By: Ruth Petroni

It hadn’t seemed like that important an investigation, just checking a money source, but since Thrush had been so quiet lately and since both Napoleon and Illya were bored, they went to the nightclub together. The Kit Kat Club, they’d been in a place with this same name before and that one had been a Thrush headquarters.

"You don’t really think Thrush would be stupid enough to open another nightclub with the same name do you?" Illya asked his partner.

Napoleon looked at him with a sly grin on his face, "I don’t know, I was always told that evil could be pretty dumb. Maybe they’re finally slipping." He walked casually over to the bar followed by his Russian partner. He ordered a scotch for himself and a vodka for Illya, turning around to scan the crowd of dancers. "It’s possible our informant was wrong, but you know Mr. Waverly, he’ll want us to be sure."

He took a small sip of his drink when it arrived; watching as always amazed when Illya drained his glass in one gulp. "I don’t know how you do that," he said laughing.

"I was raised on vodka, Napoleon, it’s the same as mother’s milk to me." He turned quickly to order another drink and swayed slightly.

"Illya, what’s wrong?" Napoleon’s voice was full of concern.

"I think I need some air." Illya began to stumble for the door.

Napoleon walked over and took his arm, leading him out the front door towards the car. He opened the passenger door and lowered Illya onto the seat, walking swiftly around to the driver’s side and started the car. He wanted to get out of the area before he checked on his partner. "Illya," he said loudly, "Illya." There was no response, looking over he saw his partner laying unconscious on the seat, his head lolling on his shoulder.

Napoleon had driven only three blocks when he started to get dizzy. Pulling his communicator pen out of his pocket he opened it up. "Open Channel D" he said his voice beginning to slur.

Mr. Waverly’s response came swiftly, "Yes Mr. Solo?"

"I’m heading towards headquarters, sir, you better get someone out here. I think we’ve both been drugged….." With that he passed out and didn’t even see the car come to rest against the mailbox.

===============================================================

The sensation of coming back to consciousness was painful. His head hurt and his thoughts were totally blurred. Looking down the man saw he was sitting on a hospital bed in a hospital room that was empty except for himself. He looked at his arm for a name band, there was none.

Just then the door opened and a nurse walked in, "Well sir, welcome back, how are we feeling?"

The dark haired man looked up at her with a blank look on his face. He didn’t respond.

"Sir, are you okay?" she said.

He looked at her again and sat up, swaying on the bed before swinging his legs off to stand up.

"You must stay in bed sir, you haven’t got enough strength for this."

The man continued to ignore her, drunkenly walked into the bathroom, turning on the light and looking at himself in the mirror. The face that stared back at him was unknown. Turning back to the nurse he said, "Who am I?" Just before passing out in a heap.

When he woke up again, the Nurse was gone and there was a Doctor and another man in his room. He opened his eyes slowly this time and realized that the pain in his head was gone.

"Welcome back Mr. Solo," the doctor said quietly, "Are you feeling any better?"

"You called me Mr. Solo, I take it that is my name?" the dark haired man asked.

"Yes sir," the other man in the room said, "Your name is Napoleon Solo and you are the Chief Enforcement Agent for U.N.C.L.E. I am your immediate superior Alan Gordon."

"I don’t remember who I am," the man now known as Solo responded.

"We know that, you have what is commonly called hysterical amnesia," Mr. Gordon answered quickly, "It was trauma induced and your memory should return shortly."

The Doctor turned to Mr. Gordon, "Alan, I don’t think…"

He was interrupted, "Doctor, this man is my best agent, he can take the shock and he would want to know what is going on." He turned back to Solo, "Mr. Solo, I can be blunt or gentle with this, you decide."

Napoleon took a short quick breath, "Give it to me Mr. Gordon."

Gordon paused for just one second; "You were leaving on a family vacation with your wife and two children. You were all just getting in your car and getting ready to leave your house when an enemy agent tossed a grenade in the car. You hadn’t gotten in yet and were blown clear. Your wife and two daughters were killed instantly. Thus the trauma that has caused you to lose your memory."

Napoleon looked at him, reaching into his mind to find the grief at the loss of his family. There was none there. "Sir, I don’t remember any of it." He answered calmly.

"I didn’t expect that you would Mr. Solo," came the reply, "However, as soon as you are physically fit, we know where the enemy agent is and you have been assigned to capture or kill him. My preference and yours I’m sure will be to kill him." Gordon reached into his jacket for a small manila envelope. Pulling out a color picture of a young blonde man. "This is the Thrush agent who killed your family Mr. Solo. Remember his face, because given the opportunity he will kill you, his name is Illya Kuryakin. Keep that picture, you may need it"

===============================================================

Unknown to Napoleon Solo, the young blonde in the picture was at that moment waking up in another room in the same hospital. He blinked his eyes twice trying to clear his vision and his eyes came to rest on a young blonde girl sleeping in the chair in the corner of the room.

Just then her eyes opened, "Illya," she cried running over to the bed and throwing her arms around him, "Oh Illya, you’re awake." The tears were running down her face in earnest now.

Illya put his arms around her trying to calm her down. "Miss," he said quietly, "I take it I know you?"

She paused in her tears, "Oh Illya, they said you might not remember anything, but I was sure you would remember me. I’m your wife!"

Illya looked at his hand and saw the golden wedding band glittering. "My wife," he said his voice shaking, "I don’t remember you."

"Oh Illya," she began to cry harder as the door opened and the Doctor walked in, followed by Alan Gordon. "Mr. Gordon, you were right, he doesn’t remember me." Her voice broke again as Gordon walked over and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Good Evening, Mr. Kuryakin." Gordon turned to him, "I’m sure you don’t know me either, I am Alan Gordon, your immediate superior at U.N.C.L.E."

Illya knew he had heard of U.N.C.L.E. before but had no idea who any of the people in the room were. "Mr. Gordon, you say I work for you and this is my wife, but you knew I wouldn’t remember you, how?" his voice was getting steadier the more he talked.

"You are Illya Kuryakin, my Chief Enforcement Agent for U.N.C.L.E. You were at home with your family the night before an important mission was to be launched. Your home was invaded by an enemy agent who shot you with a mind wipe drug. After you were unconscious he set fire to your house." He paused and looked at the blonde girl.

She turned to look at Illya, "Illya, he tied me up, but you came to and dragged me outside before passing out again…." She looked back towards Alan Gordon.

"Your baby daughter was upstairs in the house Mr. Kuryakin, she was killed in the fire as was your mother. We found you unconscious and Angela tied up outside the house." Alan Gordon paused to let the information sink in.

Illya was trying desperately to remember anything that had been told to him. His face was anguished at his inability to even remember his daughter’s name. "This enemy agent?" he asked.

"The man was your mission for the next day Mr. Kuryakin, you were to capture or kill him for U.N.C.L.E. I thought you might like the job now that we know where he is." Gordon looked him right in the eyes. "His name is Napoleon Solo, and we would very much like you to kill him." He reached into his jacket and pulled out another manila envelope, giving the picture to Illya. "Keep this, you may need it."

The look on Illya’s face had turned to pure hatred, "When can I get out of here sir and where do I have to go?"

===============================================================

Napoleon Solo had been taken to a small deserted island off the coast of Florida by an U.N.C.L.E. helicopter and left at a shack on the beach. He had been informed by Alan Gordon that Illya Kuryakin was due on the island any time and that he had enough weapons to take care of the matter swiftly. Upon arriving he had checked the weapons supply and discovered not only handguns but also grenades and two rifles in his supplies, along with enough food and water to last two weeks. It seemed he was well prepared for the enemy.

Napoleon sat down at the table, staring at the picture he held in his hand. Something wasn’t right. He knew the face, but there was no fear or anger connected with it. He leaned his head on his hands, closing his eyes, trying to see his wife and children, but the only face to appear was the young blonde in the picture. Gently smiling a half smile at him, talking to him, laughing with him. This young man, this young Russian, Illya. Illya!

It was as if someone opened a door, his memories came pouring back to him. He was Napoleon Solo and yes he worked for U.N.C.L.E., but Illya Kuryakin was his friend and partner, not an enemy. He kept his eyes closed, remembering taking only a sip of his drink at the Kit Kat Club and remembering Illya swallowing the entire vodka. Thrush must have slipped them an amnesia drug. He hadn’t had enough of the drug for it to maintain it’s influence over him, but Illya had an entire drink of the stuff and if he had been sent to the island to kill Illya, he could bet that Illya would arrive shortly intent on killing him.

Grabbing the backpack that Thrush had conveniently supplied, Napoleon quickly stuffed the food, water and weapons into it. He had to get away from here before his brilliant but deadly partner showed up. If he had been fed a cock and bull story about family and death he knew Illya’s would have been just as tragic and horrible and if Illya couldn’t remember him he would be out for revenge.

Napoleon was out the door of the shack and headed towards the woods when he heard the noise announcing the arrival of another helicopter about a mile down the beach. He had to come up with some type of plan to capture Kuryakin and restore his memory before Illya was able to kill him.

The thought frightened him because he knew what the memory of killing Napoleon would do to his friend. He had seen inside the soul of his young Russian friend a few times, this man who claimed to have no emotions at all would be destroyed at the thought of harming his partner and best friend. The same way Napoleon cringed at the thought of ever hurting Illya.

Harming Illya would never be a consideration, he would have to be captured and his memory restored. If Napoleon could fight off the affects of the drug, he knew his partner could too.

About a half mile into the woods he discovered a cave in a small hillside. Hidden behind some trees and shrubs it seemed the perfect place to set up camp and make a plan for capturing his deadly friend.

After settling down in the cave he began looking at his weapons, he realized he had nothing to help him with a capture. Everything he had was for killing only. He would need to sneak back to the shack and see if there was anything he could use to confine his friend once he caught him. He left the rest of the weapons in his hideout, shoving only one handgun in his holster as he left the cave.

Running as quickly as he could back to the shack along a different route, he climbed in the back window. Looking around he found two small coils of rope and a fisherman’s net which he grabbed and shoved into the pillow he had picked up with a sleeping bag. Napoleon was just climbing back out the window when the front door of the cabin was kicked in. He dove to the ground, praying he hadn’t been seen and listened as the cabin was searched.

Illya had been dropped at a shack a mile down the beach, upon entering the shack he had discovered a similar cache of weapons to what Napoleon had found, however in addition he had found a very sharp hunting knife, which he had quickly pushed into his boot. This would come in handy in case he was taken by surprise.

He had been told by Alan Gordon that they knew Napoleon Solo had a shack up the beach but weren’t sure if he had already arrived or would be there shortly.

Illya knew what he had to do; he had to kill this man for what had been done to his family. But, when he looked at the picture of this murderer of babies he still couldn’t feel any hatred. The picture looked so familiar, he knew he had met the man before, but there was no anger when he looked at him. He was putting this down to his amnesia, which hadn’t improved. He still had no memory of who he was and couldn’t remember his wife or baby.

But, that didn’t matter, he had a duty to perform, and it would get done. He slipped three of the grenades into his pocket, put one handgun into his holster and the other under his shirt in the back of his pants. He decided to carry one of the rifles and put extra ammunition in the other pocket. The food and water he would leave for later when he needed it. He had to get this mission accomplished so he could get back to his wife and get his memory back.

It took him less than ten minutes to jog down the beach and spot the other shack. It appeared to be empty, but appearances could be deceiving. He snuck up to the front door and kicked it in, holding the rifle up and ready to fire. The room was empty. Someone had been here recently, he could tell by the way things were flung around, but whoever it was, they were gone now.

Walking back outside he saw footprints heading from the shack towards the woods. He knew from his own reactions he must be a good tracker, he began to track his prey.

Napoleon watched as Illya followed his footsteps into the woods. He knew his friend would lose them about one hundred yards in, that was when he began brushing them out with a branch. He also knew Illya could track a mountain goat across rocks, so it wouldn’t take him long to find the cave.

Leaving the pillow and sleeping bag outside the window, Napoleon grabbed the rope and fishing net and ran swiftly back into the woods, sneaking around to get ahead of his friend and praying for a place where he could capture the young Russian.

He found his opportunity by almost walking into it. A large tree was growing right in the middle of the path Kuryakin would be taking into the woods. Napoleon nimbly climbed the tree and laying full length on the largest branch, held the fishing net at ready. He knew he would only get one shot at this.

Holding his breath upon spotting his friend, Napoleon waited until Illya was directly underneath him and dropped the fishing net on him. Rolling off the branch he tackled him from behind and hating himself, hit Illya in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

Knowing the Russian and his hard head, he wouldn’t be unconscious for very long so Napoleon swiftly removed the net and tied Illya’s arms behind his back. Also, knowing his friends feet were as deadly as his hands, he tied them together then gently laid the man on the ground reaching into his pockets and clothes he removed the grenades and guns then rolled him up in the fishing net.

Not wanting his partner to see his hiding spot he picked him up as carefully as he could and carried him back to the shack, laying him gently on the small cot. Finding another piece of rope, Napoleon then tied his friend down to the cot with two more ropes over his arms and legs. Feeling he was as prepared as he was going to get, Solo picked up an empty can and walked down to the beach, filling it with water he walked back into the shack.

Using a piece of cloth he found, he dipped it in the water and began rubbing it gently on his friend’s face. "Illya," he said quietly, "Come on Illya, I didn’t hit you that hard."

The man’s eyes opened suddenly, looking at his friend with a look of pure hatred. "Why didn’t you kill me?" he asked with venom in his voice. "Are you only good at killing innocent women and children?"

Even expecting it, Napoleon was still shocked at the hatred spewing forth from his friend. "Illya, I don’t know what they told you, but I didn’t kill anyone. I’m not your enemy."

"You are Napoleon Solo, aren’t you," his voice was still low and deadly, "And I am an agent for U.N.C.L.E.?"

"Yes you are, but so am I, I’m your partner, we’ve worked together for more than four years." Napoleon was trying to keep his voice calm. "We’re best friends, I know more about you than I sometimes think you know yourself." He laughed quietly.

"Do you really think I would believe this fairy story?" Illya’s face had turned to concrete. "My wife saw you attack me, she watched you burn down our house, with our baby and my mother inside."

"Illya, how much of what she told you do you remember?" Napoleon had to make him listen. "Thrush kidnapped both of us. We were at the Kit Kat Club; our drinks were spiked with some type of amnesia drug. You are not married and have never had a baby. You are the best friend I’ve ever had in my life; and are closer to me than a brother. I could never and will never hurt you!" The last was said by Napoleon knowing it was true. Even if Illya should try to kill him, he knew there was no way he could hurt this man, not even to save his own life.

"Illya, you have to try to remember, Thrush is going to show up soon expecting to find one of us dead. I’m sure they have great plans for whoever is left and those plans don’t include a hero’s welcome. Whoever is left alive will be taken in for interrogation and torture."

The sound of a helicopter startled Napoleon. Running to the front window, he saw it landing in the direction Illya had arrived from. "We have to get out of here my friend." Quickly untying the ropes holding his partner to the cot, he lifted him up and lowered him carefully out the back window.

"What in the hell do you think you’re doing?" his partners voice was once again deadly.

"I’m saving your life whether you want me to or not," Napoleon replied as he followed his friend out the window. "Whether you remember or not, those men are going to want us dead and I’m not going to let that happen." He bent down to scoop up the sleeping bag then lifted his friend over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and ran back into the woods.

With Illya struggling, it took a while to reach the cave, but he had tied his partner up tight enough that he wasn’t worried about him slipping free. When he reached the cave he climbed in first then dragged his friend in behind him. Reaching out with a branch he had left inside, he wiped away all signs of footprints outside the hidden shelter.

Sliding back into the cave he spread the sleeping bag out then lifted his friend onto it, making him as comfortable as possible.

"Why are you doing this?" Illya’s voice was quieter than it had been before. "Why didn’t you just kill me when you had the chance?"

Napoleon looked at his friend trying to keep the sense of loss out of his voice but unable to keep the expression off his face, "Illya, I could never hurt you, let alone kill you. I just wish I could get you to believe me. This is all nothing but a plot by Thrush to eliminate both of us. If you kill me, they win."

Illya couldn’t answer; he was trying to assimilate the man before him with the information he had received in the hospital. It made no sense. This man was not a killer, if he was, Illya knew he would be dead by now. And if part of the information he’d been given was wrong, how did he know it wasn’t all a lie. Then he would go back to the tears on his wife’s face; she couldn’t have been lying. "You are a liar!" He watched the hurt cross over Napoleon’s face.

"Fine, I’m a liar," his voice was almost non-existent, "Are you hungry?" He turned to reach for the food when he heard two voices outside the cave, heading further into the woods. "Illya, you may not believe me but please, I have to go out and do something about these two. If they find you they’re liable to kill you, so please be quiet. I’ll be back as quickly as I can."

He reached over and picked up one of the rifles, sliding silently out of the cave. Following behind the two Thrush agents.

Illya waited only long enough to be sure Napoleon was gone before rolling onto his side and lifting his boot up towards his hand. It took a couple of attempts before he was able to reach in and slide the hunting knife out of his boot. He quickly sliced the net and ropes holding him. Solo had been nice enough to leave his extra handgun and rifle in the cave. Scooping them up he followed his prey into the woods.

He caught up with him just in time to see him hit one of the two Thrush agents over the head with a rock then fade back into the trees. The Thrush agent dropped to the ground, dead before he knew what hit him. His partner never even saw Napoleon. The man was good, but not good enough.

The second Thrush agent was headed up a hill with Napoleon right on his trail and Illya following closely behind. He must have made some type of noise because Napoleon stopped suddenly and turned to look in his direction. Knowing he might not get another opportunity, Illya took careful aim with the handgun and fired just as Napoleon started to move again. The bullet caught him in his left thigh.

The pain was so sudden; he spun raising his gun to fire and spotted Illya. Lowering the gun he dove behind a bush for some cover.

The second Thrush agent came running down the hill, spotting Illya he ran over to him. "Mr. Kuryakin, did you get him? I was sent in to help you, is he dead?"

Illya was confused, Napoleon Solo had had him dead to rights, but he hadn’t pulled the trigger. None of this made any sense. "I winged him, he’s headed up the hill." He said calmly, "We need to flush him out, you go that way," he said pointing over to the right. "I’ll go up this way."

Napoleon was almost crawling up the hill; dragging his leg which wouldn’t support him. When he got to the top he discovered it was not the best idea he’d ever had. The hill came to an abrupt end at a cliff, which was a thirty-foot drop straight down into the ocean. He turned to go back down the way he came his gun held at ready and saw Illya standing about ten feet in front of him, his gun pointed at Napoleon’s head. Napoleon lowered his gun, knowing he could not fire.

Looking behind Illya, he could see the Thrush agent sneaking up behind him. His gun pointed at Kuryakin’s back preparing to shoot him. "Illya!" he screamed, raising his gun and firing, putting a bullet in the Thrush agent’s head.

Illya, seeing the gun come back up aimed and fired once at Napoleon without even thinking about it. He spun around in time to see the Thrush agent hit the ground dead, knowing now that Napoleon had not been lying to him. As he turned back around and watched his partner falling backwards off the cliff all of his memories came rushing back.

"Napoleon," he yelled as he dove off the cliff following his friend. He hit the water and went under searching for him. It took a few precious minutes before he spotted his friend floating under water unconscious, blood pouring from his shoulder. He swam swiftly over and grabbed Napoleon by his shirt, pulling him to the surface. Groping desperately for a pulse, and finding none.

Swimming to the shore he lifted his friend gently out of the water and carried him onto the beach. Laying him down on the sand he checked to find Napoleon wasn’t breathing. Rolling him over he began pushing on his back to get the water out. It took only three hard pushes before he began to cough up the seawater. Illya rolled him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke then turned to check the other wounds.

Pulling his own shirt off he began tearing it into strips to use as a bandage on the shoulder and leg wounds, thankful to discover the bullet in his partner’s shoulder had gone straight through. "Napoleon," he patted his friend’s face easily. "Napoleon, I’m sorry." His voice broke as a single tear rolled down his face. "Napoleon, I remember everything."

His partner’s eyes opened and met his, "Hi there, welcome back." Napoleon’s voice was barely a rasp.

"Napoleon, I’m sorry….."

"Illya, it’s okay," his voice was getting stronger he reached up and gently wiped the tear from his friend’s face. "It wasn’t your fault, we were both drugged. Do you remember the night club?"

"I remember everything including the fact that I tried to kill you twice." Illya’s voice was shaky as he tenderly bandaged his friend’s leg and shoulder, his face tightening as his partner winced at the pain.

"Illya, if you had really wanted me dead, I would be." Napoleon looked him right in the eyes. "You know full well you never miss what you’re aiming at, I think deep in your heart you believed me. I’m just sorry I had to take that dive before you remembered." He was laughing, "You know how I feel about swimming."

Illya reached down to help his friend sit up, putting his arm around his shoulders to support him. "Shall we get out of here? I do believe there’s a helicopter down the beach with our name written on it."

Napoleon attempted to stand up grimacing as the pain from his leg wound hit him then sank back onto the sand. He looked at his partner who still had his arm around his shoulders, "Hey friend, any chance of you bringing the copter over to us? I don’t think I can walk that far."

"No way, this is an opportunity I’ve been waiting for, for a long time. It’s always you carrying me unconscious and wounded into Medical. This time it’s my turn to play pack mule, so you just relax and enjoy the ride." With that he lifted his partner back up into his arms and with infinite care began the walk down the beach.

The helicopter was sitting on the beach outside the shack where Illya had first arrived. It was deserted and it took him only a minute to load Napoleon in and get it in the air. The gas tank was full so he headed straight back towards New York and U.N.C.L.E. headquarters.

Napoleon was unconscious for a while finally waking up to silently watch his friend pilot the helicopter. "Are you okay?" he asked his partner.

Illya looked over at his partner a wry grin on his face, "I believe I should be asking you that question, I’m not the one who got shot, twice." His face twisted thinking back to the horror of seeing Napoleon going off the cliff. "I thought I had killed you." He said quietly.

Napoleon started to respond and realized they were landing on the roof of the U.N.C.L.E. building. "Illya."

His partner was silent as he landed the helicopter, coming around to tenderly lift Napoleon out. "You wouldn’t want to pretend to be unconscious for this trip would you?" he tried to laugh, but Napoleon could tell it wasn’t real.

They made quite the bedraggled pair riding down in the elevator. Illya shirtless carrying his partner whose shirt and pants had been torn to make way for the bandages.

Mr. Waverly was waiting for them as Illya stepped off the elevator into the reception area. "It’s very nice to see you gentlemen, we feared the worst when we found your car wrecked. Mister Solo, are you badly injured?"

Napoleon, embarrassed at being seen in this position suddenly realized why Illya got so annoyed when he teased him about being carried into Medical, answered quietly, "No sir, just a leg and shoulder wound. I should be fine in a day or two."

Illya walked into Medical, gently lowering his partner to the bed and stood nearby, not saying a word, his face expressionless.

"Gentlemen, what happened?" Mr. Waverly was standing in the door.

"We were drugged and kidnapped by Thrush sir," was Napoleon’s reply. "We managed to kill both our kidnappers, stole their helicopter and escaped. Can we put all the details in the report?"

"Very good, Mr. Solo," Waverly replied, "I’m anxious to read this report." He turned and walked out of Medical.

"Illya," Napoleon turned to look at his friend, "Look at me."

"Why didn’t you tell Mr. Waverly I was the one who shot you?" Illya still wouldn’t look him in the eye.

"Illya, come over here and look at me," Napoleon used his command voice, which made his friend move automatically. "As far as I’m concerned this was Thrush’s doing, not yours. When I arrived on the island I fully intended to kill you. This could very easily have gone the other direction. I was lucky, I didn’t have enough of the drug in my system to keep my mind blocked."

Illya finally looked at his friend, "Napoleon, I can’t say again how sorry I am." His voice broke. "I should have believed you."

Napoleon laughed, "Remember this for the future, always believe everything your partner tells you. And oh yes, one more new rule, never point a loaded weapon at your partner, it’s very dangerous for his health." He reached out to take his friends hand. "I’m really alright, I wish you would believe me."

"Napoleon, I can’t tell you how I felt when I turned back around and saw you going off that cliff, knowing it was my bullet that sent you over. You could have died and I would have killed you." Illya’s normal reserve seemed to have vanished in the horror of the moment. "When I pulled you to shore, I thought you were dead and I realized just how important to me you were and that I’d never told you."

"Illya, you’ve always told me how you felt in the best way possible, you’ve been there whenever I needed you. This time was no different from any other, other than the fact that you got to put two bullets in me and I don’t get to get even." Napoleon’s face was bright with laughter, "Now do me a favor, go get yourself a shirt on, if I have to be in here I want the nurses looking at me, not at you."

Illya turned away as the Doctor was approaching, "I’ll be back to take you home when you’re ready to go." He couldn’t resist, "Want to stop for a drink?"

The End
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