Putting In Work 4

Subject: Putting In Work 4 Sun Mar 08, 2009 3:36 am

Act 1
“I told you I would pay you,” comes the voice in a cheerful tone from the visual monitor resting in my living room. It was the voice of Tre, the gang member with him I was affiliated that was going to take me up the criminal ladder to reach the position where I needed to be in order to find out the information revolving the murder of my parents and do something about it. As his words state, I had gotten paid a pretty nice salary for the work I’ve done with them so far; but considering all that I’ve been through, I didn’t know if a monetary value could really be placed on it. The payment came in the form of a deliver. Two packages were delivered to me today around breakfast time. The smallest contained several bills in an oversized envelope, which would help out greatly with the upcoming rent and for purchasing personal shopping items. The second package contained a brand new double barrel shottogan type with a strap on it so that it could be worn on my back as well as a holster for my pistol and another set of bullets. The small kitten that lives with me had stood by as I opened these things. When I first saw it, the shotgun variant was beautiful, and it came with 40 rounds. I found myself pleased with all that I got, and shortly after receiving these things, Tre called.

Dressed in my morning clothes consisting of a pair of navy blue sweat pants and a white tree shirt, I sit on the couch with Little Ghost resting to my side as I speak with Tre, making the sarcastic comment, “and this time, I have bullets. Great.” His smile covers the window that holds his image in the upper right hand corner of the television screen. “That came out of your pay though,” he add, “but try not to focus on that.” I look up, “wait… what?” He continues, ‘but think of it as a tax right off, since it’s for your business.” I frown a bit and protest, “but I don’t have a business.” He continues, “it’s like donating to an organization I think. Damn… I don’t know how to make you a W-2…” I was under the assumption that I was being ignored. I comment, “I don’t think illegal things are taxed.” He perks up, “but that aside, expect more where that came from. I told you we were on the come up. See, you can’t be thinking too much. Don’t believe in me. Believe in the me that believes you belief in me.” I lean back, “wait what?” He continues, “but yeah, you’re gonna need that shit. In order to make more money, we’ve got to do more shit. We’re not gonna be grunts for long. Like I said, when I move up, you’re going up with me.” I nod, “yes, you often say that.” Tre grins, “say, dog. After that meeting with Vincent, we’ve got a big mission. Other people got looked over so that we could do this shit, so I need you to bring your A game tonight, okay.” “What does that even mean?” I ask. He continues, “meet up with us at the usual time and the usual place. I’ll be in a black van. I can’t take my ride for this. I’ll brief you on shit when I pick you up.” I nod, “whatever.” He smiles, “aite then. Enjoy your day, and potty train that lazy ass cat, biotch!” And with that, he was gone. My gaze turns to the side as I look at Little Ghost. “You’re already potty trained,” I say. He looks up, yawns widely, and then lies back down. 627

+ 1 JC
+ 377 Exp
+ Shottogan
– $250
+ Shotgun Shells ( 1 pack )
– $225
+ Revolver Bullets ( 5 packs of 8 )
– $200
+ Upper Arm Holster
– $20
= Total: – $645

Subject: Re: Putting In Work 4 Mon Mar 09, 2009 2:49 am

Act 2
I arrive at the usual place ahead of time as I often do. I wear my usual attire of black pants, black boots and a black shirt all covered by a large black coat whose pockets my hands reside. My shotty was strapped to my back, but covered in a cloth covering to conceal its identity. The basic size and shape remained the same, but it looked more like a tubular casing rather than a shotgun, because who walks around with a shotgun strapped to their backs? That would just be crazy. Above me looms a dark sky blanketed in black with shiny spots scattered within it and a large illuminated orb hanging towards its center. There wasn’t much traffic on the roads, but there seemed to be the usual pedestrian traffic shifting about the area. I suppose thus far I had been lucky not to have to defend myself from being robbed or such with the various gangs around here all fighting for turf. As it was explained to me, we didn’t have turf, or at least, we didn’t claim it, since The Black Wings owned the streets anyways. It was explained to me, “why claim something that someone else owns? The Black Wings don’t give a damn about us, and if we claim a block, there’s nothing we can do with it. They can clear out that block whenever they feel like it.” Statements like that were one of the reasons that I felt I would be okay infiltrating the crime syndicates from within Tre’s organization. Unlike the brainless others, he actually had some method to his madness; plus he was smart enough to recognize me. It isn’t long before a black van matching Tre’s description from earlier approaches, slowing at the section of the sidewalk that I am standing. It stops and the door on the side of the van slides open. Familiar figures could be seen inside. I walk into the open door and slide it closed behind me. The door was heavier than I thought it would be, looking to be reinforced with metal. Within the interior of the van, it is the usual as Tre is in the driver’s seat with Prettyboy in the passenger seat and Jr. and Lil Knock Knock in the back of the van with me. “What’s good, Ghost,” I hear the welcome from Tre as well as nods and “yo”s from the other members within the van. Everyone seemed to be dressed in black, much like myself, which invokes the comment from Jr., “so you got the memo.” Pulling on the corner of my coat and motioning to his clothing, it is made clear what he’s talking about. Tre’s voice comes in as the briefing starts. He explains, “we’re about to hit a lick.” Of course the terminology goes over my head, but I continue to listen either way. “As you know, there’s a lot of young cats coming up and trying to claim turf, money and power. Vincent noticed some people getting too comfortable in the hoods of East City. That’s fine and all, and I don’t too much care about that. The thing is, there’s supposed to be a big drug trade going on in one of the warehouses near the edge of the district. Not only do we want to prevent that, but we want to take everything they have.” Lil Knock looks over nodding and adds, “yeah, we’re gonna be like Robin Hood, or some shit. Only we’re taking from these fools and giving it to ourselves.” Jr. frowns, “a cut anyways. I still don’t see why we got to take shit back to Vincent.” Tre looks in the rear view mirror, speaking, “chill. He’s the one who hooked us up with our weapons and this ride. Ole boy’s our sponsor, think of it that way. Plus, we can’t do this by ourselves. He’s the one with the connections for now.” Jr. nods and emphasizes, “yeah… for now.” Tre grins and nods, “you already know, son!” After that is agreed to, Tre becomes serious and speaks on the plan we’re going to use for this mission.

The trip to East City passes by and we arrive to the general location where the warehouses would be at and where the deal would be taking place. I am dropped off at the far side of the warehouse area and pointed to the warehouse where the deal would be taken place. With that, the van drives off for the others to be put in position. Looking around, I find myself on the sidewalk outside of a fenced in warehouse district. To the side, there was a large water tower and older buildings around the area. I jog towards the fence surrounding the warehouses, which were much more like storage units. I climb up the fence, pull myself over it and then land crouched on the other side. From there, I begin to jog briskly towards the area near the warehouse where the deal would be going down. Reaching the area I am supposed to wait, I stay within the confines of the shadows. Reaching behind my back, I pull my shotgun around and uncover it. I crouch and lay it on the ground. Reaching into my coat, I pull out my pistol and check the magazine in it making sure it was not an empty clip. I place it back in its holster within my coat and then reach into my inner pocket where I kept ten shells. I pull two out and press the release lever on the shotgun. I load the two shells in the double barrel and lock them in. I pick up the shotgun in my right hand and stand up, pressing my back to the wall of the warehouse unit I was standing behind. Tre’s words echo in my head: “The real gangstas and ignorant kids are going to stay and fight, but the dude with the money and the important stuff, he’s going to run to the back. Wack that fool when you see him.” I sigh, pressing my back to against the wall with my gaze up at the dark sky. It would be starting soon. It isn’t long from that point where I hear the sound of a loud engine revving, then a smashing sound with the sound of glass breaking as well followed by the sound of car alarms. That must have been their entrance. Not too long after that, there is the sound of gunfire as shots begin to pop off in the night. It would be time soon. Peeking around the corner, I notice the headlights of the van and several shots being fire from it. If they had set up correctly, Jr and Lil Knock would have been dropped off to come in from the flank, Tre would be driving and shooting and Prettyboy would be shooting from within the Van. There was no way of me knowing how many they would be battling, or how many would be coming my way. The ruckus of traded gunfire and yelling continues in the background. From my position, I notice three figures rushing towards me, one in front holding a large briefcase and two seemingly protecting the first as they make a run for the back exit of the warehouses. They would have to pass me in order to make it. I frown slightly at the number. Two would be great, but three was a hassle. Luckily, only two seemed to be armed. I shift back into the shadows to wait for their approach with the shotgun in hand listening to their footsteps. As they pass by, I move quickly from the side of the building, jamming the butt of my shotgun into the face of the guy nearest to me in passing. The guy in the middle blocks me from the immediate reaction from the guard on the other side. Before the man who too the gun bash to the face hits the ground, a loud and resounding explodes escapes the muzzle of my shotgun and the far gangster is blown off of his feet. There are two quick clicks before I turn the shotgun to the man who holds the briefcases. “Just wai…” he begins, but there is another loud blast and he is blown away as well. The shotgun falls freely into the grip of my left hand as my right hand goes into my coat and retrieves the pistol. Pointing it towards the knocked out male on the ground, I fire a shot into his chest before putting my pistol back and looking towards the warehouses where Tre and the others were still fighting. I click the release on the shotgun that breaks into an L shape, load in two more shells and then pull back on it to click it in place. I lift the shotgun over my head and slide the strap over me so that it rests on my back. Crouching, I pick up the briefcase, releasing it from the cold dead grip of the urban male who had held it. With it in hand, I begin jogging towards the sound of gunfire. When I arrive at the warehouse, I round the corner and notice the members of the opposing side were pinned down on the inside. Reaching into my coat, I pull out my pistol and take aim at one of the males behind a large set of crates. There are three shots before he is hit and falls. A spark strikes my skin the wall near me is struck by a bullet and I am forced to lower myself and crouch down. There didn’t seem to be too many of them left. I hear the sound of tires squealing and then a sudden impact as the van is driven into the warehouse. When that occurs, Jr. and Lil Knock approach from the sides. The sliding door to the van opens and Pretty boy comes out shooting and Tre comes from behind the driver’s door. Short work is made of the resistance forces and quiet and calm comes to the warehouse. “Ghost,” Knock calls out, noticing me in the corner of the room. “How did it go?” he asks. I hold up the briefcase and he nods and grins. “Come on, before the cops get here,” Tre reminds. With the hard part out of the way, all that is left is to pick pockets, steal ammo and guns, money and drugs. We spend less than five minutes and we are back into the van and driving away from the area.

1770

1 JC
1520 EXP
Tannmono shi-su
- $10

Subject: Re: Putting In Work 4 Wed Mar 18, 2009 11:19 pm

The off time began. There was nothing that I had to do in my job for the time being; only to wait while Tre got the particulars about the men who attacked us. At this point, I was in pretty deep. The lines of vigilante and illegal operator were starting to blur in the one place that it existed… my mind. I found myself reminding myself constantly that this wasn’t the type of lifestyle that I would choose to lead, and that as soon as I found my parents killers, I would get out of it. Where I had began to become comfortable in being friends with Tre, Prettyboy, Lil Knock Knock and Jr., I would have to keep that in perspective. The job of enforcer worked out for me, since it gave me an excuse to take out bad people. Being in this gang was a compromise to take me where I needed to be. Still things were going according to plan, so long as I could stay focused. In the attack that put me in this position, we had done well to just to survive. It would look like the paranoia of our leader worked too our advantage, giving the enemy more losses with us taking none. I had offered cover fire to the gang from the side alleyway when an old model vehicle approached them with gunmen inside and firing at them. I was able to divert attention and do some damage until Tre and the others got away. After that, I found myself pursued through the length of the alleyway and into the next street following the alleyway. There I entered into a wide-open space, and with nowhere to go, a gunfight ensued where I was outnumbered. Somewhere during that time, I was stricken in the shoulder by a bullet. Luckily, I was picked up by my cohorts and fled the scene with my life in tact.

At the moment, I sit lazily on the black leather couch in my two-bedroom apartment in Gothstone. The house had finally been cleaned after the departure of my “company” and I was able to live in it once again. My back presses against the soft leather of the couch as my legs cock open slightly. My right hand rests on the back, and pretty much entire body, of the small kitten that lived with me. At the moment, the kitten, dubbed Little Ghost, sleeps with its head lying sideways on its stacked paws. In front of me, the visual monitor displays a show much like the Ultimate Fighting Champions (UFC), whereas two males were going at it in a contest of mixed martial arts. It was a match leading up to a more important match, and from what I could understand, whoever won this match had a shot at challenging the champion. Nothing else was on at the moment, and things like this often caught my attention. I wasn’t very skilled at fighting, so it was perhaps better for me, that I used various guns in order to protect myself. The two fighters size each other up in their stances as they walk about in a small circle with their hands up. The fist male comes in with a feint kick to the lower legs as the other steps back. The aggressor moves in and attempts a few jabs, and the defender responds, attempting a few hits of his own. They continue their dance, moving about and pecking at one another, searching for an opening. When the male in the blue trucks and the short cut Mohawk variant thinks that he has an opening, he swings with a wide hook. The other male blocks the attack and attempt to find his opponent’s chin with his fist. The strike misses, and the two end up locking up, where the match is then taken down to the mats. There is a struggle on the ground as the buzz cut male in the red trunks, straddles and tries to force himself upon the Mohawk’ed male in the blue who holds his arms over his face and moves from side to side. With the advantage, the buzz cut type attempts to open the guard with one hand and then strikes down with hits with his other. A few get in and the defense of the male on the bottom starts to weaken. A few more strikes as the male on the bottom shows his tiredness. A well-placed punch makes its way into the bottom’s guard and he reels with his arms dropping, leaving himself open. Another strong punch and he is put to sleep as the referee comes and separates the two. Pressing the male who was on top, away and to the center of the ring, the ref waves his hands, signaling that the match was over.

”Food…”

With a sigh, I stand up from the couch. I grunt lightly and hold the bandage on my shoulder where the bullet wound was. The kitten stirs lightly as he looks up to see where I am going, but remains on the couch in a prone manner. I make my way towards my kitchen with the voice of the commentators in the background, speaking about the match and the upcoming match up. Making it to the refrigerator, I find a box of pizza that must have been from the party ‘those people’ had in my house while I was incapacitated. Leaning down, I pull the box out to reveal two and a half slices left. “…They could have put this in a container…” I complain. The box was too big for just two and a half slices… and who puts a half of a slice back in after eating off of it? From the looks of the teeth marks, it looked as if it were Lil Knock Knock who was the perpetrator. I take the box out and walk to the sink counter where I sit it down before reaching up for a plate and taking it out of an elevated cabinet. Sitting the plate down, I open the box and put the two slices on the plate, before putting it into the heater and turning it on and then I throw away the pizza box, setting it with the trash I would have to take out later. The television continues to speak, “our next line us has the undefeated up and comer, Deeboe versus the Muy Thai Tiger, Serget. What do you think about this line up Ted?” “Well, Mark, both men are impressive fighters and have been training for this match. Watching each other’s previous fights, endurance training, strength training, you name it. This is going to be a good fight.” “Hell yeah, well we’ll get right to it after a word from our sponsors.” There is a soft beep as the heater signals that the pizza is properly warmed. I open it up and take the plate out, while walking back to the living room. My body lowers backwards and my back comes in contact with the soft leather cushion of the couch as I retake my seat. On the television, a man playing golf turns to the screen and speaks, “do you sometimes wish you were bigger down there and could perform like a young black man?…” I shake my head slightly. These commercials were in the pits. Little Ghost lazily gets up and stretches before he slowly walks over to my thigh and looks over at the pizza, then to my face as he attempts to hypnotically suggest that I feed it to him. Looking to him, I condemn, “it has cheese. Cats are lactose intolerant, right?” The kitten makes a soft noise of protest, but I ignore it, eating and looking back up at the television as he attempts to get over the arm that is pushing him back unconsciously. The next fight comes into play and the two fighters are brought in front of one another. The two fighters set their stances as the ref waves his hand between them and steps back to allow them at one another. Almost as soon as the match begins, the thai fighter flies through the air with a flying knee, striking his opponent in the chin while guarding himself in the process. The opponent is knocked out on contact and falls flat on his back while the Muy Thai fighter walks away casually and raises his arm. I blink. It had happened so fast. With a nod, I comment, “nice.”

Watching over the fights and such on the screen, the notion goes through my head that I was a bit weak. I knew that I wasn’t skilled with fighting, and in my new role as a undercover vigilante, I might get into a situation where I am unable to use my guns to defend myself. It is at that moment that the champion gives his speech to the camera. It moves along the words of him being the greatest and strongest with his threats to the champion that he was on his way. All that was entertaining, but the words that such with me followed in a deep accented voice, “my body is a weapon and all that I need… all any real man should need. No man will suppress me; anyone who cannot understand that is nothing more than weak. Move out of my way or be destroyed.” I look to the side to the small kitten that seemed to have gotten its paw on the half slice of pizza while I was spaced out and watching the screen. He looks up at me and mews lightly. I nod, “I’ve got to lean how to fight…” It couldn’t be impossible. I suppose the first thing to do would be to get in shape. How hard could it be? Getting in shape would require a structured lifestyle and if there was anything I could claim, it was that I lived a very structured life. I liked things like having a schedule with objectives so working out a workout regime would be an easy thing. Thinking on it, I nod and make the confirmation to myself. I would start training my body during this healing period. It would probably take jogging, exercising and the such.

As I make this self doctrine, an icon on the upper right hand corner of the visual screen blinks, signaling an incoming call. Speaking to the visual monitor, I give the command to answer. A box opens in the upper right hand corner of the screen as the audio switches over showing and allowing me to hear Tre. With a smile, he greets, “yo, Ghost! I see you’re up and lounging around. You aint jacking off are you? I can call back later?” I frown, “my clothing is on.” He laughs that off, “sometimes that doesn’t stop me. Man… they got some programs with the virtual online… almost better than a booty call… and cheaper if the bitch is hungry afterwards.” I interject, “I don’t… do that…” He laughs, “please… I do it all the time, and I get ass. Just make sure to wash your hands… carpet… etcetera.” With a sigh, I shake my head, “some things are more important that a woman’s pulchritude…” Tre stops laughing and asks, “is that a big word for vagina?” I pause, “are you serious? It means physical beauty.” He frowns, “then say what you mean! Anyways, what you doing, if you’re not jacking off? You got a chick yet?” I protest, “do we have to have this conversation?… I was watching the UFC.” Tre leans back in his chair and grins, “hell ya, that shit goes hard. Say, you’re pretty weak without your guns, eh?” My gaze shifts to the side as I murmur, “I am not terribly skilled in fighting.” He nods and rubs his chin, “good thing you admitted… because I was gonna make you go up against Lil Knock.” I wince; thank god I didn’t have to go through that embarrassment. He continues, “I’ll look around and see if we got any sensei’s… I think Nigel knows some stuff he can teach you, so hang tight.” I pause when thinking about Nigel. I felt uncomfortable around him ever sense he palmed my left butt cheek. “If possible…” I venture, “maybe someone else can teach me.” Tre pauses and looks up from his thinking, “oh yeah. You know homeboy’s o the downlow right? Don’t bend over around him, he’ll have flashbacks of jail.” I frown, “jail? I thought he was a cop.” Tre nods, “yeah, why do you think he aint anymore?” I frown, “you cannot be serious… you set me up to learn weapons from a militant queer.” Tre laughs, “don’t drop the soap, homie! Get well and sit tight… but don’t sit too tight! I’ll hit you up when I get anymore details.” I nod and accept, “fine.” The small box collapses and Tre’s image vanishes from the screen.

With a sigh, I stand up, slightly disturbing the little kitten to my side. By this time, he had gotten some of the pizza; he would be feeling the effects of it later, but I would lock him in his room later so that it would minimize what I had to clean up. With that said, I go to my computer so that I could write down a list of things for me to do tomorrow before lunchtime; I would work out in the morning.

2250

Introductory to Physical Melee Package

Subject: Re: Putting In Work 4 Thu Mar 19, 2009 9:32 pm

The morning of the next day comes and the sun rises over the city casting its glow. Leaning up in the bed, I raise my hand to my head and sigh softly. I look to the side of the bed where the small kitten sits looking at me. I turn to the side and bring my legs to the floor before standing up. Shooing the kitten off of the bed, I make it and then head towards the bathroom. After a short moment, I exit the bathroom and walk towards the computer. I give it the order to switch last night’s input to the visual screen in the living room as I pass it. I enter into my closet as the visual monitor in the living room illuminates and connects with the computer. The list of things I wanted to get accomplished before breakfast comes up on it and sits pending my next instructions. I get dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a white tee shirt. I find a pair of sneakers to put on my feet before making my way towards the living room. Once I make it to the living room, I nod at the screen. The first thing to do was to jog one mile. The layout of the run shows on google maps to the side of it in a three D view. It was a couple blocks around Gothstone and back to my apartment door. With a nod, I memorize the route and then head to my door. 255

Subject: Re: Putting In Work 4 Fri Mar 20, 2009 10:11 pm

The ‘get healthy or die trying’ plan was put into work. Luckily, my shoulder had healed enough so that it didn’t make grimace with each move. I make my way through the morning’s jog thinking about several things. My mind drifts off to something I heard a runner say on television a while back. He said that if you are training, you needed to focus on things other than the training. You both would still benefit if your mind wasn’t in it and you would be able to do it longer. Thinking over those words, I suppose jogging wasn’t the most amusing thing in the word. Thinking about jogging could probably tire the mind to make me go less than I actually wanted to while seeming longer in the process. Mental fatigue could take over the body’s fatigue and hinder my work out. I did notice that the vast majority when I see other’s jogging, normally in East City and around this neighborhood, it is in parks with headphones on to drown out the atmosphere around them. So in that sense, jogging could be a peaceful refuge from the rest of the world. If that were so, maybe it would be something that I could find myself getting use to. I find my mind drifting back to the jog as I complete the first two blocks and I attempt not to think about it so that I didn’t fall into the mental traps that would make me tired before hand. I knew I wasn’t’ in the best of shape, so this first jog would be my starting point to which I would work up from. I had been active enough in high school, but I had never joined any sports or anything like that. Out of all the sports out there, the only ones I liked were the martial arts, which were more an art form than a sport. Still, I didn’t really watch the martial arts or participate in it, thought I did like movies starting great martial artists. Another block is passed and my breathing is noticeably heavy as I attempt to continue the pace that I’ve kept up. It wasn’t like I was running full speed, so as long as I looked like I was jogging, then I should be fine. I knew there were techniques to jogging and that I probably was not doing it right. Jogging was a lifestyle more so than something to do, they had shoes for it, the proper attire and the like. I think back to the UFC fight I witnessed that lead me into thinking that I wanted to get my body in shape. That was an odd thought process, but out of everyone in the gang, I felt that I was the weakest in a fight. On occasion, through our jobs, I had gotten a chance to see all of them handle themselves. Lil Knock would, of course, be at the top of the totem pole. He had raw strength and power on his side. Tre was the tallest among the group, so he would have reach and a good amount of strength. Jr. was short and could probably move fast. Being small by nature, he was probably used to having to take care of himself as a kid. That led me to Prettyboy. With the thought of him, I begin to think that maybe I was not the weakest link. I mean, he shaved his entire body and had manicured nails. There was no way that someone like him could be a good fighter… But then again, that wasn’t in his job description. He was more of a negotiator and accountant if it were to be put in legal terms. About halfway, I feel my body start to slow down. I could feel sweat coursing down my body, weighing down my clothing and causing it to cling to my skin. The streets during this time of day weren’t too crowded. I had passed a few people walking their pets as well as normal pedestrians and a few open front merchant shops. I had made sure that the route was nowhere near Moonbucks not wanting to run into Shiori like this. My breath continued to be heavy but I decided that I would rather keep going at a slower rate than to stop and try to catch my breath. I was half way done with it, so it would just be like jogging back to my house. Thinking about things, I figure that I could speak with Nigel the next time I went in for weapon’s training. For someone that big, he probably had some tips about staying in shape and I could use getting a bit more define, though I had no desire to be a muscle neck. I continue to make my way around the path laid out for me, and eventually I come back to the front of my apartments. My steps slow down and my body rocks forwards as I stop with my hands coming to my knees as I bend over. My sweat-drenched hair falls forwards and hangs down as perspiration falls from my forehead to the ground as my chest heaves up and down. The after feeling of coming to a stop did not feel good at all, but I knew that it would be like this. If I continued, I would be able to run that distance without getting tired at all, and once I got my body in shape, it would open up more possibilities for me to become someone who was good at fighting. It takes me a few minutes to catch my breath before I rise up and straighten my body, taking large breaths like I remembered the coach instructing at PE all those years ago. Looking towards the apartments, I nod and make the mental note that I had to continue the list to finish up for the day. There were push-ups and sit-ups still left to do. 1000

3505
- 2500 words required
- 5 TEXP
+ 1005 EXP
+ Physical Melee Unlocked

Subject: Re: Putting In Work 4 Fri Mar 20, 2009 11:27 pm

Updated

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