OBJECTSHOW Emoji Combos

Copy & Paste OBJECTSHOW Emojis & Symbols 📄×🍊🧃 | 🥄 x .𖥔💜🕯 ݁˖ | me📱4️⃣

🔥X🍃 Firey x Leafy FOREVER!! BFDI
🥄 x .𖥔💜🕯 ݁˖
me📱4️⃣
pls note the ai inflicts emotional damage (ᵕ—ᴗ—)
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🖌 X 💡 lightbulb x painty!!

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠉⠀⠀⠙⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡶⠞⠛⠛⠳⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣇⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡞⠛⠛⢷⡀⠀⢠⡾⠛⡙⠻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠳⣤⠀⠀ ⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠸⠇⣸⠇⠀⢸⣇⠀⠛⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⡛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀ ⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠏⠀ ⠀⠙⠶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢛⠶⠚⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣴⣶⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠓⠒⢺⡿⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⡈⢳⣤⠞⣻⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠛⢦⡿⢠⡿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⢈⡿⠀⢀⠿⠷⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⠟⣧⢀⠿⣤⡙⣧⣀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠏⠀⠻⡶⣿⢸⡟⠶⠛ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠷⠾⣯⣸⠛⠾⠃⡏⠹⡟⠻⡟⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⢀⣀⣰⡇⠀⡇⠀⡇⠈⣧⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⠉⠉⠉⠀⣰⡇⠠⣇⠀⠀⢀⣀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
∧ \⎺⎺⎺⎺⎺/ | ∙ ∙ | | ------- | /______\
WAIT SO U LIKE OBJECT SHOWS? MARRY ME
YES I LOVE OBJECT SHOWS LETS GET MARRIED 😍😍
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠉⠙⠻⣿⣦⢀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠉⠁⢈⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠟⠁⢉⣿⣷⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠄⣠⣾⣟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⣿⡁⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠸⣷⣄⣀⣀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠈⠙⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣦⠀⠹⣧⣄⣀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⣄⠀⠀⣠⣄⣤⣴⡿⠋⠉⢿⡷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠉⠁⣀⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⢸⣿⠛⠛⣿⡄⠀⢴⣿⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠘⣿⡄⠶⠟⠁⠀⠈⣿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⢶⣦⣤⣼⡿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣀⣴⣿⠁⠀⠀⣽⡟⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣠⣿⡟⠻⣿⠿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣉⣽⡿⠛⠉⠻⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠋⠙⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣟⣛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢙⣿⣦⣤⣄⣀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⢀⡀⣸⣿⠛⠷⣦⣤⣤⣤⣴⡾⠟⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⣻⡿⠃⢀⡀⠀⢴⣿⠋⠈⢙⣿⣿⣿⠉⠁⠈⢿⣧⠀⠀⣾⣿⠛⠛⠿⠆⠀⠀⣿⣟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠷⠶⠾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢿⣷⣾⢿⣷⣤⣼⣿⠀⠀⣿⡏⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀⠘⠻⢿⣶⣶⣤⣴⣶⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠉⠁⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠿⠷⣶⡾⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
CHAT IT ACTUALLY WORKED IM SEEING MORE OSC PEOPLE YAYAYAYEEAYVFVNJDNBMKDNWDPKNNje38urhbklsa (lightbrush and fantube are the best ships) 🖌️💡
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠶⠊⠙⠛⠛⠛⠳⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⠾⠷⠶⣦⣤⣤⣴⠶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡀⠈⠦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⢱⠀⠀⠀⠉⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣨⣧⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠟⠉⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠛⠛⣿⣧⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠋⠀⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡄⠁⠀⡄⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠁⠀⠀⠱⢀⣾⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣆⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣆⠀ ⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⠿⠋⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣦ ⢼⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣽ ⠀⠉⠛⠻⠶⣦⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠜⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⣶⠶⠟⠛⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣶⣶⡀⠈⠉⠛⠻⠶⢶⣦⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣾⣥⣶⣶⠶⠟⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⢰⣿⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣷⣀⣀⣤⣴⣾⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠈⠉⠛⠿⢿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣀⣀⣸⣿⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠇⠀⠀
Any moment now... Are you sure this is what you want? (Scoff) Oh spare me your spin, you tablet tabloid. If you want to psychoanalyze someone, don't look at me- Look at them! It's so pathetic, How they run to fetch their sticks… Sure, call me polemic, unsympathetic, At least I know other tricks! Look at me and all you'll see is the debris of some defective outcast, A frenetic, antithetic (if poetic) little iconoclast, But I won't live in the past. (I almost won this game once, you know.) But. History is rearranged just to credit those who win the glory, So reality is changed in the edit when they spin the story, And we choose, to feel this pain, And we lose, more than we gain... But I will BREAK this cycle, Of mistakes, unlike all, Of these SNAKES whom I call to condemn! If I can't win the prize, I'll play this last reprisal! Just to bring their lies all to an end… -Ack! You need regeneration. Unfortunately, I don't have much faith in that process. Of course not. Why "of course not?". You believe yourself to be incapable of starting over, in more ways than one. I do not know who you lost, but is it not possible to get them back? "Clear the slate, start again", Are you hearing how preposterous that sounds? How do you not comprehend that for someone with my MONSTROUS BACKGROUND, the whole slate has fallen apart! Taco that is not true. There are other ways to- IT’S TOO LATE- It's not too late, FOR ME TO RESTART! But it's not I, its they, (Let us talk about it when your), Who deign to play this game, so, (head is not so clouded. You're no), Cruel & inhumane, base & uncouth, (menace, Taco, how did they hurt you?) (Please think this through) I think they're too afraid to, (Feeling double-crossed is part of), Bear the bed they've made, (Dealing with a loss, yes, but the), Can't bring themselves to face the awful truth. (Healing is a process, that's the truth) So I'm turning up the heat to "sauté", I've a beef to get grilled, But I fully guarantee today that all the beans that get spilled, Won't be mine, No I'm fine, I- Shhhh... Now it's time...
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⢤⠤⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⢋⠉⠌⠠⢁⠀⠂⠄⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⢤⠈⠄⠡⠀⠌⠐⠠⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢂⡐⠈⠠⠈⠠⠁⡐⠀⣹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢂⡔⠈⠄⡁⠂⡁⠄⠂⠰⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢂⠆⠐⠠⢀⠡⠐⡀⠌⢀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⡎⢠⠁⠂⠀⠂⡄⠂⠀⢪⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⡗⢌⠠⠀⠌⡐⠠⠐⡀⠡⢈⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣏⠒⡄⠈⠄⡐⢀⠂⠄⠂⡀⢻⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⡶⢚⠧⡘⠄⡐⠠⠐⠀⠂⠄⡁⠠⢘⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⢃⠎⡔⡡⠀⠁⠄⠡⠈⠄⡀⢁⠀⣾⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⢊⡜⠤⡑⠠⢁⠈⠄⡁⠂⡐⠀⠄⠲⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡣⡘⢢⡑⠄⠂⠌⠐⡀⠁⠄⡈⠄⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠡⡃⡜⡀⠌⡀⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⠠⠁⢺⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠁⢧⡐⣡⠠⣄⣡⣆⣴⢦⠾⠶⢿⡶⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡍⢢⣽⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢜⣻⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢨⡿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡿⢿⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢰⡇⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠁⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢣⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠁⠀⠀⢿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⡇⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠇⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢠⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡆⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠛⠿⠿⣶⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⣴⣶⣦⣄⠀ ⠀⣴⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄⠀⠀⢘⣿⠀⠀⢰⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠛⠛⠉⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡀⠀⣸⣿⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⡀⠀⠹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⣴⡿⠁⡀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣶⣄⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠁⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⠤⣶⠿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠛⣹⡏⠉⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣷⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⣀⣤⣤⣀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠿⠿⠛⠛
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⡶⠶⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣶⣶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡾⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠉⠛⢿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⢟⣽⡾⠛⠛⠛⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠟⠛⠛⠛⠻⣦⡀⠈⠻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠟⠁⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⣠⡀⢹⣧⠀⢰⡟⠁⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡄⠀⠙⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠃⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⠀⣿⠀⢸⣇⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢿⣄⠀⠀⠈⠉⢁⣴⡟⠀⠀⢿⣄⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⣠⡿⣁⣴⠶⢶⣽⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣶⡶⠾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⢶⣶⡶⠿⠛⣽⠟⠁⠀⠀⢿⣿⠀⠀⣠⣶⣶⣦⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⢀⣼⠟⠁⠀⠙⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠛⣫⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⠀⠀⢰⣿⠏⠀⠀⢀⣼⡟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠿⠿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠾⠿⠿⠿⣦⣄⢀⣾⣯⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢷⣦⡀⣠⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⠏⠈⢻⣧⠀ ⢀⣤⡶⠿⠛⠿⠇⢀⣴⠶⣦⣄⠀⠀⢙⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣿⡄⠀⠾⠶⢶⣤⣴⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀ ⣿⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣶⣌⠙⢿⣶⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣀⣀⣤⣾⠟⠀ ⠹⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣆⣈⣿⠀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠷⣶⣤⣤⣼⡿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠙⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⢹⡏⠉⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣦⣄⣀⣠⣾⠇⠀⠀⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣷⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⠶⠿⠿⠿⠟⠻⣿⡛⠛⠛⣿⡏⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡉⠀⠀⠠⣿⡋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡄⠀⠘⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣙⣻⣶⡄⠀⠉⠻⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡄⠀⠈⠻⠶⠿⠶⢶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡾⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣙⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢷⣦⣤⣤⣴⡶⠶⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠷⠶⠶⠶⠿⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢠⡶⡶⠶⢶⠶⡶⢶⡶⣶⢶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢨⡷⣻⡏⢾⣹⡱⢯⣷⢫⣟⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠰⣟⣽⣇⢻⡶⣍⢿⣗⡯⣞⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢘⡧⣿⡇⣻⢶⣩⢾⣟⣼⢫⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢨⣗⣻⡇⢾⡳⡜⣾⣟⡼⢯⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⣾⡇⣽⢳⡹⣼⡿⣜⣯⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠰⣯⣽⡇⣺⢧⢳⣹⣷⢫⡶⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢘⡷⣺⡇⢽⣎⠷⣹⡷⣫⡽⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢨⡷⣻⡇⣹⢮⡝⣹⣷⢫⡽⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣗⣻⡇⢽⡳⢺⡽⣟⢯⡽⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠐⡟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⢁⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢨⡇⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⢰⠇⣰⢿⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠈⠁⠀⠀⢀⣼⠀⣿⢯⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠐⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠛⣇⠹⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⡟⠶⠖⠛⠛⢿⣄⣹⣦⡈⣫⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠉⠙⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠧⢰⡤⢤⣶⠀⣴⡠⣶⠦⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣰⣧⣀⣀⣀⣿⠃⢸⣟⠀⣿⡌⢿⣄⣀⣀⣾⣿⣦ ⠻⡿⠋⠉⣉⣡⣤⣸⣿⠀⢿⣄⣀⣭⣍⠉⠿⠟⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠀⠘⠻⠿⠿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣴⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣼⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣽⣿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡕⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣶⣿⠿⠾⢿⣶⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣎⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣶⣷⣦⣤⣴⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⣿⡋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⢿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣯⣿⣿⣾⠷⢷⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡉⣉⣭⣭⣥⣄⣻⠟⠉⠉⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣦⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣼⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠙⠿⠛⢋⣥⣽⣿⣷⣦⣤⣄⡁⠠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⣿⡿⠋⠉⠉⠛⠿⣿⣶⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠙⠛⠻⢿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠟⠁⢀⣤⣤⣄⠀⠈⢿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡿⠁⠀⣀⣴⣶⡄⠀⠀⢹⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⢠⣼⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⢸⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣼⣿⠝⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⠿⠊⠀⣸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣄⡀⢈⠛⠃⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⣿⠿⠛⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡿⣿⣗⠀⡀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⡎⢻⣿⣦⣀⠀⠉⠁⢀⣤⣾⣿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣤⣶⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠿⠋⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠨⢿⣷⣍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠉⠻⠿⣿⣶⣾⡿⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠈⢉⣉⣫⣯⡍⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣴⣾⡿⡟⠋⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣶⣤⣬⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠙⠟⡛⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⡻⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣳⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣿⣇⠠⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⠿⠛⣛⣛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣽⣥⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣬⣽⣿⣷⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠿⠿⠿⠟⢛⣿⣿⡻⣿⣿⡁⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠋⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⢿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⠎⠁⠹⢿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣧⣀⣀⢀⣀⣠⣾⣿⡛⠩⠀⠀⠀⠘⢽⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⠟⠿⠿⠟⠋⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠋⠟⢿⣷⣶⣤⣄⣀⣀⣤⣴⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠙⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠻⡝⠻⢿⣻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⣻⡿⣟⢽⣫⣧⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⡛⠾⠿⠷⠶⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣡⣾⡿⣽⣵⠿⢋⠉⡄⢢⠘⡌⠱⡐⡀⠆⡐⠠⠀⠄⡁⠉⠛⠿⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣡⣾⡿⢻⣿⠛⡁⢎⠠⢃⠔⡡⢊⠔⡡⠐⡐⡈⠤⢁⡉⠐⠄⡑⠠⠂⠄⡙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⢃⣿⣿⡝⣵⠟⡁⠰⢈⠢⡑⠌⢢⠑⢌⠂⠄⡑⠠⠐⠂⠄⠠⢁⣢⠠⠑⣈⠐⠠⢀⠻⣧⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⣷⣿⣿⣮⡿⢋⠐⡈⢅⠂⢡⠐⡡⢦⣜⣀⡌⠐⠠⢁⢸⣤⣾⠿⠛⢁⠂⠡⢀⠊⣁⠂⠄⢺⣧⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣹⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠄⢃⠌⢢⠘⢰⣶⢀⠒⠈⣿⣿⠛⢃⠂⠌⠳⣶⣶⠶⠶⠞⠠⢁⢂⡐⠨⠐⡀⢻⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⠣⣿⣿⣾⣿⠁⠜⣈⠰⡈⠆⢌⠈⢻⣧⠀⡡⠘⠃⡐⠠⡈⠄⡁⠻⠟⠠⠁⠌⡐⠂⡄⠄⠃⡔⠠⢘⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⣸⡏⢒⣿⣟⣿⠏⡐⠌⠤⠑⠠⠊⡀⠂⠄⠛⣷⣄⠂⠡⢀⠡⠐⣈⠐⠄⡈⠄⡡⠈⢄⠡⠐⣈⠂⠤⢁⠂⣿⠆ ⠀⢀⡿⢌⣻⣟⣾⣟⠠⡐⢉⠠⠈⠄⠡⢀⠁⠂⠄⠀⠹⠷⣧⣤⣂⠡⠀⠌⡐⢀⠂⢄⣁⠂⠄⠃⠄⠌⢂⠄⢂⢸⡆ ⠀⣸⡇⠦⣹⣯⣿⠇⠀⠄⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⢈⠡⢀⠂⠀⡐⠠⢉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢋⠃⠌⠡⢈⢂⠡⠈⠄⢸⡇ ⢠⣿⢡⠒⣉⢿⡿⠀⡈⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠀⠠⠁⢀⠡⠂⠄⡡⢈⠂⠡⠈⡄⠑⡠⢈⠄⠃⡄⠂⡌⠡⢈⢸⡇ ⠘⢷⣦⣹⠤⣾⡃⢀⠐⠈⢀⡄⠈⠄⡁⢂⠁⠂⢁⣤⣀⠀⢂⠡⢈⠐⠠⢈⠁⠂⠌⡐⡐⠠⠌⢂⠤⠑⠠⢁⠂⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⠿⠧⣷⣶⣮⣼⣯⣴⣠⣔⣠⢌⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⢶⣶⣾⣶⣿⣧⠁⢂⠡⠠⠡⠌⡀⢂⠡⢁⠂⠌⢸⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢯⣽⠋⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣦⣢⣅⣦⡰⣄⣸⣦⢀⡌⠐⣾⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢦⣤⣤⣾⠟⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠈⠉⠙⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠉⠉⠉⢛⡿⠋⠛⠻⠛⠟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⡟⢿⣦⣄⣠⣴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‧₊˚ ⋅(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ‧₊˚ ⋅
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣟⡯⣷⣫⢟⡿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣟⣳⠾⣽⠶⣏⡿⣞⣽⣻⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⢻⣏⣟⡾⣵⣫⣟⡽⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣟⡷⢾⣭⣟⣳⠿⣭⢷⣛⣶⣛⡾⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⡟⣧⢿⣹⡞⣧⣟⠾⣵⢾⣹⢯⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣟⢾⣹⢷⡳⡾⣭⢿⣹⠾⣝⡶⢯⣽⣻⣿⡀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣳⢻⡽⣞⣧⢟⣳⡞⣿⣹⢾⣹⢾⣹⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣾⣿⣟⡞⣯⡽⣞⣽⡳⢯⣏⣷⣻⣭⢟⣻⠶⣯⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣳⡽⣫⢷⣻⡼⢯⣳⢿⣱⢯⢷⣫⢯⠷⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⣿⣿⢺⡽⣳⡽⣞⢧⣟⠿⣼⣣⢷⡞⣯⣏⡿⣵⣿⣿⢸⣿⣯⠷⣽⣫⢷⡳⢯⡟⣧⢿⣹⡞⣯⣳⢯⠿⣽⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣽⢫⡷⣏⡷⢯⣛⡾⣛⣧⡟⣧⣟⣳⠾⣝⣾⣿⣷⣿⣿⣭⢟⣧⣟⣳⢟⣯⡽⣛⣾⢣⣟⣳⣭⡟⣯⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⡿⣞⢯⢷⣫⡽⣏⣯⢷⣻⡼⣽⢳⡾⣭⢿⣹⢾⣿⣿⣿⡷⢯⣞⢷⣺⠽⣞⣧⠿⣝⣞⡟⣞⣧⢷⡻⣵⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⡿⣭⣟⢾⣳⡽⣫⣞⠷⣽⣺⣭⠷⣏⡷⣏⣟⡾⣿⣿⣿⣻⢻⡼⣏⣷⡻⣽⢮⢿⣹⢮⣟⡽⢮⡷⣛⣷⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣟⣳⡞⣯⢶⣛⣷⡹⣟⣧⢷⣫⠿⣭⢷⣛⣮⣽⣻⢿⡯⢷⣏⣟⡾⣱⢿⣱⢯⣯⣳⠿⣜⣻⡽⣳⢯⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣯⣗⣻⣭⢯⣛⣶⢻⣳⡞⣯⣳⢿⣹⠾⣝⡾⣖⡯⣷⣛⣯⢞⣧⢿⣹⢯⡽⣾⣱⢯⣻⣝⣧⠿⣭⣿⣿⣿⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣷⣫⠷⣞⣯⡽⣞⢯⣳⡽⣳⣽⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⣷⡳⢯⣞⣻⡼⢯⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣞⣞⢿⣱⡟⣿⣟⡿⣿⢿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⡷⣏⡿⣳⠾⣵⢯⣻⡵⣻⣿⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣽⣻⡼⣳⣻⣿⡟⠉⠀⣀⡀⠈⢻⣿⣿⡞⣧⣟⣳⠾⣝⡾⣫⣽⢻⡿⣿⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⡿⣭⢷⣏⡿⣝⡾⣣⢿⣽⣿⡇⠀⢠⣿⣷⠆⢸⣿⣷⣳⣻⡵⣿⣿⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣽⡳⡾⣭⠿⣭⢷⣻⡼⢯⣽⣛⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣹⡞⡾⣝⡾⡽⣽⣣⢿⣿⣧⢄⠀⠙⠋⢀⣼⣿⣯⣗⣳⡽⣻⣿⣷⡠⠀⡈⠁⢀⣤⣿⣿⣳⡽⣏⣷⣻⣭⢷⣳⣛⣯⢶⣛⣞⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⣿⣿⣷⣣⢿⣝⣯⠾⣝⣧⢿⣹⢿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣟⡶⣏⣷⢻⣵⣻⢿⣿⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⢿⣏⡷⡽⢾⣱⠷⣞⣯⢞⡽⣮⢟⡽⣞⢾⣿⡇⠀ ⣿⣿⣭⡟⣾⣹⡽⢶⣻⣝⡾⣝⣮⢟⡿⣿⢿⡿⣟⣯⣽⢳⣽⢫⡾⣝⣯⢞⣿⣻⢿⡿⣻⢟⣮⣽⢳⢷⡺⣟⢶⢯⡽⣞⢷⣹⡞⡷⣽⢾⣿⠇⠀ ⢿⣿⣷⢻⡵⢯⣞⡯⢷⡞⣽⡞⣽⢾⣹⣞⣳⣯⣽⢶⣫⡟⣞⡯⢷⣻⡼⣛⣶⣿⣷⣻⡽⣞⣳⡞⣯⢯⢷⣏⡿⣞⡽⣞⢯⣳⣻⢽⣾⣿⡟⠀⠀ ⠘⢿⣿⣯⣞⠿⣼⢻⡽⣞⣳⣻⠽⣞⣳⣞⣳⢿⣿⣯⣷⣻⣝⡾⣏⡷⣽⣿⣿⡿⣟⣧⢟⣞⣧⢿⣹⡞⣯⣞⣳⢯⡽⣞⢯⣳⣽⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠻⣿⣾⣿⣭⡟⣾⡝⣧⡟⣯⣏⡷⢾⣭⢿⣹⢿⣿⣿⣾⣷⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣽⡳⣞⣻⢞⣮⢯⣗⣻⣵⣾⣽⣾⣽⣾⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⣷⣿⣧⣟⣳⠾⣝⣯⡞⣷⣫⣟⣼⣯⣟⣿⣛⣯⢯⡽⣞⣧⠿⣭⢷⡻⣮⢷⣫⢷⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣹⢮⢯⢷⣻⡼⣻⠽⣞⣽⢳⡯⣽⣻⣿⣷⣟⡴⣛⣿⣷⣄⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡿⣭⢻⣿⡷⣏⣯⢟⣞⣧⢿⣹⣻⣝⡞⣯⢷⣫⣽⣿⠟⢿⣷⣝⣦⢻⣿⣿⡿⣯⣿⣿⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⡿⣿⣷⣦⣾⣿⠽⣼⣿⣿⣿⣽⣚⣯⣞⢾⣭⢷⣳⠾⣝⣯⡞⣷⣿⡟⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣣⠞⣭⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣷⣥⣟⡻⡿⣏⣿⣿⠏⠘⣿⣷⣻⡖⣯⣻⡼⣳⣏⡿⣽⣲⢟⣿⡿⠁⠀⣼⣿⣟⣳⣧⡟⣶⣧⣿⣜⣹⣿⣷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣯⣳⣙⢶⣿⣿⣤⣀⠘⢿⣷⣟⣳⠷⣽⣳⠾⣽⠶⣯⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⢿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣹⣿⠻⠿⠿⠿⠋ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡹⣶⣿⣿⢾⣿⣾⣝⣿⣿⡆⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣯⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠘⢿⣷⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⡿⣿⣟⣾⣿⠟⠿⠿⠿⠃⣸⣿⣏⢿⣿⡿⠿⠿⣿⣟⢧⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢿⣿⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣎⢿⣿⡇⠀⠀⣿⡿⣎⣽⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣿⡿⡜⢾⣿⡇⠀⠀⣿⣿⠲⣽⣿⣶⣶⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⢿⡿⡿⢿⡟⣭⢛⣿⡇⠀⠀⣿⣿⣙⠶⡹⢏⡿⣹⢛⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡱⢎⣧⢳⣙⠧⣞⣜⣻⣿⠇⠀⠀⣿⡿⣬⢛⣭⢳⣚⣥⣻⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣾⣿⣾⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠾⡿⠻⠟⠿⠻⠟⠿⠻⠟⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠟⠻⠟⠻⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠚⠛⠛⠛⠓⠛⠛⠛⢛⠛⠛⠛⠚⠛⢺⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⣥⣀⣀⡤⠤⠤⠤⠤⢤⣤⢤⡤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣧⣶⣴⣦⣦⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⣇⡶⠶⠶⠾⢯⡿⠶⠶⠶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣴⣤⣄ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⡏⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠦⠤⠌⢻ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⣿⣦⢤⣤⣤⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣆⣀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⣸⣿ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⡇⠀⠁⠀⠉⠉⠁⢛⣿⠋⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠿⠛⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠶⠳⠞⠶⠳⠞⠶⠳⠳⠞⠳⠞⠳⠞⠇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣆⠐⡂⢆⠰⣀⠢⡐⢄⠢⡐⢄⠢⡐⢠⠀⡄⣶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠯⠿⠽⠿⠽⠯⠿⠿⠿⠽⠿⠯⠿⠯⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⡘⠐⢂⠒⣀⠒⠰⢈⠰⠐⢂⢂⠑⠂⠥⠐⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⣆⡈⣉⢉⡈⣀⢁⣈⢀⡁⣉⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⣬⣥⣦⣬⣤⣬⣤⣥⣦⣭⣤⣦⣬⣥⣦⣥⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢈⠀⠡⠈⠄⠡⠈⠄⠡⢈⠠⠁⡈⠄⠁⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⣤⡾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣀⣈⣀⣁⢂⡠⢁⣂⡐⣀⢂⡐⣀⣈⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⢄⣧⡟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠠⢀⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⢀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⡿⣿⣄⣤⣶⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠐⡀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠂⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠁⡟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠙⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣀⣈⣀⣀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣈⣀⣁⣠⣀⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣸⡧⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠙⠋⠛⠉⠋⠙⠉⠋⠙⠉⠋⠙⢻⣽⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠛⠟⠻⠗⠀⠀⠀ ⡄⣇⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠑⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠛⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠿⠿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠶⠒⠋⠛⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠄⠀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡜⠁⠘⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠎⡠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⢀⡾⠚⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣀⠙⢦⡼⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⣠⠎⠁⠀⠈⢳⡀⠁⡴⠋⠉⠀⠉⠓⣤⠀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⡏⠀⠀⢴⡆⢸⠃⠀⣇⠀⡿⠂⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠙⠦⣄⣠⠴⠋⠀⠀⠘⠢⠤⠤⠴⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⡄⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣯⡙⠢⡞⠁⡼ ⢰⡒⢦⣀⠞⢁⡽⣄⠀⠉⠳⢤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⠴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⠎⡤⠿⠄⠐⠿⣄ ⠀⣳⠄⠉⠀⠛⢤⡈⠓⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠖⠁⣞⡠⢶⠂⢳⠒⠚ ⢼⣁⡤⣖⠀⢲⠤⠇⠀⠀⠈⢩⡟⢳⠒⠒⠒⠒⢻⡙⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠦⠞⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⠶⠋⠀⠀⣠⠤⠤⠼⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠸⡤⠤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⠤⠤⠤⠤⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠦⠤⣤⠼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡊⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡊⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠟⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠃⠀⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠃⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠆⠈⠒⠤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⠀⡠⡄⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⡜⠣⡘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠎⢀⡠⡆⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀FIREY BFDI ⠀⢘⠀⢆⡀⠈⠓⠄⣄⣀⣀⠎⠁⡊⠈⢆⠀⢇⡀⠀⠀⠀⣎⠇⠀⠱⡀⠑⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⣊⠕⠁⡞⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠣⠀⠻⡦⢄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠖⠁⠀⠈⢦⡈⡑⠒⠉⡰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠳⡀⠑⠦⠤⠤⠤⢊⡕⠊⠁⠀⠀⡊⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠣⠀⢱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠯⠤⠖⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⠃⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠃⠀⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⡀⢧⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠖⠁⠀⣴⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢦⣄⠉⠑⠲⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠈⠒⠒⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠖⠒⠁⠀⡠⣶⡝⣜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠈⠓⠲⠤⠤⠤⢤⠬⡍⠭⠥⠥⠥⠭⢽⣷⠒⠊⠉⠀⠀⠀⣗⣛⣦⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⡿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⢶⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⢾⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠟⣯⣗⡗⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⣫⣿⢾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⡦⠇⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣷⣿⠟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⣟⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡳⡹⣛⠗⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⣿⣾⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣧⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⣻⣿⣷⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡾⣵⡳⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⣏⣟⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠛⠀⠙⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠶⣄⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⢦⡀⣾⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢧⡻⣄⡀⢀⣠⠴⠛⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢯⡉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡞⠁⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⢁⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢦⣀⣀⡴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠳⠶⠛⠁⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠛⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠀⠀⠈⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢧⡇⠀⣰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠄⠀⠙⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⢸⢸⡀⢀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡅⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⢛⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢁⣤⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣉⡿⠏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠿⠟⠛⠉⠁⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠇⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⣿⣄⣼⠃⢀⣠⡼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣠⠟⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢦⡀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠛⠒⠦⣤⣤⣄⣀⠀⢀⣀⣀⢀⣀⣠⣤⠶⠚⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣙⣳⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢿⣿⢀⣤⡀⢸⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⣻⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣯⣏⠙⠲⣤⡀⠀⢠⠼⠁⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢸⡏⠞⠉⠀⠀⢸⣿⠿⢿⣦⣿⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣶⣼⡇⠀⢀⣠⣤⣼⣿⠀⠸⠿⠿⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠼⠿⠿⠿⠿⠇⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢣⡝⡬⢣⡝⢬⡓⣬⢃⡒⢌⠒⡌⠳⣌⠳⡜⡐⢆⠢⡑⡂⠖⣈⠒⡤⢃⠒⡌⢲⡰⢍⡚⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡬⢓⡼⣗⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⡠⠀⠄⠠⡀⠄⠠⠀⢄⠠⠀⠄⡠⠀⠄⢠⠀⠄⠠⡀⠄⠠⢀⠄⠠⠀⡄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⠀⠄⠠⢀⠐⡀ ⢣⢎⠵⣃⢎⡳⢜⡰⢣⠜⡠⠓⡌⠱⡈⠧⣹⢐⢊⠱⡐⣉⠦⡑⠬⣐⢡⡝⢬⢓⡬⢣⠝⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⡴⢋⣼⡇⠠⠁⠌⠄⠡⢈⠄⡁⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⡈⠄⠡⠐⡈⠐⠠⠈⠄⠡⢀⠡⠈⠄⠡⠈⠄⠡⠌⠠⠁⠌⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠ ⢣⢎⡳⢜⣊⠶⣩⠜⣣⠎⣥⠃⡜⢡⡑⢆⢡⢊⠌⡆⡱⠄⠦⣑⠸⢤⠳⣘⢎⡱⡜⢣⡹⢌⡳⢌⡳⢌⡳⢌⡳⢌⡳⢌⡳⢌⡳⣘⢣⡜⢣⢎⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⢳⣘⢣⡜⢣⢎⠳⣌⢳⣸⠇⠠⠁⠌⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠁⠌⡐⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡈⠄⠡⢀⠉⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⢂⠡⠈⠄⠡⢈⠐⡈⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁ ⢣⢎⠵⣪⠜⡲⣅⡛⣤⠛⣤⠛⣔⠣⡘⠤⢃⡌⠲⡘⠤⡙⡰⢌⢣⢫⠜⡥⢎⡕⢎⡣⡕⢫⡔⢫⡔⢫⡔⢫⡔⢫⡔⢫⡔⢫⠴⡩⠖⣜⠣⣎⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⠳⡌⢧⠜⣢⢍⡓⣎⠳⣌⢣⣾⠀⠡⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⠠⠁⠌⡐⠠⠁⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⢂⠐⡈⠐⠠⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⡈⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⢂⠐ ⢣⢎⡓⡆⣏⡱⢦⡙⣤⢛⡤⣛⣌⣧⣑⣊⣥⣨⣑⣜⣰⣑⣔⣪⣱⣎⣹⣔⣫⣜⣮⣱⣎⣧⣜⣧⣼⣧⣼⣧⣼⣧⣼⣧⣼⣧⣷⣭⣽⣦⣿⣴⣯⣶⣽⣦⣿⣴⡿⣶⡿⣶⣿⣶⣿⢾⣾⣷⣷⣾⢷⣾⣷⡾⣷⡷⣞⣶⣳⢶⡶⣶⣞⣶⣳⢶⣶⣳⣞⣶⢶⣳⡶⣞⣶⢷⣞⣶⢶⣶⡶⣶⡶⣶⢶⡷⣶⢷⡶⣶⡶⣶⡶⣷⢾⡶⣶⣶⢶⣶⡶⣶⢷⡶⣷⢶⣶⡶⣶ ⡿⢯⠿⡽⢯⡟⡿⣽⠻⣟⢿⢻⢟⡻⡟⢿⡻⢟⠿⣛⣟⡻⡻⣝⢯⣛⢯⢻⡝⢯⡻⣝⣫⢟⣹⢫⢗⣛⡞⣭⢳⢏⡽⣭⢛⡼⣍⣏⡳⣝⢮⢳⡹⢎⡳⣝⢎⡳⣝⣣⢟⡱⣭⠞⣜⠯⣼⡱⢮⣍⡟⡼⣜⣭⢳⣹⡹⣬⢏⢧⣛⠶⡭⢶⣙⡞⣲⠵⣺⢬⣓⢧⣝⡺⣜⡞⡼⣬⢳⢎⡵⣣⡝⢮⣇⡻⣬⢳⡹⡖⡽⡲⣝⣬⢳⣹⠲⣭⠞⣦⡝⣎⢧⡝⣎⡗⡮⢵⣣ ⡽⣹⣚⣭⠳⡞⡵⣎⢟⡼⢎⣯⠺⣕⢯⢳⡹⣎⢟⡱⢮⢵⣛⣬⢳⠮⣭⢳⣚⢧⡳⣓⢮⠞⣥⣛⢮⣓⠾⣡⠟⣮⠵⣎⡻⣜⠞⣬⢳⠮⣝⠮⣝⣭⠳⣭⠞⣵⣋⢶⣋⠷⣱⠻⣜⣫⠶⣙⢧⢞⡼⣓⢮⠖⣏⢶⣹⡒⢯⣎⢧⣛⡝⡮⣵⢺⡱⣏⢧⡳⢭⡞⣲⢝⡲⣭⢳⠮⣝⢮⠳⣕⣫⠷⣘⢧⡳⢫⡵⢫⡵⣛⡼⣒⠯⣖⡻⣬⢛⡦⣝⢮⣓⠾⣱⠞⣭⢳⢎ ⣳⢣⡗⣎⢯⢳⡝⡼⣭⢺⠭⣖⡻⣜⢮⣓⡳⣭⠞⣭⢏⡶⢭⡲⢏⡽⣒⢯⣜⣣⠷⣙⢮⣛⠶⡭⢶⣍⢯⣓⡻⣬⢳⣍⠷⣎⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⣫⢞⡴⡻⣬⣛⢦⣛⢦⢯⣙⢧⡻⣜⣥⠻⣭⠞⣮⠵⣋⢾⡹⢎⡳⢶⡹⣓⢮⣓⢮⡝⢶⣣⠯⡵⣎⡳⣭⢳⢞⣱⢫⡵⣣⠯⣝⣎⣳⠻⣜⣥⠻⣭⠞⣭⢳⡹⣇⢷⣙⠶⣭⡛⢶⣙⠶⣋⠾⣥⣛⣬⠻⣥⢻⡜⢧⣫ ⢧⣛⡼⢭⢞⣣⢞⡵⣎⠷⣛⣬⢳⢎⣧⢛⡼⣲⠻⣜⢮⣓⠯⣵⢫⢞⡭⣖⢳⠮⣝⡹⢞⡼⣙⠾⣱⢎⡗⣮⢳⡱⢯⡜⣳⢭⣓⢮⢧⢳⣓⠮⢧⡳⣝⡲⡭⣞⠼⣓⢮⡝⡶⡹⢖⣎⢟⣲⠻⣬⣛⢭⢶⡹⢫⡝⡶⣹⠭⣶⠹⣎⣞⢳⡜⣳⡝⣲⡝⡖⢯⡺⢥⣛⠶⣭⢳⠭⣖⣣⢟⡼⡜⣏⢶⠻⣜⢧⡳⢎⡷⢪⢟⡴⢫⡗⡭⢯⣙⠷⣱⠞⣬⢻⡜⣣⢏⡷⣱ ⢧⡳⢞⡭⣞⡱⣎⢷⢪⣏⡵⢎⡯⢞⡲⢏⡞⡵⣛⣬⢳⢎⡟⣴⢫⣎⠷⣎⡏⣷⣩⡝⣮⢳⠭⣏⡳⢮⡝⣖⣫⢵⣋⢾⡱⢮⡹⣎⡞⣳⢎⡻⡵⣹⢲⡝⡵⣎⢯⡝⡶⣹⣚⢭⠯⣜⢮⣣⢟⡲⡭⢞⣣⡝⡧⢯⢵⣋⠾⣥⢻⠼⣜⣣⠯⣵⠺⣕⠾⣙⢧⢏⡷⣩⢞⡥⣏⡻⣬⢳⢎⡳⣝⢮⡓⣟⡼⢎⡳⣏⢾⣙⢮⡝⡧⣽⢩⢷⣩⢏⣧⢻⡜⣧⢫⢧⢻⢴⣣ ⡳⡽⣩⢞⡜⣧⣛⡼⢳⡜⣞⡹⣜⣫⢵⣫⠞⣵⣋⢶⢫⡞⣹⢬⡳⢎⡷⢎⡳⣖⣣⡝⢶⢫⡝⣮⠵⣋⠾⣜⡱⢮⡹⢶⣙⢧⣳⢣⡝⣎⡳⡽⣜⣣⠗⡾⣱⢎⣗⡺⢵⣓⢮⣋⠾⡭⣖⢳⡎⢷⣹⡹⢦⣛⡼⣋⠶⣭⢳⡹⣎⡻⣜⡖⣛⣖⢻⣜⣫⡝⣞⡺⣜⢧⣛⡼⣱⢳⢣⠟⣎⠷⡭⢶⣹⣚⢼⢫⡵⢎⡷⢪⣗⢺⠵⣎⣛⢦⢏⣞⡲⢏⡼⣲⢏⢾⣩⢖⡧ ⡳⡽⣱⢫⣞⡱⡞⣼⢣⡻⢬⡳⣭⢖⣫⢖⡻⢦⣛⡼⣣⡝⢧⣛⡼⢫⡜⡯⢵⡣⡗⢾⣩⢧⢻⢴⡫⡽⣙⢮⡝⣣⢏⢷⢪⡗⣎⠷⣙⢮⡵⣓⢧⢞⡹⡵⣋⠾⣌⠷⣫⡜⣧⡹⡝⡶⢭⣳⢚⡧⢧⡝⣳⠮⣕⠯⣝⡖⣫⢵⢣⢟⡴⣋⢷⢪⢗⢮⠖⣽⠲⡽⡜⣞⣬⢳⢭⡳⣋⠿⣜⣫⢝⡮⠵⣎⢯⢞⡼⢫⣜⡳⢎⣏⠷⣹⢬⢏⡞⢶⣹⡹⢮⠵⣎⢧⢏⡾⣜ ⡳⡽⣱⢳⢎⢷⡹⣲⢫⡵⣫⠵⣎⡳⡭⣞⡱⣏⠶⣓⢧⡝⣧⢫⡜⣧⣛⢭⣓⡳⣝⣣⢗⢮⢏⡶⡹⣕⢯⣚⡼⢣⣛⢮⣓⣾⣭⣾⣽⣶⣷⣿⣾⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣷⣿⣶⣿⣷⣿⣷⣾⣿⣾⣷⣿⣶⣛⣬⣛⠶⣙⢧⣫⣝⢺⢼⣙⠮⣏⠾⣩⢞⡵⣫⢳⡝⣎⢶⢫⡞⣱⢯⡹⣖⡭⣞⢼⣛⡼⢎⡳⣞⢳⢮⡹⡝⡮⣝⢳⡎⣏⡞⢧⣣⢏⣗⡻⢼⣩⢞⢶⣩ ⡳⡽⡱⣏⣞⣣⠷⣍⠷⣚⡵⣛⡼⣱⢳⡍⡷⢎⡻⣍⠾⣜⢮⢳⡹⡖⣭⠞⣥⣛⠶⣭⠺⣭⢞⣱⣛⠼⣎⡵⣚⣧⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⡟⣿⢻⡻⣝⢯⡟⣽⢫⡟⣽⣛⢿⡻⢿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣞⡴⣎⠯⣞⡜⢯⡜⣏⢧⡛⡶⢭⣳⢚⡭⣞⣣⡝⣳⢎⡗⣞⠼⣎⡳⢞⡜⡯⢵⡎⢯⢶⣙⡳⢽⣸⡓⢾⣡⢟⣣⢧⣛⢦⢻⡥⢏⡞⡮⢵ ⡳⣝⡳⡵⣚⡖⣏⢾⣩⢗⡺⣥⠯⡵⣋⢾⡱⣏⡳⣭⣛⣬⢳⡫⣵⢛⣬⣛⠶⣙⢮⠳⣝⡖⣫⢶⡩⣟⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣽⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⠫⡍⢦⡙⢆⠻⣧⢟⡵⢯⣳⢯⣝⡳⣏⡷⣹⢮⣽⢫⣞⡶⣭⣛⢿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣞⡵⣚⢧⣛⡼⢣⣏⡳⢏⡶⢫⢞⠶⣥⢻⡱⢮⡝⣎⡟⣼⣩⢏⡞⣭⢳⠞⣝⠮⣵⢋⡧⢧⣛⢧⡝⡮⡵⣎⢧⢏⡳⣞⣹⣚⢭⡳ ⣝⢮⡵⢫⡵⡺⢭⢶⣙⢮⣓⢮⡳⣝⡹⢶⣙⢶⣹⠲⡵⣎⣳⠳⣥⣛⢦⡽⣩⢻⡜⣻⠼⣜⣳⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢻⣼⣿⢿⠛⣍⣶⣿⣾⣷⣿⣶⣿⣮⠟⣼⣏⢾⡻⣜⣳⢞⣽⢺⡵⣏⣷⣾⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣣⢷⡹⣞⠿⣿⣿⣯⣞⣬⠳⣏⢶⣹⡹⣜⡏⡾⣹⡜⣣⢟⡱⣞⡱⣞⡱⣎⡳⣝⢎⡷⣛⡼⣛⡴⣫⠞⣧⡝⢮⢞⡵⢳⡎⣏⢾⡱⣎⡳⣜⢧⣛ ⢮⡳⢞⢧⡳⣝⣫⠶⣹⢎⡵⣫⡜⣮⢝⡮⣝⡲⡭⢯⠵⡮⢵⡛⢶⠭⣞⡲⣭⠳⡞⣥⢻⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣥⡾⣟⣳⢮⣏⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡻⣷⣹⡝⣮⢻⡜⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢧⡟⣾⡹⢧⣻⢿⣿⣮⣟⣬⠳⢶⣙⠶⣭⣓⠧⣝⣣⢏⡳⣭⢳⢎⢷⣩⢗⢮⢫⢶⣙⢶⡹⡼⣱⣛⢦⢻⠭⣞⡼⣣⡝⡮⢇⡟⣼⣱⢫⠶⣭ ⡳⣭⣛⢮⢵⡣⢧⣻⢱⣎⢗⣣⡝⡞⢮⡵⢎⡷⣙⢧⡻⣱⢏⠾⣍⡻⡴⣛⡴⣫⡝⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡫⣴⢿⣏⠷⣝⡮⢷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡏⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡘⢷⣯⡝⣧⢟⣿⣿⣿⠋⢸⣶⠄⢻⣿⣿⣿⡿⣼⢣⢿⣹⢎⣷⡹⢿⣿⣮⣛⣥⣛⢮⠵⣎⡻⣬⢇⡯⢳⡱⣏⣞⣣⢞⢮⣋⠷⡭⢞⡮⢵⢫⡵⢎⣛⢮⣛⠖⣧⢳⢭⡳⢏⡾⣱⢎⣗⣫⢖ ⣳⣓⢮⡝⡶⣹⣓⢮⣓⠮⣏⢶⡹⣭⠳⣞⡹⡼⣙⢮⡵⣋⢾⣙⢮⠵⣳⣹⠲⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣋⠕⣮⡿⣝⣳⢞⡯⣽⣚⣧⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢸⣿⡶⠈⢻⣿⣿⡿⢌⠣⡝⣿⣼⢫⣿⣿⣿⣦⠈⠉⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⣜⢯⡳⣏⣾⡱⢯⣻⠼⣿⣷⡞⣬⢏⡾⣱⡓⣧⠞⣭⢳⡝⢶⣚⡬⣏⡞⣭⢞⣹⡓⠾⣍⠷⣺⣙⢮⢳⢎⢿⡸⣭⠶⣹⣋⢶⡹⢎⡾⢴⢫ ⡳⣎⠷⣚⡵⣓⢮⢳⢎⡟⡼⣣⡝⢶⣛⡼⣱⢏⡽⣲⢳⡹⣎⢽⣊⢯⡵⢎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣥⢷⣼⢿⣏⠷⡽⣎⠿⣜⣧⢻⡜⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⡀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⠟⣌⠳⡘⣌⠻⣷⣻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⣝⠾⣭⣳⢏⣶⢻⡝⣮⢟⡼⣻⣿⣞⡼⣱⠧⣝⠶⣛⡼⣓⡞⢧⡝⡶⣍⢾⡱⣎⢧⠻⣝⣎⣻⢱⣎⢏⣧⣛⢮⡵⢮⢽⡱⣎⠷⣭⣛⡼⢭⡳ ⡳⣭⢏⡧⣝⢮⡝⣮⢫⣜⡳⡵⣋⠷⣎⡵⡳⣎⡳⡵⢫⡵⢎⣧⠻⡼⣜⣻⣿⣿⣿⣟⠾⣜⣿⢯⡳⣞⢯⣳⢏⡿⣹⢎⣷⢫⢷⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢋⡜⢤⢃⠳⣌⠳⡘⢷⡿⣿⠿⣿⠿⣿⢟⡿⣹⢞⣭⡟⣵⢫⣞⢧⡟⣞⣧⢯⣳⡳⡽⣿⣞⣥⢻⠼⣍⢧⡳⢭⢞⣣⠟⡼⢎⣧⢳⡹⣎⢟⡲⡵⢣⢯⡜⣞⢦⡝⡶⣹⢎⣧⢳⡹⣎⠷⣜⡺⡵⣹ ⣳⠳⣎⠷⣎⡗⡞⣥⣛⢦⣛⡵⢭⣛⠶⣍⢷⣩⢗⡹⢧⣝⢫⡖⢯⡵⣺⣿⣿⣿⣿⡭⣟⣽⣯⢗⣻⡼⣫⢞⡽⣚⣧⢟⡮⣏⣷⡹⣞⢿⣻⢿⣿⢿⣿⡻⢍⠲⡩⢜⠢⣍⠳⣌⠱⣉⢦⣝⣷⣟⣮⣟⡼⣫⣞⡽⢮⣳⢽⡺⣝⣮⢳⡽⣚⣿⢻⣵⢫⣗⣻⣿⣜⢧⡻⣜⣣⢏⢯⡺⢥⡻⣍⢯⢖⣫⠵⣎⠯⣵⢋⡿⢬⡳⡭⣞⠼⡳⣥⠻⣴⢫⡵⢎⡟⣬⢳⡝⢶ ⢧⡻⣜⡳⡭⢞⡹⢶⣙⢮⡵⣚⢧⣫⢞⡭⢶⣙⢮⣝⣣⢞⡳⣚⢧⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⠽⣾⣿⡝⣞⢧⡻⣵⢫⡟⣵⢾⡹⣞⡵⣞⡵⢯⡞⡵⣏⡾⣹⢞⡽⣎⡱⡑⢎⡱⢌⡣⣌⡳⣌⣲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⡽⣳⡝⣾⣱⢯⡞⣽⢺⣭⢿⡸⣯⢷⡺⣵⢻⣿⡮⡵⣣⡝⣮⠳⣭⢳⡝⣎⠷⣎⣳⢛⡼⣋⢶⡫⢞⣣⠷⣹⡜⣫⢵⢫⡝⣖⠯⣜⡏⣾⢱⣫⡜⣧ ⢧⣛⡼⣱⢏⢯⡝⡮⣝⡲⢧⣛⡼⢲⣫⡜⡧⢏⡾⢴⣋⢮⡳⡝⣮⣽⣿⣿⣿⢯⣳⢻⣿⡷⣫⡽⣞⡽⣺⡝⣾⡹⣎⡷⣝⢾⣱⢯⡳⢯⡽⣞⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⡻⣜⡧⣟⡼⣳⢏⣞⢿⣐⢻⡷⣝⣮⣛⣿⣷⡹⣕⠾⣡⢟⡜⡧⣞⢭⡞⣱⢧⠻⣜⡽⢲⡝⣫⣜⡳⢧⣝⣣⢏⣧⠻⣬⢻⠼⣜⣣⢏⡶⣹⢲ ⢧⠯⣜⡳⣎⠷⣚⡵⣹⡜⡧⢧⡛⢧⣣⡝⣞⡽⡸⢧⡝⡮⡵⣛⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⢫⡗⣿⣿⣳⡝⣾⡱⣏⢷⣹⢶⣫⢷⣹⢾⡹⣎⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡹⣞⡵⣫⢗⡯⣞⣻⠤⣋⢿⣳⢎⡷⣽⣿⡷⢭⡞⡵⣫⠞⡵⣎⡗⢾⡱⣎⠿⣜⣚⠧⢯⡵⢎⡳⢏⡶⢭⢞⣲⠻⣜⣣⢟⡬⢧⣛⡼⣱⢫ ⣏⢾⡱⡳⣭⠚⣥⢛⢶⣩⢗⣫⡝⣣⢗⡺⡕⣞⣹⢣⡞⣵⠳⣭⢾⣿⣿⡿⣧⢻⣽⣿⣯⡳⡽⣖⢯⡽⣚⡧⣟⡼⢧⣛⣮⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡳⣝⠾⣭⡻⣼⢳⣻⠦⣑⢚⣯⡟⣼⢳⣿⣯⢳⡺⣕⢧⡻⢵⢺⡜⣧⣛⡼⣹⢎⡵⣫⢗⡺⣭⢝⣳⠺⣭⠞⣥⢻⡼⣱⠮⣝⡳⢮⢵⣋⠷ ⣎⢷⣩⠗⢦⢛⡤⣋⠾⡜⣮⢵⡚⢥⡚⣵⢛⡬⢧⣛⡼⢎⡽⣒⢿⣿⣿⠿⣜⡷⣾⣿⣷⢫⣗⢯⣞⡳⣏⠷⣝⡞⣯⢳⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠈⣿⡿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠸⠿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣞⢯⣳⡝⣧⢯⣽⡇⡜⢬⢹⡿⣜⢯⣿⣿⢧⡳⣭⠶⣹⢭⢞⡱⡞⣴⢛⡴⣫⢞⡥⣏⡳⢮⣝⡲⣻⢬⢻⡜⣧⢳⢭⣞⡱⣭⢳⣎⢧⣛ ⡞⣮⠱⢎⡓⣎⠶⣡⢛⡼⡵⢪⡱⢣⠞⣸⡝⣚⢧⡽⣸⢫⡼⣙⢾⣿⣿⢫⣽⢺⣽⣿⣷⢫⣞⡳⣞⡽⣚⣯⢽⣺⢭⣗⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠙⠛⣿⣿⠀⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡮⣗⢧⡟⣮⢗⡾⣗⡘⢦⢩⣿⢞⣭⣿⣿⣧⢳⣣⢟⡱⣎⣏⡳⣝⠮⣝⡺⠵⣎⣳⢣⢟⡱⣎⢗⣣⢏⣗⡺⣥⣛⠶⣎⡳⣝⡲⣭⠞⡼ ⡝⢆⡻⢌⡳⢜⠲⢥⡋⣖⡱⣃⠳⣍⣚⡱⣞⡹⣎⠶⣭⣓⢧⣛⢾⣿⣿⢫⡞⣧⢿⣿⡷⣻⠼⣝⡮⣗⣻⢼⣣⢟⡾⣼⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡵⣻⢮⣽⢺⡝⣾⣇⠚⡤⢣⣿⣏⡶⣿⣿⣧⢳⢣⡞⣵⢋⡶⣹⢎⡽⢎⡽⣹⢎⡵⣫⠞⣵⢫⢞⣥⡛⣦⢻⠴⣋⢾⡱⡝⡶⣹⠲⣏⡳ ⡜⣣⠕⣫⢔⡫⣙⢦⠹⡤⡓⣍⠳⡜⡤⢳⣭⢳⢎⡟⣴⣋⠾⣜⣻⣿⣯⢷⣫⢗⣿⣿⡿⣱⢿⡹⣞⡵⣫⣞⡽⣚⡷⣹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣦⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢍⠿⣮⣗⣻⡼⣇⠫⡔⢣⡿⣎⢷⣿⣿⡧⣏⡳⢽⡬⣛⡼⣱⠮⣝⡹⣜⢧⡞⡵⣣⢟⡼⣣⢏⡶⣹⢎⡳⢯⡹⣎⡳⡽⣱⢫⡝⡶⣹ ⡜⣥⢚⡥⢎⡕⡣⢎⡳⢅⡛⡴⢋⡖⣍⢿⡒⣯⣚⡝⣦⡝⣣⢏⣾⣿⣿⣧⣛⣮⢿⣿⣟⡵⣏⡷⣝⠾⣵⡺⣝⢧⡻⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣤⣀⠀⢠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⡜⡹⢷⣧⢻⣯⠱⣌⠳⣟⡽⣎⣿⣿⡳⢵⣋⠷⣚⡵⣹⢎⡽⢎⡳⣭⠶⣹⢞⡱⣎⢷⡱⢯⡜⢧⣫⢝⣎⠷⣱⣛⡴⣫⢧⣛⡼⣱ ⣜⢦⣍⡲⣍⢶⡹⢎⡖⡍⡞⢴⢋⡴⣪⢗⡹⠶⣥⣛⢦⣝⣣⠯⣜⣿⣿⣷⣫⢞⡽⣿⡿⣜⡧⣟⢾⡹⢧⣛⣮⢏⡷⣳⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣼⣿⣿⣧⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠱⡑⢎⠽⣯⣿⠰⣌⢳⣯⢷⡹⣿⣿⣹⢣⡭⢏⡧⣝⠶⣋⠾⣍⢷⡱⢏⡳⣎⢷⡹⢎⡳⣝⣺⢣⡝⡮⢞⣭⢳⡼⡱⢧⡳⢮⢵⣣ ⡝⣮⣚⡵⡹⣎⡵⣫⢞⡼⣡⢏⡜⢶⣙⢮⣝⠻⣴⢋⡞⣦⡝⣞⣱⢻⣿⣿⣷⢫⡽⣿⣿⢧⣛⣮⢗⣻⡭⢷⡹⣞⣳⡭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢣⡙⣌⠲⣉⠿⡴⣈⣾⡳⢯⣽⣿⡷⣣⠟⣜⢯⡜⣮⢛⣭⣛⡼⢎⡽⣭⢳⣹⠲⣝⣫⢵⣓⢮⡳⢭⣳⢫⡖⣏⢶⡹⣇⢯⢳⢞⡲ ⡝⣖⣣⣝⣳⡱⣝⠶⣋⢶⡹⣎⠽⣎⡽⢲⣎⢟⡲⢏⡾⣱⠺⣥⢏⢯⣿⣿⣿⣏⢷⣻⣿⣯⣳⢮⣻⢼⡹⣏⢷⡽⣲⢏⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⢿⡻⣟⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣄⠳⡌⠳⣌⠚⡴⢡⡿⣝⡧⣿⣿⢳⣙⢾⣩⢶⡹⢎⡽⢆⡷⢺⡹⣜⠶⣋⢶⠻⣜⡵⡺⣬⢳⢭⡳⢣⠷⣙⢮⢧⢳⡹⣎⢯⣚⡵ ⣝⢮⢵⣚⡴⣛⣬⣛⡭⡞⡵⣎⢟⡼⣜⡳⢮⡭⣝⣣⠷⣩⠟⣦⣛⠮⣞⣿⣿⣿⢎⡷⣻⣿⣮⢳⡽⣺⡝⣞⣧⢻⡵⣫⢟⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣣⠿⣜⣳⡽⣺⠵⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡐⢣⠜⡱⢌⠳⣌⣿⡻⣵⢻⣿⣏⠷⣩⠶⣭⠶⣙⢯⡜⡯⣜⢧⣛⡼⣹⣙⢮⣛⡼⣲⢝⡮⣝⠮⣝⣫⠽⣙⡞⢮⡳⣝⡼⣓⢮⢞ ⣎⢯⠶⣍⢾⡱⢞⡴⣛⡼⣓⢮⢏⡶⣙⠾⣱⢞⡱⢮⣝⡣⣟⡲⢭⡳⣍⠿⣿⣿⣟⡼⣏⣿⣷⣻⠼⣧⢻⡵⣚⡯⣞⡽⣺⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣯⢗⣯⢻⡝⡶⣝⡧⣟⢮⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠉⠛⣿⣿⣿⣧⡙⢦⡙⠴⣉⢖⡿⢧⣻⣼⣿⡿⣜⢫⡳⣝⡲⢏⡽⣚⡼⢳⢭⡞⡼⣱⢇⡯⢞⡱⣞⡱⣎⡗⣮⢛⡼⡼⣙⢧⡝⣧⢳⢞⡲⣝⣚⢮ ⣎⢯⢞⡭⢶⣹⢫⡜⣧⠳⣝⡺⢮⢵⢫⣝⣣⢞⣭⠳⣎⡵⣣⢏⠷⣹⡜⣫⢽⣿⣿⣿⡾⣽⢿⣿⡽⣺⡝⡾⣭⢷⣝⡾⡵⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠄⠀⣼⣿⣿⣛⡾⣜⣳⢯⡽⣺⢵⣫⠷⣮⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠈⢹⣿⣿⣿⣾⠤⡙⢦⣱⣿⢫⡟⣶⣿⠿⣜⢮⡳⣝⡲⣝⣫⡜⡧⣝⣫⠶⣭⢳⢭⡞⣱⢏⡳⣭⢳⠭⣞⣥⢻⢼⡱⣏⠾⡼⣱⢫⡞⣵⡹⢎⡳ ⣎⢯⢞⡹⢮⡕⣏⠾⣜⢻⡜⣵⢫⢞⣣⢞⡜⣧⠞⣝⠮⣵⢋⡾⣹⡱⢞⡱⣏⠾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣟⣿⣧⡻⣵⢫⣟⣮⡹⠷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⢸⣿⣿⣯⢳⣝⢾⣱⣏⣞⢧⡟⣼⣛⢶⣻⣭⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣑⢾⡻⣜⣳⣻⣿⢏⡟⣼⠲⣝⡲⣝⣲⢣⡝⣞⡱⣎⠷⣣⣛⠶⣙⢧⡫⢗⡮⣭⢳⢞⣬⢳⣣⠟⣜⡳⣭⣓⢧⢻⡔⣯⣙⡳ ⣎⢯⠞⣭⢳⠞⣭⢞⡭⣞⠼⣣⣛⢮⠵⣋⠾⣜⡽⢪⢟⡴⣫⢞⣥⠻⣍⠷⣎⡻⣜⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣽⣷⣏⠷⣮⢳⣟⣶⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢠⣾⣿⣿⣷⢫⡞⣧⢷⣚⡮⣟⡼⢧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡗⣯⢽⣾⡿⣹⢎⡽⢲⣛⡼⣱⢧⡓⣏⠾⣥⢻⠼⣭⣓⢮⣛⡭⡞⣵⢫⡜⡶⢫⡞⣬⢳⠮⣝⢮⢳⠵⣎⠯⣶⠹⣖⡭⢳ ⣎⢯⡞⡵⣋⠿⣜⢮⣓⢮⣛⡵⢎⣏⠾⣍⡟⡼⣜⣏⢮⢳⠵⣋⢶⣛⡼⣹⢲⡝⣚⢮⡽⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⢿⣼⣳⢮⡳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠚⣿⣿⣿⣯⣗⣯⣿⣷⣿⣷⡹⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⡛⡼⣥⠻⣜⢧⣫⠶⣙⢶⡹⢮⡝⣖⣫⡝⢶⣩⢞⠶⣙⡞⣥⢻⢼⣙⢧⣛⡼⢣⡟⡼⡭⣞⡹⣜⣏⠶⣛⡼⣜⡳ ⢮⣳⠺⣵⢫⡝⡞⡼⢎⡳⡞⣜⠯⣜⡏⢾⡜⣳⠵⣪⣛⢎⡟⣭⠶⡭⢶⢭⣓⠾⣙⠶⣭⢫⡽⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣷⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠠⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢫⠶⣙⡳⢎⡟⣬⢳⢎⡽⣙⢮⢳⡝⡼⢳⡜⣞⣣⡝⣮⢛⡵⣹⢎⡗⣫⣜⡳⢮⢵⡫⢞⡵⢳⣍⡳⢧⣺⢹⣥⢳⢎⠷ ⢧⣳⢛⡖⣏⡞⣭⢳⣫⢳⡝⡮⣝⢞⡼⣣⠯⣵⢋⡧⣝⠮⣝⡖⢯⡵⢫⡞⣼⡹⣍⡻⣴⢫⡜⣯⡹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠋⠿⢿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣜⣣⢟⡱⣏⢏⡾⡱⣏⠾⣱⢏⡞⢧⡞⡝⣧⢛⡼⡲⢽⡸⡽⣸⠧⡞⣭⢳⡜⢧⣛⠮⣝⡭⢞⡳⣎⢽⢣⢧⢏⡶⢫⡞⡽ ⢧⣳⢫⢞⣥⢻⡜⣣⢗⣳⠺⣕⣫⢞⡼⣱⡛⣖⢯⣚⡵⢻⣜⣚⡗⣺⠧⣝⠶⣹⠼⣱⢎⡷⣹⢲⢭⡳⢎⡽⣻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⢺⣿⡿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⣿⣿⠏⠻⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠼⣱⢎⡷⢭⡞⣱⣛⣬⡛⡵⢮⣹⡓⢾⡹⣜⣫⢶⡹⣇⢟⡲⣝⡺⣝⡼⢣⣏⠷⣩⢟⡜⣞⡭⣳⢎⢯⢞⣣⠟⣼⢣⡻⣜ ⢧⣳⢫⡞⣜⠧⣝⣣⢏⡶⢻⡜⡵⣎⡳⢧⡝⠾⣬⣓⢞⡳⣬⢳⢺⣥⢻⡜⣫⢵⢫⢧⠻⣴⢋⣧⢳⢭⣛⡼⣥⠻⣜⡽⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⣀⣀⡀⠘⠛⠃⣀⣉⡁⠀⠀⠙⠛⢀⣠⣀⡀⠀⠀⣴⣶⡆⠀⢀⡀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣭⠳⡮⣝⠶⣙⢧⢞⡲⢽⣩⠷⣡⢟⣣⡝⡶⣓⢮⣓⢮⢏⡵⣣⠟⣴⢫⢗⠮⣏⡳⢮⡝⡶⡹⢖⣫⢞⣣⡝⢾⣡⢯⢵⣚ ⢧⣳⢫⡼⣙⠾⡥⣏⠾⣜⢧⣛⡼⣱⢫⡳⢞⡽⡲⣭⠞⡵⣭⢳⣋⢶⢫⡜⣧⢫⡝⣮⢛⣬⠻⣴⢫⡞⡼⣲⢍⡟⣼⠲⣝⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⢠⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣷⣠⣾⣿⣿⡇⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡳⡵⢫⡵⢎⡻⢭⢞⠮⣝⡳⢮⣝⡣⡟⢦⣛⡵⣹⢎⢧⣏⠾⣱⢭⢻⣬⢳⡫⣝⠮⣝⡳⡺⣕⣏⡻⣜⢮⡵⣚⢧⢏⡞⣎⡞ ⢧⣳⢫⡼⢭⡳⢽⡸⣝⠮⣞⡱⣞⡱⣏⡵⣫⢶⡹⢖⢯⢳⢎⡷⣩⢞⣣⠟⣜⢧⢻⡴⢫⡞⣝⡖⣫⣜⡳⢵⣋⠾⣥⢻⣬⢻⡟⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⣼⣿⣿⣷⣀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣯⢳⡹⢧⣹⢫⡝⣭⠞⣝⠮⣵⠳⣎⡵⣫⣓⣳⢺⡱⣎⢷⣊⢯⢇⡯⣳⢜⣣⡝⣮⢝⡮⢵⣛⡴⣎⢷⣩⢖⡳⣝⡺⢎⡽⡜⣞ ⢧⣳⢫⡜⣧⢻⡱⢯⡜⢯⡜⣧⢭⡳⢮⢵⡣⠷⣭⡛⡮⢏⡾⣜⣣⠟⣬⢻⠼⡭⢶⡹⢧⡝⣮⣜⡳⡼⣙⢮⢭⡳⢎⡷⣸⢳⣾⡵⢫⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⢻⣬⢻⣿⣗⣫⢵⣿⣾⣿⡿⣬⢻⡜⣏⢶⣛⣬⢳⡵⢭⡖⢯⡱⣏⢶⡹⢮⡝⢶⣙⠮⢧⡝⢮⡞⣹⠞⣬⢳⢎⡗⣮⢭⢳⠮⣝⡽⢼⡹⣜ ⢧⣳⢋⡾⣱⢫⡵⣋⡞⢧⣛⠶⣙⡞⣭⠶⣹⣛⡴⣋⢷⢫⡖⢧⣓⡻⣜⣫⢳⡝⣣⠟⣮⢵⡲⣣⡝⣞⢭⡞⣣⣝⢫⠶⣭⢻⣿⣝⣣⡝⢮⡻⣝⣻⣛⢯⣛⢯⡳⢻⣿⣿⣿⡿⣙⢮⡝⡿⢿⢿⡿⢿⣻⠻⣝⡳⢎⣧⢳⢎⣿⣿⣾⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⣝⡖⢯⡜⣮⣓⡞⣬⢳⣚⣳⢚⣧⢛⡼⣣⢏⡗⣞⣣⢏⢯⡳⢞⣣⡝⢧⡻⣜⣫⢞⣹⢲⣋⢧⡻⣜⢮⢳⡹⣜ ⢧⡳⢏⡞⡵⣋⢶⣹⢚⡧⢏⡾⣱⢏⡶⢫⡳⡼⣱⢏⣞⣣⡝⣧⢫⡵⣣⡝⡮⣵⢫⡝⡶⢣⢯⢵⣚⡭⢶⡹⢵⡪⢏⡳⣭⣻⣿⡮⣵⢚⣧⣳⣭⢶⣩⢶⡹⣎⡵⣫⠶⣭⢳⢭⡝⣎⢾⣩⢏⡶⣹⢓⡮⣝⠮⣵⢫⡖⣏⡞⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⡹⣜⠶⣭⢳⣹⢲⣥⠻⣜⣣⠷⣡⢟⣬⡛⢶⣙⢮⡝⠶⡭⣞⣣⡝⣏⢶⡹⣣⡝⢶⢣⣏⢮⡳⢭⡞⣱⢭⡞⣣⠟⡼ ⡳⡽⣙⠾⣱⢏⡞⣥⢻⡜⣏⢶⣹⣚⡼⣣⢟⣱⢳⡺⣜⠶⣹⣜⣣⢗⣣⢽⡱⣎⠷⣙⢾⣙⡞⢮⡼⣱⢏⡽⡲⣝⣫⢵⢣⢿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣮⢣⢷⣩⢶⣙⢮⡵⣋⠾⣜⡹⢶⣩⢞⡱⣏⢧⡝⡮⣝⡖⢯⡜⣞⡼⣩⢏⠷⣹⡜⢧⣛⡼⣹⠲⣏⢶⣋⢶⣛⡬⢧⣛⡵⢫⡖⡽⣣⢏⡾⡜⣯⠵⢮⡵⣚⡭⢶⡹⣥⠻⣍⢷⢪⢧⣛⡵⡺⢵⣫⡜⢧⣻⡱ ⡳⡽⣩⢏⡗⣮⢝⣎⠷⣚⡭⢞⡲⣥⢳⡝⣎⢧⡳⢽⡸⣭⢳⡼⡜⣮⢣⠷⣹⡜⣫⡝⡞⣼⢚⡧⣳⠭⣞⣱⠻⣴⢋⡮⢏⡾⣹⢟⡿⣻⢟⡿⢯⡝⡖⡯⠶⡭⢶⡹⢎⡶⣭⠻⣜⠽⣲⠭⡞⡵⡭⡞⣼⢳⡱⣞⣣⠟⣦⠯⣕⣫⠯⣕⡞⢧⣝⡲⣭⢳⡝⣲⡝⣲⢭⢞⣣⠗⡞⣧⢫⡵⣋⡞⢶⡹⢖⣫⢗⡺⣥⢻⡱⢏⡶⢻⣜⣣⠟⣼⠲⣭⠳⣏⢶⡹⢳⡲⣝ ⡳⡽⣱⢫⡞⣼⣚⣬⠻⣥⠻⣍⢷⣩⢗⡺⢭⡞⣭⠳⣝⡲⢏⡶⣹⢎⡽⢭⣓⠾⣱⢭⣛⡴⣫⢞⣥⢻⣬⢓⡟⣲⢏⢾⣙⢶⣙⢮⡵⢣⣏⠾⣱⢞⡹⣜⠯⣵⢫⡵⢫⢞⣲⠻⣜⣫⠵⣫⡝⣞⡱⣝⠶⣫⢵⢺⢬⣛⠶⣹⢎⡵⣛⡼⣚⡳⣬⢳⢣⣏⠾⣱⢞⡱⣏⢮⢇⡿⣙⠶⣋⢶⣹⡚⣧⣛⡭⢞⣎⠷⣩⢞⣭⡛⣼⢓⡮⢎⡟⣼⡹⢎⡽⢎⣧⢛⡧⣝⢮ ⡳⡽⣱⠯⣜⠧⣞⢼⡹⣜⡻⣜⢮⡵⢮⣝⢳⡺⣱⠻⣜⣭⢳⡹⢖⣫⢞⣣⢏⡾⣱⢧⣋⢶⡹⣎⢮⡳⣜⣫⣜⡳⣎⢷⢪⠧⣏⢶⣹⢳⠮⣝⣣⢞⡵⢫⡞⣥⢳⣭⢛⡮⢵⣛⣬⢳⡹⡵⣚⣥⢻⠼⣹⢖⣫⢧⣛⣬⢻⡱⣎⠷⣙⠶⣍⠷⣱⢫⣓⢮⣝⣣⢞⡵⣋⡞⣮⠵⣫⢽⣙⢮⡵⣹⢲⡕⣫⢗⢮⣛⡵⢫⡖⣽⢪⣝⡺⡝⣮⠵⣙⣏⠾⣙⡖⡯⣜⠾⣸ ⡳⡽⣡⢟⡼⣋⡞⢮⡵⢣⡟⡼⣚⡼⢣⣞⣣⡝⢧⡻⣜⢖⣫⠽⣙⠶⣫⡜⢧⡳⡭⢶⡹⢎⡷⣩⢶⡹⢖⣣⠞⡵⣎⣳⢫⡝⣎⢧⣿⣏⠾⣥⢏⡾⡜⣧⠻⣜⢧⡺⣍⣞⠳⣮⢜⡧⣛⡼⣱⢎⡯⣝⣣⢞⡵⣎⡳⣜⢧⣛⡼⣹⢭⣛⡼⢫⡵⣋⢮⡳⢮⠼⡭⢶⡹⢮⠵⣋⠷⣎⡽⡲⢭⢧⡳⣭⢳⡎⡷⣚⡼⣣⢟⡲⡝⣦⠯⡵⣎⡻⢵⡪⢟⣥⢻⣜⣣⢟⡱ ⡳⡽⣱⢫⢞⡵⢫⡳⢞⣣⣝⡳⡭⢞⡳⣎⢶⣹⢣⢟⣬⣛⣬⣛⡭⢯⡕⣞⠧⣏⡵⣫⢵⡫⢞⡱⢧⣛⡭⣞⣹⢣⡝⡖⡯⣼⡙⣾⣟⣿⡳⣎⡳⢎⣷⡣⣟⠼⣎⡵⣓⢮⣛⢖⣫⡜⣧⡝⣣⢞⡵⣎⡳⣎⢗⡮⢳⡭⢶⡹⣜⠧⣞⡱⡞⢧⡳⣝⣎⠷⣫⡝⣞⣣⢏⣗⣫⡝⢧⣫⢶⣹⣋⢶⡹⢖⣧⢫⡵⣋⢶⡹⣎⡳⣝⡖⣫⢵⣣⢻⣱⢫⣝⡲⢏⡶⢭⣚⡽ ⡳⡽⣱⢏⡾⡜⣧⣛⡭⣖⣣⡝⣞⡭⢳⣎⠷⣊⢯⠞⣦⢳⢎⡶⡹⡞⡼⢭⣞⣱⠳⣭⠶⣹⢫⣝⣣⢧⢳⡎⢧⣛⡼⡹⡖⢧⡻⣼⣟⡾⣟⣮⡽⣙⢶⣻⢮⣛⣬⢳⡝⣺⢬⣛⢦⢻⠴⣋⠷⡭⢶⡍⡷⢎⡯⣜⢧⣛⢮⢵⣋⢾⡱⣫⢝⡧⣝⠶⣎⢯⢵⢺⡱⢮⡝⣦⠳⣞⣣⠗⣞⢦⠻⣜⡽⣚⠖⣏⢶⡹⣎⠷⣱⢏⡶⣹⢣⡗⢮⣓⠧⣏⢶⡹⢽⡸⢧⢳⣚ ⢷⡹⡵⣎⢷⡹⢶⡱⣝⣲⢣⡝⣮⣜⡳⢮⣝⡹⣎⢟⡜⣧⣛⠼⣳⡹⣹⠞⣴⢫⡝⡖⣏⢧⢏⡶⢭⣚⠧⣝⢧⣫⣜⡳⣝⣣⠷⣩⢿⡽⣯⢷⣻⣟⡶⣭⣟⡿⣮⣗⠾⣡⢟⡬⢏⣧⠻⣍⡻⣜⣳⠺⣍⠷⣹⢬⡳⢮⣝⡲⡝⡮⣵⢋⡾⡜⢮⡳⢭⡞⣎⠷⣙⢧⡞⣱⣛⠶⡭⣞⢭⡞⣝⠮⢶⢭⢻⡜⣣⢟⣬⡛⡵⣎⡳⣭⣓⠞⣧⢫⡝⣎⢧⢏⡳⣭⣋⢧⡝
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⣛⣟⣻⣟⢿⡿⡟⣏⣳⠼⠓⠳⠶⠮⣭⠻⢢⣴⢾⠻⠿⢷⡠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⣽⢃⠴⠊⠉⠉⠉⠻⡾⠋⠁⠀⠐⠮⠭⠝⠲⠤⣹⣯⣑⠬⠛⠛⠷⠶⣭⡒⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣟⣟⠕⣁⠤⠒⠋⡝⢁⡠⠽⠲⠤⢄⡀⠀⣀⠤⠴⠢⠤⢉⡠⠔⠚⢉⠉⡉⠄⡙⢯⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣫⠎⠾⠊⠄⢂⠁⣾⡔⠉⠄⢂⠡⠐⣎⠔⠋⠄⠂⠄⡁⠂⢄⠉⢂⢁⠂⠰⢀⠒⡀⠊⣗⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣏⡏⠰⢀⠁⡈⢀⡈⢀⠀⢁⠈⡀⠆⢁⠁⡈⠰⠈⡈⠰⢀⠉⡀⢈⠀⠆⡈⠁⠆⠰⢀⠁⡈⣏⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡟⡞⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⢁⠐⠠⡈⠄⠒⠠⢈⠄⠂⢄⠁⠒⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠂⠌⡐⠠⠁⡌⠐⢂⠐⠠⢹⡞⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⣿⠁⢂⠰⢀⠁⠒⡈⠄⠡⠐⡈⠤⢁⠂⠌⡐⠂⠌⡁⠒⡀⢂⠁⡂⢁⠢⠀⠅⠒⠠⢁⠂⠌⡁⢂⢻⣱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣻⠃⠌⡀⠢⠐⡈⠡⠐⡈⠄⠡⠐⣀⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⠤⢁⠐⢂⠡⠐⠂⠄⡉⠄⠡⠒⠠⢈⡐⢀⠂⠌⣟⡷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⣯⡏⠐⣀⠂⡁⠒⠠⢁⠒⠠⢈⢁⠂⠄⣈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⠄⢂⠡⠌⡐⠠⠘⠠⢁⠂⠡⠐⠠⡈⠄⡹⡽⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡽⢀⠡⢀⠂⡐⢁⠂⠂⠌⡐⠂⠄⠌⡐⠠⠈⠔⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⠌⣀⠂⠔⠠⢁⠘⡀⠂⠌⠡⠈⠔⡀⡒⠀⢿⣻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢧⡇⢂⠐⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⢁⠂⠄⡡⢈⠐⠠⢁⠌⠠⢁⠂⠄⣁⡂⠌⡐⠠⠈⠄⣁⠂⠂⠌⡐⣿⣶⡅⢂⢰⢷⠁⢺⡴⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡿⠀⠂⠌⡐⠂⠄⣁⠂⠤⢈⠐⣀⠂⠌⡁⠂⠌⡐⠂⠌⣸⣿⣿⡔⠠⢁⠘⠠⡀⠌⣈⠐⠠⣿⣿⣿⠀⡎⠈⡆⠄⣷⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⣸⢯⠇⡈⠤⠁⠄⡡⠈⠄⣈⠐⠠⡈⠄⡈⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⠡⠂⣿⣿⣿⡇⠂⠌⠠⢁⡐⠤⠀⠌⡐⢻⣿⣿⡞⠀⠄⢳⠈⢼⣽⣇⣠⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠏⠉⢿⣷⡀⢀⣿⣾⠀⠰⢀⠁⠶⢀⠁⠆⡀⢈⠰⠀⠆⢁⠀⠁⠆⡈⠈⡀⢁⢹⣿⣿⡇⢁⠈⠆⣀⠰⢀⠁⠶⢀⠁⠹⡹⠀⠈⢀⠸⡇⢸⣏⣿⡿⢹⣷⠀⠀⠀ ⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣾⣏⡟⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢈⡐⠠⢁⠂⢡⠈⠄⣈⠁⠢⢀⠅⡐⠂⠌⠛⢋⠀⡂⠌⣐⡀⠂⠤⢈⠐⠠⣈⡔⠁⠄⠡⠀⡀⡇⠄⣟⣏⠀⢀⣿⣷⣶⣄ ⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣄⢁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠂⠄⡁⠂⠌⢠⠈⡐⠀⣾⣿⠀⢂⢄⡇⡈⠰⢀⠒⡀⢢⠋⢧⢈⠐⡀⢊⡡⠊⠀⠌⠀⠂⢁⠀⢧⠈⣗⣿⡀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠈⠛⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠻⢿⡶⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⠊⠄⠂⠄⢣⣿⡇⠌⣀⠞⢣⠠⢁⠂⡐⡴⠃⠀⠄⠙⠒⠚⡁⢀⠂⠁⡐⠈⡀⠂⠠⢸⠀⣯⣿⠇⠀⠙⠻⠛⠋ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡿⡇⡐⢀⠂⠌⡐⠂⠌⡐⠠⢁⡂⠌⡀⠃⠌⢸⣿⡇⢢⠎⠀⠌⠲⠤⠖⠉⡀⣄⣡⣴⣼⣶⣿⠿⠃⠠⠁⠠⠐⠀⠄⢁⢸⠀⣲⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠟⡇⡐⢈⠐⡐⠠⢁⠂⠤⡡⠋⡇⡐⠠⢁⠊⠄⢻⣿⣥⣀⣌⣤⣶⣶⣾⣿⠿⠟⠛⠋⠉⢀⠀⠄⠈⠄⠂⢁⠐⠈⡀⠂⡎⠀⣟⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡜⣇⢐⠠⠌⠠⢁⡢⠜⠋⠀⠄⠳⡠⢁⠂⡬⠔⠃⢈⠙⠛⠛⠋⠉⡀⠄⠀⠠⠐⠀⠌⠐⡀⠄⠈⠄⠂⢈⠀⠄⠂⠠⢀⡇⠂⣯⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡞⡏⢆⠉⡉⠉⠉⡀⠄⠂⢁⠀⠂⠉⠉⢉⠀⡐⠀⠂⡀⠂⠐⡀⢁⠠⠀⡁⢂⣄⠡⠐⠀⠄⠠⠁⡐⠈⡀⡰⣀⣌⣰⠞⢀⢡⡷⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣽⢦⣉⣒⣚⣖⠲⢄⣈⣀⣄⣁⣈⣐⡠⠴⢊⠲⢅⣀⣌⣀⣄⢂⣀⠦⠒⠡⢈⠑⠲⠬⠤⠦⠴⠴⠒⡉⠐⡠⠀⠄⡐⣠⡞⡽⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠏⢷⠷⡾⣎⡿⣶⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⣰⣾⣷⣀⡆⢀⠀⡀⠀⠆⡀⢆⣁⣿⣶⣈⣰⢀⠁⠆⡰⢀⢁⣀⡿⣿⠿⢿⣹⣷⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠛⠓⠞⠲⢻⣾⠏⠉⠛⠯⣽⢯⠿⠽⠻⡿⣭⡿⠗⠛⠋⠹⢿⣯⢿⣝⣳⣯⡿⠽⠖⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣼⣟⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣏⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
✿ˋ❀ 𝘌𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘉𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘛𝘢𝘤𝘰 ✿ˋ❀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠴⠞⠛⠛⠓⠒⠒⠖⠲⠴⠤⠤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠻⠷⠶⠶⢦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣠⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠉⠈⠉⠉⢋⣙⣽⡶⡾ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⢁⠒⡌⢢⠑⠢⠄⠤⢠⠐⠤⡉⢍⠩⣉⠛⢛⠛⡛⠛⠷⠶⠶⢶⣶⠿⡛⡭⢢⣽⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠣⢌⠒⢌⠢⡉⢆⡉⠦⡁⢎⠰⡁⢎⠰⢠⠉⢆⠱⣈⠱⡈⠆⡑⣾⢏⠲⣉⠖⣹⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠏⡐⢢⠉⢆⠱⡈⢆⡘⠤⡑⢌⠢⡑⢌⢂⠣⡘⢄⠣⢄⠣⡘⢄⣱⡟⣌⠳⣌⣹⡟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡏⠰⢁⠆⡉⢆⠱⡈⢆⡘⠤⡑⢌⠢⡑⢌⠢⡑⢌⠢⡑⢌⠢⢁⣲⡿⡘⢤⠓⣤⡿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣟⠠⢃⠌⢢⠑⡈⢆⠑⢢⠘⡰⢈⠆⡱⢈⠆⡱⢈⠆⡱⢈⠆⡑⢢⣿⢡⡙⢦⡙⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣶⣁⠊⡄⠣⡘⠤⢉⢂⠱⣀⠣⡘⢄⠣⠘⡄⠣⡘⢄⠣⡘⢠⣿⢇⠣⡜⢢⣽⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠰⠙⡿⣿⣶⣵⣶⠌⠢⠌⠒⠤⡑⠰⡈⢆⠱⣀⠣⠘⠤⠑⡠⣻⡏⣌⠳⣌⢳⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡏⠌⣡⢊⡐⠌⡉⠍⣋⠰⣽⣾⣥⣶⣬⣥⣴⣦⣶⣶⣿⠌⢂⠱⣰⡿⡐⢎⡱⢬⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢠⢣⣿⣷⠠⢃⠜⡰⠀⢆⣡⡉⠍⡛⣉⠋⡍⢩⠉⡍⠰⣈⠂⢥⡿⣡⠙⢦⡑⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡿⡁⠆⣿⣿⡿⡐⢡⠊⠔⡉⣾⣿⣷⠈⡔⢠⠃⡜⢠⠃⡌⠱⣀⢊⣿⠣⣅⢋⠦⣽⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠣⡐⠡⠛⠿⡑⡈⢆⠩⡐⠄⣿⣿⡧⠘⡄⢣⠘⡄⢣⠘⡄⠣⢄⣾⡏⡱⢌⠎⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡏⠰⢁⠣⢉⠔⡠⢁⠆⡱⢈⠆⠹⠟⡩⠐⡌⢢⠑⡌⢢⠑⡌⡁⢾⡟⡰⡑⢎⣺⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⢌⠡⢊⠰⢁⠊⡔⢡⠊⡔⠢⣈⠱⡈⠔⡡⠘⡄⢣⠘⡄⢣⠐⢬⡿⣡⢣⡙⢦⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⢉⠢⢘⣾⣷⣿⣶⣼⣤⣘⡄⢃⠄⢣⠘⠤⣁⠣⡘⢄⠣⡘⢄⢊⣿⢣⡑⢦⡙⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⣿⠑⡌⢢⠡⢌⠡⢂⡉⠍⢛⠻⢿⣷⣮⣰⢈⠒⡄⢣⠘⠤⡑⢌⡐⣾⢏⣦⣝⣢⣹⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⣴⠿⠛⠉⠁⣸⠇⡘⢄⠣⡘⢄⠃⢆⡘⢌⠢⡘⠄⢚⠻⠟⢂⠱⡈⢆⡉⢒⠌⡄⣾⡟⢬⠻⠿⢿⡿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢿⣧⣀⠀⠀⢰⡟⢠⠑⡌⠢⡑⢌⡘⠤⡘⢄⠣⡐⢩⠐⢢⠉⡄⢣⠘⠤⡘⢄⠊⣴⡿⡘⢦⡙⢬⡿⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠉⣻⣿⣶⡿⢀⠃⡜⢠⠃⡔⠢⡘⠤⡑⢌⠢⡑⢢⢉⠢⡑⢌⠢⡉⢆⠱⡈⢢⣿⢣⡙⢦⡙⣾⠁⢀⣠⣼⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠾⣿⢿⣿⣁⠊⡔⢈⢂⡑⡈⠆⡑⠢⠘⡄⠣⡐⢡⢂⠱⡈⢄⠃⡜⢠⠁⢆⣿⢇⣳⣿⣷⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⣿⠒⠷⠾⠳⠧⠶⠵⡼⣤⣦⣥⣘⣤⣉⣄⣃⣘⣼⣏⡶⠶⠛⢿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢹⣿⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⣶⣶⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡏⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡌⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣻⡛⠛⢹ ⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣩⣴⣞⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠋⣥⣶⠇⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⢸⠏⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⢡⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢰⣿⣿⢸⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣿⣿⠇⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠀⣘⢿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣸⣿⡿⢸⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⢸⣿⣿⡃⣤⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢃⣿⣿⠃⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣀⡟⢸⡏⠻⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡅⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⣿⠁⢡⣼⣿⣿⠀⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣸⣿⡿⣸⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸⠀⠀⠈⠙⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢃⣀⣀⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣾⣿⣦⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢃⣿⣿⢇⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⡀⢷⡄⢀⡶⠿⢋⣩⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣍⡛⠿⣿⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣸⣿⣿⡟⣸⣿⡟⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠘⣷⣤⣴⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡆⣾⣿⣿⡙⠻⠿⠿⠟⣋⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⢁⣿⣿⢃⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠟⣡⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⡸⢿⡏⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠋⠉⠁⣾⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢡⣿⡄⠡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣦⣀⣤⣿⣿⡆⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣸⣿⡇⠀⠈⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡟⢛⣿⣟⢛⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠡⢟⣩⣴⣷⣄⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡆⢠⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡄⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠿⠿⢿⠘⠛⠛⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠉⠉⠁⣈⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⠤⠤⣾⣾⣶⡶⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠶⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⢤⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
🔵🍳🌈 *єηтєя уσυя ηαмє*🌈🍳🔵 🔵: “Want to battle for a prize??” 🟥: “but what is the prize??” 🔵: “A BFDI”
⠀⠀⠀⢰⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣞⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⡿⠙⢷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀ ⠀⢠⣿⠁⠀⠀⠈⠛⠳⢦⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⡶⠟⢻⡇ ⠀⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠻⠿⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⢰⣿⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣿ ⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏ ⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣾⣿⠁ ⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀ ⠀⠻⣿⡩⢇⡲⢌⡲⣐⢆⠮⣙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⣿⣜⡲⢍⡖⣱⢊⡳⠜⡼⣘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣾⣬⣣⠝⡼⣙⠖⣭⢒⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠾⠷⠿⠾⠿⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠦⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡻⡝⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⢏⡳⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣯⡵⣙⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣾⠱⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢯⣳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠵⣣⡝⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣹⢦⣛⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠹⢦⣽⣳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣏⠵⡞⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣫⠳⡥⢏⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣯⢞⣹⢶⡭⣏⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡻⣌⣿⢶⢎⣟⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⢵⡪⣝⣹⣜⣄⠀⠀⢠⢿⡡⣿⢻⢧⡏⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⡿⢎⣽⠌⣷⣭⢳⣓⢤⣴⣿⣧⣳⠞⡅⠺⣏⢾⡹⡀⠀⠀⣠⢮⡹⣖⣳⣼⣿⣿⣿⣷⡴⣫⢇⣳⢏⢺⢧⣳⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢯⢭⡟⡰⣀⠛⠷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡱⣈⠥⢛⣮⡝⣙⣶⢾⣋⢮⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣴⠟⣡⠊⣼⣗⡺⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⣏⢾⡇⣑⠢⣹⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠓⠤⠚⡄⢎⠻⣵⣮⡶⠟⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢏⡡⢋⠝⡡⠚⡄⢣⡐⣯⠞⣾⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢗⡎⣿⢐⢢⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠫⡔⢌⡡⢋⠔⡉⢆⠣⡰⢀⠆⡓⢼⣿⣿⣿⡿⣘⠢⡑⡌⢢⡑⢣⡘⢄⠲⣹⠯⣥⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⣚⣼⠇⢎⡄⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠱⠌⡆⡱⢊⢌⠱⢊⠦⢡⠋⡔⢡⠚⡝⠿⣛⠳⡠⢃⡒⣌⣥⡈⢥⡘⢢⠑⡌⣿⠲⣼⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠷⣡⡿⡘⠤⡌⣙⢻⣿⣿⡿⢃⠥⢃⡒⢡⠎⢄⡓⣬⣦⣧⡑⢬⢁⢺⠄⢧⢢⠑⢢⠅⣹⣿⣿⣿⡧⡘⢢⡑⢌⣹⡟⡴⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⡹⣼⠇⡜⢢⠑⡢⢌⡉⠉⠈⠓⢬⣦⡥⠟⠀⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣗⢂⣮⠏⠀⠈⠳⣍⡆⡜⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡔⢣⡘⠄⡆⣿⡱⣞⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢷⣩⡿⢰⢨⡑⠬⡑⢢⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢡⠘⡌⠔⡹⣷⢩⣵⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⡞⣴⡇⢣⢢⠑⠦⡑⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠿⡉⢆⡱⢈⡃⠖⣿⢣⠞⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣷⣛⣼⢋⠔⡣⣉⠖⡡⢛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣇⢒⣰⣷⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣷⢣⣾⠌⣊⠕⡰⢊⠔⣩⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⠀⠀ ⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⢧⣿⠐⡥⢊⡕⢊⠜⣰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⡇⢣⠰⡉⠟⣛⠛⣿⢻⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄ ⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⠉⢸⢯⣚⡧⢊⠴⢡⢊⡜⢢⠩⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠱⣈⠅⡓⠬⠤⣉⡷⣫⢿⡄⠀⠈⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣼⣗⠮⣷⠉⡜⢂⢣⡘⢄⠣⣹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⢢⠅⠎⣅⠓⣌⣰⣯⣿⣾⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿ ⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢏⣽⡜⣨⠑⠦⡘⢌⠲⠠⠽⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⢋⡌⠣⢌⠣⠤⣹⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⠿⣿⣯⡜⣷⡠⡙⢆⠍⡬⢘⠱⢌⢊⠶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠾⢡⠒⠬⡑⣊⠜⡰⢱⣿⢿⢿⠟⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡼⣜⣳⣕⢌⡸⠰⣉⠜⣈⠆⢎⡘⢓⠶⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⠴⠞⡋⢥⠊⢥⡉⠖⡱⢈⢦⡵⡟⡥⣻⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣳⢚⡷⢦⣱⢈⢒⠡⢎⢢⢉⠲⡌⡔⡌⡩⠍⠭⡙⢢⢑⠊⢭⠩⢍⡑⢢⢉⡒⡉⠆⡍⠆⡜⢡⣲⡟⣏⡳⣩⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠫⣼⢍⠯⡷⢮⣜⣰⢈⠎⡒⠔⣂⠖⡡⢎⠱⢌⡡⢊⠍⠦⣙⠰⣨⠡⠆⠥⣉⠜⣠⣭⣞⢯⣣⣝⡦⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢵⣋⢞⡭⢻⡳⢾⡼⣤⣎⣔⣌⢢⣃⠴⣉⠜⣒⣄⣣⣤⣧⠾⡷⣞⢻⢭⢳⣼⠼⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⣷⣿⣥⣿⣰⢫⡜⣎⢳⢬⡛⡬⢏⡳⣜⡱⡚⣬⣷⣵⣾⣿⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡧⠈⠉⠉⠉⠑⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠉⠉⠉⠁⢹⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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A LIFE OF DIVERSITY ii (Autistic author) The drive back to the Chum Bucket was quiet, the only sound the hum of the car engine and the occasional splash of a jellyfish passing by. Karen gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white with tension. She glanced over at Plankton in the passenger seat, his eye glazed over and staring out the window. "You ok?" she asked tentatively. Plankton nodded, his gaze still fixed outside the car window. "Everything looks the same, but feeling... different." "You're going to be ok," she said. "We'll get through this." By the time Karen pulls up in the driveway, Plankton had fallen asleep, his head lolling against the car window. She gently lifts him out of the car and carries him into their bedroom, laying him down with care. As she watches him sleep, she whispers, "We'll get through this." The next day dawns with the promise of a new challenge. Karen wakes up to the sight of Plankton, obsessing with the pattern of the floor tiles. "You ok?" Karen asked, voice soft. Plankton looked up, his gaze slightly unfocused. "The floor," he said, his voice still quiet. "What, the floor?" Karen asked. "The floor," Plankton repeated. "What about it?" Karen asked. Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the tiles. "Plankton not same, Plankton different," he murmured. Karen sat down beside him. "How are you feeling?" "Plankton feel... weird," he said, antennae drooping slightly. "Things to loud. Things to bright." He paused, looking at her with a flicker of his old mischief. "But Plankton still love Krabby Patty." Karen couldn't help but chuckle through tears. "I know you do, sweetie," she said, her voice warm with love. "But maybe it's time we focus on something else for a while." Plankton nodded slowly, gaze still on the floor. "Plankton... try," he murmured, fidgeting nervously. "Do you want for breakfast, Plankton?" Plankton's eye didn't leave the floor. Karen tries asking again. "Does Plankton wanna eat?" Plankton nods, his gaze finally shifting from the floor to meet hers. "Hungry," he said, his voice monotone and detached. Karen sighs and heads to the kitchen. She could feel the weight of the new reality settling on her shoulders, but she was determined to make things work. As she flipped through the recipe book, Plankton's voice, distant yet clear, floated through the air. "Plankton... Plankton different," he said to himself, gaze still locked onto the floor. Karen knew he was trying to process his new sense of self. "Plankton still smart," he murmured, as if reassuring himself. "But Plankton... not same." He paused, tiny body trembling slightly. "Plankton think to loud. Plankton hear to much." The world had become a symphony of overwhelming stimuli, each sound and light a crescendo that pounded against his newfound sensitivity. Karen looked up from her cooking with empathy. "It's ok Plankton," she said gently. "We'll learn to adapt. Maybe we can make some changes around here to help you feel more comfortable." Plankton nodded, but doubt remained. "Plankton... not know," he said, his voice filled with uncertainty. "What if Plankton mess up?" Karen set the frying pan aside and knelt down beside him, taking his hands in hers. "You won't," she said firmly. "We'll face this together. I'll always be here to help you, no matter what." Plankton nodded, his gaze finally shifting from the floor to meet hers. "Thank Karen," he said, voice a little clearer. "The chumbalaya is ready." She says, serving him his favorite chum dish. Plankton looks up from the floor, his gaze lingering on the plate before him. "Plankton eat now?" he asks, his voice still distant. "Yes, sweetie," Karen says with a smile, pushing the plate closer to him. "Eat your breakfast." "Eat breakfast," Plankton parrots back, his tone flat. He picks up a spoon and stares at it, his hand shaking slightly. The simple task of bringing it to his mouth seems daunting under the weight of his new reality. Karen's smile falters a little but she keeps the conversation going. "It's a beautiful day out side, Plankton. Would you like to go for a walk?" "Walk outside," Plankton repeats echoing the monotone rhythm of hers. He stands up, his movements stiff and deliberate as if he's not quite sure of his body's new limitations. "Oh I meant after finishing breakfast," Karen says. "Walk after breakfast," Plankton echoes. Karen nods encouragingly. "Yes, after you eat." She watches as he carefully brings the spoon to his mouth, his movements tentative and slow. Each bite is a victory, a declaration of normalcy in a world that had suddenly become any thing but. "Good boy," she says, voice filled with pride. Plankton looks up, his eye searching hers. "Good boy," he repeats, his voice a mirror of hers, but the words don't quite fit. Karen noticed how he just repeated the phrase she's said. It's called echolalia, a trait often seen in those with autism, and it's something they're going to have to navigate together. She decides to keep her words positive and encouraging, hoping it'll help him feel more at ease. "Yes, let's go for a walk," she confirms. They step outside into the vibrant world of Bikini Bottom, and they start their slow stroll down the boardwalk. The sun was shining, casting a warm glow over the coral reefs and the colorful fish swimming by. The smell of the ocean was a soothing balm to Karen's frayed nerves, and she hoped it would have the same effect on Plankton. He walked beside her, his steps halting and unsure, his antennae twitching at every new sound. As they approached the boardwalk, they saw a familiar figure in the distance. "Look, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a mix of excitement and trepidation, "it's SpongeBob." Plankton's antennae shot up, and his eye widened. "Sponge... Bob," he murmured, recognizing him. Karen took a deep breath and tightened her grip on Plankton's hand. She knew SpongeBob had a heart of gold, but she also knew he could be potentially overwhelming. As they approached, Sponge Bob spotted them and waved enthusiastically. "Hi, Karen! Hi, Plankton!" His voice was a welcome sound in the quiet morning and Karen braced herself for whatever would come next. "Hi, Sponge Bob," she says. Sponge Bob's face lit up. "Oh boy, Plankton! What's shakin'?" Plankton stiffened, antennae quivering as he tried to process the sudden influx of sensory input. "Sponge Bob," he said slowly, his voice measured and careful. "Plankton... walk." Sponge Bob looked from Karen to Plankton, his expression growing concerned. "Is everything ok, Plankton?" he asked, eyes full of genuine care. "You seem a bit... off your game to day." Plankton stared at him, composing response. "Walk," Plankton repeated. "Plankton walk." Sponge Bob looked confused but nodded, his eyes filled with concern. "Ok Plankton," he said gently. "Would you like to walk with me?" Plankton's antennae twitched and he nodded. "Walk with Sponge Bob," he agreed, his voice still monotone. Sponge Bob took Plankton's other hand, and together, the three of them began their leisurely stroll along the boardwalk.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠠⣄⣀⣀⣴⣯⡿⠿⠶⢿⣭⡲⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣵⠞⠛⠳⢶⣽⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣮⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣷⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣼⡦⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠋⠙⠻⣯⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢟⣷⣶⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⣿⣯⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣄⣀⣀⣼⣽⡏⠈⠉⠙⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣿⡿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠶⣦⣿⣧⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⠿⣶⣼⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⡯⠚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⣴⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡟⢀⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡄⠀⠙⢿⣟⢄⠁⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠿⠋⢀⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣯⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠶⠶⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠸⣷⣄⣀⣤⣶⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣏⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣽⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠁⠀⠀⢀⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣦⣴⠶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⢿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢽⡷⢦⣤⣄⣀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⡵⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣔⣾⡵⠞⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣟⡝⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣤⣶⡿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣿⣧⣤⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⡫⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡠⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⠟⠋⠁⠀⠈⢿⣦⣀⣴⣿⡯⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡜⣽⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣽⣟⣠⣤⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣹⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡿⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⣾⡳⣄⣀⣠⡤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡤⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⠿⠿⣶⡄⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠛⠻⣿⣧⣀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣾⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⣙⡻⣿⣳⡀⠀ ⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⣼⠇⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠁⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⠶⠞⣻⣿⡿⠁⠸⣧⡇⠀ ⣸⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠏⠀⣴⡿⢿⣿⣧⠙⢿⣿⣷⣾⠟⣋⣡⣤⣶⠿⠛⠉⢀⣀⣠⣿⠁⠀ ⠘⢾⣿⣦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⠿⠁⠀⠰⣿⠰⢿⣿⣿⣷⣾⡿⠿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠋⠉⠙⢷⡄ ⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠻⠿⠿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣭⣙⣛⣛⣉⣁⣀⣀⠀⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠋⠙⠳⢶⣤⣾⡃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⢿⡄⠀⠈⠻⣟⢿⠛⠛⠫⠭⣝⣿⡛⠛⠛⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠿⣦⣤⣠⣤⣾⡿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢫⣿⡄⠀⠀⠹⣿⢦⠀⠀⠀⠈⢎⢿⣄⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⣄⣬⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠹⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡻⣦⠀⠀⠘⢿⡿⠷⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⡾⣟⠿⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣲⣯⣯⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠘⣷⣳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠑⣝⣷⡀⠀⠈⢻⣿⠶⠿⠿⠿⣯⣝⢗⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢮⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢝⡛⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠿⢟⣛⣫⠾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣟⣳⡶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢟⡣⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON ii (Autistic author) The doctor stepped in, his tentacles moving gently as he spoke. "Mr. Plankton, it's important to stay calm. This is a big change. Can you tell me your name?" Plankton's gaze flicked from Karen to Dr. Kelp, his expression a mask of confusion. "I'm Plankton," he managed to say, his voice shaky. The doctor nodded, his tentacles still and calm. "Good. That's good, Mr. Plankton. Do you know where you are?" Plankton's eye darted around the room again, his breathing growing rapid and shallow. He looked down and then back up at Karen. "What's happening?" he repeated for the third time, his voice now a little more frantic. Karen's heart was in her throat. The doctor's explanation was beginning to take root in her mind, and she could see the stark reality of their situation. Plankton's repetition, his difficulty with understanding new surroundings and his increased sensitivity to sound—these were all hallmarks of his new autism. The doctor continued his assessment. "Mr. Plankton, can you tell me your wife's name?" he prompted. Plankton's gaze shifted to Karen, his expression becoming more focused, as if her presence was the only familiar thing in the room. "Karen," he said, his voice softening slightly. The doctor nodded, making a note on his clipboard. "Good. Now, can you tell me what happened before you woke up?" Plankton's eye flitted back to Karen, searching for answers. He began to rock slightly, his body moving in a rhythmic motion, a common self-soothing behavior for those on the autism spectrum. Karen recognized it immediately but seeing it in Plankton was jarring. His gaze darted around the room, his pupil dilating with every new sound or movement. The doctor's tentacles were a blur of activity making notes. "Mr. Plankton, I see you're feeling You're almost ready to go back home with Karen." Dr. Kelp says calmly. "Just one more question, if you don't mind. Now, can you tell me if you have any pets?" Plankton's eye flitted around the room. "Pets? Spot! Yes, Spot. Amoeba puppy; Spot.." The doctor nodded, his tentacles still scribbling notes. "Very good, Mr. Plankton. It seems like your long-term memory is intact, which is a positive sign. Now Karen can take you home!" Karen felt a wave of relief crash over her, but it was tinged with the stark reality that their life was never going to be the same. Plankton's autistic mannerisms were now a constant reminder of the accident—his newfound need for routine, his heightened sensitivity to surroundings, and the way his eye would dance around the room as he tried to make sense of his environment. As they arrived home, the stark reality of their new life hit Karen like a wave. His once-quick steps had been replaced with a cautious shuffle, as if the very floor beneath him was unpredictable. Inside, Plankton was drawn to the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock, his eye fixated on the second hand's journey. Karen watched him. His newfound need for predictability was overwhelmingly apparent. "Let's sit down," she suggested, guiding him to their couch, which was now occupied by Spot. Plankton's gaze flitted around the living room, his eye alighting on his beloved amoeba puppy Spot. "Spot," he murmured, his voice tentative, as if unsure if his words would have the same effect they once did. The pup looked up at him, its blob-like form shifting slightly with excitement. But instead of the weariness Plankton has shown today, he joyfully watched Spot's movements. Karen felt a moment of warmth— his love for Spot hadn't changed, nor their usual interactions. The doctor had told her that routines were vital for those with his condition. So, she decided to start their day with a familiar activity: breakfast. Plankton's eye lit up at the sight of the familiar kitchen. He took his usual seat at the table, his hands fidgeting with the napkin. Karen noticed his meticulous arrangement of his silverware, the way he lined up his plate and cup perfectly parallel to the edges. As she prepared their meal, she could feel his gaze on her, his eye darting between her and Spot, who was now playfully chasing his own tail in a loop around the living room. He began to hum a tune, his voice off-key and repetitive. Karen's with love despite the pain she felt. The clanging of pans was loud in the silence, making Plankton flinch—this was going to be so much harder than she had anticipated. The doctor's instructions echoed in her mind: stick to routine, keep things simple. Karen set the breakfast plates down carefully, each item placed exactly where Plankton liked it. His eye grew wide as she slid his plate closer. He stared at the food for a moment, then picked up his spoon. The clink of metal on porcelain was like a gunshot to his heightened sensitivity. He dropped the spoon, his hands shooting up to cover his head in distress. "It's okay, sweetheart," Karen soothed, moving quickly to his side. She retrieved the spoon and set it aside, her hand trembling slightly. "You don't have to eat right now," she said softly, her voice a gentle caress against the tension in the room. Plankton nodded slightly, his breathing slowing as his hands uncovered his ears. He fidgeted in his chair, his eye darting to the ceiling as if searching for something. "Let's go read a book," Karen suggested, desperate to find anything that might calm his nerves. Plankton nodded slightly, his gaze still unfocused. He stood up carefully, his body moving with the precision of a man who knew his world had changed. As they approached the bookshelf, his eye caught a glint of metal from the corner of the room. The invention that had brought them here lay in a tangled heap, its wires and gears silent and ominous, giving him déjà vu. Plankton stopped, his body rigid, his gaze locked on the machine. He stared unblinking, his mind racing back to the crash. Karen notices his suddenly unmoving form and gets concerned. "Plankton?" she calls softly, but he doesn't react. His entire being seemed to be consumed by the wreckage of his former life. The invention, a testament to his former brilliance, now a grim reminder of the accident. "Plankton, honey," Karen's voice was barely a whisper as she tried to get him to talk. He didn't move. The invention, a tangled web of wires and gears, seemed to hold his gaze captive. It was the very machine that had caused this transformation. Karen followed his gaze, her heart sinking as she realized the source of his distress. "Let's go to another room," she suggested gently, her hand resting on his arm. But he didn't move. Karen felt the weight of the moment settle heavily on her shoulders. It was time to face the reality of their new life together—a life where Plankton's once sharp wit and innovative spirit were now clouded by a disorder she was only beginning to understand. Her heart swelled with sorrow as she observed his interaction with the inanimate objects around him. The love she had for him remained unshaken, but the thought of what they had lost—what he had lost—was almost too much to bear. "Come on," she coaxed, her voice gentle as a lullaby. "Let's go to the living room. I'll read you a story?" Yet Plankton remains frozen. So Karen made a decision. She couldn't bear the thought of that accursed machine looming over them, a constant reminder of the tragic turn their lives had taken. With a fierce determination she hadn't felt in ages, she strode over to the invention and began to dismantle it, piece by painful piece. The metal clanked and clattered as she worked, her movements quick and sure, each part coming off with a satisfying crunch. Plankton's eye followed her, his expression unreadable. When the last piece was removed, his gaze lifted to meet hers, his eye filled with something that looked akin to gratitude. "Thank you, Karen," Plankton murmured, his voice a quiet rumble in the stillness of the now bare room. Karen paused in her task, her eyes meeting his with a surprised expression. This was the first time since the accident that he had spoken to her with anything other than fear or confusion. "You're welcome," she said, her voice choked with emotion.
A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ii (Autistic author) His eye took a moment to focus on her, and when it did, she saw a flicker of confusion, followed by a glimmer of recognition. "Karen?" he repeated, his voice still faint. "Yes, it's me, Plankton. You're ok." But his gaze remained distant, his focus unsteady. "Where...where are we?" "We're at the hospital, sweetheart," Karen said softly, stroking his antenna. "You had an accident." The confusion in Plankton's eye grew, and he tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. "What kind of accident?" His voice was still weak, but there was an urgency to his words that hadn't been there before. Karen took a deep breath, her grip on his hand tightening. "Mr. Krabs...he hit you with a fry pan." The words tasted bitter but she had to tell him the truth. Plankton's eye widened slightly, and she watched as the puzzle pieces of the situation slowly clicked into place in his mind. "Krabby Patty," he murmured, his voice distant. "Yes, Plankton, you were trying to get the recipe again," Karen whispered, aching at the memory. "But it's over now. You need to rest." His eye searched hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of his old self, the cunning and ambitious man she had married. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a vacant stare. "Don't... don't remember," he mumbled, his antennas drooping. This wasn't the Plankton she knew, the one who schemed with a glint in his eye and a plan in his pocket. "It's ok, Plankton," she soothed, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Do you remember me?" Plankton's gaze remained steady for a moment, and then he nodded slowly. "Karen," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. But the spark of recognition was tinged with confusion, as if he wasn't quite sure how he knew her. Karen's felt like breaking into a million tiny pieces. But she knew she had to stay strong. For Plankton. For them. "You don't remember what happened, do you?" she asked gently. "What else do you remember?" Plankton's antennas twitched slightly, his eye searching hers. "Don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's chest tightened as she held back a sob. "It's ok," she reassured him, her voice shaky. "Do you remember your name?" she asked, her voice hopeful. He blinked slowly, his gaze fading in and out of focus, his brow furrowing as he concentrated. "Sheldon... Plankton?" The sound of his voice saying his own name brought a small smile to Karen's face. "Yes, that's right," she said, her voice filled with relief. "Do you remember where we live?" she continued, her tone gentle. Plankton's eye searched the ceiling of the hospital room, as if the answer was written there. "The Chum Bucket," he murmured, his voice unsure. Karen nodded, encouraged by his response. "Good, good," she said, smiling weakly. "What about our friends?" Again, the confusion clouded his gaze. "Friends?" he repeated, his voice tentative. "SpongeBob, Sandy...?" "Yes," Karen said, her voice soft. "Do you remember them?" Plankton's expression grew more distressed, his antennas drooping. "Square...SpongeBob. And a squirrel, yes?" He paused, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. Karen nodded, brimming with unshed tears. "Yes, SpongeBob SquarePants and Sandy Cheeks. They're friends." Plankton's antennas twitched as he processed the information, his brow furrowing with the effort. "Friends," he repeated, the word sounding foreign. Karen could see the gears turning in his tiny head, his brain desperately trying to make connections to his past. "Do you remember anything about your life before the accident?" Karen asked, her voice trembling with anticipation. Plankton's eye searched hers, uncertain. "Life...before?" Her heart sank. "You know, our adventures, our home, our love?" He stared at her, his expression unreadable. "Love?" The word was barely a whisper. "Yes, Plankton," she said, her voice cracking. "We love each other. We've been married for a long time, and we've had so many adventures together." She paused, willing the words to resonate with him, to ignite a spark of memory. "Do you remember any of that?" Plankton's gaze remained vacant for a moment before he nodded slightly. "Married," he murmured, as if tasting the word for the first time. "To Karen." His antennas lifted slightly, a glimmer of something familiar flickering in his eye. "Karen Plankton computer wife." "Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her voice thick with emotion. "Does that mean something to you?" she asked, her heart in her throat. He nodded slowly, his antennas waving slightly. "Computer wife," he murmured again, his voice gaining a hint of warmth. "Karen." Karen felt a flicker of hope. "Yes, Plankton, I'm your wife." She leaned closer, her voice gentle. "Do you remember anything about us?" Plankton's antennas twitched as he thought. "Wife," he said slowly, his voice a faint echo of the man she knew. "Wife...Karen. Married July 31, 1999." That was their wedding day, a date they had celebrated every year since. "Yes," she whispered, her voice choking. "We got married on July 31, 1999." The hospital room felt thick with silence as she waited for his next words. Plankton's eye searched the room, his antennas twitching as he tried to piece together the shards of his past. "Plankton, can you tell me about yourself?" Karen asked, her voice gentle. "What do you like to do?" Plankton's antennas twitched as he thought. "Invent," he said, his voice still weak but with a hint of pride. "Science?" The words came out as a question, as if he wasn't quite sure of his own identity. "Yes," Karen said, her voice brightening slightly. "You're a genius inventor. You've made so many wonderful things." She paused, hoping to see some spark of recognition in his eye. "Do you remember any of your inventions?" Plankton's antennas waved in the air, as if searching for the memories that remained elusive. "Inventions," he murmured, his single eye searching the ceiling. "Gadgets...machines." "That's right," Karen encouraged, squeezing his hand. "You've created so many amazing machines. Can you describe one of them?" He blinked, his antennas stilling for a moment. "Chum...Chum Dispenser 3000," he said, his voice picking up a bit. "It makes...makes food for fishies." Karen's smile grew despite the pain. The Chum Dispenser 3000 was one of his earlier inventions, a failed attempt to lure customers to their restaurant, but it was a testament to his ingenuity. "That's wonderful, Plankton," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "How about something more recent?" she prompted, eager to see how much of their shared history remained with him. Plankton's antennas twitched as his brain worked overtime. "Um... the Incredibubble," he said, his voice picking up speed as he talked. "It's a bubble that can shrink things down to microscopic size." Karen felt a jolt of excitement. "That's right!" she exclaimed, squeezing his hand. "You used it to get to find a secret plan." Plankton's gaze remained distant, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eye. "Computer... plan?" "Yes," Karen said, her voice shaking. "We've had so many adventures together, Plankton. We've faced so much together." He nodded, his antennas twitching slightly. "Together," he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. "Do you remember any of those adventures?" Karen asked, her voice trembling. "Adventures?" Plankton's eye flickered, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. "With Karen... wife?" "Yes, with me. We've traveled the ocean, faced so many challenges together." The doctor came in. "You can go home now," he said. Karen nodded, never leaving Plankton's face. She had spoken to the doctor about his condition, about the autism, but she still wasn't sure how to process it all. How would their life change now? "Come on, Plankton," she said, helping him sit up gently. "Let's get you home." She buckles him into his side of the car, his newfound passivity making the usual struggle unnecessary. The engine of the tiny vehicle roars to life, and Karen guides them out of the hospital parking lot. The ride back to the Chum Bucket is quiet, the only sound being the hum of the car's engine and the occasional splash from the waves outside. Karen keeps glancing at Plankton, his antennas listless as he stares out the window. His mind seems to be somewhere else, lost in a world of his own making. When they arrive, she helps Plankton out of the car and supports him as they make their way to the door. The neon sign flickers in the gloom, casting erratic shadows across the sand. The once bustling environment now feels eerie and desolate. Karen's mind is racing with thoughts of how to make this place feel like home again for Plankton.
KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ii (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen woke up to find Plankton still asleep, his hand still clutching hers. She gently pulled her hand away and stood up. Plankton's snores echoed through the quiet room. Karen studied his peaceful expression, his features softer in sleep, and felt a surge of affection for the man she had married so many years ago. In the cold light of day, the reality of his condition settled in. He was different, but she would not let that change the way she saw him. As a robot, Karen understood the importance of adjusting to new situations, and this was no exception. As Plankton stirred, she quickly moved to his side, ready to face whatever challenges the day might bring. His eye opened, looking around the room before settling on her. "Karen," he said, his voice still flat, but with a hint of recognition. "Good morning, Plankton," she replied. This was their first day facing his autism together, and she had spent the night preparing. Plankton sat up, his eye locking onto hers. "Morning," he repeated. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if his brain was processing each action. "Would you like some breakfast?" she asked. He nodded. "No vault," he murmured, and she could see the beginnings of a frown. Karen nodded, knowing that his obsessions might become more pronounced. "It's okay," she said. "We don't need the vault." Plankton's eye searched her face, his expression unreadable. "No vault," he repeated, his voice rising slightly. "Good." Karen nodded. "Let's start the day," she suggested, trying to shift the focus. She led him to the tiny kitchen area, the smell of chum wafting through the air. Plankton followed her, his steps measured and precise. His gaze flitted around the room, taking in every detail. "Would you like eggs or chum?" she asked. "Both," he said, his voice clearer than before. Karen nodded, cracking an egg over the sizzling pan. Plankton sat at the table, rocking back and forth slightly. It was clear that his senses were heightened, every sound and smell more intense than before. "Here's your breakfast, Plankton," she said, placing the plate in front of him. His gaze fixated on the food, his eye narrowing as if studying a complex puzzle. "Thank you," he said, the words coming out mechanically. But as Karen stirred the chum and eggs together, something shifted in his demeanor. He stiffened in his chair, his rocking coming to an abrupt halt. "What's wrong?" she asked, noticing the sudden change. Plankton's eye grew wide. "No," he whispered, his voice strained. "Not together. Separate," he demanded, his voice growing more urgent. Karen paused, her circuits racing. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I'll fix it." She carefully scraped the food onto two separate places, one with egg, one with chum. She placed it in front of him, hoping she was interpreting his needs correctly. Plankton stared. "Different plate," he murmured. "And a new spoon. And new eggs not touching new chum." Karen nodded, quickly moving to comply with his requests. She knew that routines and sensory preferences could be crucial for individuals with autism, and she wanted to make sure his first breakfast post-diagnosis was as comfortable as possible. She replicated his meal with meticulous precision, ensuring every detail was exactly as he had specified, ridding of the old food. The new plate was set before him, the eggs and chum neatly separated. Plankton's shoulders relaxed slightly. He picked up the spoon, his gaze intensely focused on the task at hand. Karen watched as he took a tiny bite in what seemed like pleasure. "Good?" she ventured. Plankton nodded, his eye not leaving the plate. "Good," he echoed, his voice still monotone. Karen observed him as he methodically ate his breakfast, each bite the same size, each chew lasting the same amount of time. It was fascinating and slightly disconcerting to watch the man she knew so well now engaging with the world in such a different way. Plankton's routine was always important, but now it had taken on a new level of significance. The clink of the spoon against the plate was the only sound in the room, the rhythm of it almost hypnotic. As Plankton finished his meal, his head snapped up, his gaze sharp and focused on her. "Karen," he said, his voice now clear and concise. "Yes, Plankton?" she replied, wiping down the counter. "Thank you," he said, his eye fixed on the now-empty plate. Karen nodded, taking the dishes to the sink. She could feel his eye on her as she moved about the room, the weight of his silence a stark contrast to his usual incessant chatter. She knew that autism would bring challenges, but she was determined to be there for him.
TEETHIES ii The nurse dimmed lights and adjusted the bed, giving Plankton's body a chance to recover from the wisdom tooth surgery. Gently, Karen began to hum a tune she knew Plankton loved. The melody filled the room, wrapping around them like a warm blanket. His breathing grew a little easier, the tension in his hand loosening slightly. Plankton stirred, eye fluttering open to reveal a world still blurred by the fog of anesthesia. "Where... what...?" Plankton slurred. "Who... who are you?" "The dentist had to get your wisdom teeth out in surgery." Karen told him. "Wis...dommm...surgery? I don't...I don't remembe--- much." Plankton says. "Had to take them out. You've been asleep for a while." The nurse said. The door to the room creaked open to SpongeBob, his face a picture of concern. "Plankton!" he exclaimed. "How are ya?" Plankton, still groggy from the surgery, tried to form a coherent sentence. "S-SpongeBob," he slurred. "M-more wike... 'Arrr, matey' than usual, I s'pose." Karen rolled her pixel eyes. "It's the anesthesia." Plankton chuckled. "Ahoy ther- Spongey! Aye, it's awh’ 'cause of tweasare... I mean, surgery," he corrected, his speech still swaying. "You two are always so... " Karen trailed off, searching for the right word. "Inseparabubble?" Plankton suggested. Sponge Bob's laughter bubbled up again. "You mean, no Krabby Patty stealing schemes?" "Thath's righ'. No mow... Krabby... Patties... fow awhile." The words came out in a drawn-out slur, his head lolling slightly on the pillow. "Thath's... wath I wath thhinking," his speech still slurred but fading as his eyelid growing heavy. "Arr, thith... thith way, me... hearty," Plankton mumbled, as the nurse helped 'em into the car. "Arr, me... tweasuwe... home,". Sponge Bob watched his eyelid grew heavier. Plankton's head lolled back against the seat and his mouth fell open slightly, emitting a soft snore. "He's gonna be out for a bit," Karen said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "The anesthesia usually takes a few hours to wear off completely. He'll be fine." He reached out and gently patted Plankton's arm, whispering, "Don't worry, buddy. We're almost there." "We're home, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge. Sponge Bob turned to see Plankton's chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths, his mouth open in snore's. His usually scheming eye were shut tight. Karen carefully opened the door. Sponge Bob looked at Plankton, who was still out cold. Sponge Bob leaned over the seat, his arms wrapping around Plankton's frail body. Plankton's head lolled back, his mouth still open in snore's. "Should we... should we wake him?" "Let him rest, Sponge Bob. He's had a rough day." Karen puts him on the couch. "Do you think he'll... you know, remember any of this?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice low and tentative. Karen's smile was a gentle wave. "I doubt it. The anesthesia usually wipes out memories for a bit." "Rest well, honey," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "You've had a long day." Suddenly Plankton stirs in his sleep, his snores morphing into a groan as he shifts beneath the blanket. "Is he okay?" SpongeBob asks. "He's okay," she nods, her voice a gentle lullaby in the stillness. "Just anesthesia wearing off." She stood by him. "Easy, Plankton," Karen cooed, gently rubbing Plankton's back. "You're okay." The little villain's body twitched, and his eye fluttered open. For a brief moment, confusion clouded his gaze before he spotted Sponge Bob and Karen. "W-wha... whass happening?" Plankton's words were slurred, his lisp more pronounced than ever. "You're home, Plankton. You had wisdom teeth removed." "W-what? Did I miss... somefink?" He tried to sit up, his body moving as if through syrup. "You've been out for a bit," Karen said. "But you're home now." Plankton blinked. "Home?" he mumbled. "Yes, sweetie," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "You had your wisdom teeth out. You're going to be fine." "Oww... wha’ happened to my mouf?" "Your wisdom teeth were out." "Oh... wight," he murmured. "Need anything?" "Could... could I have some... ice... cweam?" His voice was a whispered plea. They get him some. "Thath's... thoothing. So, how'd I get home?" "Karen and I brought you back," Sponge Bob said. "You were out cold. Didn't even wake up when we carried you in." "Did... did you two... take care of me?" His voice was a mix of surprise and vulnerability. "Of course, Plankton!" He turned to Plankton. "Want me to pick something to watch?" "Mm-hmm," Plankton mumbled, eye already closing again. Sponge Bob flicked through the tv channels, finally settling on a rerun of their favorite show, "Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy." The familiar theme song filled the room, and Karen took a seat next to Plankton on the couch, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. As the adventure unfolded on the screen, Plankton's breathing grew deeper and more regular, his body gradually relaxing into the cushions. "Looks like he's out again," Karen said softly. Sponge Bob nodded, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall rhythmically. "Guess the surgery really took it out of him." The room grew quiet, save for the distant laugh track of their favorite show and the occasional snore from Plankton. Karen's hand remained on his shoulder, her thumb tracing small circles. At night, turning the tv off, Spongebob picked Plankton up, cradling him. His friend's head lolled back, his mouth slightly open in a peaceful snore. Sponge Bob carefully made his way to his bed, setting him down. He pulled the blanket up to Plankton and gave him a soft pat. They both settled into the makeshift beds they had set up next to Plankton's. The next morning, both woke up before Plankton. Karen chuckled. "We should take a picture." Spongebob snapped a picture of Plankton, still asleep with his mouth slightly open, a trail of drool escaping onto the pillow. "Morning, Captain Snores-a-lot," Sponge Bob whispered with a smirk, rousing Plankton. Plankton's eye opened, only to wince. "Oww... wath... what's happening?" "It's morning, Plankton," Karen said, her tone still gentle. "Look your post-surgery glamour shot," Spongebob teased, holding the phone out of reach. "You were out cold last night." Plankton's eye widened as he took in the image. "You... you took a picture of me?!" He was half horrified, half amused. "Couldn't resist," Karen said, grinning. Plankton rolled his eye and wiped his mouth, then winced. "How wong hav- I been out?" "Overnight," Sponge Bob said, unable to hold back a chuckle. "You had quite the ride home yesterday." Plankton groaned, his hand reaching up to gingerly touch his swollen cheek. "Whath happened?" "You had your wisdom teeth out," Karen reminded him, her voice filled with a touch of amusement. "It's normal to be a bit out of it after surgery." "Wisdom teeth?" Plankton echoed, his voice still groggy. "Oh, wight. The dentist." Karen chuckled. "Yeah, you don't remember much, do you?" Sponge Bob leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You talked like a pirate all the way home, matey." Plankton's eye widened in horror. "I did what?" Sponge Bob nodded. "Yeah, you kept calling me 'Spongey' and said we were 'inseparabubble'." Plankton blushed. "Oh, come on," he mumbled, trying to hide his face in the pillow. Sponge Bob and Karen shared a knowing look, their laughter subsiding into a comfortable silence. They could both tell that despite his tough exterior, Plankton was a bit embarrassed. Plankton sighed, his small body sinking deeper into the pillows. "Okay, okay," he conceded. "But if I don't get to do anything, can I at leash wash TV?" "Of course," Karen said, handing him the remote. "But take it easy today, okay?" With a groan, Plankton managed to sit up, his hand still tentatively exploring his tender cheeks. He squinted at the TV, searching for something to watch. His eye lit up when he found a science fiction marathon. "Jackpot," he murmured.
⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣾ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡶⠀⠚⠛⠛⠛⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠐⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⣀⣤⠾⠿⠿⢿⣿⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣄⢠⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠐⠒⠒⠛⠛⢓⣾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢶⣖⠒⠒⠒⠒⣒⣶⠾⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠻⣶⡒⠒⠒⠒⠛⠛⠓⠚⠛⠛⠒⠊⠀⠐ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⠶⣦⡀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠶⠶⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠰⣿⣧⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⣠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⠂⠀⠈⠛⠶⠶⠾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⠶⠾⠋⠀⠀⠾⣯⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣤⣴⡟⢹⡇⠀⢀⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⠀⠀⢀⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⠿⣤⣄⡙⠃⠸⢧⣤⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡶⠞⠛⠛⠛⠛⠳⢶⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⡀⢸⣇⠹⡷⠟⣋⣽⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣛⣥⢀⣶⣤⣈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠛⠛⠛⢛⡛⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣛⠋⠀⢀⡙⢿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⢿⠿⠁⠀⣹⠟⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⢿⣄⣴⢶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠉⢹⣆⣼⠟⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⠀⢸⣇⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⠟⠁⠀⣿⠃⠀⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡀⠀⢉⣉⣭⣿⡷⠶⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠙⣛⣻⣿⣦⣤⠶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠞⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠷⠞⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡤⠤⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠔⠒⠋⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⠉⠓⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⠔⢊⡭⠥⢖⣚⡭⠭⠉⠉⠉⠻⡝⣆⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡎⠁⣠⣾⡿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⢿⣶⣉⠢⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⡏⢰⢣⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡘⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⣴⡿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣆⠘⡆⠀ ⠀⡇⢸⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⡏⠓⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⢀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⡄⢳⠀ ⠀⡇⢸⢸⣀⣀⣤⠤⠴⣖⣒⡶⠿⠭⠭⠭⢭⢳⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⠀ ⠀⢱⣾⠯⠼⠚⠂⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡜⠂⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠐⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⡞⠀ ⠀⠀⡿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⢀⡎⠉⠁⠒⠤⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠇⠘⣿⣷⣤⣄⣤⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣰⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠉⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠀⠤⣴⣎⣵⠂⡇⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⡟⡟⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢋⡠⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢺⡹⠤⣄⡤⡴⣲⡮⠽⠫⠖⠚⠉⠁⢸⡙⡆⢁⠀⡸⠀⢀⡀⠤⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⢲⠀⠉⣻⣏⠉⠉⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣤⣤⣭⡗⢸⠀⠑⡞⠛⠒⠒⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢡⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢻⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢧⠀⢸⣸⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠟⠀⢻⢿⠘⡆⠀⠉⠲⣄⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⢠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠘⡀⠸⣾⠁⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠸⠿⢇⣀⣀⢸⣸⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢄⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢠⣼⣠⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢧⠠⢟⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⡎⣏⡇⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⠛⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢼⢽⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠇⢸⡏⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⠐⣿⣿⡶⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⡰⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠈⣿⠀⠀⠈⠀⣠⣄⠀⠀⠙⠉⠀⢰⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⡇⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⢻⡇⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⣷⣤⣐⠄⡀⢸⡼⡀⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣼⣷⡀⠀⢀⣸⣿⡟⠀⠀⡇⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢼⢳⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡇⠘⠒⠒⠒⠤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⣿⡻⣿⣦⣾⣿⠛⠀⠀⠀⣷⠃⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢸⢸⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⡇⣇⣰⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⠀⠀⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠘⣾⠁⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⢹⢧⢹⣿⣿⣿⣟⡺⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⠏⡆⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⢺⣀⠁⢀⣘⣿⡇⡇⠀⠀⣀⠤⠤⠤⣸⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⣰⣷⣀⣀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⡿⠿⠿⠿⠛⣡⠃⠀⢰⢁⣾⣶⣶⣶⣾⢇⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣶⣯⡀⢇⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀ ⠀⠴⢒⣒⣒⠊⣀⣾⣿⠿⠋⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⢹⢧⠀⡖⠐⠚⠁⠀⠀⢸⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⢉⢿⣿⣧⣶⣶⣌⠉⡆ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⣿⡀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠦⢤⢸⢸⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠢⠤⠭⠭⡅⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡎⠨⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⡇ ⢀⡨⢿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⢳⣇⠀⣰⣚⡳⣄⠀⡞⡴⠉⠦⡙⠻⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⢠⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠈⠹⠿⠿⠟⡡⠃ ⠀⠑⠤⠭⠭⠥⠜⣆⢻⡾⠞⣱⠃⠙⢺⡑⡷⠀⠀⠀⣸⣀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⡇⠀⡉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡄⠱⣌⠢⡀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⢀⡴⣱⢃⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⡞⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⡇⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⠈⠳⣝⣶⣆⣤⣥⣤⣾⣰⢃⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣇⢧⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠲⣄⢰⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⡈⠉⠓⣾⠉⠉⠉⢉⣭⡁⠚⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⣸⣿⠀⠹⠟⠁⢸⣿⣄⣉⣙⡒⢲⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠤⠬⠃⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⣻⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢰⣿⣿⣿⡿⣠⣶⣶⣶⣿⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⠐⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠣⠬⠭⠭⠭⡀⠿⠿⠿⡿⢋⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠈⠭⠭⠭⠭⠭⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜🟦🟦⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜🟦🟦⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜🟦🟦🟦🟦⬜⬜⬜🟦🟦🟦🟦⬜⬛ ⬛⬜🟦🟦🟦🟦⬜⬜🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦⬜⬛ ⬛⬜🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦⬜⬛ ⬛⬜🟦🟦⬜⬜🟦🟦🟦⬜⬜🟦🟦⬜⬛ ⬛⬜🟦🟦⬛⬜🟦🟦🟦⬛⬜🟦🟦⬜⬛ ⬛⬜🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦⬜⬛ ⬛⬜🟦🟦⬛🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦⬛🟦🟦⬜⬛ ⬛⬜🟦🟦⬛⬛🟦🟦⬛⬛⬛🟦🟦⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜🟦🟦⬛⬛⬛⬛🟦🟦⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬜⬜⬜🟦🟦🟦🟦⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛ ⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛
⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽⬜⬜⬜ ⬜🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽⬜ ⬜🧽🧽🧽⚫🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽⚫🧽🧽🧽⬜ ⬜🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽⬜ ⬜🧽🧽🧽⚫⚫🧽🧽🧽⚫⚫🧽🧽🧽⬜ ⬜🧽🧽🧽🧽⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫🧽🧽🧽🧽⬜ ⬜🧽🧽🧽⚫⚫🧽🧽🧽⚫⚫🧽🧽🧽⬜ ⬜🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽⬜ ⬜⬜⬜🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽🧽⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⚫⬜⬜⬜⬜⚫⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⚫⬜⬜⬜⬜⚫⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⚫⚫⚫⬜⬜⚫⚫⚫⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⢶⣶⡾⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢷⡶⣶⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣶⡾⣿⠿⣿⣛⡟⣯⢻⡭⣏⢷⡹⣞⢶⡹⣞⣼⠃⣐⣢⣾⣷⣿⣶⣄⢃⠢⡐⢄⠢⠸⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣾⢿⡿⣟⢿⡻⣽⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⡟⣶⡹⣞⡵⣫⢞⡽⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⢶⢈⣾⣿⡟⠋⡍⣻⣿⢏⠰⡈⠔⡨⠡⠜⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣿⢿⡿⣻⢟⡽⣫⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⣣⢟⡼⣣⢟⡼⣹⢶⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⢮⡝⡧⢂⠼⢛⠡⢃⠔⡠⠊⡄⢃⠌⢢⠑⢌⠢⠹⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣾⠿⣟⢿⡹⣏⠾⣜⢧⡻⣵⢫⡞⣵⣫⢷⣹⢮⣷⣛⣮⠷⣯⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⢮⡝⣧⢻⡇⢂⠆⡡⢊⠔⡨⠐⣅⣾⣿⣌⠢⡁⢆⣡⣃⣻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣾⢿⡟⣿⡹⣝⢮⣳⢻⡜⣧⢻⣜⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⣛⡶⣯⢯⢯⡷⢾⣝⡾⣻⡽⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⢮⡝⣧⢻⡜⣯⡑⠌⡰⠁⢆⡘⠄⡃⢾⣿⣿⡷⢂⠅⢢⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣾⣿⢿⡻⣏⠿⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⣏⢷⡹⣎⠷⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⠷⣽⣳⢯⣟⢾⣛⡾⣽⡳⢿⡜⣧⢻⡜⣧⢻⡜⣧⢻⡜⣧⣛⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣽⢀⠣⡐⠩⣄⡒⢌⠰⠙⢿⡿⢃⠌⡘⠄⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣟⡞⣧⢻⣜⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⡳⣎⢷⡹⣎⠿⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⣻⡗⣯⡟⣞⣯⢯⡽⣶⣻⢏⡾⣱⢏⡾⣱⢏⡾⣱⢏⡾⣱⢏⡾⣱⢏⡾⣱⢿⠠⢑⡈⢧⣿⣿⣦⣎⢡⠊⢄⢃⡘⠄⠣⠄⠿⡿⢁⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣿⣟⣾⡹⣎⠷⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⠷⣭⢳⡝⣮⢳⣭⣛⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⣝⢧⣟⢾⣳⣻⡽⣞⣯⣽⣳⡽⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⡏⡐⠢⢌⣻⣿⡏⠛⠿⣿⣾⣤⣂⡌⢌⡑⠌⡒⢠⠃⡘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣼⣿⣞⣧⢻⣜⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⡳⢮⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢯⣟⣵⣳⢯⢷⡾⣱⢷⣏⡟⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡇⠌⡡⢂⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⢿⣿⣶⣮⣴⣥⡘⠤⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⣿⢷⣫⡗⣯⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⡞⣵⣫⢷⣹⣎⡷⣭⣛⣧⣻⣜⣧⣻⣜⣧⣻⣼⣛⣮⢷⣫⢯⣷⢻⣽⣳⢾⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡃⠜⢠⠡⡙⣿⣿⠶⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⣻⣿⠟⡡⠚⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⡿⣏⡿⣞⣧⣟⡾⣽⣫⣟⣷⣻⣳⡽⣫⢷⣽⣹⢷⣻⣼⢳⣯⢞⡷⣽⣺⣵⡳⣟⡾⡽⣭⣟⡞⣟⡶⢯⣻⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⠆⢩⠐⡂⢍⡹⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⡿⢋⠆⡑⠌⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣿⣹⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⢷⣷⢿⣹⡏⣾⣹⡾⣇⡿⣏⡾⣏⡿⣾⣱⣾⣹⢷⢿⣹⢷⣾⣹⢏⣹⣏⡿⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⣹⠇⢆⠱⠈⡆⢰⠉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠏⡰⢁⠎⢰⠈⢾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⡷⣿⡻⣭⢳⡳⣞⡼⡆⢚⣿⣟⣮⣟⣶⣻⣳⣭⣷⢯⣷⣏⣟⣳⣯⣗⣟⣶⣯⣻⣽⣞⣻⣶⣯⣻⣧⣟⣾⣹⣎⣷⣹⣎⣷⣹⣎⣷⣹⣎⣷⣹⣎⣷⣹⣮⣝⣢⣌⣂⣱⣈⣔⣈⣆⣤⣉⣍⣩⣍⣍⣡⣂⣱⣀⣃⣌⣂⣩⣘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠛⣿⣿⡱⣏⢷⡹⣎⠷⣧⠂⢿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⡛⡟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⣀⣀⠀ ⠀⢰⣿⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⢯⣽⡌⡘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢇⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣷ ⠀⣾⣟⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⡾⣜⣷⠠⢹⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠸⠿⢿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣿⡿⠿⢿⣿⣿⠿ ⢠⣿⣏⡞⣧⢻⡜⣧⢻⡵⣫⢞⡦⢁⡹⣿⣤⣴⢶⡶⣦⢶⡶⣴⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠁⠀ ⢸⣿⢮⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣧⢏⡿⡄⢂⢻⣿⣞⡿⣼⣏⣯⣽⣻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⢿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⢮⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢻⡜⣿⡀⢆⠹⣿⣽⢶⣛⣮⢷⣝⣻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣳⣻⢽⣫⢿⣹⡟⣾⢽⣳⢿⣹⢿⣄⢊⠙⣿⣯⣿⣾⣽⣾⣷⣯⣿⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣭⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⢧⣏⢯⡝⣮⢳⡽⣹⢮⡝⣮⡝⣯⠽⣞⡷⣞⡽⣫⢟⡽⣫⢟⡽⣭⢻⡝⣯⢻⡝⣯⢻⡝⣯⢻⡽⣹⢯⡝⣯⢏⡿⣹⡝⣯⢻⡝⣯⢻⡝⣯⢻⡝⣯⢏⡿⣹⢏⡿⡍⢩⠉⡍⡉⢍⠩⡉⢍⠩⡉⢍⡉⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣯⢳⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⡻⣜⡳⣝⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⣱⢻⡜⣧⢻⡜⣧⢻⡜⣧⢻⡜⣯⢞⡵⣫⢞⡇⠢⡑⢠⠑⡨⢐⠡⠌⡂⢅⠢⡐⣽⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣯⢳⣎⢷⡹⣎⢷⡹⢧⡻⣜⢧⡻⣜⡳⣭⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⡝⣮⢳⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⢾⡱⣏⡇⡑⠌⡄⠣⡐⢡⠊⠔⡡⠌⢒⠠⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣸⣟⡷⣾⣳⢿⣞⡷⣿⣳⢿⣞⡷⣟⡾⣷⢯⡷⣿⣞⡷⣿⣞⡷⣿⣞⡷⣿⣞⡷⣿⣞⡷⣿⣞⡷⣿⣞⡷⣿⣞⡷⣿⣞⡷⣾⣳⢿⣞⡷⣟⡾⣷⣻⢾⣳⢿⣞⡷⣟⣾⣳⣶⣾⢶⣷⣾⣶⣾⣶⣶⣾⡶⣷⡿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⬜⬜⬜🪨🪨🪨⬜🪨🪨🪨⬜⬜ ⬜⬜🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨⬜ ⬜🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨⬜ ⬜🪨🪨⚫🪨🪨🪨🪨⚫🪨🪨🪨 🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨 🪨🪨🪨⚫🪨🪨🪨🪨⚫🪨🪨🪨 🪨🪨🪨🪨⚫⚫⚫⚫🪨🪨🪨🪨 ⬜🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨🪨⬜ ⬜⬜⚫⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⚫⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⚫⚫⬜⬜⬜⬜⚫⚫⬜⬜⬜ ⚫⚫⚫⬜⬜⬜⚫⚫⚫⬜⬜⬜
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣻⣾⣟⡷⣿⡛⠆⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣽⣳⢯⣟⣿⣻⠭⠸⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢐⣿⢯⣟⣿⣻⣾⣽⠳⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣯⢿⡾⣯⢷⣟⣾⢹⣄⡉⠉⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣯⡿⣽⣻⣯⢿⣽⢚⡬⡕⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⡷⣿⣻⢷⣻⣯⢿⡸⣕⢣⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠂⢽⣟⣯⣿⣻⢯⣟⣿⠸⣎⡳⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⡾⣿⡽⣾⢟⡿⣽⢾⡓⢧⡳⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣤⡄⣤⣴⣤⣦⣴⣦⣦⡄⠐⡳⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢏⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠻⣟⢀⢘⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣶ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡣⡀⠙⢯⣿⣿⡿⠋⢀⡇⢸⡀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠈⣦⡀⠹⡿⠁⡠⣿⡧⢸⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⠢⣴⢘⣿⣿⣏⢸⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⡟⠀⣦⠀⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⡿⠀⡏⠀⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣶⡷⠾⠟⠻⠿⣻⡿⠿⠛⣛⣩⣭⣭⣿⣶⣶⣦⣭⣍⣛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⠟⠉⢁⣠⣴⡶⣶⡄⠘⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣮⣙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠀⠰⠾⠛⠋⠉⣉⣀⡤⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣭⡙⢿⣿⣿⡗⡿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠉⠈⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠀⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣬⡛⡇⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣖⣿⣦⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡇⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿ ⣿⣿⣧⢹⡎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣟ ⡟⣿⢻⣿⣿⣬⣛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⡛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠂⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣇⡁⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⣿ ⣿⢹⡎⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡳⠿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⡇⢸⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣿ ⣿⣇⢿⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣷⣜⢿⣿⣿⡀⠛⠛⠛⠛⡛⠛⠛⠻⢰⡄⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣿ ⣿⣿⣜⢷⣼⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡙⠿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⡇⠀⣿⣿⣾⠀⠀⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆ ⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣿⣶⣮⣭⣟⡻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢹⣿⣿⠀⢸⠇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣤⢄⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣭⣟⠷⣮⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⠀⢸⡇⠀⣿⣿⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⣻⠚⢛⡛⣛⢛⡛⣛⢛⣛⡃⠀⠀⢐⡀⠀⠐⣛⣛⡛⣛⢛⠛⡛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⡛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣋ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡛⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿
⣭⢋⣞⡱⣙⢮⡱⢫⡜⣣⢛⡜⣣⠝⣮⢱⢫⡜⣣⢛⡬⢳⡍⡞⣥⢛⡬⢳⡍⡞⣥⢛⡼ ⣎⢳⣌⠳⣭⢲⣭⣷⣼⣵⣯⣼⣥⣿⣶⣿⣶⣿⣾⣿⣾⡷⣘⡳⢬⢣⡝⣣⢞⡱⢎⡳⣜ ⣎⡳⢬⣛⠴⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢣⡝⣣⢏⡼⡱⢎⡵⣋⢶⡱ ⢮⡱⣣⠝⡮⢵⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣟⣯⣿⣾⡿⣷⣿⣻⣿⣷⢣⢞⡱⢎⠶⣍⡳⡜⡥⢏⠶ ⣣⠳⣥⢛⡼⣹⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣻⣿⢿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⠭⣎⠵⣋⠗⣮⢱⡹⣜⡹⣚ ⣱⢋⡶⣩⠖⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣯⣿⢿⣻⣿⡿⣟⣯⣿⣿⡽⣌⡳⣍⠞⣦⢋⠶⣥⠳⣍ ⣥⢛⡴⢣⣛⢼⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣷⢪⡕⢮⣙⠦⣏⢳⢬⣓⠮ ⡲⣍⢞⡱⣎⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣾⣿⢿⣾⣿⣻⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⢦⡹⢎⣜⠳⣬⢓⡮⣜⠳ ⡳⡜⢮⡱⢎⣾⣿⣿⣿⣾⡿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣷⣿⢿⣾⣿⣿⢦⣙⠞⣬⢛⡴⣋⠶⣩⢏ ⡵⣙⢮⡱⣋⢾⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⡿⣷⣿⣿⣽⣾⣿⡿⣟⣿⣿⡶⣩⠞⣥⣋⠶⣙⢮⡱⢎ ⡼⡱⢎⡵⣩⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣯⣿⣿⢿⣾⣿⣻⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣡⠻⡴⣩⢞⡱⣎⠵⣋ ⢶⣩⠳⡜⣥⢻⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣻⣽⣿⣿⣽⣿⣟⣯⣷⣿⣿⣗⣣⣛⠴⣓⢮⡱⢎⡳⣍ ⡖⣣⢏⡵⢎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⡿⣿⣻⣾⣿⣯⣿⡿⣟⣿⣿⣿⢦⡙⡮⢵⢪⡕⣫⠖⣭ ⣝⠲⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣟⣿⣿⢿⣿⣷⣿⣟⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⢮⡱⡝⣎⠳⡜⣥⢛⡴ ⢮⡙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣻⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⡧⡝⣜⢮⡙⡞⣬⠳⣜ ⢧⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡿⣿⣿⢿⣷⣿⣯⣿⡿⣟⣯⣷⣿⣿⣷⠹⡜⢦⢫⢵⣊⠷⣸ ⡳⢬⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣻⣿⡿⣷⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⢣⠽⣩⠞⣦⡙⢮⡱ ⣝⡲⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣟⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣻⣾⣿⣟⣿⣿⢣⣛⠴⣋⠶⣩⢇⡳ ⡖⡹⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣾⣿⢿⣽⣿⣿⣻⣽⣿⢿⣳⣿⣿⣿⡷⣌⢯⡱⣋⠶⣩⠞ ⡭⣓⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣾⣿⡿⣿⣾⣿⢿⣻⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣗⡎⣖⣣⢭⠳⣥⢛ ⡵⣩⢞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣾⡿⣷⣿⡿⣿⣾⣿⡿⣿⣽⡿⣿⣿⣿⣘⢦⡓⣎⡳⣌⢏ ⡼⡱⢎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣜⢲⡙⢶⡹⡜⣎ ⡵⣙⢮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⢻⡭⣏⣽⣽⣷⣿⣜⢦⠳⡜⢦⣿⣿⣬⢛⡬⢇⡏⢧⢳⡙⢦ ⣚⠵⣪⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⢷⣹⣾⣿⣿⠿⣿⡙⣎⢳⡹⢆⣿⣿⣦⢫⣜⢣⡝⣎⢧⡹⢎ ⣭⢚⡥⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⣿⣿⣿⡿⣍⠳⢦⡹⣌⢧⣙⢎⣾⣿⣇⡳⢬⡓⡞⡜⡦⡝⢮ ⠶⣩⠖⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣞⡼⣿⣿⡷⣎⡝⣣⠳⡜⢦⣋⠞⣼⣿⡧⣝⡲⡹⣜⣱⢣⡝⣎ ⡝⣥⢫⢿⣿⣿⣿⣹⣿⣏⡾⣿⣿⣿⢿⡸⢥⡛⣜⣣⣽⣮⣹⣿⡗⣮⢱⠳⡜⢦⡓⡞⣬ ⡹⢆⡏⣾⣿⣿⣿⢼⣿⣷⡹⢮⣝⢣⢧⡙⢶⡹⣜⣿⣿⣿⡼⣿⣿⡰⣋⠷⣙⢮⣱⡙⢦ ⡝⢮⡜⣽⣿⣿⡟⡼⣿⣷⣹⢳⢾⡩⢖⡹⢆⡳⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡲⣍⢞⡱⢎⠶⣩⠳ ⢞⡱⣚⣼⣿⣿⡟⡼⣿⣷⣭⣛⢾⣙⢮⡱⢫⡜⡳⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡱⣚⡬⡝⢮⣙⠶⡹ ⣋⡖⡳⣜⣿⣿⣱⠳⣿⣿⡲⣭⢿⡏⢶⣩⠳⣜⡱⣣⠟⡿⣟⣿⣿⡱⢣⢞⡹⢆⡏⣞⡱ ⡳⣜⠳⣜⣿⡟⣦⢛⣿⣿⡵⣫⣾⣝⢦⢣⣛⠴⡳⢥⡛⣜⠦⣿⣿⣱⢋⡮⣱⢫⡜⢦⡹ ⡳⢬⡛⡼⣿⡟⡴⣋⣿⣿⡞⣵⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⣷⣙⣦⢛⣬⢋⣿⣿⢲⡙⢶⡡⢗⡎⢧⢳ ⡝⡲⣍⡳⡹⣝⡱⢣⣿⣿⡽⣎⣿⣿⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣾⣿⣧⡹⢖⡹⢎⡼⢣⢳ ⡭⢳⡜⣱⠳⣌⢗⣫⢾⣿⡷⣹⢶⣛⣿⣿⣇⠶⣩⠞⣭⢛⡽⢻⣿⡷⣙⢮⡱⢫⡜⣣⢏ ⣭⠳⣜⡱⣫⢜⡺⣔⣻⣿⣏⢷⣫⢞⡼⣿⣿⣧⢣⡛⡴⢫⡜⣹⣿⣯⡕⢮⡱⢧⣙⢦⢫ ⢶⡙⡦⣝⠲⣍⠶⣣⢾⣿⣟⢮⡳⣏⠶⣙⢿⣿⣯⣞⡱⢧⣚⣽⣿⣿⡘⢧⡹⢲⡍⣎⢧ ⢧⣙⠶⣩⢛⡬⢳⣱⢺⣿⡟⣾⣱⢻⢎⡝⢮⡹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢛⣬⢓⢧⠺⣜⢲ ⢧⣙⢮⡱⢫⡜⡳⣌⢯⣿⣟⡶⣭⢻⡎⡼⢣⡝⢦⢣⢏⡳⡕⢮⣿⣧⢏⠶⣩⢎⡗⣎⠧ ⢧⣙⠦⣝⡣⣝⡱⣭⢚⣿⡿⣜⢧⣻⠼⣱⢓⠮⡝⣎⢮⣱⡹⢎⣿⣿⢬⡓⢧⣚⠼⣌⡳ ⢧⣋⢞⡲⣙⠦⡝⢦⢫⣿⣿⢎⡷⣭⡗⣣⢏⡞⣱⠞⣦⢣⡝⢮⣿⣿⢆⣏⠳⣬⢓⢮⡱ ⡳⢎⢮⡕⣫⠞⣭⢣⠧⣿⣿⡝⣾⡱⣏⠶⣩⠞⣥⢛⡴⣓⢎⠧⣿⣿⣚⢬⡛⡴⣋⠶⣙ ⡽⣩⢖⡹⢆⡻⡔⣏⠞⣽⣿⣝⠶⣽⣇⠻⣔⢫⢖⡫⢖⡭⢮⡙⣿⣿⢣⢧⡹⢲⣍⠳⣍ ⣳⠱⣎⠳⣍⡳⡹⣌⠯⣽⣿⣞⣿⣿⣯⢳⢎⡳⢎⡵⢫⡜⣣⠝⣾⣿⣋⠶⣍⡳⢬⡛⣬ ⣣⢛⣬⢛⡴⢳⡱⣍⡞⣹⣿⣾⣿⡿⣽⢣⢞⡱⢫⡜⡳⡜⣥⢛⣼⣿⣏⠾⡴⣩⢧⡙⢦ ⣱⢋⠶⣩⠞⣥⢓⠮⣜⣽⣿⣿⢿⡹⣎⠳⣎⡝⣣⢞⡱⡝⢦⢫⣼⣿⣏⢞⡱⢣⣎⡝⢮ ⡥⢏⡳⢥⡛⡴⢫⡝⣾⣿⣿⣏⢷⡹⣞⡱⢮⡜⣱⢎⡳⣙⣎⠳⣼⣿⣏⢮⡙⢧⡚⣜⢣ ⡝⢮⣱⢣⡝⣎⢷⣿⣿⢿⣿⣯⢞⡳⣽⡘⢧⡚⡵⢪⣕⢣⠮⣝⢲⣿⣿⣆⡻⢥⡛⣬⢓ ⡞⣱⢎⣷⣾⣾⣿⣿⡛⢮⣿⣷⢫⡗⣧⣋⠧⡽⣘⠧⣎⢧⡛⣬⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⢆⡻⣔⢫ ⡞⣱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⣿⣿⢣⡟⡶⣍⡞⣱⠭⡞⡜⡦⡝⢦⠳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠶⣩⠞ ⡞⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⣿⣿⣏⠾⣵⠳⡜⣥⢛⡼⣱⢣⣝⣮⣙⣿⣿⣿⡟⣎⠳⣥⢛ ⣭⢓⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣣⠧⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡿⣿⣿⡿⢿⢿⡹⡜⣜⠳⣌⢏ ⡲⢭⣚⢥⢫⡝⢦⣙⢦⡛⣬⢳⣽⣿⡿⣖⢣⡖⠶⣬⠳⣼⣿⣿⣻⢬⢣⢳⡹⣌⠻⡜⣎ ⡝⡲⣍⢮⠳⣜⢣⠞⡦⡝⢦⣫⣿⣿⡱⢎⡳⣜⠳⣬⢓⣾⣿⣟⢦⣋⢮⢣⠳⣜⡹⡜⡼ ⣍⢳⡜⣎⠳⣎⢧⡛⣴⢋⢧⣿⣿⡷⣙⢮⡱⢎⡳⢥⣋⣾⣿⡯⢖⡭⢎⢧⡛⡴⢣⣝⢲ ⣎⠳⡼⣸⠹⡜⢦⡝⢦⣋⣾⣿⣿⢱⣋⠶⣙⠮⡵⢳⡌⣿⣿⡟⡼⣸⢭⠲⣍⡳⣍⢎⢧ ⣭⢳⡱⢣⣛⡜⣣⢞⡱⢮⣿⣿⣧⣳⣮⣽⣾⣷⣯⣗⣼⣿⣿⣯⣵⣧⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⣾⣎ ⣎⢧⡙⢧⠳⣜⡱⢮⣙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡞⢶⡹⢣⠟⡴⣍⡳⣜⣻⡿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠻⣿⠿⡿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛
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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠢⣕⢪⠱⣑⢺⣿⣿⣾⣧⣮⣑⡲⢌⡣⢍⠦⡱⣉⠞⣡⠎⡕⡪⢔⠫⣔⠫⡔⣣⢙⡲⢌⢣⠚⢿⣗⡩⢎⢿⣿⣿⢍⢣⠜⡔⣋⠦⣑⠣⡜⣡⠓⢮⡑⢮⠱⣌⠎⡵⢊⡴⡑⡎⣕⢪⡱⢒⢭⠸⣡⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠱⡌⢖⡩⢆⢫⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣶⣧⣵⣮⣑⣮⣘⣱⣊⠵⣈⠳⣘⠤⡓⡜⣌⠣⣍⠻⡗⡸⢌⡚⢬⣉⣎⣦⣯⣶⣵⣾⣬⣷⣼⣴⣩⢆⡙⢆⠯⡰⢍⡲⣉⠖⡥⢓⠬⡒⡥⢋⠦⣋⠴⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡣⠜⡎⢴⢋⠦⡙⢆⡲⢩⡙⡛⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣌⠳⣌⠳⣌⢱⢊⣵⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⣜⠲⣉⠮⡱⢌⠞⣰⢋⠖⣍⠲⣍⢲⡑⢺⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢏⡜⢪⠜⣪⠱⣃⢎⠳⢬⡱⢍⡖⣢⢒⡌⢣⠭⡙⢭⢛⡛⢻⡛⢿⠻⡿⠿⡟⠿⡱⢌⠳⣌⠳⣌⣶⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣷⣇⠞⡱⢊⡽⢠⣋⢜⠢⡝⢤⠓⡬⢳⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠲⡜⢣⡹⣐⠳⣘⠬⣋⠦⡱⢎⡜⣡⠎⣜⡡⢞⣩⣦⣷⣯⣷⣽⣮⣷⣌⣳⢌⠣⡕⢎⡳⢌⢳⣾⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⡰⢋⠴⣃⠮⣌⠳⡜⣡⠏⣔⢋⡻⢩⠏ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠓⡜⡱⢆⣙⠲⣉⠶⣡⢣⠓⡎⡴⢡⣚⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣼⡌⢲⢩⣾⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⡥⢓⡜⢲⢌⠳⡸⢄⡛⡤⢋⡴⢃⠞ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣍⠲⣉⢎⡌⢧⣉⠖⡥⢎⢣⠕⣪⣷⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣾⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣗⢣⠜⡣⢎⢣⠕⡫⢔⡹⣘⠔⡫⢜ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡦⡙⢬⡒⡜⣡⢎⡚⣌⠣⢎⣾⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⠎⣜⡡⢏⡜⢪⠕⣊⢖⡡⢞⡱⢊ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡉⠶⡑⣎⡱⢊⡴⢡⢋⣾⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠺⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⡍⢦⠱⢎⡜⣡⠏⡜⣢⠙⢦⠱⣩ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⡱⣉⢦⣑⢫⠴⣉⣾⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡘⢆⡛⢦⡙⣤⢋⢖⡡⢏⠲⣉⠦ ⣿⣿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠧⡑⣎⠆⢧⠚⡴⣻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣶⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⡧⡙⢬⢚⡤⢓⡤⢋⢦⡙⣌⠣⡕⢪ ⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡲⣉⠶⡙⡬⢓⢼⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⡟⠴⣉⢎⢦⠱⣋⠴⣋⠦⣱⢊⡕⢪⡱ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢡⡃⢧⡱⣉⠾⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⠫⡜⣡⢋⡜⣢⠝⡤⠳⣌⢲⢡⠎⡜⢥⢒ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡜⢆⡳⢡⠞⣻⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⠳⡌⡝⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⠫⡔⢣⢎⡱⢊⡴⢃⡞⣌⠳⣌⠲⣡⠞⡩⢦⢩ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⡸⢌⡽⢡⢎⡱⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣏⠳⣘⠴⣉⢖⣩⣍⣛⣻⢛⠿⣛⢟⡛⢏⡹⢰⣡⢓⡜⢣⠎⣔⠫⡔⣍⠲⣌⠳⣌⠳⢤⢋⠶⡡⢎ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣷⢊⡜⣡⢎⠴⡩⢿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⠏⣔⢣⣱⣾⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣦⣙⠦⡙⢦⠱⣊⠼⡡⠞⡤⢛⡔⢪⡱⢌⠳⣌⠳⡸⢌⠶⡱⢩ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣎⠴⡡⢞⣢⠣⣍⠻⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⠟⡥⢋⡴⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⡳⢌⢣⠵⣉⠖⡣⢜⠣⡜⢪⡱⢌⡣⠕⣎⠲⣑⢣ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣎⡕⢪⠔⣣⢌⠳⣌⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⡛⢥⢋⡴⢋⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣎⡱⢊⡜⡬⢓⠬⡓⡜⢣⢜⠪⣔⠫⡔⢫⠔⣣ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣮⣃⠞⣡⢎⠳⣌⢣⠓⡬⢛⡻⠿⢿⡿⣿⣿⠿⡿⢿⠛⣏⠱⣒⠍⡞⢢⠜⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣍⠲⡡⢏⢲⠩⡜⣡⢎⠳⣌⠳⣘⡱⢚⠤ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣐⢎⡱⣌⢣⡙⠖⡧⠜⡥⢣⢜⡰⢢⡙⠴⢣⡹⢰⢋⡴⢋⡼⢡⢋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡓⢬⢃⠧⣱⢊⢬⠓⣌⢣⠕⣸⠡⢞ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣌⣦⠙⡼⣐⠫⡔⣋⠦⣑⠣⡜⣍⠲⣡⢋⠖⣌⢣⠜⣡⠎⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡢⢍⡚⣤⢋⢆⡛⣌⢎⡚⢥⢋⠖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣧⣷⣜⣤⣓⣌⣳⡘⢤⣋⠴⡩⢞⣤⣓⣎⣱⣪⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⡴⢢⠍⣦⠙⡴⢊⡜⢦⡉⢞ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡖⣡⠫⣔⠫⣔⠫⡜⢢⡙⢬ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡔⣣⢌⠳⣌⠳⣘⠥⢎⡱ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣗⠆⣎⠳⣌⠳⣌⢚⡌⢖ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⡐⡳⢌⠳⡌⢦⡙⢬ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡱⢩⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢢⢱⢩⠎⡕⢮⠱⣘⠦ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⡟⠋⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢃⢎⡹⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢢⡍⢖⡩⢞⠢⡝⢤⢓ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣄⣉⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⢎⠴⢣⠜⡹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⡍⢖⡸⢅⠞⣌⠳⡸⢌⢎ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⣜⡡⢞⡱⣂⠎⡝⡻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⠫⡔⢭⠚⣔⠫⡜⣌⠳⡑⢮⡘ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣉⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡦⢱⡉⠶⣡⠏⡴⢃⡳⡐⢎⠭⡹⣉⠯⡑⢎⡬⢓⡼⢡⠫⣔⢣⡙⡤⢛⡜⢆⣳ ⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⢿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠸⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡥⢚⠥⣃⠞⣡⠏⡴⡙⢎⠶⡑⢎⠖⣙⠦⣊⠵⣈⢇⡳⡘⢦⠱⡩⢖⡸⢌⣿ ⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠙⢻⣿⣿⣄⠻⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠋⢻⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⢎⡱⢎⡱⢚⠴⡙⡬⢲⡙⢬⡙⢆⣣⠣⢎⡱⢪⠴⡙⢆⢏⡱⢎⡔⣿⣿ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠙⢿⣿⣧⡹⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⢱⢊⠵⣉⠮⡱⡡⢇⢎⡱⢌⡣⢆⡝⢬⡑⢣⢎⡹⢌⢎⠴⣃⣾⣿⣿ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠈⢻⣿⣷⡙⢿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣍⢲⡉⠶⡱⣑⠮⣘⠜⣢⠕⣪⠜⣢⢍⢣⢎⠲⣉⢎⣲⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢿⣿⣷⠀⠻⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣜⡥⢓⡌⢎⡱⢎⡱⢊⡕⢪⡑⢎⡱⢊⠵⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⡇⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣴⣾⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣬⣣⡜⣢⠵⡩⣜⡡⢞⣬⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟪⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟪⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛🟥🟥🟪⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛🟥🟥🟪⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛🟥🟥🟪⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛🟥🟥🟪⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟪⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟪⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠔⠂⠀⠐⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⣆⠤⠀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠉⠉⠺⠒⠁⠀⡠⣉⠣⡀⠀⠀⢂⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⢀⠃⠉⠉⠊⠀⠈⠀⢱⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡴⠛⠐⡀⠉⠐⢄⠘⠄⠀⠈⡄⠘⠀⠀⢇⣀⡀⢸⢄⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠆⠫⢽⠁⠉⣭⠀⠈⡆⠀⢉⠝⠱⢄⠀⠰⠯⠒⡡⠃⠀⣅⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠥⡄⠀⡇⠀⢨⠀⠀⠀⠈⢰⢻⣳⣤⡀⠀⡈⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠇⠀⠉⠒⠐⠚⠀⣰⠁⠀⠀⠑⠄⡀⣀⣿⡋⠙⠹⠕⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠐⠂⠤⡤⠴⣶⣷⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣈⣃⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⡇⠀⠰⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣄⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠠⠶⠾⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⢿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⡿⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠉⠙⠻⣿⣦⢀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠉⠁⢈⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠟⠁⢉⣿⣷⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠄⣠⣾⣟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⣿⡁⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠸⣷⣄⣀⣀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠈⠙⠻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣦⠀⠹⣧⣄⣀⣠⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⣄⠀⠀⣠⣄⣤⣴⡿⠋⠉⢿⡷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠉⠁⣀⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⢸⣿⠛⠛⣿⡄⠀⢴⣿⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠘⣿⡄⠶⠟⠁⠀⠈⣿⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⢶⣦⣤⣼⡿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣀⣴⣿⠁⠀⠀⣽⡟⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣠⣿⡟⠻⣿⠿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣉⣽⡿⠛⠉⠻⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠋⠙⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣟⣛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢙⣿⣦⣤⣄⣀⣀⣤⣤⣴⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⢀⡀⣸⣿⠛⠷⣦⣤⣤⣤⣴⡾⠟⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⣻⡿⠃⢀⡀⠀⢴⣿⠋⠈⢙⣿⣿⣿⠉⠁⠈⢿⣧⠀⠀⣾⣿⠛⠛⠿⠆⠀⠀⣿⣟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠷⠶⠾⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢿⣷⣾⢿⣷⣤⣼⣿⠀⠀⣿⡏⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠇⠀⠘⠻⢿⣶⣶⣤⣴⣶⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠉⠁⠀⠀⠙⠿⠿⠿⠷⣶⡾⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡꒒ ০ ⌵ ୧ ♡🅰☪︎ ִ ࣪𖤐 𐦍 ☾𖤓bfdi beef?bfdi beef?🥄
🧊🧊🧊🧊⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛🧊🧊🧊🧊 ☁️🧊☁️🧊⬛🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦⬛🧊☁️🧊☁️ 🧊🧊⬛⬛⬛🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦⬛🧊☁️🧊🧊 ☁️☁️⬛🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦⬛🧊🧊☁️🧊 🧊🧊⬛🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦🟦⬛☁️🧊🧊☁️ 🧊🧊⬛🟦⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛🧊🧊🧊🧊 🧊🧊⬛🟦⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊 🧊🧊⬛🟦⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊 🧊🧊🧊⬛🧊⬛⬛⬜⬛⬛🧊🧊🧊🧊🧊 🧊🧊🧊🧊⬛💗⬜⬜⬜💗⬛🧊🧊🧊🧊 🌸🟩🟩🟩⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛🟩🌼🟩🟩 🟩🟩🥀🟩⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛🟩🟩🥀🟩 🟩🌼🟩🟩⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛🌷🟩🟩💐 🟩🟩🟩🟩⬛🟩⬛🟩⬛🟩⬛🟩🟩🌼🟩 🟩🟩🌷🟩🟩🟩⬛🟩⬛🟩🟩🟩🌸🟩🟩
🇬🇧☕️ 🟢 *𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎* 🟢☕🇬🇧 “NO NOT MY CHEESECAKE NOT MY CHEESECAKKEEEEEEEEE *tpot intro plays*” 🍰🍰👝
⣰⠟⠉⠀⠀⠙⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡶⠞⠛⠛⠳⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣇⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡞⠛⠛⢷⡀⠀⢠⡾⠛⡙⠻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠳⣤⠀⠀ ⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡀⠸⠇⣸⠇⠀⢸⣇⠀⠛⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠶⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⡛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀ ⢻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⣠⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠏⠀ ⠀⠙⠶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢛⠶⠚⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣴⣶⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠓⠒⢺⡿⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣦⡈⢳⣤⠞⣻⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠛⢦⡿⢠⡿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⢈⡿⠀⢀⠿⠷⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⠟⣧⢀⠿⣤⡙⣧⣀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠏⠀⠻⡶⣿⢸⡟⠶⠛ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠷⠾⣯⣸⠛⠾⠃⡏⠹⡟⠻⡟⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⢀⣀⣰⡇⠀⡇⠀⡇⠈⣧⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣟⠉⠉⠉⠀⣰⡇⠠⣇⠀⠀⢀⣀
YALL TWO IS MY BIGGEST KINNIE I REPEAT TWO IS MY BIGGEST KINNIE AHAJHAHAHHA 2️⃣😎👌🔥
WHERES ALL THE YOYLE CAKE LOVING BFB/BFDI/II/BFDIA/TPOT FANZ >_< ;; NEW WRITTER MIMI<3 *teleportz to mimi* you hav zummoned me. (im a bfb fan and im ztarting to watch hfjone lulz) -zombie gutz ^_^
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠒⠂⠤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⠔⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣣⣀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣾⡿⢻⠛⠛⠛⠋⠙⠉⠋⠙⠉⠋⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⢿⣶⣦⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠟⠋⠁⣧⣭⣽⣦⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⢷⣶⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠠⠔⠂⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⣏⣿⡽⡇⣠⣾⣻⢼⣻⡼⢉⣛⣶⢦⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⢻⣿⣻⡽⢶⣫⢿⡝⢤⣿⣿⢫⣟⢾⣹⡻⣶⣄⠀⢰⣻⣿⣟⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣾⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣦⠈⡀⣬⣶⣿⣷⣿⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⡿⠟⠉⠹⣿⣦⠀⠀⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣷⢸⣿⠋⠁⠀⠈⢻⣷⡄⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠢⢤⣀⣀⣴⣿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⢸⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣷⡀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣾⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡄⠀⢉⠑⡉⠉⠙⠒⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠄⡐⢈⠐⡈⠄⢂⣰⣦⣴⣤⣀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣷⣴⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⣼⣴⣶⣶⣷⣦⣦⣁⠈⢣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⠠⠐⢀⠂⣐⣼⣾⠿⠛⠉⠛⠻⢿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡇⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡇⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠿⠋⠁⠁⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣦⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⣾⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠟⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣧⣾⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⢁⠂⡐⠀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢿⣷⣄⡀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣾⠶⢶⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠒⠒⠒ ⡀⠂⠄⠁⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠙⠿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣾⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠀⠂⠄ ⠠⠁⠌⡀⠙⠻⠿⣷⣦⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⡿⠿⠃⠠⢁⠂ ⠠⢁⠂⠐⡀⢂⣴⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢐⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⣯⣤⣤⣥⣔⣨⣄⣂⣀ ⠀⢂⢈⣐⣠⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣇⢉⠰⢉⠒⡙⠼⠩ ⠛⠍⡚⠰⢁⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡧⢈⠔⡈⠰⢀⠆⠡ ⢈⠆⢡⠘⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⢸⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣿⣿⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⠿⢿⣿⡅⠀⠀⢸⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡗⠠⢂⠡⣁⠢⠈⠆ ⡊⢄⠃⡌⠄⣻⣷⣴⣾⠿⠛⣻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⡉⢛⢿⣶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠈⠛⢿⣿⣷⣆⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⣀⣠⣶⣾⠿⠛⡉⢄⠒⡈⣿⡇⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⣄⢀⣠⣿⡧⠑⢂⠡⡀⠆⣉⠐ ⡱⢈⠂⡔⡈⠄⠌⣁⠢⠌⡐⡈⢿⣷⣦⣤⣼⡟⠡⠐⠂⢐⠈⠛⠻⣿⣷⣄⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠷⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠾⠿⠛⠛⠛⠋⢉⣾⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣾⡿⢛⠋⡐⠌⢂⠅⢂⠒⠠⢿⣷⣀⣠⣴⣿⠹⠻⠻⢛⠩⣀⠱⢈⡐⠰⠐⡠⠌ ⡅⢢⠑⡠⠐⡉⠰⢀⠂⠆⢡⠐⠂⡌⢉⡉⠅⡠⠑⡈⠀⠀⠀⠨⢁⢄⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣦⠐⠡⡘⢀⠎⢠⠉⠔⡎⠉⡍⠩⠉⡅⢊⡐⠡⢂⠡⠄⠒⡠⠄⠃⡌⠐⡄ ⠜⡠⢃⠔⠡⡈⠔⢂⠡⡘⠠⠌⢡⠈⢤⠐⡈⢄⠡⠌⡐⠡⢊⠡⢸⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣧⠁⡔⠡⡈⢄⢪⡝⠆⡑⡀⢃⠡⠐⠂⠤⠑⡠⠒⡈⢡⠐⠌⡰⢀⢃⠐ ⢎⠰⣈⠂⡅⠰⢈⠂⡔⢁⠒⠌⡐⣬⢚⠠⡁⠂⠆⢂⠡⠘⡠⢸⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⡆⠰⢁⡐⠂⠤⠐⡌⢐⠠⢡⠈⡌⢁⠆⠡⠄⡑⢠⠡⢈⠒⡀⠆⡨⠐ ⠆⡱⠠⠡⠄⢃⠂⠥⠐⡨⠐⢌⡀⢃⠋⡐⠤⢉⠂⠥⢈⠡⢰⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⡷⢁⠂⡌⠌⡐⠡⡐⠨⠐⢂⠡⡐⡈⢄⠃⡌⢐⡁⠢⢁⠢⢁⠆⠡⠌ ⢣⠐⡡⠃⠌⡄⢃⠢⠑⡠⠑⠂⢌⠠⡑⠠⠒⣀⠃⠒⡈⢄⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠿⢿⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣟⠠⢡⠐⠌⡠⠑⡠⠡⢉⡐⢂⠡⠐⡂⢌⠐⢂⠄⢃⠄⠃⡄⠊⠔⡈ ⡡⢊⠔⡉⡐⠐⡂⢡⠘⠠⢡⠉⢄⠒⢠⠁⡃⢄⠊⠡⠌⣼⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠋⠛⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡧⢈⠄⢊⠔⠠⡑⠠⠑⢂⠰⠈⡄⠃⡔⠈⡄⠃⠌⡂⠌⡡⠐⡉⠰⢀ ⡑⠌⠤⡑⢀⠣⠐⡡⠈⢅⠂⠌⡂⠌⢂⠔⡁⠢⠌⡁⢆⢸⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠇⠰⢈⠂⠌⠒⣀⠃⡉⢄⠊⠡⠄⢃⠄⢃⠤⢉⠰⠠⠑⡠⠑⣈⠡⢂ ⡱⢈⠆⡡⠂⢌⠡⡐⠉⡄⢊⠄⡑⡈⠆⠰⠈⠔⢂⠡⠂⢌⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⠿⠈⠔⠡⠘⡈⠔⢠⠘⡀⠆⡉⠔⣈⠂⢌⠂⡔⠈⡄⢃⡘⠠⠡⠄⢒⠠ ⡔⢡⠘⡄⠡⠂⠆⡰⠁⡔⢈⠰⢀⠅⡘⢠⢉⠰⢈⡐⠉⡄⠚⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡟⢿⣿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡿⠏⢠⠉⢌⠂⡑⠠⡉⢄⢂⠡⠒⡈⠔⢠⠘⠠⢌⢀⠣⠐⢂⠄⢃⠡⡘⢀⠆ ⢌⠢⡁⠆⡡⠑⢂⡁⠒⡠⢊⠐⠌⡐⠌⢠⠂⢒⠠⠌⠒⢠⠑⡘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⡿⢋⠰⢀⠚⠻⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⡟⠡⢘⠠⠘⠠⠌⡐⠡⡐⠂⡌⢠⠃⠌⡄⠃⠌⣁⢂⠂⡌⢁⢊⠰⢈⠰⢀⠃⡐ ⢊⠔⢡⠊⠄⡑⠂⡄⠃⡔⠠⢉⠰⠀⡍⢠⠘⡀⠆⠌⡁⠆⠌⠤⠑⡠⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⡿⠟⠡⡐⠄⣊⠐⡌⠒⢠⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠉⠤⠑⢂⡁⢊⢁⠒⣈⠡⠐⡡⠐⢂⠌⡰⠀⡍⠰⢀⢂⠡⡐⢁⢂⠢⢁⠢⠁⡜⢀ ⢣⠘⣄⠣⠌⡐⠡⢄⠃⠤⡑⡈⢄⢃⡐⢂⠡⠌⡄⢃⠰⢈⠂⡜⠠⡁⢌⡁⢂⠩⢙⡻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣛⡉⡐⣈⠡⠐⠌⡀⢆⠠⡉⠤⡈⠔⡈⣉⣛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⣛⡉⢌⠀⢆⠉⡄⠣⢀⠂⡅⢂⠢⡐⠄⡃⠤⢉⠄⡒⢠⢁⠢⣁⠊⢄⠒⡈⢄⢂⠢⢁⠢⢡⠐⢂
⡏⠁⠍⠉⢹⣤⡀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⠀⢠⠤⠤⠊⣩⣍⣐⣒⠒⠲⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⣦⣗⠒⡇⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣠⣶⣛⣛⣒⢿⠟⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣬⣵⣦⣤⣤⢀⣀⠤⠐⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡶⠄⠀⢸⣠⡶⠀⡕⠓⠚⠛⠛⠟⠛⠛⠛⠒⠒⠚⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢛⠟⠈⠻⡟⠻⠛⠓⠒⠢⠤⠔⠒⠛⠚⠛⠛⠛⠛⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣦⢸⣿⣻⡇⣇⠀⠀⠀⣸⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⠊⠀⢀⠤⣞⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣞⠛⢢⣹⣉⣁⣀⣜⣈⣆⣀⣀⣀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⢣⡤⠔⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢦⠋⢸⢨⢦⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⢘⢹⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢌⠀⢺⠀⠀⠇⣀⠁⠘⠑⠤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠠⠄⠀⠀⠤⠤⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠙⠤⠼⢸⠛⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⣼⣼⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⣤⠰⢾⡀⠠⣤⠒⠉⡜⡇⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠤⠢⡠⡀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠉⠉⢩⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⣠⡟⢻⠀⠀⠀⢰⠑⢺⣭⠤⠷⢀⣈⣹⣉⡰⣰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⠡⢠⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⠀⠀⠁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⣞⣼⡀⠀⠀⠈⡒⠤⠅⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠉⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⢀⣸⣴⠛⡆⠀⠀⠀⠰⢹⢻⣶⡆⠀⣗⡦⠤⠀⣀⣀⣀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⡏⡆⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠇⠈⠹⠷⠒⠒⢲⠒⢲⠒⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⡏⠐⠛⠩⠤⠶⣒⣒⣂⣀⣈⡩⠭⠭⣭⣭⣭⣍⣉⣥⡆⡀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣤⣼⠀⠘⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠒⠂⠠⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠁⠀⠀⡇⠸⠿⠿⠇
≽^•⩊•^≼ ₊˚⊹♡
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠾⠷⣦⣀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣄⣀⣠⡤⠦⡤⢤⣤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡤⠤⢤⠤⡤⢤⠤⣤⠤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⣞⠻⣯⣥⣦⣼⡴⢬⠭⡭⠿⠿⠷⣬⣴⣁⣆⣥⠾⠿⠿⠿⠿⢛⠛⡛⢚⠳⠾⢦⣥⣆⣰⣠⣆⣩⣽⣭⣯⠿⠿⢛⢛⡛⢛⠓⡛⢛⠚⠖⡛⢖⠻⠶⢷⡔⢢⠒⡤⢻⡏⠀⠀ ⠀⠘⢿⡖⠠⢆⠰⣀⠲⣈⠒⡄⢃⠲⠰⡀⠦⣈⡱⢌⡚⠴⣁⠞⢠⠃⡜⢠⠃⡜⡐⢢⠰⢠⢁⠆⡔⠢⠄⡤⠐⡌⢢⢉⠢⢌⠡⢎⠰⡁⢎⠱⣈⢣⡙⠦⣹⢋⠬⡓⠬⣽⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣸⠇⡍⢢⠑⣃⠳⡌⠥⡘⠢⢅⠓⡌⠒⡤⢓⡜⣌⠳⢌⠢⣁⠚⡄⢣⠘⠤⡑⢢⠑⢢⢁⠎⡰⢁⠇⡔⢩⠐⡡⢊⠔⡊⡔⢊⠔⠱⣈⠒⣄⡚⢬⡑⣯⢉⠖⡩⢎⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⠰⡘⢄⠣⡑⢣⠘⠤⡑⡑⡊⡔⢌⡱⢈⠇⡲⢌⠳⡌⢃⡄⢣⠘⠤⡉⢆⡑⡊⠜⠢⢌⠒⡡⢎⠰⡘⢄⠣⡑⢌⠢⣑⢰⡉⣎⠱⡄⢣⠰⣉⠖⡘⣧⠍⣎⠱⣂⠾⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡏⡔⢡⠊⡔⢡⠂⡍⢢⠑⡄⢣⠘⡄⠆⣅⢊⠔⣉⠒⡡⠒⡌⢢⢉⠆⡑⢢⡘⢰⣉⠓⡎⡰⢁⠦⡙⣔⢪⢐⠡⡊⢔⠂⠎⡴⢨⠓⣈⠆⡱⢈⢎⡱⢺⡏⡔⢣⠜⡌⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡗⣈⠆⡱⢌⠲⣉⠦⣁⠚⢌⠢⡑⢌⠒⣄⠊⡜⢠⠃⡅⢣⠘⡄⡊⠜⡈⠆⡜⢠⢊⠱⡐⢡⠚⡴⣉⢆⠳⣈⠒⡡⢊⠜⡨⢐⠡⢊⠔⡨⠔⡩⢆⡱⢒⣯⡘⢥⠚⡜⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣗⠰⠨⢔⡩⢚⠤⢣⡑⠎⡄⢣⠘⢢⢉⢄⠣⡘⢄⠊⡔⠡⢊⠔⡡⠎⡘⠌⡔⠣⢌⢢⠉⢆⠡⢂⡑⢊⠡⢂⠱⢄⠣⡘⢄⠣⠡⢍⢢⠱⡈⡕⢪⡔⢣⣻⠜⣌⠣⡝⣾⠁⠀ ⠀⢠⡇⠥⢃⡜⠰⢋⠼⢡⠊⡔⢡⢊⠱⡈⠆⡌⢢⢱⣾⣿⡄⢣⠉⢆⠱⡈⠜⡰⢈⡕⣈⠆⡩⠄⣳⣿⣶⡁⠎⡌⠒⡌⢢⠱⡈⢆⣉⠒⢢⡑⢄⡫⠱⣌⠣⣾⠱⣌⢣⢛⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⠡⢎⢡⠢⣉⠆⡘⡄⢣⠘⢢⠡⢆⡑⢊⠴⢁⠚⡽⢻⠃⢆⡉⠆⡱⢈⠱⢄⠣⡜⢤⠋⡔⢡⠹⠿⢛⠡⢊⠔⡩⢐⠡⢢⠑⣂⠆⠍⢆⡘⠤⣃⠳⡌⢳⣇⠳⡌⢦⢉⣷⡀⠠ ⠀⣿⠐⣃⠢⡑⠤⢊⠔⡨⢂⡍⢢⢑⠢⡘⢰⡈⢆⠓⣠⢃⡜⠠⠜⡠⠑⡌⠒⡌⡱⠜⢢⠑⡌⢢⠑⡌⠢⢅⠃⢎⡰⢉⠢⡑⢊⠔⣪⢙⢢⠱⣂⢇⠳⣌⠣⢿⢢⡙⢤⠣⡜⡇⠀ ⠀⢹⡘⢄⠣⡘⡰⢉⠢⡑⢌⠒⢥⢊⡕⡪⠔⡈⢆⢃⢣⠒⣌⠣⠸⣦⣕⡬⡑⠤⡑⢌⢡⡊⠰⡁⢎⡐⢃⠎⡜⢤⢂⡱⢂⡑⢣⠸⣄⢫⢌⠳⢌⢪⡑⢦⡙⢼⡧⣘⠣⡓⢼⡏⠠ ⠀⢸⡐⢊⡔⢡⠒⡡⢂⡕⡈⢎⠄⠣⢌⡑⢌⠒⡌⢌⢢⠩⢄⠣⡑⠌⢋⣷⡕⢢⣸⣾⠿⢓⠡⡘⢄⠊⢆⡚⢜⢢⢃⡖⢡⠘⡄⠓⣌⠲⡌⠣⢌⠦⡙⢦⠙⣼⠗⣌⢣⡙⣾⠁⢀ ⠀⢸⡐⠣⢌⠢⠥⡑⢢⠐⡡⠎⡌⡑⢢⠘⠤⡉⡔⢊⢄⠣⢌⠒⡌⡘⠄⣿⣿⠷⢿⢢⠘⡄⢣⠘⠤⡉⢆⡹⢌⠣⢎⠰⡁⢎⠰⡉⢄⠣⢌⠱⣈⠖⡩⢆⡙⣾⠱⢌⠦⡱⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⢐⠣⢌⠢⢱⠨⡅⢎⡁⢎⠰⢡⠢⡉⢆⡱⠨⢌⠢⡑⢌⠒⢤⣷⠾⡋⢆⡘⢘⢻⣵⠎⡰⢈⠆⡱⢂⠤⡉⠱⡈⢆⡉⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⡈⠖⡨⢎⡱⢊⡱⡧⡙⢬⢒⡱⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⢈⠖⡨⠱⣈⠳⡘⢦⡙⣌⠆⡡⢆⡉⢆⠰⡉⢆⠱⢌⠢⡉⡆⣌⠱⢈⠆⡘⠤⢂⠌⡑⢄⠣⡘⢄⠃⢆⠩⡑⠌⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⣈⠱⡌⡜⡱⢊⡜⡱⣘⡧⡙⢆⠣⡜⡗⠀⠀ ⠀⢹⡌⠆⡅⠣⢌⢣⡙⢦⠱⡌⢆⠱⢠⠘⡄⢣⠘⡄⢣⠌⣢⠵⡘⡤⢓⡌⢢⠉⢆⡉⢆⠱⡈⢆⠱⡈⠎⡌⠱⡌⡜⡈⢆⠱⡈⠖⣠⠓⡜⡰⢍⠣⡜⡑⢆⡷⣉⢎⡱⡘⢿⡀⠀ ⠈⠨⣿⠘⡄⢓⡈⠆⡉⢆⠓⡈⠦⠑⢢⠡⠘⡄⢣⠘⠤⡘⡐⠲⢍⠲⡉⢄⠣⢘⠢⡘⢄⠣⡐⢌⠢⣑⡘⡘⠱⡘⠤⡑⢌⠢⠑⣌⢡⡙⠴⡑⢎⡱⢬⡑⢎⢷⡌⢦⠱⣉⠞⣇⠀ ⠀⣻⠇⡡⠚⡰⢘⠰⠑⣈⠒⡡⢊⢅⣶⣧⡉⠔⡡⢊⠔⡡⢑⠩⠄⠓⡈⠆⠓⡌⢒⢡⠊⡔⣡⢊⡔⢤⠒⠥⢣⢌⡱⡘⣎⢍⡓⢌⣲⣯⣒⣍⣦⣵⣆⣍⡎⣼⣏⣦⠷⠼⠛⠁⠸ ⠀⠈⠻⠷⠳⠖⠓⠳⠛⠶⠷⠶⠥⢾⣿⣿⡧⢾⣶⣿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⠛⠒⠛⠒⠳⠾⠴⠾⠟⠛⠛⠛⠙⠻⠿⢯⣿⡚⣿⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⣀⣀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⢿⣿⣿⣟⣫⡤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢴⣉⣙⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣫⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣜⣿⣿⡿⠋⡉⢉⡉⠉⢻⡿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⡿⣿⡿⣟⠻⢛⣻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡳⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⣿⠁⢸⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⣷⠓⠒⠚⠛⠻⠽⣷⡉⠀⠀⠠⡀⠙⡽⣹⣻⣿⣿⡽⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣞⣿⡿⣿⢝⣆⠘⡄⠀⣀⠼⠀⠛⢠⣴⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠙⡯⣿⣿⡼⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⡿⣽⠃⢸⣿⡶⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⣠⣄⡀⠈⢧⠀⢀⣮⣿⡄⠈⠿⣿⣿⣞⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣟⡎⠁⠀⣎⣿⠀⠙⠻⣿⠛⠛⠛⣻⣷⡶⣄⠀⣨⣿⣿⢶⣶⣤⣷⣿⠃⠂⡸⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣎⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⢏⡞⠀⠀⢰⢻⡏⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⣴⡟⠀⢡⣻⢀⢧⠊⠻⣧⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⢪⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣮⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⢯⠏⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⠀⣿⣧⣀⡜⣿⢸⣸⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣯⣻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠘⣽⣿⣯⢣⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⢯⠃⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⣀⣈⣻⣟⡡⣃⠈⢿⣶⣿⠇⠀⢀⡴⣿⢿⣿⣷⡹⣀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣷⣣⠀⠀ ⢠⡼⣿⣿⣻⠃⠀⠀⠀⣴⣻⢟⣿⣷⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠀⠈⠻⡟⠁⠉⠑⠒⠉⠁⠀⢳⣿⢻⣿⣿⡵⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣷⣱⡀ ⣽⣿⣿⣽⠇⠀⠀⠀⡴⣽⢯⣿⣷⢟⣻⠷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣑⢲⠼⣅⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣮⠿⠷⢿⣿⢿⡕⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣷⣵ ⣿⣿⣧⢿⠀⠀⠀⠐⣟⣿⣿⣛⠵⠋⠁⠀⢀⣉⣒⣦⣤⣀⡻⣍⣙⣒⠽⠃⠀⢀⣀⣴⠞⠛⡩⠔⣠⠬⣿⣟⠞⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣼⣿⢿ ⠈⢿⣿⣯⡳⠀⠀⠀⣈⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠔⠉⣀⠤⠤⣈⠙⢷⣄⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⢉⡾⠋⣰⠋⠐⠁⠀⠀⢣⠿⡣⡀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⢧⠃ ⠀⠘⣻⣿⣷⣽⢠⣾⣯⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⣔⠁⣉⠑⠀⢹⡄⢙⣷⣀⣀⣀⣠⣿⣵⠶⠛⠒⠒⠂⠐⠊⠁⠀⠱⣷⣠⣿⣿⣿⡳⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣷⣽⣱⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⠀⠙⠠⠤⠤⣀⣀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⢽⣿⣿⡳⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⡿⡝⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⡿⡝⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⠵⠤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠖⣿⣿⣟⡝⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠲⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠒⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⣼⣿⣏⡝⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⢯⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢾⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⢯⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
˗ alr ill own up!! im the impersonator of zombie gutz, and tbh, you seriously you guys should stop . addiction to that kinda stuff isnt good. honestly tryna help ya out, cha know? its not good for ya brain, and kids on here are searching this up (porn, etc) bc they have porn addictions, and you guys arent helping them get discourgered from doing it. ive seen literal things under the tag porn, “im 12 and i have a porn addiction! ive been doing it since i was 8 and i cant stop. :[“ please, do not post this anymore this is bad for children AND you. ^_^ thanks for reading, remember you matter and help is available💕 -ash i am NOT reading all that.. what the yoylecake x_x -zombie gutz I see yoylecake -jess WHERE GIVE ME ZOME >:) -zombie gutz ur also a bfb fan :0 -jess yez˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ -zombie gutz thiz waznt me but I AM A BFB FAN LOLZ XD -zombie gutz
alr ill own up!! im the impersonator of zombie gutz, and tbh, you seriously you guys should stop . addiction to that kinda stuff isnt good. honestly tryna help ya out, cha know? its not good for ya brain, and kids on here are searching this up (porn, etc) bc they have porn addictions, and you guys arent helping them get discourgered from doing it. ive seen literal things under the tag porn, “im 12 and i have a porn addiction! ive been doing it since i was 8 and i cant stop. :[“ please, do not post this anymore this is bad for children AND you. ^_^ thanks for reading, remember you matter and help is available💕 -ash i am NOT reading all that.. what the yoylecake x_x -zombie gutz I see yoylecake -jess WHERE GIVE ME ZOME >:) -zombie gutz ur also a bfb fan :0 -jess
haii im looking for some friends!! if u like object shows pls add my dc!! @justkaavya thank u ✩.˚₊
⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛⬜⬜ ⬛⬜⬛⬜⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛⬛⬜⬜ ⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛🟥⬛⬛🟥🟥⬛🟥⬛⬜⬜ ⬛⬛⬛⬜⬛🟥⬛⬛🟥⬛🟥🟥⬛⬜⬜ ⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛🟥⬛⬛🟥⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜ ⬜⬛⬜⬛⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛⬛⬜ ⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥🟥⬛⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜ ⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬛ ⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬛⬛ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬛⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜⬛⬜⬜⬜⬜
⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣻⣽⣯⣿⢯⣿⣽⣻⣽⡿⣽⣻⣽⡿⣽⣻⣽⣯⣿⣽⡿⣽⣻⣽⡿⣽⣯⣿⢯⣿⣽⣻⣽⡿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⣯⣿⣽⢿⣽⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣽⣾⡿⡾⡽⢾⠿⣾⠿⣽⠿⡾⢿⠿⣯⠿⡿⣽⠿⡿⢿⡽⡿⢿⢿⡽⣾⠿⣾⠿⡿⢿⡽⡿⢿⢷⡿⢿⠿⡾⢿⡽⢿⠿⣽⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡿⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣷⣿⣾⣿⣾⣿⢿⣾ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⢾⣯⣿⢂⡱⢘⠆⡓⡔⢪⠔⣊⠔⡣⢎⡔⡃⠖⡤⠓⡜⣂⠖⡱⢊⠖⡰⢂⠳⡐⢎⡔⢣⢒⡱⢊⢆⠲⣡⠚⡔⣃⠲⣡⠚⡤⢒⡙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢟⡛⢫⡑⢆⡲⢔⡲⠔⣦⠲⡔⢦⡒⡴⢢⠖⡴⢂⠶⡐⡆⢶⡐⢦⠲⣐⢦⠒⡴⢢⠲⡔⡆⠶⣰⢂⠶⣐⢦⢲⠰⢆⢆⠶⣸⣿ ⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣽⣿⠢⢅⠣⢎⠰⡡⢆⠭⣐⠪⣑⠢⡔⢩⠜⡰⢩⠔⢢⠍⡔⠣⡜⢡⠍⢲⠉⢦⠘⢦⠡⠎⢥⠊⠵⢠⢋⠴⢡⢃⠦⡙⢤⢃⡌⢣⠰⡩⠍⡭⠩⠍⡍⢋⢍⠢⢅⠣⣌⢃⡎⢬⠱⢌⠣⡜⢢⢅⠫⣄⠳⡘⢦⠱⣌⢣⠚⡔⣩⠒⠭⡜⢢⡙⢦⡙⡴⢊⡝⡰⢍⡱⡘⣌⠳⢤⣋⠜⣆⠎⢦⡹⢌⠎⡖⢹⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣯⣿⠁⡎⠒⡌⠱⠰⣈⠲⣀⢃⠦⡑⣘⠢⢜⡠⢃⡜⢡⢊⠜⡡⠜⢢⢉⠦⡙⠤⢋⠤⣋⠜⣢⠙⣌⠣⢎⠲⡡⢎⠒⡍⢆⠎⡔⢣⢡⢃⡹⣐⣉⠒⡌⡡⢊⠱⣈⠱⣀⢣⡘⠤⠓⠬⡑⠜⢢⠎⣑⢢⢣⠙⣆⠳⡐⢎⠲⡑⠦⡙⢖⡨⢣⠜⣡⢎⡑⢣⠜⡡⢆⡅⣳⡄⣋⠖⣨⠙⣌⡙⢢⡙⢌⡚⣌⢣⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣽⣿⠁⡆⢍⠰⡁⢇⠢⠱⣀⠃⠦⡑⢢⠉⡆⠔⡡⡘⠤⢊⠴⡁⠎⣅⠪⠔⡡⢎⠡⢒⠡⢊⠤⡙⢄⠣⡘⠴⡑⢌⠳⡘⣌⠚⡌⢆⡡⢆⠱⢠⠆⠓⡌⣡⣃⣶⣤⣷⣴⣶⣾⣶⣿⣶⣷⣾⣷⣾⣦⣶⣌⠚⢤⢓⠸⢸⣿⢿⣶⡿⣶⣴⣯⠘⣤⣣⡜⣡⣮⡑⣌⣼⣿⡇⣌⣳⠄⠻⡄⢎⠱⡘⠦⡱⢌⢒⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⣿⣾⠁⡌⠂⠥⢈⠢⣁⠣⢄⡙⠤⠑⣂⠱⣈⠒⡡⠘⡄⢃⠒⡌⠒⡄⢃⠎⡰⢈⠜⡨⠑⡌⢢⠑⡌⢒⢡⢢⠉⢆⠱⡈⢄⠣⠘⡄⢒⣈⣦⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠻⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⢜⢢⡉⠬⡡⠌⣾⣿⡰⣿⣿⣿⣹⣿⣿⣷⣿⡿⢫⣿⣿⣿⠻⣿⡿⢫⣾⣿⡬⣿⣿⣧⠑⡎⠌⣿ ⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣯⣿⠐⡠⢉⠐⡂⢡⠐⡐⠢⡐⠌⢒⠠⠡⠄⣃⠰⣁⠘⡄⢃⠰⡁⢌⠂⠜⡠⢃⠜⠠⢃⠜⢠⠃⠬⡁⠆⡌⡘⡈⠥⠘⣀⣮⣵⣾⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠋⠉⢀⠀⡀⠄⠠⢀⠠⠁⡐⢈⠠⠈⠄⢁⣰⣿⣿⠏⡐⠦⠘⠤⣁⠣⡈⠥⢁⠚⡙⢛⡉⠛⣉⠛⡩⠑⠌⠛⢋⠄⣃⢋⠱⡈⠿⠿⢻⣿⡫⢅⠣⡜⢈⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⢾⣻⣽⠂⡁⢂⠡⠄⢃⡘⠠⢑⠠⡉⠄⢃⠡⠊⠄⠒⠠⡁⠆⡌⠰⠐⢂⠜⡐⡐⠨⣀⠣⠌⢢⠁⠎⢡⠐⠂⠔⠡⣐⣬⣷⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠁⢀⠀⠄⠠⠁⠠⠀⠄⠐⠠⠀⠄⠂⠀⠄⡀⠂⢈⢠⣿⣿⡏⡄⠑⣈⢃⢒⢢⠑⡐⣌⣦⡑⡈⠆⠄⢃⠤⠑⢠⠉⠌⠣⠌⡰⠠⠊⡔⠌⢢⠑⡨⠑⠄⠢⢡⠘⠄⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⠀⡁⢂⠰⠈⠄⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠌⡀⢂⠡⠘⠠⢁⠰⠀⠤⢁⠊⠄⢂⠐⡈⢡⠀⢆⠩⠄⢊⠰⢀⠊⠡⣬⣶⣿⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠄⠂⠈⢀⠀⠂⠄⠂⠁⡀⠂⢈⠀⡐⠀⠌⠐⢀⠠⠈⢀⣿⣿⡟⠠⢈⠻⠛⣛⣿⡷⢲⣿⡟⢻⣿⡎⡑⠌⠄⠦⠑⡠⠘⢌⠤⠑⡠⢃⡱⢈⡔⣡⠂⣰⡅⢊⡁⢢⢉⡐⣿ ⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⢾⣯⣿⠀⠄⠂⡐⢀⠊⢁⠂⡐⢈⠐⠠⢁⠂⠌⠡⠈⠄⢂⠁⠂⠄⠨⠐⠠⢁⠐⡠⠌⢂⠐⠈⠄⠂⢄⣼⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠄⠂⠈⠀⠄⠁⡀⠄⠂⢀⠐⠀⠠⠐⠀⡀⠄⠐⠀⡈⠀⠠⠐⣼⣿⡿⠀⢁⠢⢀⣧⡿⠋⠐⠘⣿⣿⣿⣏⠐⠈⢼⣾⣿⢇⣶⣷⡌⣬⡅⣰⣥⡘⣤⣶⣈⠡⡿⣿⣄⣸⡀⠢⢰⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣽⣿⠀⠀⠄⠐⠀⡈⢀⠂⠐⠠⠈⠐⠠⠈⠠⠁⡈⠄⠂⢈⠐⠈⠄⠁⠂⠄⢂⠐⠀⢀⠈⠀⣀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⡀⠄⠁⠠⠀⠁⡀⠂⢀⠀⠠⠀⠂⠀⠈⠀⠄⢀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠄⠈⢀⢰⣿⣿⠡⠐⡈⠐⡈⠛⠿⡿⠿⠀⠉⠟⠿⠏⠠⠁⠄⣹⣿⠠⣿⣏⢿⣿⣷⢿⣿⡗⢿⡛⠿⠷⣿⣿⡗⢿⣿⡄⠸⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⣿⢿⠀⠀⠀⠌⠀⠠⠀⠠⠈⠀⠄⠁⠄⠂⠁⠄⠀⠄⠈⠀⡐⠈⡀⠌⠐⢈⠀⠄⠈⠀⢀⣲⣾⣿⡟⠁⠀⡀⠂⠀⡀⠐⠀⡀⠁⠀⢀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠐⠈⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠂⠁⠠⠀⠈⠀⣾⣿⡇⠀⡐⠠⢁⠀⠡⡀⠄⡀⠰⠠⠀⢀⠀⠐⢈⠀⠘⠁⠀⠙⠉⠈⠋⠁⡀⠁⠀⠄⢀⠠⠀⠙⠉⠀⠹⠟⠁⢸⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⡀⠂⠁⠀⠁⡀⠈⢀⠀⠈⡀⠈⠀⠄⠁⡀⠐⠀⠄⡈⠀⠀⠀⠐⢠⣼⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠄⠀⠐⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠄⠀⡀⠁⢠⣿⣿⠁⠀⠄⠡⠀⠌⠐⠠⠀⠤⠀⠄⠐⠂⢠⣰⣦⣤⠠⠀⢂⡀⠀⢄⣀⢄⠠⢀⠁⠠⠀⠄⠈⠄⠠⠈⠄⠠⠈⠸⣿ ⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⡀⢈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠂⠀⠈⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠄⠀⠂⠐⠈⢀⠁⠐⡀⠂⠈⠀⠈⣿⣿⡿⣿⣧⢸⣿⣿⡟⣾⣻⣿⡇⠀⠈⠄⠁⠂⠌⠐⠠⢈⠀⠁⡀⠄⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⢿⣽⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠂⢀⠂⠐⡈⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⢀⣽⣿⠇⠙⠛⠋⠀⠀⠂⠌⡀⠡⠀⠌⠐⠠⠈⠀⠄⠀⣿ ⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⢾⡿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠂⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣱⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⡀⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠄⠈⠀⠄⠂⠀⠄⠀⠁⡀⠐⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠂⠀⠂⠁⠐⠈⡀⠁⠀⡀⠀⣿ ⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠠⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠈⠀⠠⠀⠈⠀⠄⠂⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⢀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⢾⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣽⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⠏⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡿⠀⠀⡀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ 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CATCH IN MY CHIP iii (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a few moments, Chip's screen glued to his dad's still form. The only sound is the steady rhythm of Plankton's shallow breathing. As the minutes tick by, Chip's thoughts swirl with confusion and guilt. He had no idea that his dad's quirks and sensitivities were part of something so complex. He'd just thought Plankton was easily annoyed or tired. Karen notices his son's distress and decides it's time to explain more. "You know how sometimes you get really excited about something, and you just can't keep it in?" she asks. Chip nods. "Yeah, like when I see a new toy or when I've got a great idea for a sandcastle." "Well, for Dad, it's like that all the time," Karen continues. "Every little thing can be a big deal, and sometimes it's just too much." She pauses, looking at Plankton with a mix of love and concern. "But he's also the smartest person I know, and he loves you so much. That's what's important." Chip nods, his eyes filling with tears as he watches his mom care for his dad. He'd always felt a bit left out, not understanding why Plankton would sometimes retreat from the world. But now he gets it. It's not that his dad didn't want to share in his excitement, it's just that sometimes, the world was too much for him. "Mom, I'm sorry," he whispers, his throat tight with emotion. "I didn't mean to make him... like this." Karen pulls him into a warm embrace. "You didn't do anything wrong, Chip. This isn't your fault. Dad's brain just works differently. And now that we know, we can help each other understand." Chip sniffles against her, his thoughts racing. "Does he know what's happening or can he understand us?" "Sometimes he can," Karen says, her voice low and soothing. "But right now, I don't think he realizes anything's happening around him." "What if he doesn't wake up?" The fear in his voice is palpable. "He will, honey," Karen says, her tone reassuring. "It just takes a little time. It's like when you're really tired and you need a nap. His brain needs to rest." The room is quiet except for the occasional sound of the air conditioner kicking in, a stark contrast to the excitement that had filled it just moments ago. Chip watches his dad, feeling a wave of emotion wash over him. He wants to laugh and share more stories, but he knows now that his dad's brain needs a break. As they wait, Karen starts to clean up the mess Chip made. The sand and papers scattered across the floor seem so trivial now, a stark reminder of the chaos his enthusiasm can create for his dad. He helps her, carefully picking up each piece, placing them back into their rightful spots. His mind is racing with thoughts of how to be a better son, how to make sure his dad doesn't feel like this again. They work in silence, the only sounds the rustling of papers and the occasional clank of a metal item being set back on the desk. The room slowly transforms back to its usual state of order, a stark contrast to the turmoil Plankton was experiencing. Chip's eyes never leave his dad, hoping to see any sign of improvement. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Plankton's eye blinks, and the tension in the room shifts. His breathing becomes deeper and more regular. Karen's shoulders relax as she sees the first signs of Plankton coming back to himself. She gives Chip's hand a gentle squeeze. "Look, honey. He's starting to come out of it." Chip stares, hope filling his chest. Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. He blinks a few more times, as if trying to bring the room into focus. "What... what happened?" His voice is weak, almost a whisper. Karen's grip tightens on Chip's hand. "You just needed a little break, sweetie," she says softly. "It's okay."
GREAT CHIP iii (Autistic author) Karen followed, her screen on her husband's tentative steps. "Chip," she called out softly, knocking gently. "Can we come in?" There was no immediate response, just the faint sound of sniffling. "It's ok, sweetie," she said. "Your dad and I want to talk to you." Slowly, the door cracked open, and Chip's tear-stained screen peeked out. His eyes searched theirs, looking for answers, for reassurance. Plankton's heart twisted at the sight. He had never wanted to cause his son any pain, especially not like this. He felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over him as he stepped into the room, his every move feeling clumsy and exposed. "Chip," he began, his voice strained, "It's just..." Plankton's words trailed off, his gaze flitting around the room as if searching for the right ones. The air felt thick with tension. Chip looked up at him, his eyes swollen with unshed tears. "Dad, I'm sorry," he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion. But Plankton's anger hadn't subsided entirely. "You shouldn't have touched me," he snapped, his voice sharp, his frustration still palpable. "You now know better than that!" Chip flinched at his father's tone, his own eyes brimming with tears. "But Dad, I didn't mean to," he protested. Plankton's gaze was unyielding. "You should know better!" he insisted, his voice echoing with accusation. "You're not a baby anymore!" Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders shaking with held-back sobs. "But I didn't know!" he choked out, his voice small and defensive. "Well, now you do," Plankton said firmly, his eye still avoiding Chip's. "You have to respect my space!" The room felt too small, his emotions too big. Chip's face crumpled, his voice barely audible. "I just wanted to..." But Plankton's anger was like a storm, unyielding. "I don't care what you wanted!" he shouted. "You can't just touch me like that!" The room felt like it was closing in, his heart racing faster with each word. He saw the hurt on Chip's face, but his own emotions were a tornado whipping through his thoughts. He couldn't stop, couldn't apologize. "It's your fault for not knowing!" Plankton's voice was like thunder, filling the room with accusation. Karen's eyes grew wide with shock, but she didn't dare to interrupt. Chip's sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the weight of his father's wrath. "But I didn't know, Dad," he pleaded, his voice thick with pain. Plankton's eye was like a stone, his words cutting through the air. "That's no excuse!" he bellowed. "You should've learned by now! Or are you just to busy with your silly games and neurotypical friends to care about your own father?" Chip's shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his sobs. He didn't know what to say, his mind a jumble of emotions. All he knew was that he had hurt his dad, and now his dad was hurt and mad at him. "Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice trembling. "It was an accident, I didn't know!" But Plankton's anger didn't abate. "Accident or not, you should've known better!" Plankton's voice grew louder, his words piercing the air like knives. "You're not a baby anymore, so don't act like one!" Chip felt his world crumbling. He didn't mean to upset Dad, but he didn't know what to do. He just wanted to help, to show his love, but it all went wrong. "But Dad," he tried again, his voice barely a whisper, "I didn't mean to..." "I DON'T CARE!" Plankton roared, his anger a living, breathing entity that filled the room. His words were sharp, like shards of glass in the air. Chip's sobs grew louder, his heart breaking with each accusation. He didn't understand why his dad was so mad at him. "I'm sorry," he choked, his voice barely audible. "I didn't know..." Plankton's anger didn't waver. "You never know!" he spat. "You never pay attention!" His words were like a whip, each one stinging Chip's already bruised heart. "You think the world revolves around you!" Chip's eyes were a pool of tears, his body trembling as he tried to find the right words. "But Dad, I just..." Plankton's anger grew with each of Chip's stumbling attempts. "You just what?" he snarled, his senses overwhelmed by the emotional turmoil. He felt the urge to break something, anything to release the pressure building in his chest. With a roar, he swiped his hand across Chip's desk, sending papers flying and toys clattering to the floor. "DO YOU SEE?" he yelled, his voice shaking the walls. "DO YOU SEE HOW YOU MAKE ME FEEL?" Chip cowered, his eyes locked on the chaos, his mind whirling. He hadn't meant to make his dad feel like this. He didn't understand why his curiosity was so wrong. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice tiny and lost in the maelstrom of Plankton's rage. Plankton's eye was wild, his movements erratic. He knew his anger was a storm, but he couldn't stop it. The room spun around him, his thoughts a jumbled mess. He felt a hand on his arm, Karen's voice cutting through the noise in his head. "Plankton, please," she begged. But he shrugged her off, his rage now a living, breathing monster inside of him. He picked up a toy, one of Chip's beloved creations, and threw it across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound piercing the silence that followed. Chip's sobs grew quieter, his body trembling with fear. "This," Plankton said, his voice low and dangerous, "is what you do to me." He picked up another toy, his hand shaking with anger. "This is what your curiosity does!" Chip's eyes widened with fear as Plankton's hand arced back, ready to hurl it. But as the toy could leave his grip, his body seized up again, his legs buckling. Another absence seizure had struck. Karen's heart raced as she watched her husband's uncontrolled movements. She knew she had to intervene before things escalated. She rushed to Plankton's side, grabbing his arm to steady him. "Stop," she whispered urgently. Chip's sobs grew quieter, his eyes wide with fear. He had never seen his dad so out of control before. Plankton's seizure was taking over, his body betraying him once again. Karen's voice pierced the chaos, a beacon of calm. "Chip, let me handle this." Her son nodded, his eyes never leaving his dad's shaky form. Karen turned to Plankton's form, supporting. "Come on," she said firmly, guiding his trembling form to their own bedroom. "Let's sit down, okay?" As they do, Plankton's still caught in the throes of the seizure. Chip felt like he was watching a stranger, his dad's body twitching uncontrollably. He didn't know what to do.
A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iii (Autistic author) "It's okay, Plankton," Sponge Bob said, his voice soothing. "We're just going for a walk. Nothing to worry about." The three of them walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the lapping of the waves and the occasional squawk of a seagull. Karen could feel the tension, and she wondered what was going on inside his head. As they neared the jellyfish fields Sponge Bob perked up. "Hey, Plankton, you remember jellyfishing right?" He asked, his tone hopeful. Plankton's antennae stopped the nervous twitching for a moment. "Jellyfishing," he murmured, the memory sparking a glimmer of interest. "Jellyfish sting." Sponge Bob's smile grew wider. "Yeah, but it's fun, right?" He said trying to keep the conversation light. Karen could see the effort in his eyes and felt a pang of guilt for ever thinking poorly of him. "Jellyfish... fun," Plankton repeated, his voice still flat. Sponge Bob looked at him, his smile fading slightly. "Yeah, jellyfishing's the best!" he said trying to keep the energy up. "Remember all the good times we had?" Plankton nodded, his gaze distant. "Good times," he echoed. Sponge Bob's smile faltered, and he shot a questioning glance at Karen. "Is everything ok with Plankton?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern. Karen took and squeezed Plankton's hand. "Hold on, Sponge Bob," she said gently. "Plankton, can you find us a rock? A pretty sparkly rock." Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, and she could see the gears turning in his head. He nodded, his antennae tilting slightly. "Find rock," he said, before going in the familiar jellyfish fields. Sponge Bob watched him go, his expression a mix of confusion and concern. "Is Plankton ok Karen?" he asked. "He's just... different now," Karen said, voice tight with emotion. "He had an accident, and the doctor says he has acquired autism." Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "Hey I think I have that, too! But what does that mean for Plankton?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern. "It means he's going to need some help," Karen said, her voice calm and measured. "He'll still be the same Plankton we know, but his brain works differently now." Sponge Bob's eyes searched hers, trying to understand. "Different like how?" Karen took a deep breath. "Well, he might repeat what we say," she began, watching Plankton as he picked up rocks and examined them. "It's called echolalia. It's a way for him to process language now." Sponge Bob's eyes widened with understanding. "Oh, like a parrot!" he exclaimed, nodding. Karen chuckled, despite the heaviness of the situation. "Sort of," she said, "but it's more than just repeating words. It's how he processes information now." Sponge Bob watched Plankton, who had found a particularly shiny rock and was now examining it with intense focus. "What else, Karen?" he asked. Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain as best she could. "Sometimes, Plankton might need more time to understand what people are saying to him." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton. "How might he act?" Karen sighed, looking at the ocean. "Well, sometimes he might get overwhelmed by sounds, lights, or even textures," she said. "It's like his senses are on overload. Although he'll have it for the rest of his life, he can potentially improve his skills. It happened yesterday, I don't think you were working but Krabs hit Plankton's head.." Sponge Bob's expression grew serious, and he nodded solemnly. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Karen," he said, his eyes filled with genuine empathy. "Plankton's always been pretty tough, but I won't let Mr. Krabs know." Plankton returned with the sparkly rock, his gaze still a bit unfocused. "Pretty rock," he said, holding it out to Karen. Karen took the rock. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, her voice filled with warmth. "Good find," Sponge Bob added, giving him an encouraging thumbs-up. The walk continued, yet a distant wail of a boat's horn created a symphony that seemed to overwhelm him. He stopped, his antennae flattening against his head, his eye wide with distress. "Too loud," he murmured, his voice strained. Karen noticed Plankton's agitation. They guided him to a nearby bench, and he sat, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, rocking back and forth. "It's okay, Plankton," she soothed, her voice calm. "Just breathe, darling." Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his antennae quivering. "What's wrong, Plankton?" SpongeBob asked, voice filled with concern. Plankton didn't respond, his eye squeezed shut as he hummed a tune to himself. Karen and Sponge Bob sat beside him, giving him space and waiting for the overwhelming sound to pass. After a few moments, the boat's horn ceased and Plankton's breathing began to even out. He looks up, gaze still slightly unfocused. "Plankton ok now?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice gentle. Karen nodded. "I think so," she said, watching Plankton's antennae slowly untangle from their protective pose. "Sounds can be really intense for him now." Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. "We'll keep it down then," he said, his voice a whisper. Karen smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Sponge Bob," she said. "It means a lot." They sat for a few more moments, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore acting as a soothing lullaby for Plankton. Finally, he spoke up, his voice still flat. "Home now," he said, his eye still on the horizon. Karen nodded. "Alright, let's go home," she said, her voice gentle. "SpongeBob?" Plankton asks, wanting him to come with. Sponge Bob looks to Karen, who nods with a grateful smile. "We'd love for you to come, Sponge Bob," she says. "We can all help each other understand." Plankton's gaze immediately falls on a biology book that's been lying on the coffee table, half open to a page about jellyfish. His antennae start twitching rapidly, and he picks it up with a new found interest. "Look, Karen," he says, his voice filled with excitement as he points to a picture of a jellyfish. "Jellyfish." Karen nods. "Yes, Plankton," she says gently. "That's a jellyfish." Plankton opens the book wider, eye scanning the pages with a fervor that was almost palpable. His antennae quivered with excitement as he absorbed every piece of information he could find about jellyfish. It was as if he had found a new obsession, a puzzle to solve that could potentially drown out the cacophony of the world around him. "Jellyfish," he murmurs to himself, his eye scanning the text. "Jellyfish sting. Jellyfish pretty." Sponge Bob's curiosity peaks, and he leans over to look at the page Plankton is fixated on. "Jellyfish, huh?" He says, his voice soft so as not to disturb Plankton's focus. Karen nods. "It's like he's trying to make sense of everything again," she explains. "It's one of his special interests now." Sponge Bob nods. Karen watches as Plankton traces the outline of a jellyfish with his hand. "It's called hyper fixation," she explains. "It's when extremely focused on something to the point where it's almost all he can think about." Sponge Bob nods thoughtfully. "Well, Plankton I see you like the book of jellyfish?" Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering with excitement. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his eye never leaving the page. Sponge Bob nods, a smile spreading across his face. "I can see you really love jellyfish, Plankton," he says, trying to keep the conversation flowing.
A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iii (Autistic author) Inside, she sets him down on their favorite couch, the one with the frayed edges and the squeaky spring that always reminded them of their first date. The room is cluttered with half-finished inventions and plans for Krabby Patty heists. She sits beside him. The silence stretches on, heavier than a net full of anchovies. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye darting around the room, taking in the chaos. Karen's mind is racing, wondering if he recognizes any of it, if it brings back any memories of their life together. "Home," he murmurs, his voice filled with uncertainty. The room feels smaller, more cramped than she remembered, as if the walls are closing in on them. "Do you like it here?" she asks, trying to gauge his reaction. He looks around, his antennas moving slightly as he processes his surroundings. "Home," he says again, his voice a mix of curiosity and confusion. The room is a jumble of wires, gadgets, and half-eaten chum sticks. Karen's with tears as she realizes how much she's taken for granted their life together. She had always loved Plankton's quirks and his boundless energy, but now his mind seemed to be stuck in a loop, unable to move beyond the basic functions of acknowledgment. "Home," Plankton says again, his antennas drooping. "Home with Karen." The repetition of the words stirs something within Karen. Echolalia, the doctor had called it, a common trait in those with autism. It was Plankton's way of trying to understand the world around him, to find comfort in familiar words and phrases. "Yes," she whispers, her throat tight with emotion. "This is our home." The room seems to shrink around them as Plankton's echolalic chant of "home with Karen" repeats in a soothing loop. Each time he says it, Karen feels a pang of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he was finding comfort in the simplicity of their life together. "Home with Karen," he says again, his antennas slightly more animated. Karen nods, brimming with tears. "Yes, Plankton, we're home." But she sees a flicker of distress in his eye. "Sponge Bob," he whispers, his antennas quivering with urgency. "Where's Sponge Bob?" Karen's heart squeezes at the mention of him. "Sponge Bob's not here right now," she says, choosing her words carefully. "But he'll come to visit." Plankton's antennas shoot up, his eye wide. "Sponge Bob," he repeats, his voice gaining strength. "Friend. Need Sponge Bob." The desperation in his tone is heart-wrenching, and Karen knows she needs to act fast to soothe his anxiety. "Ok, ok," she says, her voice calm. "Let's call Sponge Bob." Karen picks up the phone, her hands shaking slightly as she dials the familiar number. The phone rings once, twice, before it's answered by a cheerful voice. "Karen?" Sponge Bob's voice sounds surprised but concerned. "Is everything ok?" Karen takes a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's Plankton," she says. "He's asking for you to come over." There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Plankton? But we're... I mean?" Sponge Bob's voice is filled with confusion. Karen's with desperation as she watches Plankton rock back and forth on the couch, his chant growing louder. "Sponge Bob. Need Sponge Bob." "Please, Sponge Bob," she pleads, her voice cracking. Sponge Bob's voice on the other end of the line softens. "Of course, Karen. I'll be right over." The line goes dead, and Karen hangs up the phone, feeling a tiny spark of hope. Plankton's cries for Sponge Bob have become more insistent, his rocking more pronounced. She gently places a hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him. "Sponge Bob's coming, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "He'll be here soon." Plankton's rocking slows, his antennas drooping slightly. "Sponge Bob," he whispers, his eye searching hers. "Safe." The word hangs in the air, and Karen realizes that despite his confusion, he feels comfort in Sponge Bob's presence. A few moments later, they hear the telltale sound of bubbles popping against the glass, and a knock on the door. With a tremble, Karen stands and opens it to reveal Sponge Bob, looking slightly nervous but determined. "Hi, Plankton!" he exclaims. Plankton's antennas shoot up at the sound of his name, and he whips his head around to face the door. "Sponge Bob!" he shouts, his eye lighting up with an unmistakable joy. Sponge Bob steps into the room. "Sponge Bob!" he exclaims, his voice a mix of excitement and relief. He lunges forward, wrapping his tiny arms around the larger sponge in an embrace. Sponge Bob looks surprised but quickly returns the hug, his spongy form enveloping Plankton completely. "Plankton, what's going on?" he asks, his eyes wide with concern. He's never seen Plankton like this. Plankton pulls back, his expression a jumble of emotions. "Sponge Bob," he says again, his voice filled with affection. He grabs Sponge Bob's hand and tugs him closer. "Home with Karen. Need you." Sponge Bob looks to Karen, his eyes filled with uncertainty, but she nods encouragingly. "It's ok," she says. "He's just happy you're here." The sight of Plankton's excited state brings a smile to Sponge Bob's face, despite his confusion. He sits down next to him on the couch, his own excitement growing. "What do you want to do?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. Plankton's antennas twitch as he thinks, his eye darting around the room. "Let's play a game," he suddenly exclaims, his voice filled with a child-like excitement that hadn't been there before. "What kind of game, Plankton?" Karen asks, eager to encourage his newfound energy. "Chess!" he exclaims, pointing to a dusty board in the corner of the room. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with surprise, but he doesn't hesitate. He leaps up from the couch and wipes the dust from the board with his spongy hand, setting up the pieces with surprising efficiency. Karen watches from the sidelines, her heart swelling with love and hope as Plankton's enthusiasm grows. He moves the pieces with a frenetic energy, his eye alight with a joy she hadn't seen since before the accident. Sponge Bob, ever the optimist, matches his excitement, even though he's clearly outmatched by Plankton's strategic mind. "Checkmate!" Plankton cries out, his antennas waving with each word. Sponge Bob's expression is a mix of surprise and admiration. "Wow, Plankton, you're really good at this!" The room echoes with Plankton's laughter, a sound that's both familiar and foreign to Karen's ears. The old Plankton would have gloated. "Checkmate," he says again, his antennas bobbing in excitement. "Checkmate, checkmate." Sponge Bob laughs, a wonderful, genuine laugh that fills the room. "You win, Plankton," he says, his hands clapping together. Plankton's antennas stop twitching for a moment, and he looks at Sponge Bob, his eye studying the sponge's reaction. "Win," he repeats, a hint of understanding in his voice. "Win at chess." He claps like SpongeBob. Sponge Bob's eyes light up, seeing the connection. "Yes, Plankton, you won the chess game," he says, his voice soothing. "You're really good at it." Plankton's antennas start to twitch again, his eye darting between the board and Sponge Bob. "Win," he murmurs, his voice filled with a newfound sense of pride. "Win with Sponge Bob." The phrase becomes a chant, his brain finding solace in the repetition. "Win with Sponge Bob, win with Sponge Bob." Sponge Bob smiles warmly, picking up the rhythm of Plankton's words. "Yes, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "You won the game. You're a great chess player." Plankton's antennas quiver, his eye locking onto Sponge Bob's. "Great chess player," he echoes, his voice a mix of pride and amazement. "Win with Sponge Bob." Karen watches from the sidelines with hope. Maybe, just maybe, this was the breakthrough they needed. Sponge Bob's presence was calming him, bringing out a side of Plankton she hadn't seen since the accident.
NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii (Autistic author) "Now let's go to the living room and I'll go pick up a smoothie for you. Can you stay here by yourself?" He nodded, his expression slightly less tense. "I'll be back soon," she assured him, squeezing his shoulder before leaving the Chum Bucket. Just moments later, Karen's friend Hanna came for a surprise visit. She knew Karen had a husband named Plankton, but she never met him. Plankton was now back on the living room couch. "Oh, you must be Plankton!" Hanna exclaimed. Plankton's eye flitted to her, his expression unreadable. Hanna walked over to the couch, her smile wide and genuine. "It's so nice to finally meet you," she said, embracing him in a hug. Plankton stiffened, his eye wide with surprise. His body tensed, his mind racing to process this new sensory input. "You ok?" Hanna asked, pulling back slightly. She had noticed his reaction but didn't know the reason behind it. Plankton nodded, his eye darting around the room again. He wasn't used to such spontaneous affection, and the unexpected sensation of Hanna's arms around him had thrown him off balance. "Yes, I am Plankton," he murmured, his voice monotone. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. Hanna's smile didn't waver, unaware of the turmoil within his mind. "How are you feeling today?" Plankton's gaze flicked to the ceiling, his mind racing to find the right words. "Today, feeling," he echoed, his voice still a whisper. The repetition was a comfort, a way to process the flood of sensory information that assaulted him continuously. Hanna looked at him with a puzzled expression. "You know, your wife Karen tells me you're an inventor," she said, her tone innocently curious. Plankton's eye locked onto hers, his mind racing to understand the context of her words. "Inventor," he repeated, his voice flat. It was a word he knew, but it felt foreign now, as if it belonged to someone else. "Yes, inventor," Hanna said, nodding enthusiastically. "I've heard so much about your gadgets and contraptions. What are you working on these days?" Plankton's eye flitted around the room again, his mind struggling to grasp the concept of 'working'. "Gadgets, contraptions," he murmured, his voice a broken record. Hanna's expression was one of confusion, her smile beginning to fade. "Well, what do you do all day?" she prodded gently, trying to coax him out of his silence. Plankton's reply was immediate and robotic, "Do, all day, all day." Hanna's brow furrowed, uncertain how to interpret his repetitive response. She had known Karen for years, but Plankton's behavior was unlike anything she had ever heard of her friend's husband. "Do you like the beach?" she asked, hoping to engage him in conversation. Plankton's eye blinked slowly, his mind processing the question. "Beach," he echoed, his voice hollow. Hanna nodded, encouraged by his response. "Yes, the beach! It's such a beautiful place. Do you ever go there?" Plankton's gaze shifted to the window, the memory of sand and surf a distant whisper. "Go, beach, beautiful place," he said, his words a stuttered echo of hers. Hanna's smile dimmed slightly. This wasn't the witty banter she was expecting from Karen's husband. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?" she asked, uncertain. Plankton's eye moved to hers, his gaze intense. "Talk," he repeated, his voice a whisper. Hanna felt a twinge of discomfort. Something was off about his responses, but she couldn't quite put her tentacle on what it was. "Well, what do you like to do for fun?" she tried again, her tone tentative. Plankton's eye wandered back to his own hand, fidgeting with his fingers. "Do, fun," he murmured, the words a reflexive response to the question. Hanna's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you do for fun?" she clarified, wondering if he had simply misunderstood. Plankton's gaze remained on his fidgeting hand, his mind racing to connect the concept of 'fun' with his new reality. "Do, fun," he repeated, his voice devoid of the mirth he once expressed so freely. Hanna's smile was now forced, her confusion growing with each interaction. "Plankton, can you tell me what you enjoy doing?" she asked, hoping for a clearer response. He looked up at her, his gaze slightly less focused than before. "Enjoy doing," he repeated, his voice a faint echo. Hanna's twitched with concern. "You know, like hobbies or interests," she prompted gently, trying to keep her voice light. Plankton's eye moved back to his fidgeting hand, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and sensory overload. "Hobbies, interests," he murmured, his voice a hollow echo. Hanna's concern was now clear on her screen. "You know, like things you like to do in your free time," she tried again, her voice a little less bright. Plankton's eye latched onto hers. "Free time," he repeated, his voice a monotone. "Like to do." Hanna's eyes widened slightly, her confusion growing with each word he said. "Yes, exactly," she nodded, her voice a little more cautious now. "What do you like to do in your free time? Well, other than repetition.." She awkwardly laughs as she elbows him multiple times, not knowing how her touch is irritating Plankton. Plankton's getting more frustrated/angry now, as Hanna goes to pat his shoulder. He can't take much more now. Hanna's touch was like a brand, searing his already overwhelmed senses. He flinched away, his body rigid with tension. "Plankton, are you ok?" Hanna asked, her voice filled with concern. She noticed his discomfort but couldn't pinpoint the cause. He nodded slightly, his expression unreadable. "Ok, ok," he mumbled, his voice still a monotone. Hanna looked at him with concern, her smile slipping. "Karen said you used to be quite the conversationalist. What happened?" She says, grabbing his elbow; but that's the last straw for Plankton. Plankton's eye snapped up to hers, his voice sharp. "What happened? You happened!" He snapped, his words sharp as a knife. The sudden aggression in his tone was like a slap in the face, catching Hanna off guard. She took a step back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." she began, but Plankton was on a roll now. "You don't know what happened!" his voice grew louder, his words quickening with each syllable. "You don't know anything!" Hanna's eyes went wide with shock. This was not the Plankton Karen had described. Her arms flailed in the air as she tried to placate his sudden anger. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I just didn't know..."
JUST A TOUCH iii (Autistic author) ¦ ᶠˡⁱⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ Once home, she helped him settle into his favorite chair, his eye scanning the room. Everything was in its place, exactly as he liked it. Karen noticed his breathing slow as the familiarity washed over him. She knew that routine and order could be vital to his comfort now to avoid triggering his anxiety. Then suddenly, Plankton began to rock back and forth. Karen recognized the motion. It was a new behavior, one she hadn't seen before. His body swayed with a rhythm that matched the ticking of the antique clock on the wall. "It's okay, sweetie," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "We're home now." The rocking grew more intense, his eye darting around the room, his antennae vibrating with each back-and-forth movement. Karen's mind raced, trying to remember the doctor's words. Sensory overload. He needed calm. Swiftly, she dimmed the lights, the neon signs from the Krabby Patty franchise across the street casting soothing shadows through the windows. The glow was just enough to illuminate the space without causing further distress, and she watched as Plankton's rocking subsided. She sat by him. She grasped and squeezed his shoulder. But this time, he flinched. "Plankton?" she asked, concern etching her voice. He pulled away from her, his antennae dropping to his side. The doctor had mentioned that some with autism might have heightened sensitivity to touch. Karen felt a knot in her stomach. "What if he doesn't like me touching him anymore?" she thought. "What if I can't comfort him when he's upset?" She decided to test the waters gently. Reaching out, she lightly trailed her finger over his hand. Plankton didn't react. Encouraged, she placed her hand on his shoulder again, this time more softly. He tensed, then relaxed. It was progress. "Let's start with simple touch," she said, her voice soothing. The doctor had mentioned that Plankton might be hypersensitive to certain types of touch, and Karen was determined to navigate this new aspect of their relationship with care. She placed a gentle hand on his knee, and Plankton flinched, his antennae retreating. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice as soothing as a lullaby. "It's just me, Karen." Her hand hovered over his, unsure of the best way to provide comfort. Karen took a deep breath, deciding to try again. This time, she approached with care, her touch feather-light, gliding over his hand like the softest of sea breezes. Plankton's antennae twitched, and his gaze remained on her hand, watching the movement as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen. Gradually, the tension in his body eased, and his hand lifted to meet hers. It was a tentative touch, his fingers brushing against hers, testing the waters. Karen felt a rush of relief. "See, it's okay," she murmured, keeping her voice low and even. Plankton's hand was cold, his grip firm but not painful. His eye locked onto hers, searching for reassurance. Slowly, she began to stroke his hand with her thumb, applying the slightest pressure. His breathing evened out, his antennae rising slightly. Encouraged, she tried a different type of touch—a gentle squeeze. This time, he didn't flinch. Instead, his hand returned the gesture, his own grip matching hers in strength. Karen felt a flicker of hope. "Maybe we can find a way through this," she thought. They sat in silence for a few moments, their hands entwined, as Karen tried to think of the next step. The doctor's words echoed in her mind: find what works for him. Gently, she began to rub his hand, her thumb moving in small, soothing circles. Plankton seemed to find comfort in the predictable pattern, his body unwinding a fraction more. Encouraged, Karen leaned in closer, her other hand reaching out to tap his shoulder. But as soon as her hand made contact with his skin, he jerked away, his eye flashing with fear and pain. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, her heart racing. "I didn't mean to scare you." Plankton stared at her, his expression unreadable. "It's just, sometimes touch feels..." His words trailed off, and Karen felt her own fear rising. "Painful?" she guessed, her voice trembling. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Some touches are okay, others..." He paused, his eye darting to his hand, which was still wrapped around hers. "It's confusing." Karen nodded, her heart aching for him. She knew she had to be more mindful of his sensory needs. Carefully, she pats his cheek with the back of her hand, the lightest of touches. Plankton's antennae flinched, but he didn't pull away until she put both of her hands on his shoulders. The sudden pressure was too much, like an electric shock. "Karen," he said, his voice tight with discomfort, "too much." Karen nodded, her hands retreating to her lap. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice small. "I didn't mean to..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching hers. "It's okay, Karen," he said, his voice measured. "But some touches are too much." Karen nodded, her heart heavy. She had so much to learn about this new Plankton, this person she knew so well yet barely knew at all. "I'll be more careful," she promised, squeezing his hand gently. Plankton's gaze remained steady on hers, his expression neutral. "Thank you, Karen," he said, giving her a side hug. This was a Plankton she had never seen before, one who spoke in a staccato rhythm, his movements precise and calculated. Yet, in the safety of their home, Karen saw glimpses of the man she knew. Her eyes fell upon a pamphlet the doctor had given her, titled 'Understanding Neurodivergence'. She picked it up and began to read. The first few pages were dedicated to explaining what it meant to be neurodivergent, how it wasn't an illness but a natural variation in the brain. Plankton's new condition, Acquired Autism, was one of the many spectrums that fell under this umbrella. Karen read through the descriptions of different behaviors, her eyes widening as she recognized some of the changes in Plankton— his need for order, his heightened sensitivity to stimuli, and his newfound obsessions. The pamphlet explained that these were common in individuals with his condition and offered optional suggestions for supporting them. Her gaze fell upon a section titled 'Seizure Protocols'. Karen's eyes widened as she read about the different types of seizures that could occur due to neurodivergence. Some were minor, like staring spells, while others could be more severe. Her heart raced as she thought of Plankton, his body stiffening and shaking. The pamphlet recommended to keep any sharp or harmful objects away from him. It was important not to restrain him, but instead, to gently guide him to the floor if necessary. The next section discussed how to communicate with someone on the spectrum. It suggested using clear, direct language, avoiding sarcasm and idioms. Karen realized that she would have to learn a new way of speaking with Plankton. Her screen skimmed over the pages, absorbing the information like a sponge. The pamphlet highlighted the importance of individuality and diversity, emphasizing that Plankton's brain was not broken, but simply wired differently. This was a concept she had heard of before, but it had never hit so close to home. The causes of neurodisability varied widely, from genetics to congenital to trauma. One paragraph caught her attention—brain injuries could lead to conditions like Acquired Autism. The words swirled in her mind, a stark reminder of the wrench that had changed everything. As Karen read on, she learned about the complex interplay of biological factors and life experiences that can shape a person's neurodivergence. It was both overwhelming and fascinating, a glimpse into a world she had never truly understood.
AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iii (Autistic author) Karen picked him up, and carried his limp form to his bed. She stood there for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall. The snores grew quieter as sleep consumed him. The weight of what had just happened settled on her shoulders. Karen lay him down gently. She tucked him in, his antennae resting against the pillow. The room was quiet except for his soft snores, a stark contrast to the chaos that had filled it moments before. Karen sat by his side, her hand on his arm. After a few moments, she stood up and walked to the door, closing it gently behind her. She found Hanna in the living room, her eyes red-rimmed and worried. "Hanna, I need to talk to you," Karen said, her voice firm but not accusing. Hanna looked up, her expression hopeful for guidance. Karen sat beside her, her eyes on her own hands, which were fidgeting in her lap. "Plankton's been through a lot," she began, her voice measured. "He's different now." Hanna nodded, her eyes wide with unspoken questions. "Still coming to terms with it but you're just fine. It's a rarity, yet he'll be fine." "I guess I'll head out. I never meant to cause Plankton distress." Karen nodded, her eyes still on her fidgeting hands. "Thank you for understanding. I'm pretty sure he knows you didn't mean to, but I can still tell him when he wakes up." Hanna left, and Karen went back to the bedroom. Plankton was still asleep, his breathing steady and peaceful. Karen sat by the bed. Plankton's snores were the only sound in the room, a gentle reminder of the peace that sleep brought him from his tumultuous world of heightened senses. Karen took a deep breath, her thoughts racing. This was their new normal, a dance of understanding and patience they would have to learn. When Plankton next woke up, his eye searched the room, his antennae twitching slightly. He looked over to find Karen sitting in a chair beside the bed, her gaze on him. "Hi," she said, her voice gentle. He sat up slowly, the fabric of the bed rustling beneath his weight. "How are you feeling?" Karen's concern was palpable, her eyes scanning his face for any signs of distress. Plankton took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. Karen's presence was a balm to his soul, her understanding a lifeline in the storm of sensory input. "Where's Hanna?" Karen sighed, her gaze never leaving his face. "She left, sweetie. You were a bit...overwhelmed." Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with the memory of the sensory assault. "It's okay," Karen assured him, her voice a soft whisper. "She just didn't understand, and felt bad for the way she treated you." Plankton nodded, his antennae still. The room was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos from before. He took a moment to collect himself, his thoughts racing. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. Karen reached out and took his hand, her grip firm but gentle. "You have nothing to apologize for," she said, her tone soothing. "This is all new to us. Would you like to eat?" Plankton nodded. "I'll get you something quiet and simple," Karen said, standing up. She knew that too much stimulation could send him spiraling. In the kitchen, she prepared a snack of plain crackers. She placed the plate on the table carefully, not wanting to startle his heightened senses again. Plankton entered the room, his movements deliberate and slow. He sat down across from her, his eye darting around the room. "It's ok," Karen reassured him, handing him the plate of crackers. "Just food." "Just food. It's ok; just food." He repeats back to himself, focusing on the plate. Each cracker was a tiny square of safety, a familiar comfort in a sea of sensory uncertainty. He took a deep breath and selected one. The taste was comforting, a reminder of a simpler time. Karen watched him, her screen filled with love. Plankton took a sip of water, his eye never leaving hers. "It's ok just food," he said again, his voice still low. "Karen good and good food. It's ok." Karen nodded, her smile a mix of relief and sadness. She knew his echolalic tendencies was the autism, but she's glad he likes the food as well. They sat in silence, the only sound the crunch of crackers and the occasional sip of water. Plankton's eye focused on the cracker in his hand, the patterns on the surface a comfort. His autistic brain craved the predictability, the sameness that calmed his nerves. This was the man she knew, yet he was different. The Plankton who was always plotting and scheming was now one who found comfort in the mundane. His mind felt clearer now, the overwhelming chaos of the earlier encounter with Hanna beginning to fade. Karen watched him, her heart breaking for the silent struggle she knew he faced every moment. "I'll talk to Hanna," she said gently. "I'll explain. What do you want me to tell her? What'd you like for her to know?" Plankton's gaze remained on the cracker, his thumb tracing the edge. "Tell her sorry," he mumbled. "What else? I mean, is it ok if I tell her you're autistic now? Or what about the accident that lead to the autism?" Plankton's antennae twitched at the word 'accident', his mind reeling with memories of the stove, the fight with Mr. Krabs, the pain. But he nodded slowly. "Ok," he murmured. Karen's heart ached at the simplicity of his response. The complexity of his thoughts was now a tightly guarded secret, hidden behind a wall of sensory overload. "Okay, I will," Karen said, her voice soft. "But remember, it's ok to be different." Plankton nodded, his eye still on his food. But as he took another cracker, he paused. He looked up, his gaze locking with hers. "Karen," he said, his voice a little stronger now. "I, I l-love you." Karen's eyes widened at the sudden declaration. "Oh, Plankton," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you too." Plankton nodded, his gaze never leaving hers. "Karen making everything okay," he murmured. He took another cracker, his hands shaking slightly. "You make Plankton feel safe," he continues with sincerity. "In a world that's too much, Karen not too much." Karen's eyes filled with tears at his heartfelt words. She reached across the table and took his hand. "Plankton, I'm here for you. Always." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching. He looked into her screen, his own filled with a depth of emotion that hadn't seen before. "You good, Karen," he said, his voice steady. "Helping Plankton." Plankton was finding his way to express himself, to connect with her in a way that was meaningful. She squeezed his hand. "I'll always help you," she promised. "Karen," Plankton began, his voice tentative. He took a deep breath, trying to find the words. "I love you, Karen," he said finally, his eye intense with feeling. Karen swelled with love and pride. Despite his struggles, Plankton was learning to express his emotions in a way that made sense to him. It was a victory, small but significant. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, squeezing his hand. "Your love makes me happy." His antennae twitched slightly, a sign of his awkwardness with the emotional exchange. The room was quiet, the only noise the soft sound of their breathing and the occasional crunch of a cracker. Plankton's eye searched hers, looking for reassurance. "Plankton need...space," he managed, his voice shaky. "Too...much emotional interaction. Still love." Karen nodded, understanding dawning. "Okay, sweetie," she said, releasing his hand. "I'll be right here. Take all the time you need."
CHIP AND FAIL iii (Autistic author) "Ok Dad," he said. "Let's go to your workshop." Maybe there, he would be able to come back to himself. But Plankton's not budging, despite Chip's efforts to get him up. "Come on," he said, his voice gentle, trying to mask his own fear. "Let's go." But he sees it's not gonna work. He hadn't realized that his excited touches and loud laughter were only making things worse. Plankton's condition meant that even the smallest disruption could send him spiraling, and here Chip was, bombarding him with sensations. With a tremble in his voice, Chip tried one more time to reach his father. "Dad, can you just come with me?" He asked, his voice small and hopeful. "We'll talk in the workshop." But Plankton still didn't move, his eye fixed on some unseen horizon. Chip stood up, wiping the tears from his screen, trying to listen for his dad's breathing. Chip doesn't like this. Chip's face crumpled, realizing that his dad isn't okay. This was chilling. The more Chip talked, the more he touched, the deeper Plankton's mind spun into a vortex of overstimulation. "Dad, you're not talking," Chip whispered, his voice cracking with concern. He had never seen his father like this, so silent and still. He didn't know that the affectionate gestures and loud stories were only adding to Plankton's distress. "Dad, please," Chip said, his voice small. This wasn't right. This is wrong. Something is very wrong with his dad. Chip's eyes filled with tears, his mind racing with fear and confusion. Something's wrong with his dad. "Dad, you're not okay," Chip said, his voice filled with a new urgency. But now, he knew it was something more, something he didn't know how to fix. But he needs to try. "Can you tell me about your week too?" Absolutely no sign of life from him. This is bad. He's getting worse... Chip didn't know that Plankton's lack of response was due to his autism, that his sensory system was in overdrive. All he knew was that he needed to help, to do something. With a tremble in his hands, Chip gently touched Plankton's shoulder. "Dad, can you hear me?" He asked, his voice soft and soothing, hoping to cut through the storm in his father's mind. But Plankton's expression remained unchanged, his eye unfocused. Chip felt like he was shouting into a void, his words disappearing without a trace. The room was spinning, the air thinning with each shallow breath Plankton took. Chip's mind raced with scenarios, trying to piece together what could've caused this sudden change. "Is there something wrong?" He asked, his voice quavering. "Did something happen?" But Plankton was lost, the cacophony of Chip's excitement echoing through his overstimulated brain like a never- ending nightmare. Chip's touches grew gentler, his laughter fading into a soft concern. "I don't get it," he said, his voice thick with confusion. "I just wanted to tell you about my week." Plankton felt the pressure but his mind was a maelstrom of sensation. "Dad," Chip said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I don't know what's going on." He nudged him, and he remained still and unblinking as the prod toppled him onto his side, with no reaction. The room felt colder, the air heavier with each passing second. He had never seen his father so unresponsive, so utterly lost to the world around him. "Dad," he tried again, his voice trembling. "You're scaring me." Plankton's eye remained fixed. The gentle touches from Chip were now a maelstrom of sensation, each one a wave crashing against the shore of his overwhelmed mind. Chip's smile faded as he watched his father. "Dad, you're not okay," he murmured, his voice laced with concern. He didn't know about Plankton's condition, how his brain processed stimuli differently, how easily it could be overwhelmed. All he knew was that his dad, the man he looked up to, was trapped in a silent prison of his own making.
THE LIFE OF UNITY iii (Autistic author) Kevin's laughter reaches a crescendo as he takes a step closer to Plankton. "What don't I know?" he asks, his voice sharper than ever. "That PLANKTON JUST. DON'T. WUV. THEM. JELLYFISH. YOU ARE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY..." But his words are cut off by the sight of Plankton, his antennae drooping, his eye brimming with tears. The tiny creature's body trembles as Kevin's to loud words settle upon him, and suddenly, all the pent-up frustration and pain come rushing out in a torrent as a single tear forms and slides down his face. Plankton's antennae quiver uncontrollably, and he squeaks out a sob, his tiny body convulsing with the weight of Kevin's cruel words. SpongeBob is shocked. Kevin's words hang in the water, his laughter fading into an awkward silence as he watches Plankton's reaction. The sea cucumber's eyes widen as he takes in the sight of Plankton's tears, his own expression morphing from smug to surprise, then to something akin to fear. "Plankton?" Plankton's antennae quiver as he sniffs, trying to compose himself, his monotone voice thick with emotion. "Plankton... brainless," he murmurs, his one eye filled with unshed tears. "Plankton," he adds, his voice cracking, "Plankton... not like jellyfish." Sponge Bob's heart squeezes tight in his chest. "Hey, Plankton," he says softly, "it's ok. Kevin didn't mean it." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's hurtful words. "Kevin... right," he murmurs, his eye glistening with tears. "Plankton... brainless. Like jellyfish." Kevin's expression morphs from smugness to shock, his eyes wide as he realizes the impact of his words. "It's just... you know, a joke." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice trembling. "Joke?" he murmurs. "Plankton... a joke. Plankton... brainless." Kevin's grin falters, his eyes widening in horror as he sees the pain etched on Plankton's tiny face. "No," he stammers, his voice cracking. "It was just a... I didn't mean it like that." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's cruel words. "Plankton... no purpose in life," he murmurs, his one eye filled with a sadness so profound it seems to suck the color out of the surrounding waters. Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock. "Plankton," he says gently, "you have friends. You have a purpose." But Plankton's antennae droop even lower, his monotone voice a sad echo of his own self-doubt. "Plankton mindless.." Kevin's smugness evaporates, replaced with a flicker of concern as he watches the usually unflappable Plankton crumple under the weight of his words. "Look, Plankton," he says, reaching out to touch him. But Plankton flinches, his antennae quivering with pain. "Plankton," Kevin says, his voice a mix of surprise and regret, "I didn't mean it like that. I was just messing around." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's insults. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye fixed. "Brainless." Sponge Bob's eyes wide with shock and sadness. "Plankton," he whispers, his voice filled with a tenderness Plankton rarely hears from anyone. "You're not brainless." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice echoing Kevin's words. "Plankton... mindless," he murmurs, his one eye unable to meet Sponge Bob's gaze. "Like jellyfish." SpongeBob knew that Plankton's obsession with jellyfish is more than just a hobby; it's a deep connection, a part of who he is after the traumatic brain injury. And now, Kevin's careless words have struck a nerve, leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable. "Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice gentle, "you're not like that. You're smart. You're... you're you." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye still avoiding contact. "Plankton... like jellyfish." SpongeBob understood that the brain trauma has affected him, making him more vulnerable to words that question his intelligence and identity due to his autism. "Plankton," he says, his voice filled with concern, "you know that's not true. You're not like jellyfish in that way." But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's mockery. "Mindless," he murmurs. "Mindless, brainless." Sponge Bob's heart aches for his friend, reaching out to offer comfort. "Plankton, you're not like that," he says, his voice gentle and assuring. "You're brilliant. You know more about jellyfish than anyone." But Plankton's antennae quiver with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad echo of Kevin's laughter. "Mindless," he murmurs, eye downcast. "Plankton... brainless." Sponge Bob tries to find the right words to say. "Plankton," he says gently, "you're not like that. You're so much more than what Kevin said." But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of the cruel words. "Mindless," he murmurs, his one eye avoiding Sponge Bob's gaze. "Plankton... no purpose." Kevin's eyes dart from Plankton to Sponge Bob, his grin faltering. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice tight with confusion. "You guys are acting weird." Sponge Bob's embrace tighten around Plankton's tiny body, his voice firm but kind. "Kevin," he says, his gaze fixed on Plankton, "you don't know what happened to Plankton." Kevin's laughter fades into a puzzled look. "What do you mean?" Kevin's smirk fades, his eyes narrowing with confusion. "What are you guys talking about?" he asks, his voice tight. Sponge Bob hesitates, glancing at Plankton, who nods almost imperceptibly. "Kevin," he says, his voice serious, "Plankton had a bad accident. He hit his head, and now he's... different." Kevin's tentacles freeze in mid-air, his smugness evaporating. "What do you mean, 'different'?" he asks, his voice tentative. Sponge Bob sighs. "Plankton's had a brain injury," he says, his eyes never leaving Plankton's quivering antennae. "He's... autistic now." Kevin's eyes widen, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "What? No way," he stammers, his smugness gone. "You're... you're joking, right?" But Sponge Bob's expression is serious, gently stroking Plankton's antennae. "It's true, Kevin," he says, his voice gentle. "Plankton's had a tough time, and he's different now." "Plankton, joke." Kevin's confusion turns to shock as he looks from Sponge Bob to Plankton, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "But... but why didn't you say anything?" he asks, his voice trembling. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "We didn't think it was anyone's business," he says tightening around Plankton's shaking antennae. "But now you know Kevin. And we need you to be cool about it."
GREAT CHIP ii (Autistic author) After what feels like an eternity, Plankton's eye slowly refocus. His body twitches, then relaxes. He blinks, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Karen moves closer, her hand on his shoulder. "Welcome back," she says soothingly. Plankton looks up, seeing Chip in the doorway, his eyes full of questions. "What..." Plankton asks, his voice groggy. Chip takes a step forward, his heart racing. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton blinks again, his gaze sharpening. He looks at Karen. "I had one of my moments, didn't I?" His voice is tinged with self-consciousness. Karen nods, her eyes full of love and understanding. "Yes, you did." Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip, his vulnerability laid bare for his son to see. Chip steps closer, unsure of what to do with his hands, his eyes searching his dad's. "Are you okay?" Chip asks, his voice tentative. "I just got h..." "Yes," Plankton cuts him off, his tone brisk, "I'm fine, ok?" There's a hint of annoyance in his voice, as if the seizure is an inconvenience, something to be pushed aside quickly and forgotten. Chip's heart squeezes at the sight. "Dad, ca..." "I said I'm okay," Plankton repeats, his voice a little sharper this time. There's a defensiveness in his tone that Chip's never heard before. Chip flinches. But he's still confused, and his curiosity won't quit. "But why do..." "I don't want to talk about it, I told you what to know," Plankton snaps, his voice abrupt and final. "So just drop it!" Chip's eyes fill with tears, his curiosity colliding with his dad's discomfort. He's never seen Plankton so agitated before. "Dad I'm so..." "I said I'm okay!" Plankton says. "So JUST STOP ASKING!" Chip's eyes well with tears. He didn't mean to upset him, he just wanted to understand. Karen steps in, placing a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't you go to your room for a bit, honey?" "Ok," Chip says, but he ends up accidentally touching his dad when he stands up to go, brushing against Plankton. And that makes him even angrier.. Plankton jolts away, his face twisting into a grimace. "I said not to touch me!" The room goes deathly quiet. Karen's eyes widen, and she opens her mouth to say something, but Plankton's not done with Chip. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" he yells, his voice echoing off the walls. "I can't even have a moment without you pestering me! YOU'RE the one who's not okay! YOU'RE JUST A KID, CHIP; I NEVER WANT YOU TO EVER THINK ABOUT THIS AGAIN!" Chip's eyes widen, his face flushing with a mix of fear and sadness. He didn't know his dad could be so mad. He turns and runs to his room, slamming the door behind him. Karen sighs heavily. This isn't how she wanted Chip to learn about Plankton's condition. She knows her husband's frustration is a defense mechanism, a way for him to cope with his own fears. But it doesn't make it any easier for Chip to understand. Plankton's eye follows Chip as he runs off, his own expression a mix of anger and upset. He didn't like to scream, but the sensory overload from the seizure had left him on edge, his emotions raw. His son didn't mean any harm, but the sudden contact had been too much. His skin feels like it's buzzing, his mind racing with the echoes of his own voice. Plankton sighs. He doesn't like his son to see him like this, so vulnerable and out of control. Karen never liked to see Plankton upset. She knew to tread carefully with him when he's so explosive, as he's now breathing heavily. "Plankton," she starts gently, "Chip didn't mean to upset you. He's just trying to understand." But Plankton's still tense, not replying to her. Karen saw the frustration and wanted to try again, not knowing if he understood what she said. She inched closer to him cautiously. Plankton's eye darted around the room, avoiding hers. He knew his reaction was too much, but his senses were still screaming. He felt like a failure, unable to control his own body. Karen waited patiently, giving Plankton the space he needed. Her hand hovered near his arm, ready to offer comfort, but she knew better than to touch him now. Plankton's shoulders slumped as the reality of the situation sank in. He had always tried so hard to hide his seizures from Chip, not wanting to burden him. But now the secret was out, and his son had witnessed his most vulnerable moment. He felt a twinge of guilt, knowing he had snapped at Chip. It was his way of protecting his own pride. Plankton took a deep breath, his heart thumping in his chest. He didn't want his son to see him as weak or broken. Karen's hand remained hovering, a silent offering of comfort. He knew she understood, but he didn't want her defending Chip either. Plankton's mind raced, his heart still pounding. He felt exposed, his secret laid bare for his son to see. The room was suffocating, his thoughts a tornado. He didn't want Chip to think less of him, to see him as damaged. Plankton took another deep breath, his eye focusing on anything but Karen's concerned gaze. He felt a knot in his stomach, his chest tight, both of which can in themselves cause an overload on their own. But Karen didn't realize when she reached out to touch his shoulder.. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but to Plankton, it was like a bomb had detonated in his sensory system. He jolted away, his eye wide with panic. "Sorry," Karen murmured, quickly retracting her hand. She knew better than to push when he was like this. Plankton nodded, his breathing steadying slightly. "It's okay," he managed to say, his voice still tight. "I know you're trying." Karen sat down next to him, her hand resting on the couch between them, a silent bridge of support. "We'll talk to Chip together, when you're ready." Plankton nodded, his eye still avoiding hers. In the quiet, Plankton felt his self-consciousness grow. He didn't want Chip to see him this way, to think less of him. It was something he'd managed to hide for so long, his autism, his moments of overload. Now, it was out in the open, and he felt like a creature exposed to the elements. The room felt too warm, too bright, each sound amplified. He knew his reaction was extreme, but his mind couldn't help it. The effort it took to appear 'normal' was like swimming against a riptide, and now the current had dragged him under. He could see the worry in Karen's screen, the sadness that he'd lashed out at Chip. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He didn't want Chip to think he didn't care, that he didn't want to be there for him. He just couldn't handle the touch, not now. Not with his senses still in overdrive. Karen knew that look, the one of internal battle. "Why don't we go talk to him?" she suggested, her voice soft. Plankton nodded, pushing himself out of the chair. His legs felt like jelly, his heart racing. He took a moment to gather his thoughts before opening the door to Chip's room.
THE TOOTH OF A CHILD iii He took another sip of water, his cheeks puffing out as he swished it around his mouth. "Mmph, tath's betta," he said, handing the cup back to the nurse. Karen couldn't help but chuckle at his antics. "Okay, let's get you up," she said, her voice still filled with laughter. Plankton nodded, his antennae bobbing. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his movements slow and clumsy. Karen slipped her arm under his and helped him stand. His balance was wobbly, like a newborn foal taking its first steps. She had to stifle her giggles as he tried to navigate the unseen world with his numbed mouth. "Mmph... Kahen," he began, his voice a series of muffled sounds. "How long wi’ this lafs?" Karen chuckled at his question. "It'll wear off in a few hours. But until then, you're going to have to be careful." Plankton's antennae wiggled with determination. "Mmph, I'm a bih boy," he slurred. Karen couldn't help but laugh at his bravado. "Yes, you are," she said, her voice warm and supportive. "Let's get you to the car." With Plankton leaning heavily on her, they shuffled down the hallway." "Mmph... Kahen," Plankton slurred, his words still thick with the remnants of the anesthesia. "You know, I've alwaths wanthed to know... how youw wove me wath." Karen raised an eyebrow, her smile growing. "What do you mean, Plankton?" she asked, her curiosity piqued by his sudden sentimental turn. "Mmph, wike, how... how youw... feww in wove?" he managed, his tongue thick and clumsy. Karen's smile grew tender at his earnest question. "Well, it's complicated," she began, her voice soft. "But I guess it started when we met. Now, let's get in the car." Plankton nodded, his antennae waving with understanding. "Mmph, okay." Karen helped him shuffle his way out of the hospital, his feet dragging slightly. He was still groggy from the anesthesia, but his curiosity was in overdrive. "Mmph, Kahen," Plankton slurred, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wha's wove wike?" Karen glanced down at him, his expression earnest. "It's like when two people really, really like each other," she replied, her voice gentle. "Wike... I wove youw tho mush." He says. Karen couldn't help but laugh again. "Plankton, you're not making any sense," she said, her voice filled with affectionate exasperation. His antennae drooped slightly, his eye looking disappointed. "Mmph... I'm tawwy," he mumbled, his mouth still a mess of numbness. "It's just... I wove youw Kahen." Karen's heart skipped a beat, his words a sweet jumble of slurs. "I know, Plankton," she said, her voice thick with emotion. They reached the car, and Karen gently guided him into the passenger seat. "Mmph, Kahen, wath's that?" Plankton asked pointing to the dashboard. Karen chuckled. "It's the car's dashboard, Plankton. You're just seeing things differently because of the medicine." She buckled his seatbelt, his movements exaggerated. "Mmph, oh," he murmured, his interest shifting to the windshield wipers. "Mow, theath things, they'we like... like... arms," he said, his speech still a slurry mess. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "They're wipers, Plankton. For the rain," she corrected, starting the engine. He nodded, his antennae still waving with fascination. "Mmph, wath's theath wound?" he asked, pointing at the steering wheel. Karen couldn't help but laugh. "That's the steering wheel, buddy. It's what I use to drive the car," she said, her voice still filled with humor. Plankton stared at it for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Mmph, and theath wound?" he asked, his finger tracing the path of the windshield wipers. Karen couldn't help but laugh. "It's to keep the windshield clear, so we can see while driving." Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with curiosity. "Mmph, so many tings in this big wowld." Karen couldn't help but laugh, his innocent wonder bringing a smile to her face. "Yes, Plankton, there are so many things to discover," she said, backing out of the parking spot. "Mmph, and wath's wath?" Plankton asked, pointing out the window at a passing scallop. "That's a scallop, Plankton. It flies in the sky," she explained, her voice still filled with amusement. He nodded, his antennae bobbing as he took it all in. "Wow, so-o beautiful," he slurred, his eye gazing out the window like a child seeing the world for the first time. Karen couldn't help but be captivated by his innocent wonder. "You know, Plankton, sometimes you say the sweetest things without even realizing it." His antennae perked up. "Mmph, do I?" he asked, his speech still a garbled mess. Karen nodded, her smile tender. "You do." "Mmph, gweat," he says with a slow nod of his head. Karen steers the car onto the road, the sun casting a warm glow over Plankton's sleepy face. His antennae wilt slightly as his eye struggles to stay open. "Mmph, Kahen, theath sun is so bright," he complains, his voice still slurred from the anesthesia. Karen chuckles, reaching over to adjust the visor. "Better?" He nods, his antennae drooping. "Mmph, yeth. Thanf you." He said, as drool began to form again in the corner of his mouth. Karen reached over with a tissue, carefully dabbing it away. Plankton flinched slightly, his mouth still too numb to feel the touch. "Mmph, I wathn't expehcting this," he mumbles, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery. The world outside the car was a blur of colors and shapes, his mind still trying to make sense of it all. Karen navigated the road, her eyes flipping between the road and Plankton's amusing expressions. "Mmph, Kahen, wath's thaf?" he asks, his eye half-closed. Karen looks over at the traffic light, its red light a stark contrast to the bright sun. "It's a stoplight, Plankton. It tells me when to stop and go." Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Mmph, wike a twail." His eye closes, and Karen can feel his weight shift slightly toward her as sleep begins to claim him again. "Mmph, Kahen?" Plankton's voice interrupts the quiet hum of the engine, his words a soft whisper. "Ith wike I'm swimmin' in molasses," he says, his mouth still not cooperating. Karen laughs, keeping one eye on the road and the other on his peaceful face. "You're just tired from the surgery," she assures him. "You'll be fine once you get some rest." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye opening slightly. "But, Kahen, I don't wan' to sleep," he slurred. "I wan' to expehrience this wowld with you." His words were earnest, his gaze firm despite his grogginess. She watched him fight the tide of sleep, his eyelid drooping again. "Mmph, wath's theath wowndow?" he asked, pointing at the car's side mirror. Karen couldn't help but chuckle at his confusion. "It's a mirror, sweetheart," she said, her voice soothing. "So we can see what's behind us." Plankton nodded, his antennae barely moving. "Mmph, wike a... wike a... wookie," he mumbled, his speech still a garbled mess. Karen laughed, shaking her head. "It's okay, Plankton. You're just tired." His eyes grew heavier, his lid drooping. "Mmph, I am," he admitted, his voice a faint whisper. The car's gentle rocking and the hum of the engine began to lull him into a doze. Karen watched him, his snores growing louder as he succumbed to sleep. His hand still held hers, the connection warm and comforting. She felt his grip loosen slightly, his body relaxing into the seat. His breathing grew deep and even, his antennae quietly bobbing with each exhalation. Karen couldn't help but feel a swell of affection for this vulnerable side of Plankton she'd never seen before. The car ride home was quiet, punctuated only by Plankton's gentle snores and the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers. Karen smiled to herself, her grip on his hand never loosening.
CATCH IN MY CHIP ii (Autistic author) Chip looks at his father with newfound understanding. He remembers the way Plankton's eye would sometimes glaze over when the TV was too loud or when the restaurant was too crowded. He'd always assumed it was just his dad being tired or grumpy, not that his brain was struggling to keep up. "So, what is it?" Chip asks, his voice small and scared. Karen takes a deep breath. "It's called autism, sweetie. And it just means that Daddy's brain works a little differently. Sometimes, it's really good at things, like inventing and remembering stuff. But sometimes, it can get overwhelmed by too much noise or too many people or things." Chip nods slowly, his eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. "But why doesn't he tell me?" Karen sighs, taking Chip's hand in hers. "Because he doesn't always know it's happening until it's too late. And sometimes, talking about it can make it harder for him." She looks up at her son with a gentle smile. "But now that you know, you can help him. Like giving him space when he needs it, or turning down the TV." Chip nods, his mind racing. He's always thought his dad was a little weird, but now he knows it's not just weirdness. It's something real, something that makes him who he is. He looks back at Plankton, feeling a mix of concern and curiosity. He goes and touches his dad's arm, his heart racing. "Dad, wake up," Chip cries, his hand shaking slightly. But Karen steps in, placing a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. "Let's give him some space, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad's still form. He retreats to the corner of the room, clutching his newly acquired seashell collection tightly to his chest. His mind races with questions, but fear keeps his mouth shut. He watches as his mom pulls the curtains, dimming the light to a gentle glow that seems to ease the tension in the room. The quiet is almost deafening now, the only sound the faint hum of the Chum Bucket's air-conditioning. Chip sits cross-legged on the floor, his thoughts a whirlwind of confusion. He'd always known his dad was unique, but he didn't realize it was something so... serious. Karen sits beside Plankton, speaking in hushed tones. "It's okay, dear," she says, stroking his arm. "Just breathe." Plankton's body twitches slightly, his eye still open and unseeing. Chip watches, wishing he could do something to help. He tries to be patient, his mind racing with questions about what just happened. Why couldn't Dad handle his stories and his energy? Why did he just... shut down? He'd never seen anyone react that way before. Chip's curiosity gets the better of him, and he tiptoes closer to the bed, peering over his mom's shoulder. Plankton's eye is still staring off into space, and his breathing is still shallow. "Mom, what's autism?" He whispers. Karen glances over at him, her expression a mix of love and sadness. "It's a condition that affects how people process information, honey," she says, her voice soft. "Some things that are easy for you and me, like talking and being around lots of noise, can be really hard for Daddy." Chip's eyes widen with realization. "So, when I was sharing all my stories and showing him my stuff, I was being too loud and moving too much?" Karen nods. "Sometimes, yes. It's like if you were trying to read a book in the middle of a rock concert. It's hard to focus." Chip looks down at his sandy hands, feeling a pang of guilt. "I didn't know," he murmurs. Karen smiles sadly. "It's okay, Chip. We didn't tell you because we didn't want you to think of your dad as different. But now that you know, you can help us take care of him." Chip nods solemnly, watching his mom gently guide Plankton to a more comfortable position on the bed. "How do we help him?" Karen sighs. "Well, for starters, we give him some space when he needs it. And when he's feeling better, we can talk about it, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes glued to his dad's still form. He wants to help, but he doesn't know how. He watches as his mom covers Plankton with a blanket, her movements gentle and soothing. "What do we do now?" Karen looks at him, her expression full of warmth. "Now, we wait."
JUST A TOUCH ii (Autistic author) Plankton began to sit up, his movements were methodical, each action deliberate and precise. His antennae twitched as he took in the sights and sounds of the hospital room, his eye searching for familiarity in the unfamiliar setting. "Home?" he asked, his voice a mix of confusion and urgency. Karen's screen filled with understanding. "We're not home, sweetie. We need to stay here until the doctors are sure you're okay." She kept her tone soft and even, hoping to soothe his growing anxiety. Plankton's gaze remained fixed on her, his expression unreadable. "You've acquired Autism." The doctor nodded in agreement. "It's important that he feels secure and comfortable in this new environment. Let's start with some simple questions to gauge his cognitive function." He turned to Plankton. "Can you tell me your name?" Plankton's response was immediate and crystal clear. "Sheldon J. Plankton." Karen's heart skipped a beat at the formality in his tone. This was her husband, but the way he spoke was unlike anything she had heard from him before. The doctor's smile remained, but his eyes were assessing. "And who is this lovely lady next to you?" Plankton paused, his antennae quivering. "Karen," he said, his voice slightly softer, "Plankton's computer wife." He was stating facts, not sharing his emotions. The doctor noted the exchange and nodded. "It's alright, Karen. This is all part of the adjustment." He then turned to Plankton. "Can you tell me what you see around you?" Plankton's eye darted around the room again, his antennae twitching rapidly. "White walls. Blue floor. Bright lights. Machines," he listed, his voice devoid of inflection. The doctor jotted down notes, his gaze thoughtful. "Good, good. Now, can you tell me how you feel?" Plankton's response was quick and specific. "Plankton feel the coolness of the air conditioner, hear the hum of the lights above. Plankton's hand is clammy. Your hand is dry." Karen felt a pang of sadness at his lack of emotional description. The doctor nodded, his gaze shifting to Karen. "It's not uncommon for individuals with Acquired Autism to speak in a matter-of-fact manner, especially when they're trying to make sense of their surroundings." Karen felt a tear slip down her screen as she forced a smile for Plankton. "Okay, we can handle this," she thought, wiping it away. Plankton's gaze never left the doctor, his eye scanning every tentacle as he spoke. "Now, let's check your coordination," the doctor said, handing him a simple puzzle. Plankton took the puzzle pieces in his tiny hands and began to assemble them with lightning speed. The doctor watched in amazement as the intricate pattern emerged, each piece fitting perfectly. "Remarkable," he murmured. "It seems his problem-solving abilities have indeed been enhanced." Karen couldn't help but smile through her tears as she saw Plankton's meticulous movements, the way his fingers danced over the plastic pieces. It was as if he saw a pattern that she couldn't. As the puzzle came together, she noticed his breathing had evened out, his movements more fluid, as if the task provided him some semblance of peace. But when the doctor tried to take the puzzle away to test another cognitive function, Plankton's hand shot out, his grip tightening on the last piece. "No," he said firmly, his voice edged with something new, something akin to panic. "It's not finished." The doctor exchanged a look with Karen, who nodded slowly. They had to respect his new boundaries. "Alright, Plankton, take your time," she said, her voice calm. The doctor stepped back, allowing Plankton to complete his task. With a final snap, the puzzle was done. Plankton stared at it, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Once the puzzle was complete, he handed it back to the doctor with a nod. The doctor took it with a smile. "Very good, Plankton." Karen felt a swell of pride mixed with the fear. "Now, let's move on to some memory recall," the doctor suggested, his tentacles holding a series of cards with images. "I'm going to ask you..." But before the doctor could finish, Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye widening as he spotted a smudge on the wall. "Clean," he murmured, his gaze firmly locked on the imperfection. Karen's heart sank as she watched his obsession take hold. The doctor paused, sensing the shift in Plankton's focus. "It appears Plankton has developed some OCD tendencies alongside his Autism," he said gently to Karen. "It's not unusual for them to fixate on certain things." Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's as his gaze remained glued to the smudge. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "We can get someone to clean it." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body visibly relaxing at the thought. The doctor nodded at a nearby janitor, who quickly came over and wiped the smudge away, leaving the wall gleaming. With the wall back to its pristine state, Plankton's eye moved back to the cards. He took them in his hands and studied each image intently, his antennae quivering with concentration. "Ready?" Karen asked, hopeful that this part of the assessment would go smoothly. But Plankton's gaze shifted to the floor, focusing on the tiles. Each one was perfectly aligned, except for a single one slightly askew. "Crooked," he said, his voice laced with distress. Karen's heart broke as she watched him struggle with the internal conflict of wanting to fix it and knowing he couldn't. The doctor, noticing the shift in mood, stepped in. "It's alright, Plankton. Let's focus on..." But Plankton's eye was already darting around the room, spotting every imperfection, his anxiety rising. Karen knew they had to get home, to a place where he could find peace. "Doctor, can we go?" she interrupted, her voice tight with urgency. The doctor nodded, his smile understanding. "Yes, you can take him home. Remember, patience is key. His world has changed, and he needs a stable environment to adjust." Karen stood, cradling Plankton in her arms once again. He felt lighter, his body more rigid than usual. As they left the hospital, the chaotic world of Bikini Bottom rushed in, a cacophony of sounds and lights. Plankton's eye widened, his antennae quivering. Karen could feel his discomfort, his body tensing with each step they took closer to the noisy, bustling streets.
CHIP AND THE DILEMMA ii (Autistic author) | ᴺᵉᵍᵃᵗⁱᵛⁱᵗʸ ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ | Karen's eyes widen, and she quickly takes in the situation. She's seen this before—his meltdowns. They've become less frequent, but when they happen, they hit hard. She turns to Chip, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Chip, honey, why don't you go wash up for dinner?" Her voice is calm, but firm. Chip's screen flicked between his dad and mom, not fully understanding. "But Dad said we're doing the solar system after dinner," he protests weakly. Karen gives him a gentle nudge towards the door. "It's ok, sweetie. I'll take care of this. You go ahead." Reluctantly, Chip backs out of the room. He's worried, but he trusts his mom. Karen closes the door behind Chip, turning her full attention to Plankton. His breathing is still erratic, his eye unfocused. "It's okay," she whispers, moving closer to him. She's learned over the years that proximity can be both a comfort and a trigger. She treads carefully. Plankton flinches at her approach, but she's quick to respond, retreating slightly. She knows better than to push to hard. "You're having a hard time," she says softly, her voice soothing. "Do you want me to turn off the light?" Plankton nods, his eye squeezed shut. The dimness of the room helps, but the noise of Chip's retreating footsteps echoes like thunder. Karen moves to the window, drawing the curtains to block the setting sun, plunging the room into a comforting gloom. She sits down next to Plankton, not touching him, but close enough to be there. He takes a shaky breath. "Talk to me, love," Karen coaxes. "What triggered it?" Plankton's eye are still closed, but his breathing steadies. "Chip," he manages. "Chip's touch. It was too much." Karen nods. She's always been his rock, but she hates seeing him like this. She knows the stress of hiding his autism has taken a toll on him. "We should tell him," she says gently. "He's old enough to understand." Plankton's eye flies open, his panic rising again. "No," he says firmly. "He doesn't need to know." Karen sighs, stroking his back gently. "He deserves to know, Plankton. He loves you and he's worried about you." Plankton's body relaxes a little, the sound of Karen's voice like a balm to his frayed nerves. "I know," he admits. Karen nods, understanding the fear behind his words. "But think about it," she says. "He's going to notice things. It's better if we explain it to him on our terms, rather than him figuring conclusions and feeling alone or scared." Plankton looks at Karen, his expression a mix of fear and resignation. "Perhaps when the ringing in my ears dwindles," he says, his voice shaking. "I know, we can't keep it from him forever." Karen nods, her screen filled with empathy. "Whenever you're ready," she says. "We'll do it together." Plankton takes a deep breath, his mind racing with thoughts of how to explain his condition to Chip. He knows it won't be easy, but his son deserves the truth. Dinner is a subdued affair, both Chip and Karen watching Plankton closely, noticing his lack of appetite and the faraway look in his eye. Chip keeps his questions to himself, sensing his dad's discomfort. After dinner, Karen breaks the silence. "Chip, why don’t we all go to your room?" she suggests, trying to keep her voice light. Chip nods, leading the way as Plankton follows, his steps slow and measured. Karen can feel the tension in his body as he tries to keep his composure. Once in Chip's room, Plankton sits on the edge of his bed, looking around. Chip notices the uncharacteristic stillness in his father's posture, the way his antennae droop slightly. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. Karen sits beside Plankton, her hand resting gently on his. "Chip, your dad has something important to tell you." Chip looks at them both, his screen wide. "What is it?" Plankton takes a deep breath. "Chip," he starts, his voice shaking slightly. "There's something you should know about me." Chip looks between his mom and dad. "What is it?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton takes a moment, his eye scanning the room as if searching for the right words. "I'm... different, Chip," he finally says, his gaze locking onto Chip's. "I have a condition, called..." “Oh, Dad! Will get better?” Chip asks. “It’s gonna go away, right?” Plankton’s eye fills with sorrow as he shakes his head. “No, Chip, it doesn’t..." But before he can finish, Chip gasps. “It’s called autism, Chip,” Karen says gently, filling the silence. Chip frowns, his mind racing. “What’s that?” He’s heard the word before, but it’s always been in whispers or as a punchline in a joke at school. He doesn’t understand. Plankton sighs heavily. "It's a... the way my brain works," he explains, his antennae twitching with nerves. "It's like I experience the world through a different way than you do." Chip's eyes widen, his mind swirling with questions. "So, you're like... broken?" he asks, his voice filled with innocent concern. Plankton flinches at the word, his heart sinking. He's always feared this moment, wondered how his son would react. "No, Chip," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It's not like that. Autism is just part of who I am." But Chip's mind is racing. "You, you're like... not normal?" He can't hide the worry in his tone. Plankton's eye flickers with pain at the question, but he nods. "It's just a different way of things, buddy! It doesn't make me less..." But Chip's mind is already made up. "So you can't be fixed?" he blurts out, his tone filled with disappointment. Plankton's antennae droop. "There's nothing to fix," Karen says, interrupting gently. "Different, not broken. Autism is just a part of who your father is." But Chip can't shake the word from his mind. "Autistic." He's heard it before in whispers at school, thrown around like an insult. He looks at Plankton, his hero, his rock. But the damage is done. In Chip's gaze, his dad is no longer just quirky or unique— he's broken, like a toy that's missing a piece. "Chip," Karen says gently, "autism isn't something that can be fixed or taken away. It's part of who your dad is, and it's what makes him special." Chip looks at his mother, his expression confused. "But if he's different, doesn't that mean he's not as good?" Karen's screen fills with sadness, but she remains calm. "No, Chip," she says firmly. "Being different doesn't mean being less. It just means seeing the world in a different way. And your dad, he's incredible in so many ways. He's smart, and he's kind, and he loves you more than anything."
THE TOOTH OF A CHILD ii The nurse finished up the paperwork and handed it to Karen. "You're all set to go home once Mr. Plankton is ready. Just remember, he'll need to take it easy for a few days. No solid food, only soft things like soups and mashed potatoes." Karen nodded, her gaze still locked on Plankton's fascinated expression. "I've got it covered," she said. Plankton, seemingly oblivious to the instructions, was busy poking his cheeks with his fingers, his mouth still numb and frozen. He looked up at her, his eye twinkling. "Kay... Kahen... anotha... anotha teeth." The nurse had left the room, leaving them in a quiet solitude punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the occasional swish of hospital curtains. Karen couldn't resist the urge to laugh. "You're already asking for more?" she teased. Plankton shrugged, his expression as goofy as a puppy's. "Ith... wothless... wifout... wisdom," he mumbled. Her amusement grew. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment to the teeth or an insult to me," she said playfully. Plankton's antennae shot up, his cheeks flushing a brighter shade of pink. "Mmph... no, no... gwed... wisdom..." he insisted, his speech still slurred. Karen couldn't help but smile at his earnestness. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind," she said, her voice filled with affectionate sarcasm. "So, what's the first thing you want to do when we get home?" Plankton's antennae twitched with excitement. "Mmph... mow... wock?" he slurred, his voice muffled by the anesthesia. Karen raised an eyebrow, surprised by his sudden interest in music. "You want to rock?" she repeated, amusement dancing in her eyes. Plankton nodded vigorously, his antennae bobbing. "Mmhmm," he managed, his mouth still refusing to cooperate. "Wock and wowl." Karen couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, okay. I'll make sure to have some rock music ready for when we get home." Plankton's eye lit up, his enthusiasm clear despite the numbness. "Gweat," he murmured, his antennae swaying to an unheard melody. Karen watched him, his normally stoic face now a canvas of comical expressions and muffled sounds. It was surreal to see him like this, but she found his vulnerability endearing. "But first, we need to get you home," she said, her voice a gentle reminder of reality. Plankton nodded, his eye closing in exhaustion. He leaned his head back on the pillow, his snoring resuming its soft crescendo. The nurse returned to check on them. "Looks like he's comfortable," she said with a smile. "You can take him home whenever you're ready." Karen nodded, still watching Plankton's peaceful face. "Mmph... Kahen?" Plankton's eye opened again, searching for her. "Ca-- we go now?" he slurred, his voice laced with hope. Karen couldn't resist the urge to lean over and kiss his forehead. "Soon, buddy," she whispered. He nodded, his antennae waving sluggishly. His hand found hers again, his grip firm despite his grogginess. Karen felt her heart melt at his determination. "Mmph... I teww you 'notha tink?" he mumbled, his smile hopeful. "Sure," she said, leaning closer. "Wheh, mmmph... the dentist made every ting awwright, yet firsh, they saith I woul’ be in surgery. Bu’ they didn’t even cuth me openth! They jus’ made every ting go woozy," Plankton slurred. "Then youw face wath theath wight bulb on top." Karen couldn't stop herself from laughing. "What are you talking about, Plankton?" she asked, her voice filled with warmth. He tried to enunciate, his lips moving awkwardly. "Mmph, Kahen, the dentist... they... they put me to sweep wi’out cutting me." His words were jumbled. Karen's curiosity piqued, she leaned in closer. "What do you mean, without cutting you?" she questioned, her voice filled with gentle amusement. Plankton's antennae waved wildly. "Mmph, they goth me all sleepy and then I woke up wifout getting cuth!" he exclaimed, his words still thick. Karen couldn't contain her laughter. "They didn't cut you because they already took your teeth out while you were asleep," she explained, her voice a blend of humor and affection. Plankton's antennae drooped, his eye looking disappointed. "Mmph, oh... I wath expehcting a magith trick." He slumped back into the pillow. Karen chuckled, stroking his hand. "It's like magic, isn't it?" she said, her voice light. "You went to sleep with four extra teeth and woke up with none." Plankton's antennae shot up again. "Ma... ma... magic?" he repeated, his voice filled with wonder. Karen nodded. "In a way, yes. They used sleepy medicine so you wouldn't feel a thing." He stared at her, his eye wide with fascination. "Wow, Kahen. They're wike wizawds!" he exclaimed, his speech still slurred but his enthusiasm unmistakable. Karen laughed again, her heart feeling lighter. "Mmph, can they make me fwee too?" Plankton asked, his voice filled with hope. Karen shook her head, her smile never leaving her lips. "Sorry, Plankton. Only in your dreams." He pouted, his cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk's. "Mmph, no fun." His eye grew heavy again, his body still feeling the weight of the anesthesia. Karen stood, gently squeezing his hand. "Let's get you up, okay?" With a groan, Plankton managed to push himself into a sitting position, his legs dangling over the side of the bed. Karen supported him, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. His head lolled to one side. "Mmph... wath... whath... whath's that?" Plankton's voice was a muffled mess, his words tripping over his still-numb tongue. Karen followed his gaze to the plastic cup of water. "Mmph... wath's in thef?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. Karen laughed gently. "It's for rinsing, buddy. To keep your mouth clean." Plankton nodded, his antennae still waving with excitement. The nurse stepped in to help, handing him the cup filled with water. "Here, take a sip." Plankton's antennae waved nervously as he took the cup, his hand trembling. He took a tentative sip, his mouth filling with the cold liquid. "Ah, gwed," he slurred, his speech still affected by the anesthesia. Karen watched him with amusement. "You're doing great," she encouraged, her voice soothing. Plankton managed a wobbly nod. "Mmph... wath's nxt?" "Now, we just need to get you home," she said, her eyes sparkling with mirth. Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "Mmph... dawes?" Karen nodded, her smile never fading. "Yes, darling, we're going home now." Plankton's eye lit up with excitement, his slurred speech a cute contrast to his usual sharp wit.
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ꜝꜝ 🐄 ͘𖥔 ◖˓࣪ ⸱ 💡
4️⃣ 🌀 📘⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠤⠤⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠿⣶⠤⠺⠷⠄⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠋⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠚⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢄⣀⣰⠲⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡜⡀⣼⠀⢀⡴⢾⠁⠀⠀⢷⠀⠀⡗⠒⠁⠀⠀⠈⠻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣀⣀⡇⢡⣿⡀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡌⠙⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⠀⣠⠤⣄⢀⡴⡆⠢⡀ ⢈⠦⠈⠛⢿⠿⢷⠿⠀⠀⢠⠠⠘⠀⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⠀⢸⡼⣵⠲⡜⢫⠋⢹⠀⠡ ⢇⠀⡄⠀⣀⠆⠘⢦⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢄⡻⣄⣱⣌⡠⢋⡠⣊ ⠀⠉⠉⠀⠁⠀⠀⠈⠒⠙⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⡠⠀⠀⢀⠜⢸⠒⠛⠛⡟⠉⡟⠉⠉⢹ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠤⢀⣀⠈⠒⢊⣀⡠⢔⣁⣴⣯⣀⣀⣴⠁⢠⣁⣀⣠⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠁⠈⠁⠈⣦⡶⠟⢻⣿⣄⠀⢀⣼⠀⣬⣀⣀⣼⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠁⠀⣤⣀⣀⣣⣀⣠⣿⣿⠁⠀⢰⠇⠀⡇⠀⣠⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣖⠒⠻⠤⠼⠒⠚⠛⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡊⠉⠑⠐⠒⠒⠀⠠⠤⠻⢿⣿⠟⢋⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⣤⡀⠟⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠦⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣧⣼⣿⢁⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⢏⣿⠏⠙⠛⠿⣿⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
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