- Synced and corrected by VitoSilans - -- www.Addic7ed.com --
First thing you'll learn is that nothing is what it seems.
Ignore your assumptions.
Don't trust anything.
What you see, what you hear,
what people tell you, what you think you remember...
We are Envoys, and we take what is offered.
Let experience wash over you.
Absorb it like a sponge.
Expect nothing.
Only then can you be prepared for anything.
Fuck.
Fucking bone fragments. Always get goddamn splinters.
Who do you think they are?
Who cares? We're getting paid.
Have you always been such an asshole?
Every sleeve, every time.
What?
CTAC praetorians, 12. Lethal loads.
You see through the walls now?
Three seconds or less. Move!
Your body is not who you are.
You shed it like a snake sheds its skin.
Leave it, forgotten, behind you.
The only way you'll learn is by watching, so watch.
Didn't cover this in the basic briefing.
You'll be fine.
They can barely walk at first. Have to pull him out.
I'm gonna get this shit all over me.
You'll get used to it. Just decant him.
We've got four more to do in the next hour.
I think I'm gonna be sick.
Not until you learn how to take out the umbilicus, you aren't.
Like this. Just give it a good hard jerk.
What the fuck? Is that normal?
Sometimes they flop around.
Usually means their last sleeve died violently.
Make it personal.
It is you. You are the weapon.
You are the killer and the destroyer.
It is you. You are the weapon.
You are the killer and destroyer.
Get down!
- This can't be normal. - He'll be fine. Just get him in the chair.
- You get him in the chair. - All right, buddy, enough of that.
Shit!
We need help. Help! Help!
- You broke my goddamn nose. - Help! We need help.
Fucking rerun went mental on me.
Have to sedate you if you don't settle down.
- I am fucking bleeding here! - Shut up!
Listen, asshole. You better calm down.
How long? How long have I been down?
- Who the hell is this guy? - How fucking long?
Two hundred and fifty years.
Get me a mirror.
No mirrors here. You need time to adjust to your new sleeve.
You risk schism or a psychotic break.
He's already fucking psychotic!
Get me a fucking mirror!
You almost fucking killed me, man.
I hate getting shot.
Where am I?
Alcatraz Prison. Bay City.
What planet, genius?
Earth.
Which way's the shower?
One thing I can promise you:
coming back from the dead is a bitch.
Every single time.
Welcome to Alcatraz.
You've successfully completed your prison sentence.
You may notice you are no longer in the body you arrived in.
Now that you have paid your debt to society,
you have been resleeved from our available inventory of prisoners.
You may feel confused or strange.
After all, you're not supposed to be here.
Disorientation, visual and auditory hallucinations,
and even low-grade amnesia are normal.
But don't worry. This orientation will answer all of your questions.
This is a cortical stack.
As Protectorate citizens,
we each have one implanted when we are one year old.
Inside is pure human mind, coded and stored as DHF:
Digital Human Freight.
Your consciousness can be downloaded into any stack, in any sleeve.
You can even needlecast in minutes to
a sleeve anywhere in the Settled Worlds.
A sleeve is replaceable.
But if your stack is destroyed, you die.
There's no coming back from real death.
Warden wants to see you.
So, avoid blunt force trauma to the base of the brain
and energy weapons fired at the head.
When you wake up, the world will not be what it was.
And neither will you.
They have forgotten who and what we are.
Make them remember.
Put that out.
You...
File's incomplete, parts of it sealed.
What is here?
Espionage, terrorism, crimes against the state,
and more murders than I can count.
Takeshi Kovacs.
You're under arrest for treason against the Protectorate.
Working for the terrorist leader Quellcrist Falconer.
I didn't work for her. It was more like an autonomous collective.
Close your goddamn mouth, you traitor,
or I'll put a hole right through your head.
You moron.
Good to see you too, Jaeger. Been a while.
Chase is over.
Just give me an excuse.
I know you got orders not to make me into a martyr, so...
be a good little grunt and take me in.
Sleeve's fragged but the stack's okay, sir.
Who's the bitch?
Nobody. Just a local merc.
She doesn't even know who I am.
You should've been respectful to me. She would've lived.
And when they finally arrested you,
you gunned down your own partner in the stack.
Report says she was shot from behind, so...
along with everything else, you're a coward.
Don't you have anything to say?
Oh, I'm-I'm sorry, I was waiting for a question.
It was all monologue there for a while, so I kind of tuned out.
This is your parole document,
certifying that your DHF was shipped
from Millsport Maximum Security Prison,
received here intact, and sleeved in this body,
which came equipped with military-grade
neurachem and combat muscle memory.
You've been provided with clothing and incidentals
as per the specifications of Bancroft Industries,
which has leased you.
As such, you are the property of Laurens Bancroft
for the duration of that lease.
Property? What about my rights?
You don't have any.
Failure to comply with the terms of this parole
will result in your immediate desleeving
and return here,
to serve out the rest of your term, which
does not appear to have an end date.
You're going to screw up.
Do something violent, hurt someone, kill someone.
I know people like you.
There aren't any people like me.
Not anymore.
There will be places where
they'll wait. The people left behind.
Wait to see their friends, lovers,
parents, children come back to them,
riding unfamiliar bodies out from digitized exile.
They'll look into the eyes of strangers,
searching for a glimpse of the person they've lost.
Mommy?
Cindy?
Kristin Ortega.
I'll be driving you to the Bancroft residence.
- Welcome to Bay City. - Hey, hey, hey!
What have you done to our daughter? Cindy's seven years old!
You get whatever's in inventory.
She was murdered in a hit-and-run. The law says she gets a free sleeve.
That one's free.
If you don't like it, pay for an upgrade or put her back in storage.
Daddy, please don't put me back in the dark.
They put a kid in that old lady?
Victim restitution.
The state just gives you what they have on hand.
Broken down crap like that.
Prisons lease out the good sleeves for profit.
It's very humane.
You don't approve?
- They don't have that where I come from. - And where would that be?
- Yeah! - What's going on here?
You are all going to burn!
Yeah!
Let the dead speak!
Justice! Let the dead speak! Justice! Let the dead speak!
- Justice! Let the dead speak! - No resleeving!
Shouldn't have come back! Shouldn't have come back!
Justice! Let the dead speak! Justice! Let the dead speak!
No resleeving! No resleeving! No resleeving!
You will not be forgiven.
Come on. Let's go.
God is watching. He will judge you for your sins!
Gonna keep him busy a while.
Spirit Savers and Afterlifers.
653 failed, and still they can't stop yelling.
What is 653?
Something about spinning up murder victims to testify who killed them.
Why wouldn't you spin them up if they're witnesses to their own murder?
Archdiocese says you only get the sleeve you're born with.
Once it dies, they spin you back up for anything,
even to identify your killer, your soul goes to hell.
What do you think, huh?
I think no one in the archdiocese has ever been murdered.
You had to go be a dick.
Stay down, Kovacs.
Fuck you!
I said stay the fuck down.
What were you in for?
You know, little bit of this, little bit of that.
Blew some shit up and killed some people.
Some people just need killing.
And how do you decide who deserves to die?
Depends on the day. I mean, anything can set me off.
Interstellar dictatorship, genocide, people who talk too much.
Right now, I'm feeling pretty hostile towards Laurens Bancroft,
- whoever the fuck he is. - Oh, come on.
Everyone knows Bancroft.
- He's one of the first founding Meths. - What's a Meth?
You don't know what's a Meth?
How can you not know? You're dressed like one.
Like I said, I'm not from around here.
"And the days of Methuselah were 969 years."
It's Laurens Bancroft. He's over 360 years old.
They call it the Aerium.
Guess they don't have this where you come from either, huh?
So, where were you born? Like, home planet, that kind of thing?
Not here.
- That's a little vague. - You ask a lot of questions.
That's my abuela. She always said,
"Kristin, you can find a way to talk to anybody."
Especially when they're trapped in a car with you.
Our quick and messy little lives are so small to them.
They build their homes up here
so the clutter of our existence is out of their sight.
See those trees, right?
- I see them. Whoo! - Right there.
You see the ground?
It's right there.
Wow. Really stuck that landing. You're not a driver, are you?
I said I worked security. I didn't say for who.
So this hasn't been a conversation, it's been an interrogation.
Last chance. Just give me a name.
Takeshi Kovacs. Look me up.
You can't be who you say you are. All the Envoys died.
All except one.
- Not another step, Ortega. - Oh, come on.
I'm Bay City PD and you know it, Curtis.
Lower your weapons and tell me where your boss is,
because I really would like a fucking word.
Lieutenant Ortega. You're trespassing on private property.
Apparently, you've stolen one of our limos as well.
I could have you shot.
Yeah, go ahead. Try.
Why did you drive the Envoy? Isaac was supposed to do that.
Look, I'm not drunk, okay? I was just loosening up a little.
Let go of me!
We picked him up on a DUI.
Which is how we came into possession of your vehicle.
You all right? This is unacceptable.
Just stop it, all right, Mom?
It's your fault for sending me. I'm not a chauffeur.
Go inside. This is police harassment.
Yeah, there's your kid, there's your car,
and there's your... new pet terrorist.
You're welcome.
The terrorist can hear you. I'm standing right here.
Yeah, good, 'cause we're not done, you and me.
Forgive me. I'm Miriam Bancroft. We've not been properly introduced.
Welcome to Suntouch House.
Shouldn't that be in a museum?
I have a weakness for Elder civilization artifacts.
I collect them, among other things.
This must have cost a fortune to ship here.
Hmm.
Several fortunes, actually.
And a few lifetimes.
But cost was no object.
This is the only Songspire tree on Earth.
No one really knows what they are.
They could have functioned as part of Elder civilization architecture.
The largest ones ever recorded are thousands of meters high.
I know. I've seen them.
Stronghold, of course.
Laurens is in his study.
I'll show you up.
Is it true you can look into a person's eyes
and know exactly what they're thinking?
Hmm, Envoys don't read minds.
What a pity.
Good luck, Mr. Kovacs.
Mr. Kovacs.
My apologies my son failed to drive you here.
You have to forgive my endlessly misplaced optimism.
That's all right. The ride was very instructive.
Hmm. Yes, I'm sure it was.
Details are, after all, an Envoy's stock-in-trade.
Or were, I should say.
"Immersion and total absorb." Wasn't that the term, hmm?
"Whatever answer you may seek,
it is precisely where you are not looking."
- Hmm, you've read Falconer. - Ah.
I was alive during the Uprising, yeah.
Yeah? So was I.
Oh. Yes, my apologies. Uh...
It's all in the distant past for me,
but for you, of course, it's all rather different.
There are very few of us now...
who saw firsthand what the Envoys could do. Ah-ha. Yes.
And I have to admit that I had a grudging admiration for you.
Trained by Quell herself
to be the most formidable fighting force that the galaxy had ever seen.
Well, that would sound better if we hadn't lost.
This might... might interest you.
Oh, it's all corneal streaming now.
There's something about the simplicity
of holding the written word in your hand.
The very heft of it.
As men have done for countless of centuries before us.
It is a tie to our shared past.
- Where did you get this? - I bought it at auction.
Eh, supposedly it...
Envoys take what is offered.
Is written by Falconer in her own hand.
Judging by your reaction, it appears I might have got what I paid for.
Listen to me.
I spent this entire morning being well and truly fucked around with,
so, uh, let me be painfully clear.
Some things can't be bought.
Like me.
Now, I didn't ask you to bring me back into this world.
In fact, I fought a war to stop people like you from happening.
So, if someone doesn't tell me right now what the fuck this is all about...
I might very well lose my temper.
Hmm.
Understood.
Now...
this is a full pardon,
signed by the president of the Protectorate.
No one has that kind of power.
Power is a matter of influence, Mr. Kovacs.
And I have had a great deal of influence at the UN.
If you agree to my terms,
your sentence will be reduced to time served.
And then I will open up a very generous line of credit in your name.
DNA trace accessible.
When the investigation is over,
you may keep this sleeve or choose another.
To your own specifications.
Finally, I will pay you a salary
of 50 million UN credits.
That's a fortune.
Have any future you want.
Now...
all I ask of you...
is that you solve a murder.
Whose?
Mine.
Stop obsessing.
So he was a soldier. So he's still just another rerun.
No, an Envoy wasn't just a soldier.
Drop into any sleeve on any planet and be combat-ready in minutes.
Just read it. Read it.
"Absorb local language, culture and customs,
and pass in almost any environment."
"Infiltrate and manipulate computers, systems, other people."
Kovacs is a ticking bomb!
- Ortega, calm down. - I'm fucking calm.
Okay. Bancroft resleeved a terrorist into our city. Why?
Um...
Hired muscle? Uh, expensive toy? I don't know.
Maybe he's planning to invade another star system over the weekend
like a Meth version of laser ball.
Who the fuck knows?
You made me swear. Listen. You need to take up meditation.
This is a good time to meditate?
Look, Kristin.
- Okay. - No. Listen to me. It's wrong!
I know.
Whoever he is, there's nothing to be afraid of.
- Afraid? - No.
Who's afraid? I'm not. What are you talking about?
Okay, look, what I meant is...
Kovacs is gonna go back on ice.
Where he belongs. End of story.
This is where I died.
When Miriam found me, my head...
...had been vaporized.
It's an energy weapon?
Yes. A particle blaster.
I keep one for personal protection in a biometric safe
that only Miriam and I can open.
Go ahead, say it.
Everyone else has.
Either I committed suicide, or my wife murdered me.
But you're still here, meaning your stack is intact, so...
you must remember what happened.
I'm afraid it's completely destroyed. "RD'ed," as they say.
Then how...
Have you ever heard of full-spectrum DHF remote storage backup?
Yeah.
Just never met anyone filthy rich enough to afford it.
Well...
I need to show you something.
Sometimes I come up here
when I have decisions to make or difficulties to face.
Think about the ancient explorers,
back when one could spend a lifetime
pursuing the possibilities of the Earth, the oceans, the stars.
I was born in London.
When I first moved to what was then,
of course, called the United States,
it still had the faintest echoes of the new and brash culture
that it once was.
Oh.
The age of adventurers is over.
Well, take a look. Tell me what you see.
It's a Protectorate satellite. Military grade.
Hmm. It is military grade,
but it's not the Protectorate's, it's mine.
Every 48 hours,
my stack is automatically needlecast to it.
So your current self has no memory of what happened?
No, whoever killed me
pulled the trigger ten minutes before my backup went through.
Means all your memories from those 48 hours are gone.
Completely.
There was an attempted hack on my satellite feed
moments after my death.
Somebody wants me dead.
For all I know, you did try to kill yourself.
You just botched the job.
Mr. Kovacs, I am not the kind of man who would take his own life.
And even if I were...
I'd not have bungled it in such a fashion.
If I had meant to die, I would indeed be dead.
I don't want your money or your pardon.
I'll take eternity on ice, thanks.
You should take the day, Mr. Kovacs.
Go into the city, remember what it is to feel alive,
and then give me your answer.
Oh, and please do take the book.
Like everything else I'm offering you, it's yours...
if you want it.
Tak.
All that water, it's just like home.
Give or take about 80 light years.
What are you doing here, big brother?
I should be asking you that.
That's easy.
I'm not real.
What's your excuse?
They own everything.
Just like she said they would.
- What're you gonna do, Takeshi-kun? - I don't know.
Get fucked up, get laid...
go back on ice.
You look uncomfortable in that skin, traveler.
New sleeve? Need some brain grease?
I got Stallion, Somno, Tetrameth, Veuron, Merge5, Stiff, Reaper.
Oh, this is some epic shit.
Then I'll take it all.
Hey, bud. Over here. Got some house quality for you.
- Hey, big boy. - Plans tonight?
Fresh out of the tank?
Luscious ladies of Heaven and Seven.
Stretch out your skin on that new sleeve.
For just a few credits per minute...
One is good, but two?
Even better.
The Houses may be out of your reach, but I'm not.
Come to Jerry's biocabins, the finest
in intimate experiences groundside...
The Raven Hotel provides sanctuary to the weary traveler.
Come, let us enfold you in the dark and delicate world of luxury.
Panama Rose Fightdrome! Always live, never 'cast.
Come see the strongest, most brutal combat sleeves
tear each other apart for your entertainment!
Join us! Fight! Join us! Fight! Join us!
What the...
What the fuck?
It's a broadcast blocker. Peace offering.
Wanna get a drink?
You know, I'm perfect right here.
Okay.
What are you doing here?
Being followed, apparently.
That's what police do to psycho-terrorists.
Come on, you cannot call me that.
You could tell me what Bancroft wants you for.
I could tell you it was your case. And you fucked it up.
Are you high?
Yeah.
You're high. Just forget it.
Wait, wait.
Uh...
Let's just start over, okay?
I'm Takeshi Kovacs.
Oh, that's right, I forgot.
You don't approve of the Uprising-era killing machine.
You want that drink or not?
I'm gonna pick the place.
How do you know it was my case?
It's called Envoy Intuition.
Total absorb of everything around you
without preconception or assumption.
- I see the details. - Or you just got lucky.
Luck isn't a word I'd associate with myself.
Yeah. Takeshi Kovacs.
Mercenary turned Envoy turned mercenary again,
sole survivor of the Battle of Stronghold.
Known by quite a few names.
Mamba Lev, One Hand Rending... What's the other one? Oh, the Icepick.
Yeah. I like that one. You should call me Icepick.
So why would you care what happened to Bancroft?
Who says I care about Bancroft? You don't like him, though.
He wanted me reprimanded when I couldn't find his killer.
Tried to screw with my career, which means with my life.
And he's still fucking doin' it.
You saying you didn't deserve it?
I'm saying I polygraphed the wife at her own insistence.
She passed without a twitch.
We chased down every lead.
Friends, enemies, people with opportunity and motive,
and we always came back to the same thing.
Laurens Bancroft locked himself in his study and blew his stack out.
And conveniently forgot that he'd be resleeved less than an hour later.
Let me tell you what went over my desk the night Bancroft bought it.
Four stabbings, ten shootings, three of which were RDs by the way.
One sleeve kill.
Oh, no, not a sleeve kill, she was a Neo-Catholic dumped in the bay.
Since she can't be resleeved, she was actually murdered.
As opposed to Bancroft who was incompetently murdered.
Are you a moron or just an asshole? There's no Bancroft case!
Oh, honey, you don't like this model?
I can be whatever you want me to be.
No, thank you. We'll take the check.
No. No. We're not finished here.
- Yeah, you keep saying that. - Yeah.
When a sleeve has been slabbed for a long time,
the body keeps making hormones. Did you know that?
Yeah. Everyone knows that.
You know that first time, when you're fresh out of the tank...
Shut the fuck up.
I'm thinking since you took me out for a drink...
You're paying, and one more time, you're just an asshole.
- Not the first date to call me that. - Also, not a date.
You know what my Envoy Intuition's telling me right now?
Without question or reservation?
What?
Bancroft believed he was murdered.
Which made it a lot more fun when I turned him down.
You what?
See, psycho-terrorists, we're not so easy to predict as you'd think.
- So you're going back into storage? - Yeah.
This isn't my world.
Oh.
I'm gonna be at the Raven on Coronado Street
if you change your mind. You should change your mind.
- You know that's one of the AI hotels. - Mmm-hmm.
No one stays in them anymore.
Well, I got money and he's got girls, so I think we'll be good.
They're hardwired to want guests.
If you stay with one, it's like sleeping with a stalker.
Hey, I'm moved by your concern but I'm gonna get myself a nice meal,
couple of high-end hookers
with a little better appreciation for
the stamina of the newly resleeved,
and enjoy what's left of my little vacation
before I go back to sleep forever. Cheers.
Felicitations. You have arrived at the Raven,
Bay City's most deliciously macabre lodging experience.
Fully cabled and enabled.
How can I ease your journey through this world?
Ah, a room. The best everything.
Food, view, entertainment, private kind of entertainment.
A much-needed respite from the trials of bleak existence.
The Raven offers VIP access to the
Houses of selective sexual tastes. Hmm?
The Temple of Eros affords an oasis of indulgence in the Mojave.
Rock stars in Angels City.
And let us not forget our own... satellite of sin,
Head in the Clouds.
No fantasy beyond reach for the client of discerning means.
Well, I'm not that discerning.
From the sky above, there is always the mud below.
I could guide you.
No.
For some elemental and fast satisfaction in Licktown.
That won't be necessary. Just, uh, have someone sent to my room.
Oh, the Raven can supply your chambers with companions
- and accessories for any decadence. - Good.
Perchance you could tell me your preferences?
- Right now? Nonverbal. - Mmm-hmm.
I know one particular lady of the
night who seems a demure clerical worker
but carries in her briefcase instruments
of such delight it will tickle your bones.
I'll take it.
And how might you intend to pay for your stay?
DNA trace. Bank of the Nation.
He won't be needing a room.
So much for Envoy Intuition. Voodoo bullshit.
Pardon me, wayfarer, we're in the midst of conversation.
Shut up, you piece of digibrain shit. My microwave is smarter than you.
I just want one thing to go right today.
Clearly.
Too bad.
Turn around.
They said you'd be dangerous. I thought you'd be bigger.
They made me bring all this backup.
What a waste of my time. I don't need them.
Fuck you, Dimi.
Anyone else?
I have to clean that up.
What?
Uh, he had it coming. He was rude.
I could take you myself without even breaking a sweat.
Move.
Good sir, I cannot assume host prerogatives without payment.
- You want to get him a hot towel? - Host prerogatives.
You're some kind of moron staying in an AI hotel.
Possessive like a crazy girlfriend. No one stays in them anymore.
Really? I hadn't heard that.
For guest amenities, please touch the screen.
Just one thing.
They're hardwired to want guests.
Possessive like a crazy girlfriend.
Touch the screen within 50 seconds.
You, shut up. You, get up.
It's not voodoo, which, by the way, absolutely is bullshit.
Here he comes.
It's a form of subliminal pattern recognition.
What the fuck does that mean?
You know. It's... It's about the details.
Where's the big bad Envoy killer from the past?
Twenty seconds.
Fight, God damn it!
What, you lost your balls? Did something change while you were down?
- Nothing changed. - Ten...
People like you are still stupid.
I can now provide full guest amenities.
I see you.
Who sent you?
I was wrong about you, Envoy.
- Wait. - Won't happen again.
No!
Ask this of your microwave, miscreant.
Apologies.
Your room beckons.
If you'd like to freshen up before the constabulary arrives.
What happened to a meal, getting laid, and restacking forever?
I got interrupted.
Who the fuck are these guys?
I don't know. But they knew me.
They called you by name? You're sure?
Kristin. Four of them are just local muscle,
but this sleeve is registered to Dimitri Kadmin.
Ulan Bator registry.
- We got him. - Yeah.
Got who?
Dimitri Kadmin, hit man out of Vladivostok.
Otherwise known as Dimi the Twin.
Does a lot of work for the yakuza.
Dimitri doesn't trust anyone.
So, he makes an illegal copy of himself,
and downloads it into a black market sleeve.
It's called double-sleeving.
The penalty is real death.
We hold onto his stack, sooner or later,
we catch the other version of him out there,
and then, he's done.
- Oh, motherfucker. - What's going on?
- Shit. - What?
It's fragged.
Let me see.
I'm getting a positive ID, but...
not enough left to spin him up to interrogate. Fuck.
You couldn't just disable them?
I was coming to the defense of my first guest in five decades.
With enough firepower to bring down an airplane.
I'm fully licensed for customer protection.
And in any case, his attackers were remarkably rude.
You've shot people for less, so...
- What does that have to do with anything? - Okay.
So, Dimitri's a high-end hit man?
Yeah. Top of the line.
Well, then Bancroft's death wasn't a suicide.
Of course.
Because who would want to kill an asshole like you?
Plenty of people. A few centuries ago. See, I don't merit this kind of hit
unless you want to stop me from looking into Bancroft's death.
So, instead of blaming me, how about you
apply your impressive policing skills.
Less than eight hours out of the tank,
and you're up to your eyes in organic damage and real death.
I could find a way to arrest you for this.
Yeah? You make up your mind, I'll be upstairs.
- No, you're not... - Kristin.
Leave it. Leave it.
This enemy you cannot defeat.
You can only drive it deeper inside you.
Is that really what you want to do with your only night on Earth?
I don't know...
how to be in this world without you.
- I'm here. - You're dead.
Tak.
I don't...
I don't have to go back on ice.
I... could just end it now.
Make it stop.
Just blow out my stack, make it all go away...
If you do that, it won't all go away.
Just you.
Tak.
Two hundred and fifty years is long enough.
Move on.
Never.
You hear me?
- Not ever. - Then do what you were born to do.
What I trained you to do. Make things change.
By saving a Meth?
There's more here than you're willing to see.
It's not the threat. It's the unanswered question.
The mystery that needs to be solved. The box that needs to be unlocked.
Envoys take what is offered, Tak.
Take this chance.
This is how you finish the mission.
Without you?
Finish the mission.
Mr. Kovacs. It's very late.
I'll take the case.
- Synced and corrected by VitoSilans - -- www.Addic7ed.com --