Day Twenty-Eight
We near towards the end, with only an estimated 12,000 words until the end. At this rate, it might be even more, but as the plot begins to pick up it could be even less! Let’s pray for more! I realize that it slows down a bit in here. It’ll all seem more relevant and interesting later on, I promise.
Word Count: 68,030
The schedule for the day changed to include room 305. Instead of aimlessly wandering trying to figure out what technology the pin used, they would see if the pseudo-Walters had actually hid anything useful in there. If not, the schedule would return to normal and they would fly home the next morning. If something spectacular were to happen, so would something spectacular happen to their schedule, and more than likely they would be around the MARS vicinity for another few days.
Carpenter told Walters to pack everything he’d need to go to MARS. Once they were in, they couldn’t get out, that is, if they wanted to get back in again. Security was tight. There had been a few robberies around MARS as the new Genomes surfaced. Over the past few weeks, MARS had become increasingly worried about attacks to the building, possible raids, intruders of the like. There was nothing that didn’t scare them, because the staff had everything to fear. One of their own men could be a simple thief in disguise, a spy from another country looking to strike it rich by stealing and marketing American technology, or perhaps just a common thief looking for a quick buck on the black market. Whatever the case, MARS was prepared, because the riots for the newer Genomes in the town had been absolutely extraordinary.
MARS towered above them that morning in the crisp light of the sunrise. It was a beautiful sunrise that stretched across the horizon, over the little igloo houses and the highways and roads that ran through the now-urbanized town. It was the first glimpse of something beautiful that Walters had seen since arriving. In fact, it might have been the most beautiful thing he’d seen since his own childhood, before the shapeshifting technology, before anything else. All there had been was beauty. Now it was hard to tell what beauty was.
As quickly as the sunrise had come, it was forcibly taken away by the juxtaposed clouds, who had been contemplating the capture for minutes on end. Both Walters and Carpenter were permitted entry into MARS at that moment, and the sunrise disappeared forever.
The interior of MARS was not very different from the NSGR. The GSS had purposely designed most stations the same way in order to keep a uniform and familiar aspect about all of them. Workers could travel from one station to another and collaborate without having to worry about getting lost in a new building. In this light, Walters knew that the MARS building was just as tall as it needed to be and had just as many basement floors as it needed to have. Extra rooms were always waiting, and could be shapeshifted now if need be, though it would probably be far more costly to do so at this point than to just dig out a new room.
The security guards at MARS, however, were far more stringent than the security at the NSGR. They acted more similar to the security at the Hospiten – completely irrational, attacking for no apparent reason than to get a suspicious person out of the building. The uniforms were also similar. The guards may have been the friends of those at the Hospiten, trained to punish relentlessly and without emotion for reasons lacking in common sense.
They allowed Walters and Carpenter to pass, giving them odd glances along the way. They both stepped into the brushed metal elevator. The interior was filled with mirrors, more than a normal elevator and far more than the elevators at the NSGR. Walters got a good, clear look at himself. He was not surprised anymore to see how he looked, and, dare he say it – it looked normal to him. The elevator made a dinging sound, indicating that they had reached floor number three, where they would be able to find room 305. It was just a short walk away down the hall.
They passed the rooms. Room 300, 301, 303, 306. They stopped there. Some doors were missing. They retraced their steps. Nothing seemed to be odd about the floor that would indicate any room had ever been there. Similarly, there were no rooms lower than 310 any place else on the floor. Signs told them this, various signs that led one across the building just in case the person had never entered a GSS Station building before.
Their only option would be to ask someone who knew the building better, perhaps even the building’s history. They assumed someone at the front desk would know. This was the first place they looked.
“Those rooms were demolished a long time ago due to a breech in quarantine. The rooms had to be gotten rid of, so they were shapeshifted away,” the woman at the front desk told them. That was why it had seemed like there was no trace of them ever being there, but it also said something about the age of the ATC’s and the pin Genomes. They had been around for quite some time – probably in the testing stages – for use by the faculty of the GSS. How come Walters had never seen this in his own station? It seemed like something worth noticing.
“Are the remains of these rooms anywhere?” Walters asked, praying on the inside for an answer.
“Oh, sure,” the front desk woman said, giving Walters reason to sigh with relief. “They were transported somewhere across the country, but I hope you aren’t inclined to chase them around.”
“No, we’re not,” he told the woman. “But thank you for the information.” Carpenter sighed and they both walked away from the front desk. Before they could go very far, a janitor approached them, clad in a deep blue uniform. He had overheard their conversation, listened in on every single word of their questions, and carefully formulated an answer.
“They put the remains in the spare janitor’s closet on the fifth floor, if you’re wondering.” He had their attention now. The only thing left to do was to finish the job. “You’ll need a key to get in, of course,” he said. “I just so happen to have a skeleton key to the building, but I need to know that you guys’ll have this little beauty back to me on the hour. If not, I call security and get both of your asses out of here. So, what do you say?”
Walters turned to Carpenter. “This sounds a little suspicious to me. I’ve never heard of anyone so willingly giving something that could cost him his job to two total strangers.”
“I can hear what you’re saying, and I’ll let you know that neither of you are total strangers. You know Marcus Reedy, correct? I think he’s a doctor right now over at the Hospiten.”
“You only think he’s a doctor?” Carpenter asked, looking perplexed.
“Sure. The guy’s been through so many jobs that I don’t know what he’ll be doing when he’s done with this one. At any rate, he told me that a bunch like you two would probably be coming here one day soon looking for something. I’m guessing that whatever it is is stored in that janitor’s closet. You don’t think they just took the room and all of the expensive equipment to the dump, do you? No way – the higher ups here want to keep the expensive stuff, even if they won’t use it.”
If the janitor knew Reedy, Walters thought, then they skeleton key was justified. There was no other reason, however, besides the one – but Reedy was a very persuasive person, in his own right. They took the key and thanked the janitor, who stated that he’d be waiting on the same floor in an hour to get the key back.
The fifth floor looked the largest, but in reality was no different in size than any other floor. The rooms were all there, unlike the third floor. There was no sign pointing to “janitor’s closet,” however, so they had to roam around until they found it. It was a hulking, heavy door. It was obvious why MARS had chosen this room to keep the extra material from the demolition here. If a thief could get the door unlocked, he surely had not the strength to pull it open.
The skeleton key worked instantly, producing a large thump that could only have been a door unlocking itself. Walters turned the knob and pulled – it was heavy; very heavy. He struggled, but the door eventually had been opened a foot and he stuck his own foot in to stop it from closing when he let go. Carpenter also held the door open while he walked inside. Before closing the door behind them, for it was pitch black inside, they grabbed a random object and put it between the door and the wall to hold it open while they found a light switch. Walters found it, but still wary of having to open the door again they left the object in place.
The room was full of felonious junk. Every object reeked with the scent of ancient technology from at least ten years past. It would be difficult digging through here, not knowing even what they had to find, especially when the objects from different rooms other than 305 were also mixed in. They assumed that, if a lapel pin Genome were what he had hid in here was, it would be in some sort of drawer. The desks were buried under piles of what looked like old ATC’s meant for surgery. Carpenter looked at one of them and smiled.
“I remember these things,” she said. Walters did, too. They were looking at an object about the size of four cinder blocks, just as grey as those blocks, and just as heavy as those blocks combined. It looked like a primitive version of what was being used in the Hospiten, yet smaller, less efficient. “Do you know what was wrong with them?” she asked Walters, who was unsure whether or not she was actually asking him, or whether she knew the answer and thought that he did not.
“The matter conversion system,” he said, as if there was no possible way he could forget. “It was the same mistake they had made on my best friend before it killed him.”
Carpenter was puzzled. “How did it kill him? You’d have to be in a full-body chamber for something like that to happen.”
“Exactly,” said Walters.
“Nonsense. There’s only been one death from such a cause that I’ve ever heard of, and only in the history books. Are you telling me that person was your best friend?”
“I may look younger, but I’m still old,” he said. “His name was Mike Rainer, and I was the one who told him to do it. In fact, I blame myself for everything. I even blame myself for what’s happening to me right now. I’m most afraid that this will lead me to the same fate as Mike, and I don’t think I’m ready to experience death by shapeshift just yet.”
“Don’t worry; you’re not going to die. You saw the man yesterday; he was the furthest thing from death.”
“But he was unreal,” Walters said, sifting through the junk to find any trace of a Genome. “The man had no concept of who he was or what he’d done with his life.” He turned over a table, looking for anything that could have been left behind of meaning besides that one piece of shapeshifting hardware.
Carpenter was looking through drawers when she found a piece of paper with an odd sketch on it. It looked like a blueprint, but highly deformed and primitive. It was more of a rough idea than it was an actual blueprint. The dust cleared off of the page revealed a very sad looking sketch of a pin-sized object. It could only have been the planning for a pin-like Genome, or someone’s twisted vision of the future. It was signed on the bottom by a person’s illegible script, worn away from years of age. Carpenter folded up the blueprint and put it in her pocket, wanting to use it for later.
In the other drawers were various other pieces of equipment, some important and other not so much, however nothing pertained to what they may have been looking for. With the discovery of the primitive blueprint, however, they both knew that somewhere in this room was the lapel pin Genome that they were looking for, left behind by the mysterious man who had probably searched through his forgotten thoughts all through the night to figure out the conundrum, only remembering a solitary number instead of an exact location.
No amount of searching seemed to lead anywhere but more dust. Why MARS wanted to keep these objects around was completely beyond their comprehension. They had trouble sifting through the fog that the dust crated as objects were tossed left and right, around a completely disorganized closet holding far more than it should have held. If they had been paying attention to the time, they would have realized that forty-five minutes had passed and they had found not one single thing besides the ancient blueprint. There was nothing in the room. There was nothing left of the pseudo-Walters’s past that could aid them.
“He wasn’t cured anyway,” Walters said, airing on the pessimistic side of the situation. Even so, he was not giving up just yet. The large amount of dust and debris in the air was choking him, and he greatly desired a step outside of the room. Carpenter said that she would wait in the closet while he stepped out to ensure that if anything happened he would be able to get back in.
As Walters stepped outside of the room, he felt a crunching beneath his feet, then a piercing feeling under the sole of his shoe. He had stepped on the tiny object they had used as a door stopper. He looked under his shoed and picked it up. It had a gold, textured backing, and was hollow on the inside. It was larger than it should have been, but was polished on the front and in the shape of a nude male figure. It was the lapel pin Genome that they had been looking for.
He ignored his previous ailment and ran back into the room to inform Carpenter. Even though the object was much larger than his own pin – nearly twice the size – it was unmistakable that this was a possible testing version and was exactly what the pseudo-Walters had used before his current condition. Carpenter seized it and thanked him for finding it, putting it in her pocket along with the blueprint, but not before sealing it in an odd metallic-looking bag.
It had almost been an hour – they had found the primitive pin right on time. Working their way around the maze of hallways after locking the hulking janitor closet door shut, they made their way to the elevators, which looked far more inviting than they had just an hour ago. On the bottom floor, the janitor should have been waiting, or perhaps cleaning, but nobody was there. They continued to wait. Fifteen minutes passed, then thirty. Tired of waiting, they assumed he had forgotten, and went off to study what they had found. The janitor never reappeared – not that day, not the next day, nor the day after.
Now that they had received the object hey had come to look for, they were able to go to their assigned room to perform research. It was just like the laboratory that Walters worked at in the NSGR, making this seem less like an outing and more like a business trip, or a job switch. The equipment, however, was largely different, even if the room design was the same. There were ACT’s all across the room, large stacks of papers filled with error analyses, and spare parts flung in every direction the eye could see. It was a battlefield of hardware. Monsters spewed out parts of shapeshifting devices in hopes of attacking and killing the mechanical evils on the counter opposite them in the room. The devices on the other counter must have thought the same.
Even so, it was not a messy room; they just did not know how to handle what was in it. Carpenter seemed far more confident then Walters, having understood the technology she’d grown up with far more than Walters ever would or could hope to. She took the lapel pin out of her pocket and, with the blueprint, set it on the black granite countertop. Their goal was simple: Find out how the pin was shapeshifting Walters without the aid of an ATC unit.
The first step was to accurately determine how an ATC unit shapeshifted a given person or part of a person, this which was almost widely known to the general populous that used them, but not to everyone. Some wished to remain ignorant of the technology – so long as it performed what it was manufactured to do, then it didn’t matter how it did the action. In this way, many people had remained ignorant of a simple computer’s inner workings for decades until the age of technology had come far enough that the knowledge of the workings of a computer was impossible not to know for daily life. The only people who still remained ignorant of the way a computer worked were either long dead or nearly dead.
“Well, what a normal unit would do obviously isn’t what’s going on here. Normally, there would be some sort of place to put extra matter… a basket, a slot, anything. I’ve heard of companies that sell dense bricks of matter to fit into special ATC’s, but these pins have nothing to take from. If they were to rid your body of some of its content, something terrible should happen – I’d assume death, but you’re not dead.” Carpenter was looking at the larger lapel Genome as she spoke, looking for some sort of something to define how it worked. “I could imagine,” she said, “that, acting in light of a normal shapeshift, it could add matter by taking existing matter and changing the elements, then positioning it inside your body, but there’s no matter around. Consequently, there’s no place for it to put matter that it takes away, and you’ve clearly lost some mass.”
Walters looked at himself. He only knew how these machines worked somewhat. The rest was a complete mystery to him – he only knew genetics. He did know that an ATC unit fed off of matter – any matter, not a specific type – and decomposed it on-the-fly, reconstructing the elements into other elements that were required to build an organic life form. It was easiest and quickest to shapeshift if a block of carbon was the matter source, because it then needed only to convert very few atoms to other types of elements. It had used to be very time consuming – each fundamental subatomic particle had to be taken out, eliminated, or stored somewhere else. When one new type of element was created, so were others. Hydrogen was the most common byproduct of a reaction. Sometimes atoms became unstable in the middle of a transformation, and thus entire new systems had to be designed to prevent radioactive decay. This was one of the problems that MARS had dealt with in the past.
It was between these chambers in the ATC units that all spare matter was stored and exchanged. Larger ATC’s were hooked up to canisters filled with random matter. Trash could be used as matter. It was fair game when it came to adding or subtracting mass from a person. Some people chose to use the shapeshifting process as a way to quickly lose weight. A Genome could be inserted to instruct the machine to subtract matter from a certain area, making sure that the extracted matter only had such-and-such chemical composition, usually triglycerides. When one person had this type of surgery performed on them, it actually made the next person’s surgery faster. The increase of carbon, hydrogen and oxygen meant that there was less that the machine had to sort through to find the proper atoms to add onto the next person. However, there was often a balance between how much good matter was in the chambers and how much slightly useful matter was in the chambers.
In Walters’s case, there were no chambers for matter to be stored, nor were there any in the older lapel pin either. In this way, the pin was performing a highly dangerous act: eliminating matter without any sort of way to contain the resulting radiation and energy. It was impossible to eliminate matter without getting an equal amount of energy.
This was the basic principle that had undone Rainer. The machine had been far too inefficient at storing and releasing matter. When matter was removed from his body, the machine was not able to properly store it, and the entire project went up in smoke. Many considered it a miracle that the entire building was not destroyed. Some select few are thankful that the entire city was safe, especially because a mere two grams of substance should have had the force of four atomic bombs. An entire body was another matter entirely. It made the entire spectacle nearly unbelievable.
Carpenter had succeeded in tearing the ancient pin in half. The insides were almost similar to Walters’s pin, and yet the technology as so old that it could have been completely different. The GSS logo was still on a large black computer chip that covered almost the entire inside of the pin, explaining why it had felt slightly heavier than expected. Walters’s pin contained only a small square chip, whereas this pin’s chip covered the entire inside.
Carpenter proceeded to hold it down on the desk in order to pry the chip out. It was incredibly thin, liable to break if not taken out with extreme caution. She needed a levels surface to pry it out without snapping it in two, and the half-surface of the pin now needed to be secured to the lab table. There was no possible way of doing this, despite her efforts, so she had to hold it in one hand, trying to keep it as steady as possible, while prying the chip out with the other. There were no screws, only a very odd glue-like substance.
Walters, in the meanwhile, had taken out his own pin and opened the hinge on the back, examining the black chip, the GSS logo, the green chip behind it which was probably what made the major difference between it and the ancient technology in front of it. Just how long had these pins been around for? What had the GSS been doing developing them? They seemed unrelated in every way to the pins released weeks ago. Though they shared the same shape, their technology seemed entirely different, as though these had been developed by an entirely different group, a group that wished to forcibly shapeshift citizens however they desired, and create a habit of it. A group that wanted shapeshifting to dominate the world, whether the person being shapeshifted liked it or not. A group who intended to make shapeshifting addicting.
Carpenter looked at the black chip, now completely pried out of the Genome. For the first time they could both see together where the genetic information was stored. Carpenter had seen this area on Walters’s genome, but this pin housed far more genetic material, as well as a second area for something that was unknown – presumably the extra matter they were looking for, but it was too small to hold much of anything. Underneath the chip was a small, clear, plastic area attacked to the bottom. It contained a cloud white fluid, made white by various tiny threads running through the solution. Each thread was a chromosome, and there were enough chromosomes in this tiny container to track all of the information ever needed on a person.
“Well, at least it’s something,” Carpenter said, “but it still doesn’t explain where the matter is going.”
“Maybe it’s going into the air,” said Walters. “What if it released the matter incredibly slow? A person’s breathing rate would determine how fast they could shapeshift, then. Since I don’t breathe heavily, it makes more sense that my transformation took a good while to finish.”
Carpenter sat down. “You might be close, but it doesn’t seem likely enough. Even if you breathed fast, it would still take a while. And that doesn’t account for how fast you shapeshifted while you were accepting the transformation.”
Neither of them could figure it out, but they continued to disassemble the old pin. They were thankful that they didn’t have to assemble Walters’s pin, because that would have meant having to put it back together, which neither of them wanted to do out of fear of putting it back wrong.
In this light, they could do nothing but ask other people their opinions on the matter. Many people thought that the entire thing was a stunt to gather attention in MARS for a hoax. Such technology did not exist to shapeshift one without an ATC, therefore the one who claimed to own said technology must be either cunning or insane. In this case, most people seemed to lean toward calling the two insane. If the GSS had developed these pins truly, they had kept their existence very well hidden. Not a soul had ever even heard of it as possibly an urban legend, or a myth, or something of the like. It was simply a nonexistent object, a figment.
One person suggested that it could very well be sending out matter and radiation, just not to a place that anybody would suspect it to go. What was supposed, in this theory, was that the pin took the excess matter and changed it directly to energy, whisking it away to some place safe, where it could do no harm, presumably somewhere inside the body itself. This would mean that Walters was harboring enormous amounts of radiation, or that his body was using this radiation to complete some sort of unknown task – something that, if true, nobody wanted to waste their time researching.
Keeping that theory in mind, they moved towards detecting any signs of radiation in Walters’s body. Even if his transformation had been complete, there should still, after days, been ample amounts of signs showing that he had been recently shapeshifted if such a theory proved to be true.
There was nothing. Every theory had been debunked. The technology being used was still nonexistent, unknown to everyone. If it was known, it would have been invented, but as far as anyone could see the pins were nothing more than data carriers. They couldn’t be anything more.
It was getting late in the day, and Carpenter and Walters were running out of ideas. Walters was feeling depressed, but Carpenter was oddly cheerful, unfazed by this failure of failures. There seemed to be no cure for his condition. He begged to leave MARS, to sit and wander, waiting for the horrible task to finish, waiting for his fate to match his friend Rainer’s.
His body would not let go of the pin, but it had no trouble repelling the other, older pin.
A knock on the door of the lab. Walters opened it while Carpenter continued working on the pin. She had now broken the black chip in two, examining its insides and cross sections in hopes of finding something – anything – that could have made this all worthwhile. There was a man at the door. He was asking them to leave.
“We’d be happy to,” Walters said, clutching his forehead. His headache had returned, though it felt like much more than a headache now. It felt as though something inside of him was breaking to pieces. It was a ridiculous and false feeling, but it made him resentful of the place he was at. For the first time, he felt a longing for the NSGR. He wanted to be there. He wanted to work there. He found that environment far more successful than MARS. Achieving goals in MARS seemed as distant and unfeasible as the planet itself.
There was no clear-cut reason why they were shooed off the premises. One assumption was that they had been spreading lies about the lapel pin Genomes throughout the station. Another was that they had never returned the skeleton key to the janitor, which still resided with Carpenter, who had kept it in her pocket. Of course, security was generally unfriendly those days as well, so it was entirely plausible that the security guard who had approached them asking them to leave was worried that unknown technology meant unknown and possibly unpredictable people, which was against the general good of the station.
No matter what the cause, Walters was happy to leave. He would be happy to get away from the town, away from the oddly shaped houses, away from the creepy pseudo-Walters who haunted him in his daydreams and frightened him with the thought of haunting his dreams at night. The flight was schedule for tomorrow. This was their last chance to head back to the NSGR, to the Hospiten, to Jenna and Reedy, before having to wait another week for the next flight. A week that they could not afford to wait.
The night was rough. A hard rain had begun to pour down from the heavens, and their hotel was their arc in the flood. It had come so fast that the two-by-twos were discarded, leaving room only for Carpenter and Walters in the hustle and bustle. Walters had trouble sleeping due to his headache, but eventually fell asleep into strange dreams, and Carpenter into sweet ones. Together the dreams mingled with each other, until they lost interest and began to drift into their own separate storylines.
Walters had begun to toss in the bed, something he’d never often done before, and never done in the company of Carpenter, who did not awake for his simple tossing. Walters, however, was sleeping increasingly more uncomfortably as the night passed on, albeit unconscious of it, conscious only in his dreams of his condition. In the dream, there were mirrors, thousands of them, forming a very large circle around a small plot of land.
The land around the land broke, leaving a small floating island, surrounded on all sides by mirrors. The island turned into a stalagmite, with him at the top. There the mirrors began to expand, multiply, and coat the sky in his likeness. He was the world, the embodiment of it. He saw himself, who was not his original form, but did not scorn it. He was overjoyed to see his new face scattered across the heavens. But he could not look down! He was caged inside these wretched mirrors for eternity.
He attempted to jump off of the spire, to give up his position against the universe, but the glass of the mirrors blocked his fall to the ground. Desperately he searched for a pathway down, a mountain cave, a shoot, any method of travel downward that ensured a safe return to life on Earth.
Conveniently, as though he did not know he was in a dream, he found a chute. The chute led downward, spiraling through the clouds, but the end result was the inevitable: It led to another spire, also surrounded on all sides by a sphere mirrors. There was no escape but to jump, and jump was the one thing that he was unwilling to go.
His headaches were returning, this time in the dream. He wanted them to leave so desperately. His mindset suddenly changed. He had no choice but to jump – it was for his own betterment. If he jumped, there would be consequences, but none as dire as being stranded where he was currently. He closed his eyes and tipped his body off of the spire that he had been so delicately balancing on top of. He hadn’t realized until falling how much skill it had taken to balance on a single point.
As he fell, he saw the multitude of citizens in the country who had also taken some sort of jump. He had joined them. He was now one of many, part of a collective unit that could only be imagined by Donne and God themselves.
It was not a falling dream, nor did the falling scare him. He rather enjoyed it, and ended with a safe landing. However, the world around his landing still caged him in. He was caged in by the world’s natural features – by mountains, by valleys, by storms and other malice. He was also surrounded by people – multitudes of people and monsters, all speaking their own gibberish language. He did not know if each could understand each other, but did not make the effort to find out before attempting to fight his way through the crowd. Just as he thought he might prevail, he awoke to an incredibly bright light coming through the window, and a very wet floor, which had also come through the window. He’d forgotten to close it that night.
He woke Carpenter, who was nearly falling off the bed, her body subconsciously trying to escape the bit of wetness that had blown onto the blankets covering the bed. They both felt incredibly lucky that their flight was in the afternoon. This would have them back at night, which would mean that Carpenter would be able to check in on her store and Walters would be able to go home and rest his head further.
Though the room was charming, it was not wonderful enough for them to want to remain in it any longer. They twisted the golden handle of the door and bid a final farewell to the hotel and to MARS as they departed from the airport and began to hunt for taxis.
They had enough trouble finding one. Because of the rainy day many people were leaving the town to do something vastly more interesting, whatever that could have been. The airport was practically empty, consisting only of those people who had decided like Carpenter and Walters that today was the final possible day to stay around MARS and its town. These people were all like Walters, all shapeshifted, all wearing a Genome that made the airport look utterly unnatural, and yet completely natural and realistic at the same time. Walters had become used to seeing these people in the past few days. As much as he resented them, he could not help but feel sorry for them, pity them, even accept them.
This acceptance was unheard of. It seemed like his attitude towards them had changed overnight, but he assumed it was because of his headaches that he was being far more lenient towards the shameful people that continually blurred humanity itself. He shook his head, but could not shake the feeling of acceptance, as much as he wanted to grab it by the horns and throw it clear across the airport wing.
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