Thread: [Pokémon] System:Reboot (PMD)
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Old January 26th, 2018 (9:31 AM).
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Delirious Absol Delirious Absol is offline
Call me Del
    Join Date: May 2015
    Location: UK
    Age: 33
    Gender: Female
    Nature: Quirky
    Posts: 355
    Chapter Thirty Three

    If there was something Macro had learned from his short time in the the cell, it was two things. Firstly, prison food was disgusting. Secondly, the cells were oddly quiet.

    Not a peep came from the other criminals locked inside them, but Macro wasn’t sure how much of that was down to the glass muffling them out. Even Anchor’s deep voice was slightly hindered by the cell’s structure.

    There hadn’t been much to discuss, and Macro was finding himself growing increasingly restless. He paced back and forth with the taste of twice-fried potatoes and berry stew in his mouth, he tried to work out whether or not it was a trick. Was Jumper really going to use them to fight their battle, or was he secretly being turned over to Socket for his bounty?

    He turned on the spot to march the other way for what must have been the hundredth time, but the ground moved beneath his feet, sending him half-running, half-falling across the cell. He landed face down on the tiled floor with an ‘oomph’, then as he looked up he became aware of a deep rumbling. The noise shook the very glass and he pushed himself up on his paws, straining his ears to pinpoint the noise.

    Then it stopped as quickly as it had started.

    The rumble was replaced by sirens and the roar of voices as their cell-mates tried to work out what had just happened.

    One pair of red eyes fixed on him as the golduck opposite pushed himself to his knees. He rubbed a paw over his head and grimaced.

    “Did you have somethin’ to do with that?” he asked. “You sneaky pirates plant a bomb somewhere?”

    “What makes you think I’ve done anything?” Macro placed a paw on his chest. “I’m stuck in this cell!”

    “Could be liaising with the grass types,” said the golduck. “I mean, you have a fire type ally! Who’s to say you’ve not sided with both of them and are conspiring against us?”

    “I agree.” Macro couldn’t see the speaker from where he was sat, but their voice was feminine. “They could have been hired. As far as I know, space pirates will do anything for a quick credit.”

    Macro flashed his canines and leapt towards the glass, pausing with both paws pressed up on it. He strained to see the speaker so he could bite back at them, but the door to the cells flew open, drawing all eyes towards them. Jumper’s flat feet flapped on the floor as he quickly checked on each and every prisoner. Voices erupted again, each one warring to be heard over the other.

    “What was that?!” Macro roared, echoing the same question everyone else had thrown at the frogadier.

    He ran past them to check the rest of the cells before he finally trotted back, waving his paws.

    “Silence!” he shouted.

    The frantic voices ebbed out and Jumper cast Macro a sideways glance before turning to the rest of the cells.

    “There’s been an explosion,” he said. “One of the store houses has been attacked. We’re working on rescuing any survivors, but we believe it’s the work of the grass army.”

    “A suicide bomber?” Anchor asked.

    “We believe so,” said Jumper. “But it’s still too early to be certain.”

    “I reckon it were a space pirate,” snorted the golduck.

    Jumper ignored him and turned his attention to the swinging doors. “Sadly, I don’t even think the police station will be safe for much longer. If this persists, we’ll be sending you all down to Proxy Prison until this blows over.”

    As he left the cells, the locked up pokemon whined in protest.

    Macro choked at the idea. Proxy City with it’s putrid air… He could personally guarantee no one in this cell deserved that.


    The setting sun painted the sky with an orange hue, reflecting off the discarded sheets of metal. They lay about the yard in a haphazard fashion, reminiscent of jagged teeth. Annie clutched a mug between two claws, trying not to spill it as she waddled out into the cold air.

    Trojan sat astride the frame of their ship, hammering the scrap metal into shape around it. So the frame was complete. It was big, but not as big as she’d pictured it. If the frame was any indication, all of them could stand on top of it, which meant inside would be pretty cozy.

    She sipped her coffee, watching the scrafty with a smirk.

    “Looks good.”

    He leapt at her voice, almost falling off the frame. The hammer clattered to the concrete, bouncing then landing hard on one of the metal sheets. He cursed under his breath and slid from the ship, landing in a squat and pausing only to fire the archeops a leer.

    “Zip said you were making progress,” she said. “I have to admit, I had my doubts.”

    He snorted and snatched up the hammer. “What are you doing out here anyway? I came out here for some peace and quiet.”

    She stretched out her right wing claws. “I thought I could lend a hand.”

    “I don’t need a ‘hand’.” He turned his back on her and clambered back up onto the frame. “Get back inside and start planning your rebellion strategy or something.”

    She pursed her lips together and watched as he began hammering away. The racket reignited her headache and for a moment she did consider going back into the house.

    “You know what?” she said. “I feel like you’re unhappy.”

    He froze, the hammer still held in mid-swing. His eyes narrowed as they locked onto her.

    “You think I’m unhappy?” he said dangerously. “Well, what makes you think that?”

    “You’re moody,” she said. “And I know a thing or two about being moody. I was takin’ medication for it for years! I bit the doctor on more than one occasion. He told me that wasn’t healthy, and for two months I had to wear a muzzle. But anyway, that was all this.” She waved at her feathered form then shrugged. “I got a better handle on it. Wanna know how I did that?”

    “Not really.” He turned back to his work and brought the hammer down in three heavy swings.

    Annie frowned and leant against the wall. “I’m gonna tell you anyway. I told myself, ‘Annie, you need to stop biting the doctor. He’s only trying to help.’”

    Trojan turned to look at her slowly, his eyes narrowed but this time with curiosity and confusion. He let the hammer slide to the floor then cleared his throat.

    “You’re the doctor in this crazy scenario, aren’t you?”

    Annie sipped her coffee but she kept both eyes locked onto his.

    “There’s one difference here,” he said. “I don’t bite.”

    “You don’t need to bite with teeth,” she said. “You can bite with words, too.”

    He let out a long sigh and waved a dismissive paw. “Whatever. Pass me the hammer.”

    With a giggle of glee, Annie set her coffee mug down on the window sill. She scurried across the yard, almost scrambling on her wing claws, and retrieved the hammer. Trojan watched with amusement as she almost collapsed under its weight in a bid to lift it up to him.

    Once it had been snatched from her claws, she flapped her wings to lift herself up onto the frame. By the time she was sat behind the scrafty she was breathless.

    “What do you want me to do?” she asked between gasps.

    Something above them fluttered and flew away with a noisy flap of wings, dragging the archeop’s attention, but Trojan didn’t seem to notice it.

    “Go back inside and grab my diagram.” He didn’t even look back at her. “I think I left it on the kitchen table.”


    The thud of a soft body colliding with the window, followed by Defrag’s squeak of surprise, made Tracer drop his cigar. He let out a sigh of exasperation and retrieved the burning stub before it set fire to the carpet.

    Widget clambered out of his seat and went to open the window.

    “What is it?” Tracer asked.

    Limbs smacked at the concrete, followed by a lot of ranting and swearing. The eevee leant out of the window then dragged himself back inside, depositing a small zubat onto the carpet.

    “Did… did someone just bite me?!” the zubat shrieked.

    Tracer sighed again and looked down at the stunned bat.

    “Java,” he said slowly, “I thought I told you to enter via the mail box?”

    “I missed it.” The zubat twitched his right ear and grunted. “Echolocation is off.”

    The delphox scooped up the small zubat and set him down on the windowsill. Like all zubat, he didn’t have any feet to speak of, so he propped himself up on his wing claws. He turned his head slowly to face the delphox and twirled his ears around to fix on him. Completely blind, he pinpointed Tracer by sound alone.

    “I got some news for you,” he said. “That human you asked me to follow? Well… she’s up to something.”

    “I thought as much.” Tracer let out a stream of smoke. “What is it?”

    “They’re building a ship,” said Java. “Not just her, but the whole group she’s stayin’ with. Reckon Waveform’s got something to do with it. I heard him buying scrap metal not too long ago, but I didn’t think much of it.”

    “Why on earth would a human want to build a ship?” Tracer asked.

    “Isn’t she staying with an ex space pirate?” asked Defrag. “Maybe she’s returning to the skies and taking the human with her?”

    “Hey, that’s not necessarily the case,” said Widget. “We don’t know much about humans. Maybe she’s stuck and wants to get back home?”

    “You’re both leaping to conclusions,” said Tracer. “Java, did you gather a reason as to why this human wants to build a ship?”

    “Aye,” said Java. “Some other ‘mon she were with… Trojan I think he’s called… said something about her planning a rebellion.”

    Tracer dropped his cigar again, but it landed on his desk this time, scattering ash all over his paperwork and fur. He beat himself down then retrieved it calmly.

    “A rebellion?” Tracer frowned at his computer screen. “So Waveform is backing a rebellion now?”

    “It was only a matter of time before pokemon began to rebel,” said Defrag. “I mean, look at the state of these outskirts.”

    “Nevertheless, we can’t allow it.” Tracer stubbed out his cigar and turned fully to Java. “Thank you, Java. I shall pay you as promised.” The delphox reached into his pocket and pulled out his palm computer. “I think we agreed on four thousand credits?”

    “Yeh, we did,” said Java.

    “Well, I’m gonna make it five thousand,” said Tracer. “After that nose dive into my window, I really think you aught to put this towards getting your hearing fixed rather than funding your organized crime gang.”

    His voice was laced with warning, but the zubat merely shrugged it off. “Ain’t nowt wrong with my hearing, fox.”

    Java spread his wings and launched himself off the windowsill, curving in a neat arc towards the door. He missed the mail box by a foot and smashed into the solid woodwork.

    Tracer rose with a sigh and scooped up the dazed bat, then he threw the door open and tossed Java into the evening sky. He fluttered off without a word of thanks.


    Cyan City’s tactical team was huge, and not just in number. Macro couldn’t even see over the shoulder of the bibarel in front of him. His paw twitched beside his empty holster. Only one of his lasers had been returned - the one Jumper had confiscated - and inside it was just one laser module. Flying. His trusty ground, grass and water modules had been taken from him, and to make matters worse, the laser the blastoise officer had taken had also not been returned. Leaving him with only one. He deeply hoped he wouldn’t find himself outnumbered in battle, because as things stood he could only aim at one head.

    Between the mass of bodies, he caught the glimpse of a feraligatr marching back and forth with his paws clasped behind his scaly back. A large belt hung at a lopsided angle, weighed down by a gun that made Macro’s look like a hatchling’s toy. His huge mouth flapped open and closed as he spoke loudly, each syllable showing two rows of sharp, white teeth.

    “As you all well know,” he boomed, “Out in the orchard there’s an army of grass types. We don’t know how far they’ve penetrated Cyan City. Like most grass pokemon, they look like plants. They can camouflage themselves with ease. That’s how they managed to sneak into the storehouse and slaughter everyone in there with one explosion. No survivors, not even the culprit. We managed to round up two miscreants shortly after, before they invaded yet another storehouse, but before we could get them behind bars, they died. Each one had some kind of detonator hidden in their bodies that killed them at the push of a button, destroying their vital organs.”

    Macro’s blood turned to ice. That news hadn’t reached them.

    “Did you know about that?” he whispered, looking up at Switch and Anchor.

    The two pokemon shook their heads, keeping their eyes on the marching feraligatr.

    “Obviously we’ve not been able to press them for information,” he said. “Several caterpillar pokemon have been retrieved from the orchard, and the damage to food supplies is increasing vastly. That’s why we need this problem wiping out. Don’t be scared to shoot to kill, because they’re most certainly not. This has gotten wildly out of paw and needs to be brought to an end now.” He fixed the group with a commanding glare and pointed one claw to the ground, before returning to marching back and forth. “You’ll be broken into three groups. One will take the orchard and wipe out any plant that moves. The other will patrol the lake with the same instructions. The third group will take the city, splitting up into threes to pick off those that get cocky and venture out of the grassy areas. Listen for your number, because I’m gonna split you all up in the next five minutes.

    “But first thing’s first. You all know there’s three space pirates in this army. Governor Jumper tells me to tell you all you’re to keep your paws off. If it weren’t for them, we’d have found out about this a lot later, and by then it might have been too late to save the orchard and the oshawott twins. You’ll co-operate with Hunter and his friends and let the Governor deal with him. You hear me?”

    A few grumbles radiated through the army and one or two leers were shot Macro’s way, but he did his best to ignore them. His paw found his laser and he kept both eyes on what he could see of the feraligatr as he broke them into teams.

    Macro found himself stood between Anchor and an empoleon. He eyed the large penguin pokemon warily, noting the orange hue from the setting sun reflecting off his bladed flippers. This was the imposing pokemon the feraligatr had put in charge. The one Macro was meant to listen to and take orders from. He suppressed a sneer and took note of the rest of their group. There was a number of wartortle and prinplup, a pair of politoed and an alert-looking vaporeon. There was also a quagsire who he couldn’t help worrying was going to go down like a sack of rocks. Why on earth would they send a quagsire to fight an army of grass pokemon?

    He gave himself a mental slap. Almost every single pokemon in Cyan City was weak to grass, but the quagsire was a perfect choice to send into battle against fire types. That dual water and ground typing would go far in that scenario, yet crumple under a razor leaf from a grass type.

    “Listen up!” The empoleon’s voice snapped Macro from his reverie. “For those who don’t know, I’m Sergent Heatsink. In less than five minutes, we’ll be marching down to the orchard. Our mission is to rescue the oshawott twins. That. Is. All. Understood?”

    Loud replies of ‘yes sir’ came from everyone except Macro and Anchor. Switch, however, had fallen into character.

    The empoleon leered at Macro then turned to Anchor.

    “I’m of the understanding you have a heat tracker,” said Heatsink.

    Anchor nodded. “That I do, yes.”

    “Use it,” said Heatsink. “It will be a valuable tool in uncovering hidden hostages.” He turned to Switch with an unimpressed scowl. “Switch, right?”

    “Yes sir.” Switch saluted with his wing.

    “Let me make one thing clear,” said Heatsink slowly. “I don’t trust you. I trust you less than I trust these pirates, and I wouldn’t even trust them to handle my own droppings. You’re here for one reason only, talonflame. As a means of dispatching grass types who prove problematic. Now let me introduce you to Floppy.”

    He waved a flipper at the vaporeon. The aquatic dog stood to attention, his glassy black eyes sparkling, but his mouth was turned into a frown as he kept Switch in his sight.

    “Floppy is my sniper,” said Heatsink. “He’s more than equipped to deal with a nuisance like you. He’s never missed a hydro pump, and he can shoot a pidgeot out of the sky with a water pulse. You understand, bird?”

    Switch nodded with as much confidence as he could muster, but every feather on his body had stood on end.

    Heatsink turned to the rest of the group and barked a command to move out.

    Macro and Anchor marched along, trapped between the wartortle and politoed. No one paid them much attention, but Switch found himself right behind Heatsink with Floppy on his tail. Macro’s heart went out to him, and he hoped deep down that Switch wouldn’t find himself on the receiving end of the vaporeon’s sniping attacks.

    It seemed to take forever to reach the orchard. Once again it was plunged into the darkness of night. Silent, yet deadly.

    Heatsink used his bladed flippers to cut the padlock off the gate. He caught it in his other flipper before it had chance to hit the sidewalk and wake the entire grass army.

    Anchor frowned into the shadows, his brow creasing around his heat tracker.

    “They’re definitely in there,” he said quietly. “But… there seems to be less of them this time.”

    Heatsink turned his head to look at him. “You think there’s less?”

    Anchor shrugged. “They could be further back, or I’m misrememberin’. Last time I didn’t have this, you see. But we passed loads of grass types. I’m warning you now, though, the berry trees and bushes are swarmin’ with bugs.”

    Heatsink grunted his acknowledgment and pushed the gate open. “Well, let’s hope this is an easier job than I’m fearing. Once we’re in, we stick together. Don’t you pirates go marching off on your own, or I won’t hesitate to shoot you. Understood?”

    “Understood.” Macro saluted then let out a snicker.

    Heatsink narrowed his eyes at him, more than enough of a warning to nuke the mawile’s rebellious spirit, and went on ahead into the orchard.

    Just like the last time, it was difficult to tell the plants from the pokemon, but Macro kept an eye on Anchor. Heatsink kept pace beside them, watching the granbull more than his surroundings. He had the same idea as Macro. With his heat tracker, Anchor could easily tell the plants from the pokemon.

    Macro let his eyes wander over the dark orchard. Anchor was right. It did look like there were much less grass pokemon than there were previously. He froze at the spot he’d seen the tropius. Not there. Of course, it could be sleeping elsewhere. But nevertheless, the lack of grass pokemon left him feeling anxious. Where were they? Somewhere else in Cyan City? Or had a majority of them gone back home to Luma City?

    “There’s one.” Anchor’s whisper seemed oddly loud.

    Macro and Heatsink followed his claw to a large bush.

    “It’s inside there,” he said. “From the shape of it, I’d say it were a snivy or servine.”

    Heatsink waved a flipper and a wartortle joined his side. At the Sergent’s command, the wartortle drew their gun and fired at the bush. Macro didn’t see what it was, but he was certain it was no laser. A soft yelp came from the bush and after a moment’s pause, the wartortle ran forward. They fussed around the bush then staggered back, dragging a long, reptilian form after them.

    A servine.

    The empoleon stared down at it then grunted. “Well done, pirate. You were right.”

    Anchor grinned and tapped a claw against his heat tracker. “Nice to know it works, eh?”

    “Apprehend this grass type,” Heatsink told the wartortle. “We’re gonna want him for questioning.”

    The wartortle stooped and fastened shackles over the servine’s short limbs. Heatsink turned away from them and cast his eyes over the orchard.

    “Any more?” he asked Anchor.

    The granbull shrugged. “It’s hard to pick them out from all the bugs, Sergent, but like I said. There seems to be less.”

    “Alright, then let’s keep moving. We need to find these twins.”

    Heatsink marched on ahead and Macro hesitated for a second before following him. Something seemed wrong. Why were there less grass types than before? Red flashed beside him and he looked up at Switch, his beak twisted in a frown. The servine had been placed across his shoulders yet the talonflame didn’t buckle under his weight. The wartortle that had shot it walked beside him, his gun still held in his paws.

    Fear tactics.

    Placing the grass type on Switch would serve nothing more than to terrify the servine. One overheat and he’d be well and truly toasted. Macro’s lip curled up into a sneer. He couldn’t help thinking that in this pointless war all three factions were the same.

    “Hang on.” Anchor’s large paw swooped down to block the empoleon. “There’s a tangrowth that way.”

    “Tangrowth, eh?” Heatsink scratched his head. “That’s gonna take at least two sedatives. Hit it with three to be safe.”

    He turned and left the wartortle to fire at the sleeping pokemon. Three shots in quick succession. Macro heard each one go off and the soft thud as the first hit home.

    A rustle of vines drew their attention back to the bushy pokemon. It rose, stretching out its vine-like arms as the second one hit it. Its arm struck the ground, paralysed and the tangrowth crumpled to its knees. A loud cry came from its hidden mouth, slightly muffled by all the vines covering its body. But it was as clear as day.


    Then it hit the ground, just before the third shot struck it in the back.

    Silence, save for Macro and his allies’ panicked breathing.

    Floppy appeared beside Switch, searching the darkness with his glassy black eyes. His breath came out cold, misting in the air and peppering Switch’s wings with frost that melted no sooner than it appeared.

    Yet nothing came.

    Heatsink shook his head and turned away, waving a flipper at the fallen tangrowth. The wartortle took the message and rushed to shackle him with two of the prinplup and the quagsire. The latter was more to help lift the huge tangly beast than anything else.

    Macro followed after Heatsink and Anchor, keeping a tight grip on his laser. He couldn’t remember drawing it, but there was no way he was putting it back in its holster now. Every single rustle of leaves or grass set his fur on end. His heart had gone into overdrive, trying to hammer its way out of his rib cage. All he wanted to do was bolt from the orchard and never come back.

    Something long and green fell down beside his head and he let out a shrill squeak. He leapt back and aimed his laser at it, but before he could fire, a quick stream of water struck it like a bullet. The green pokemon swung back and forth before his eyes like a pendulum.

    A caterpie.

    That’s all it was. A caterpie, suspended on a strong, sticky thread.

    Macro silently berated himself and lowered his gun. But there was something different about the caterpie. It hung there, silently, its body changing colour and consistency.

    It was evolving.

    Genetically modified, and it had no everstone.

    Heatsink let out a grunt and looked up at the tree. Whatever berries it contained were now few and far between.

    “Things are evolving, huh?” said Anchor. “That means this situations gonna get a lot worse real quick.”

    “You’re telling me,” said Heatsink. “I think I might borrow your talonflame friend and have him pick the lot off.”

    “They’re living things,” said Switch. “I’m not killing them.”

    “They’re barely alive anymore, bud,” said Macro. “You’d be doing them a favor.”

    Switch snorted and fixed Macro with a golden leer. “I’m not harming them. It goes against everything I believe in.”

    “Keep your voices down,” Anchor hissed.

    Macro and Switch looked up to meet matching glares from Anchor and Heatsink. The granbull nodded ahead of them. A large patch of razz bushes. The look in Anchor’s eye told him there was something… maybe even plural… lurking in those bushes.

    Then Anchor’s eyes widened so much so he almost lost his heat tracker. He nudged the empoleon and pointed, drawing his attention towards Macro. No one said a word.

    The mawile gulped and looked up at the tree above him. The caterpie - now a metapod - still hung there, still swinging. The branch it was attached to dipped and two long vines reached down towards him. He brought his laser up to meet them, but it was knocked from his grasp. The vines looped down, one over his arm and the other around his neck.

    “Well… what do we have here?” The voice was nightmarishly familiar. “You came back? And look, you brought me lots of watery snacks.”

    The carnivine’s grinning face appeared upside-down before Macro’s, each word breathing out a smell like rotten meat. Once again, Macro wanted to be sick, but any efforts to do so were suppressed as its vine tightened around his neck.

    And no one was doing anything about it.

    He strained to look behind him, but all he saw were a twitching Switch lying in a crumpled heap with Floppy the vaporeon beside him, his legs tangled in vines reminiscent of those that belonged to a tangrowth.


    He screwed his eyes shut and used his claws to prise himself free, to no avail.

    “Just so you’re aware,” the carnivine breathed, “I’m not afraid of your flaming bird friend, no. Especially not now my allies have dealt with him. You should be more careful, shouldn’t you? More quieter? Especially since not all of us are diurnal.” He twisted his head to aim a grin at Heatsink.

    The empoleon took a step back, trying to avoid the tangrowth’s vines as they reached across the grass towards his feet. His left flipper brushed against something and he leapt aside, his eyes fixing on a moving flower. Two vileplume and a gloom stepped out of the shadows, their tiny eyes reflecting the moonlight.

    Anchor lifted a foot and brought it crashing down onto one of the vines as it snaked between his legs. Its owner shrieked from behind Macro and the vine retracted, but the one beneath the distracted Heatsink tripped him and brought him to the ground with an almighty crash. The flower pokemon scattered, filling the air with an awful stench that made Anchor choke. Heatsink soon found himself wrapped up in a cocoon of vines, cutting off yells of protest as they stifled his beak.

    Anchor aimed his laser at the empoleon and fired. Small flames shot through the air as it ignited the offensive pollen around them. The flying energy sliced through the vines, eliciting another shriek from their owner and freeing Heatsink from its embrace. He rounded his laser on a spot behind the carnivine, but the carnivorous plant grinned, tightening his hold on Macro until he choked. It was becoming harder and harder to breathe.

    The carnivine tutted and waved one of his free vines. “I’d be careful if I were you. Unless you want me to snap his neck?”

    Macro’s violet eyes opened impossibly wide, fixing on Anchor’s.

    “I might just do it anyway,” said the carnivine. “I mean, you did both hit me the last time. It was embarrassing. But… I think this is more fun. Pokemon will do anything to keep their lives. I might see what I can get you all to do.” A dry chuckle. “Drop your weapon, granbull.”

    His mocking laugh filled the air.

    Tears welled up in Macro’s eyes, but he had no free paw to wipe them away. He looked down at Switch, still twitching as he fought off a stun spore. Floppy lay in a tangle of vines, and not far from him were the prinplup and wartortle, all of which were trapped under vines or fighting off paralysis. He met Anchor’s gaze again, sending him a silent plea for help, but Anchor only returned his look with an apologetic shake of the head. He let his laser fall to the floor and took a step back. Macro’s heart sank.

    It was useless.

    Any minute now, he could die.

    For the first time in a long time, Macro felt absolutely helpless… and it terrified him.
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    A Fanfiction Author Who Dares to be Different
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