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Amid the seemingly infinite expanse of the night-shrouded ocean, a solitary fishing boat ventured forth, its journey towards Bunker Island guided by the lone, silvery light of the moon. As the vessel gently rocked on the ebb and flow of the dark waters, its name, the 'Elizabeth Dane,' barely clung to the peeling paint at the stern, a testament to the countless expeditions it had weathered.

Dr. Creepen- I'm a Marine Biologist...

Here is an image from Dr. Creepen's narration of this story. He reads the story and doesn't use AI generated voices.

Guiding the boat through the obsidian abyss, Captain Vincent, the aged fisherman, stood as a living relic of a lifetime etched by the unforgiving ocean. His beard, as white as the cresting waves, framed a weathered face bearing the wisdom of countless years of maritime toil. The ruddy complexion told stories of sun and wind, while the corners of his mouth, stained with the enduring mark of tobacco, whispered tales of decades adrift on the briny expanse. Enshrouded in the familiar yellow slicker, Captain Vincent commanded the vessel with the steady hand of one who had witnessed the furies of the deep and prevailed.

At the boat's bow, Joel Anderson, his appearance a stark contrast to the salted veteran, looked out onto the inky ocean with youthful anticipation. His face, clean-shaven, bore the hallmark of one embarking on a new voyage. As a marine biologist, he considered himself a detective of the oceans. His job was to explore, study, and protect the underwater world. His time was split between diving into the deep, spending time on boats, in labs, and underwater habitats to learn more about the many remaining mysteries of marine life. He examined the habits of fish, whales, and coral, as well as the ecosystems they live in. He considered his job more important now than ever, as he was helping the world understand how pollution, climate change, and human activity had affected the ocean bionetwork. Indeed, he saw his work to preserve and safeguard these crucial ecosystems as vital for future generations. But this had perhaps proven to be one mission too far. He was out of his depth, both figuratively and literally.

In his trembling hands, he held a cherished photograph, a relic of happier days. In this frozen moment, he and a woman shared laughter, their joyful expressions an echo of the candles they extinguished together on a birthday cake, a slice of time preserved in smiles and warm memories. The photograph seemed to burn with promise, a light contrasting with the encroaching darkness that lay ahead on this mysterious voyage.

Huddled beneath a tattered, salt-stained blanket that offered little protection from the frigid ocean breeze, Tom sat beside Joel. His face was marred by bloodstains, contusions, and there was a deep, haunted weariness etched into his features. The pale, flickering light of a feeble lantern cast eerie shadows upon his visage, making his eyes appear even more bewildered and terrified as he whispered in a trembling voice, "Please, don't make me go. I don't want to go back."

Joel responded to Tom's desperate plea with a steely determination tempered by compassion. "You're taking us back there, Tom. You have to," he urged, though the tension in his voice betrayed the gravity of their situation.

Tom's panicked objection was palpable, the sheer terror in his eyes seeming to radiate into the dank cabin. "No, no, no, no. I can't do this. I can't. Please," he pleaded, his voice quivering like a leaf in the chilling wind. As he spoke, his hands shook uncontrollably, trembling as he drew the thin, threadbare blanket over his face.

Kneeling before Tom, Joel moved with measured purpose, retrieving a Smith & Wesson Model 3 revolver from his side. He gently uncovered Tom's face, ensuring their eyes locked in an intense, unspoken understanding that left no room for doubt about the seriousness of their predicament. "Tom, you're taking us to the wreckage," Joel stated firmly, his voice laced with the solemnity of their situation, "or I'm left with no choice but to shoot you and consign your body to the unforgiving ocean."

Fighting back tears and casting a desperate glance toward Captain Vincent, who had shifted his gaze away, perhaps unable to bear the distressing scene unfolding before him, Tom found himself torn between the horrors of the past and the perilous journey that lay ahead.

Tom's words hung in the air, heavy with despair and resignation. "Maybe I'm better off with the bullet," he muttered, his voice a mere whisper beneath the vast, star-studded canopy of the night sky. The weight of their situation pressed upon them, and the sense of impending doom loomed ominously over the 'Elizabeth Dane.'

Joel, holstering the pistol back in his waistband, turned his gaze back to the water ahead. His steely resolve contrasted with the uncertainty that gnawed at his very soul. The fathomless depths of the ocean seemed to hold secrets darker than the night itself. Sensing the palpable tension gripping the boat, Captain Vincent cleared his throat, a subtle signal that he sought a private conversation with Joel. Tom took this as a cue to descend into the ship’s cabin.

The cabin below, a claustrophobic refuge within the bowels of the boat, offered the illusion of sanctuary, if only temporary, from the relentless disquiet that permeated their journey. Alone in the cabin, away from the watchful eyes of Joel and Captain Vincent, Tom gingerly uncovered his bandaged arm. The makeshift dressing revealed a festering bite mark, evidence of a malevolent encounter hidden from plain sight. The surrounding skin had taken on an ominous shade of black, a silent harbinger of the lurking horrors he feared they would soon all face.

With each passing moment, the fishing boat continued to cleave through the mysteries of the open ocean, its passengers burdened not only by the weight of their own secrets but also by the impending dread that clung to them like an unseen shroud. Beneath the vast expanse of the night sky, the 'Elizabeth Dane' forged ahead, its aging mariner, Captain Vincent, navigating with a furrowed brow and a sense of trepidation etched into the weathered lines of his countenance. He voiced his reservations, seeking solace in the counsel of Joel.

"Is this really the best idea?" Captain Vincent questioned, the timbre of his voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. "When that man washed ashore, he was babbling gibberish about ocean monsters and such. He wasn’t thinking straight."

Joel, his determination resolute, responded to the seasoned fisherman with an ironclad resolve. "It's my sister. I must find her. If this man survived whatever ordeal they faced, there's a chance she did too."

Captain Vincent, still burdened by unease, muttered under his breath, "I just don't like our chances, that's all."

The foreboding atmosphere on the boat hung in the air like a damp, oppressive mist. Yet, despite the mounting uncertainty and forewarnings of danger, Joel remained unyielding in his commitment. "I'll stay out here as long as it takes," he declared, his voice cutting through the disquiet of the night, as the ‘Elizabeth Dane’ pressed forward into the heart of the unrelenting ocean. A shroud of thick fog unfurled on the distant horizon, a foreboding and ominous harbinger of uncertainty and danger. As it drew nearer, the vessel seemed to plunge further into an abyss of trepidation.

"Looks like we'll be hitting some trouble now," Captain Vincent declared, his voice laced with apprehension, mirroring the palpable tension that clung to the boat like an invisible specter. The fog's advance was relentless, promising an encounter with the unknown.

Joel, his resolve tested by the encroaching gloom, turned to confront the approaching curtain of mist, his exasperation finding voice in a muttered oath. "Shit." He could feel Tom, who had emerged now from the cabin below, cowering in fear throughout their harrowing journey, peering over the side of the boat, locking his eyes onto the advancing fog.

"We're here," Tom whispered, his voice trembling with dread, as though uttering the words would summon forth the very horrors he feared.

Joel, his sense of urgency now mounting, stepped closer to Tom, his voice trembling. "What do you mean? Where's 'here'?"

Tom, the weight of his ominous premonition bearing down on him, warned again in a trembling voice, "We’re not far from Bunker Island now. The fog. It emerges from the darkness. I'm telling you, for the last time, not to do this. Death awaits those who venture into the fog."

In response, Joel brandished his weapon, emphasizing his firm resolve. "Then I'll shoot death in the face." He signaled to Captain Vincent to continue their perilous journey, his fortitude evident as the boat pressed forward, disappearing into the dense, white fog.

Within the heart of this impenetrable shroud, visibility was limited at best, and an eerie silence enveloped their surroundings, broken only by the soft, rhythmic churning of the boat's engine. Joel, caught in the profound stillness of this fog-enshrouded world, cried out into the void.

"Caitlin! Caitlin, are you out there?"

His desperate pleas dissipated into the enveloping whiteness, leaving only a haunting echo in their wake. The disquieting silence sent an involuntary shiver down Joel's spine, as though the fog itself held some malevolent secret.

Tom, huddled beneath his protective blanket, murmured to himself, his words barely audible amidst the eerie calm that surrounded them. Joel seized the opportunity to uncover Tom, revealing the fearful contours of his face. Tom emitted a slight scream, instinctively shielding his injured arm, his gaze reflecting a primal fear.

"You've brought death upon us," Tom quivered, the weight of his ominous premonition manifesting in his trembling voice.

Desperate for answers, Joel pressed Tom for information, demanding, "Where is my sister? Where is the boat?"

Yet, all Tom could do was shake his head, offering no assistance, his eyes mirroring the fear that coursed through him. It was then that a sinister presence brushed against the fishing boat, causing it to sway and pitch, as though the very ocean itself had come to life in response to their incursion into the fog-shrouded abyss.

"What was that?" Joel's voice quivered with trepidation as he inquired, his eyes straining against the fog that shrouded their vision. It was a thick, impenetrable veil that left them in a world of eerie darkness. However, amidst this disorienting haze, a faint clearing beckoned in the distance, catching his attention. He leaned forward and pointed toward that mysterious rift in the otherwise unyielding mist, seeking guidance from Captain Vincent, who responded with a solemn nod as they steered the vessel towards that beckoning respite.

As the fishing boat ventured deeper into the clearing, an unsettling sight began to manifest itself before them. A ghostly silence descended, broken only by the boat's engine and the occasional creaking of the aging vessel. There, adrift in the water, lay a wretched and mangled boat, bearing the ghastly scars of destruction. The chilling signs of a gruesome struggle were etched onto its battered form, as bloodstains, like macabre war paint, smeared across its sides.

"Jesus Christ," Joel whispered in shock, his voice barely more than a murmur. The oppressive aura of death hung in the air, a suffocating presence that gripped their very hearts.

Captain Vincent, his face now etched with concern, maneuvered the fishing boat closer to the grim spectacle, allowing Joel to bridge the gap between the two vessels. With a mixture of anticipation and dread, Joel scrambled over the rail and onto the deck of the second boat, his determination unwavering.

The decrepit vessel beneath his feet struggled against the never-ending ocean, the threat of being swallowed by the abyss ever-present. It bore the disfiguring marks of countless maritime voyages, mysterious barnacles clinging to its surface like sinister parasites. Joel's eyes darted around the vessel, each scar and strange anomaly a puzzle waiting to be solved. Yet, a sense of denial washed over him as he inspected the name engraved on the stern.

"It's her boat. Where is she?" Joel muttered to himself, his voice tinged with disbelief and a growing sense of dread. Turning to Tom, his voice quivered as he called for assistance, "Tom, get over here. Help me look for her."

Tom, however, remained ensconced beneath his protective blanket, his fear evident in every quiver and shudder. He dared not leave the comforting cocoon of the tattered fabric, as if it were a shield against the horrors that lurked beyond.

With his trademark resolve, Joel retrieved a flashlight from his side, his trembling hands fumbling for the switch. With a click, the beam of light cut through the pervasive gloom, illuminating the sinister scene that lay before him. He aimed the flashlight toward the lifeless body suspended above, revealing the grisly tableau in all its horrifying detail. The victim's exposed flesh bore a disconcerting tapestry of strange hieroglyphic symbols, the inexplicable markings that hinted at the horrors this forsaken place had witnessed.

Yet, his frantic search for Caitlin aboard the vessel proved fruitless, the profound silence of the ocean answering him with only emptiness.

Suddenly, a peculiar sound, discordant and unsettling, echoed through the air. Joel's heart quickened as he pointed his flashlight toward the source, anxiously scanning the darkening surroundings. His voice pierced the impending storm, filled with concern and mounting dread, as he called out into the looming gloom.

"Caitlin?" The word hung in the air like a prayer, a desperate plea for an answer amidst the encroaching tempest and the mysteries of the ocean.

With growing apprehension gnawing at his gut, Joel cast his gaze out across the vast expanse of the water, straining his eyes to discern the distant figure adrift. It clung desperately to a broken piece of wood, isolated in the midst of uncertainty, like a lost soul in the abyss.

"She's over here! Guys, she's alive!" Joel's voice rang out, the resolute purpose in his tone a beacon of hope amidst the engulfing darkness. Without a moment's hesitation, he hurled himself into the water, the chill and the unknown beneath the surface failing to deter his resolve. Stroke after stroke, he swam resolutely towards the distant figure, each stroke carving a path towards his sibling.

In the cockpit of the vessel, Captain Vincent demonstrated his seasoned prowess, skillfully maneuvering the fishing boat closer to Caitlin's precarious location. Each maneuver was a heartbeat, each second an eternity, as the churning waves conspired to keep the drowning figure just out of reach. But the two men on the fishing boat, with their eyes fixed on Caitlin's distant form, were fueled by a sense of urgency that refused to yield.

Joel, his arms propelling him through the frigid water, reached her side at last. He grasped her, an anchor in the tumultuous ocean, and began the arduous swim back to the safety of the 'Elizabeth Dane.' Captain Vincent, ever vigilant, leaned over the side, his strong arms outstretched to aid in the rescue effort. Together, they hauled Caitlin aboard, her body limp and soaked, yet brimming with life.

Amid the confined space of the fishing boat, Captain Vincent's gaze fell upon Caitlin, his weathered features contorting with both relief and mounting horror. He motioned towards her, urgently tugging at Joel's shoulder to ensure his attention. Their labored breaths hung heavy in the air.

"Joel, look," Captain Vincent whispered, his voice quivering like the trembling hands of a condemned man on death row.

Joel's eyes followed the unsteady motion of Captain Vincent's finger, settling upon Caitlin as she lay before them. Her body exhibited a bewildering and unsettling metamorphosis, like a cruel twist of nature's design. On the sides of her neck, gills swayed in rhythm, their movements a haunting echo of life's primal origins, a pulse that seemed to long for the embrace of water.

"What is that?" Joel uttered in bewilderment.

Tom, who had finally found the strength to emerge from his sanctuary of despair below, pointed a trembling finger at Caitlin, his gaze reflecting an air of dread that had settled deep within his soul.

"She's infected. She's one of them," Tom declared, his voice a somber dirge hinting at the horrors the men had yet to fathom.

Tom's trembling finger, still extended towards Caitlin, suddenly drew his attention to an alarming revelation. His own hands were now undergoing a grotesque transformation. They glistened with a slimy sheen, their once-familiar digits slowly becoming webbed appendages. Panic surged through him like an electric shock, and with a sinking feeling, he hastily withdrew his hand, concealing the shocking metamorphosis from view.

But as if the nightmare had just begun, a sinister appendage emerged from the water. It snaked its way over the edge of the boat and coiled around Tom's neck with a malevolent grip. In an instant of unimaginable horror, the appendage, like some merciless executioner, yanked Tom overboard and into the unfathomable abyss. In the blink of an eye his cries for salvation were swallowed by the voracious ocean.

"What the hell was that?" Joel's voice, still quivering in terror, echoed over the raging waters, demanding an answer that seemed hopelessly out of reach. With a tremor in their hearts, he and Captain Vincent sprinted towards the starboard side of the boat, their eyes locking onto an unimaginable sight beneath the water's surface. There, in the depths of the abyss, a colossal yellow eye peered back at them, an unblinking guardian of the void below.

Stricken with fear, the men tumbled backward onto the deck, their bodies entwined with a sense of collective dread. The heavens, too, seemed to conspire against them, unleashing a torrential downpour that pounded the boat like the wrath of an angry god, drowning out their words and adding to the disorienting pandemonium.

"We need to get the hell out of here, now!" Joel's voice, filled with desperation, rang out once more, but the tempestuous winds and unforgiving rain carried his words away, lost amidst the chaos of the night.

With each passing moment, the nightmarish ordeal onboard the ‘Elizabeth Dane’ deepened. Captain Vincent's determined nod affirmed their need to escape the creeping, otherworldly terror that had beset them. He wasted no time, hastening towards the cabin, where the throbbing heart of their vessel lay: the engine. However, fate had other cruel plans, and their desperate escape attempt was met with a formidable setback. Black smoke unfurled from the engine room, an ominous sign of trouble and impending doom.

"That is not good," Joel muttered, his voice laden with unease as he recognized the gravity of their predicament. Swiftly, he reached for his gun, his knuckles white from the tension, and knelt beside Caitlin, who lay before him, a living enigma.

"Caitlin, can you hear me? Sis, are you alright?" he asked, the tremor of hope warring with the uncertainty in his voice. Her clouded eyes slowly blinked open, but the response that emanated from her frail form was anything but reassuring. Caitlin's fragile lips parted, and she let out a blood-curdling scream, the sound of anguish and transformation, sending shockwaves through Joel's already strained nerves.

The speed of her transformation was astounding. As he watched in shock, her body convulsed, like a puppet in the throes of some unseen malevolent force. Her fragile human form succumbed to the emergence of hideous features, the skin along her spine splitting open to reveal an unsettling sight. Red, translucent fins burst forth like grotesque blossoms, an indication of the monstrous metamorphosis that was consuming his beloved sister.

Amid the chaos and despair, Caitlin's horrifying form lunged at Joel, casting them both into the unforgiving waters. Below the surface, the constant grip of bodily conversion continued its cruel dance. Her once-human fingers elongated and fused together, webbing stretching between them, like some unnatural simile of aquatic life.

Gasping for air, Joel fought his way back to the water's surface. The tempest raged on around him, but he somehow found the strength to persevere. Struggling, he swam back to the fishing boat, hoisting himself aboard in a struggle against the currents. He targeted the stern for his ascent, the one area he could reach without requiring assistance.

His eyes scanned the boat's interior, a frantic search for his only means of defense. His heart sank as he realized that the gun he had so desperately clung to was now lost to the unforgiving ocean. In the cabin, a beacon of hope emerged as Captain Vincent's efforts bore fruit, the engine roaring back to life. The boat however, battered by the unceasing rain, seemed to shudder as if in protest. Yet, amidst the tumultuous deluge, the respite they had prayed for was but a fleeting illusion.

In that moment, another sinister tentacle emerged from the depths, its serpentine form lashing out with malevolence. It struck at Joel and Captain Vincent, damaging the boat’s mast with ruthless force, leaving destruction and chaos in its wake. The monstrous appendage then vanished once more beneath the turbulent waves, returning to the abyss from which it had come.

As the boat teetered on the brink of destruction, two webbed hands, formerly the very image of humanity and kinship, breached the surface. They emerged as grotesque perversions of their former selves, severed from the bonds of familiarity by an eerie and ominous transformation. Caitlin's once-cherished hands now harbored rows of jagged, razor-sharp appendages, her fingers clawing at the wooden deck of the boat. With a surreal grace, she inched closer, her nails scraping across the wooden planks, her lower extremities now fused into a mermaid-like tail.

"Joel...help...me..." this haunting whisper escaped her now monstrous maw. The voice was an agonized plea, hanging in the air like a spectral echo. As she crept closer, the darkness within her eyes seemed to devour what little remained of her humanity, leaving only a haunting shell of the sister that Joel had once known.

Captain Vincent, his spirit shaken yet resolute, voiced a stark warning, his words laden with the gravity of their situation. "We need to leave now. That's not your sister anymore." With steady purpose, he marched back to the helm, leaving Tom, who was succumbing to the same horrifying transformation, stranded on the treacherous deck.

The confrontation had escalated into a nightmarish representation of grotesque transformation. Tom's once-human visage had given way to a dreadful amalgamation of scales, yellowed eyes, and gills that clung to the sides of his neck like hideous adornments. The initial wound, once seemingly a mere point of injury, now pulsated ominously, a macabre indication of the destructive metamorphosis that had claimed him.

With ungodly determination, Tom extended his mutated arm towards Captain Vincent, his intention chillingly clear. A harrowing struggle unfolded between the two former companions, the dance of survival in this nightmarish abyss taking on an even darker hue. Then, with a dreadful and unholy act, Tom spat forth a vile black tar-like substance onto Captain Vincent's unsuspecting face. The old mariner stumbled back, disoriented and stricken, before finally toppling over the side of the boat. Tom, now a nightmarish shadow of his former self, wasted no time. He leaped into the water, pursuing Captain Vincent into the inky depths below.

In this moment of absolute desperation, Joel's hands fumbled for salvation. He grasped a weathered tin case, his heart pounding in tandem with his racing thoughts. The case proved to be a stubborn adversary, yet with firm resolve, he succeeded in wresting it open. Inside, two red flares remained, an admittedly limited lifeline in the face of such profound horror.

Grimly ascending the partly damaged mast, Joel braced himself against the incoming deluge. Rain lashed at his face with merciless intensity, making it a battle to keep his eyes open and fix his gaze on the task at hand. His heart raced, terror clung to his very soul, yet he understood the gravity of the situation. He took aim with the flare gun, determined to unleash this final beacon of hope.

In a defiant burst, a single red flare erupted from the gun's muzzle, igniting the bleak, moonlit night with its vivid pinkish-red illumination. The ocean itself seemed to shudder in response, revealing its ominous secrets. Joel's heart trembled as he bore witness to the surreal spectacle unveiled by the stark brilliance of the flare. Hundreds of unworldly eyes, grotesque and ghastly, stared back at him from the churning surface of the water, like the eyes of malevolent spirits awakened by his act of defiance.

"Oh my God," he gasped, his voice trembling in the face of such horror. One by one, these creatures, each more nightmarish than the last, began their relentless ascent, hauling themselves onto the fishing boat.

Joel's desperate gaze descended to the transformed Caitlin, who reached out to him with an almost mournful expression in her eyes. The poignant bond of brotherly love mixed with a profound sense of dread, as he whispered, "I'm sorry, Caitlin." Tears, indistinguishable from the relentless rain, trickled down his rain-slicked face.

With a sense of tragic inevitability, he reloaded the flare gun, knowing that this was his last chance. Every fiber of his being screamed against what he was about to do, yet the dire circumstances left him with no choice. He pointed the gun at Caitlin, his hand trembling with the weight of his choice, and in a voice that bore the weight of his sacrifice, he said, "God, please forgive me." With a resolute pull of the trigger, the flare erupted into a searing blaze, its fiery tendrils reaching out to claim Caitlin's form.

In an instant, the sticky substance that coated her body reacted to the flare, and she was engulfed in a flaming inferno. Her agonized screams pierced the night, the fiery maelstrom she became flinging burning fragments in all directions. The other monstrous creatures recoiled, their misshapen features twisted in fear and dread as they witnessed the fate that had befallen their once-kindred.

The fishing boat, partially consumed by the blaze, bore the fiery scars of the struggle against these unholy abominations. Yet, remarkably, the fearsome rain battled against the encroaching flames, its ceaseless deluge suppressing the inferno.

As Joel grasped on to the mast amid the chaos, his world teetering on the precipice of madness and despair, his gaze was drawn to a single, distant light. It flickered in the night, a slender ray of hope in an ocean of darkness.

The glimmer of salvation beckoned in the distance, a lifeline reaching out to him from the abyss. With newfound resolve, Joel clung to the last vestiges of his will, shouting into the night, "Hey! Over here! Help!"

The hideous creatures around him, momentarily disoriented by the fiery conflagration, began to reclaim their place. The ocean itself seemed to recoil from the manifestation of this stranger's light. Yet, the eerie tranquility was fleeting, and their dark embrace threatened to close in once more.

The boat's once-smoldering deck now hissed and cooled as the rain waged a battle against the burgeoning flames, preventing further catastrophe for the moment. Amid the lingering scent of charred wood and the palpable tension that clung to the air, Joel's eyes again caught a glimmer of hope; it was nearer now. There, a solitary light broke through the darkness, beckoning like a guiding star. Any thoughts that he had imagined this were now banished. A boat, its form gradually emerging from the shroud of night, was making its way toward Joel's beleaguered vessel.

"Hey! Over here! Help!" he bellowed, the sound of his own voice carried away by the restless wind and absorbed by the expanse of the ocean. Yet, this cry was not in vain. The approaching boat, like a guardian angel descending from the heavens, continued its steadfast approach, its engine a persistent beacon of hope. Relief cascaded over Joel like a cleansing wave as he realized that help was on the way. His shouts, though born of despair, had reached sympathetic ears.

The abominable tentacles, relentless in their pursuit of destruction, slithered once more from the inky depths, wrapping around the beleaguered fishing boat with a sinister embrace. The vessel, already badly damaged by the harrowing events that had unfolded, protested against this fresh assault, its wooden bones creaking and groaning in protest under the otherworldly pressure of the otherworldly appendages.

Tighter they gripped.

Tighter still.

Joel clung to the mast for dear life as the boat succumbed to the might of the tentacles. With a deafening crack, the boat splintered in two, like a fragile twig in the grasp of an otherworldly force. Water rushed in, swallowing the wreckage and all who clung to it. All that remained for Joel to do was hope that the boat would reach him in time.



Written by DariusMcCorkindale
Content is available under CC BY-SA

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