Yamato Ishida (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2021-03-02 10:07 pm
angry_friendship_wolf) wrote2021-03-02 10:07 pm
[tri OOM] Second Battle of Odaiba, Part 1
“No word from Izumi?” Nishijima asks, as they (well, most of ‘they’, Yamato supposes: Himself, Taichi, Sora, Mimi, Takeru, Hikari, Daisuke, and Iori, along with Gabumon, Agumon, Piyomon, Palmon, Patamon, Tailmon, V-Mon, an Armadimon, and Agent Nishijima) gather atop Odaiba’s television building, settled in the same (well, maybe not the same, given how the original building was ruined, but the recreated) spot where they’d fought Vamdemon.
There’s only minutes until Gennai’s three day grace period ends and the Gate opens. The first priority, Yamato knows, will be containing the fighting: Odaiba’s been evacuated, its residents rushed onto the mainland and into underground shelters, but beyond the edges of Tokyo Bay are miles upon miles of populated urban sprawl, and if the battle spills out into them people will die.
The second priority is holding the line until Koushiro, Jyou, Miyako, and Ken return. Yamato’s sure they’ve realised that the battle is about to begin, has no doubt that they’re rushing to acquire the components necessary to build the amplifier device -- but the Digital World has its ways of throwing wrenches into plans.
“No word yet. We’ll keep them at bay until they arrive,” he says, projecting a confidence that he’s not sure he really feels.
Up on his shoulders, Gabumon nudges a paw against the side of his head comfortingly.
Complicating matters, he knows, are the naval ships swarming the edge of the bay, the tanks lined up on the shores, the rows and rows of soldiers -- not just JSDF, but those from its allies too, amassed and ready and completely unable to do anything against an army of Digimon. If they forget the Bureau’s stern warnings to stay clear of the fighting, if their arrogance outstrips their sense of self-preservation and they decide to attack, Gennai’s forces will wash over them like a tidal wave, wiping them out in their hundreds of thousands.
The clock ticks down. He has one eye on his watch, counting the seconds until the hour changes and Gennai makes his entrance. Tick, tick, tick -- …
There. Three days exactly.
For a moment, there’s silence. Nothing happens. There’s no grand crack of thunder or the light show of the Gate opening.
“What’s he waiting for?” Mimi asks. “What, he can’t even be punctual?”
“Maybe he changed his mind?” Daisuke offers.
“He hasn’t,” Sora says. “That’s not what Gennai is like.”
A minute passes. Two. Three.
Then he feels it. It’s a rumble of energy in his chest, the stirring of his Crest, telling him that the Gate is opening.
The sky above Odaiba splits. A crack into the void, burning with rainbow lights at the edges, prises the blue skies apart from horizon to horizon. Bolts of light like shooting stars fall from it, curving towards the island: Three land in the waters around Odaiba; four more hit Odaiba itself, landing among warehouses, or in Odaiba Seaside Park, or outside the exhibition centre, or next to the still-under-repair Palette Town mall. One by one, they resolve into towering gold shapes, hexagonal prisms perched on four legs, crackling with the Infection.
“Valvemon,” Yamato’s analyser chirps. ”Data-attribute, Metal-element, Perfect-level Machine Digimon. A vehicle Digimon boasting immense size, it can carry as many as fifty Digimon within its body. Properly equipped, it can produce an endless supply of Troopmon soldiers.”
Three more shapes dart out of the Gate, flying. Yamato’s analyser doesn’t go off, but he’s almost certain that’s Gennai’s new Dark Chosen.
“Everyone ready?” Taichi asks. A rumble of assenting remarks sweeps through the group. He lifts his digivice, the screen flickering orange. “Let’s go.”
“Agumon, warp evolution! WarGreymon.”
“Gabumon, warp evolution. MetalGarurumon.”
“Piyomon, warp evolution. Hououmon.”
“Palmon, warp evolution! Rosemon.”
“Patamon, warp evolution! Seraphimon.”
“Tailmon, super evolution. Angewomon.”
“V-Mon, armour evolution! The Radiance of Miracles, Magnamon.”
“Armadimon, armour evolution! Whirling Reliability, Submarimon.”
A wave of light spreads out from MetalGarurumon, sweeping over the island, trailing wireframe meshes as it scans the area and sends the data back. Yamato shuts his eyes for a moment, linking his senses with MetalGarurumon’s, then opens them to an influx of data. He can see the whole island spread out around him, a topological map, with the position of every Valvemon as it begins to spit out troops, the whirling shapes of the Dark Chosen and their artificial Digimon, along with wind speed, humidity, chemical levels in the air, and more and more and more.
It takes him a second to adjust. The barrage of data is almost overwhelming to sort through.
“Sora, Hououmon, take out the Valvemon near the exhibition centre; Mimi, Rosemon, take out the one near the park,” he rattles off. “Iori, Submarimon, head into the water and patrol. Scan for any anomalies and send the data back to me. Agent Nishijima, make sure nobody tries to move in on Odaiba. Everyone else, we’re going after the Dark Chosen.”
“Roger that,” Taichi says, and they move out.
---
MetalGarurumon is a machine built for causing havoc.
WarGreymon, Rosemon, and Seraphimon are direct, up-close attackers, and Hououmon is made for striking fast from above. MetalGarurumon, however, has less attack power than all of them, barely more than WereGarurumon -- where it excels is range, speed, and in its ability to scan and monitor an entire battlefield. Able to track the movement of every combatant on a field, fire cleanly across kilometres of distance to hit enemies even far out of its eyeline, pepper a battlefield with missiles, or zip from point to point faster than nearly any other Digimon can keep up with, it excels at making discipline and formation break down, exploiting one weakness after another in rapid succession until an enemy force is in disarray, or wearing down a singular opponent from every angle.
The best way to draw in the Dark Chosen is to cause trouble, so Yamato does just that, tracking the battle and giving orders to the others from MetalGarurumon’s back, as the two of them sow chaos across the island, creating openings for the others to exploit.
Under the sustained assault, two of the Valvemon fall quickly, a third a moment later. More arrive through the Gate not long after.
It doesn’t take long for one of the Dark Chosen to wheel away from the group, moving towards him.
The other two Dark Chosen split away from their patrol patterns as well, making their way towards Taichi and Sora. He taps a finger to his ear.
“Taichi, you have a Dark Chosen in pursuit. Sora, withdraw for now while Takeru, Hikari, and Daisuke intercept the Dark Chosen on your tail.”
They all respond in the affirmative, and Yamato sees dots of colour that correspond to each of them moving.
“And us?” MetalGarurumon asks.
“Move towards the docks, we’ll face them there.”
---
They never reach the docks.
They’re almost there when a spike of pain lances through Yamato’s head, as MetalGarurumon’s scans turn to painful static, leaving them blind. Yamato bites down on a noise of pain, as MetalGarurumon careens out of control, spiralling through the air.
Yamato’s disconnecting his senses from his partner’s, trying to regain some semblance of control, when a heavy shape slams into them from the side.
They both hit the ground hard, and Yamato finds himself thrown from MetalGarurumon’s back, bouncing and then scraping across the concrete. He can feel himself bleeding when he stops, the rough landing having scraped several gashes across his flank. He staggers to his feet, clutching one hand to the deepest wound, a ragged line stretching from his hip to his ribs.
Hekatosmon, an angular, vaguely humanoid and vaguely draconic shape of black crystals and glass, held aloft by wings made of interlocking black hexagons, drifts down to the ground and waits as its partner hops off.
Ryusei Daimon has swapped out his prison jumpsuit for a t-shirt and jeans, but he’s easy enough to recognise all the same: Huge, burly, his shaggy hair tied back behind his head in a short ponytail, looking at Yamato like he’s meat being served at a banquet.
“Bad news,” Ryusei says, as MetalGarurumon clambers to his feet and snarls at Hekatosmon. “The old man says I’m allowed to kill you.”
“Worse news,” Yamato replies. “I don’t need to ask his permission to kill you.”
---
It’s a more one-sided battle than Yamato would like.
MetalGarurumon is faster, massively faster, zipping around Hekatosmon so quickly that he doubts anyone could follow him with his eyes. But Hekatosmon projects some kind of inky black gravity field, engulfing himself in waves of darkness, and none of MetalGarurumon’s attacks can get through. Missiles stop in mid-air and explode uselessly, energy blasts bend and curve around him, blasts of ice are caught and turned to steam in seconds.
The only chance we have is attacking up close, but MetalGarurumon has no way to even get close to him.
Ryusei is the opposite. As Hekatosmon placidly defends, pursuing MetalGarurumon with slow, dogged determination, his gravity field growing with each passing second, Ryusei is relentless. He rushes in, a knuckleduster on one hand, delivering attack after attack to Yamato.
Yamato defends, takes advantage of Ryusei’s fury with counters, but no matter how hard he hits the other boy, he seems to barely notice, never stopping or slowing his offensive. He aims for Yamato’s wounds most of the time, battering them, making them deeper and wider, until Yamato’s clothes are nearly soaked in blood and his vision starts blurring; aims for his head and sides the rest of the time.
(He’s better than you, his brain reminds him halfway through the fight. You’re hurt and he’s using a knuckleduster, but even if this was a fair fight, he’d be winning.)
MetalGarurumon feels the effect too. As pain and nausea, and the heavy haze of drowsiness brought on by blood loss and concussion, encroach on his thoughts, the Digimon slows down, becoming more uncoordinated, struggling to keep his focus.
When Hekatosmon makes his attack, Yamato feels it. A claw in MetalGarurumon’s gut, the pain passing through their link perfectly, and then a blast of gravity that strips away metal plates, leaving exposed, sparking machinery.
In the same moment, Ryusei slams his knuckleduster against the side of Yamato’s temple and drops him, the world going black for a split second as his ears ring. His arms and legs feel boneless, numb, and all he can do is roll onto his back, just before Ryusei’s booted foot slams down onto his chest and pins him there.
Hekatosmon is methodical. Its sharp, long-fingered claws curve around one of MetalGarurumon’s legs, pierce through the joints, and then rip it off, dropping it onto the ground. Yamato feels MetalGarurumon’s pain like it’s his own, enough that he almost loses consciousness again. Ryusei gives a short chuckle, pressing down on his chest until he feels ribs cracking.
Snick. Another of MetalGarurumon’s limbs are ripped away. Yamato feels their link light up with pain, then snap, as MetalGarurumon de-evolves, glowing bright green and shedding data, until Gabumon’s battered shape lands on the ground next to him.
“You’re a disappointment,” Ryusei murmurs. He gives his foot a twist. “Hekatosmon, finish the Digimon off.”
Hekatosmon presses its claws together, charging energy between them, and Yamato feels panic and adrenaline surge through his system, enough to shove Ryusei’s boot away and scramble over to Gabumon. He scoops the Digimon up, stumbling blindly down an alleyway.
He can smell seawater. They’re not far from the docks. Yamato’s body moves on autopilot, stumbling out from the densely packed buildings, to the very edge of Odaiba, and as Hekatosmon fires a blast of purple energy, he barrels over the edge, face-first into the water.
The water is icy cold, and the salt stings his wounds, and that, it seems, is enough to finally push him over the edge into unconsciousness.
---
The flickering distortion opens, and Gennai steps out onto Odaiba, taking the form of Ken Ichijouji as he crosses the boundary.
“Report.”
“Taichi Yagami’s been beaten, but he escaped. Ryusei’s reporting that he defeated Ishida, but he jumped into the sea,” Kaito replies, his voice crackling in Gennai’s ear. “Mizu’s struggling against Takaishi, the Yagami girl, and Motomiya, but she hasn’t lost yet.”
Gennai doesn’t reply. He shuts his eyes, spreading his senses out towards the Digimon he’s scattered around the globe, underneath each Gate. They’ve been collecting energy, drawing in the negative emotions of an entire world’s population, and he can feel that they’re glutted with it.
“Come drink your fill, Meicoomon,” he says softly, and sends out the mental command.
One by one, the Gates open. Siberia first, then the Indo-Chinese border, then New York, Mexico, Australia, France, until every Gate outside Japan is wide open, held that way by the efforts of the Digimon beneath them.
When the transmission of energy starts, he can almost see it, like a black miasma flowing up through the Gates, travelling through them to converge on a specific point.
Not long now.
---
“It is time. I would borrow your power once more, Homeostasis,” Dorumon says, bowing his head.
The Homeostasis host computer has no physical form in the Digital World, not anymore, but the faint twinkling of light around Dorumon tells him that she’s there. He waits, and eventually, after long minutes of calculations, she gives her answer.
“I know that your energy is -- finite. There are only so many more times we can do this,” Dorumon admits. “But this is a unique circumstance.”
The lights glitter gently. An affirmative. Dorumon shuts his eyes as a jolt of power runs through his systems, invigorating him, supercharging him.
“Dorumon, evolution,” he murmurs, as his form collapses, reformatting into black and gold armour. “Alphamon.”
There’s only minutes until Gennai’s three day grace period ends and the Gate opens. The first priority, Yamato knows, will be containing the fighting: Odaiba’s been evacuated, its residents rushed onto the mainland and into underground shelters, but beyond the edges of Tokyo Bay are miles upon miles of populated urban sprawl, and if the battle spills out into them people will die.
The second priority is holding the line until Koushiro, Jyou, Miyako, and Ken return. Yamato’s sure they’ve realised that the battle is about to begin, has no doubt that they’re rushing to acquire the components necessary to build the amplifier device -- but the Digital World has its ways of throwing wrenches into plans.
“No word yet. We’ll keep them at bay until they arrive,” he says, projecting a confidence that he’s not sure he really feels.
Up on his shoulders, Gabumon nudges a paw against the side of his head comfortingly.
Complicating matters, he knows, are the naval ships swarming the edge of the bay, the tanks lined up on the shores, the rows and rows of soldiers -- not just JSDF, but those from its allies too, amassed and ready and completely unable to do anything against an army of Digimon. If they forget the Bureau’s stern warnings to stay clear of the fighting, if their arrogance outstrips their sense of self-preservation and they decide to attack, Gennai’s forces will wash over them like a tidal wave, wiping them out in their hundreds of thousands.
The clock ticks down. He has one eye on his watch, counting the seconds until the hour changes and Gennai makes his entrance. Tick, tick, tick -- …
There. Three days exactly.
For a moment, there’s silence. Nothing happens. There’s no grand crack of thunder or the light show of the Gate opening.
“What’s he waiting for?” Mimi asks. “What, he can’t even be punctual?”
“Maybe he changed his mind?” Daisuke offers.
“He hasn’t,” Sora says. “That’s not what Gennai is like.”
A minute passes. Two. Three.
Then he feels it. It’s a rumble of energy in his chest, the stirring of his Crest, telling him that the Gate is opening.
The sky above Odaiba splits. A crack into the void, burning with rainbow lights at the edges, prises the blue skies apart from horizon to horizon. Bolts of light like shooting stars fall from it, curving towards the island: Three land in the waters around Odaiba; four more hit Odaiba itself, landing among warehouses, or in Odaiba Seaside Park, or outside the exhibition centre, or next to the still-under-repair Palette Town mall. One by one, they resolve into towering gold shapes, hexagonal prisms perched on four legs, crackling with the Infection.
“Valvemon,” Yamato’s analyser chirps. ”Data-attribute, Metal-element, Perfect-level Machine Digimon. A vehicle Digimon boasting immense size, it can carry as many as fifty Digimon within its body. Properly equipped, it can produce an endless supply of Troopmon soldiers.”
Three more shapes dart out of the Gate, flying. Yamato’s analyser doesn’t go off, but he’s almost certain that’s Gennai’s new Dark Chosen.
“Everyone ready?” Taichi asks. A rumble of assenting remarks sweeps through the group. He lifts his digivice, the screen flickering orange. “Let’s go.”
“Agumon, warp evolution! WarGreymon.”
“Gabumon, warp evolution. MetalGarurumon.”
“Piyomon, warp evolution. Hououmon.”
“Palmon, warp evolution! Rosemon.”
“Patamon, warp evolution! Seraphimon.”
“Tailmon, super evolution. Angewomon.”
“V-Mon, armour evolution! The Radiance of Miracles, Magnamon.”
“Armadimon, armour evolution! Whirling Reliability, Submarimon.”
A wave of light spreads out from MetalGarurumon, sweeping over the island, trailing wireframe meshes as it scans the area and sends the data back. Yamato shuts his eyes for a moment, linking his senses with MetalGarurumon’s, then opens them to an influx of data. He can see the whole island spread out around him, a topological map, with the position of every Valvemon as it begins to spit out troops, the whirling shapes of the Dark Chosen and their artificial Digimon, along with wind speed, humidity, chemical levels in the air, and more and more and more.
It takes him a second to adjust. The barrage of data is almost overwhelming to sort through.
“Sora, Hououmon, take out the Valvemon near the exhibition centre; Mimi, Rosemon, take out the one near the park,” he rattles off. “Iori, Submarimon, head into the water and patrol. Scan for any anomalies and send the data back to me. Agent Nishijima, make sure nobody tries to move in on Odaiba. Everyone else, we’re going after the Dark Chosen.”
“Roger that,” Taichi says, and they move out.
MetalGarurumon is a machine built for causing havoc.
WarGreymon, Rosemon, and Seraphimon are direct, up-close attackers, and Hououmon is made for striking fast from above. MetalGarurumon, however, has less attack power than all of them, barely more than WereGarurumon -- where it excels is range, speed, and in its ability to scan and monitor an entire battlefield. Able to track the movement of every combatant on a field, fire cleanly across kilometres of distance to hit enemies even far out of its eyeline, pepper a battlefield with missiles, or zip from point to point faster than nearly any other Digimon can keep up with, it excels at making discipline and formation break down, exploiting one weakness after another in rapid succession until an enemy force is in disarray, or wearing down a singular opponent from every angle.
The best way to draw in the Dark Chosen is to cause trouble, so Yamato does just that, tracking the battle and giving orders to the others from MetalGarurumon’s back, as the two of them sow chaos across the island, creating openings for the others to exploit.
Under the sustained assault, two of the Valvemon fall quickly, a third a moment later. More arrive through the Gate not long after.
It doesn’t take long for one of the Dark Chosen to wheel away from the group, moving towards him.
The other two Dark Chosen split away from their patrol patterns as well, making their way towards Taichi and Sora. He taps a finger to his ear.
“Taichi, you have a Dark Chosen in pursuit. Sora, withdraw for now while Takeru, Hikari, and Daisuke intercept the Dark Chosen on your tail.”
They all respond in the affirmative, and Yamato sees dots of colour that correspond to each of them moving.
“And us?” MetalGarurumon asks.
“Move towards the docks, we’ll face them there.”
They never reach the docks.
They’re almost there when a spike of pain lances through Yamato’s head, as MetalGarurumon’s scans turn to painful static, leaving them blind. Yamato bites down on a noise of pain, as MetalGarurumon careens out of control, spiralling through the air.
Yamato’s disconnecting his senses from his partner’s, trying to regain some semblance of control, when a heavy shape slams into them from the side.
They both hit the ground hard, and Yamato finds himself thrown from MetalGarurumon’s back, bouncing and then scraping across the concrete. He can feel himself bleeding when he stops, the rough landing having scraped several gashes across his flank. He staggers to his feet, clutching one hand to the deepest wound, a ragged line stretching from his hip to his ribs.
Hekatosmon, an angular, vaguely humanoid and vaguely draconic shape of black crystals and glass, held aloft by wings made of interlocking black hexagons, drifts down to the ground and waits as its partner hops off.
Ryusei Daimon has swapped out his prison jumpsuit for a t-shirt and jeans, but he’s easy enough to recognise all the same: Huge, burly, his shaggy hair tied back behind his head in a short ponytail, looking at Yamato like he’s meat being served at a banquet.
“Bad news,” Ryusei says, as MetalGarurumon clambers to his feet and snarls at Hekatosmon. “The old man says I’m allowed to kill you.”
“Worse news,” Yamato replies. “I don’t need to ask his permission to kill you.”
It’s a more one-sided battle than Yamato would like.
MetalGarurumon is faster, massively faster, zipping around Hekatosmon so quickly that he doubts anyone could follow him with his eyes. But Hekatosmon projects some kind of inky black gravity field, engulfing himself in waves of darkness, and none of MetalGarurumon’s attacks can get through. Missiles stop in mid-air and explode uselessly, energy blasts bend and curve around him, blasts of ice are caught and turned to steam in seconds.
The only chance we have is attacking up close, but MetalGarurumon has no way to even get close to him.
Ryusei is the opposite. As Hekatosmon placidly defends, pursuing MetalGarurumon with slow, dogged determination, his gravity field growing with each passing second, Ryusei is relentless. He rushes in, a knuckleduster on one hand, delivering attack after attack to Yamato.
Yamato defends, takes advantage of Ryusei’s fury with counters, but no matter how hard he hits the other boy, he seems to barely notice, never stopping or slowing his offensive. He aims for Yamato’s wounds most of the time, battering them, making them deeper and wider, until Yamato’s clothes are nearly soaked in blood and his vision starts blurring; aims for his head and sides the rest of the time.
(He’s better than you, his brain reminds him halfway through the fight. You’re hurt and he’s using a knuckleduster, but even if this was a fair fight, he’d be winning.)
MetalGarurumon feels the effect too. As pain and nausea, and the heavy haze of drowsiness brought on by blood loss and concussion, encroach on his thoughts, the Digimon slows down, becoming more uncoordinated, struggling to keep his focus.
When Hekatosmon makes his attack, Yamato feels it. A claw in MetalGarurumon’s gut, the pain passing through their link perfectly, and then a blast of gravity that strips away metal plates, leaving exposed, sparking machinery.
In the same moment, Ryusei slams his knuckleduster against the side of Yamato’s temple and drops him, the world going black for a split second as his ears ring. His arms and legs feel boneless, numb, and all he can do is roll onto his back, just before Ryusei’s booted foot slams down onto his chest and pins him there.
Hekatosmon is methodical. Its sharp, long-fingered claws curve around one of MetalGarurumon’s legs, pierce through the joints, and then rip it off, dropping it onto the ground. Yamato feels MetalGarurumon’s pain like it’s his own, enough that he almost loses consciousness again. Ryusei gives a short chuckle, pressing down on his chest until he feels ribs cracking.
Snick. Another of MetalGarurumon’s limbs are ripped away. Yamato feels their link light up with pain, then snap, as MetalGarurumon de-evolves, glowing bright green and shedding data, until Gabumon’s battered shape lands on the ground next to him.
“You’re a disappointment,” Ryusei murmurs. He gives his foot a twist. “Hekatosmon, finish the Digimon off.”
Hekatosmon presses its claws together, charging energy between them, and Yamato feels panic and adrenaline surge through his system, enough to shove Ryusei’s boot away and scramble over to Gabumon. He scoops the Digimon up, stumbling blindly down an alleyway.
He can smell seawater. They’re not far from the docks. Yamato’s body moves on autopilot, stumbling out from the densely packed buildings, to the very edge of Odaiba, and as Hekatosmon fires a blast of purple energy, he barrels over the edge, face-first into the water.
The water is icy cold, and the salt stings his wounds, and that, it seems, is enough to finally push him over the edge into unconsciousness.
The flickering distortion opens, and Gennai steps out onto Odaiba, taking the form of Ken Ichijouji as he crosses the boundary.
“Report.”
“Taichi Yagami’s been beaten, but he escaped. Ryusei’s reporting that he defeated Ishida, but he jumped into the sea,” Kaito replies, his voice crackling in Gennai’s ear. “Mizu’s struggling against Takaishi, the Yagami girl, and Motomiya, but she hasn’t lost yet.”
Gennai doesn’t reply. He shuts his eyes, spreading his senses out towards the Digimon he’s scattered around the globe, underneath each Gate. They’ve been collecting energy, drawing in the negative emotions of an entire world’s population, and he can feel that they’re glutted with it.
“Come drink your fill, Meicoomon,” he says softly, and sends out the mental command.
One by one, the Gates open. Siberia first, then the Indo-Chinese border, then New York, Mexico, Australia, France, until every Gate outside Japan is wide open, held that way by the efforts of the Digimon beneath them.
When the transmission of energy starts, he can almost see it, like a black miasma flowing up through the Gates, travelling through them to converge on a specific point.
Not long now.
“It is time. I would borrow your power once more, Homeostasis,” Dorumon says, bowing his head.
The Homeostasis host computer has no physical form in the Digital World, not anymore, but the faint twinkling of light around Dorumon tells him that she’s there. He waits, and eventually, after long minutes of calculations, she gives her answer.
“I know that your energy is -- finite. There are only so many more times we can do this,” Dorumon admits. “But this is a unique circumstance.”
The lights glitter gently. An affirmative. Dorumon shuts his eyes as a jolt of power runs through his systems, invigorating him, supercharging him.
“Dorumon, evolution,” he murmurs, as his form collapses, reformatting into black and gold armour. “Alphamon.”