The shop does have a camera that faces the alley. It's old, recording the footage onto well worn VHS tape, so the images are washed out and jittery. But as they watch, they see a white van drive into the alley. They fast forward a bit, watching the alley, hoping they see someone come out, but they don't.
They see Ted.
He's carrying a cup of coffee and a bag of pastries, the same cup and bag they found in the alley. He stops and seems to talk to someone. Then he walks into the alley.
And never comes out.
Joan's heart is thudding in her chest, but she stays calm. She looks at the timestamp on the image. 7:14am Sunday morning.
Beard actually grabs Joan's arm. Sure, Ted, go up to an unmarked windowless van in the middle of London. The problem exactly with Ted trusting easy. Even if his insight usually saved him from getting involved with bad people, clearly it didn't help this time.
"Alright so... How do we follow this?"
There's no way to see the registration. And they probably don't have access to CCTV and all that without the cops. But Ted's phone wasn't in the alley, so it probably went with the van for at least a while.
It's startling to see Ted walk right into danger, and Joan doesn't blame Beard for his reaction. She puts her hand over his, both offering and seeking comfort, knowing that Ted is so important to both of them.
"We go to Scotland Yard," she says, taking the VHS tape and slipping it in her bag. "And we raise hell."
Joan texts Sherlock what they found out, and that they're on their way to Scotland Yard. He texts back that he'll meet them there.
"Text Rebecca," Joan tells Beard as they head out of the market. "She's got money and influence, and we need all the help we can get."
She flags down a cab and climbs in, waiting for Beard to follow.
"Scotland Yard," she tells the driver. "Please hurry."
Beard nods and does so, requesting her to come there immediately too. He doesn't tell her the full story through text, just makes sure she knows it's about Ted missing and that they need to convince some people to take them seriously.
Once she texts back that she's on the way, he leans forward in the cab and places his hands over his mouth for a moment, trying to process.
He looks back at Joan, probably worried like hell, but barely showing it now.
He sits back and then gently places a hand on her shoulder. Ready to turn into a proper side-hug if she leans into it.
Beard doesn't hug people that much, but they're both missing Ted, the person most likely to dole out hugs, and he thinks they both probably need it. Besides, there's a limit to how much he can do for Ted, but at least he can make sure his girlfriend feels the same support he's always given Ted over the years.
Joan is looking out the window, trying to order her thoughts, to plan out exactly who they would talk to, exactly what they would say, exactly what sorts of blockades will be thrown in their way and how to go over them.
Then Beard puts his hand on her shoulder, and she looks over at him, meeting his eyes. He's so kind, and has been such an incredible, steadfast friend to Ted, and now to her.
She leans into the touch, letting him put his arm around her and resting her head on his shoulder.
"I appreciate you," she says softly, the use of Ted's phrasing absolutely intentional.
"Likewise," Beard answers quietly, solemnly rubbing her arm as he's got his around her.
If Ted was taken and if it's as bad as it seems, then they're all probably going to need to be support people for a while. Ted will need it, when they get him back.
She stays leaning against him the whole way to Scotland Yard, allowing herself the comfort, because chances are this is going to be a fight in one way or another, and she might as well gather her strength, because she's going to need it.
They all converge on Scotland Yard at the same time, Joan and Beard, Sherlock, and Rebecca. Joan briefly fills Sherlock and Rebecca in on what they know, particularly what's on the tape. Rebecca looks horrified and like she's about to be sick. Sherlock has his jaw set, an expression of sublimated fury Joan recognizes, common in circumstances of kidnapping, which Sherlock abhors.
Together they burst into the Yard, and cut a swath through underlings until the lieutenant Joan and Sherlock have worked with appears. At that point Joan gives them the tape and the photographs, and Sherlock provides a list of people who own that van in white and live within a certain distance. The lieutenant has little choice but to trigger an official investigation, which quickly traces Ted's phone. It can only trace it to a neighborhood, but within that neighborhood was a man who owned this sort of white van. Turner Chapman even had a record stemming from a violent fight over football.
At this point the Yard stops dicking around. They call in the SWAT team, and Joan and company race to meet them down the street from the house. When they get there Joan goes up to the leader of the team.
"I'm going in with you."
"Ma'am..."
"That wasn't a question. I am going in. I'm a trained doctor, and I know the victim. God knows what he's been through, but when you find him, I will be there."
The man looks her up and down. Then calls over another member.
"Get her a bulletproof vest."
They surround the house, Joan following one of the rear team members. They look in and identify a male in the house as Turner Chapman. At the signal they burst in and the man is quickly neutralized. The team fans out, searching the house for Ted, calling "CLEAR" at each empty room.
"Where is he!" they demand of Turner, but the man only laughs maniacally.
Ted is in a pretty bad state at this point. Between the hypothermia and the concussion, his brain hasn't exactly been working great. He's got no concept of how much time has passed, his only method of measurement being how many times the man's visited him. And even that's started to become a blur.
Still, he does hear the commotion upstairs. He just has trouble figuring out what it means.
He raises his head a little, looking up. Everything hurts, but at this point it's become nothing but background noise against the cold and the shivering, at least until the next time the man comes downstairs.
That's not just that guy, though, right...? There's more people.
Ted wants to yell, but he doesn't think he has it in him.
The SWAT team goes upstairs, still finding empty room after empty room. Joan is in the kitchen, trying to think. Where is he? Where would this man keep him?
She's looking at the floor and sees a small puddle of water at the base of a china cabinet that was completely empty of china. Joan frowns and goes up to it, crouching to look at the floor.
There's a footprint with half of it obscured under the cabinet.
"Help!" she calls to the SWAT member stationed downstairs. He runs into the kitchen to see her using all her strength to slide the cabinet over. He helps her, and together they uncover a door.
The SWAT member opens the door and starts down the stairs, gun in one hand and flashlight in the other. Joan follows.
When the flashlight sweeps over the crumpled form of Ted chained to the pipe, Joan gasps in shock and races down the stairs and is on her knees in front of him in seconds.
"Ted! Oh god..." She throws a glance at the SWAT member over her shoulder. "Call an ambulance, NOW."
There's a light, and footsteps, and Ted shrinks back a little, expecting another bucket, for the cold water to crash into him, and he's not entirely convinced he's going to make it through the next beating.
It doesn't come, though. He takes a moment to focus, and thinks he might be hallucinating.
Except it's not going away, not changing.
"Joan?"
His voice is raspy and weak, and he's confused to see her here, but somehow not that surprised.
The SWAT guy races upstairs to call the ambulance. At the top of the stairs is a light switch, and he turns it on, flooding the basement with light. Joan gasps anew at the condition Ted is in.
"It's me," she says, gently taking his free hand and tenderly touching his swollen face. "I'm here. You're safe. We're going to get you out of here."
He tries to squeeze her hand, but it's pretty weak, barely perceptible. But now that little speck of hope that he's been trying to keep alive inside him is rekindled, slowly growing.
Just how bad of a condition he's in probably isn't even really visible. Beyond his confused and fatigued behavior, the slight smell of vomit, his pale and cold skin, there's only a couple bruises on his face, and a split lip.
Most of the harm lies hidden under his clothes. It's probably impossible to tell how many times he's been kicked by counting the bruises, as they all must bleed into each other by now. Who knows how many of his ribs are fractured. Here's just hoping the rest of his bones aren't. And even if he had the energy to stand, he probably shouldn't with the state of the leg where the man stomped on his ankle.
"I'm so sorry this happened," she says, having to swallow down a lump in her throat and resist the tears welling in her eyes. It hurts so badly to see him this way. She gently presses her fingers to his neck to feel for his pulse. It's rapid and weak, and his skin is so cold. Fuck, he's in shock.
Another SWAT member comes down the stairs. "Jesus," he breathes when he sees Ted.
Joan barks orders over her shoulder. "Go find blankets. Quick."
The ambulance is coming, but it might not come quickly enough. She has to get him warm immediately.
She pulls out her lockpick and makes quick work of the handcuff, moaning in distress at how mangled the skin on his wrist is.
"Ted, I need to take these wet clothes off you right away," she says, starting to pull up his sweater, trying to do it as carefully as possible, knowing that it will probably hurt him.
Ted doesn't reply, just lets her do it. She's here now, it's going to be okay. She'll look after him.
He lifts his arms as much as he can to let her pull the sweater off, but takes a sharp breath as it tugs against a sore spot on his side. You'd think he'd be too numb at this point to feel that sharp a pain, but nope, it still cuts through.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs to him at that sharp breath, her heart aching. "I'm so sorry." She eases the sweater off of him gently and tosses it to the side and quickly unbuttons his shirt. When she peels it away from his freezing cold skin she sucks in a breath herself at the reveal of the massive bruises to his side. "Fuck," she whispers. This is bad. This is really bad.
She can't linger, can't fall apart, he needs her to keep it together. She unbuckles his belt and begins to peel his sopping wet pants off as well.
He knows what she's doing, even if he isn't entirely conscious as to why, so he makes a Herculean effort to lift himself off the ground enough for her to pull his pants off him too. He grits his teeth against the pain of the leg, knowing that it's coming.
"He hit my head.." he says quietly, partly to explain what happened, partly because... that might be relevant? Right? It didn't break the skin, so there wouldn't be any blood to betray it, but the headache is one of the sources of pain he can actually single out.
It's absolutely relevant, and if it was just that she would be assessing him for the concussion he almost certainly has. But at the moment it's the hypothermic shock that concerns her.
"I'll let the medics know," she says, pulling the pants down his legs, hissing when she comes to his knees, both badly bruised and swollen. Then she goes to remove his shoes and socks and finds that his ankle is swollen even more. She will be surprised if it isn't broken. She tries to be as gentle as possible, but knows it's gonna hurt like hell.
It does. But again... He's been an athlete. He can deal with pain. Now Joan is here, he's neither scared nor helpless. It hurts, and it's awful, but he knows he's going to be okay.
It's weird to be out of his clothes. They'd started to feel glued to him, like a second layer of skin, rather than the source of the cold.
Now that his wet clothes are off him (save for his boxers, but Joan knows being stripped completely bare is likely to distress him) Joan stands up and yanks free the velcro straps fastening her bulletproof vest. She slips it off and drops it. It falls to the floor with a thud.
She's pulled off her shirt and is pulling down her pants when the SWAT officer comes down the stair carrying blankets. He stares at the near naked Ted and similarly near naked Joan.
"Ummm..."
"He needs to warm up," Joan says, not even pausing in her disrobing. "I need you to help me get him off that wet concrete. I'm pretty sure he can't walk."
She takes the blankets, finds a spot of concrete that's dry, and spreads them out, all three, into as soft and warm a base as she can manage. She goes over to join the officer to pick Ted up.
"His ribs are likely fractured," she tells the officer. "So you need to be gentle. You get his torso, I'll get his legs." She looks at Ted. "This is going to hurt. I'm so sorry." She nods to the officer, and together they lift him off the ground.
Ted is only half registering what's happening around him, laser-focused on Joan, and too out of it to be embarrassed about being in his underwear. (Though yeah, if he were fully naked, that might actually register.)
He nods a bit at Joan's warning, and tries to be as cooperative as he's capable in being carried.
It does hurt. A lot. It's not as sharp as being kicked, but in a way it's almost worse because it lasts longer. He can't stop himself from gasping in pain, screwing his eyes shut.
Once they set him down, he whimpers a little, then turns it into an angry growl. Not at them, just at the pain.
They lay him down as gently as possible in the middle of the blankets, and Joan immediately lies next to him, getting as much of her skin on his skin as possible, wrapping her arm around him and holding him close. He's so cold.
"Wrap the blankets around us," she orders the officer, who complies, pulling the blankets one by one, side by side, around them, tucking in the edges of each one before moving to the next.
"Everything's okay," she whispers to Ted as they're wrapped up together, gently rubbing his back to soothe and warm him. "I've got you."
There's definitely a surreal quality to all this, and it feels slightly ridiculous to Ted. But once Joan lies down next to him, he's not about to complain or question it.
She feels so good against him. He's not sure if it's the warmth or the familiarity and safety, or all of the above. But whatever it is, it's helping. He leans his head against hers, closing his eyes and just focusing on their closeness.
Joan closes her eyes as well, her head against his, tears slipping down her cheeks, her heart an aching mix of relief and fear and anguish and love.
He could have died. He was so close. He could still die, if this is too little, too late. If the head wound is worse than it appears, if his brain is bleeding, if there's some internal bleed from his beating that they don't find soon enough...he could die right here, or die in the ambulance, or in the hospital...
"I love you," she whispers, her breath hitching in a sob. If this is the only time she has to say it, then she has to say it. He needs to know.
He doesn't quite process those words as fully as he would otherwise, but they make him feel warm inside. It doesn't surprise him to hear it, at least not in the condition he's in. He knows it's true, he's known it every time she's looked at him, knows it because she's here to save him.
And all he can thinks is that she's crying and upset, and he wants to comfort her.
"Hey, it's okay.." he says, voice barely a whisper, and he turns his head a little to kiss her hair. "It's gonna be okay.."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theodorelasso) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trashchildren2021-06-24 07:33 pm
no subject
They see Ted.
He's carrying a cup of coffee and a bag of pastries, the same cup and bag they found in the alley. He stops and seems to talk to someone. Then he walks into the alley.
And never comes out.
Joan's heart is thudding in her chest, but she stays calm. She looks at the timestamp on the image. 7:14am Sunday morning.
"Over 24 hours," she says.
no subject
"Alright so... How do we follow this?"
There's no way to see the registration. And they probably don't have access to CCTV and all that without the cops. But Ted's phone wasn't in the alley, so it probably went with the van for at least a while.
no subject
"We go to Scotland Yard," she says, taking the VHS tape and slipping it in her bag. "And we raise hell."
Joan texts Sherlock what they found out, and that they're on their way to Scotland Yard. He texts back that he'll meet them there.
"Text Rebecca," Joan tells Beard as they head out of the market. "She's got money and influence, and we need all the help we can get."
She flags down a cab and climbs in, waiting for Beard to follow.
"Scotland Yard," she tells the driver. "Please hurry."
no subject
Once she texts back that she's on the way, he leans forward in the cab and places his hands over his mouth for a moment, trying to process.
He looks back at Joan, probably worried like hell, but barely showing it now.
He sits back and then gently places a hand on her shoulder. Ready to turn into a proper side-hug if she leans into it.
Beard doesn't hug people that much, but they're both missing Ted, the person most likely to dole out hugs, and he thinks they both probably need it. Besides, there's a limit to how much he can do for Ted, but at least he can make sure his girlfriend feels the same support he's always given Ted over the years.
no subject
Then Beard puts his hand on her shoulder, and she looks over at him, meeting his eyes. He's so kind, and has been such an incredible, steadfast friend to Ted, and now to her.
She leans into the touch, letting him put his arm around her and resting her head on his shoulder.
"I appreciate you," she says softly, the use of Ted's phrasing absolutely intentional.
no subject
If Ted was taken and if it's as bad as it seems, then they're all probably going to need to be support people for a while. Ted will need it, when they get him back.
no subject
They all converge on Scotland Yard at the same time, Joan and Beard, Sherlock, and Rebecca. Joan briefly fills Sherlock and Rebecca in on what they know, particularly what's on the tape. Rebecca looks horrified and like she's about to be sick. Sherlock has his jaw set, an expression of sublimated fury Joan recognizes, common in circumstances of kidnapping, which Sherlock abhors.
Together they burst into the Yard, and cut a swath through underlings until the lieutenant Joan and Sherlock have worked with appears. At that point Joan gives them the tape and the photographs, and Sherlock provides a list of people who own that van in white and live within a certain distance. The lieutenant has little choice but to trigger an official investigation, which quickly traces Ted's phone. It can only trace it to a neighborhood, but within that neighborhood was a man who owned this sort of white van. Turner Chapman even had a record stemming from a violent fight over football.
At this point the Yard stops dicking around. They call in the SWAT team, and Joan and company race to meet them down the street from the house. When they get there Joan goes up to the leader of the team.
"I'm going in with you."
"Ma'am..."
"That wasn't a question. I am going in. I'm a trained doctor, and I know the victim. God knows what he's been through, but when you find him, I will be there."
The man looks her up and down. Then calls over another member.
"Get her a bulletproof vest."
They surround the house, Joan following one of the rear team members. They look in and identify a male in the house as Turner Chapman. At the signal they burst in and the man is quickly neutralized. The team fans out, searching the house for Ted, calling "CLEAR" at each empty room.
"Where is he!" they demand of Turner, but the man only laughs maniacally.
no subject
Still, he does hear the commotion upstairs. He just has trouble figuring out what it means.
He raises his head a little, looking up. Everything hurts, but at this point it's become nothing but background noise against the cold and the shivering, at least until the next time the man comes downstairs.
That's not just that guy, though, right...? There's more people.
Ted wants to yell, but he doesn't think he has it in him.
no subject
She's looking at the floor and sees a small puddle of water at the base of a china cabinet that was completely empty of china. Joan frowns and goes up to it, crouching to look at the floor.
There's a footprint with half of it obscured under the cabinet.
"Help!" she calls to the SWAT member stationed downstairs. He runs into the kitchen to see her using all her strength to slide the cabinet over. He helps her, and together they uncover a door.
The SWAT member opens the door and starts down the stairs, gun in one hand and flashlight in the other. Joan follows.
When the flashlight sweeps over the crumpled form of Ted chained to the pipe, Joan gasps in shock and races down the stairs and is on her knees in front of him in seconds.
"Ted! Oh god..." She throws a glance at the SWAT member over her shoulder. "Call an ambulance, NOW."
no subject
It doesn't come, though. He takes a moment to focus, and thinks he might be hallucinating.
Except it's not going away, not changing.
"Joan?"
His voice is raspy and weak, and he's confused to see her here, but somehow not that surprised.
no subject
"It's me," she says, gently taking his free hand and tenderly touching his swollen face. "I'm here. You're safe. We're going to get you out of here."
no subject
He tries to squeeze her hand, but it's pretty weak, barely perceptible. But now that little speck of hope that he's been trying to keep alive inside him is rekindled, slowly growing.
Just how bad of a condition he's in probably isn't even really visible. Beyond his confused and fatigued behavior, the slight smell of vomit, his pale and cold skin, there's only a couple bruises on his face, and a split lip.
Most of the harm lies hidden under his clothes. It's probably impossible to tell how many times he's been kicked by counting the bruises, as they all must bleed into each other by now. Who knows how many of his ribs are fractured. Here's just hoping the rest of his bones aren't. And even if he had the energy to stand, he probably shouldn't with the state of the leg where the man stomped on his ankle.
no subject
Another SWAT member comes down the stairs. "Jesus," he breathes when he sees Ted.
Joan barks orders over her shoulder. "Go find blankets. Quick."
The ambulance is coming, but it might not come quickly enough. She has to get him warm immediately.
She pulls out her lockpick and makes quick work of the handcuff, moaning in distress at how mangled the skin on his wrist is.
"Ted, I need to take these wet clothes off you right away," she says, starting to pull up his sweater, trying to do it as carefully as possible, knowing that it will probably hurt him.
no subject
He lifts his arms as much as he can to let her pull the sweater off, but takes a sharp breath as it tugs against a sore spot on his side. You'd think he'd be too numb at this point to feel that sharp a pain, but nope, it still cuts through.
no subject
She can't linger, can't fall apart, he needs her to keep it together. She unbuckles his belt and begins to peel his sopping wet pants off as well.
no subject
"He hit my head.." he says quietly, partly to explain what happened, partly because... that might be relevant? Right? It didn't break the skin, so there wouldn't be any blood to betray it, but the headache is one of the sources of pain he can actually single out.
no subject
"I'll let the medics know," she says, pulling the pants down his legs, hissing when she comes to his knees, both badly bruised and swollen. Then she goes to remove his shoes and socks and finds that his ankle is swollen even more. She will be surprised if it isn't broken. She tries to be as gentle as possible, but knows it's gonna hurt like hell.
no subject
It's weird to be out of his clothes. They'd started to feel glued to him, like a second layer of skin, rather than the source of the cold.
no subject
She's pulled off her shirt and is pulling down her pants when the SWAT officer comes down the stair carrying blankets. He stares at the near naked Ted and similarly near naked Joan.
"Ummm..."
"He needs to warm up," Joan says, not even pausing in her disrobing. "I need you to help me get him off that wet concrete. I'm pretty sure he can't walk."
She takes the blankets, finds a spot of concrete that's dry, and spreads them out, all three, into as soft and warm a base as she can manage. She goes over to join the officer to pick Ted up.
"His ribs are likely fractured," she tells the officer. "So you need to be gentle. You get his torso, I'll get his legs." She looks at Ted. "This is going to hurt. I'm so sorry." She nods to the officer, and together they lift him off the ground.
no subject
He nods a bit at Joan's warning, and tries to be as cooperative as he's capable in being carried.
It does hurt. A lot. It's not as sharp as being kicked, but in a way it's almost worse because it lasts longer. He can't stop himself from gasping in pain, screwing his eyes shut.
Once they set him down, he whimpers a little, then turns it into an angry growl. Not at them, just at the pain.
no subject
"Wrap the blankets around us," she orders the officer, who complies, pulling the blankets one by one, side by side, around them, tucking in the edges of each one before moving to the next.
"Everything's okay," she whispers to Ted as they're wrapped up together, gently rubbing his back to soothe and warm him. "I've got you."
no subject
She feels so good against him. He's not sure if it's the warmth or the familiarity and safety, or all of the above. But whatever it is, it's helping. He leans his head against hers, closing his eyes and just focusing on their closeness.
"I know.." he whispers back.
no subject
He could have died. He was so close. He could still die, if this is too little, too late. If the head wound is worse than it appears, if his brain is bleeding, if there's some internal bleed from his beating that they don't find soon enough...he could die right here, or die in the ambulance, or in the hospital...
"I love you," she whispers, her breath hitching in a sob. If this is the only time she has to say it, then she has to say it. He needs to know.
no subject
And all he can thinks is that she's crying and upset, and he wants to comfort her.
"Hey, it's okay.." he says, voice barely a whisper, and he turns his head a little to kiss her hair. "It's gonna be okay.."
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
...