Post by DiscipleofBob on Aug 18, 2015 1:46:38 GMT -5
Agents of SHIELD #11:
Close Quarters
Close Quarters
[SHIELD Quinjet]
When they took off from the helicarrier, Rogers and Romanoff brought with them three personnel and as many boxes of delicate technology as they could fit. Fitz and Simmons had to pick and choose which of their equipment they would take with them now and which they would have to send for on the next supply run. This was particularly difficult for Fitz, who had his own naming convention for most of his projects and didn't trust the average SHIELD agent to handle them properly.
For all of Fitz's gripes he quickly shut up when he was positioned between SHIELD's most lethal assassin, most brutal unforgiving combat instructor, and Captain America. Instead he was stuck trying to keep professional and quiet in the shadows of legends, but ended up looking like a deer in perpetual headlights while simultaneously gripping boxes in his lap with names like 'Cinderella' and 'Aurora.'
"Fitz, you sure you're all right?" It didn't help that Simmons asked him that every few minutes for the majority of the flight. "You look you might be a little airsick."
"I'm just peachy," Fitz replied meekly. His stomach muscles were too paralyzed with fear to do something as strenuous as vomiting. He could practically feel the judgmental eyes of the Taskmaster boring into his skull.
"Don't tell me yer draggin' me all the way into the field just to babysit a couple'a kids," the gruff, disgruntled voice behind him.
"I'm more concerned with you training my combat personnel than our support staff," Rogers replied, letting Fitz relax a little bit, feeling like he'd just gotten a pass to skip gym class. "Though I suppose it wouldn't hurt to put them through some basic drills if you have the time. Never know when they might need it." Fitz went noticeably pale, an impressive feat considering how white the Scottish boy was naturally. "Here, if you need some reading material, why don't you take a preliminary look at this?" Rogers said as he handed the two young scientists a tablet with a few chemical specs on it.
"Figured out how to work that already?" Romanoff asked.
"It took a few minutes of fiddling with the buttons, but I don't think I broke anything," Rogers smiled.
"Not much anyway," Simmons commented as she took the tablet, glanced at the image, and with a few button presses, the image became a 3D hologram suspended above the tablet, pointing out specific points to Fitz. "It looks like Iso-8."
Rogers was impressed. "I figured it would take a little longer than that. Are you familiar with this?" he asked, but Fitz and Simmons were in their own little world of science.
"Definitely. Look at the crystalline formation. Same basic molecular structure..."
"But the arrangement is different in each compound."
"Like six-dimensional Lego bricks."
"And these look like artificial proteins. I've never seen any like that."
"The Captain asked you a question," Masters said gruffly.
Fitz stopped talking, his tongue freezing up in his mouth. Simmons quickly spoke in his place. "Isotope-8. Iso-8 for short. It's a sort of universal enhancer. You put it in, say, a laser, and you get increased focus and intensity."
"Put it in an engine and suddenly you get twice the output at half the expended energy."
"Put it in a toy remote-controlled plane and suddenly you get a supersonic predator drone."
"Put it in a DVD and you get the never released extended director's cut with commentary. Well, probably not, but..."
"I get it," Rogers interrupted. "These were being injected into people though, not tech. And they were getting all sorts of boosts and powers from them."
Suddenly the pair were back into full-collaborative nerd mode. "Bio-organic enhancers?"
"That would explain the proteins. But to alter a person on that level..."
"Would require an astronomical degree of precise genetic engineering..."
"Not just precise, but comprehensive. It's not a machine that always functions as mechanically expected, it's organic tissue. What would that even accomplish?"
"Enhanced strength. Endurance. Agility. Performance..."
"Don't be vulgar, Fitz. Mental enhancement as well. Intelligence. Reflex time. Memory capacity. Sensory perception..."
"And if the subject was a mutant or some other enhanced..."
"But completely new abilities? That should be impossible..."
"Why?" Rogers interrupted again. "Why would that be impossible?"
"Iso-8 is an enhancer. It just adds a new function to the equation. It can't add a new variable," Simmons explained.
"But what if it could?" Fitz suddenly asked. "As far as I know SHIELD has only worked with it in technology."
"That's because it should be only compatible at that level. A sample of Iso-8 that works on a bio-organic scale is unheard of. It would be..."
"Dangerously unstable?" Rogers suddenly finished, much to Fitz and Simmon's surprise. "We know HYDRA doesn't shy away from human guinea pigs, so in something like this they could be way ahead of SHIELD."
"Didn't know you had a background in theoretical sciences," Simmons said quietly.
"I don't, obviously. But I was around when HYDRA first formed. I saw the labs where they performed human experiments. I saw the remains of their failures. 'Dangerously unstable' and HYDRA go hand-in-hand."
"It's not HYDRA though," Fitz said, and suddenly everyone's eyes were on him. "What? What'd I say?" Suddenly he was feeling sick again.
"What do you mean this isn't HYDRA? We recovered it from Viper herself," said Rogers.
"Maybe she got it from an outside source?" Fitz offered, though no one seemed convinced except for Simmons.
"What he means is that SHIELD's been tracking Iso-8 for a long time. HYDRA's never gotten a lead in development there. Sure they have a lot of laboratories doing hinky projects, but their Iso-8 comes from an outside source."
"How can you be sure?" Rogers asked.
"Because HYDRA would keep it to themselves," Masters suddenly finished. "HYDRA doesn't share. And Iso-8 augmented tech has shown up in governments, criminal organizations, and even individual operatives across the globe, often with no actual connection to HYDRA. It's the work of the Power Broker."
"Power Broker? What can you tell me about him?"
"Not much," Masters shrugged. "It's a vague title of someone who's been supplying a black market of weapons and other tech for God knows how long. Works through middle men who themselves work for middle men and so and so forth. SHIELD and other forces have tried interrogating a few, but no one knows anything about the actual man behind the curtain. Or even if it's a man for that matter."
Rogers sat in silent thought for a minute, running through ideas in his head before turning to the pilot. "Natasha, get Coulson on the line. We need to start planning out our next line of attack."
[SHIELD Safehouse]
The safehouse was never meant to be used for long-term large scale operations. Hiding a bunker was one thing. Hiding a hangar required considerably more creativity, and it didn't work with a SHIELD jet coming and going all the time, even with cloaking. It was supposed to be for emergency evacs of SHIELD assets only.
Phil Coulson was standing ready to meet the new team members, holding a large, thick binder, stuffed to the brim with loose papers and colored tabs. First off was Tony Masters, traveling light with only a small duffel bag. "The Cap said I should talk to you about sending for the rest of my things."
Coulson nodded. "I can fill out a requisition for you, but... uh, keep in mind there won't be a lot of room for personal luxuries for a while."
"I'm talking less zen garden and more essential equipment that needs to be installed in the training area," Masters said before noting Coulson's sudden discomfort. "Dojo? Gym? What d'ya got, monkey bars?!"
"I'm sure we can rent a room down at the YMCA. They've got a great Pilates class," Coulson offered, causing Masters to snarl and storm off.
Fitz and Simmons were slowly making their way down the ramp, Simmons pulling a rolling suitcase in each hand with two duffel bags slung over her shoulder, and Fitz trying to balance a Jenga tower of SHIELD crates in his arms. "You know you don't need to carry that all. There are other SHIELD personnel with arms and hands as well."
Simmons smiled, "Appreciate it, but Fitz doesn't really like other people touching his junk." Coulson coughed, but Simmons didn't seem to catch on. "That's why I'm handling a lot of it for him. I'm the same way." Coulson practically choked. "Are you all right? Perhaps once I get settled I should give you a physical. Where are the labs?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to make do with the infirmary for now," answered Coulson. "Maybe it's best if you don't unpack too much for a while."
"What? No no no. We've got work to get done," Fitz said frantically as he struggled to balance the crates in his arms. "We're dealing with highly volatile, unstable chemicals. There's no room for error. Otherwise..." At that point he pressed his cheeks together and made a spitting, puffing noise which Coulson could only assume was meant to represent something bad.
"I suppose we could turn over a bunk or two if you need more space, but we've got a lot of agents here with a lot of needs."
"So how can we expedite the availability of a SHIELD lab?" Simmons pleaded.
Coulson responded by reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out two small white index cards and carefully inserting them between boxes. "Suggestion box. Fill out a comment card. Your feedback is greatly appreciated."
"You've got to be bloody-!"
"Coulson!" Rogers called out as he exited the Quinjet. At the presence of Captain America, the two squints quickly excused themselves, partially to save face in front of the Captain, and partially because the boxes were only getting heavier. Coulson only smiled. Reporting to a super soldier from the 1940's was starting to lose its surrealism, but only because the man that stepped off the Quinjet only acted as human and normal as anyone else in SHIELD, possibly more so. "What do we know?"
"Everything and nothing," Coulson said as he raised the heavy binder with both hands. Rogers grabbed it with one hand and held it open like a casual paperback, walking along as Coulson followed. "The Power Broker is someone SHIELD's been pursuing for potentially decades."
"Potentially?"
"There have been arms suppliers and mysterious backers as far back as SHIELD's conception, likely longer, but only recently has the 'Power Broker' been a name we can at least try to track. He supplies everything from mercenaries to weapons."
"A one-man black market," Rogers summarized. "Has SHIELD made any progress in taking him down?"
"We've taken down middle men here and there, but that's all they've been. No one who knows anything about the greater organization or what the identity of the Power Broker might be."
Rogers was quickly flipping through pages, leaving Coulson to wonder if he was just skimming or if super speed-reading was one of his lesser-known powers. "How does he approach clients and negotiate with them?"
"From what we can tell, the Power Broker doesn't negotiate price. He sends information to a potential client, usually a list of potential products and prices, and lets the client accept or refuse the given price, which includes the pay for the middle men in the price. If anyone decides to break the deal at any level, a middle man steals a shipment or decides to keep a payment for themselves, or if a client decides to keep the product without paying, well, the Power Broker also sometimes takes specific contracts in lieu of payment."
"And because the Power Broker has a reputation and, now, a big scary name, his clients know he can deliver, and to take him seriously."
"Captain, the Power Broker has been at the top of SHIELD's most wanted list for decades, second only to HYDRA's top brass. How exactly are we going to go after him?"
"We're not. The Power Broker's apparently too careful for even SHIELD. So instead we're going to find his middle men, but we're not going to capture them. We're going to let them lead us to his clients. With Red Skull in charge, he's going to be gearing up for a war. Our last encounter with Viper's proof enough of that. The difference between 70 years ago and now is that HYDRA is no longer their own main source of technology and weaponry. They can't keep everything in-house, so there's a leak we can use." Rogers flipped through a few more pages to a different section of his many paged documents. "Speaking of in-house..."
"I've compiled a list of potential SHIELD assets we can use for a future base. Obviously this safehouse isn't going to cut it, and most of our people have made their opinions quite clear. FitzSimmons need a top of the line lab and infirmary, Masters wants a personal dojo, Carol's complained about the hangar being too small, the list goes on," Coulson continued until Rogers suddenly stopped in his tracks. "Find something promising?"
"Camp Lehigh," Rogers read, the name of his old boot camp bringing back faded memories. "It's a SHIELD asset now?"
"It was originally the staging ground for the Super Soldier Project, as you well know, which was co-opted by the SSR which was SHIELD's predecessor, so in a way, it always was. It's a bit isolated though. The surrounding area's used for wilderness training."
"Isolated's good when you're dealing with terrorist cells on an international scale," Rogers quickly replied. "I'll want to take a closer look and make sure it's what we need, but if everything checks out, how soon can we move our operations?"
Coulson hesitated, clearing his throat. "I can requisition any number of weapons or technology. I can get additional SHIELD personnel. Hell, if you want I can call in an airstrike from the Helicarrier. But telling an entire SHIELD unit to clear out and take over their base? That's going to need either a very generous drill sergeant..."
"I take it those are just as rare today as they were 70 years ago?"
Coulson begrudgingly nodded. "Unicorns. Or we could get Fury's signature, and he wasn't very happy after the last time we 'handled' him."
"Fury knows what the stakes are. He's not going to stonewall us with red tape."
"If you want to rely on Fury feeling generous after the last time we spoke..."
Rogers sighed. "Point taken. Any suggestions?"
"Well, the current commander of the Camp Lehigh could always willingly sign over the base, but he'd probably be less likely to say no if the request came from, say, an icon of the American military in person."
Rogers smiled. "Well, I said I wanted to check the Camp out in person before we made any decision."
"Speaking of which, rather than taking the Quinjet out on another errand so soon, Camp Lehigh's a relatively short drive away if you take the highway, and I did manage to acquire something that I think you'll appreciate. It's been sitting in storage at the Smithsonian, but I've been assured by our mechanics that it's in working order."
"Guess I'm going on a road trip."
Downtime for Natasha wasn't normally this difficult. When working under deep cover, her alias would have all sorts of hobbies she'd pretend to enjoy, but it was all just an act on her part. Between missions she filled out paperwork or spent as much time in training as possible. Here, she couldn't do even that, and she was struggling to find things to do. She didn't have to wait long as Carol Danvers cornered her in the hallway, looking pissed off and clenching a tablet in her hand.
"Carol. You're looking well," Natasha said casually as Carol thrust the tablet in front of Natasha's eyes.
"What the hell is this?!"
"It appears to be a flight log," Natasha replied, stating the obvious.
"It shows you taking out our only Quinjet at 0600 hours. Why?" Carol demanded, as accusatory and suspicious as ever.
"Captain Rogers had a small errand to run. It was for official SHIELD business," Natasha slowly explained, knowing she had nothing to hide.
"Then why wasn't I contacted? I'm the ranking pilot here. What if HYDRA had staged an ambush?"
"Not every transport mission involves a dogfight, and you're not the only one who can fly a Quinjet. Or maybe that's the problem?" she suddenly added with a smirk, reversing the intended interrogation.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Carol was suddenly on the defensive.
"Even if Captain America desires a team of specialists, logic would dictate the necessity of some... redundancies."
As Natasha expected, Carol's bravado was immediately triggered. The brash pilot immediately stepped up until her face was inches from Natasha, daring the assassin to start something. "Why don't we both get in the air and I'll show you who's redundant?"
"Because you know you'd lose on the ground?" Natasha retorted bemused.
"Anytime. Anywhere."
"I wish I could say the need for pointless competition was simply an American trait, but I've found it to be fairly universal," Natasha casually turned away, knowing how much it would incense the pilot.
"Don't talk trash unless you're prepared to back it up."
"Unfortunately, we're already strapped for resources and space as is without us fighting over a man. As such, for the time being, we're going to have to learn to share the ladies' room. When our situation is more stable I'll be happy to spar a few rounds with you."
Natasha's insinuation wasn't lost on Carol, and the pilot immediately stormed after and cut Natasha off. "Excuse me?!"
"You're going to tell me this is actually about an aircraft and not missing out on some more quality time with a certain Captain?"
"I'm engaged!"
"Bet you're regretting making that decision so quickly," Natasha joked before quickly ducking back to avoid a quick left hook. Carol was a trained fighter, but Natasha had already expected the jab coming for a while. "I'm not judging you. Captain Rogers is quite the specimen. If you want to say your vows to one man and your 'pledge of allegiance' to another, good for you. I won't even tell anyone if that's what ends up being the case."
Carol was red with anger, fists clenched and actively resisting the urge to go for her sidearm. "I am not that kind of woman. I love Walter, and I am not nor will I ever cheat on him with anyone, and don't you dare imply otherwise."
"Oh, I wasn't," Natasha said as she turned and made her exit, smirking with her nose in the air as she left. "Only that you want to. In the meantime, as long as you have no objections I think I'll try my hand at showing my patriotism."
"The only objection I have is Captain America getting in bed with a Russian assassin who kills her boytoys when she's done playing with them," Carol shot back, and this time Natasha stopped in her tracks. "But hey, what am I worrying about? Steve's a grown man. He knows how to deal with wannabe femme fatales who'd give it up for a flag anytime they're ordered to. The rest of SHIELD, including me, sees him for the hero he is, you probably just see him as another notch in your lipstick case."
Natasha didn't turn around. She couldn't and be sure she could still maintain her composure. "If that will be all, Captain," she replied with a cold venom before leaving.
[Coles Academic High]
After a long and noticeably uneventful Monday, Kamala Kahn packed her books and left school as quickly as possible. All day she was half-expecting for her classes to get interrupted by super soldiers and secret agents blasting through the wall fighting each other. When Mrs. Garcia was announced sick, her first thought was what if she saw that Viper woman from HYDRA sitting in her seat, dressed like a substitute teacher.
The hardest part about high school is that, no matter what, everything seems like the end of the world. Pop quiz? Basically a meteor strike. Semester-long project? Nuclear war. Cheerleaders being their usual bitchy selves? Zombie apocalypse. Actual terrorist attack? Lower on the list of priorities than what to wear to prom.
The worst is that no matter the earth-shattering event, Kamala was still expected to go through all her classes as if it was all equally normal, whether the danger was homework, hallway drama, or last weekend she was caught in a crossfire between SHIELD and HYDRA in the gym and was almost kidnapped never to be seen again. Yet she couldn't talk to anyone about it. Just like she couldn't talk about her mutant powers, and it took considerable control to make sure every part of her body remained the size it was supposed to. Puberty and hormones could only explain so much. That Monday she was completely on edge. The gym was closed off after a gas leak had caused a substantial explosion over the weekend. As if anyone was buying that.
All day, Kamala had been looking over her shoulder, feeling like she was watched at every opportunity. When the large, shadowy figure started appearing out of the corner of her eye, she needed to look several times to make sure he wasn't a trick of the eyes.
A large, muscular man in a dark sweater and a black wool cap and shades was following her. Several times she was sure she made direct eye contact. And every time she looked, he was a little closer.
Kamala started walking just a little bit faster, but she was a teenager with about seventy pounds of dead, academic weight on her back and whoever was chasing her was probably paid to do whatever he was about to do. Without thinking, she ducked into an alleyway hoping to take a shortcut or hide, only realizing after the fact that the classic blunder she committed and was just glad she wasn't wearing heels that could break during the chase.
She ran into a dead end, looking for any way out, but the man was already coming in the entrance of the alleyway, grinning as he pulled out a switchblade. "Thanks for making it easy, little girl. Now don't scream and I'll make this nice and quick." Kamala's body froze in terror, pressed up against the far alley wall. Maybe if she could control her mutant powers her... slightly larger hands would be completely useless.
Locked eyes with her predator, Kamala's legs went weak as she collapsed to the ground, and as her pursuer closed the distance and slowly raised the knife, revealing a familiar tentacle skull tattoo on his forearm...
A gloved hand grabbed the man's shoulder and spun him around. Another decked the assailant in the jaw and sent him to the ground with one punch. Only now did Kamala notice the second man in the alleyway. He was slightly shorter than the other, with stylized shades and a single earring, wearing a black metal band t-shirt. "You all right, kid?"
Kamala was still frozen, unsure of whether to trust this man any more than the second. The second man picked up the limp arm of the first, showing off the HYDRA tattoo. "You know what this is?" he asked. Kamala nodded. "Good. Then you know what this is?" He dropped the arm and pulled out his badge, revealing the SHIELD insignia. "Agent Clint Barton. You can relax now, I'm one of the good guys."
Relief washed over Kamala Kahn, along with the embarrassment of how stupid she must have looked for running into a dark alley to escape an armed thug. "You're with SHIELD?" She almost couldn't believe the casually dressed stranger was a SHIELD agent. "Do you work for Captain Marvel?"
Barton's eye briefly twitched. "I work with Carol," he tried to emphasize.
"Why was that guy following me?" Kamala asked, frightened.
"You were there, right? When SHIELD busted up HYDRA's operation?" Kamala nodded. "Well, as you well know, everything went sideways for HYDRA. They took a big hit, and now they're sending guys like these to tie up loose ends."
Kamala's eyes went wide. "But why me?! I was there, sure, but I don't know anything about HYDRA!"
"You sure about that?" Barton asked almost accusingly. "Someone obviously thinks you know something."
"I don't! I swear!"
"Maybe you know more than you think," Barton said as he slowly approached Kamala. "HYDRA doesn't hand out flyers. Who invited you?"
"No one!"
"Where did you hear about it then? Who's scouting for HYRA?" Kamala's mind raced, trying to think of details, but her thoughts were too clouded by panic. "Look, whoever gave you that info is either going to be a target themselves or was the one who sent this guy to take care of you. I know the mentality of kids your age is to not snitch, but we're not talking about detention here. Your life may be in danger." Barton placed a hand on Kamala's shoulder and removed his shades to make eye contact with the scared girl. "Did you overhear it in the locker room? Was it a student? Or maybe a teacher?"
Something finally clicked in Kamala's mind. "The lacrosse team. I overheard the meet time when they were chatting in biology. I think they mentioned the coach telling them originally."
Barton cocked an eyebrow. "Lacrosse? Really? I guess team sports really are all untrustworthy if corruption has taken over the lacrosse team."
"I swear! I'm telling the truth!" Kamala professed.
"All right, all right, I believe you. I'll look into... the lacrosse team and see where that lead takes me. You get back home. Don't worry about this asshole, I'll take him into SHIELD custody." Barton waited for a bit, but when Kamala didn't take the cue to leave, still recovering from the trauma. He sighed and squat down so that he was on the same eye-level as Kamala. "Listen, you don't have to be scared. No one else is going to even get close to you. Me and the rest of SHIELD will make sure of that."
"I'm not scared!" Kamala shouted, immediately calming down and getting increasingly uncomfortable in her own skin. "Just... embarrassed. I doubt Captain Marvel would just run into an alley and then get too terrified to move."
Barton sighed, torn between not wanting to hurt the teenager's feelings, and wanting to get the job done and over with. "Listen, kid. What's your name?"
"Kamala Kahn."
"Wicked name. Listen, we don't know how deep this thing goes. There could still be HYDRA agents or scouts at your school, and, frankly, all of our SHIELD agents are too old to pull a 21 Jump Street." He pulled out a small plastic SHIELD insignia, the kind tour guides at less classified installations would hand out to grade school kids. "We need someone we know we can trust, who already understands what all these other high school kids are up to. If HYDRA's still looking to recruit teenagers, we're going to need an ear at that level so we can head them off. Can I rely on you to help us?"
"I... I don't know..."
Barton took a deep breath, trying to hold off his impatience, and instead tried to do his best impression of Captain Rogers. "Ask yourself this, Kamala: What would Captain Marvel do?" he asked in a patriotic baritone that admittedly made him feel a little sick.
Kamala slowly nodded, regaining her composure. "I'll do it!"
Barton nodded back as he placed the plastic SHIELD insignia in Kamala's hand. "I now pronounce you Special Junior SHIELD Agent Kamala Kahn. This is strictly off the books, so don't expect to get onto the Helicarrier or requisition Taylor Swift tickets or something."
"I won't! I'd never!"
"Good, because this is a huge responsibility. Now your first assignment is to go home and think about all the power players at school: the teachers, the coaches, the popular kids, the alpha males, anyone who might be a target or a player for HYDRA. Then I need you to keep a close eye on things in case HYDRA does show up again. Got it?"
"But how do I conctact SHIELD if I do find anything? Is there a number I can call?"
"This is SHIELD. We do things covertly for a reason, and not just because it makes us feel like James Bond. There's a bar called the Sagittarius. They know me. If you find anything, send the bartender there a message. He'll know how to contact me."
"But I'm not 21. How am I supposed to get into a bar?"
Barton had to put his shades back on to hide the eye roll. "Look, I'm not asking you to knock back a cold one with the teamsters. Just go in and pass a note to the bartender. Order an iced tea if you want, or just play one of the arcade machines if you need an excuse. But, and this is very important, don't you dare try to beat my high score at Galaga. Got it?"
"Yes sir!" Kamala gave a salute and finally had the courage to stand up and run off. "Please tell Captain Marvel I said thanks!"
Barton sighed as Kamala rounded the corner and went back home. He turned his attention to the 'HYDRA agent' and grabbed him by the arm. "All right you big lug, let's go." In response, the supposedly unconscious HYDRA agent threw a punch up into Barton's jaw.
"OW!" Barton complained as he rubbed his jaw. "The hell was that for, Frank?"
SHIELD agent Frank Payne picked himself up from the alley ground and started wiping off the fake HYDRA tattoo. "You didn't need to hit that hard earlier! I was going down anyway!"
"I had to make it convincing! Teenagers are smart today. She could've recognized a stage punch."
"Whatever. Next time, you get to be the HYDRA agent," Payne grimaced. "I don't like picking on little girls like that."
"She's fine. Better than fine. Got a fake SHIELD commission and everything. Besides you're the one who looks the part. I'm too damn good looking to be a HYDRA agent. Now come on, we've got a..." Barton shuddered. "lacrosse team to go investigate. Seriously."
"Hey, careful who you talk smack about. In my experience, lacrosse is more or less rugby with reach weapons," Payne said as the pair continued on to investigate their next lead.
To be continued...