Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Cursed To Die [Azurine]


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How time did distort into endless tedium deep within those blackened cells, where all light had fled and only darkness reigned. Social interaction beyond the placid stoicism of her gaolers was virtually nonexistent, save for the strange visitors she received that broke the droning monotony of routine.

Eat, sleep, repeat.

Eat, sleep, repeat.

It was the same, again and again. The guards would command her to stand against the far wall. Not through words, but through the acute electrification of her entire cell. Even when she began to preemptively comply, the guards electrified her cell nonetheless. Then they left behind a tray of bland, but nutritious, synth-food for her to consume. It was evident that they did not want her to starve, but were only giving her just enough to not lose too much of her strength. She was receiving far less than the daily calories she needed.

The only hygiene she was afforded was being doused with a chemical agent from hidden nozzles in the walls and ceiling, which sterilized her body but did so very uncomfortably. Water was not used, as the chemical was quick-drying but left an oily film over her body. If she expected to garner any sympathy from her guards, then she would find her efforts entirely in vain. Those rotated in and out to monitor her were hardened soldiers, ones who had completely bought into the Sith's indoctrination. To them, Azurine was little more than an animal.

Perhaps even less than that.

One day, however, the routine changed. Her food did not come, nor did it come the next day, or the day after that. On the fourth day, guards entered her cell and forcibly electrocuted her with stun batons before removing her from the cell. Anytime she moved in a way that they found displeasing, she was shocked. She was not permitted to walk, rather she was dragged painfully by the arms. When her body became caught on one of the floor grates, they wrenched her up and struck her with their batons before continuing on.

This torment only came to an end when they reached their destination, a stark unadorned room in which they threw her to the floor and left her in. Each wall was blank, entirely devoid of decoration. A single light illuminated the room from above, bathing everything in sterile white. After a moment, a voice rung out to her; one that she did not recognize.

"State your name."


 
Spitfire Soul, Heart of Gold
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Embers Remain
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Outfit: Clothing | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Whatever she could hide in arm compartment

At first, Azurine had sought to make a run for it. She had prepared herself, steeled as much energy as she could muster, and readied to bolt as quickly as she could the moment the chains were released. It seemed they were prepared for that, though, being met with multiple shocks before she could even move. The volts jolted through her body, and she crumpled, using every bit of defiance she had to keep from crying out. Had she had anything to eat, it probably would have been thrown up in the convulsions. Tiny victories, what little she could call that anyway.

Azzie lay crumpled on the cold durasteel floor, her muscles twitching from the repeated shocks. The pain felt almost secondary—just another pulse of suffering in the unending tide that threatened to drown her. She knew better than to cry out. The silence was hers. It was the only thing they couldn't take, then.

So in silence she would remain, even as she was dragged off.

Inside, though, she waged a war more brutal than the one inflicted upon her body. The darkness of her confinement had seeped into her, the rage and sadness clawing at the edges of her resolve. Every moment in that cell had been a battle to hold onto herself—to remember who she was, what she fought for. But time eroded even the strongest walls, and the isolation gnawed at her, whispering that she was alone. That no one was coming. That she was nothing.

No. They'll find me... Just keep fighting...

She lifted her head, eyes narrowing against the artificial brightness. The stark whiteness of the room was a cruel contrast to the black void of her cell. It should have felt freeing, but it was just another kind of prison. The voice that had spoken wasn't familiar. Another interrogator? Another game? She refused to play by their rules.

Azzie slowly sat up, her body protesting every movement, but she made no sound. Her breath hitched when a sharp pain lanced through her ribs—probably bruised. That didn't matter. She straightened her spine, tilting her chin up just slightly. Not in arrogance, but in quiet rebellion.

"How about... you take your commands and shove them up your poodoo shoot? Unless it's too cramped already with the log jammed in it." She growled out, the fury clear in her voice even if it was hoarse and cracking from exhaustion. They already knew her name. There was no point in platitudes to her when they meant nothing in the long run, not here of all places.




 

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The voice was silent for a moment, a pregnant pause before the punishment that was yet to come. Perhaps Azurine braced for it, the inevitable pain.

But, it never did come.

They could have electrified the room, as they had in her cell. It had been wired to do so. They could have sent in guards to beat her, as they had before. There were guards just outside the room. Any kind of physical retaliation could have been made real had they chosen to, had He chosen to. It was well within their power to do so, and they had shown little hesitation in meting out such violence on the helpless before.

Why not now?

The answer came shortly.

Each wall of the white room became illuminated by holoscreens, her environment now awash in video feeds, holopics, and rolling streams of Aurebesh script. At first, the chaos and mania of each screen would have overwhelmed her, too much information too quickly. But as she grew accustomed to it, began to parse out what exactly she was seeing, the true horror of it all would crash down on her like a meteor.

What she was seeing, and what she was hearing, was not unfamiliar to her. No, it was terrifying all too familiar. There were pictures of her, yes, in places and at times where she believed she had been utterly alone. But there were others too, those she called friends and family. Detailed itineraries of entire weeks sprawled out before her eyes, meticulous bookkeeping that distilled down an entire person's life into a few lines of text. Pictures of the Noble family unaware of their unseen stalker, pictures of Azurine's friends, pictures with her in them and with her entirely absent.

Holonet history logs, medical records, information both public knowledge and information thought hidden and encrypted. All of it was shoved into Azurine's face.

They'd been watching her.

They'd been watching her for a long, long time. And not just her, but her friends too. They captured moments that no one was ever meant to see, brief flashes of vulnerability that was never thought to have seen the light of day beyond the halls of their memories. And as it all began to truly sink in, as the horror of it all became too terrible to comprehend.

The voice again asked.

"State your name."


 
Spitfire Soul, Heart of Gold
uY3doWy.png




Embers Remain
4Mr5E7n.png

Outfit: Clothing | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Whatever she could hide in arm compartment

Azzie waited, her breath tight in her chest, every muscle in her body coiled in anticipation of the pain that always came. The pause stretched longer. Too long. Her fingers twitched at her sides, fists half-formed, uncertainty gnawing at her. Why weren't they hurting her? She had expected it, even braced for it. That silence only made the anger in her chest grow, swelling hot and thick like molten metal poured into her veins. It was a game. It had to be. A new way to break her down, to make her squirm.

Then the screens lit up.

The flood of images and text slammed into her all at once, a chaotic storm of color and data that blurred together before her mind could catch up. It was so unearthly bright, her eyes swimming and spinning with the stars and pops of it. Her stomach dropped. Her. Her friends. Her life, or at least what little of it in the long run had been spent in this time.

It was all there, laid out in cold, clinical detail. Pictures from moments she had thought were hers alone, snatched from the shadows and displayed like trophies. Her voice echoed in old recordings, whispers meant only for those she trusted most. There were names, schedules, logs—every scrap of her existence here, every step she'd taken, every person she'd touched, all reduced to sterile lines of text and neatly organized files.

"I think you should fire your photographer. They clearly don't understand where my good side is." She shot out, her voice laced with an almost taunting sarcasm that didn't seem to meet the rampant terror in her violet eyes. Her vision swam, a raw, nauseating mix of fury and horror roiling in her gut. She wanted to destroy the screens, to carve the answers out of whoever had done this, to—

"State your name."

Azzie swallowed, bile rising in her throat. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the screens.

She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to do. But this wasn't simple. Nothing about this was simple. Her jaw tightened. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Her entire life here had been monitored, cataloged, and reduced to numbers and reports, and they had the gall to demand her to name herself? She wanted to scream. She wanted to run. Most of all, she wanted to know why.

"You know, you're only making my bloody point for me!" She yelled this time, having to take in deep breaths just to do so. "Cut the bantha crap—" Another deep breath followed by a quick fit of coughs, "and get on with it, you son of a sarlacc!"




 
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Again, silence.

Then the screens dimmed black, replaced momentarily by a new video; one that spread across every wall from top to bottom, corner to corner. It was an operating room, the stainless steel of medical equipment shimmering in the light of a large illuminating apparatus that hung down from the unseen ceiling. Beneath it, a raised dais upon which rested a metal altar fixed to the floor by strong reinforced moorings. The altar was dressed with various fetishes of the Sith cult, the monument itself etched with their runic language.

Lashed upon the altar was another being, eschewed of garment and restrained by mechanical instruments that dug deep canyons into their flesh. Around them were scientists and doctors, in truth little more than butchers, who were preparing a host of monstrous implements with which to turn upon their captive. The image shifted, providing a clear view of the captive's face for Azurine to witness.

They were familiar, one of the Jedi that she had known from her time in the temple.

One that had also been on Woostri, thought lost in action by the New Jedi Order.

"Your non-compliance has been noted," intoned the voice. "Proceeding with psychological incentive."

What was derived from the live feed was less an operation and more of an autopsy, though the subject was kept alive and conscious through dark, unnatural means. This grisly vivisection continued until there was nothing left to show, and the feed again went dark. Silence again followed, more harrowing than the last. It stretched on for several minutes before the voice returned, not to press their earlier request but to state a terrible truth.

"We have others."


 
Spitfire Soul, Heart of Gold
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Embers Remain
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Trigger Warning: Dark/Horror content, physical torture, psychological torture.

Outfit: Clothing | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Whatever she could hide in arm compartment

The room was cold—colder than it had been since they first threw her into this hellhole. Azzie stood motionless, her body shivering, though not from the cold. No, this was something deeper. Something worse. Her heart hammered in her chest as the screens came alive again. For a moment, she could only blink in stunned disbelief, her mind struggling to process what her eyes were showing her. The stark, sterile room flooded the walls of her prison, but it wasn't just any room.

She couldn't even figure out how to describe it other than nightmarishly impossible. A face she hadn't spoken to often, but enough to recognize the features.

"No—" Azzie's voice came out soft, almost imperceptible, and strangled. The world around her blurred, but she forced herself to remain conscious, her body locked in place by an agony deeper than the physical pain that lingered. They were still alive. Breath came in like knife points, her whole body trembling as the world around her seemed to move in slow motion. Her vision tunneled, a red haze creeping at the edges.

"No... No! Stop it!" The scream ripped itself from her throat, the sting in her chest barely registering in her mind. She rushed forward, though with what little energy she had, she ended up stumbling over her own feet and nearly hitting the ground. Wildly, she punched at the screens, pounding at them so hard her hands went white and her nails dug into her palms.

Fury... A whisper of laughter pressed into her mind, shrouded in darkness and poison. Let it burn.

Her arms shook from exhaustion, from hunger, from the shocks that still burned through her nerves, but she did not stop. The blows were weaker than they should have been—pathetic—but she did not stop. She let out a ragged, gasping breath, her forehead pressed against the cold glass. "Take me, you nerf herder! It's me you want, isn't it?!"

You are powerless.

Her breath hitched. The anger inside her roared, but it was a wildfire with no outlet, raging and twisting into something deeper. Something blackened and sharp.

You could have saved them, but you are too weak.

Her fingers curled into shaking fists. "No," she growled, "Shut up." Her voice was raw with anguish and defiance. She didn't care how broken she felt. She didn't care if she was starved and exhausted. The screen flickered once more. The heavy and suffocating silence returned with a vengeance. Her pulse quickened, but her stomach twisted into a knot. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. All she knew was the anger, the horror, the overwhelming desperation to save those she could still reach.

"What do you want from me?!!"




 

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The cracks spider-webbed outward, distorting the picture into a kaleidoscope of suffering. Flashes of darkness blessed the chamber as the illumination system short-circuited before flashing back operational. All of that rage, all of that pain, rendered wholly impotent at the hands of her hopeless situation. She could do nothing to alleviate the monstrous fate of her fellow Jedi, let alone liberate herself from the bonds that she found herself in. There was nothing, save for the cruel silence of her captors.

A voice, whispered rather than broadcast over speaker.

"Azurine Varek, you are recognized."

It was the same voice from her dreams -- her nightmares. She had no perception of when the presence made itself known, but the moment it did she felt the glacial weight of it's power crash down on her all at once. That claustrophobic, cloying darkness she had only felt twice before. Once in that darkest place, and second upon the Sith's blasphemous edifice they called a dreadnought.

When He got into the room mattered little, less even how He did.

All that mattered is that He was there now, His shadow swallowing her in utter terror. Bright, molten eyes pierced the gloom, staring down at her with the intensity of a supernova. A hand reached out, gloved in stitched black leather. It reached not for her, but for the impression she left upon the viewscreen, fingertips brushing along the uneven cracks in the glass.

"This," He answered at last, "Is what I want."


 
Spitfire Soul, Heart of Gold
uY3doWy.png




Embers Remain
4Mr5E7n.png

Outfit: Clothing | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Whatever she could hide in arm compartment

Azzie's breath came in ragged gasps, each one scraping her lungs like shards of broken glass. Her body trembled, and the too-thin, pale skin clinging to her bones did nothing to hide her decay. Her sharp, defiant features had hollowed; the once-vibrant amethysts and lavenders of her eyes dulled with the strain. She could feel the ache of every cell in her body, each one screaming for sustenance, but it was drowned out by the more immediate, primal need to survive the oppressive weight of him.

His presence was suffocating—dense and thick, like a fog pressing in from all sides. The shadows he cast over her were inescapable, wrapping around her throat as if to choke out any last spark of defiance. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, every thrum a loud reminder that her strength was withering. Her pulse quickened, and her vision dimmed again. Unsteady and exhausted muscles staggered backward, but her body was too weak to hold her up. Her legs gave out from beneath her, and she collapsed into the corner, her back hitting the cold metal with a sickening thud.

"Azurine Varek, you are recognized."

"I didn't realize I had enough of a reputation for it to reach out this far; what an honor!" Azzie sneered despite the weakness in her tone. It was the only armor she felt she had left. Her voice was followed by an overly dramatic and clearly sarcastic bow, though the action was almost immediately met with another coughing fit from the stings it sent into her chest. He already knew who she was unless all that monitoring act was just a load of bantha fodder.

Whispers slithered through her mind and under her skin, crawling like parasites. Forced her to clench her fists so hard she felt her jagged and unkempt nails dig into the skin of her palms.

Her eyes narrowed as she lifted her head to meet Carnifex's molten gaze, the intensity of it piercing through her. The gloved hand, brushing over the cracked viewscreen, only amplified her sense of helplessness. His words were like poison—each syllable dripping with cold satisfaction that was mirrored in kind by the demented patterns of his aura. They struck her like a physical blow. The world wobbled around her. Everything about this situation was a nightmare. The cracks on the viewscreen—her prison—mocked her, distorting everything she thought she knew.

The words that escaped her were sharper, more strained, but mirrored the anger crystallizing around the smoking embers of her violet eyes as she locked them with his. An anger that partly eclipsed the rising dread creeping through her very soul. "If you expect me to beg, then I only have one thing to say to you. Go eat a bag of Gungan choobies—" Her breath came in shallow gasps, one hand having to steady her on the wall behind her while the dark thoughts threatened to overtake her again.

"And farking choke on them."




 

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The Dark Lord watched her with a curious expression, punctuated by the seething power radiating from each of His bright glowing eyes. He could see Azurine's words for what they really were, a vain attempt to wrest a minuscule morsel of control away from her captor. Her body may betray her, but her mind and her mouth remained hers to wield, and she committed them to the effort of vulgarity and defiance. Her youth betrayed her, these were the actions of one who was so terribly afraid and inexperienced. Her masters had never truly prepared her for this, and bereft of their instruction she was cast out alone and naked in the unforgiving dark.

"What could I ask of you, that you have not already given?"

A power assailed her, alien and wrong. An insidious presence blanketed her cognition in it's own shadow, a smothering funerary shroud which set her muscles and nerves alight with unbidden agony. First her right arm, which was wrenched up as though grasped by the hands of an unseen other. Then her other arm as she was painfully dragged up onto her feet, her own limbs refusing to obey her mind's commands as she tormentingly walked towards the Dark Lord one step at a time.

Like a marionette, she was haphazardly flung forward on unsteady legs until she stood only a few scant steps away from Him. His hand reached out, the physical sensation of His touch even more revolting than that which animated her limbs in a cruel mockery of locomotion. He grasped her face, powerful digits pressing against the length of her jaw. The brief sanctuary of separation had evaporated now, there was very little left between her and the beast but wisps of air.

"But you will give me more than that which I have already taken, more and more and more. Wrung dry of tears and screams until utterly vacant. I know they'll feel it, they are compelled against reason to suffer so. They'll come looking for you, to pluck back their little lost pet because they cannot imagine a world in which one of their own is forever lost. To feel her anger again will be... sumptuous."

Like a puppet, Azurine collapsed to the floor as the invisible strings holding her aloft were severed in an instant. She could do little as the shadow of the Dark Lord engulfed her utterly, swallowing her into a darkness beyond comprehension. He reached out again, fingers splayed, as a new and even more terrible pain ripped through Azurine's body, fed by the dark power of the Butcher King.

"Now... Give me your all."


 
Spitfire Soul, Heart of Gold
uY3doWy.png




Embers Remain
4Mr5E7n.png

Outfit: Clothing | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Whatever she could hide in arm compartment

The pause that had passed between the two of them in that prison of screens moved as a river of molasses. Whether it was seconds or minutes, Azzie certainly couldn't tell. He only watched, his eyes scanning her with a cold and sadistic intrigue. She hadn't even realized how her breath was held deep in her lungs until a sharp pinch in her chest signaled its release.

"Because He is arrogant, convinced of Kainite superiority, and your inferiority,"

Kaila Irons Kaila Irons words came to the forefront of her mind in her realization that Carnifex put his whole aura on display despite no doubt having the ability to conceal it with only a tiny fraction of the strength possessed in the darkness of patterns that radiated outwards off of him. But was it really arrogance, or was it an earned understanding of ability and advantage? Her thoughts couldn't quite find the answer, settling on the possibility that it was a combination of the two.

"I sure as he—" Her voice was strangled from her before she could finish her answer to the question he'd posed. Frigid pins and needles filled her veins with a burn like that of plunging into a frozen ice cap. She fought to keep her voice steady, releasing a whispered but high-pitched sound akin to a whimper while her heart raced in her ears. The swirl of grey-violets in her eyes betrayed her horror, her own exhausted body moving like a strung marionette to be paraded inches from the man who was quite literally twice her size. Held up on the tips of her feet, he still had to lean over just for his towering form to grasp her face.

She put all the energy she had left into channeling her natural physical resistance. Enhance it to numb the pain.

Breathe. Block it out.

Azzie hit the ground with a bone-shaking thud, her knees slamming against the cold, unyielding floor. Her horns scraped against the ground as she struggled to lift her head, strands of sweat-soaked hair falling into her eyes. Her arms shook beneath her, her muscles locked in a vicious tremor.

Block it out!




 

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It was too much.

Even at the peak of her strength, the gulf between them was too vast. He was a force of nature, inexorable as the crushing weight of gravity. He didn't even need to lift a finger to send a sharp spasm rippling through her body from head to toe, muscles tightening into painful contractions; a symphony of agonizing torment conducted by the dark whims of her gaoler. Her legs bent back, knees shoved down against the floor, as her entire upper body was forced upright with her limbs limp at her side.

Like a lunatic ballerina, her body contorted into a menagerie of terrifying shapes. Bones stressed to the point of breaking, but never crossing that threshold. It was exhausting, her body used as a marionette against her will, compelled to bend and move in accordance to a foreign cognition. She was contorted violently, arms and legs bent at grotesque angles, only to snap back to their original orientation and made to twist into new, even more terrible positions.

It came to an end as her entire body was flung against the ceiling, ricocheting off the metal wall with a hollow thud; her body falling freely. It was stopped before impact, but her limps wrenched downwards from the momentum of the sudden stop, perhaps even dislocating. Then, she was thrown back up at the ceiling again, always at a different angle and at different speeds. Never twice did He repeat His torment, always shifting the paradigm of agony.

She was spun like a top into the wall, bouncing back across the floor before suddenly thrust up into the opposite wall. Dragged along the floor right to His boots, her face almost pressing against the terentatek leather. She was battered and bruised, her body covered with inflamed patches of discoloration. He lifted up the tip of His boot, and willed Azurine's face to be dragged right beneath it, letting it slowly press down upon her cheek.

"You make for adequate amusement, I'm sure your masters are very proud of all that training they wasted on you."


 
Spitfire Soul, Heart of Gold
uY3doWy.png




Embers of Anguish


4Mr5E7n.png

Outfit: Clothing | Glove | Right Arm | Talisman
Weapons: Whatever she could hide in arm compartment

Azzie forced everything in her spirit to strengthen her ability to take the pain and deaden the nerves. Unable to numb it completely, but forcing it to just be less. The intensity of strength in her aura, however weakened it had become from her physical exhaustion, could only hold so long. Longer than others that faced the same, but chipped away at it piece by piece until it eventually collapsed under the sheer weight against it.

The pain struck again, raw and relentless, coursing through every nerve. It was as though her veins had been set aflame, molten fire tearing through her body without mercy. The Force twisted against her, invading her mind and body. Each pulse of torment dragged with it an echo of the Dark Lord's will. Minutes turned into hours, not that time was a luxury she had to keep. Desperate not to scream, her teeth dug into the edge of her tongue until the taste of iron was raw in her mouth.

It hurts.

Weak.

She could feel herself being dragged under, the edges of her vision blurring. Her breath caught in a strangled gasp, and for the first time, she let out a hoarse scream—silent at first but filled with every ounce of the fear, pain, and defiance that had once burned within her.

It hurts.

You can't fight what's already inside you.

"No..." she whispered, but it was more of a plea than a command. Her face dragged across the ground, the smell of dirt mixing with the iron in the air and on her tongue. She could barely move, barely breath.

They don't deserve anyone's mercy. They deserve to suffer. Make him bleed!

It hurts!

Azzie was no longer sure where the pain ended and the darkness began. Her chest tightened, and the shadows around her seemed to thicken, pressing in. The agony twisted and coiled within her until it could no longer be contained, dam breaking. Her scream was torn from her throat. A sharp, agonizing sound that echoed through the void with enough force to blast through ear drums. It shot outward with a violent rupture of anguish and fury that reverberated like a shockwave. The walls trembled, screens cracked, shadows recoiled, and the very air seemed to quake under the weight.




 

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Every vidscreen wall in the room shattered simultaneously. The floor buckled, metal bending and snapping. The reverberating feedback through the wall sensors caused several security stations monitoring the room to overload, combusting the cybernetics of the ones permanently fused to their equipment. Their bodies wrenched back as sparks burst from where metal kissed flesh, every one of them wracked by the same sudden seizure.

They died in a flash of fire and agony.

All illumination fixtures had been broken, strobing light dancing across the walls in a hypnotic pattern. Discharges of electricity danced from open sores torn into the metal, exposed circuitry frying in their own mountings. The boot was no longer pressed down upon her cheek, but it had not gone very far. The Dark Lord still stood, watching her closely as a faint shimmering sheen had been enclosed around Him, the brief fluctuations in its incandescent surface the only clue as to its presence.

The Dark Lord's right hand was clasped tightly, and when the fingers began to unspool as His gesture slackened -- so too did the shimmering barrier fall. Before, the Dark Lord's expression had been one of indifference, but now it had shifted to one of genuine curiosity.

"Your focus needs improvement, young Jedi. Had you given into your pain and anger, you might have posed a decent chance of inflicting some manner of discomfort." Reaching down, the Dark Lord wound His fingers into a large clump of Azurine's hair, using that as leverage to fully pull her off the ground until her feet dangled above it.

"Care to try again?"


 

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