Chapter Text
Season One
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Episode 2.5
⊹♠️₊˚.⊹🃁🂡🂱🃑‧₊˚✩ ₊˚
Rain is a weather that often stirs debate.
Some find it relaxing after a long day of work; more dreamy individuals enjoy the cozy feeling of dancing under the falling raindrops. Others prefer sunny days because of practical motives, and a few simply didn’t enjoy the humid air after a heavy rain had just gone by.
These opinions, nonetheless, were carefully dissected of all logic once umbrellas became possible weapons and ticking-down visas shone from white phone screens after a deadly game.
Odaki Haruki had learned how inconvenient rain could be when there was nowhere left to hide.
His stay in the Borderlands hadn’t been successful. He’d survived, which felt like too generous a word now that his supplies were gone.
During the first weeks, he would’ve just gathered all the strength and will he had to push himself further, but certain strategies often lead to burnout. And today, he was worn until the very remains of himself had been drained.
He needed to move. Fast.
And he knew exactly where he had to go..
He needed to visit The Beach.
He’d heard of the Beach the same way people heard of miracles—secondhand, poorly explained, and always spoken about in lowered voices.
Safety. Community.
Odaki didn’t believe in places that offered both.
Still, when he saw the lights across the river, warm and unmistakably real, his feet moved before he could talk himself out of it.
The lightness of his load was almost pitiful, only a soaked backpack with medical supplies he could scavenge, cards he collected, and dusty bottles of water, along with some packs of what he called “his life saviors.”
He only hoped this night didn’t ruin them.
The walk there was anything but pleasant. By the time he was close, his eyes hurt from constantly wiping the drops away, and his legs were about to give out from exhaustion. Nonetheless, his focus snapped back as soon as he heard a car a few blocks away.
He ducked behind a dumpster and listened. One, two, three seconds, the sound of chaotic chatter went by before disappearing somewhere behind the third block. And despite trying his best to hear what they said, he couldn’t make out a single word.
Still, loud people were always a warning.
Because loud meant reckless most of the time. But also loud meant comfortable; loud meant not threatened.
Loud meant opportunity.
The resort loomed closer with every step, its warmth bleeding into the rain-soaked night like something alive.
Haruki pressed himself against the neighboring building’s wall, water streaming from his hair and into his eyes. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and forced himself to look.
No broken locks. No dark windows.
No guards.
The climate must've shooed them away.
Just music.
He froze.
Laughter spilled through the walls, careless and loud, followed by the clink of glass. People were moving inside; dancing, drinking. A party.
His stomach twisted painfully.
This is wrong, he thought dimly. This shouldn’t exist.
He moved anyway.
Staying low, he circled the perimeter until he spotted a narrow window near the back, half-hidden behind stacked crates. Rust bloomed along its edges. A service entrance, maybe.
It gave way with a dull groan.
The smell of food hit him immediately. Hot. Real. His vision swam, hunger clawing up his throat.
In and out, he told himself. Just grab something.
He found the dumbwaiter moments later. The ropes creaked when he tested them, but they held. Voices echoed from above—too close.
He climbed in anyway.
He barely had time to brace before the world lurched.
Something yanked him backward with brutal force. His head cracked against tile, white light bursting behind his eyes as the air punched out of his lungs.
“Got a rat over here!”
Hands grabbed him roughly, hauling him to his feet even as his legs buckled. His vision swarmed, rain and blood mixing with the harsh overhead lights that suddenly felt accusing.
“Trying to sneak through the dumbwaiter? I have to admit that’s a new one.” A man’s voice, amused but cold.
The last thing he registered before darkness pulled him deeper was the feeling of being dragged across the floor. His soaked backpack left a trail of water underneath him, and music was still playing mockingly somewhere above.
The next thing he felt was a flashlight on his face. Calloused hands tilted his head this way and the other, announcing things in a voice that was cold in all the wrong ways. “Don’t you think you went too far, Niragi?”
Another voice chimed in, cackling somewhere in the corner, “What did you want me to do, huh? I just got rid of the problem.” Sounds of fabric rustling, a third hand pressed his forehead until he was forced to tilt his head back. Odaki felt blood trickling down his chin.
“Ah, look at that… if I had struck harder, I would’ve broken his nose. If anything, I’d say I was restraining myself.”
The first voice sighed, “He is waking up now, and I’ll need him conscious if we’re going to extract answers, you hear me?”
“Whatever you say, third.”
Haruki stirred, eyes dropping every time he tried to open them. “What—what happened…?”
The two hands that were holding him suddenly dropped as if they had been burned. More sounds of rustling followed; they were stepping back. The smell of humidity attacked his senses before a third voice joined; this one was softer, feminine in a sharp tone. “Hm, I see he's finally coming around.”
“Mira,” the first voice interjected, “I’m dealing with enough for tonight; I don’t need your presence here if you’re not going to make this any easier.”
“I’m just here to witness,” she added amusedly, the soft clack of her shoes backing away, “I´ll be quiet now; I have a feeling this will be quite interesting.”
When Odaki could finally open his eyes, his gaze met with another close call—a few inches away. The man who had thrown the punch was barely holding back his laughter, his pierced face twisting with rotten amusement.
“Look at you, I made you flinch already,” he snickered. He wore a giraffe-print button-up in black and white, hair half-tied up in a messy knot. Something in him evoked the menacing presence of a wild animal, playing and enjoying the thrill of power.
Odaki had actually flinched, he noted, for all his stubborn image. And immediately tried breaking free, only to find himself seated in a wooden chair, limbs secured tightly with convenience store zip ties, arms bound behind his back. He shook experimentally and only made his position more uncomfortable. His head was pounding when he registered the same voice speaking to him once again.
“—I’ll make this simple for your beaten up head, mouse brain,” the man crouched, taking a handful of hair to put Odaki’s eyes level with his, “I'm going to ask you some things, and I will give you three seconds to answer. If you don’t…” He drifted off meaningfully, “Then I’ll make sure to beat you until your face becomes an unrecognizable piece of meat, you heard me?”
Odaki remained silent, already dreading what would come next.
“I asked, did you hear me?!” The man shook his grip on Odaki’s hair, the chair rattling against the floor of what seemed to be some old storage room, now repurposed for whatever this interview was supposed to be.
Odaki nodded in silence, feeling too dizzy to form any coherent answer and trying very hard to convince himself this was just a nightmare, a spectacularly realistic nightmare.
He had never been so wrong about something.
The first punch snapped his head sideways.
The second dropped him.
After that, time stopped behaving properly.
He remembered blood on the floor. Remembered the chair digging into his spine, the zip ties biting into his wrists. Niragi’s voice came and went, sharp with laughter, then warped and distant, like it was echoing through water.
Questions blurred together.
“Who told you about us?”
“Who do you work for?”
He tried to answer once. His tongue slipped over blood-slick teeth, and the sound came out wrong.
That only worsened it.
“If I wait long enough, maybe he’ll get bored”
“If I say this one thing, maybe it ends faster”
At some point, he realized he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. At another, the room tilted so violently he thought he was going to be sick.
When the blows finally stopped, he slumped forward, breath coming in wet, uneven gasps. The world narrowed to sound—dripping water, distant music, his own pulse roaring in his ears.
Someone sighed.
“This isn’t working.”
“Clearly.” The other one answered, leaning against the wall and looking unruffled despite having been there during the whole violent display, “He can barely breathe at this point; we can’t expect answers from a punch dummy, Niragi.”
The wild man—Niragi—stepped closer with a frown. “Well? And what would you do about this, smartass—”
“We should give him a break.” The woman’s voice suggested, sweet and cutting like her appearance, she was now leaning over the table that displayed Odaki’s belongings, playing idly with a hearts card between her fingers. “Let him breathe, as you said, and then we call him to see if he can make something out of this.”
“Him? Him?! I don’t need that smug blonde doing MY job—”
“We do.” The salaryman interrupted, “Don’t be impractical, Niragi; learn to accept your defeats.”
Mira nodded, “He’s clearly not going to speak by your meanings, and we can’t do any real harm without getting answers first—besides, we can’t waste more time with this without having to notify either Aguni or Hatter—”
“Fine! Fine. We don’t need to involve them; we can handle this alone.” Niragi scoffed, taking a step back while crossing his arms, “Go get him before I decide to get rid of this annoyance.”
Mira made a noncommittal sound before heading out; the harsh lights from the resort’s hallways spilled across the room in a thin line, flashing Odaki momentarily before closing and diving everything into black again.
The silence that followed was depressing; droplets of remaining rainwater and blood dripped on the floor and echoed across the room, almost muffled by the sound of Odaki’s ragged breathing.
Soon, another sound became present.
Click, click.
A lighter’s spark lit and unlit a few times before casting a small flame, lighting an old cigarette pressed between Niragi’s fingers at the opposite end of the room; the smell of ash and nicotine mixed with the ambience’s smell of dust and ozone after a minute. Odaki’s battered consciousness filled with the surrounding information, taking a long breath, savoring the smoke floating in the air, fighting a weak smile in his quivering lips.
Maybe he was concussed; maybe he was already out of his mind.
But as he took another long breath, he couldn’t help but think the world had small mercies.
The sound of steps appeared after what felt like an eternity.
Niragi’s dark silhouette tilted his head and clicked his tongue before stubbing his cigarette on the back of Odaki’s chair, deliberately close to where his hair spilled down in a long, dark, and light-brown cascade.
Mira walked in and held the door open with a warm smile as the quietest of steps approached somewhere down the hallway. She turned towards the sound and added, “—He’s holding up impressively.”
The door opened.
The room changed.
Haruki felt it before he saw anything—a subtle shift, like the air itself had pulled taut. Footsteps followed, unhurried. Deliberate.
A man stepped inside, framed by the hallway light. For a moment, Haruki couldn’t make out his face—only the pale spill of hair and the calm way he moved, as if this wasn’t a storage room streaked with blood but somewhere he belonged.
He was, objectively, just a man, but Odaki could’ve sworn he was seeing the manifestation of a capital sin he hadn’t heard of yet.
He walked leisurely through the makeshift interrogatory room, taking in the scene with the exact measure of curiosity one would apply to a puzzle.
Odaki’s face tilted up, following his movements warily. The lighting changed, and he got a clearer vision. Ash blond hair that fell right up to his shoulders in the softest wave, a half-zipped pristine white hoodie sat on his shoulders without a single trace of dust or blood, and the rest of his clothes seemed equally clean. Perhaps too clean for everything Odaki had seen in the Borderlands.
He stopped in front of him.
“So,” the man said mildly, “you’re the one causing trouble.”
His voice was soft. Too soft.
“You nearly killed him,” he said mildly.
“Didn’t,” Niragi scoffed. “Yet.”
The man hummed. “Shame. It would’ve made this simpler.”
When he leaned down, Haruki flinched before he could stop himself. Fingers brushed his chin—not gripping, not gentle. Measuring.
Dark eyes flicked over him with unsettling focus, pausing on details Haruki hadn’t realized he was giving away: his breathing, the tension in his shoulders, the way his gaze kept dropping.
“Did he lose consciousness?”
“About fifteen minutes,” someone answered.
“Mm.”
The man straightened, already disinterested in the injuries themselves. “That explains the delay.”
Delay.
As if Haruki’s pain were an inconvenience, not the point.
“Why do we care about that? He looks fine to me now,” Niragi interjected, notably getting impatient. “If we got Aguni, bet he’d tear the answers out of him even if he was unconscious.”
“We can’t get clear answers from someone who is not fully here.” The blonde man’s tone got significantly more serious. “Any signs of confusion?”
Niragi scoffed, “He spoke a little after he hit the floor, then nothing.” A pause, the rustle of fabric adjusting, “Once he woke up, it took him a moment to recover before getting stubbornly quiet.”
“Hm, I see.”
Finally, the blonde man released Odaki’s face. He leaned back, put his hands in his pockets, and settled on the table, back in the darkness of the room. His head turned to Mira. “What do you want to know about him?”
"How confident. You've already deduced things from observation alone?” Mira asked with sparkling eyes.
“Well, I’d like to confirm my suspicions first,” the blonde man began, walking over to the chair where their captive was bound and letting his hand rest heavily on the backrest. “I’ll get rid of your usual questions, then we’ll see where that takes us.”
“Perfect,” Mira purred, turning to Kyuzuru, who had been watching the whole display with his arms crossed and a darkening gaze.
He sighed and straightened before answering, “We want to know how he managed to find a breach in our security, how he found out about the beach, and why he refuses to talk.”
“And those cards,” Niragi added, nodding towards the table with the still-wet belonging display. “They're about 7; we want to know how he managed to collect so many, assuming they're all his."
“Alright,” the blonde man said, gesturing towards the door with his chin, “Give me twenty minutes, maybe fifteen, and I’ll have an answer to your questions.”
“No fucking way,” Niragi growled, “I’m not leaving this room. How would we know you won’t make up something to get rid of this task and go back to whatever schemes you are up to, huh?”
“That’s easy,” he answered, fingers subtly playing with the end of one of Odaki’s hair strands, “Either you stay here—which would probably interrupt my interrogation method—or you trust that, regardless of the motive, I’ll deliver the truth because I want to solve this inconvenience, just like you all.”
“Niragi, he has proven his loyalty to the beach on many occasions,” Kyuzuru argued, “Let him work so we can get done with this before daylight.” His tone was decisive, leaving no place for any other suggestion. Niragi seemed unconvinced and clicked his tongue before walking out of the room.
Mira and Kyuzuru left right after that; the door’s lock click echoed like a death bell. Odaki couldn’t tell if it was reality crashing back in or if he was catching a cold, but suddenly the room’s temperature felt brutally colder.
He squirmed in his chair, forcing his head to look down, controlling his breath, not giving a chance of reading him.
“You’ll hurt your hands further if you keep squirming in those zip ties,” the blonde man said conversationally, his voice impossibly soothing as he checked the restraints behind Odaki’s back, making a displeased sound at the sight of the swollen scratches on his wrists. “Here, let me fix this,”
And then, against anything Odaki thought might happen on that second interrogation, the man loosened the ties.
It was probably just an inch of expansion, but it felt like freedom for the trapped blood in his veins, which had been numb until that very moment. Odaki’s breathing slowed, trying to make sense of such action. Why? Why? Why would he do that?
“Better?” That soothing voice asked again, walking around the chair before crouching in front of it once again, “Now, I will check your eyes.”
His hand reached for a small flashlight in his hoodie pocket, and the other reached for Odaki’s chin again. He flinched away, gritting his teeth and curling over himself. However, the man didn’t seem bothered by this and lifted his face anyway with carefully measured strength. Harsh light flashed in Odaki’s eyes once again, going from one eye to the other in a rapid sequence. He jerked back, and the hand holding his chin released him without further protest. The flashlight was immediately sent back to its place in his pocket.
What are you doing? He wanted to ask, why aren’t you demanding answers?
The man retrieved a small piece of torn paper from his pocket as well, and before Odaki could lift his head to try and guess what he would do next, the paper snapped against his cheek ungracefully before dropping to the floor.
“Mhm, slower than expected,” the man noted, cocking his head with a scrutinizing gaze. “Do you know what day it is?”
His question was met by silence; Odaki’s eyes dropped to the floor with intense focus.
“You know what? That’s fair,” the blonde man huffed, amused. “Time is a confusing construct at this point.”
His voice then sobered. “Let me try again. What's your name?”
Silence. Again.
Clothes rustled as the man stood up, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Come on,” he gently pressed; the smile on his face was almost audible, “I'd like to know the name of the man clever enough to find our dumbwaiter before he dies of stubbornness.”
“I didn’t— I mean, I wasn’t trying to—” Odaki muttered before catching himself, cursing in his head with all the vocabulary his mind supplied.
“Ah, there it is,” the man’s voice was pleased. “You do talk, and what a hurt voice. I was considering using sign language if you kept quiet for two more minutes.”
Odaki lifted his head—then stopped, as if reconsidering whether it was worth being seen at all.
“You didn’t get to steal anything; that’s what you wanted to say?” He continued as he hunched over to look closer at those eyes, “Your pupils are dilated; are you scared of me?”
Odaki’s primmed lips proved answer enough. Or didn’t they?
The man took one look at his ears and regained that smug smile from before, “If it’s not fear, then…”
“Don’t—”
The word came out wrong. Too fast. Too sharp.
Odaki clenched his jaw immediately, like he could shove it back inside himself if he tried hard enough. His shoulders hunched without him noticing, spine curving inward as if making himself smaller would make the man in front of him lose interest.
“Don’t… assume,” he corrected, quieter this time. Not braver—just careful.
The man’s smile was unrepentant. “I wasn’t trying to.” A beat, “I actually think you’re not this spy the others think.”
At Odaki’s wary expression, he hummed, deep in thought, “No, you must be mad, or you wouldn’t have come here.”
The absurdity of the situation wasn’t lost on Odaki, and despite his efforts to make sense of this approach, he couldn’t quite pinpoint what the objective was behind the man’s commentary.
“I think,” he continued, “that you’re just out of backup plans. Aren’t you?”
Odaki’s eyes darted away, feeling too exposed.
“I’m going to tell you something quite interesting now. Did you know time works differently for each one of us in the Borderlands?” His eyes sparkled at the captive’s questioning expression, “How long have you been here?”
Against Odaki’s judgment, he replied. “For about… 2 weeks. More or less.”
“There we go, this isn’t so hard now. Is it?” The mysterious man coaxed. “I’ve been here for about 4 weeks. But I’ve heard of people that have been here for more than 3 months.”
“3 months…?” Odaki mouthed, shocked by the illogical implication of the sentence.
“Uh huh,” he nodded subtly, “but I guess your time here has not been the same as mine. Hasn’t it?”
Odaki remained frozen for a moment, then shook his head slowly. He hated how easy it was to answer.
“I see,” the man answered, then continued idly, “You have many bruises; are they all from today?”
Odaki shook his head no. “Some are from games… obviously.” At the man's silent nod, he went on, “I wasn’t as skillful as the others, but I managed.”
The man nodded and glanced meaningfully at the table and cards displayed. “You won a good handful of games; did you have to kill many people?” He went on conversationally, “I mean, no one can win and get so many cards fairly without getting their hands dirty. It’s something common at this point.”
“I didn’t—!” Odaki corrected, eyes narrowing with a new wave of disgust brought by memories better left buried.
“You didn’t what? Kill people? Play all those games?” The man kept adding, eyes unsettlingly focused.
“I didn’t kill people, okay?” Odaki muttered, voice carefully restrained, “I did play games, and I did get those cards fairly, but I don't—I would never–”
“You would never kill, huh?” The man supplied, “And did you play all those games?”
“Yes,” Odaki answered immediately, “or, well, most of them I won fairly, and I got the other cards from—”
“Cadavers?”
“From the deceased,” Odaki said after a moment.
“For what?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation stretched just long enough to be noticed.
“Because… leaving them felt worse,” he said finally. His voice was quieter now. “And because I needed to remember them.”
The man hummed. “That’s more honest.”
Odaki swallowed. He hadn’t meant for it to be.
“How thoughtful of you,” the man mused casually. “Tell me about the games you played. Was there a hard one in particular? I heard the 6 of diamonds was quite difficult. And that card you have is stained with blood.”
“6 of…? Yeah, I—I don’t remember that night so vividly, but it was… hard.” Odaki’s eyes dropped deep in thought, his tongue cleaning his bloody lips. “There was this poker game… and most players didn’t make it.”
“It must have been hard.” The man’s smile was incandescent as he stood up once again, retrieving a handkerchief from his hoodie pocket and stepping closer to clean the captive’s chin and nose. “I’d hate to keep you remembering such awful things; how about we finish this, and I tell the gentlemen outside how much of a misunderstanding this whole situation is?”
“What…?” Odaki was baffled. “Why—how?”
“That’s what I thought.” His hand reached for the door, and once he opened it, there was a long beat of silence. Then he called out,“I got what I needed.”
The room was quickly inhabited by the small group of—interrogators? Beach’s security council? Militants? Whatever they were?
They all glanced either at each other or at the subject of their unwanted night investigation. The blonde man hovered near Odaki’s chair and simply began talking. “You see, this man over here… what was your name again?"
Silence stretched. Then the blonde man sighed, pulling back.
"Alright, Doe-eyes it is then."
"That's—" Odaki's objection died as he realized. They were no longer the only ones in the room, and Niragi leaning in the threshold seemed displeased by his lack of cooperation. Not answering meant going back to Niragi's fists and—
"Haruki." It came out desperate, hoarse. "My name is Odaki Haruki."
The blonde man smiled, glancing down with that infuriating smile. "See? Not so difficult."
He launched into a brief explanation of what he had discovered—or confirmed, given his deductions—about the man sitting before them. He told them about Odaki's time in the Borderlands, his strategies for surviving, and all the cards he had gotten from the games; his eyes met meaningfully when he carefully avoided mentioning his habit of card hoarding from dead bodies.
“So, all the cards are his?” Niragi asked warily, “Is he that lucky?”
“You could say he's resourceful.”
“How do we know he's harmless?” Niragi scoffed.
“I didn’t say he was harmless,” he corrected mildly. “I said he was manageable.”
“And we could use that,” Mira added with a smile. “How about we bring him to Hatter tomorrow?”
“It's settled then,” the salaryman concluded, pushing his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose as he turned to the blonde man, “You’ll guide him to a vacant room and make sure it’s locked until tomorrow morning; we can’t face any surprises with this newcomer you’re vouching for.”
“Understood,” the blonde man answered.
The room filled out, quiet steps walking down the hallways as if absolutely nothing had happened in that place for the last two hours or more. Odaki simply couldn’t believe it; he felt as if the whole situation passed through him, making him only a witness to some sort of cold protocol that had been successfully executed.
What? Why? When had he been recruited to this hellish place?
“Well, are you coming?” The blonde man’s voice snapped him back; Odaki stared at his freed wrists, red and raw, not remembering the moment the plastic gave way. The blonde man must have cut them while explaining his findings, so casual it barely registered as an action worth noting.
“Why?” His voice asked, dry with an ash-like feeling of inhumanity. “Why would I even do anything you are saying?”
The man blinked, his face going through an intricate cocktail of microexpressions before settling into some sort of sober amusement. “Because,” he began, taking a long breath, “you’re a human being, and whether you like it or not, this place can cover all your basic needs in exchange for your service. And that’s a deal you can’t turn down. Not given your current situation.”
Odaki opened his mouth to retort, then closed it reluctantly.
Damn that bastard for being right.
The walk to the room was short, or at least that’s how Odaki felt it; his body trailed automatically behind the executive in a wave of new faces and sounds
The Beach was eerily close to what he had imagined, filled with people in swimwear who mingled in the expensive lobby without a care in the world.
Many residents stared at him as he limped, whispering and rumoring about him; stories were probably in the making already. Stories about the beaten resident who sneaked through the dumbwaiter and brought only problems. The image almost painted itself. His bruised face and dirt-stained clothes stood out like a sore thumb in the sea of beach attire. But Odaki kept telling himself not to care.
Not now. Not after all of this.
The blonde executive stopped before a lower hotel room and opened it with a small flourish. The space inside was dark and bathed in the bluish light coming from somewhere outside, messy with all sorts of scattered belongings, clearly having recently become “vacant.” Odaki’s eyes dragged across the furniture as he stepped inside quietly.
“What now?” he asked, feeling stupid right after for such a lack of words.
“Now?” the blonde man asked, leaning against the threshold leisurely. “Now you rest, of course. Adrenaline and spite are probably the only things keeping you from fainting right now.”
“That’s not what I—” Odaki shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I mean… What about all of this? They believe I won all those cards by myself.”
“So?”
“Why?” Odaki spat, “Why did you lie to them? What do you get from that?”
"I get leverage," he answered simply, a smile tugging at his lips. “I sold them a better you, a less sentimental version of the survivor you are. They need pawns like that.”
“Of course,” Odaki huffed, “that… makes some sick sense.”
“There’s probably a first aid kit inside the closet.” The blond man kept on with unnerving casualness. “I imagine you can figure out the basics with whatever is left there, but if you get worse, look for Ann; she can help with that.”
“...Why?” Odaki asked.
“I wouldn’t like knowing we have an incapable citizen because of our own welcoming politics,” the man shrugged, “and because I want to get a good idea of who you really are when you’re not concussed and desperate.”
“You don’t—”
He stopped himself, swallowing.
“You don’t know everything,” he said instead.
“Hm,” the man mused, “Bold statement for someone transparent. I’d say I already got a decent start tonight.”
“No… you didn’t.”
“Why, yes. I believe I did.” The blond man headed out, turning with his hand on the doorknob and a perfectly curled smile on his lips. “I already know I have a liar in between my hands.”
The door clicked closed with a determining echo across the room.
Odaki slumped in the unmade bed. His heart was racing, and everything hurt.
How?
He would later notice his door was conveniently blocked.