The First Age

Michael listened to the conversations that went on around him with a keen ear. The Sigma introduced himself, although he was not sure why. The man seemed to dote on Nikolai, which he supposed was the smart thing to do, particularly being an American.

Next the Chief of Special Operations of the CCD armed forces introduced himself and began asking a barrage of questions about the operation in Jeddah. Michael remained cool and vague. Head of military or no, until Nikolai told him otherwise, he would keep the true nature of the battle a secret.

The proceeding events were met with diffidence. It was almost a relief when the waiter dropped water on the Sigma's pants, causing a slight commotion. Their enthusiastic self-proclaimed waiter Pyotr seemed furious but a word from the Sigma and the man simmered down, returning to his post as Marcus moved to dry himself.

Nikolai had finished speaking to a Mexican ambassador of all things when he turned the subject towards military matters again. Michael was again cautious with his words, giving nothing more than Nikolai himself decided.

Michael wearied of the conversation, he was almost tempted to seize the power just to keep his reactions sharp when a sudden spike of power rose somewhere in the hall. It disappeared with a strange flash and Michael turned with a frozen expression towards Nikolai. They shared a look - he had also noticed, and was not at all pleased - and then nodded.

Ahh, a challenge.

Michael replied by seizing the power. It flowed into him like a molten river of boiling ice and frozen fire. He drew in power almost to his capacity, but not to the point he strained with all his strength to hold on. Compared to the flash of the stranger or the humble moderation of Nikolai, Michael would burn like a bonfire. If anyone intended to sabotage the dinner, he hoped they would be drawn away from the Ascendancy by his own strength. As much as the man galled him, he would stay true to his promise of loyalty.

He remained seated, focusing inward and twelve webs snaked from his presence, stretching the length of the room and beyond. His wards would probe the area and pinpoint any further use of the power. The nets came naturally to him and he had improved beyond all expectations since he had first experimented. The complexity had evolved from detecting movement to the power itself.

He spun the net away from Nikolai so as not to interfere in his work, but found nothing. Was it a mere test? Had Nikolai set him up? Perhaps he already had an army of Ascendants hidden in his empire.

Curiously, his attention was drawn to the Sigma who had returned from the restroom. Convenient timing indeed, but the man elicited no warning signs and he had legitimate reason. Nonetheless, Michael would not leave any stone unturned, and perhaps the Sigma had seen the intruder, he was outside the hall after all, and Michael was not sure where the rest rooms were. He could have walked right past the man.

"Welcome back, Marcus,"
he said in a pleasant tone of winter dew instead of glacial ice. "May I have a moment of your time?"



Edited by Michael Vellas, Jun 30 2014, 06:34 PM.

Pyotr waited at his post keeping an eye out for signals from the table as well as waiting for Marcus's weave. The conversation continued at the table. Pyotr caught the word "Mexico" a few times, but other than that, he wasn't really paying attention to their table conversation. Politics were outright boring.

The familiar weave erupted and Pyotr allowed his eyes to drift towards Commander Vellas. Pyotr didn't respond to the weave. He expected it and knew what it would do. Pyotr saw Vellas and Ascendancy look at each other, and the menacing feeling that always accompanied someone collecting their Luck intensified. The source emanating from Commander Vellas.

So Marcus was right.
Pyotr thought allowing his gaze to pass Michael and check on the others at the table.

Vellas used his Luck to make intricate "nets" that went around the room. They were quite impressive, but Pyotr had no idea as to their purpose. Perhaps they were some kind of trap?

Marcus entered the room a few minutes later. Pyotr felt a sense of relief knowing that he was no longer under any pressure. Marcus would certainly sense the Luck that was emanating from Commander Vellas. Pyotr would just have to wait out the night and continue to serve.

As Marcus made his way through the tables, weaves of power began filling the room. Obviously the flashbang had elicited a response and he couldn't help a tight smile. But Malik was careful. Clearly, the weaves were designed to do something, the only logical conclusion being that they were to detect. What specifically, he didn't know- the Force itself or could the weaves be tuned enough to detect the ability to use the Force? The thought was intriguing but there was no way to know, at least no way without further risk. He filed the idea away. It was another interesting avenue for him to test with Pyotr. But either way, Marcus was not going to be caught by the very same method that he himself had used. He would not let on that he saw the weaves very clearly.

Indeed, Malik steeled himself- taking note of the weaves' composition for later study- and walked right through one of them. If the weave detected a Force user, this would be it. But he'd had no choice. When nothing happened that he could see, he relaxed a little. More than than, his feigned innocent smile become not feigned, though for all intents and purposes it was still the same. You didn't grow up in the foster care system and not learn how to hide behind a mask, behind a smile. Abusers often sought out weakness and fear. Wearing a mask had been beaten into Marcus since childhood. All part of the will of the Force.

Inside, Malik had to laugh. The Force was in rare form today. For it had revealed three things to him. For one, Ascendancy was a Force user- and a powerful one. He was confident that meant Malik would apprentice to him. Two, as he got closer to the table, he noted all the weaves seemed to be coming from one source- Vellas himself. There was no need to ask Pyotr what he'd seen. Vellas was obviously the source of those rumors.

Three and most importantly, the man emanated numerous weaves of power. He was quite powerful, much more so than Malik himself- for now anyway. But what really intrigued Malik was that the man was using multiple weaves of the power. So he had been right. It was possible. Once again, he'd run up against his own preconceptions of the Force. Less and less did this power seem to operate according to that depicted in the Star Wars universe. He'd already believed that to be the case, of course. Instead he'd believed, for the most part, that it was merely a metaphor for what he was doing. But clearly, even his metaphor was holding him back, the preconceptions he was operating from hindering him. He'd have to reexamine his axioms later, to eradicate any of those remaining. His smile as he sat down was genuine. It seemed that he owed Vellas a favor for teaching him so much. Inside, Malik laughed at the thought.

As he sat down, Vellas looked at him, voice cool. "Welcome back, Marcus. May I have a moment of your time?"
It was the first time he'd spoke to Marcus since their introduction earlier. Malik was not stupid. Vellas had shown no interest in him before and now he was, while at the same time using the Force to detect a Force user.

This man was his enemy. A line from a book came back to him, "There is no teacher but the enemy. No one but the enemy will tell you what the enemy is going to do. No one but the enemy will ever teach you how to destroy and conquer. Only the enemy shows you where you are weak. Only the enemy tells you where he is strong."
It was very good that he'd had a lifetime of practice in dealing with enemies bigger and stronger than himself. For the first time, he was grateful for all that training.

With his smile remaining, the face he'd used to his tormentors, he answered, "Of course, Commander Vellas. What I can I do for you?"



Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jul 1 2014, 11:20 AM.

The Sigma obliged with the smile that seemed painted on since the beginning of the night. It would seem he wanted to impress Nikolai more than anything in the world. He wore it very well, as did half of the people in the room. The false courtesy was irksome and he wondered how Nikolai could stand it.

No matter, he held the power that washed the irritation clean. Nikolai could flush out sycophants on his own time and likely had more than one agent to do it for him.

He contemplated a number of approaches, the most efficient of which he doubted Nikolai would approve of at his party. The easiest way would have been to spin a web of pure fire that would burn a hole through the man's chest the size of a cricket ball. No-one who could use the power would mistake that for anything else, but Nikolai wanted to be subtle, and he didn't want to cause any misunderstandings if the Sigma didn't react. Somehow he doubted the Ascendancy would take kindly to him threatening to kill his pet Sigma.

Besides, the man had been chosen from among thousands, he had earned his place and surely the Ascendancy would know every single detail of the man's past. But then again, how much did Nikolai know of the power anyway? He must have been using it for decades, but Michael had discovered things that Tony had not imagined possible.

A stir of irritation worked its way into the shell of power. There was far too much unknown that made it near impossible to do anything but guess.

In the end, Michael opted for an option that befitted the nature of the party. "As a foriegner myself, I know many in the Custody can be somewhat unwelcoming. Coming from the United States, it must be hard. The incident before, do you wish to make a formal complaint? It can be hard to speak out."


He expected Nikolai to be listening and watching. It was a standard military decoy procedure somewhat improvised. Keep the attention on one man while the other watched and they often saw and heard things hidden from those directly involved. He had also drawn attention to the man's absence, if Nikolai wished to investigate the matter further.

If it was a military investigation, he would have assassins bleeding through the woodworks but Michael was not some kind of power hunting dog. He was confident in his ability to train others but he was not omnipotent.

He would explain his findings if Nikolai did not know what he had done when he got the chance. It would have to do.

Vellas looked at him. There was something odd in the man's eyes, a distance.

For a moment, Marcus was reminded of one of the fosters, Mr. Rudell, who'd watched over them when he was 8. On one particular day when he'd come home from work, he'd seemed relaxed. Marcus was glad. The man had a temper to him, a way of always being on edge and snapping, especially after work. Usually, Marcus stayed as far away from his as possible, especially at those times. But this time he seemed better. This time, when he walked into the kitchen, the man seemed disinterested. Marcus always craved disinterested. Being the subject of interest was very bad. Inwardly, he had relaxed his guard for just a moment. He'd gone to the fridge to get a juice and the door was hard to open. He pulled on the door as hard as his little arms could pull and after a moment, the seal came unstuck and the door flew up too fast and hit the cabinet. That was it. That was all that it did, just hit the cabinets and rattled the items in the door.

Instantly, Marcus felt a slap to the back of the head and then a big hand around the back of his neck. He started crying and that's when the beating began. From that point forward, Marcus carefully watched the faces and made sure to understand them. He had to. They told the truth.

All of that flashed through Marcus' mind in the moment between his answering Vellas' question and the man's responding. And he saw a distant look in the man's eye, some emotion hiding in there somewhere. For a moment, Malik felt rage flash through him. How dare he judge me! As if he's endured a tenth of what I went through before I was 10 years old. They were the same age. But he let none of it show. Another lesson from Mr. Rudell. The man was quick to spot any look, no matter how minor- or even no looks at all. Mr. Rudell. And Mrs. Schlock. And Mr. Canton. I have been trained by tormentors my entire life to hide myself. If had not learned, I would have died long ago.

Marcus' smile never left his face, nor did his eyes twitch. This was every bit as deadly as those he'd faced his entire childhood. Vellas spoke. "As a foreigner myself, I know many in the Custody can be somewhat unwelcoming. Coming from the United States, it must be hard. The incident before, do you wish to make a formal complaint? It can be hard to speak out."


The question was completely unexpected and Malik let his true feeling of wonder show. He gave an honest laugh. "Incident?"
He pursed his lips and shook his head, genuinely surprised. He cast his mind back as to what incident the man was referring to. Finally, when he could think of only one possibility, he said, "Do you mean the waiter?"
He smiled, completely genuinely confused. "Why would I make a formal complaint? Accidents happen."
An idea occurred to him and he went on. "It wasn't that long ago that I was a waiter myself, before I went to the University."
He decided to open a bit more, let the truth come through. "Before I graduated from High School I worked to afford night classes so I could get ahead in college."
He laughed. "I've spilled many drinks. No. I do not wish to make a complaint."


And then he had a thought. They were the same age. And the man had initiated the conversation. "You and I are similar in age. How does one so young as us achieve such a high position in the military?"
His question and interest was genuine. He even allowed a touch of respect into his voice. The man had done it, after all. Marcus wasn't afraid to let that show. Malik needed to know his enemies, after all.

The Sigma's answer didn't really interest Michael, but he listened and nodded at the end.

The question he received was one he had heard almost a hundred times since his return from Mecca. It was a question he had asked himself many times, but in a far different manner. What idiocy had come over him when he took up the Custody's offer?

Because I was born for it.

That he knew, but still wondered how he had been caught in the tangled web so quickly. What could he say to others? The answer was far less enlightening than one would think.

How? On broken bones and smouldering ash.

The thought was hot and fierce underneath the shell of calm but it rung true despite his forced scholarships and study.

But it was not a question he had the time or inclination to answer in any depth. He gave the same answer - one of private amusement and irony that did not show in his voice - he did to the rest of the questioners. "The Ascendancy wished it so."

At his left conversations drifted back to Mexico. The wine was loosening the Secretariat's tongue. Nikolai didn't fool himself into thinking the man was fully forthcoming in his relays, but friendship and the prospect of a common goal, namely his return to the upper echelons of Mexico City tended to make a man more open-minded.

Across from him, Scion and his future partner, likely in the boardroom as in the bedroom, a woman named Kade, were discussing their mutual love of vodka and cigars. Their flirtation was so opaque, Nikolai had to steel himself from rolling his eyes. Kade was no damsel, here. It was Scion who was likely to get screwed when she was finished with him. She preferred to trap her competition elegantly as a spider caught a wine glass. If Scion were wise, he'd pawn her off to another Moscow billionaire. The question that Nikolai would be watching to see, however, was whom Scion Marveet assigned the role of chief rival. His choice in destination, handing off a poisoned dart to the rival alpha male, would be quite enlightening. Rumors were that Scion might take Valentin's place when the Privilege retired. Nikolai hid his smile behind a sip of water. There was a reason Scion was at his table tonight: to fan the flames of those rumors.

Nikolai himself was drawn into talks with General of the Army Borodin and the Justice while subjects drifted from cartels and Mexico to vodka and contracts, but at his right, a far more mundane topic vollied back and forth.

Michael drew upon an expanse of power that Nikolai was forced to take notice, but his acknowledgement of the man's powers drew no more acknowledgement than the way Pyotr shifted back and forth at his post.

Nikolai did not watch them. Truthfully he was disinterested in Michael's method of interrogation. He clearly suspected the source of the flash was the new Sigma, and perhaps he was. Why else would the taciturn commander deign to bother with an intern? Following the explicit discussion upstairs, the idea of Michael engaged in smalltalk was laughable.

Nikolai soon ceased to distract himself with such thoughts, and turned the enormity of his attention back to the delicacies at hand. By the time dessert was placed, Nikolai's orchestrations promised him an assembly of government cast-offs eager to return to power. What's more, they were fully capable of governing, but as demonstrated by Scion's stories, lacked the means to enforce such authority.

To some at the table, perhaps it seemed Nikolai was too interested in Mexico. He was, no doubt, as he was interested in every second-world order that remained, but the volcanic-tension surging within that state would not be the next collection to his Custody. Like he had twenty-five years ago, he needed the volcano to erupt. From afar he could orchestrate small cracks, planted t the seams of each and every powerhouse in the country until the glass house collapsed upon itself. Fortunately for this foreigner, Nikolai did not intend to be the one to plant the next flag on the rubble. For now, the Ascendancy's aims were northward.

Dinner wrapped up and with it, Nikolai once more ascended the podium to deliver his thanks and wishes for a happy Christmas. He caught the eye of the Consul of Communications when he did. The man had urged him to abandon the religion-specific holdiay in favor of a broader term. To which Nikolai finally told him that if anyone did not wish to attend the Kremlin's Christmas dinner, they were very much allowed to decline the invitation. Nikolai was not a particularly religious man despite the service he would attend Christmas morning, but political correction for the sake of wounded feeligs was a weakness he would not accomodate.

As the room emptied, there were many goodbyes to be shared. This was the capstone night for the Foreign Press Corps, for instance. With Nicholas Trano absent, Nikolai had little specific interest in greeting any single member. However he made the effort to express his gratitude and welcome their insights in the future. The Custody press corps rushed out to make good on their stories for the night. He expected the first, formal interpretation of the night's success to be featured within the hour. Viktor had already mentioned glowing returns from the minute-by-minute social propogandas at work. There were others he intended to see before the night concluded, and as he did, such was when he took note of the tall, dark Sigma. Nikolai watched him briefly. In the middle of second course, Nik allowed his powers to return to the universe from whence they came. He'd not glanced at Marcus when the presence suddenly disappeared, but he trusted Michael to have noted any reaction, if there was one.

Two Barrier agents accompanied him out of the ballroom itself. There was the long, opulent walk to make down the length of adjoining ballroom of St. Alexander hall. The brightness of the chandeliers themselves seemed to sting his eyes, and briefly, Nik yearned for the cool, closeted darkness of his basement residence.

He stopped the agents as they turned toward the Grand Staircase. They spun, and seemingly in an instant, Nikolai and his escorts disappeared in favor of another way to the Grand Palace's upper levels. The Grand Staircase, with its red center carpet and gilded artwork lining the path, would be a fitting departure for the Ascendancy: as it was that the Hall of Saint Andrei was once the throne room of the Imperial Palace. The stage upon which the Ascendancy spoke positioned before the historical thrones themselves.

But he had other purposes. "Find out where the Sigma is,"
he spoke to the second of the two agents.

The three of them disappeared along the opposite wing of the Palace. Through the room of Chevalier's Guard, the heavy guard regiment of the Russian cavalry, they proceeded through the Empress' throne room, otherwise known as the Hall of the Order of St. Catherine.

Nikolai barely glanced at the majesty as he passed it by.

Quickly, purposefully, he emerged on the upper floor. According to security, Marcus had not yet returned to his residence. Nikolai would not wait long, but his own fervent curiosity would soothe his patience for now. The power surged bright as a thousand stars on the edge of his mind, but Nikolai coolly resisted the temptation to grasp it. Not yet.

Perhaps the Sigma was the source of the flash and perhaps he wasn't, but whether or not he met screaming-white strobes of Essence, or merely the Ascendancy with his hands clasped lightly behind his back, the young man was in for a surprise.

With Vellas' words the conversation died. Malik was content with that. He doubted the man had been dissuaded. But what was done was done. And who knew? Perhaps the reason he'd done it was not the reason he'd thought. In retrospect, there had been other, less obvious ways. His eyes caught sight of Ascendancy speaking with the Mexican former official. Foolish, probably. But his life had built to this point. And it seemed that tonight was destined to occur. There were times when a Sith dominated the Force's will, when he forced it to accede. But a Sith must also listen to what the Force had planned. The die was cast.

The rest of the evening past relatively uneventfully. During the dinner at some point he felt the power drain away from Ascendancy, but affected not to notice, especially not with Vellas no doubt watching him. There was trying to get attention and then there was being a fool. After Ascendancy had given closing remarks and dismissed everyone, Marcus rose, his pants long since dried. He felt curiously....contemplative. He saw Pyotr and the other staff cleaning, but he wasn't going to speak to the man. There was no need, aside from a stupid risk.

Being among so many people, making small talk and affecting charm was draining. Part of him wanted to go to his rooms and mediate in the Force, finding solace in those ice currents of magma, those fire avalanches, in the domination by strength of will. But something held him back. He wasn't sure what it was exactly, but he just knew....his rooms were not where he wanted to be. He had suspicions of what that would mean.

Instead, he opted for a walk in the park adjoining the palace. It was cold out, snowflakes drifting lightly in the air, illuminated stars that floated in front of him. It was cold but he had his long heavy wool coat and scarf. The sound of his boots crunched on the salt-encrusted walk ways and show-bridges, until he found a bench he wanted. The silver moon peeked out, gilding the charcoal cloud that hid it in the cobalt sky. He inhaled, feeling the cold air enter his lungs. The traffic from outside the park walls was a distant sound. He just sat there for a while, allowing his thoughts to drift.

It came down to tonight. Tonight had been a triumph. He'd met Ascendancy and the man was everything he had hoped- and more. He could be his true master. The man was measured and cool, careful and calculating, exactly as a person who would bring order should be. He inspired people with words, guided and shaped thoughts. Marcus wanted to be a part of that with every fiber of his being. Not as a sycophant. He knew what he was capable of. No, but as a respected junior partner. Junior eventually led to senior, it was true. But Malik didn't choose to even think about that at this point. It would be enough, to help bring the chaos to its knees, to bring order and harmony.

Order and harmony, just like mathematics. So clean and beautiful and pure. So...elegant. There were no uncertainties. Questions, mysteries, even things they'd never know, according to Godel's Incompleteness Theorem, yes. But still, underlying all of that was this sense of order and peace. Mathematics was the Platonic ideal of the most beautiful and complicated sort. The universe was a physical expression of that beauty. And humans had the awe inspiring wonder to explore that world, discover its lees and valleys, its vistas and lowlands. Order and beauty flowed through this world, this universe. He knew this more than anyone, as his Tau Algebra showed the relation between the Force he wielded and the underlying music of the strings that made up this universe.

It was as if the universe was a symphony of strings, playing a concerto in matter, written in the notation of mathematics. His heart soared at the purity of it all and part of him wanted to seize the source and be a part of that, to transcend this base humanity whose free will and stupid selfishness and weakness led to the chaos that marred this beauty. But he did not. Instead, he let the sound of the world wash over him, the cold of the air against his face, the metal leaching the heat from his covered legs, all a symphony of inexorable physical processes, he let all of it play while he felt one with the universe.

He'd been out there for what seemed like forever, but was really 10 minutes. The peace of the universe washed over him until he was still. Finally, he rose and made his way back to his apartments. He'd expected visitors when he was outside. But there were none. A bit disappointed, he walked out the elevator onto his floor. Well, perhaps he'd get another chance to catch Ascendancy's attention.

He turn the hallway corner and suddenly threads of Ether exploded in his face blinding him, not physically but mentally. His mind flashed back to training he'd done with Andre. He seized the Force and wove his own shield of air to surround him, unsure what kind of attack was coming, while his mind tried to dispel the blinking. Was it Vellas!?


Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jul 1 2014, 09:22 PM.

Nikolai was still as a corpse. From the faint line formed across his mouth, Nikolai spoke to his agents. "Where is he?"


Alric touched his earpiece briefly, but never pulled his gaze from their surroundings. "CSS Kremlin Command's facial recognition programs are running, Ascendancy. Sixty percent complete."


The days were far advanced from those when the Chevelier Guard, whose honored rooms he traversed on the way, protected the Kremlin. Today, technology resembling the science-fiction films of his youth shielded the two-hundred seventy-five square kilometers that enclosed his center of power. In the minutes he'd stood there, only sixty percent were scanned? It was almost 2046, the delay was unacceptable. He made a note to order the upgrade to a higher powered system immediately. If one could not be found, it needed to be designed. The human mind worked at remarkable pace given adequate incentive.

Alric spoke again. "Facial match identified, Ascendancy."
The Barrier agent, perhaps Nik's most trusted, stepped around to face him. "He's on the way."
His tone suggested Alric did not approve.

Nikolai nodded. "Do not interfere unless I signal. You are not to give yourself away except in the most dire of needs."
Alric accepted the order without comment and crossed to cover the opposite side of the hall. His partner took up a similar stance opposite.

There they waited until the young man made himself known.

The power that held the universe together suddenly surged like a storm through Nikolai. It was no more than half as much as he knew he could handle, but it was enough to send any one of his kind into a panic, enough to thrill his soul with rapturous joy.

From the epicenter of his being, dozens of coils of Essence burst unseen by mortal eyes. For the brief moment they existed, Nik drank in the silvery sparks like a child possessed by his first firework show, but the sparks of Essence diminished as quickly as they came into being. In the aftermath stood Marcus, raging power of his own.

Nikolai released it and stepped forward. His two companions were twin-shadows as he did. The power remained close to his grasp, however. Smply because he was urging Marcus to do the same did not mean Nikolai was lowering his defenses.

"Was it you, then? The flash at dinner?"
Nikolai spoke steady, but coolly expectant as he approached. He'd formed his own conclusions, but he wanted to hear the young man admit it himself. "A risk. You might not be here if I had seen you when it happened. I do not tolerate impertinence."
The implication of having slaughtered his newest Sigma on an instinct was admitted without remorse.

He might have lost a potential weapon, not to mention a Sigma, because of a foolish desire for.. what? Attention? A stern warning accompanied the suggestion.

Malik's head cleared and there standing in front of him was Ascendancy, Force roiling off of him. Behind him stood two guards. Then, suddenly the Force drained away from him. Yet his power did not diminish. Malik smiled, rapturously. This was the man he believed him to be. At his question, Malik sank to one knee, head down. He too released his grip on the Force.

He then looked up into those thunderous eyes, hearing and seeing the rebuke. But he was not abased. It was not abasement to kneel to ones potential master.

"Yes, Lord Ascendancy, it was I."
He paused. "Very foolish, I know. I knew I took my life in my hands as I did it. But I had what I considered logical reasons for doing so at the time."
His meditations in the park came back to him and he laughed softly. "And yet I know my reasoning seems flimsy indeed, now."


"I realize now I did it to get your attention in the way safest to my continued living."
For the first time he let a note of worry- something that had been in the back of his mind since dinner- creep in. "If I had seized the Force in your presence at any time I could only have expected immediate death."
He saw the confirmation in the man's eyes, had heard it when had spoken earlier. "And while I am a Sigma, I knew opportunities to speak with you would be limited."
He shrugged apologetically. "I took the opportunity that fate has provided and willingly submit to your discipline. I am sorry."


He waited expectantly...but confidently as well. Tonight the will of the Force would be done, one way or another. But he believed the Force had not set his feet on this path to this night for nothing.


Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jul 2 2014, 08:25 PM.