The First Age

When the alarm beeped, Jensen groggily forgot where he'd crashed those short hours beforehand. He rolled like usual to slap the sound to silence, but rather than slapping the bedside table, his arm, shortly followed by the rest of him, swatted through empty air.

The impact of landing on the floor shocked a pained grunt out of him. Sometime in the blur of the next few moments, Jensen remembered crashing on the couch rather than pulling out the bed. He also remembered why in the form of a throbbing headache, cricked neck and foul mood. Then again, falling off the couch might have had something to do with that latter observation.

Rubbing the temptation from his eyes to go back to sleep right there on the rug, he finally managed to shove to his feet. Only to stumble about until the alarm was silenced, coffee was microwaved, and the shower was started. The electricity was still on the fritz, so he silently willed both water heater and microwave to function for a few short minutes then they could both go cold again. The more important of those two devices being the microwave; his hyperdrive gas tank was running on fumes.

Before heading out, Jensen decided it was worth a change of clothes to meet John Smith. The man was a theological legend. Not only for his knowledge of the Bible, but as a resource cited by everyone to pass through seminary or divinity school in the last ten years. Which included Jensen before being recruited to the senior pastor position he'd held until recently.

Not that recently, he thought upon glancing at his image in the mirror. His hair was longer than he ever kept it before, but rather than curling around his eyes, he'd slicked it back, straight and flat. Wisps of a beard curled from his jaw and chin when he'd always been smooth-shaven before. Then, of course, there was the anorexic gaze of a formerly passionate man that barely recognized himself. Why in the world was he doing this? If John recognized who he was, it would be like pouring salt on the shallow wounds given him that morning when the young American lady pieced him together.

With a sigh, Jensen unclenched his jaw, buttoned his jacket, and took off. He was going because he was human, and there were some temptations that were too much to resist.

It was late-afternoon when he arrived at Smith's building across town. It was an upscale building in a beautiful neighborhood. In fact, there was a peaceful park within walking distance that Jensen could imagine himself enjoying on a daily basis. Surprisingly, Moscow was dotted with many such havens of serenity. There were suppose to be more parks in this city than any other in the world. Something has to even out the eye sores, the satirical thought arose. The Ascendancy had good taste. Moscow was almost unrecognizable today compared to its turn of the century version in areas such as this. The CCD was extremely proud of its capital, and they should be. Anyone with an appreciation of history found the city fascinating, including Jensen. Maybe that was part of why he came here in the first place. That, and, the city was as infamous for those wanting to hide as those seeking celebrity.

Jensen was expected, and the doorman escorted him on the elevator to the building's top floor where Smith's loft was located. Jensen thanked the man with a CCD bill without so much as thinking about whether or not it was expected to tip, steadied his nerves, and carried himself to Smith's door. Where he knocked soundly.

John stepped out of the World of Dreams into his loft and once again almost lost his footing. Strain?
John felt no strain. Just a little vertigo from the translation from one world to the other. It seemed so much easier to control the Dream while being there in the flesh. John wondered if there were limits to what he could take back and forth with him when traveling in the flesh.

John checked his wallet. Talk about timing, Jensen was due to arrive any minute. Taking a quick look around, John realized just how cluttered his loft was. The world was in a sad state of affairs when a billionaire couldn't keep his house clean. Scrolls, books, and tablets covered almost every surface in his main room. Tomorrow his library would be fully set up with it's environmental controls and appropriate lighting so he could begin transferring his collection from here and the storage facility that housed most of what he had brought over from Texas so far.

John genuinely liked Jensen. Not because he was also a scholar or a fellow believer, but because Jensen, like John himself, had also fallen yet refused to give up. John was pondering how to break the ice and let Jensen know that he knew. Maybe he should tell Jensen about his own fall and recovery?

"Mr. Smith, your guest has arrived"
came out over the intercom. "We are escorting him up now."
Well, no use trying to tidy up now. Moments later, there was a knock at the door.

John answered the door and invited Jensen into his loft. "Sorry about the mess, but I have had all my focus on getting my new house ready that I have neglected the place."
As Jensen was walking in, John's eyes came to rest on the recent letter he had received from Armande. And his automatic pistol lying right next to it.

John smiled at Jensen, "Please forgive the presence of my Ingram Mark 11. I sometimes travel in rough circles. I'll put that away."
He collected his firearm, and offered Jensen a seat and something to drink.


Edited by doulou, Oct 16 2013, 08:53 PM.

It was a rare day when Jensen met the eyes of another man and didn't find an excuse to pull his collar, shift his gaze, and focus elsewhere. Quite different behavior for a man who was once famous for balancing compassion with the directness of harsh truths. Uttering what his beloved cringed to hear tore him up inside, yet he believed in the duty of his pastoral calling, and often erred on the side of doing what needed to be done. Yet here, John's door opened, and he found himself shaking hands with the man and locking onto his gaze unabashed. The last two days of anticipation welled into this moment, and as he crossed the threshold, Jensen realized he was far less stressed than he thought he would be. In fact, he was excited. Something has to be wrong about this, he thought. If anyone were an expert in self-doubt, it was him.

Jensen studied the environment swirling around John. Indeed it did seem to be swirling chaos. Yet somehow it was an ordered chaos. Books were haphazardly stacked, but also arranged, perhaps with respect to theme or chronology. Tablets and scrolls littered most surfaces, including the floor here and there, but were still protected from the elements. Despite John's apologetic explanation, Jensen twinged with offense. Not personally, of course, but he'd expected a man on John's level to be more reverant with his priceless antiquities. From his own collection, Jensen only his beloved Book remained, but he cherished it. Likely because he assumed he would never again buy another, and there was significance to holding the weight of a Bible in one's hands not transferred to electronic versions.

In all there was to see in the room, the soft gleam of metal, out of place, caught his eye. The presence of a weapon gave him pause. The study didn't linger long, Jensen was a true born Texan himself, birthed and raised outside Wichita Falls, and he understood all geniuses were eccentric, but he disagreed with the appropriateness of carrying a weapon around. Protection was one thing, but men of God should put their faith in Him rather than trust to shields built by violence.

Then again, a man who could slaughter others by mere thought alone probably shouldn't judge.

The seat was comfortable enough, but in true gentlemanly fashion, he accepted the offered drink even though he was not thirsty, and sat in anticipation that John would not do likewise until his guest was served.

He lifted his glass and nodded a repeat of their former greeting. "Thank-you for having me, John," he drawled. John's accent was far less pronounced than his own. Probably an after-effect of the two dozen languages the man spoke. John was a walking Tower of Babel. Oh how much simpler things would have been if the world knew only one language.

"I apologize again for interrupting you at MSU, what with you being on your way out the door and all." Jensen set the drink aside to unbutton his jacket. He kept himself right on the edge of comfortable without being informal. Taking off one's jacket without invitation was almost as grave an offense in his parent's household as doffing one's socks and shoes and kicking back right there on the couch. "So I appreciate the chance to continue our conversation."

He took a glance around, "It looks like you have quite the collection," but his eyes were inevitably drawn toward the place he originally saw the firearm. "It must be quite the task to gather it all. I would not have thought work such as yours would be so dangerous."

John poured himself some water sat across from Jensen. Looking at Jensen, John could not help but ponder why God had the two of them cross paths. John knew who Jensen was, at least to some degree. The real question in John's mind was who is Jensen today?

John rolled up his sleeve and took long look at his brand. "Before I answer you, I need to give you a little background on who I am today. When I was a teenager, I was gifted with visions. That and heighted senses. I was terrified and ran from what God had given me to prepare me for His work. I suppressed it all with drugs and alcohol for over fifteen years. When I finally sobered up, my gifts returned. Shortly thereafter, I received this in a vision. If you look closely, you will notice that there is no scar tissue. One could almost believe that the brand was natural."


"In my work, I have gone all over the world in search of clues that God left throughout every ancient culture in literature and mythos. Clues that pertain to the end times, a cyclic seeming event given what I have recently uncovered. The gun is for some of those travels."


"Most of the manuscripts and tablet I have here are perfect copies of original works from my library. The cuneiform tablets were the hardest to have reproduced. Only the Latin Bibles present are from antiquity. I needed those for my research. Part of the reason I have invested so much effort in the replication of these texts was to aid me in finding forgeries and alterations."


John paused for Jensen's reaction. As the former pastor of a mega-church, John didn't know how Jensen would take his most recent discovery. John didn't like it himself, but John had realized long ago that God wasn't really interested in John's approval just his obedience. John still wasn't receiving e-mails from God with 'Please read and edit today's agenda as you see fit'
.

Jensen appeared rather stoic and somewhat disbelieving. John wouldn't blame him for declaring him a heretic. In a manner of speaking, John really was a heretic. He had stepped outside of Orthodox Christian belief. Unfortunately, it was the truth.

"I would like you tell me what you think of this, it was just discovered from the wreckage of an Egyptian sea-faring vessel. It's date is somewhere around 3000 B.C., give or take a century or two. The original will be here in Moscow inside of a week."
John handed Jensen a copy of what he retrieved earlier that day.

Έρχεται. Το ένα προείπε της από Άτροπος. Το αντιτορπιλικό. Η αναίμακτη κατακτητή, ο οποίος δεν θα κατακτήσει με στρατούς και μηχανές του πολέμου, αλλά και με χρυσό και πονηριά. Θα σημάνει την αρχή του τέλους. Θα πρέπει να επισημαίνονται με το σκοτωμένο ζώο, και ο κόσμος θα καταρρεύσει με τον ερχομό του. Απολλύων έρχεται. Φύγετε πριν από την επιστροφή των νεκρών θεών.


He is coming. The one foretold of by Atropos. The Destroyer. The bloodless conqueror, who will conquer not with armies and machines of war, but with gold and guile. He will herald the beginning of the end. He will be marked with the slain beast, and the world will crumble with his coming. Apollyon comes. Flee before the return of the dead gods.




Edited by doulou, Oct 27 2013, 09:36 PM.

John got right to it. There was no beating around the bush with him. Jensen appreciated it. Unfortunately, it was a rare pastor that didn't find himself politicking more than preaching half the time. So John knew what he was about, and Jensen leaned in to the surprising story that followed.

John admitted to being gifted with visions from the Lord, but it wasn't disbelief that solidified Jensen's reaction. It was shock.

Men were chosen by the Lord throughout the entirety of the Bible to carry out His will. Followers and faithful spanned all seven of the Bible's dispensations; though perhaps the first dispensation was subject to interpretation regarding whether the first man, Adam, was chosen or created. Either way, the seven delineations of the history of the Lord's will often selected men to become standard bearers of His will. Jensen believed without a shadow of a doubt that they were worthy of such honors. Was John one of them? He listened on, gaze drawn downward to the mark on John's arm. Doulou. A thin line drew itself across Jensen's lips. Doúlos was a bondslave in Strong's concordance, but the significance of the word was not as western culture would translate it. In the New Testament, the Greek origin merited doúlos with the highest dignity, namely believers in Christ that willingly live under His authority. They were His devoted followers.

And John claimed to have the mark given to him in a vision.

He suppressed the urge to graze fingertips across the flesh. This was no Virgin Mary floating in a bowl of Cheerios. It was real. Though whether self-inflicted or not remained to be seen. If it were a brand of God, why Greek? Why not the language of Israel? Was he reaching to the Gentiles?

John smoothed his sleeve to his wrist, and led Jensen on a stationary tour around the room, pointing out the copies of priceless items he'd discovered in his travels. Which explained why they were so haphazardly kept. They were not the originals as Jensen assumed: a measure of the quality of their copies to trick him though he were only an amateur at such things. Needing a gun on his person to undertake these studies, and although Jensen understood the realistic dangers John was in to do so, he still wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea. Violence breeds violence. It was better to let a man rob you of material possessions than take the life of a creature made in God's image. However, Jensen revealed none of these inner thoughts.

He was soon given a copy of writings that appeared to be a photograph of the tablet described in the articles he'd read about John's recent works. He stared down at the image in his palms, blinking across the shapes of words he'd not studied in years. In fact, if the text had been in Hebrew, Jensen doubted he'd been able to make out much more than a familiar word here or there. His languages were rough around the edges.

Finally, he laid the text in his lap and peered up at John, unsure how to react. But the thoughts flashing through his mind were clear in his gaze: That you think I can read this tells me you know who I am.

But he wasn't ready to confront John about it . He turned back to studying the words. He wasn't a master linguist, and his education about such things was dulled by the passage of time.

He started shaking his head. "You're saying a tablet dated to 3000 BCE and written in Greek was found on an Egyptian vessel sunk in the Gulf of Mexico? It makes no sense." He looked up as a student to his professor, seeking the answer he felt must simply be beyond him. Jensen knew which of them was the authority. It was a deference he respected.

"That predates Koine Greek by 2700 years. Even the Myceneans' Linear B isn't old enough. The only thing close enough is Pre-proto-Greek, but that's still 500 years too late. And this..." he ran fingertips across the letters. "This looks more like the dialect of the Septuagint than Homeric script." At least, it did to Jensen's untrained eye, and even if it was Homeric, the timelines didn't add up. This couldn't possibly exist. Yet he was staring right at it.

His history of the Egyptians was not as sharp as that of the Greeks, but even Jensen knew no vessel belonging to either nation could possibly have ventured so far across the Atlantic. Never mind the prophecy the tablet was clearly describing. That was a whole other, rather terrifying, subject.

Finally. This was the first time since he was approached by Jensen that the man smelled like a stalwart soldier for the Faith. The man that John knew Jensen to be. Jensen was spot on about the Greek. It was written by either an educated native speaker or a well versed linguist. It was more akin to Paul's Greek than that of John's obvious unfamiliarity with writing in Greek.

"It is almost as old as some of the most ancient Sumerian writings. It is the oldest known piece of Greek in existence, so old it is on a stone tablet. It not only pre-dates when we thought that the Greek language was developed, it pre-dates contemporary beliefs of not only Biblical Authorship. It pre-dates the Patriarchs. It pre-dates when some scholars believe Adam would have been created. And this is only one of many such prophecies recovered from the vessel. All of them seem to pertain to 'A War of the Heavens.'"


John visibly shuddered at voicing that in front of another human. Not just in front of another believer, but a man that John admired and respected for years, Jensen James. A man who was able to relate the Old Covenant with the New Covenant in a way that could embarrass any theologian past or present. A man that could preach the Sufficiency of Christ with such authority and passion while presenting it in a way that the newest Christian could easily grasp. It was a pleasing thought that God chose not to put Jensen on a shelf. That fact in itself was all the conformation John needed to be certain that God was not done with Jensen James. 'No one can snatch them out of my hand'(John10:28b).


"And well over 3000 years before it was believed that anyone had the capability to cross the Atlantic. I have yet to confirm this, but I believe that this prophetic writing is inscribed in Egyptian Hieroglyphics, Sumerian cuneiform, Sanskrit, and in at least one language that I have never encountered."


"What has me baffled is why would anyone would undertake the enormous effort and expense to translate a prophecy in so many languages and then carry them across the ocean. The danger of doing this 500 years ago was staggering. Can you imagine what could possible compel some one to do this almost 5000 years ago? These people were not on an expedition. They were on a exodus. They were running for their lives with the most valuable of their possessions. Knowledge. How eminent did they believe this prophecy to be? To flee blindly into the unknown?"


John looked into himself. He allowed his mind to float momentarily. It would make this easier for him. To say the unthinkable. To voice aloud what was obviously done by a conspiring group of people who were once in control of ALL knowledge.

"'Mighty Men of Reknown, The Sons of God, Angels, and Demons', I believe that they exist in fact on this earth today. I believe that they may have always been in existence on earth, and I believe that information was withheld for reasons unknown. I have personally encountered and slain things that are nothing less than supernatural. And they were without a doubt evil. And inhuman."


"Now with the coming of what can be nothing other than the emergence of the Army of Darkness, where is the Army of Light?"



Edited by doulou, Oct 28 2013, 09:57 PM.

A war of the heavens was not only described by the Christian Bible, but confirmed as an event that must happen. The war between God and Satan was already won at the moment of Creation by the mere existence of the Trinity's lamb. It was only a matter of time before the spoils broke out onto the earth. Of this, Jensen had no doubt. That the war against sin was already won was the cornerstone of his sermons. If sin was not conquered by Christ, then there was no point in being a Christian at all, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.

John's trembling was not comforting.

Jensen brushed an uneasy hand across the slope of his hair, nervous to hear more. Yet John continued.

Cultures that were separated by oceans and scattered by postdiluvian migration should have no contact. Yet, there were striking similarities across many cultures regarding the earliest known periods of human history. Primarily, the source of all these deviations were due to the descendants of Noah and his sons: the only humans to have survived the Great Flood.

Jensen shook his head, "Few scholars," he corrected. A bit of angst snuck around the edges of his voice to speak up against an expert like John. But Jensen believed passionately in the infallible, inerrant Word, where prose should be translated literally. Sure, some scholars dated the creation of Adam as after the alleged date of this tablet, but it was a long, unlikely shot. "Antediluvian, however...." his thoughts trailed. A pre-Flood stone tablet could survive so, and the shape of the world was markedly different before the raging waters carved out new continents. A prophecy that was shared word for word in five different languages from around the world was possible. The unidentified language was cause for concern.

"The shape of the Antediluvian world was far different from what we know today. What seems the passage of an entire ocean may have in 3000 BCE been no more impossible than a voyage across the Mediterranean," he suggested. How had John come to conclude exodus from expedition? Then the idea struck. The average estimation of the Flood dated in the mid 2500 BCE, but plus or minus 500 years...

Epiphany heightened the excitement in his voice. "Maybe they were fleeing. From the Flood. And intending to salvage their histories. Are these prophecies all dated to come from the same period of time? Απολλύων is known, long before John was shown the Revelation, but any sane man would lay the catastrophic destruction of the Flood at the bloodless feet of one called Destroyer." It didn't mean they referenced the same person, and who was Atropos?

Jensen rose to pace, talking to himself more than he was John, but the challenge of understanding tugged at his love for history and his need to understand God's will. A foolish attempt though it may be. No man can comprehend the will of the Almighty.

Then the last of John's phrasings struck.

Jensen paled ashen, staring with dull helplessness. His skin curled and palms broke into a cold sweat. The idea of the unfolding of the events of Revelation should chill any man to his core, but Jensen lingered on a specific phrasing that spiked terror into his spine. I have personally encountered and slain things that are nothing less than supernatural. And they were without a doubt evil. And inhuman.

He glanced at the place John had stowed the gun: he'd slain such creatures with that very weapon. The brief wave of euphoric distraction of the past few minutes crashed and dispersed as water fallen upon rocks. Should he tell him?

Breathlessly, he responded. All the emotion of the morning with Tony, all the fatigue of years of sleeplessness split his voice into a plea. "You're right, John. The army of darkness does exist on earth today." Standing upon foundation of sand, he sank to his knees.

In that instant, the world sharpened into razor focus. With that blasphemous power, he wielded a web into an orb of light that hovered small but beautiful as a marble of glory. It was warm and welcoming: a gently pulsating light devious as Lucifer himself, and proving to John exactly what he faced. "I'm one of them." It felt wonderful to confess, and already his chest eased some of its aforeheld tightness.

"Please kill me." Surprisingly, for an abomination, he was rather calm about the resolution.


Edited by Jensen James, Oct 29 2013, 11:18 AM.

"Inerrant and infallible"
John said. "But not comprehensive."
What does God choose not to tell us? "The Word is alive."
John stared at Jensen. At Jensen and the orb of... was it light?

It was not the appearance of Jensen that had John dumbfounded. Nor was it his words. "You're right, John. The army of darkness does exist on earth today. I'm one of them. Please kill me."
It was his scent. First, it was one of utter horror. And then, it was of peace. He smelled, full of the Spirit. Yet Jensen thought that he was evil? It was amazing.

John couldn't help but to laugh. "You are not evil. And I will not kill you."
John stood and took a half step and then looked Jensen in the eyes. John removed his contacts. John's burnished golden eyes locked with Jensen's. "I am not evil either. I consider myself to be a recruiter for the Army of Light. I once believed that I was to be a soldier, and I hunted monsters. I have come to realize that even though I can kill with a great deal of efficiency, I am not capable of waging the kind of war that is obviously coming. Apparently you, on the other hand, are capable."


John sat down again. He drained his glass of water. John could smell the whirling emotions that came and went in Jensen. John hoped that Jensen would realize that supernatural does not necessarily equate to evil.

"Doulou. A bond servant. A slave. A servant whose master has the power of life and death over him. I serve the Lord God and His son, Jesus Christ. I serve the light. Will you, Pastor James, serve the light?"



Edited by doulou, Oct 29 2013, 10:02 PM.

John laughed.

Jensen was speechless. Which was a rather impressive feat because he could talk for hours about pretty much anything.

It was clear John was uninterested in wiping Jensen off the face of the planet. Therefore, he pushed warily to stand. His shoulders dragged, and he rubbed tired eyes.

Movement caught his attention. John had pulled contacts from his eyes, and a further dumbfounded Jensen gaped at what was revealed. The man's irises glowed yellow life. There was nothing inherently evil about the color of a man's irises, but Jensen wanted to recoil nonetheless. He felt pinned by the snarling gaze of a predator. He'd never been more afraid of someone since himself, and thoughts of the heavenly host appearing in the skies above the shepherds announcing the birth of Christ flashed emotion through his memory, but somehow despite nerves fraying close to terror, he stood his ground and listened to what the man had to say.

He shook his head, prone to believe in John's inherent innocence more than his own. Jensen had killed a man in cold-blooded revenge. He deceived millions of viewers. He'd counseled how many young people exactly like himself to change their ways!? He betrayed his wife, abandoned his sons, and fled into the shadows like a coward. God would not bless such a vile son with heavenly power. The only comparison he could make was to Saul, a man that hunted Christians of the early church and saw them tortured and crucified, was chosen to be the Lord's on the Damascus Road, but surely after all Jensen had done, he was beyond similar redemption. He was no Apostle Paul.

Jensen followed John back to their seats, and sank onto his. He hid his face in his hands while the man issued his question. He knew then. Who and what he was. Yet he still offered the commission. Jensen looked up, eyes rimmed glistening and red. It had never really occurred to him that despite everything he'd done he could still serve. With all his heart it's what he wanted. With every fiber of his being he wanted the Lord's peace again.

His gaze cleared sure as if he'd been washed in the Blood anew.

"Yes,"
he answered breathlessly. Though he had no idea where to begin. In fact, the idea was enormously daunting, but before worry could overcome, he took solace in the cradling arms of the Holy Spirit he'd not sensed in years. Comfort would not be enough, though. He was going to need John's help to carry on. He licked his lips and uttered the phrase that was only hollow words the first time he'd said them, a blasphemous promise for a man that wanted to Pastor the church, but now, his soul sang them. "I am willing,"
and strands of joyous tears fell unabashed.

'Since the time of John the Baptist the Kingdom has been beset by violence, and the violent shall take it by force.'(Matt11:12)
" I think I have even more unsettling news. Let me show you something. If the events that are transpiring are in fact what they seem, I believe that I know who 'Apollyon' is. And he is in Moscow."


John kept telling himself that he wasn't a soldier, but his behavior said otherwise. The moment Jensen declared himself John was on his feet and grabbing a newly transcribed page. He turn to Jensen and handed it to the man.

He will move into the East and dominate the land. Where he walks, the Earth shall crumble at his feet. The Great Serpent shall be torn from his flesh yet his worm does not die and his fire is unquenched. He is an abomination to all mankind.


"Nikolai Brandon was born in the US and then moved to Russia. Somehow he miraculously became the head of state and has since annexed half of the world. Bloodlessly by all appearances. He is over sixty yet looks younger than either one of us. Many scholars are divided as to what Isaiah meant by 'the worm does not die and the fire is unquenched'. Funny how that verse appears here. I think it means something along the lines of the undead or the undying."


John put the first page that he handed to Jensen on the table with the second paper. By far John's mind was the greatest weapon in his arsenal, and he was well practiced with its use. "So we have 'the bloodless conqueror' who 'moved to the east' then 'dominated the land' and 'has unnatural life'. The Ascendancy. The man practically proclaims his own divinity. The 'mark of the slain beast' and this reference to the 'serpent torn from his flesh' could be the same thing, but I don't know what it means."


"But the Antichrist, it seems, walks the earth today. We need allies. We need to find his enemies."
The Last Hunt.
John finally realized its significance.

John knew that he was not a leader. He did his work in the trenches. Evil had a leader. The leader for Good needed to show himself. And soon.

"So far, only two men have stood against the Ascendancy and not been crushed. Nicholas Trano and Jon Little Bird. What do you know of either of them?"
Could either of these men be the key? And what about Armande Nicodemus? Could the Holy See be preparing for battle what could only be The Man of Perdition? And John was to meet Armande in two days. THAT must be why he is coming. The only question was whether or not Armande was friend or foe.

Edited by doulou, Oct 30 2013, 09:48 PM.