Fi 'n' Andy (fiandyfic) wrote in 1973flashfic,
Fi 'n' Andy

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Valentine Challenge, The Psychosamatic Consortium, Red Cortina

With thanks and apologies to the mods. I'd've at least posted before close of 24th in London, except both my laptops stopped talking to me. I suspect it was some kind of commentary, to be honest. But, with a kind of fanfare (and no sniggering at the back) may I present:

TITLE: My Funny Valentine
AUTHORS: m31andy, cuvalwen, and jantalaimon
STYLE/WARNINGS: If you're familiar with our other works, you'll already know this can't possibly end well. *coughs* My, that's an awfully red Cortina you've got there. Sam/Chris. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. A tale told in the alternative Psycho!Samatic Cycle story arc. It's not strictly necessary that you read that first, but it would help a lot. ;) And, personally, I'd advise at least reading those warnings first…
SUMMARY: It's that most treasured of holidays amongst most lovers. What to get for that special someone? It's so difficult.
NOTES: Written for the "Valentine" challenge at 1973flashfic, because how could we let that challenge go unanswered when we've clearly got so much to give? *halos all round*


It wasn't as though Sam usually had trouble with decisionmaking.

In fact, if anything, he'd been seen as a bit too decisive back in 2006. That was one of the major faults Maya had always complained of, despite the fact that it was clearly also one of the things that had drawn them together. That and the fact she liked to question authority. Give and take, after all; it was what most relationships were comprised of, was it not?

Back in 2006. Sam shook his head as though he'd just come out of a doze. He'd not thought of it that way before, not consciously... but he was fairly certain his psychiatrist back in 2006 would have offered nothing but applause at his mind's seeming willingness to finally put the past behind him. Showing signs of growth, are we, Sammy-boy? Sam grinned to himself and began whistling a jaunty tune; he'd suddenly figured out just what to do.

It would have to be Hearts. Sam smirked at himself. He didn't usually like to be so obvious, but that's exactly why it would prove such a surprise.


Chris, meanwhile, had known all along. Been planning it for weeks; as though there'd been any other choice! He had, after all, learnt from the best and he'd put that knowledge to exceedingly good use as a foundation upon which to build his own specific skill-sets. He'd got brains, and talent, and charm and, above all, an uncanny ability to seem the very definition of "feckless." It was awfully helpful, this. Worked exceedingly well when playing cards, for one thing.

He'd put on his best clueless smile as he'd leaned down to help the lovely little ginger bird out with the parcel he'd just knocked out of her hands with seeming carelessness. "Oh, look at me, I'm so clumsy. I'm so sorry, miss...?" he made sure to sound just the right mixture of 'recalcitrant' and 'inquisitive.'

"Cherie, and it's no trouble." She smiled brightly up at him as he still towered over her somewhat, even though they were both crouched down on the ground, gathering her things.


Sam shivered in his borrowed coat, sure that he was getting funny looks from the girls. They must think I'm some sort of psycho nutter he thought to himself. Well, I have to congratulate them on their perspicacity! He giggled, then stifled it. That definitely wouldn't do.

He wandered along the unfamiliar dock, the chill breeze coming off the Irish sea and creeping in under the collar. He mildly regretted not being able to use the line 'I found it in a quaint little shop girl' when he presented his gift, but shop girls were too missable. These wretched girls however, in their too-short skirts and tattered once-good coats, were already lost. And if anyone did notice their absence; who would care? Really, he was almost doing them a favour.

He called them 'girls', but in reality most of them women, looking older than their years. The harsh life of the oldest trade was unkind to even the smoothest skin and the brightest eyes. He saw one, the myriad lines on her face marking her to be older even than his mother... He clamped down hard on that thought and walked on.

Better wrap this up fast. Spent too much time on this already. He cursed himself from his first attempt. He'd first propositioned a not-unattractive brunette in her twenties, clearly new to the game, who had been standing apart from the close-knit groups of the old hands. She'd led him around a corner to a dark alley between two warehouses, but barely had his hands caressed her throat as she knelt before him, reaching for his zip, he realised that he couldn't go through with it. He'd pushed her away, threw a handful of notes at her, and run.

So he was back to wandering along the winding lanes around the docks and, like every other man since St Valentine got himself into a bit of bother with the authorities, desperately searching for the ideal gift at the very last minute.

Then, as if by magic, a man appeared behind him.

"Evenin' mate. I've been watching you."

Sam jumped, and braced himself for either fight or flight, but the man continued.

"Looks like you're a little more, shall we say, discerning than the regular punters we get around here? Only I reckon you're looking for something a bit fresher."

"Fresh... blood?" Sam stammered. The man grinned.

"Thought so. Just this way, if you please, boss."

Sam jumped again at the choice of words, but followed the pimp to a nearby building- a tumbled-down terrace, long condemned as unfit for human habitation and forgotten by almost everybody, save for those who, for their own reasons, found it a convenient base of operations.

In through the door and up the stairs to a dingy little room that made his own bedsit look like the finest suite at the Ritz. On the bed sat a young girl, head bowed, her long yellow hair hanging down like a curtain around her face.

"Alice! I've brought a friend to see you."

The girl slowly raised her head and gazed blankly at the two of them. She was even younger than Sam had first guessed. She might have been pretty in another time and place, but her pallid complexion and pin-prick pupils showed why her expression was so blank and distant. Injected or smoked, Sam couldn't tell, as her arms were covered by her blouse. A plaid skirt, woollen tights and patent black shoes completed the child-like image.

"Whaddya think?"

Sam swallowed, and whispered "She's perfect".

"Thirty quid and she's yours for the next hour."

Wordlessly Sam pulled out his wallet and handed over the money.

"Pleasure doin' business. See you soon!" With wink the pimp shut the door behind him, leaving Sam alone with Alice.

Sam shrugged off his coat, dropping it in a corner of the room, and slowly approached the bed, standing in front of the girl. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently kissed her forehead. This time it was easy, so easy, to slide his hands up to encircle her slender throat. She winced, the first real sign of life, and closed her eyes in anticipation of horror to come. A somewhat different kind of horror, though.

"Don't worry," Sam whispered hoarsely, feeling her pulse speed up like a butterfly wing under his fingers "I won't hurt you," much, he added silently.

He tightened his grip, thumbs pressing hard against her windpipe, blocking off the supply of air. Her eyes flew open, staring into his as she started to struggle fruitlessly. His much greater strength and the dulling effect of the narcotics in her system rendered her frantic scrabbling at his hands useless. He pressed harder and harder, her desperate gasps matching his own breathing as he watched first realisation and terror grow in her eyes, and then, as her pulse slowed as her brain slowly died, acceptance of her fate. Her hands dropped, resigned, and
Sam watched with wonder as the life faded away to nothing and she went limp as an abandoned rag doll.

Once she was gone, Sam laid the body down on the bed and stood looking down at her for a moment, regretting that he didn't have the chance to do this properly, as he would have done at home. But time was very much of the essence here. He remembered a phrase from his past: 'We go in, we get what we came for, we get out again.'

Crossing back to the corner of the room, he took, from one of the deep pockets in the overcoat, a roll of fabric and, opening it, selected a sharp surgical steel knife. This would cut through the skin and flesh with barely any pressure, parting muscle from muscle as if they weren't even there, but still robust enough to slice through the cartilage holding the sternum to the ribs. A smaller, finer knife would come into play for cutting in to the pericardium and severing the heart from the arteries and veins.

First to get rid of the blouse. The same knife slit open the cheap cotton fabric with barely a sigh, and the two halves were pulled back to expose her chest. No bra, she was so under developed that she hardly needed one and the last thing that punters wanted was to have to tackle those awkward hooks.

The first cut was always the sweetest. Sam wanted to savour this one, so he paused for a moment, the blade at the ready, seeing in his mind's eye the process ahead of him.

Just as he was about to make the incision, however, the door flew open, banging against the wall. Sam jumped, turned, to see the pimp leaning in the doorway, coolly brandishing a blackjack in one hand.

"Was just thinkin' pal, well set-up gent like yourself, might be in a position to spend a little extra cash for services rendered like not passin' on your details to the coppers..."

The voice trailed off as he took in the scene. Alice stretched out on the bed, eyes glassy and wide, and the punter standing over her with a knife.

"What the fuck d'you think you're doin'?" he demanded, striding forward, "Mate, you are dead!"

He swung the blackjack in a wild overarm swipe at Sam's head, who blocked the swing instinctively with his left arm, his right swinging out and across with the knife. The blade found the soft flesh of the throat, slicing through the left artery which spurted blood in a crimson jet, drenching Sam and splattering against the wall behind him. The look of surprise on the man's face was almost comical, as if it seemed to take him a moment to realise what had happened, before he dropped to the floor. A last gurgling gasp as the last of his blood ran out, some into his severed windpipe, and then he, too was silent.

Sam himself was taken aback by the speed at which all this had happened. He'd only planned the one subject for the coming evening, but now here was with a two-for-one. And here was me thinking that I didn't have time to get the whole suit, but now I've got the king and queen! he thought delightedly.

As he turned back to the girl; first come, first served after all, he noticed the blood on the wall, with the space to show where he had been standing.

"Hmm, nice void," he murmured to himself before, humming, he set to work.


At almost exactly that same moment, Chris was likewise engaged in the procurement of a lovely pressie for his beloved. Only he was considerably more cheerful and less anxious. "Girl... you'll be a woman... soon. Please... come take my hand," he murmured softly in a remarkably lovely baritone, twirlling Cherie around slowly as they danced to Neil Diamond on the jukebox.

"Wouldn't've pegged you for a fan of this type of music," Cherie's face was flushed, her eyes bright and wide and happy.

"I'd like to say I'm... broad-minded," Chris grinned, all charm as he started into the next verse and twirled her about this way and that.

"That makes a nice change. Tell me, do you serenade all the ladies or just the ones you bump into carelessly on the street?" Cherie looked up at him from under darkly fluttering lashes. It was nearly enough to steal his breath away, this anticipation, but he masterfully held himself in check.

"I think you're clever enough to've figured out that wasn't 'carelessness' at all, mon Cherie," Chris smiled, adding just the right amount of clumsy hesitancy to the 'mon Cherie' bit.

"At least you're man enough to admit it," Cherie sighed and closed her eyes blissfully as she found herself snuggled up in Chris' embrace and they continued to sway on the dance-floor long after the song had gone.

Finally, Cherie broke the silence. "I wouldn't normally do this sort of thing. I mean, I don't want you to think I'm too forward or anything, but, what say we go back to mine and 'ave a nice brandy? Bit of a chat, that sort of thing?" Her smile was open, but her eyes were guarded in that way that any man over the age of eighteen could understand. 'Try, but don't assume...'

"That would be lovely. And I want you to know I'm an honourable man, Cherie. And that I wouldn't dream of taking advantage of you." Chris was happy to offer reassurance as she'd responded exactly how he'd hoped.

"That's good to know," Cherie's smile beamed bright. "I knew there was something different about you!"

Chris' smile widened as he picked up her coat and began to help her into it. And grew slightly tighter as he oh-so-accidentally stumbled just slightly whilst going to put his hand in the small of her back to guide her out toward the door.


Sam lengthened his stride as the shadows lengthened themselves. It was getting just dark now and he still had a half-mile to go to make his rendezvous. He really didn't want to be late for his date this evening. He juggled the battered cool-box, appropriated from the squalid squat earlier, and reached into his pocket for the piece of paper with the address on it. It's only red ink, he thought, disappointedly. And smirked, quite inappropriately, as he tucked it away.

So preoccupied was he that he managed to somehow miss the trail of blood droplets his box was leaving as he lugged it along toward the meet-point. Which was incredibly unlike Sam - a man so attuned to minute details that he had, in fact, invested in a job lot of rags that he was sure could be carried with at all times. He'd even begun to contemplate carrying a special tool kit along, just in case, but then chided himself for possibly going overboard with preparation. Although he hadn't yet found where the line was, he did recognise that there might just be something as patently ludicrous as being "over-prepared."

Please, Lord, get me to the church on time...


Once safely tucked inside the old blue Imp sat kerbside that Chris had requisitioned just for this evening (though of course the DS didn't need to know why, precisely), Chris let a moment of confusion flit across his face. Then a clear desire to say something, followed shortly by the universal look of holding one's tongue that crossed all lines of gender, race, creed, sexual proclivities, and language.

"You needn't be so formal with me, Chris. I know you'll be a gentleman; you've already made that clear." Cherie soothed with her hand on his upper arm as much as her voice.

"Well, it's just that I've got a rather nice bottle of Blue Nun that I was saving for a special occasion, but it's back at the office...?" he let his voice trail off at the end even has he thought about how lovely the word "Liebfraumilch" looked on paper. Maybe Sam had a thing or two to teach him after all.

Cherie's eyes searched his face, which Chris managed by dint of sheer will to exude warmth and friendliness with just a slight hint of mischief thrown in so that she wouldn't get suspicious. "You're sure this isn't some sort of trick to catch me off my guard?"

"Promise," Chris smiled, leaning in agonisingly closely, enough so that he could easily have kissed her, had he wanted. But he didn't.


"And you say you work here?" Cherie sounded doubtful as she carefully picked her way over the rubble-strewn walkway leading up to a discouragingly rusted-out door with an even rustier padlock shoved rudely into a corner by the handle.

"I'm something of an artist. Not making a lot on it, you could say it's more of a 'obby," Chris smiled shyly and sweetly.

"Oh, well..." her voice trailed off.

"'ere, there's nothing to be afraid of! Come inside, I'll show you..." Chris grabbed hold of her hand lightly, softly, not wanting to do anything at all to ruin this moment.

Except, of course, he was lying.


"I know why you brought me here," Cherie mouthed softly, her lips brushing ever so softly against Chris' left ear as she whispered.

"To get that Blue Nun, like I said. Promise." Chris tried to look wounded, but was having too much fun at his little game and didn't quite reach his usual peak performance.

"No, not you. You've got darker desires in mind, I can tell," She massaged his left wrist, her left thumb biting down upon his pulse point. "Tell you what, give me a five minute head start and if you manage to catch me, you can do your worst," she grinned saucily.

Chris hadn't counted on this, of course, and he didn't really like to go off-script. But he didn't think she was anything he couldn't handle, so he found himself nodding almost before he'd been able to completely think it through. What a shock Sam will get... I suppose it can't hurt to make sure his pressie's in good working order before I give it to him...

"I'll just cover my eyes and count, shall I?"


"This isn't how it's meant to go!" Chris hissed approximately five minutes later when he'd tried the door and realised the little minx had somehow managed to wedge the door shut.

By the time he'd managed to prise it open, Cherie, of course, was long gone into a room that didn't look at all like how he'd left it. Chris sucked in a breath and surveyed the scene critically. Where there'd previously been a wide open and rather industrial-looking concrete space full of decrepit, rusting building equipment, various troughs, copper pipe, and drainage ditches, there were now what appeared to be neatly-assembled walls. Which had been fitted together as neat as you please, and bore every mark of having been here for years, except that Chris knew better. A generator was humming somewhere, feeding electricity to a string of jerry-rigged lights that illuminated the area. He smiled, even under his frustration. He knew exactly how these had got here. I should never have given him the address straight off. After all this time, he could still be surprised. How refreshing.

He rapped a wall with his knuckles and ascertained it was plyboard, and not nearly as solid as it looked on first glance. I'll play along for a bit. Can't hurt. He slunk down the first corridor as quietly as he could, sure he'd hear his prey in a matter of moments and be able to flush her out.

But before he got much further, he heard the door he'd come in a few moments earlier swing open on its creaky hinges. Not like you, Sam, to be so late! He looked at his watch; it was nearly a full five minutes past their appointed meeting time. He turned back, silently, and crept back the way he had come.

Sam was framed in the faint light from the open door. Chris took in his flushed face, faintly heaving chest. Sam had obviously ran the last few hundred yards or so. He also noticed the cool-box.

"You're dripping." he observed.

Sam looked startled. Then he looked down at the box, ruefully. "Oh hell. There must be a leak. Lucky that it looks like rain, eh?" Then he held out the box towards Chris. "Er, Happy Valentine's?"

Chris batted his eyelashes. "For me?!" he simpered, taking the box from Sam and putting it on the ground. He squatted down next to the box, mindful of the spreading puddle under it, and lifted the catch. He took in the sight of the two individual gifts, sat side by side, and carefully unwrapped them both. "Two?" he murmured.

Sam shifted from foot to foot. "Er, yeah. King and Queen, you know."

Chris grinned. "Oh yes. Nice." He stood in one fluid move, captured Sam's face with his somewhat bloody hands and kissed him thoroughly. Sam moaned under the onslaught and Chris stepped back, rather regretfully. It wouldn't do to get carried away at this moment in time. After all, they still had a maze to run.

"You do this?" Chris indicated behind him. "You have spoiled me."

"These are merely entrées," Sam replied, with a rather wide smile. "This now, this is the main course."

Chris, gingerly, picked up the cool-box and offered his other arm to his partner. "Well, then. Shall we see what's on the menu?"


"What's the matter, Chris? Can't handle the likes of a wee thing like me?" Cherie's, somewhat muffled, laughter burbled up like sweet champagne.

"The plyboard doesn't do sound damping!" Chris exclaimed, petulantly

"Not on its own, no. But it does if you stick sound damping materials behind it," Sam grinned, trying to look as innocent as possible, but unable to hold it.

"You wicked thing, you. Wheels always turning, even as you put the naughty men away," Chris chided, sounding eerily like Sam's mum for about two seconds. Sam shrugged off the shudder he'd felt coming on and instead allowed his grin to widen as Chris pressed in closer.

"I'd say that deserves a bit of a reward, wouldn't you?" Chris breathed into Sam's ear, nibbling, licking, sucking, and generally defiling Sam's left earlobe with the hot, wet tip of his tongue in just the ways he liked.

Sam moaned and drew his arms around Chris more tightly, fighting against the urge to wrap himself around Chris and climb him like a tree. He couldn't even think now; he just had to get Chris closer. Was the entire universe conspiring to keep us apart? Anxiously, Sam began to undo the buttons on Chris' shirt, pulling it open to expose his chest and massage and tweak each nipple in turn.

Abruptly, Chris pulled away. "I said a bit of a reward. You're trying to take the whole cake! That simply won't do; not until after we open our pressies!" Chris smiled, truly smiled at Sam. It was cold, and cruel, and sent shivers down Sam's spine.

Sam was so rock-hard he was pretty sure he was turning purple underneath his standard-issue too-tight trousers, and even more certain that walking the rest of the way, no matter how short it was, would be painful. So all he did was nod, slowly and carefully.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Cherie called, obviously straining her voice to do so as it cracked just slightly. Or maybe she was just thirsty. Sam knew he could do with a stiff drink right about now.

"Aren't you a pleasant surprise," Chris purred, cupping his hands around his mouth to project his voice as he stalked down the corridor, lithe and cat-like.

"You'll find out just how pleasant if you ever manage to catch me!" Cherie giggled again, sounding further away this time.

"Oh, I certainly will," Chris agreed, laughing along, though the laughter didn't quite light up his eyes.

There's my boy, Sam smiled, content to trail behind and watch the fun from a slight distance.


Another untold number of turns in the labyrinth of cheap building material and Chris was beginning, just beginning, to lose patience. While the hunt was all very well, the thrill of it came from there definitely being a, well, climax of some sort or another. His stride was lengthening, head and hands twitching as he strove to identify the faint sounds of their prey. Which is why he heard the click of a lock quite distinctly. He paused, brow furrowed, but Sam immediately grabbed his hand.

"Trap's sprung at last. This way. We better be quick." And Sam dragged him back down to the last turning. He dropped Chris' hand and paused momentarily, as if orientating himself, before casually thumping twice on the panel in front of him, top and bottom. The panel immediately gave way. "Short cut," he explained.

Chris followed him through and down a short corridor to a blank wall at the end.

"Dead end?" he enquired.

"In a manner of speaking," Sam replied, quietly and produced a small key. He fitted it into a small lock, turned it and the door swung open. "After you."

Chris, ever careful, grabbed at Sam's wrist. "Together," he whispered back and dragged Sam in with him.

The door swung shut behind them with a definite click, causing Cherie to turn around. "So you finally caught up with me," she purred. " And now you've caught me, what are you..." her voice trailed off as she stared at the two men in front of her, Chris' bloodied hands carrying the still-dripping box and Sam's face, streaked with red. "Oh, shit," she whispered, backing away slowly.

"She catches on quick," remarked Chris, delightedly. "I almost want to keep 'er."

"You do?" Sam arched an eyebrow.

"Almost. This one has been quite the challenge. I like it." And he put down the box, next to the door. "But I'm ready for the end, right now."

Sam gestured. "Be my guest."

The two men advanced on the frightened woman, slowly but surely in the dimly lit space. Cherie backed off still further, then turned to run, stumbling, almost immediately, on something and falling, into a box that had been concealed, in the gloom, under a dark cloth. Immediately she began to scream.

"Give us a hand!" shouted Sam, sprinting over and wrestling down something from behind the box, until now propped up against the wall.

Chris immediately realised what Sam was doing and grabbed at Cherie, forcing her further down into what he now knew to be a coffin. He tucked her legs neatly inside before leaning aside, narrowly avoiding hitting his head at the lid slammed down. The screams were instantly muffled, but not quite silenced.

Sam knelt and fumbled with the catches, pulling them up before collapsing on top, divesting himself of his rather large coat as he did so.

Chris sat down next to him. "Nice set-up," he grinned. "I am impressed. And to do all this so quickly. Get someone in, did you?"

Sam shrugged. "Nah, dab hand with a screwdriver, I am. Didn't take long at all."

"And the girl?"

"Oh, her. Oh, yes." Sam looked bemused for a moment. "I've got her payment in my coat pocket. Not sure there's any point in giving it to her now."

His statement was punctuated with a series of loud thumps as Cherie sought to let the two men know of her displeasure.

Chris patted the top of the box, thoughtfully. "Is this thing air-tight?"

"Not sure. Didn't get a chance to try it out before this."

"It'll take a while, either way. 'ow do you fancy passing the time?" Chris was sure of the answer, or at least the inevitable conclusion of the answer, but always quite enjoyed getting Sam to admit to his need.

"We could play a game of cards," suggested Sam, lightly.

"Well, we've got the lady," Chris banged on the coffin lid for emphasis, "but we've only got the King and Queen of 'earts."

"Not quite the full deck, eh?"

"Not even close," chuckled Chris.

"Okay, so how about the rest of that cake you promised me earlier?"

Chris immediately grabbed at Sam, pulling Sam's wrists behind him and biting down hard at juncture between neck and collar. "Now that sounds like a brilliant idea." He pulled back. "I'd really like to fuck you in this coffin, but over it will 'ave to do this time, I reckon."

Sam shuddered. "Oh yes," he moaned, head tilting back.

Whore, Chris thought fondly, and he pushed Sam back to lie on the coffin before quickly divesting both of them with cumbersome trousers and shoes. Every touch seemed to seemed to enflame Sam further as he pushed and writhed against him.

"You seem ready and eager," he commented as Sam pressed upwards, his cock already straining for release.

"Been ready and eager," Sam panted, "since we came in here."

"In that case," Chris said, sliding his leg over the coffin lid, pulling Sam towards him by his legs until his own cock was positioned just so. "You won't mind me getting right on with it."

Anything Sam might've said was expelled in rush of air as Chris pushed forward suddenly, enveloping himself in Sam's tight heat. The ease at which he slid in most probably explained Sam's lateness at arriving this evening. It was both gratifying and disappointing in equal measure and Chris stepped up his pounding in time with the hammering which was still coming from below.

Sam's arms flailed beside him, before finding purchase in the form of the handles either side of the box. Chris stilled for a moment and leaned forward, bending Sam's form further over. "Wish I 'ad some ropes with me," he whispered in Sam's ear. "Could've tied you 'and and foot to this. Spread out like a virgin sacrifice. Just for me."

Sam arched at the words and Chris slammed himself further in. Sam howled and came forcefully, body bucking again and again. Chris held on, feet slipping on the floor before he felt equal to carrying on. He slowed slightly, content to take his time now, heedless of the comfort of the man beneath him as the constant counterpoint below faltered and slowed.

But all good things should and must come to an end, and Chris soon came with a wordless cry, his biting on his lip to ensure silence in this, of all things.

He slumped over the exhausted body of his well-fucked partner for several moments before withdrawing. Sticky and sated for the moment, Chris sat back. He banged on the lid a couple of times, but received only silence in return. "She's stopped screaming," he commented.

"Looks like it was air-tight, after all," Sam drawled, not moving from his spread-eagled position.

"Well, better luck next time." Chris was already thinking ahead. Sam had managed to get ahead of him today; he would have to try a little harder next time, that was all.

The End
Tags: loz is going to kill me, valentine challenge
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