Cruz said.

 

            “We need to stop that dealer before someone else suffers the same fate,” Wilson said, crossing his arms in contempt. “Seriously, I wish I could burn every last bit of those drugs to dust.” Another silence filled the area, but Randolph’s face burst into a thrilling smile.

 

            “That’s it!” the clever rat boy exclaimed. The other three friends looked at him with wide eyes, anticipating another mischievous idea.

 

            “What’s it, bro?” Cruz asked. “Your rodent brain spark another brilliant scheme?”

 

            “Well, I at least know how we’re going to get rid of those drugs,” Randolph replied.

 

            “How?” Alan asked.

 

            “The old-fashioned way,” Randolph answered with a smug, haughty chuckle and stroke of his whiskers. Wilson, Cruz, and Alan gave confused looks at their trickster friend.

 

            “Old fashioned way?” Wilson asked with a raised eyebrow. Randolph sighed and rolled his eyes as if annoyed by his friend’s question.

 

            “We’re gonna blow the whole taco stand up,” he replied in a rather sneering tone. Alan and Cruz showed a sudden burst of excitement when they heard the explosive plan.

 

            “Oh yeah! We’re bringing the fire, dog!” Cruz cheered, raising his fists.

 

            “Now that’s what I call an idea,” Alan said, still maintaining his composure. Wilson gave a small chuckle and placed his hands on his hips.

 

            “I don’t know why you would call that the ‘old fashioned way,’” he said, giving air quotes. “But whatever. How do you propose we do that?”

 

            “Disguise or no disguise, it’s still a taco truck,” Randolph explained as he paced back and forth. “And every food truck has a working grill or stove. Then again, the probability that it’s a working unit might be unlikely due to the intentions of the dealer. After all, fenth is highly combustible.” Alan rolled his eyes and looked at Wilson, knowing one of Randolph’s scheming rants was beginning.

 

            “Here we go,” he muttered.

 

            “But depending on the location of the ingredients in the truck, it will probably take time to reach the flammable materials. Perhaps we can light the stove and bail before the explosion, but that would be risky. I can buy a lighter at a nearby smoke shop and throw it in there. Or maybe-.” The rat boy chattered on as he paced around, his mind working faster than a drag racer.

 

            “Hold your brain, speedy,” Wilson interrupted. “Why don’t we decide the plan together? We wouldn’t want you burning out your thought fumes.”

 

            “I dig that idea, bro,” Cruz replied.

 

            “Me too,” Alan added. Randolph blinked a few times, then took a deep breath and smiled.

 

            “I sure am lucky to have three brains backing me up,” the scheming rat boy said. With that, the members of Drift banded together to devise a plan to eliminate the drug truck supplying chaos to their community.

 

            After an hour and a half, the late afternoon set in, and business was close to the booming time for the drug dealer. He waited at the window of his taco truck for the regular after work customers. He was so preoccupied with watching for the addicts the anaconda man failed to notice Cruz pointing his slingshot at him, ready to shoot. He would not remain unnoticed for long, though. In a split second, the shot was fired, and a hallow ball of rotten egg yolk splattered on the dealer’s face. He hissed and shouted with anger and shock. Cruz let out a loud, wild laugh and rushed up to the taco truck. He pushed the dealer down, dove into the window, and grabbed the first thing he could get his scaly hands on, which happened to be a bag of glass tubes.

 

            “Hey! Hey!!” the dealer screamed as Cruz ran off. “Come back! That’s mine!” The dealer hurried to the door of his truck and burst out to chase after the iguana thief. Though anacondas are usually bulky, he was a thin and sleek hybreed, and quite quick on his feet. Cruz ran with the stolen items, looking back to make sure his pursuer was just close enough to continue chasing him. Once they ran far enough away from the truck, Randolph and Wilson emerged from the shadows to enter the truck. Randolph’s grin could not be contained.

 

            “OK, buddy. Let’s do this,” he chuckled. Wilson could not help but smile with anticipation, too. However, when he attempted to open the car door, he was surprised to discover it was locked.

 

            “Uh oh,” Wilson said. He fiddled with the door handle, and it became clear the door was not going to open. Randolph’s smile slowly disappeared.

 

            “Shit. Seriously?” he muttered. “Can’t believe that bastard was smart enough to lock the door before dashing.

 

            “No worries,” Wilson reassured him. “The window is open.” The window of the truck was indeed open. Randolph assumed Wilson would reach in to unlock the door, but what the skunk boy did instead left him stunned and silent. In an act of incredible flexibility and gymnastics, Wilson leaped up, held onto the window’s top rim, and began squeezing through it legs-first. At first, Randolph watched open mouthed and dumbfounded, but another smirk spread across his furry grey face. He shook his head in amusing disbelief.

 

            “You slippery, gelatin boned bastard,” he chuckled. “Looks like those gymnastics lessons are paying off again.” By the time the rat boy finished speaking, Wilson was already inside the taco truck. Immediately, the foul stench of the drugs assaulted his moist, black nose. Fighting against the burning in his eyes, he looked around the truck to get a better idea of how they should proceed with their plan.

 

            The stove and oven of the truck were surprisingly clean and uncovered. However, the sides of the vehicle were an indescribable mess. Piles and piles of small boxes, cups, tubes, bags, and cases were stacked up against the walls. In one corner was what could only be described as a dilapidated, cramped drug lab. The filthy area had two tanks sitting on what might have been a freezer. There were several bowls, large spoons, and small turkey basters. The stains on the desk suggested the dealer’s lack of effort to keep his products clean and germ-free. Those tanks, though. An idea slowly kindled in Wilson’s head. He looked at the stove and realized it was likely out of commission. When he turned his attention to the floor, he was surprised to see it covered in dirty newspapers. Excitement sparked in him like a lightning bolt.

 

            “Well?! Are we all set to blow the bitch up?!” Randolph shouted from outside. Wilson poked his head out the window and smiled.

 

            “I’m gonna need some sticks and leaves to make it all work perfectly,” he said. “We might just have to throw the lighter inside if this all goes right.” Randolph nodded and gave a thumbs up.

          “You got it, buddy. I wouldn’t want you to get the sexy long hair of yours singed.” The rat trickster ran towards the withering bushes and plants behind the truck. Working quickly, he snapped off as many dry branches and leaves he could. Wilson found the lock on the truck’s door and flicked the switch, allowing it to open. He got out of the drug lab with a smile showing sweet anticipation. This was going to be an epic fireworks show.

 

            Meanwhile, Cruz continued to run from the anaconda drug dealer, making sure not to run so fast he would lose him. Having a thin build, the dealer was quick. Snake hybreeds, having legs instead of a snake body, had normal shaped feet without overly long reptilian toes. This gave the anaconda man a bit of an advantage. Cruz’s long, clumsy iguana toes made it a little hard to keep his feet out of trouble in the grungy environment. Luckily, he could see his destination nearby. A sidewalk with a picket fence hiding a surprise for the criminal pursuing him. Cruz turned the corner and the drug dealer followed behind, screaming scalding curses all the while.

 

            “Get back here! I’ll kill you! Dammit!” Before the anaconda man could turn the corner, something literally hit him like a brick. Alan had burst from the corner and punched him square in the face, knocking him clean off his feet mid-run. The criminal fell to the ground, instantly knocked out by the surprise blow. Alan stepped out from behind the corner and slapped his hands as if to clean them off, appearing very satisfied with his single blow beatdown.

 

            “Damn, bro! You knocked that bitch out like a fly swatted by an oven mitt!” Cruz cheered, making several gestures to show his amazement. Alan simply nodded and wiped his hand on his black, spiked vest.

 

            “Well, that was satisfying,” he remarked. “Let’s head back to the truck. I don’t want to miss the show.”

 

            “Yeah, man. Let’s blow that taco stand!” With the main obstacle of their drug eradicating mission out of the way, the two friends headed back to the truck, hoping not to miss the grand finale of their operation.

 

            Wilson and Randolph covered the floor of the drug lab truck with dead leaves and dry twigs. It was easy finding enough in the area to prepare for the fiery finish to their plan. Merely three minutes later everything was ready. Randolph could barely contain his excitement. His long rat tail wagged side to side and his face stretched into a wide, wicked smirk.

 

            “I am so ready for this,” he cackled in a highly mischievous tone. Wilson was amused by his trickster friend’s demeanor.

 

            “Don’t get your beanie in a twist. Stand back,” he said. After taking a few steps back, Randolph handed the lighter he recently purchased to Wilson. The skunk boy nodded at his friend and flicked on the flame. “Well, here goes nothing.” With careful aim, he threw the tiny flame through the window of the taco truck.

 

            The instant the lighter clanked on the leaf covered floor of the truck, a burst of heat erupted from the windows. A bright orange flash lit up the darkness inside. The flames had already begun to spread.

 

            “Let’s scram!” Randolph shouted. The two friends fled into the open area of the alleyway. Once they were far enough away, they looked back and were amazed at what they saw. The fire had already consumed the majority of the truck’s interior. “It won’t be long now,” Randolph chuckled with glee. “In fact, I’d give it a five, four, three-.”

 

            BOOM!

 

            An enormous explosion blasted the truck, completely consuming it in flames. The light from the blast lit up Wilson and Randolph’s eyes. They looked on in wide eyed amazement and slight fear as the once well disguised drug lab was slowly reduced to a pile of scorched, melted metal. Randolph showed a hint of nervousness as the flames reached higher and scorched hotter.

 

            “Damn. I think we might have outdone ourselves,” he commented.

 

            “Boy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an explosion like that in real life. Much less caused one,” Wilson said, trying to restrain a smile. He could not help but be proud of himself for putting an end to such a lawless operation. Suddenly, they heard frantic barefoot footsteps running from behind them. They turned and saw Cruz sprinting with a displeased, disappointed expression.

 

            “Aw dammit! I missed the best part!” he cursed. Right after he said that. Another explosion erupted from the truck, sounding a massive boom through the air. The three friends turned towards the truck in an instant just in time to see a mushroom cloud soar upward like a volcano blast. “OK. Now I’m happy,” Cruz stated, slightly rattled by the surprise blast.

 

            “The other tank must have blown up,” Wilson said. “Took it long enough.” Alan finally arrived, approaching his friends in a casual walk with his head resting behind his hands.

 

            “Not bad guys,” he commented in a calm tone. “That’s one less drug source to rot Lotebirma.”

 

            “Good riddance, death machine,” Wilson said with a shake of his head and crossing his arms. The anti-criminal gang watched in satisfaction as the taco truck continued to burn to molten metal and ashes.

 

            “Mission complete,” Cruz said, raising his hand for high fives. The friends obliged and gave each other numerous rounds of high fives and handshakes to celebrate their achievement.

           

“Let’s go back to the harbor,” Wilson said. “I need an actual taco after that messy incident.”

 

“As long as it’s vegetarian, I’m in,” Alan replied.

 

“I’m in the mood for a spinach wrap. Let’s blow this joint!” Cruz cheered, making more gestures. With their task complete, the four friends left the decrepit alleyway and headed back to their home.

 

Ten minutes later, a crowd of withdrawal driven junkies arrived at their main drug source only to find it was burned to a heap of charred garbage. The anaconda dealer, who suffered a concussion from Alan’s brain shattering punch, returned to his ruined drug lab, and was confronted by his exceedingly enraged customers.

 

“You get careless, bastard?!” one bellowed.

 

“I’ve gone dry! This was my best source!” another howled.

 

“Haven’t you learned not to blow up your lab?!”

 

“I’m in withdrawal you fucking piece of shit!”

 

“I’ll throttle your long neck and knot up your tail like a pretzel!”

 

The furious shouts echoed through the alleyway, drowning out with the pleads of innocence from the dealer. The beatdown he suffered was too ludicrous and painful to describe, so leave it to your own imagination.

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