Fight Night: A Lobo/Warhammer 40K Crossover

By evolution-500

Genre: Horror/Romance

Disclaimer: Lobo is a property owned by DC Comics and Lelith Hesperax, Commoragh and "Warhammer 40K" are properties belonging to Games Workshop. I do not own these characters.

WARNING: This story contains references to violence, coarse language, disturbing themes and imagery. Reader discretion is advised.

Shout-out to Akularz-Shati for inspiring me to write this story and for the incredibly thorough guide on the Drukhari that they have provided me with - thank you so much for your help! I am very grateful! :D

Prologue: The Main Man

"There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and liked it, never care for anything else thereafter."

- Ernest Hemingway

"Last call!"

The bar tavern erupted with groans as its various patrons loudly protested.

Spitting into a mug, Zeke washed the inside with a rough dishcloth, the orange ape-like being waving off all the drunkards as he exclaimed loudly, "Alright, you fuckers, you heard me. Enough's enough, and I'm not repeating myself. Everyone get the fuck out!"

The patrons let out murmurs as one by one they all left, some of them wobbling unsteadily, with one or two of supported by a buddy.

A few stumbled while one goofy bastard smacked himself face-first into the corner of a wall, causing the bartender to roll his eyes.

Moron.

Turning his attention over to the last customer, Zeke felt his forehead become damp with perspiration as he regarded this particular individual with a certain degree of apprehension, approaching him slowly.

Seated at a back corner with his boots on the table was a man that always made the old bartender feel on edge.

Even though Zeke had been a decorated war veteran in his fifties and prided himself on dishing out when the going got tough, that meant nothing to a person as dangerous as this particular customer, and Spirits help him, Zeke was not that brave.

Only an idiot would feel brave in the presence of a vicious killer such as Lobo.

Leaning back in the ruined leather of his chair, the bounty hunter was dressed in a black sleeveless leather jacket and jeans, with thick black boots, while parts of his rough hewn features were marked with dark rocky/boney scales and ridges, notably around the eyes. For the less discerning, the latter could easily be mistaken for intricate axe head tattoos or stripes.

Long, filthy, wild and unkempt black hair cascaded past his shoulders into a dark mane, some of it standing up on end and spiked in various directions, his hair so greasy and dirty that it practically formed dreads and knots in some sections.

A thick black handlebar mustache curled over his upper lip down to his pronounced stubbled chin, his long and thick aquiline nose and facial features giving him a distinctively feral, almost tiger-like countenance.

Taking another swig of his drink, the mercenary shifted in his seat as he adjusted his position, his knees covered in skull-like decorations as he let out a loud belch. One arm had chains wrapped around it, the chains connected to a hook that rested on the man's hip.

In contrast to the thick black hair and clothes that he wore, his skin was a stark white, his eyes cold featureless frozen pools of blood, the tell-tale signs of his long-departed race.

Clearing his throat, Zeke stopped a few feet away from the bounty hunter, catching his attention. "Okay, Lobo. It's time to finish up. Last call."

Nictitating membranes flared across Lobo's eyes as he took a puff from his cigar, exhaling a plume of smoke before letting the cigar rest between his index and middle fingers, the mercenary not even bothering to turn to face him as he spoke.

"I'm not finished with my drink," the Czarnian coolly replied, his voice a deep, growling and rumbling baritone.

Shifting uncomfortably, Zeke swallowed.

"L-Look, I need to close up-"

"I said I'm not fraggin' finished!" Lobo snarled, flashing sharp fangs and incisors, his red eyes flaring in warning as he gave the bartender a pointed look that made the latter flinch, his voice taking on a hard and dangerous edge.

"O-Okay, okay!" Zeke raised up his hands in a placating gesture, taking a step back to avoid the Czarnian's wrath. "I'll let you stay until you're done, but once your glass is empty, you need to leave."

The mercenary offered him a cold glare, a smirk forming from the corner of his mouth, his eyes filled with clear contempt as he leaned forward. "You tellin' the Main Man what to do?"

"I am," Zeke replied. "I don't have any more liquor in here for you to drink, Lobo. Aside from some imported Okaaran berry juice, I don't have anything else."

He watched with bated breath as the Czarnian absorbed his words, his scaled dark eyes unreadable.

Shrugging, Lobo sipped from his glass, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand.

"Ya say that you have some Okaaran berry juice?" he pressed.

The bartender nodded. "I do. Freshly imported by some Tamaranean merchants-"

"Hand it over." The words came out as a harsh demand.

Zeke hesitated. "Uhh, are you sure? It's really strong stuff, and I remember the last time you had some-"

The bartender let out a yelp as a strong hand suddenly snatched him by the throat and pulled him into its owner. Shaking all over, Zeke shrank as he found himself uncomfortably close as a deep, full-chested growl rumbled from the Czarnian, his red glowing eyes now staring directly into his.

Gulping, Zeke winced at the strong odor emanating from the man, an unholy mixture of old and new smells that combined unwashed clothing, sweat, booze, cigars and only the Spirits knew what else.

Drawing his lips to reveal sharp, yellow-stained teeth and fangs, Lobo leaned close to the bartender, speaking in a low voice.

"Tell me something, Zeke," he growled. "Do you know what "Lobo" means in the Khundian dialect?"

Zeke weakly nodded, recalling the awful title that vicious race had bestowed upon him, along with its horrid meaning.

"'H-He...'" He swallowed, "'H-He W-W-Who D-D-Devours Y-Your Entrails And T-T-Thoroughly Enjoys it.'"

"Do ya want to know how I managed to earn that title?" The Czarnian sneered, delighting in his fear. "It's a hell of a story."

Zeke shook his head. "...I'd rather not. I'll get your hooch."

"Riiiiiiight." And then with a casual roll of his wrist - a gesture that to anyone else would have seemed harmless enough - the bartender was thrown backward with such force that he had nearly tumbled to the floor, just barely recovering his balance. "Don't keep me waiting. The Main Man needs a little something to wet his whistle during the drive. So ya better have that fraggin' Okaaran berry juice, or else this entire bar is gonna sport a whole new color scheme!"

As the mad Czarnian thumbed his hook for emphasis, Zeke quickly scrambled, not wasting anytime at all in locating the beverage, his hearts racing.

* * * * *

From his seat, Lobo smirked at the fleeing bartender, his gaze one of pure contempt.

While he liked to pride himself on being the best bounty hunter in the known universe, he didn't like to waste his time and talents on anybody. Certainly, there had been many occasions where he would admittedly indulge in the odd disembowelment just for the sheer novelty of it, but sometimes it was far more entertaining making people feel afraid of him.

Closing his eyes, Lobo deeply inhaled through his nostrils, sensing the fearful aura that permeated from the terrified bartender, feeling the latter's hearts beating faster and harder, causing his glands to rapidly pump out sweat in thick quantities through his skin.

Nothing was better than making potential prey squirm.

Perhaps he should give Zeke a little more motivation...

Running a thumb along his hook, Lobo took one last gulp from his mug before slamming it down hard on the table.

"Time's up, Clyde!" He called, watching Zeke hurry toward him with a wineskin, his entire body shaking.

"H-Here's y-y-your drink, Lobo," the latter stammered.

Snatching it roughly from him without saying a word, Lobo removed the wineskin's cap, bringing it to his nose, inhaling its scent deeply, a wonderfully inviting cocktail reminding him of fresh berries.

Nictating membranes flared across his red orbs as the Czarnian let out a deep, rumbling growl of approval before bringing the wineskin up to his lips, giving it a test taste.

"Ahh! That hit the spot!" He smiled, fangs gleaming. Licking his chops, Lobo spared a glance over at the trembling bartender. Rising up to his full height, the Czarnian towered over Zeke, his height a whopping nine feet as he stared down at the latter, his wild hair hanging loosely.

Staring down at the pitiful man, Lobo regarded him carefully, his red eyes glowing as the bar became deathly still. Finally, he gave a sickening grin, giving Zeke a dismissive snort.

"See ya around, meat," Lobo sneered.

Letting out a deeply sinister chuckle, the Scourge of the Cosmos turned his back on him, leaving the bar without saying another word.

* * * * *

Zeke was stock-still as he watched Lobo leave, never taking his eyes off the last Czarnian as he exited the decontamination chamber and stepped out into the open vacuum of space, his long black hair fluttering in all directions like wild snakes.

The bounty hunter soundlessly walked out on the moon's surface, his muscled form highlighted by blazing suns as he moved toward his vehicle - a customized flying black motorcycle with a skull placed right in front of the handlebars, with turbines and thrusters at the sides.

Settling onto his bike, Lobo then flicked on his engines, the motorcycle springing to life with a resounding roar that broke the sound barrier, the engine revving before powerful engines flared, blasting a hole straight through the bar.

Holding on for dear life onto a countertop nearby, Zeke waited until the shutters slammed back down into place, causing him to drop to the floor.

Looking up, he watched as the Czarnian rocketed away, leaving Zeke alone in his bar.

Casting his baleful gaze at what was left, at the ruined furniture and burned equipment, the bartender gave a dejected sigh, shaking his head sadly as he put a hand on his sweat-covered face.

"...I really hate that man..."

* * * * *

The spacecycle rumbled beneath him.

Drumming his black-taloned fingers on the handlebars of his bike, Lobo patiently waited as his bike soared through open vacuum, ignoring passing solar flares as they washed over him and his vehicle.

Lifting his right arm, Lobo glanced down at a wrist watch-like device that he wore, his black talon tapping lightly on it as it showed all of the available contracts that were on the Extranet.

Scanning his eyes from right to left, he disinterestedly scrawled through them one by one before stopping at one in particular with a bounty of five hundred thousand credits. Curious, he clicked on it, where he saw a picture of a lizard-like humanoid.

"A Psion? Hm. How curious," he murmured.

The Psions were a reptilian race of intellectuals that hailed from the Vega system, a species notorious for conducting highly unethical genetic experiments.

Not that it bothered Lobo at all; far be it for the Main Man to judge since he had done far, faaaar worse things, including - but not limited to - the genocide of his own people by exterminating them all with a specially-designed parasite that he had created.

Still, seeing a bounty on a Psion with such a large price on his head had him somewhat interested.

"'Grarius Raksas.'" Squinting at the screen, Lobo took note of the details, a hairless brow raising slightly in interest. "'Last known location: Sector 17 - Planet: Garnet,'" he read. "Garnet, huh? Not exactly what I was expectin'. What were you doing down there, I wonder?" He curled his lips in annoyance. "Lantern Patrol's going to be an annoyance. Still, that bounty on yer head looks awfully tempting, though."

Lifting a hand to his chin, he stroked it thoughtfully before giving a nonchalant shrug.

"Fuck it."

Tapping on the screen as confirmation, he watched as a green checkmark appeared.

CONTRACT ACCEPTED.

Yellow-stained teeth flashed in the sunlight as a long tongue hungrily ran over them, curling along his fangs in anticipation.

Time to collect.

* * * * *

The target was close.

Revving up his engines, Lobo speeded toward the planet, his hair wildly fluttering behind him as he excitedly leaned forward with a wide, hungry grin, looking like a wolf closing in on its prey.

As he drew nearer, the Czarnian suddenly lifted up his head as he became aware of a peculiar scent.

Pressing on the brakes, Lobo halted his bike, the mercenary tilting his head slightly as he gave the cold vacuum a curious sniff, sensing a disturbance within the space-time continuum.

There weren't many species that would be able to navigate the stars as he could, nor were there many that had such sophisticated empathic abilities as he had.

One of the curses of being a Czarnian, much to Lobo's frustration, was the nonstop bombardment of sensation; Czarnians by their very nature were powerful empaths.

An omnivorous synapsid-like race with very strong predatorial features, centuries of genetic engineering, spiritual practice, and planetary mining had made what were already impressive abilities even more formidable. However, with these enhancements came some rather unfortunate side-effects, the most fateful being the "curse of Feetal".

Drumming his fingers along the handlebar, Lobo distractedly gazed out at the stars.

Who would have guessed that the moons close to Czarnia would have possessed some unexplained, interconnected link with the rest of the planet on the quantum level, with space and time itself? Who would have expected that centuries of mining moons would tap into that somehow, resulting in the development of empathic qualities on an unprecedented level?

As a result, every Czarnian became afflicted with "the curse of Feetal", named after the feared Czarnian god of sensation, night and perpetual darkness; whatever sensation, rhythm and fluctuation on the emotional spectrum was experienced by one lifeform, would be experienced by every Czarnian.

Whatever a given lifeform felt in the cosmos, Lobo felt it himself, much to his disgust.

In many ways, Feetal's curse was a fraggin' pain in his ass, though made slightly more bearable through drinking, fighting and killing, though to be honest, Lobo would have been fine doing any of three regardless.

On the other hand, it certainly made sex more interesting.

A smirk formed from the corner of the Czarnian's mouth as he inhaled the strange aura, taking it in.

Speaking of sex, this smell was something else!

From the disturbance that he felt, a ship came by recently, one made of a material that he had trouble identifying. Wherever this ship had come from, it was certainly not from any planet or world that Lobo was familiar with, let alone visited.

But even more curious, however, were the auras that he detected from the ship's owners; a particularly unique kind of aura, one that deeply appealed to him on a primal level.

Hm. Curious.

Never had he sensed an aura filled with so much sadism and brutality. Lobo knew his fair share of scumbags - from the lowliest Psion and Khund to the master of Apokolips himself - but the aura that he sensed was on a whole other level. Never had he encountered an aura filled with so much cruelty, let alone one that potentially exceeded that of Darkseid, one of the most ruthless beings in the universe.

Staring into the black gulfs of space, Lobo casually leaned back into his chair, rolling his shoulder back.

Based on the scent, the ship seemed to be travelling right where he was headed.

This should be interesting.

Revving up his bike again, Lobo continued on the trail of these newcomers, his curiosity piqued as he followed them all the way to his destination.

* * * * *

When he finally arrived, the Czarnian found Garnet in shambles.

Granted, Garnet had always been a lawless shithole, a planet with no law enforcement whatsoever, but now it was in complete disarray.

A number of cruddy buildings were on fire, while here and there were some freshly mangled corpses.

Taking out a cigar from his pocket, Lobo flicked his talons, producing a small flame on the tip of his black claw.

Leaning in, he lit up his cigar before waving it off, watching the bonfire.

"Well," he spoke, "isn't this something!"

He had no idea who the hell these guys were, but boy, did they sure know how to party!

The very air was thick with fear and panic, filled with screams of many.

Men.

Women.

Children.

Sitting there on his bike, Lobo relished the growing terror and discord, reminding him of his own planet's final moments.

Shame that he couldn't stick around, though; whoever these guys were, they seemed like a fun group.

A slightly regretful sigh escaped from the Czarnian.

Well, perhaps some other time - he was on a job, and the Main Man always made sure to never leave a job unfinished.

"Business before pleasure, I guess," Lobo mused, puffing out a plume of smoke.

With that utterance, he landed his bike, and started his search for his target.

* * * * *

A few minutes later...

Dragging the brutalized form of his prey with one hand, Lobo carelessly flung the Psion's bleeding form to his bike, tying him down to the front of his engine.

"Consider yourself lucky, Clyde," he muttered. "You get ta have a front-row seat as I drag yer sorry ass off planet! HAW HAW HAW!"

Lobo had found the target huddling in some guy's house. Whoever or whatever this new party was, they had scared his prey badly.

Of course, once he caught sight of the Main Man, the idiot ended up pissing himself, pleading and crying.

Rolling his eyes, Lobo snorted.

Wimp.

As he finished tying his target down, Lobo started to make his way to his bike when something shot out in front of him, causing him to suddenly halt.

"Huh?" Turning to his left, the Czarnian paused as he heard someone cackling.

Casting his gaze around, Lobo tilted his head as everything around him slowly vanished in a veil of pure blackness.

"It is useless to fight, creature," a mellifluous voice distorted by some sort of filter spoke, possessing an oddly musical note and accent that Lobo had trouble identifying. Glancing around in annoyance, the Czarnian narrowed his eyes in concentration. "There is no escape. Only darkness and pain awaits, so embrace-"

Reaching out, the Czarnian heard a slight "HRRK!" as he caught the speaker by surprise, his hand clutching them by the throat.

"Boo!" The Czarnian said as he poked his face out through the void, startling the speaker as he let out a slight yelp, the bounty hunter snatching him off the ground before pulling him close in so that the two of them were face-to-face, the shadows dissipating. Seeing the struggling figure in his grip, Lobo grinned. "You were saying, Clyde?"

Twisting around, the entity tried to wrench himself free, prying at the Czarnian's fingers, but the latter kept his grip firm.

"What?!" The being sputtered in genuine confusion. "But...how...?"

"You think you're the first dweeb to try something like that on the Main Man?" Lobo pulled the being closer, his voice low, "Guess again, loser." Lifting his hand, the Czarnian thoughtfully tapped his chin. "So then. What should I do with you?"

"You there!" A deep, commanding mellifluous voice boomed, drawing the Czarnian's attention. "Unhand my son at once!"

Dropping the smile, Lobo spotted a group of similar beings approach him with their weapons raised, their auras and body language all filled with malice.

Tilting his head, the bounty hunter took in their appearances, comparing them all with the one in his grip.

The creatures were tall - not nearly as tall as Lobo, whose height easily dwarfed theirs - but they were taller than other species at around seven feet, with whipcord thin frames.

Their bodies were largely humanoid in appearance, but their heads were all concealed by helmets with featureless faceplates, their eyes hidden by a pair of red lenses. All of their helmets were artful in their construction, some of them conical and tapering off at the end, while others had horns.

The vast majority of the beings were outfitted in strange dark green lightweight combat armor or warsuits with loin cloths, much of which reminded Lobo of beetles. Some had bladed plates, but a lot of the warsuits in general seemed to be held in place using long metal barbs.

But even more interestingly, from the prickling sensation that the bounty hunter had felt, the barbs themselves appeared to be penetrated deep into their nerve bundles, subjecting them all to constant dosages of pain.

Blinking in surprise, Lobo grinned, appreciating the novelty of such gear as he relished the feel of the metal cutting into flesh.

Whoever or whatever these dudes were, they were people after his own heart; by all indications, pain was their craft, one they had practiced and perfected for a very long time and to a welcomely (though some would say unhealthily) psychotic degree.

All of them sported exotic-looking rifles, pistols and blades of some sort, but one had what looked distinctively like some sort of power sword.

Taking a puff from his cigar, the Czarnian casually dropped the creature in its hands, watching with some amusement as it fell on its ass.

Sputtering, the alien glared at him before backing away, rubbing his sore rear with a slight limp, the sight of which caused his companions to point and cackle hysterically, some of them speaking in a language that Lobo couldn't understand.

The alien snarled something back at his brethren, shaking his fist angrily while another threatened him with a knife, and for a moment, the two looked like they were about to throw down, much to the Main Man's delight as he leaned in.

Ohhh boy! This is gonna be good!

Unfortunately, just when things were starting to get interesting, one alien, a dude with a larger set of horns that Lobo assumed was the big cheese, rasped something at them, slapping one hard with the back of his hand while berating them both.

The bounty hunter watched with amusement as the two shrank before their leader, flinching at his reprimand.

Finally, the subordinates dipped their horned heads in deference.

Satisfied, the leader then turned to face Lobo directly, the Czarnian smiling in spite of himself.

"Boy oh boy!" He crowed. "Quite the crowd we got here! Love the armor, by the way."

Some of the beings looked at each other in confusion, seeming to not comprehend the nonchalant air in which Lobo regarded them.

Ignoring the compliment, the leader looked him up and down, saying nothing at first.

Finally, he spoke.

"You are not Drukhari," he said slowly, his mellifluous voice similar to that of his son's, though deeper, his tone uncertain, "nor do you seem to be human."

"Afraid not."

"And yet," the man continued, his tone indicative of his contempt, if not disgust, "you possess traits from both races. At least, in some aspects." He folded his arms together, cupping his own chin with his gauntleted hands. "Tell me then...what are you?"

Lobo puffed on his cigar. "I'm a Czarnian."

The being tilted his head. "'Czarnian'?" he repeated, seemingly unfamiliar with the word as he tested it out.

"From Planet Czarnia?"

The helmeted man digested the information. "I've never heard of it," he replied with a note of mild disinterest, clicking his mouth distractedly before shrugging. "No matter - every species we come across is prey, and your kind will undoubtedly make for interesting slaves." His tone then took on a more gleefully diabolical quality as he leaned threateningly forward, "I'll be sure to send a raiding party there next once we have concluded with this matter."

Lobo tossed his head back and raucously laughed, catching the man and his subordinates off-guard as they all looked at both the Czarnian and each other, puzzled by his reaction.

"HAW! Good luck with that, dude - you can't enslave a race that is already dead." A feral grin formed on Lobo's face as he held out his arms in a grand gesture. "I fragged the rest of the planet for a high school science project. Gave myself an 'A'."

The beings hesitated, their shock visible as they all looked uncertainly at one another, the leader looking completely perplexed.

"You..." he said slowly, "...you murdered your own kind?"

"Yep! Made a video and everything!"

The helmet tilted slightly, as if trying to comprehend or intrigued by the oddity before him - Lobo had no idea which.

"Why?"

A fanged smirk was offered in response. "Why not?"

For a long time, the leader was staring at him in silence. Lifting a hand to its chin, he thoughtfully tapped the bottom of his mask.

"Hm. Interesting," the alien murmured. "I do not sense the power of Chaos in your veins. And yet, I cannot help but wonder..."

Nictating membranes flared across Lobo's eyes as he raised a brow, uncertain how to respond. "Uhh...thanks...I guess? To be honest, I have no idea what the hell you are talking about."

Hearing a groan come from his bounty, Lobo glanced over his shoulder. "Well, it was nice meeting ya, fellas. You look like an awesome bunch to hang around with, but unfortunately, I have a job to do. This geek here has a bounty on his head, so as much as I would love to join in on the fun and crack open some heads and beers with ya, the Main Man's got places to be."

The Czarnian started to turn when he noticed the aliens pointing their weapons directly at him, some of them darkly laughing.

"Ohh, but where is the fun in that?" the leader spoke, his pistol levelled, brandishing an exotic-looking knife. "You can't leave - we were just getting started!"

Turning back to face them, Lobo eyed the beings before him, lifting up his hook in readiness.

"Listen, Clyde," he spoke seriously, "I don't know who you or your boys are, but it's obvious to me that you sure as hell ain't from around these parts, otherwise, you'd know who I am. And if you did, you'd know that yer in over your heads. You don't want this fight."

The leader laughed, his subordinates also cackling beside him. "Such arrogance and bluster! You really aren't afraid, aren't you? Not many would dare show such insolence to either a Drukhari Kabal, nor its lead Archon. But even more," his tone took on a more aggressive edge, "none have ever gotten away with it."

Lobo scoffed. "Izzatafact now? Weeeell, aren't you special then! I guess I should give ya the red carpet treatment and present you with a nice, fresh "Welcome to Garnet" gift basket of "blow me", followed by a nice side offering of "gargle on my sweaty nutsack". Looky there - it comes with a free coupon!" He then offered the "Archon" the one-finger salute. "Listen, Archie - the name's Lobo, and unless you're Atrocitus, Mongul, Sinestro, Starbreaker, or Darkseid, I ain't impressed. Now, if you don't mind-"

Th Czarnian blinked as part of his cigar was destroyed. Seeing the leader's smoking pistol, Lobo took his ruined cigar out from his mouth, studying it before looking back up at these "Drukhari". "...You fellas really want to do this?"

"Ohhh, we do!" The leader spoke, his voice dripping with excitement and venom. "You will make a fine gift to the arenas! You aren't going anywhere, Mon'keigh."

Stepping toward the Drukhari leader, nictating lenses flared across Lobo's eyes as his blood-red orbs glared down at the smaller being. "Who ya calling "monkey", pipsqueak?"

For a moment, the alien stared. Even with the helmet on, Lobo could tell the guy seemed dumbfounded.

"'Pipsqueak'?" The leader repeated in an almost disbelieving and indignant voice at what he heard, as if it were the first time in his life to have ever been called that. Tightening his grip on his knife, the Archon's tone hardened in a mixture of fury and outrage, "'Pip'! 'Squeak'?!"

"Yeah!" Lobo sneered, stubbing the remnants of his ruined cigar right into the alien's helmet, making sure to grind it really slow with each word, "Pip. Squeak. So whatca gonna do about it, Clyde?"

For several moments, all was still on Planet Garnet as two dark and deadly forces stared each other down, the two sides waiting to see who would make the first move as buildings groaned and wilted, some of them buckling and crumbling, threatening to fall to ruin.

Houses, cities and streets all burned around them, the ground littered with the dead and dying, while those that were in hiding watched from the shadows with ever-mounting dread at this seemingly apocalyptic encounter.

What would happen next, not even the few remaining Garnetians themselves knew, save for the fact that this chance meeting would carry bloody consequences and that all were not safe.