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June 5, 2024 33 mins

As they continue to flee the wreckage of recent revelations, Tilda and Madison finally encounter some people in their post-apocalyptic landscape.

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Episode Transcript

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Speaker 1 (00:05):
Hey, this is Anny and Samantha. Welcome to stuff I've
never told your production of iHeartRadio, and welcome to another
edition of a Sminty fiction. As always, this is a
once a month thing that we do. It is ongoing,

so we're technically in the second part of a trilogy,
and all of them are multi chaptered. You can listen
to whatever you want, but I suspect you'll be confused
if you haven't listen to those other things. Yes, and
once again, as I've talked about before, this chapter is

split in two because it was just too long. It
definitely was meant to go together, though, so if you
are listening, you're like, oh, that was sort of now ending.
The next part is already recorded and on the way,
and it's a doomzy I have to say, we're getting

to like the action section. Yeah, the ending I've been
teasing that is pretty good. I like it. A lot
of you probably won't because it is a cliffigger mother rah.
As I said, we'll just move right into the third part.
You won't have to wait that long. But yes, this
is something that I wrote. I believe this one is

in twenty eleven. I wrote it as part of National
Novel Writing Month, and it was a direct sequel to
the last one. I'm calling it Terminus Part two for simplicity,
but the original name is Big Things Start Small. So
CW content warning, violence, disease, threats of violence, violence, storage children. Yes, yes,

I don't think anything's too in depth, but just put
that out there. This is a very like apocalyptic dystopian story.
And I get if that's not your thing right now,
but if somehow you're like me where it gives you
some relief during dark times, then welcome, welcome, all right,

So quick recap. Humanity is dying out because of a
disease that has impacted pregnancy and how people get pregnant,
and that led in the United States to the collapse
of the government and the forming of a new government
called the State that is ran alongside a very very
conservative religious organization called arm and they control all aspects

of pregnancy, including who you can be with and where
a child will go if a child is born. Our
main character, Tilda, got pregnant outside of a conception center
illegally and escaped with her son. Madison. Has been on
the run for about eight years at this point from

the government and It turns out that the leaders of
ARM are Madison's grandparents, and they destroyed the vaccine because
they think that humanity is getting punished for their sins, essentially,
but they kept one and gave it to Madison. Tilda
has escaped and broadcast out to the resistance that there

is a vaccine and everybody's lying to you. Essentially, they're
on the run. There's a mysterious man on the horse. I've
been hinting at him for a long time. The winter
is coming, their supplies are depleted, and they're just trying
to find their way away from DC, which is where
everyone is going, because that's where they heard the vaccine was.

But yes, they are currently trying to find their way
away from the man on the horse, although they did
steal his horse, So now I guess he's just a man,
a man without a horse. He's a man looking for
his horse. He's a man looking for his horse. Well,
that is where we are. Let's get into it. Reluctantly,

Tilda shouldered her backpack on and untied Scout's reins from
the pipe. Madison climbed up without a word from Tilda,
and Tilda followed after him, her arms still weak, She
directed the scout out from under the gas station, awning,
and back out onto the road. Madison settled back against
her torso in a way that indicated he intended to nap,
which suited Tilda just fine. The more he slept, the

less energy he'd need in the form of food, The
less he'd be reminded about how he was still there
even though he'd just drank, the less he'd worry. The
more Tilda thought about the questions, the more Tilda realized
how deeply he thought about things, how deeply he felt things,
how much he worried about Mark, who had betrayed them,

about the man on the horse who had been tracking
them for who knows what about Darla, who would have
happily separated them and seen Tilda rot about all those
people heading to DC in hopes of a vaccine following
in Tilda's footsteps. Tilda had always assumed she was the
worrier of the two, but the more she tumbled it
around in her head, the more she thought that Madison

must entertain more worries than she'd thought. A sign revealed
that they were on four sixty West, a relatively flat,
straight slab of worn asphalt, the paint chipped away. They
passed a dead animal on the side of the road.
Tilda suspected it was a coyote. Crows squawked angrily as

they passed by, giving the carcass a wide berth. Tilda's
stomach roiled, Madison's head lulled forward. Tilda would place a
hand on his head and gently guide it back to
her shoulder, where it would almost immediately droop forward again.
Pine trees lined the side of the road, bandguards to concrete. Still,
they didn't pass anyone. As the afternoon waned on, Madison

stirred against her as she began looking for somewhere they
could stay the night. Darkness fell so early as the
winter fast approached, a specter growing in strength, eating warmth
and light. The air grew steadily colder. Most of the
exits they passed looked quite barren, no buildings in sight.
Most likely these were exits to campgrounds or connectors to

other roads that led to more civilization. They were very
far from everything. Madison began shivering against her The breeze
cut through their clothes, slicing cold, whistling in her ears,
whipping her hair across her face. The mantra of war,
what are we going to do again again? At a
steady cadence, they came upon an exit that slaked downward

in between the trees. Tilda could see a clustering of
wooden houses with thatched roofs. The light grade as they
followed the exit downward a ramp that descended parallel to
the main road. When they reached the intersection at the
end of the exit, Tilda veered to right, and then
the first the left. The grouping of cabins ash colored
or in a fenced in enclosure. There was a lake

behind the houses and the complex itself, separated by a
stone bridge. On the left was a barn like structure,
an open wooden frame. Tilda guided Scout to the cabin
furthest from the exit. It was shuttered, the windows boarded up,
making it impossible to see inside. For the first time
in a long time. Tilta word that someone might be inside,

still living, ready to defend their property, meager though it
may be, with their life. She clumsily dismounted from Scout,
instructing Madison to wait for her on Scout's back in
case they needed to make a quick getaway. While she
checked out the cabin. The door swung open, easily, creepily silent.
The air felt heavy. Inside was swallowing darkness, with only

stripes of light coming through the slots of wood over
the windows. There stood some rickety barren furniture. It was
one story, with an arched roof interspersed with thick beams
avoid There was a plain kitchen, small and square, a
combined dining and living area, a closet with rough and
brightly colored moth eaten blankets, and a bedroom with a

squat queen bed and a chest of drawers. Attached to
it was another tiny closet and a bathroom. There was
no back door. Tilda re emerged outside. The wind had
picked up considerably, snow flirring around Madison and Scout, who
was pawing the ground nervously tilted to a quick survey

of the house and found no generator to be expected.
She still could barely believe they'd found a working, still
fueled up one at the last cabin they crashed in.
She circled around the other side of the house to
be sure, but found nothing of use. A blast of
wind nearly knocked her off her feet as she rounded
the corner. Scout shuffled a bit to the side, and

Madison pressed himself against her neck to minimize the chance
of getting blown off his feet. Hopefully this wind was
that and nothing more. They didn't need another snow storm
on top of everything else. Tilda grabbed Madison around the waist,
waiting for him to steady himself before gesturing for him
to go inside. He yelled over the gale, what about Scout?

Tilda wavered. They couldn't leave Scout out here. The cold
was too biting, the wind too strong. There was what
looked like a barn, but it was on the opposite
side of the pasture, while not too far. Tilda would
like to have Scout closer by in case they needed
to make a quick getaway, and she didn't fancy drapesing
over there in the weather. Did horses stay in houses?

This one did, apparently. Inside, Tilda shouted, She'll stay with us.
Madison nodded, not wasting another second, and pounding up the
stairs and inside the door, vanishing within the darkness of
the house. Tilda negotiated a reluctant Scout up the stairs
and through the doorway, releasing the reins and forcing the
door shut behind them and toombing them in darkness. Tilda

twisted the lock, but it still wouldn't slide home. She
jiggled the door in the frame, braced her hip against it,
until finally it clicked into place. It was very nearly
pitch black, with only the last stregs of light shining
meekly through the boarded up windows. The Scout remained unmoved
to watching Tilda. Tilda gripped the reins and led her

into the living area, which was bare save for a
square dining table with four chairs and an oval red rug.
Once Tilda let go of the reins, Scout lowered herself
to her knees. Tilda spotted two candles on the fire
placed mantle on the far left of the room. She
stepped around Scout to fetch them, placing their tarnished gold
candlelabras on the dining table and setting her pack down

in one of the chairs. She then zipped the front
pocket and dug around until she located her matches with
her teeth. She tugged off her gloves to better grip
the box and the match, and struck it along the side.
It flared till life, but almost immediately extinguished. Tilda held
the wick of the candle up to the match, where

it oh so slowly caught, and then did the same
for the other one. Orange light flickered along the barren
wooden paneling, offering meager luminance. Tilda replaced her gloves and
held out her hand for Madison, who rushed to grasp it.
They crept into the kitchen, hold this please. Tilda passed

the candle to Madison, who took it with a careful reverence.
Tilda opened the refrigerator, but it was absolutely empty. She
shut it, turning her attention to the cabinets. Nothing not
a pot, ort, pan, cup, mug, bowl, plate, nothing. With
growing concern, Tilda checked under the sink. Nothing. The wind

howled outside, follow me. Together they explored the closet, finding
only the blanket Tilda had discovered earlier, and a broom
a couple more candles, which Tilda gathered into her hands.
There was nothing in the bedroom apart from the bed,
not even artwork or a bible, as Tilda had grown
accustomed to finding. The bathroom yielded a thread worn towel,

at washcloth, a comb. This house was empty. She turned
to look at Madison, his face illuminated with dancing orange
and yellow, watching her solemnly. We'll sleep in the breadroom
to night. Scouts already found a place. What if she
gets cold, Madison whispered, the light flickering with his breath.

We'll give her that blanket we found in the closet.
Tilda reopened the closet door and pulled out the scratchy blanket.
She could see why. It was one of the few
things that whoever occupied this space before them had left.
Madison followed her a morbid specter. As she draped the
blanket around Scouted. She glanced again at the boarded up windows.

It did not bode well that someone had clearly tried
to make a last stand here and had to board
up their windows against marauders or something of that nature,
and then had packed up and left the place entirely.
Tilda could only speculate if it had to do with
the lack of resources or something more sinister. The candle
they'd left on the table shivered. Tilda took a seat

in one of their rickety chairs it creaked under her weight,
and scanned what she could see of the darkness outside.
But she couldn't make anything out, just the dark shapes
of tree branches bending and swaying in the wind. Madison
took a seat opposite her, his legs dangling above the floor,
and he placed his candle carefully in front of him,
his face swathed and shadow. Tilda pulled out two short

bottles of water and some peanuts and pretzels as an
offering for dinner. They crunched away, Tilda trying to summon
any information she had on marauders. Things had surely gotten
more desperate in the seven years since she escaped with Madison.
Her parents had protected her from most of the news
broadcast about them while she was growing up, though next
to none of them occurred in cities with Conception centers,

including her hometown of Atlanta and d C. But she
did remember the ring of land around Conception centers being
particularly rife with them, especially DC, since most of the
resources were focused there, robbing those traveling to and from
the city had a higher probability of yielding something useful
than those out wandering the roads. In the Midwest, they

were even known to hold up trains and vehicles. Tilda
had always been far more concerned with enforcers in the
state and arm to give marauders much thought. As far
as she knew, they never encountered any not in a
pack anyway, A couple of stragglers, roadside thieves, but not
the roving group that planned train robberies. She couldn't imagine

they'd be out there, she thought, the pretzel like dust
in her mouth. But then again, they were relatively close
to d C. The voice in her head reminded her,
perhaps they'd moved on. Whatever had happened here most likely
had happened years ago. If the dust was anything to
go by, and it could be nothing. Maybe there was

no food. Maybe the previous residents had decided to give
a city a chance. After all, she was reading too
much from boarded up windows, that's all. Nevertheless, she doubted
she'd be getting much sleep tonight once their meal was done,
but not with it their hunger were they ever going
to be truly satiated. Tilda had it back on her

pack and took both the candles. Madison huddled in the
ring of light forming like a bubble around her. As
they made their grim procession back to the bedroom. The
house shuddered around them with another gust of wind. Tilda
set a candle on each bedside nightstand and sat on
the edge of the mattress to rest off her boots.

She could hear Madison doing the same beside her. Tilda
wriggled and stretched her toes that were starting to feel
like webbed, wrinkled, deformed parasites attached to her feet. She
just wanted them to feel like toes again. She hand
zipped her out her jacket and hung it on the door,
and switched out her socks, handing a fresh pair to
Madison as well, Doing her best not to draw Madison's

attention to it. She took the gun from her waistband
and placed it on the nightstand table, putting a good
distance between it and the candle, just in case. She
checked earlier, making sure it was fully loaded. She hoped
with everything she was she wouldn't have to use it,
but she knew better than to not take precautions. Everything
else she left on, pulling back the starchy blanket and

bedsheets and wriggling beneath them back on the hard mattress,
her eyes closed, automatically exhausted, even if her mind was
an electric wire of dull fear, the kind that plaques
you so persistently, you almost forget it's there. Madison climbed
under the covers after her, pressing himself against her side.
The wind howled and whistled outside, till to swore she

could hear the cold of it. She fell into a
half sleep of poorly formed images blown away and re
formed with the sounds of wind, worry that was almost
a corporeal presence, whispering, a shadow darker than darkness, corroding
her nerves. The dim light of the candles danced against
her lids, hankering her to the edge of wakefulness. She

felt trapped just beneath the surface of consciousness. She was
flat on her back like a corpse, unable to move.
Her blood thundered in her ears. The blankets somehow remained cold,
resistant to her body heat. Madison was huddled against her
The candles faded and flickered out. She finally relinquished her

hold on consciousness. When she next became aware, she was
staring at weathered wood in a way that made it
impossible to know how long she'd been awake, and staring
aimlessly at it. She blinked. Her eyes were dry. The
wind had died down, The room was simulate till it

exhaled fuzzy. Her whole body was stiff. When she twisted
her neck to face the ceiling, it criacked. It was
disconcerting to have no idea what time it was, to
feel like you'd got no sleep, even though you'd just
woken up from who knows how long a stretch of unconsciousness.
She blinked again, remembering a vague dream she'd had that

when she woke and made to leave this cabin, she'd
opened the door to a shrieking nothingness, as if everything
had been eroded away by the howling winds, just dirt
like ash as far as the eye could see. Are
you awake? Came a soft voice in her ear. With effort,
Tilda turned her head again to face Madison, who was

curled up on his side, watching her with wide eyes.
How long have you been awake? She returned as an answer.
Madison shrugged, biting his lip his stomic growled. Tilda pushed
herself up into a sitting position, scrubbing her face a beat.
She heard a snort of breath from Scout in the

living area. Then she swung her legs over the edge
and out from beneath the blankets, the wooden floor cold,
even through the fabric of her socks bracing She heaved
herself up to her feet, slid the gun back into
its place in her waistband, in clothes that felt like
they'd molded to her body as a second skin, and
collected her jacket, boots, and backpack, carrying them down the

hall and depositing them next to the chair. She collapsed
into her body, sore. Scout was in the same position
she'd been in when Tilda had last seen her. Judging
by the light filtering through the boards, it was on
the cusp of mid morning, the latest they slept in
a while, which figured given their restless night. Tilda retrieved
the customary two bottles of water and a pack of

pop tarts, which they split blueberry flavored. The refrain of
fear had picked up, not missing a beat. It made
her not want to finish eating her pop tart, her
churning stomach overpowering the hunger. She gazed through the gaps
between the wood watching, looking for some sign that would
confirm the crescendo of anxiety rising with each beat of

her heart, Anticipating what Madison's first question would be Tilda
cleared her throat and said, we'll check the barn before
we leave. There may be something there for Scout to
eat besides the grass. Madison nodded, and they began the
process of cold proofing themselves as much as possible, relayering
and zipping and buttoning and tying. The mele of horse,

combined with the stuffy air in the room, made Tilda
a little lightheaded. As they geared up, Scout, probably sensing
they were about to leave by all the movement, hoisted
herself up, with her hind legs out of place, standing
next to the fireplace, Ready, Tilda asked, wiggling her fingers
in her gloves, prepared to set out and leave this
place behind them, Madison nodded quickly, apparently as eager as

she was. While this place had offered shelter, it had
not offered a sense of safety. Taking a breath, the
image in her dreams flashing in her mind's eye unwanted,
Tilda swung open the door, practically sagging in relief at
the side of the trees and cabins and a whole
wide world of not nothing. But it was short lived.

She spun on her heels to fetch Scout's reins, but
Madison had beaten her to it. The straps of leather
clutched in a small fist. Tilda gave her son a
smile and stepped into the cold and down icy stairs.
Scout's hoofs pounded behind her. Tilda crossed her adjusting to
the cold from relative warmth was always the most difficult part,

and forged a horizontal path across the field, stopping next
to the stone bridge to allow Scout to lap up
some of the freshly unfrozen stream water. Feeling incredibly exposed
in the whiteness of the snow and the openness of
the field, Tilda's scanned assessed her neck, swiveling her eyes,
darting this way and that. When Scout was satisfied, Tilda

took the reins and led her across the stone bridge,
Madison not far behind, traversing the rest of the distance
to the barn. Inside were massive wooden beams and basic stables.
Against one wall were tools hung by tool racks and hooks,
and a pitchfork. Tilda released her hold on the reins
and peaked in the stables, finding nothing but buckets and troughs.

A pair of discarded stirrups and a horse crop, nothing
of use. She turned her attention to a wooden tool
bench jutting from the wall. Up at her there was
what looked to be a large metal fishing hook on
the table. Inspecting under the table revealed nothing, as well,
I found something. Madison's decoration caused Tilda to shoot up,

banging her head into the table with the thunk, Stars
blinked in and out of existence in front of her.
Fireworks of light concurrent with the throbbing pain. She hissed,
rubbing the spot and straightening much more carefully. She turned
to face him. He was biting his lip guiltily. What
is it? Mouse? He held out a leather satchel that

was tied underneath a scout's saddle by a cord. Tilda
furrowed her brow. They'd been riding Scout for several days
now and she hadn't noticed that. Where'd you find it?
She took the back from him, turned it over in
her hands. It was under the saddle. Tilda loosened the pouch,
opening it. Inside was a hefty amount of pellets horse food.

Tilda assumed. A thrill of anticipation shot through her. What
if there was another one, hold out your hands. Madison
cupped his hands dutifully, and she filled them with pellets. Confused,
he looked up at her. It's food for Scout. Go
feed her. Let her eat from your hand. She'll come
to you. Madison bounced around to Scout's front, offering out

his hands. The horse immediately started eating, somehow, taking what
appeared to be only a few pellets at a time.
Tilda had worried she'd eat them all in one massive chump.
Tilda pulled the strings of the pouch tot and re
secured it under Scout's saddle, investigating underneath as she did so.
Finding nothing else, she turned her attention to the other

side of the saddle, finding a smaller pouch with enthusiastic fingers,
she opened it and reached inside, pulling out a lighter,
a pocket knife, and a golden pocket watch. Tilda stared
at it, wondering why the man on the horse would
have had this time, had no real mis anymore apart
from how many hours of daylight lefts how many more

days of winter and it was still ticking. It had
been such a long time since she'd read Roman numerals,
much less a clock face that it took Tilda a
minute to discern the time eight forty seven. Tilda ran
her fingers along the side, pushing in the knob at
the top. It opened with a click, the clock face
detaching from its back. Tilda used her thumb to swing

it open, revealing a tarnished golden inside a locket, an
empty one. She looked over at Madison, his face shining
as he watched Scout nibble her mystery horse pellets. She
snapped the locket shut, slipping it back into the pouch
and closing it along with the lighter. Again. She wondered
about the horse's previous owner. Why would he have this?

Was it possible that he'd stole them Scout, who had
had an owner who called her by a different name,
and this locket belonged to that person, Or going back
even further, Scout could have passed hands multiple time. Horses
were extremely valuable out in the wilderness that was much
of the abandoned former United States these days. Tilda regarded
Scout warily, fully appreciating for the first time not only

the situation she'd left the previous owner in, but also
what a target it made them. Yet she didn't think
they'd be better off without Scout, especially not with the
winters so rapidly descending on them. All done, she asked,
and Madison hummed affirmatively, clapping his hands together to get
rid of the crumbs. I want to give you this.

She held out, the plastic encased pocket knife. What is it,
Madison inquired, It's a knife. He looked at her, waiting
for the punchline. Tilda chuckled. See this button on the side,
She indicated with her gloved finger. You slide it up
and swished to clack. The knife swung out in a

quarter circle. Madison gasped, eyes wide. It was decently sized,
a little long, then Tilda's pointer finger. Then you just
slide it back in place, carefully so you don't cut yourself. Click.
The blade returned to his plastic sheath. Madison took it

from her cautiously, Why, he asked, holding the knife in
his hands like an offering, just in case, try it
out nervously. Madison pushed the button and slid it forward.
The blade arcd out. Madison watched wide eyed. Tilda told
him to snap it back into place, and he complied slowly,

his gloved hands quivering. Don't use it unless I tell
you to keep it in your jacket pocket. He obeyed.
It won't pop out and stab me, will it, No,
Tilda assured him. Now, come on, let's get going. It
was almost nine after all. She helped Madison up onto

Scouts back and then followed suit, pulling hard right on
the rains. They returned the way. They came up the
icy ramp and back into the highway. Heading west. It
was yet another and a long line of cloudy days.
These clouds were pillowy, like tufts of cotton, all connected
and blocking out the sun. They passed a couple more exits,

none of them looking promising in terms of food or
water or shelter. Most everything she could see from the
highway it looked ransacked, whether by nature or humans. As
a rule, she didn't venture too far down roads. I
add no sign there would be anything of value down them.
Barring extreme circumstances, she didn't wander. In other words, she

didn't explore. They didn't have the resources to take the risk.
Sometimes you could get a good gauge of an exit
by the signs depicting the lodging, restaurant and gas options.
Even when you couldn't see these things from the main
road if the signs were still legible. But most of
the signs they were passing today just had a heading
with no options underneath. Not that the sign had been

stripped away by weather, but that there had never been
anything other than the heading in the first place, not
for the first time till to wish she had a map.
It probably wouldn't do her a whole lot of good,
but at least she could check if the road she
was taking lead anywhere connected to anything. Madison jolted against
her immediately. She was on highlert. What she demanded, half

reaching back for a pistol, her eyes searching the tree line,
the asphalt ahead of them. Nothing. I just thought it
was nothing. His stuttering response did not calm her fears.
She scammed the trees again, looking for anything moving against
the white, snowy backdrop between dark tree trunks. Jerkily, she

retook scouts reins. The horse snorted till to push her
into a quick trot unnerved. The day warmed as it
progressed the warmest it had been in a while. Signs
began popping up, semiregularly, announcing their increased proximity to a
city called Roanoke. Tilda debated with herself about venturing into

the city, but decided against it. They were still too
close to DC. Maybe if they passed a promising exit
on the outskirts. Maybe. And that brings us to the

end of this chapter. I hope that you enjoyed it.
And again I've talked about this before. It is very
comical to me rereading these because I just remember so
clearly where I was when I wrote it right, and
I once again was fascinated with directions. I can tell oh,

I was looking up the maps. I was like worried
about getting it right or wrong. And a part of
this is, interestingly, as the Fallout TV show has become
really popular. I was playing Fallout at this time and
they in one of their games, they have the map
of Washington, DC and it's accurate, and I used that map.

The part of this is Fallout at bast even though
it still scraps the Last of Us to me funny
the Last of Us hadn't come out yet, but very
similar in a lot of ways. Also, the names. I'm
just so amused by the names I use because I
know exactly who I was thinking about what I write them.
But in this chatter like things like Roanoke come up,

which clearly, if you're someone like me who is big
into horror, you've heard the story of Roanoke, Like, oh yeah, yeah,
a bunch of things like that. I will say a teaser.
We don't normally do teasers, but in the next chapter.
The next chapter is pretty intense. It's got that action. Okay,

it's got some some things happening, things were happening, but
you'll have to wait a month to find out, which
I know some people cannot stand, but I like the anticipation.
All right, well, listeners, I hope that you enjoyed it.
As always here shout out to Christina who makes these

amazing amazing. We do enjoy doing these. So if there's
anything like this that you would like us to try,
please send us a suggestion. You can email us. Its
Stephanie mom Stuff at iHeartMedia dot com. You can find
us on Twitter at mom Stuff podcast, or on Instagram
and TikTok at stuff I Never told you. We are
also on YouTube, and we have a Tapeltic store, and
we have a book you can get wherever you get

your books. Thanks, it's always too, our super producer Christina
are excited to Pruser Meyer and our contributor Joey. Thank
you and thanks to you for listening. Steffan never told
me his books of iHeart Radio. For more podcasts from
My Heart Radio, you can check out the Heart Radio
Apple podcast wherever you listen to your favorite shows

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