Match of the Millennium

Description: John Doe's been sleeping like the dead lately. But will he sleep right through the bonus round of the NFG FightFest, while his partner Chevy Beaumont is chatting up some random cameraman in the lower depths of the parking garage? Would we really keep you waiting like that?!

[CHEVY]
Parking garages are pretty similar wherever in the world you go. The structures aren't meant to win design awards; they're meant to be where you stash your car while you go take pictures of the structures that are. Function wins out over form with these brutalist rectilinear forms -- heavy slabs of concrete piled upon concrete pillars. This garage is not all so different. The top floors provide a decent view of the Southtown skyline. But, the lower you go, the darker and creepier it gets.

And we're here on level B4 now, as low as it goes for this car park. Normal customers won't see this place -- it's generally reserved for valet traffic only. So it's nice and -dark-, with one fluorescent light flickering off and on as the mood strikes it. The ballast's discharge cycle is one of the few noises down here, amplified even more by the thick concrete walls on either side -- each click, each snap, each hum echoing countless times across the bleak, flat surfaces.

During a good vacation weekend, this place would be jam-packed with expensive cars. But right now, there is only one vehicle matching that description: a hearse, made out of a 1994 Lincoln Continental Town Car. Painted black with chrome trim, the vehicle is in decent shape for its age. There's a few signs of body damage that has been malleted back into place. The tires are bald. It could fetch a thousand or two, on a good day.

It probably won't tomorrow, if the half-dozen cameras stationed around it are any indication.

Chevy bites her lip, shaking her head from side-to-side as she pulls a long fabric bandage snug around her hand. Normally she's wearing something a bit more upscale. But right now? She's garbed in an old t-shirt, the lower hem knotted up just below her ribcage. She's wearing thick, durable cargo pants and steel-toed boots. Because the mechanic does -not- screw around with personal safety here.

"It's just a darn shame, y'know? I mean, it's not a -bad- looking car, even if it is a Lincoln," she comments to one of the camerapeople. With a resigned sigh, she pulls on a set of well-worn work gloves. Why did she bring these to Japan? Always be prepared... Not far from her are two buckets of water and the reinforced pole she'd used in her fight.

[JOHN DOE]
** Several Blocks Away **
"Hoooly shiiit!"
"Really, Mr. Dangerfield, this is Not helping."
"Fuuuuuck!"
"I mean, he's not wrong."
"We are so absolutely fucked in the ass right now!"
"Mr. Dangerfield!"
SLAP!
"Thank you, Ms. Belle."
Shrugging slim shoulders in a 'no problem' sort of way, Titania Belle settles back onto the plush grey sofa with a careless flounce, curling cat-like into the corner as she smirks up at Matt who is holding his face and looking more clueless than usual. Backing away from the tiny terror, the top heavy influencer edges around a glossy wooden coffee table and sinks slowly into a stuffed grey armchair, giving his shaky stick legs a much-deserved break. Rubbing sulkily at the small red hand print forming on his cheek, he aims a half-hearted scowl across the room toward the third and final member of the group, her posture ram-rod straight and dark skirt suit immaculately tailored.
Bethany Alexander is visibly older than the other two, but no less beautiful for it. Platinum hair pulled into an elegant bun with 2 sharp metal chopsticks rammed through it, she stands statuesquely beside a dark roll top desk, hands clasped neatly at her back. Fixing piercing green eyes upon the now silent man, she gives him a further moment to compose himself, expression icily impassive, before continuing.
"As we speak, Ms. Pratchet is speaking with the front desk. If no one among the hotel staff has seen Mr. Doe, we will exit the premises in a calm and orderly manner, and we will search for him elsewhere. If you could please contain yourself in the mean time, Mr. Dangerfield, it would be greatly appreciated."
"But ba--mam, I just don't get it." Matt replies at a much more acceptable volume. "Where the hell would JD even go? He's going to be late for his match."
** Back At The Garage **
Shadows shift slowly within the dark interior of the converted Lincoln, intermittent beams of light filtering dimly through the dark tinted windows. What had been a still, silent compartment at the back of the vehicle is filled with a soft clack of a brass latch, followed by the gentle swish of displaced air as a stately black casket swings neatly open.
From within the coffin comes a quiet groan, then a rustle of cloth as an almost supernaturally handsome young man rises to a seated position upon the crushed purple velvet lining, his long black hair brushed back into glossy perfection and his black shoes shined, tuxedo a perfect match for his grimly elegant surroundings.
Bracing one pale hand upon the lip of the coffin, John Doe levers himself from within his eternal resting place, causing the vehicle to rock gently as he gains his feet and stoops to reach for the back hatch.
From without the hearse, a soft CHUNK of releasing locks can be heard, followed by the smooth hiss of the back door swinging wide to reveal JD in all his finery, misty eyes alight as he steps stiffly down to the cement, face a mask of funeral solemnity. Carefully adjusting his purple silk tie, he reaches up to shut the rear hatch gently behind himself, gaze sweeping across cameras, crew, and Chevy before his right hand lifts, pauses, then gives the tiniest of shy waves.

[CHEVY]
"I mean, it's not like I got anything personal against -Lincolns-, I mean, some people think I might since, like, they're rebadged -Fords- and my name's -Chevy- and whatnot, but like..."

Miss Beaumont tends to talk a bit more when she's nervous. She also tends to fidget; she's currently fussing with the fit of the hook-and-loop fasteners on her gloves. Stick. Rrrriiip. Tighten. Stick. Rrrrip. Tighten some more. All the while, she keeps an eye on the monolithic form in the middle of the spacious car park, the centerpiece of attention, despite being a completely immobile statue.

"It's just, I've just never been a fan of their style. It's like, three-fourths the prestige of a Cadillac, but -boring-, the body lines are just -bland-, you know. Uninspired, design by committee, paint-by-numbers..."

The cameraman just nods his head. He's got no dog in the fight. Does he even know English? He's only half paying mind anyway -- at least, until the car starts shaking. His eyes widen -- and then he does a short bow to Chevy before focusing on the view screen.

Chevy doesn't seem to notice. "I mean, yeah, you got me, right? It's just -bland-. But they're good, reliable cars. I just wish they'd picked up more inspiration from the Taurus, y'know, now -that- was a slick..."

Chevy happens to turn to the side.
Just in time to see the back door of the hearse swing wide.
Her jaw slackens.
And she stops fidgeting.
Or moving much at -all-, really.

"... design-"

Her eyes grow as wide as saucers.
"... zign..."

The impeccably styled silhouette turns just so in the light. A handsome look -- and a bold presentation.

"... zz...zom..."
The auburn-tressed American was pretty pale to start with.
But she's somehow even moreso now.

She gets a good look. And she can't wonder if miss Constance Coalbridge wasn't onto something in the bar earlier.

Chevy abruptly grabs her pole, looping it through the handle of one bucket. And in the next moment, the bucket swings into motion, the water sloshing as she wheels it around.

"Zzooombiiiie! C'mon, tell me I ain't the only one seein' this!!" she shouts, as she moves to spear the second bucket's handle with her pole!

Aren't liminal spaces -great- for playing tricks on the mind?

COMBATSYS: Chevy has started a fight here.

COMBATSYS: John Doe has joined the fight here.

COMBATSYS: Hearse has joined the fight here in the center.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Chevy            0/-------/-------|====---\-------\0         John Doe
                 [ |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Hearse           0|-------|-------

[JOHN DOE]
A small wave and half a shy smile for Chevy are all that John can manage in that brief stretch between arrival and panic. All across the world people tuned into the event get a front row seat to the movie star's expression twitching, then falling away with a wince before his head dips and long hair sweeps forward to hide him from view.
'Zzooombiiiie!'
Shoulders shrinking in, JD stumbles back from the shout, shoulder bumping against the rear of the hearse and setting him to wobbling unsteadily on his feet. Pale hands twisting together, he has a moment of visible nerves, or at the very least well-acted pretend nerves, as the single light buzzes fitfully above him.
"...Huuhgh..."
Swaying on the spot, the totally not a zombie half turns, one eye peering toward Chevy and her poles through a gap in his luscious black locks. He seems, hurt. Almost puppieshly so. But as tabloids all across the nation have proclaimed many a time, the up and coming actor is possessed of an indomitable good cheer. Nothing can keep him down for long.
(Not Even Death?)
And so, with a tightening of his nervous fingers, he straightens up to his full height, not much taller than his redheaded partner, shakes his hair out of his face, and offers her a brilliant grin full of perfect white teeth. Everything about his beaming expression projects forgiveness and gloriously good intentions, the wavering light strengthening into a steady beam just long enough to give him that perfect shimmering glow.
And then, with little warning and absolutely no hesitation, the teen clinches his left hand and wheels about on the spot, fist lashing out toward the hearse's rear panel with much greater force than his lean musculature would imply.

[CHEVY]
Dashing good looks, and a set of bright pearly whites. Two things that usually -aren't- associated with zombies. Truth be told, the light made it hard to see much -anything-, especially for someone who was as distracted as Chevy. It isn't until she sees some decidedly non-zombielike motions that she starts to put two and two together.

"... Oh." Color floods back to her freckled cheeks. The pole sags; buckets slosh to and fro.

"Y-yeah, uh... sorry about that! Ahaha, I just assumed..."

Buckets swing to a stop as her spine stiffens. She sweeps a glove through her reddish locks.

"Okay, yeah -- you got me! That was one heck of an entrance!" It's a lot easier to smile when the other party's smiling too.

But even with that relaxed look, she nearly jumps out of her skin -again- as the hearse's real panel thumps out a hollow groan at the wanton violence! "EEEEEEEE" The buckets clank against their pole as tension once again shoots through her arms.

An instant later, her eyes screw shut, and she draws in a gasp of breath.

"Nnnngh... you're... -absolutely right-...!" she answers to the charge of silence. "I don't know what's gotten into me!"

She takes one step closer -- and then another. And then she breaks into a run, closing the gap to the front of the hearse. "Forgive me, Mister Hearse -- it's nothing personal, but it's time for your retirement!"

Chevy leaps up into the air -- and when she comes down, she swings a bucket and pole down onto the windshield with hellacious fury! "TEYAAAAAAH!" The windshield spiderwebs with a crackling sound under the weight of the water-filled bucket, glass falling out of the frame like a sheet of heavy fabric!

COMBATSYS: Hearse blocks Chevy's Fierce Strike.

COMBATSYS: Hearse blocks John Doe's Fierce Punch.

COMBATSYS: Hearse takes no action.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Chevy            0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0         John Doe
                 [     |||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Hearse           0|-------|-----==

[JOHN DOE]
Whatever John was expecting to happen when he decided to punch a car in the butt, his expectations must have been misplaced. Rather than a tremendous crunch of crumpling metal, there is a loud THONK as the rear hatch dents in slightly, the heavy boat of an automobile rocking gently forward then back on its tired tires.
Taking a single step back, the dapper actor studies the rear of the Lincoln with a slight frown creasing his pale brow, shaking his left hand out with slow, contemplative flicks of his fingers.
"Hmph." he grunts, looking oddly nonplussed as Chevy comes swooping in at the front with her echoing battle cry, the silent majesty of the parking garage shattered by the clamor of bucket, window, and girl.
Expression firming, JD wheels about for a moment, grey eyes searching the darkness, then is off, polished shoes shuffling rapidly across the cement as he lurches right out of frame, leaving Chevy alone with their shared nemesis.
Having vanished into the gloom, the Not Zombie sends back sounds of scraping feet, a rasp of metal on cement, and a very pleased grunt. Then he is staggering back into the light with a worn old parking meter slung over his shoulder, pale hands clutched around the broken base. Swaying a bit from the weight of it, the drunken brawler steps his pace up to an unsteady run, hurling himself toward the side of the car and heaving the meter off of his shoulder in a full body baseball swing, aiming to try and bash in the passenger side door.

[CHEVY]
Chevy frowns -- for even though the windshield fell apart, it didn't shatter into a jillion pieces. It's like safety glass... is safe? What the heck gives? Though it would stand to reason that she spends so much time trying to -restore- cars that destroying them might not be in her wheelhouse.

But while she's busy feeling partially defeated by the car's obstinate refusal to fall apart, she notices John, yet again, out the corner of her eye. With less of a freak-out, this time. "Where the heck're..." she starts to mumble, before remembering that it's -probably- for good reason. She picks her pole back up, and starts to wheel her pole around for another strike...

At which point she hears metal scrape. "Heh-heh..." And she has a pretty good idea of what that means.

She smashes her pole around -- bringing the full weight of the water-laden bucket to bear -- to utterly savage the driver's side door and mirror. All-out leverage isn't her forte -- but she aims to live a little! "Lights out!" she cries, aiming to wreck the door right off its hinges!

COMBATSYS: Hearse blocks Chevy's Large Random Weapon.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Chevy            0/-------/---====|====---\-------\0         John Doe
                 [     |||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Hearse           0|-------|----===

COMBATSYS: John Doe successfully hits Hearse with Large Random Weapon.
- Power hit! -

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Chevy            0/-------/---====|=====--\-------\0         John Doe
                 [          ||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Hearse           0|-------|--=====

COMBATSYS: Hearse takes no action.

[JOHN DOE]
CRUNCH!
The dual impacts of bucket and meter resound throughout the parking area, joining the distant clangs and crashes of other demolition teams doing the same elsewhere. Now that the initial misgivings have faded somewhat, team Watery Grave (TM) seems to have fallen into perfect sink, executing a flawless pincer maneuver on their unsuspecting prey.
Which is to say, they smack it at the same time from opposite sides, JD's blow crumpling the passenger side inward and warping the frame at top and bottom.
Shards of glass and wood paneling shower the ground around JD's polished dress shoes, ground beneath his heels as he staggers back a step, leaving his improvised weapon buried through the back of the leather seat. White stuffing floats through the air, one piece in particular landing unnoticed in the star's wavy hair. Completely oblivious to the thumb-sized bit of white fluff, he whirls his body into a violent twist, nearly toppling over as he smashes at the rear side paneling with his fist, then heaves his other forearm down upon the roof, bashing and slamming with clumsy strength. Yet, somehow, amidst all that violence he manages to aim another of those brilliant grins through the empty window toward Chevy, seeming happy at a chance to let loose, and just a touch goofy with the passenger fluff hanging beside his left cheek.

[CHEVY]
The mirror flies off with a satisfying metallic *CRUNCH* , the driver-side door denting inward in the same split-second strike. Water splashes outward, only to be scooped back up as Chevy steps backward to bring the bucket around in a smooth art. Water conservation is a key aspect of her style, after all!

The redhead tosses a smile back at John, grinning as the car is finally starting to show some lasting signs of its abuse at the hands of the two young fighters. But now that Chevy's had a taste of destruction, it's only started to grow her appetite...

Chevy brings her pole high -- and then -slams- the point of it through the second row window on her side, shattering the glass in one fierce blow! The bucket of water serves to keep the glass fragments from blasting upwards, but the whole point of the reckless maneuver is to pry the back door open a bit further -- at which point Chevy wraps her arms around the door, and falls backwards at an odd angle, aiming to shear the back door right off at the hinges! It starts to sag under her full weight and the might of her leverage. With a groan of metal, the hinges look like they will hold... but then she plants her boot on the upper frame, and the metal starts to creak even louder at the wrestling-inspried hold...!

COMBATSYS: Hearse blocks Chevy's Oyster Drop.

[   \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////// ]
Chevy            0/-------/--=====|=====--\-------\0         John Doe
                 [           ||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Hearse           0|-------|-======

COMBATSYS: John Doe successfully hits Hearse with Bone Yard.
- Power hit! -

[   \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////// ]
Chevy            0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0         John Doe
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Hearse           1|------=|=======

COMBATSYS: Hearse takes no action.

[JOHN DOE]
There are lots of positive things to be said about John Doe. He's good looking, empathetic, and strong, if the crumpling Lincoln is to judge. But, well. Intelligent?
MmmmMMMMmmm...
Dragging his fist and forearm free of the warped passenger side paneling, his half of the car starting to look a bit saggy and sad, the dapper young man glances once more through the shattered windows just in time to witness something truly mind blowing.
Chevy, is wrestling the car.
And just like that, the light bulb flickers feebly up stairs.
"Cchhffv!"
Waving a pale hand to get the cuty's attention, JD gestures toward the car with flailing excitement, before dropping low and vanishing from her sight. Elegant fingers gripping the bottom of the frame, the actor grunts, heaves, and manages to lift the old boat nearly a foot off the ground, tipping it and up before the strain of it overcomes him and it crashes back to all four wheels with a hell of a noise and a hefty bounce.
Face appearing over the edge of the door, JD waves Chevy over a second time, then drops down again, regaining his hold and setting it to rocking in a heave, ho, Heave, Ho, HEAVE, HOOO of effort, earnestly trying to build enough momentum to flip the whole thing tumbling onto its roof in a spray of glass and crumpled metal.

[CHEVY]
The door that Chevy was hanging onto sags; with one final groan of metal, the top hinge creaks and snaps. Maybe not a complete victory, but as the Carolinian stands up, she gives the remaining hinge one swift steel-toed kick to finish off the last hinge -- bringing the door off with a clamorous clatter!

It's at this point that she hears her name, albeit as if it were filtered through a heavy wad of folded-up cheesecloth. Cocking her head to the sound, she sees her partner waving at her -- and then disappearing! But once she sees the hearse start shaking, she figures out what's up...

First things first -- clear a path! Gloved hands grab hold of the dismembered door, twisting it to the side and out of harm's way. And when she looks back she sees John Doe trying to hulk out and lift the car all by himself! "Oh, nah, lift with your -legs!-" she calls out. (He may have been doing so. But it's just a requirement to say that!)

But when he waves her over for a potential team-up, bucket-toting Chevy is quick to join JD on his side of the car, syncing up with his rhythm -- and when the car looks like it'll have just enough momentum, the redhead starts a countdown.

"Three... two... one... GO!"

It's right on the final count that a geyser of water spouts upwards, blasting into Chevy's back and along with her elbows, plowing her into the car -- and giving that extra bit of force necessary to catapult it into the air!

COMBATSYS: John Doe and Chevy successfully hit Hearse with A Watery Grave.

[    \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////////////  ]
Chevy            0/-------/--=====|======-\-------\0         John Doe
                 [                      |||||||| ]
                 Hearse           1|-======|=======

COMBATSYS: Hearse takes no action.

[JOHN DOE]
Whatever part of his body John Doe is lifting with, it seems to be working. Mostly. It's only once Chevy has joined him on his side of the car that she can see he is absolutely lifting with his back and his legs, and will probably give himself a slipped disk and or a hernia. The beaming grin that lights up his face seems to suggest he's having a good time though, and with her counting them down, he applies himself to the problem with a will.
FWOOOSH!
The car is heaved off the ground into a sideways tumble, driver side not even touching the ground as water bounces off of Chevy's back and soaks her surroundings, much of it splashing across JD himself.
CRASH!
The once stately hearse's roof buckles as it strikes the cement, frame sagging yet further from the strain. Caught wheels up and smashed, the car looks, well, weird. Like a beetle turned on its back, something unnatural and off putting about seeing it uprooted in such a way.
"HEHH."
Water drips from JD's clingy suit as he offers Chevy a slightly soggy high-five.
That done, the actor staggers off toward the nose of the vehicle, circling around the front until he is standing directly before it. Reaching up, he grips hold of the metal bumper and heaves, feet sliding, muscles jerking in one, two, three violent tugs as he attempts to tear the thing right off, to wield it in a clumsy frenzy and batter the underside of the engine, the front wheels, the headlights...Just whatever he can find within reach.

[CHEVY]
Chevy vaults back and away from the crash zone just before the carnage unfolds! Dripping wet, she pauses at a fair distance to observe the team's handiwork, grinning madly. "Yeah, that'll just about ruin 'er..." she comments. All according to plan, for the most part: the frame is wrecked and sagging, the windows are shattered, the doors and rear wheels all but fallen off.

It's just the pesky -front- of the vehicle now. And with an appraising nod, she gives her pole a quick spin, siphoning as much water as she can back into the pair of buckets.

"Yeah. Yeah!" Chevy shares that high-five with JD, slipping out of "mission mode" for a moment to just enjoy the sheer thrill of wanton destruction. "Yeah! Almost done!" Perhaps it's a crime against motor vehicles, but right here and now, it's fun!

But as JD launches back into the mission, so too does Chevy. "Alright, one more go at this... I wanna try somethin'!" The redhead begins to spin her pole once more -- spinning faster and faster, funnelling drops of water from the surrounding area into the paired buckets. Half-lidded eyes stare at the engine block; gritted teeth show her determination and focus.

She draws in her breath sharply.
And then she snaps her pole forward.
A splish of water, a splash...

And then a -geyser- erupts beneath the car, slamming into the dented hood, buckling it. Metal groans under the force, as water bubbles up on either side of the hood, streaming upwards...

Groan, groan... And then finally, the car's engine compartment begins to buckle under the fury of the Chevy-summoned tide...!

COMBATSYS: John Doe successfully hits Hearse with Grave Mistake.
-* CRITICAL HIT! *-

[     \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////   ]
Chevy            0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0         John Doe
                 [                           ||| ]
                 Hearse           2|<<<<<<<|<<<<<<<

COMBATSYS: Hearse blocks Chevy's Nor'easter.

[     \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////   ]
Chevy            0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0         John Doe
                 [                             | ]
                 Hearse           2|<<<<<<<|<<<<<<<

COMBATSYS: Hearse takes no action.

COMBATSYS: Hearse can no longer fight.

[     \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////   ]
Chevy            0/-------/--=====|=======\-------\0         John Doe

[JOHN DOE]
BANG!
CLANG!
CRASH!
GURGLE GURGLE GURGLE...
With Chevy's fountain of water pushing from below, and JD's improvised bludgeon hammering down from above, the various important mechanical bits are eventually shaken loose and bobbed to the surface, only to be shattered apart by blows of the sturdy metal bumper. It is a display of wanton destruction and casual teamwork that would make any demolition fanatic proud, and all of it is caught live by the nearby camera crew.
** ELSEWHERE **
Taptaptaptaptap...
'No sign of him on the news.'' Slender fingers finish off the message with a concerned frowny face and hit send, Titania Belle smirking to herself as she lounges cat-like on the cushy hotel sofa. Having been left as the home base contact, she thrusts both fists into the air, one holding her phone, and shouts at the TV.
"Go Johnny Go! Kick that car's ass!"

[CHEVY]
The geyser blasts its way upward -- though the hood keeps a hole from being punched through the engine block itself. Does it really matter though, when there's not much of a car left -around- said engine block? As JD's bumper continues unleashing a reckless wrecking onslaught, it becomes clear that the vehicle which once conveyed cadavers to their final resting place will soon need a similar service for itself.

Chevy snaps out one more kick against the door she'd had trouble with earlier, shattering what's left of the door hinge so that the heavy door can finally come crashing down to the pavement.

And with that -- her shoulders begin to sag. Her pole snaps sideways, buckets swinging loosely as she rests her palms on her knees. While it's true that she might not have been attacked -- the fact remains that beating up a car is hard work! "Whew...." she comments, offering a grateful and relieved smile over to JD.

"Oh man. That was a workout! And you sure did a lot of damage, y'know, for a -dead guy!-" She laughs at that, extending a gloved fist to John Doe. "Good work, pardner!"

[JOHN DOE]
"Hmph." JD grumbles back, his dapper suit a soaked mess, polished shoes squishing audibly as he shifts his weight. Even still, when the fist is offered he tosses the bumper aside with a loud clanging clatter and shuffles forward to meet Chevy, cold fist extended to gently bump her gloved knuckles.
He smiles.
KO!

COMBATSYS: John Doe has left the fight here.

COMBATSYS: Chevy has ended the fight here.

Log created on 10:38:03 04/18/2023 by Chevy, and last modified on 07:29:35 04/25/2023.