Description: Black Sabbath (1970). What does a dyed in the wool mercenary say to a brainwashed fanatic? It's not a question that really crosses the mind. Despite the fact that there's a lot of common ground in that both are willing to commit atrocities for no socially justifiable reason, it's clear as day that the similarities end there as Cammy and Elle answer questions that nobody really wanted to ask in the first place.
The war is over.
Now comes the time for restructuring. Building things back up after they've been torn down is relief for the masses. For all the horrors that were visited on Southtown, the opportunity for work in a massive city during a recession is the silver lining to the thunderstorm that recently tore through the Japanese city. But even as the effects of the war are slowly subsumed by the industrious revival that is slowly reclaiming the damaged portions of the city, there's still a matter of loose ends.
And buried deep within the recesses of Chinatown are several loose ends. While there's many visible names that were involved with the war effort on both sides, there are more than a few invisible ones that made small inroads to the way things turned out. Each small cog may not have been mighty, but they were necessary to turn the tide one way or another.
Elle is one of those smaller cogs. However, despite her relatively quiet status, she's carved a niche for herself as the person to call when dirty work needs to be done. When there's work that other agents look down upon for being too pathetic, lowbrow or otherwise beneath high class assassins, Elle will gladly take the job and do it well.
Take, for example, the case of one Koichi "Shark Tooth" Sato, a relatively unknown Yakuza thug that chafed under the rule of Geese.
The man was known for his gunrunning and drug ring that he ran from the heart of Chinatown. However. Geese had cut heavily into his profits, and a man that would have been quite wealthy was forced into staying in the position he was in at a barely acceptable level simply because of his connections. When the war came, he gladly sold guns to Shadaloo to help oust his master.
But then came another opportunity. The rebels also needed guns, and intelligence. As a man willing to play both sides of the fence, Koichi was willing to sell the rebels the cast off weapons and the intel as to where Shadaloo asked for his guns to be delivered. As the writing on the wall became more and more clear, Koichi decided to play a big card and help the rebels remove Shadaloo, lest he be under the thumb of yet another oppressor.
Words pass quickly, though.
Word of Koichi's actions trickle around eventually, to people with influence. Complaints are made, calls are placed, and money changes hands. Eventually, a local gang leader that wants Koichi gone so that he can overtake the man's burgeoning business as part of an extension of the new power in town places $10,000.00 in Elle's coffers.
And so, in the quiet of the night, on the fifth floor of an old ramshackle building between a supermerket and a cafe', Koichi "Shark Tooth" Sato lay back in his chair in his office, glassy eyed stare gazing at the ceiling as a gaping, smoking hole in his chest that travels through the back of his chair gives a good view of the shattered window behind him as Elle, still holding the smoking gun, goes through the filing cabinets on the other side of the room calmly.
The opportunity for work just keeps getting better.
It's really not Koichi Sato's... anything. First, his business is strangled by SouthSynd, and then when the opportunity to give himself a little breathing room comes up, he has the gall to overstep his boundaries and manage to draw the ire of no less than Shadaloo itself.
So that's why a petite blonde Englishwoman is hanging upside down from a zipline trailing from the open door of a black helicopter. A black helicopter with a blatantly obvious red Shadaloo deathhead painted all across its belly. So close, yet so far away from winning the stealth game.
A very large sniper rifle is clutched in her hand as the helicopter makes its final approach to the building. A corps of very intelligent, socially maladjusted adolescents and young adults(read: nerds chained to computer workstations for 14 hours a day with shock collars to ensure that they do their work on schedule) provided her with ample simulation scenarios to make this business of aiming a single shot weapon while swinging madly in the winds above a city feasible. Most of the scenarios seemed to be oddly reminiscent of a Metal Gear game, for some reason, but Cammy certainly didn't complain.
She is in for a surprise when she swings by the fifth floor office, of course. None of her simulations covered strange island girls with guns standing over the target's corpse. Oddly, a few /did/ cover rollerblading ninjas and horrifically creepy telepaths standing vigil over the target, but sadly, Shadaloo's Elite Nerd Corps was just not creative enough to imagine /this/ eventuality.
She does at least recognize the woman after a few seconds of staring through the infrared sights. That is why she doesn't actually pull the trigger, and moreover why once she has harnessed the momentum built up from all the swaying(and released the catch on her zip line) to launch herself through the broken window, she does not immediately go on the aggressive.
She does pull the trigger once she has landed, though. It's just that the bullet goes through Sato's head.
Once the rifle has been lowered, she stares towards Elle, and with a slight cant of the head asks, "Why are you here?"
Elle's had very little exposure to the Zero Doll, or Dolls in general. She's always preferred to work far away from Vega's elite, and for good reason. It's because all of them are stark raving lunatics who have more crippling emotion problems the the whole of Los Angeles. Elle doesn't work very well with the criminally insane, notwithstanding some of the company she used to keep.
But that's neither here nor there. As Cammy makes her dashing entrance and takes a pointblank shot through the head of recently dead man with a sniper rifle, the back of the man's head basically explodes. It's a pretty disgusting affair, spattering the wall behind Sato with yet more human detrius.
The fact that Cammy's not active aggressively, however, is the only reason Elle is even still in the room. The woman's a professional and will face tremendously bad odds if a job demands in, but there's not even a question of whether or not she'll retreat when encountering overwhelming force if she doesn't have to. Especially when the job's already done.
She turns to face the Doll fully, just in time to hear the question. 'Why are you here?'
So what kind of answer does Cammy get? A smirk, a long, self-centered diatribe? It's common nowadays for assassins to have a viewpoint, isn't it? To either beleive there's some justification, or at least pretend that there's a justification for what they do and why they do it. Then there's the type that seem to think that money is the root of all of it, and that it's the sole determinant of the job. For the latter school of thought, there's no care or integrity for a job; when the funds run dry, so do their alleigance.
But with Elle, the answer's a little left of center. "Well," she says, looking the shorter woman over for a second or two, "Nakamura Masaru paid me 10K in Euros to put a hole in Mr. Potato Head here." She gestures to the fact that there's enough storage space in the man to keep his limbs and other features now. "Thought I'd give his files a once over before I left. A cheap paying, meoderate risk job like this has to come with a good salvage bonus, or it's just not really worth taking." Her voice is cold, dry, with a definite rasp to it that only comes from a former two-pack a day habit.
With that, she opens up another filing cabinet to look over some ledgers, pulling the file so that she can read and keep an eye on Cammy at the same time. "I take it that the gangster formally known as Koichi-San wasn't high on Vega's favorite people list either?"
Really, if Cammy and Elle /had/ met at some point in time, it's entirely possible that she wouldn't remember it. She's met quite a number of people in limited fashion and for limited periods of time; really, she's been conditioned to not take much notice of people encountered so briefly.
Also, more pressingly, her memory would /probably/ melt beautifully on a well-cooked burger topped with mushrooms and onions by now, just by virtue of having been brainwashed and unbrainwashed and re-brainwashed on multiple occasions.
The gun is sent flying out of the window with far more force than a girl of her stature should be able to muster; it lands neatly within the helicopter, leaving her hands free. "He was a heathen," the Zero Doll states matter-of-factly.
Her boots barely make any noise at all as she walks across the room to join Elle in looking through files. Some of this is because if there are valuable things in there, she figures that she might be favoured with a pat on the head, or a smile, or even a few precious seconds with her head nuzzled warmly against Lord Vega, but to a vague extent it just... seems like a thing to do. Someone /else/ is doing it, after all; why not her?
"It is good that you gave them up," she notes of the tell-tale rasp.
"We're all heathens to someobody," the mercenary responds without hesitation, with the same flat, dead tone that indicates that she's had a lot of time to contemplate the various philosophies of thought tossed her way. But that's about where she ends that train of thought. Elle keeps an open mind, and shares truth easily to people that she thinks will listen. Cammy, on the other hand, is a lot like trying to get something to stick to a teflon wall. Or at least that's how she's seen it. Elle may not know Cammy, but she knows /of/ Cammy.
She's seen the Killer Bee go from happy go lucky teen to kill-crazed murder machine to cold hearted assassin without a conscience by religiously watching Neo Lague and Saturday Night Fights, perusing Shadaloo files and the short times she's seen the girl in person. On one hand, there's no doubt that at the end of the day she'll be back in Vega's control. On the other, there's those short instances when she's basically uncontrollable.
Though Elle's not of the school of thought that thinks mind control is the best way to go, she has to admit that Cammy's a lot more agreeable when she's a burned out, barely human shell. Still, there's still some life left to these Dolls. Her encounter with Marz had been more than agreeable, and it would seem that Cammy still has enough in her to form an opinion, even if it's on something like smoking.
With Cammy acting agreeable, she can holster her own weapon, although she hesitates slightly as Cammy also begins investigating files. She hadn't expected to share. Nevertheless, the balance on the whole suggests not protesting the matter. After all, the job had been easy enough... and most of the risks had come from the fact that she had taken it solo, which she doesn't like to do even against normal people. The intel that he planned to leave for China the next day was the only think that hastened her work.
"If half my job didn't involve running around constantly, I'd probably still be lighting up," Elle responds, "but seeing as sitting on my ass telling people what to do all day isn't exactly the best way to get people to do what I want them to do, something had to give. Just so happens to be cigarettes. Switched to candy. Probably not all that much better, but I can get rid of a few M&Ms with a sit-up. I can't sit-up away smoker's lung." As if to demonstrate the point, she unwraps what is probably a Starburst or something similar and chews, grinding it into glop with her back teeth.
Some files are set atop the filing cabinet after being quickly skimmed and others returned to the drawer; the scope of her knowledge is such that she doesn't have the best handle on what is valuable and what is not, so there's /plenty/ left for Elle, as it stands. The Killer Bee is even polite enough as to refrain from getting in the way of the other assassin's searching too much, for as long as they are not directly in contention with one another over these things, there's enough room in which to behave in a civilized fashion.
"Maki Genryusai spoke as if she assumed that cigar smoking was routine enough that to not do it was a sign of misfortune," Cammy says as she sets a folder aside. "It was a strange sentiment. I do not know how long she thinks she will be able to run and fight if she continues her habit."
With that said, Cammy turns and extends one of her gauntletted hands to do something that Elle's intentful watching and careful readings, not to mention her brief in person exposures could really offer much of a warning for:
She tries to poke a finger into Elle's stomach with just enough force to be noticeable while observing, "It will take more work as you age, if you are going to continue eating your candy so frequently."
Her hand is extended slowly enough and with little enough force that preventing the contact would be easy enough; unless the protestation is very firm, though, she'll turn her hand up as if desiring a piece of candy whether contact is made or not.
Who? Maki? Elle's encyclopedic knowledge of fighters is well established. She studies fighters intensely, constantly observing their habits, fighting styles, strategies and adapting what she knows into her own techniques. As a result, Elle's not really a fighter herself so much as an 'anti-fighter'. It may just be plitting hairs, but for Elle, it's using established tools for a totally different purpose.
But eventually, Elle determines exactly who the Killer Bee is referring to, and shakes her head. "Best way to deal with ninjas is to not pay attention to what they say and worry more about what they do," she offers as a means of relating to the statement. "To this day, I'm not sure I've ever spoken to a single one and walked away feeling like I'd been enriched by the encounter." In all truth, Elle finds discussions with ninjas to be like stepping on a used condom in new shoes: a wholly disgusting occurance that just ruins the entire day. But she's not going to share that with Cammy.
Her shuffling is cut short as Cammy attempts to poke her in the stomach. What the hell? Alarm bells go off in Elle's head. She hates to be touched for the most part, but the fact that Cammy's doing it makes it worse. The unpredictability of assassins is well documented... and Cammy's about as strange as they come.
Despite her immediate reaction to pull back, logic wins out. Sudden motions around Cammy seem like about as bright as tying lit road flares to yourself for a night op. Nevertheless, she does tense as paranoia is one of the driving forces for Elle. You just don't get far in a life that has you spending more days out of the week than not ruining other people's lives without a healthy dose of it. As a result? She's poked, demonstrating that Elle's mostly made of muscle and probably scar tissue.
When your past fighting experience revolves less around dodging and more around stomping into enemy fire just to end a battle as quickly as possible, you tend not to keep Hollywood good looks and flawless skin.
When the palm is turned up, Elle looks at it like it was some kind of alien appendage. Was this barely human thing asking for /candy/? It's an odd gesture to be sure, and she's not quite certain how to actually deal with this occurance. Like Cammy's intel squad, Elle was more prepared to run from the building and taking cover in a running fight from having Cammy there rather than looking to see if she had a spare Now & Later. Luckily for the mercenary, she does. Wordlessly, Elle puts a green candy into the girl's palm in a scene wholly unlike Elliot giving Reese's Peices to ET.
It's a Jolly Rancher. Apple. The kind of candy Elle eats in non-emergency situations, given that it's a choking hazard.
Elle's even tactical when handing out candy.
She's /very/ paranoid.
Conversely, when one's fighting methods revolve around moving at almost horrifically inhuman speeds to strike from dozens of angles almost seemingly at once, one /does/ tend to manage flawless(except for that one little scar) skin and good looks, not so unlike the playthings that she and her ilk are named for.
It probably helps that she has Shadaloo sciences to repair her injuries, because even with her speed, her hardness and those ridiculous red gloves/bracers, she actually does take her share of wounds; they just... don't last for too terribly long.
The little green candy is slipped into Doll Zero's mouth to clack softly against her teeth as she explores the thoroughly unfamiliar tastes. If pressed, Cammy could probably count the number of times in which she was given candy while growing up on her two hands, and while /some/ of that is a function of her aforementioned melty and gooey and perforated memory, it's worth noting that she was born in a vat and 'raised' by a psychopath's revolving door of criminals, street fighters and mercenaries. Candy was not at the top of the list.
/Without/ being pressed, she does quietly note, "Almost every candy that I have ever had tasted of almonds," before a loud *CRUNCH* fills the air thanks to her shattering the candy between her teeth.
Soon afterwards, she turns her attention down from Elle to observe a file drawn... pretty much at random from the drawer. "He was a very greedy man. He must have been to think to cross Most Potent Lord Vega," is softly noted.
Thankfully, Elle does have some experience working with youngsters grown in vats and trained by psychos. If that sounds surprising, it probably shouldn't be. Granted, the one she knew before disappeared off to parts unknown, but that's neither here nor there. She had gotten along just fine with Aislinn and K9999. Granted, they were NESTS agents and not the result of Shadaloo's experiments, but in the end, how much different can vat people be?
Elle has no access to super science for the most part otherwise. She's had brushes with it here and there. Overall, it's been largely what she can cobble together in her spare time or whatever she's picked up second hand. Still, the woman's more than resourceful, which leads her to do more inspection of the files.
What she's looking for? Associates, and where the money is buried, in that order. Odds are, more assassination orders will be forthcoming, and she has the personnel to take out the rest of Sato's infrastructure to keep the business from returning into a revolving door of competing gangs. Where the money is hidden is solely for her own benefit. The hope is that she can get her resident computer whiz back in the fold and retrieve those funds before they disappear.
Which leaves plenty of information for Cammy, specifically who Sato dealt with to get those guns. Cutting out the middleman will be useful, as wll be the locations of all the weapons caches. Elle used to run guns herself, but nowadays her staff is considerably smaller, and it's a lot harder to run them when you only have two guys and an absentee ninja technically on the payroll.
"Got news for you," Elle says, as Cammy breaches the topic of Vega, "not everyone considers Vega when they do things. Vega's a good client. I appreciate that for what it is. He's got a lot of influence, too. But all powerful or infallible? Can't get stuck in that narrow thinking if you want to be any use to him. Best way for you to consider it is that he's not there /yet/. That's why he needs you. Otherwise, you're not taking consideration to all possible options."
A series of folders are placed in a small stack on the cabinet in front of her so she can gesture to the hole big enough to put a foot through into Shark Tooth's chest. "And that's pretty much what happens when you don't take things into consideration and get into the habit of narrow minded thinking."
"That is their own fallacy," Cammy says coolly at the notion of anyone /not/ considering Vega. It's pretty much just this side of full-on madness to her, considering that whole 'being brainwashed' thing, but at the same time it's just about impossible for her to be truly upset at the idea. She's just... confused. And perhaps a little curious.
She turns her head just enough to observe Saito's corpse. Her finger points to his nearly non-existant head. "And that is what happens when one does not consider Lord Vega." Her eyes turn to Elle's, with that. "That he has me among his other many tools is only a sign of why He is worth of concern."
She swallows, with that; it may be good candy for what it is, but it doesn't last for very long when broken, and so the Killer Bee's hand is wordlessly extended towards Elle once again.
The mercenary shakes her head. "The world's a little bit bigger than that, unfortunately," Elle says, almost sighing. If the Universe were as cut and dry as 'Things Vega Likes' and 'Things Vega Doesn't Like', life would be a hell of a lot simpler. The problem is, when you're the sort of person that plans things out to an almost meticulous, obssessive degree, Vega, while considered, is probably way down there on the list of things to worry about.
"Sato's problem wasn't really Vega. It wasn't even being greedy. It was the fact that he didn't go about doing anything the right way. Greed's fine, but you have to know where and when to be greedy, if you have to be greedy at all. Everything has a place. Even things you don't like, or the things you're told not to like in your particular case," the mercenary points out.
"Without getting too metaphysical, there's a lot of things you need to consider to be a good soldier, and even more if you want to make it in the mercenary business. Contrary to what people like to think, keeping an open mind isn't necessarily a bad thing. There's nothing wrong with thinking. The problem comes when you start forming opinions that have no basis in reality." She carefully arranges a pile, and then another, of files. Apparently there's distinct classifications that she's made as she chats with Cammy, and she hasn't stopped her tireless work an iota.
"There's two errors that you can make in this business that cost you the most: actions based on your emotional opinions, and actions based on the emotional opinions of others. Emotional opinions leave very little wiggle room. They're always polarized; this is bad, this is good." She says, tapping the files as an example of bad and good. "But a real opinion that can be relied upon only states 'I think this is.' Making a statement of estimation on the quanity of something is an opinion that's helful. 'I think this is a useful file, because it has information', or 'I think this file is usless because I don't see anything that can help me.'"
"These are the opinions with merit, and how you make judgements," the Blackjack leader says, her cold, rasping voice devoid of emotion as she produces a purple candy. "'This candy is good because it makes me happy' isn't a good opinion. It's useless, based on something you feel as opposed what is. 'I enjoy this flavor because of the following properties.' grants more information, and is just as truthful. It tells me something quantifiable." She presses the candy into Cammy's hand.
She turns back to her files, producing a rubber band to bind one stack. "So what's the point? The point is this. Always ask why. If the reason behind your decision, or the decision you're acting on can't be quantified, then it's a bad decision to act on. Sato made a bad decision based on unquantifiable greed. He wanted what he wanted because it made him happy, not because it would grant him any tangible benefit. And the same goes for you. Acting because it pleases someone isn't the reason you should act. Act for benefit to yourself or others that can be measured. Pleasure is fleeting, and advancement isn't. At least, as long as you're not an idiot about it."
Of the /many/ things that make for less than worthwhile topics of conversation with a soulless teenaged killing machine, the fallacies involved in emotional decision making are pretty near the top of the list. Really, /anything/ to do with emotions is questionable, but this is the context they're presented in.
A touch higher on the list? The notion of asking 'why'. It's not a word that is absent from Cammy's vocabulary, of course, but 'Why should I set a bomb beneath this orphanage?' is never a question that the Killer Bee would ask. 'Why should I set a bomb beneath this orphanage when nerve gas would be more efficient?' is a bit more likely, but it is doubtful that that's what Elle meant.
All the same, Cammy excepts her grape-flavored candy and sucks gently on it; now that she's had one broken, she has every intention of properly savoring the next.
"You could not understand," she says simply. "You are lost. Without the rock of His love to cling to. Without the light of His wisdom to guide you." Her own files are gathered together into a neat stack towards the end of those last observations, and then she notes, "What is important is that Saito displeased my Lord and Master. If you had not killed him, I would have. What caused him to displease my Lord and Master is less important."
The files are scooped from atop the cabinet to be held close to her chest in a near embrace, and her eyes turn to try and meet Elle's squarely. "You used a lot of words to explain simple things, but they are not necessary: I am Occam's Razor to be held to the throat of my Lord's enemies. Nothing more and nothing less."
"No, I understand," Elle says, wrapping the second packet up. She doesn't explain it further, but her voice suggests that she more than understands the concepts involved. It's a long, drawn out story, and not one Elle will waste any time on. "And as to what you are? Well, you can be Occam's Razor. Just remember: Entities must not be reduced to the point of inadequacy."
A thin smile appears on her face. It's not pleasant. The woman doesn't appear to be given to things like smiling. But it's not mocking, or a self assured smile. It's clear though, that height aside, Elle doesn't look down on Cammy. She merely states what she sees, what she knows to be true through experience and observation and thousands of meticulous hours of planning not just for Vega, but for others like him.
The man, for all his tricks, is hardly unique in his aspirations, after all.
"What's important is understanding. A lack of that results in your utility to your Lord being little more than a one trick pony. You do one thing, you wait on his word. Anyone that's any use to anyone knows when to take an extra step, or to not take that step."
She holds up the second stack of files that she bound. "Simple concepts require the most thought, because they're nuanced. Don't beleive me? Open the dictionary and look at the definition of the word 'The'. Here." She tosses the files onto the desk in front of Sato. "Those are the files you want; they have the locations of the guns that were supposed to go to Shadaloo but got waylayed to the rebels as well as some of the rebel leaders that coaxed him into it. I'm not gunning for them right now, for personal reasons."
The thin smile disappears. "Here's a little side project between jobs. I think he called himself Jesen. Now I think he calls himself Sanel. I hear he sometimes wanders around the city. Either way, Vega found him, and... well. You know what? I think it's really best if you see for yourself what happened. And trust me. If anyone beleived, it was Jesen. Hardly an enemy of anyone. Except maybe himself."
In truth, Cammy has probably looked that particular word and others like it on multiple occasions, but it's just about guaranteed now that she will do so again once she has returned home. She does quite a /lot/ of rereading because it's difficult for her to get new materials to read over for her own benefit. There are a several heavily dog-eared copies of animal and sport and bee-keeping materials in particular on a particular shelf in her room.
Having had her part in things understood(or seemingly understood), she is content to argue no further; instead she simply walks to retrieve this second stack of files and hold it close to herself atop the first in her arms. "He will have them," she says simply before reaching up to press gently against her right ear in order to send a signal to her helicopter.
"Thank you for the candy," is said as she walks towards the shattered window. She is filing away the information about Jesen or Sanel down so that Vega may be told of him, just in case it is vital that he be reminded. Soon, the sound of spinning rotors fills the air, and not long afterwards they are blowing their artificial winds into the office, sending loose objects flying and blowing her braids all about.
Two down, thirteen to go. If Elle had a nickle every time she had to deal with another brainwashed or genetically engineered teenager with issues, she'd probably be able to walk off with a sum that would almost make her retire.
Almost.
Nevertheless, it's always fascinating to her in a clinical sense just how malleable a human mind can be. Brainwashed into dead-set obedience on one hand, raving psychotic ramblings on the other, the end result is all the same. The effort to make them all behave like professionals is a lost cause, but at the very least it causes some of them to at least think. And thinking is the first step to something more.
What purpose does that serve Elle? Well, it does serve some goal. What that is isn't something she often talks about, and won't. Not to someone like Cammy, anyway.
She doesn't respond to the thanks, mostly because Cammy's actions effectively end the conversation. She's got no need for final parting shots or last words. The only thing that Elle cares about it satisfying the objectives she's set out for herself, either through her own personal machinations or the requests of others. The files are placed in her jacket and she gives the place a once over. Everything seems clean.
She pulls out a digital camera, and calmly snaps a picture of the dead man. She's going to lose a little on the ID now that the man has a hole in his head. Kids and their headshots. It sure looks cool, but for confirming a kill? Forget about it. Unfortunately that means she'll have to bring something back past the photo. Once again, Elle nearly sighs.
She reaches down, picking the dead man's hand up and placing it on the desk, and the sound of metal on metal is heard as a serrated Kabar knife slides into her grip. Thankfully, Sato's been dead long enough for the blood to start pooling, so there's no messy burst of blood that fires off like a geyser as she saws through the clump of bones that make up the wrist. The ring-encrusted hand is dropped into a plastic baggie produced from her belt, and then stuffed into her pocket without issue.
Nobody said that this was a pretty business. At the end of the day, flash and dash take a backseat to the gutteral unpleasantries necessary to make sure you get paid. But being grounded in reality probably makes you just as mad, if not moreso, than being brainwashed. Safety and warmth in the knowledge that what you're doing is for the benefit of who you believe is the greatest being every to live is a comfort that everyone should have, really.
Because when you're walking out of a building at 4AM with a dead man's hand in your pocket and all you can think about is how hungry you are for a decent hamburger, the world seems like a very grim place indeed.
Log created on 00:44:49 06/14/2009 by Elle, and last modified on 02:42:12 06/16/2009.