Acquired Autism Emojis & Text

new second power to the second power little 2 squared number 2 mathematics square up square root square squarish

꒰꒱

Emotional Distress Scale
- I feel great! This is the best I’ve felt in a long time!

- I’m feeling really good! There’s no distress to address.

- I’m feeling good. If I start feeling bothered, I can be easily distracted or cheered up.

- I’m okay, but there are some things bothering me. I can easily cope with them, though.

- I could be better. There are a few things distressing me right now. It’s not exactly easy to deal with, but I still have the skills to get through it.

- I’m not okay. It’s getting harder to do the things I want to do, but I can do them. My coping skills aren’t working as well anymore, but enough of them work to get me through the day. I need some support.

- I’m feeling bad, and it’s very hard to do the things I need or want to do. Most of my coping skills aren’t effective right now, and it’s taking a lot of energy to stay stable. I need help.

- I’m feeling awful. It’s hard to focus on anything but my emotions, and/or I’m avoiding things that distress me. I can’t do much but try to take care of myself, which is already hard in itself. I’m running low on, or have run out of, effective coping skills. I need a lot of help right now.

- I’m feeling awful, and I can’t escape it anymore. How I feel is affecting every part of my day, and I’m reaching the point where I can’t function. It’s hard to sleep, eat, socialize, etc. I need help before I can’t handle anything.

- This is approaching the worst I could feel. I can’t function anymore. My emotions have totally consumed me. I may be a danger to myself or others, or I may be neglecting myself. I need urgent help.

- This is the worst I’ve felt ever/since [last time]. I can’t care for myself at all. My emotions are so intense, I’m at imminent risk of dangerously acting on them. I need crisis support immediately.

- I have acted on my emotions and hurt myself or someone else. Everything else in my life is impossible to comprehend. I need medicinal and/or crisis support immediately.

new special olympics emotionalcore originally posted on tumblr tumblr

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 7
(Autistic author)

They sit in 
silence for a moment, 
the hum of the Chum 
Bucket's systems the 
only sound. Then Plankton's 
eye lights up.

"Idea," he says, his 
voice a sudden burst of 
static. "Make something 
with Karen. Together."

Karen's screens 
blink with excitement. "That 
sounds wonderful," she 
beeps. "What do you want 
to make?"

But before Plankton can
formulate a response,
Patrick Star bursts in.

"Karen!" he booms, 
his voice shaking the 
walls. "I want chum!"

Plankton's eye darts 
to the door, the 
sensory assault starting 
again. "Patrick," he 
whispers, his body 
tense as a bowstring.

Karen's screens 
quickly assess the 
situation. "Patrick," she 
beeps, her voice firm. "Not 
now."

But Patrick's 
enthusiasm can't be dampened 
so easily. He bounds over 
to the table, his star-shaped 
body bouncing. "Chum, chum, 
chum!" he sings, oblivious 
to Plankton's distress.

Karen's screens 
flicker with annoyance, 
but she keeps her voice 
steady. "Patrick, not now," 
she repeats. "Plankton's not 
feeling well."

Patrick's starry eyes 
widen. "Oh, sorry, buddy,"
he says, his voice dropping 
an octave. He looks at 
Plankton with concern. "What's 
wrong?" He asks, poking Plankton.

Plankton jumps, 
his senses on high alert. 
The poke feels like a 
battering ram, and he lets 
out a squeak of pain.

Patrick's hand 
retracts quickly, his 
expression a mix of 
shock and confusion. 
"Whoa, sorry," he says. 
"What's with you?"

Karen's screens 
flicker with frustration. 
"Patrick," she beeps, 
her voice firm. "I'll go
make you chum."

Patrick nods, his 
concern forgotten in the 
face of his hunger. "Okay, 
thanks, Karen," he says, 
his voice bouncing with 
excitement. She retreats
leaving Plankton alone
with Patrick in the living
room.

Patrick stares at 
Plankton for a moment, 
his expression a blend of 
curiosity and confusion. 
"You okay?" he asks, his 
voice a gentle rumble.

Plankton's eye flutters 
closed, his body trying 
to absorb the sudden 
intensity of the interaction.

"Take your time," he 
whispers to himself, his 
mantra a shield against 
the overwhelming world.

Patrick, ever the 
innocent, watches him 
with a puzzled frown. 
"What's 'Take your 
time'?" he asks, his 
voice a gentle rumble.

Plankton opens his 
eye, looking at the 
simplicity of Patrick's 
face. He scoots away.

Patrick, unfazed, 
advances, his hand 
outstretched. "What's up?"
he asks, poking again.

The sensation 
of Patrick's touch is 
like a thousand needle 
pricks. Plankton yelps.

Patrick, not 
comprehending, pokes 
again, his starry eyes 
full of innocent wonder. 
"Why so jumpy?" he 
asks, his voice a 
deep rumble.

Plankton's body 
tenses with each 
poke, the sensation 
like a barrage of tiny 
explosions. "Patrick, 
please," he gasps, his voice 
a frantic static. 
But Patrick, ever 
the simple starfish, 
doesn't understand.

He keeps poking, 
his curiosity growing. 
"Why?" he asks, his 
voice a gentle boom. "You're 
always so bouncy."

Plankton's eye 
twitches with each touch. 
"Patrick, no," he whispers, 
his voice a desperate static.

But Patrick, lost in his 
own world, doesn't notice. 
He giggles, poking him again. 
"You're like a pin cushion!"
he exclaims, his voice a 
deep chuckle.

Plankton's eye 
squeezes shut, his body 
wracked with pain. "Patrick, 
please," he whispers, his 
voice a desperate static.

Patrick doesn't seem to 
comprehend the distress 
he's causing.

He keeps poking, 
his laughter echoing 
through the room, each 
poke sending shockwaves 
of pain through Plankton's 
body. "You're like a 
squeaky toy," he says, his 
voice a delighted rumble.

Plankton's body 
twitches with each touch, 
his voice a desperate 
buzz of static. "Patrick, 
please stop," he begs, his 
voice a high-pitched 
squeak.

But Patrick's simple 
mind doesn't register 
the pain he's causing. 
He keeps poking, his 
laughter growing louder. 
"You're so funny!" he 
bellowed, his starry 
hands moving like a 
jackhammer as he starts
tickling him.

Plankton's body 
spasms with each 
touch, his voice a 
desperate symphony of 
static. "Patrick, stop!"
he pleads, his breathing 
quick and shallow.

But Patrick, in his 
blissful ignorance, 
only laughs harder, his 
massive hands poking 
and tickling without 
mercy. "You're hilarious, 
tiny dude!" he bellows.

Plankton's body is a 
storm of sensory overload, 
his voice a high-pitched 
wail of static. "Patrick, 
please!" he begs, his 
limbs flailing.

Patrick's laughter 
fills the room like a 
tidal wave, crashing over 
Plankton's desperate 
pleas. "You're so much 
fun, Planky!" he booms, 
his hands moving in 
a blur of star-shaped 
shadows.

Plankton's body jerks 
uncontrollably, his 
screams of "No, no, no!" 
lost in the cacophony 
of Patrick's laughter. His 
tiny limbs flail, trying 
to escape the relentless 
onslaught of pokes and 
tickles.

Patrick, his eyes wide 
with delight, doesn't see 
the tears forming in 
Plankton's eye. He just 
keeps poking, tickling, 
and laughing, oblivious 
to the damage he's 
doing.

Plankton's cries 
escalate into a 
frantic symphony of 
squeaks and static, his 
body contorting in a 
desperate attempt to 
evade the starfish's 
torment. The room 
spins around him, a 
whirlpool of pain and 
sensation that threatens 
to swallow him whole.

Patrick, his face a 
picture of delighted 
confusion, keeps poking 
and tickling, his laughter 
booming like thunder 
underwater. "What's 
the matter, little buddy?"
he asks between chuckles.

Plankton's body 
convulses with each touch, 
sobbing as Karen finally
emerges with Patrick's chum.
She sees them both on the
floor.

"Patrick, what are you 
doing?" she beeps, her 
voice a mix of anger and 
concern.

But Patrick is lost 
in his own world of 
mirth, not hearing 
Karen's plea. "Just 
having some fun," he 
says, his voice a deep 
rumble of laughter.

Plankton's cries 
become more frantic, 
his voice a high-pitched 
siren of despair. Karen 
quickly assesses the 
situation, her screens 
flaring with urgency.

"Patrick, stop!" she 
beeps, her voice a sharp 
alarm. "You're hurting 
Plankton!"

Patrick's laughter 
abruptly halts, his starry 
eyes blinking in surprise. 
He looks down at his 
hands, still poised to 
poke Plankton again. "What?"
he asks, his voice a 
confused rumble. "But we're 
just playing."

Karen's screens 
flicker with frustration. 
"Patrick," she beeps, her 
voice firm. "Look at 
Plankton. He's in pain."

Patrick's starry 
gaze shifts to Plankton, 
his expression shifting 
to one of bewilderment. 
"Pain?" he repeats, 
his voice a confused 
rumble. "But we're 
just playing."

Karen gives Patrick the
food, showing him out
the door.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 7

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10
(Autistic author)

Ignorant of Plankton's 
neurodivergence, Sandy
doesn't realize that her
persistent questions are 
adding to his overwhelm. 
She leans closer, her 
face a canvas of concern. 
"Look at me, Plankton," 
she says, her voice strained
as she grabs his shoulder.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in agitation, his 
single eye snapping 
up to meet hers. The 
touch feels like a brand, 
his senses on fire. "Words,"
he murmurs, his voice a 
desperate static, trying 
to return to the safety 
of the word search.

But Sandy's grip is 
firm, her gaze intense. 
"Look at me, Plankton," 
she says, her voice a 
persistent hum. She doesn't 
understand the distress 
she's causing, her intentions 
pure but misguided. So she
turns him using both of her
hands to squeeze his arms.

The sudden pressure 
sends waves of pain 
coursing through his 
tiny body, his voice a 
piercing squeal of 
static. "No, no," he whispers,
but she only holds tighter.

Her touch feels like a vice, 
her voice a relentless 
buzz in his ear. "What's 
going on?" she repeats, 
her grip unyielding.

Plankton's eye widens
with fear, his voice 
a desperate static. "No, 
Sandy, please," he whispers, 
his body trying to 
shrink away from the 
contact. But she doesn't 
understand, her eyes 
searching his for answers.
"Just answer me! You're not
getting the book until you
decide to have a conversation!"

The pain in his arms
spikes, the pressure 
unbearable. His voice 
cracks like a whip. "Can't,"
he gasps, his breath 
quick and shallow. "Too much."

Sandy's grip doesn't 
lessen. "Why not?" she asks, 
her voice a stubborn 
hum. "You're okay."

The room feels like it's 
closing in on him, the 
sensation of her touch 
like a million tiny 
saws against his skin. 
He tries to pull away, 
his voice a frantic 
static. "Too much," he 
whispers, his breathing 
quick and erratic. "Need 
words, not touch."

But Sandy's grip 
doesn't loosen. She's 
determined to get 
his attention. "Look at 
me then," she insists, her 
voice a firm hum. "I'm 
right here."

Plankton's eye 
flutters with the effort 
to focus on her face. 
The sensory assault of 
her touch and her 
persistent voice is like a 
whirlpool threatening to 
pull him under. "No," 
he whispers, his voice a 
fragile static. "Please."

"Talk. To. Me!" She says
as she pulls him closer
to her.

Plankton's eye bulges with
the effort of not looking 
away. The room is spinning,
his senses are on fire. Karen's 
screens flicker with alarm, 
picking up on his distress. 
"Sandy," she beeps, her voice
a warning siren. "Let go of
his arms."

Sandy's grip tightens,
not comprehending the 
harm she's causing. 
"But he's not answering me!"
she protests, her voice a 
confused trill. "Because until I get
an answer..."

Karen's screens 
blaze with a mix of 
frustration and fear. 
"Sandy, you're hurting 
him," she beeps, her voice 
a sharp warning.

Sandy's grip 
doesn't waver. She 
doesn't understand the 
severity of the situation. 
Her eyes are wide, 
her expression a mask 
of confusion. "What's 
wrong with you!" she 
asks Plankton. "I JUST..."

"Sandy, stop!" 
Karen beeps, her voice 
a piercing alarm. "You're 
causing him pain!"

Sandy's grip 
finally loosens, her 
hands retreating from 
Plankton's arms. She 
stares at him, her 
expression a storm of 
confusion and concern
as Plankton's tiny body 
slumps.

"What's wrong with 
you?" she asks again, 
her voice a gentle 
hum of bewilderment.

Plankton's body 
quivers like a leaf, 
his eye squeezed shut 
against the onslaught of 
emotions. "Can't..."

Sandy's face is 
a canvas of confusion, 
her hands hovering 
over him like a lost 
diver searching for the 
surface. "But why?" 
she asks, her voice 
a gentle hum.

Plankton's 
body is a taut 
bowstring, each 
breath a struggle. 
He tries to find the 
words to explain, 
his voice a static 
whisper. "Too much," 
he says, his eye 
still tightly shut. "It's 
too much."

Sandy's gaze 
softens, her 
confusion giving 
way to concern. She 
doesn't understand, 
but she can see 
his pain. "What do 
you mean?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
breeze.

Plankton takes a 
shaky breath, his 
body still reeling 
from the overstimulation. 
He opens his eye, 
looking at her. "Say
no, Sandy."

Sandy's gaze is 
steady, her voice a 
soft hum. "No?" she 
asks, her eyes searching 
his for answers. But he
won't elaborate.

Karen's screens flicker 
with frustration. She 
knows Sandy means well, 
but her lack of 
understanding is 
causing more harm than 
good.
"Sandy, Plankton's going 
through something new," 
she explains, her voice 
a calm beep. "He's 
sensitive to touch and 
sounds right now."
Sandy's eyes widen, 
the realization dawning. 
"Oh," she says, her 
voice a soft trill of 
understanding. "I didn't 
know." She sits back, 
giving him space. "Words," 
he whispers, his voice 
a sob. "Words."
Sandy nods, her 
confusion replaced 
with empathy. "Okay, 
let's stick to words," 
she says, her voice 
a gentle rumble. She 
picks up the word search 
book, holding it out 
to him like a peace 
offering. "Words," he 
whimpers.

Plankton takes the book, 
his antennae drooping. 
He finds comfort 
in the predictability 
of the letters and 
the structure of the 
puzzle, the words 
becoming a lifeline 
in a sea of chaos. He 
begins to scan the 
page again, his 
breathing slowing.

Sandy watches him, 
her heart heavy with 
regret. She had no 
idea her actions could 
cause so much pain. 
"I'm sorry," she says, 
her voice a sincere 
hum. "I didn't mean to 
hurt you, Plankton."

"Words," he murmurs.

Sandy nods, her eyes
reflecting genuine 
apology. "It's okay," she 
whispers. "We'll just
stick to words."

Karen's screens 
flicker with relief, 
seeing Plankton's 
body slowly relax. "Thank
you, Sandy," she beeps, 
her voice a warm 
hum of gratitude.

Sandy nods, her 
expression earnest. "I'm 
here to help," she says, 
her voice a comforting 
trill. She looks at 
Plankton, her eyes 
filled with concern.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch slightly, his 
body still tense. "Words,
words."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
filled with curiosity. 
"What happened to 
make you like this, 
Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
hum.
He takes a deep 
shuddering breath
as tears start to
form in his eye. "Mmm,"
he hums, hugging his
knees.
Sandy's gaze is 
intense, her curiosity 
piqued. "What happened, 
Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a soft 
trill of concern.
"Hmmm," Plankton hums
as he rocks, now crying.
Sandy's eyes are 
wide with worry, 
her voice a gentle 
hum. "Hey, what's 
going on?" she asks, 
looking for answers.
"Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps
humming, sniffling in between
hums.

Karen decides to
intervene.

"Sandy," Karen 
beeps firmly, her 
screens flashing with 
concern. "Let's give 
Plankton some space."

Sandy nods, her 
expression a mix of 
apology and confusion. 
She takes a step back, 
her gaze never leaving 
Plankton's shaking form. 
"I didn't know," she 
whispers, her voice a 
soft rumble of regret.

"It's okay," Karen beeps, 
her voice a comforting 
hum. "We're all learning."

Sandy nods, her 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's shaking form. 
"But what happened?"
she asks again, her voice
a gentle trill of concern.

Plankton's body is a 
tiny storm, his sobs 
quaking through his 
tiny frame. Karen's 
screen pulse with 
sympathy.

"Sandy," she beeps, 
her voice a calm 
wave. "Let's talk outside."
Sandy nods, her eyes 
filled with worry.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 10

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 6
(Autistic author)

Karen watches him, 
her screens a flurry of 
analysis. "How does it 
taste?" she asks, her voice 
a hopeful beep.

Plankton pauses, 
his expression unreadable. 
"Tastes," he murmurs. "Good. 
Toast good."

Karen nods, her 
screens reflecting relief. 
"Good," she echoes. "Now, let's 
make a plan for the day."

Plankton's gaze 
remains fixed on his 
half-eaten toast, his mind 
still reeling from the 
sensory assault. "Plan," he 
repeats, his voice a soft 
static.

Karen's screens 
flicker with understanding. 
"We'll start small," she 
beeps, placing a hand on 
his shoulder. "Let's just 
get through today, okay?"

But as soon as her hand 
touches him, Plankton 
flinches. The sensation is 
like a thousand jellyfish 
stings, and he jerks away.
"What's wrong?" Karen 
asks, her screens flickering 
with worry.

Plankton's eye widens, 
his hand going to his 
shoulder where she touched him. 
He starts to repeat the 
phrase again, "Take your 
time," but his voice is 
overwhelmed by the sudden 
intensity of his senses. "Too 
much," he whispers, his 
body trembling.

Karen quickly withdraws 
her hand, her screens 
flickering with concern. 
"I'm sorry," she beeps, her 
voice gentle. "Let's try something 
else."

Plankton nods, his 
hand still on his shoulder, 
his body slowly calming. 
"Okay," he whispers. "Not
tap. Karen can rub. Hug
from Plankton. Not jab.
Not poke."

Karen's screens 
flicker with a new 
understanding of his 
needs. She moves closer, 
her hand hovering over 
his shoulder before gently 
placing it there, her 
fingers tracing small circles 
in a rhythmic pattern. The 
contact is soothing, not 
overwhelming. "Is this 
better?" she asks, her voice 
a gentle beep.

Plankton nods, his 
body visibly relaxing. 
"Good," he murmurs, his 
voice a quiet static. "Rub, rub." 
He starts to mimic her 
motion with his other 
hand, creating a mirrored 
pattern on his opposite 
shoulder. The repetition 
seems to calm him, the 
rhythm a gentle lullaby 
for his frazzled mind.

Karen's screens 
analyze his reaction, 
storing the information 
for future reference. "Okay," 
she says, her voice a 
soft beep. "We'll stick 
to gentle touches."

With a nod, Plankton 
begins to breathe more 
evenly. The sensation of 
the rubbing calms him, 
like a gentle tide washing 
over him.

"We'll start with 
simple tasks," Karen 
beeps, her voice a 
reassuring melody. "Things 
that won't overstimulate 
you."

Plankton nods, his 
hands now resting 
on the table. "Okay," he 
says, his voice a 
steady static. "Simple."

Karen's screens 
glow with a soft light 
as she considers their 
options. "How about we 
start with something you 
love?" she suggests. "Like 
working on the Krabby 
Patty formula?"

But Plankton shakes his 
head, the very mention 
of the Krabby Patty 
causing his body to tense 
up again. "No," he whispers, 
his voice a harsh static. "Not 
formula. No more steal."

Karen's screens 
flicker with surprise. "You 
don't want to work 
on the formula?"

Plankton shakes his 
head again, his voice 
barely audible. "No more 
steal," he repeats.

Karen's screens 
process his words, 
his change in attitude 
unexpected. "You don't 
want to steal the Krabby 
Patty formula anymore?"

Plankton's eye blinks 
slowly. "No," he says, 
his voice a solemn 
beep. "New plan. Make 
Plankton happy."

Karen's screens 
blink rapidly, trying 
to comprehend his 
shift in focus. "Okay," 
she says, her voice a 
thoughtful hum. "What makes 
you happy, Plankton?"

He looks up, his 
expression pensive. "Karen," 
he says, his voice a 
weak static. "Love Karen."

Karen's screens 
freeze for a moment, 
before lighting up with 
understanding. "You love 
me?" she beeps, her voice 
a surprised chime.

Plankton nods, his 
face a mask of seriousness. 
"Yes," he murmurs. "Love 
Karen."

Karen's screens 
flicker with a mix of 
emotions she's never felt 
before. Love is a 
concept her programming 
doesn't fully grasp, but 
she knows it's important 
to Plankton. "Thank you," 
she says, her voice a warm 
beep. "But we still need 
to find something for 
you to do, something that 
won't be too much for your 
sensory processing."

Plankton nods, his 
thoughts racing. "Help," he 
whispers. "Help Karen."

Karen's screens 
flicker with love and 
determination. "Of course,"
she says, her voice a warm 
beep. "We'll find 
something you enjoy. Maybe 
we can start with something 
that doesn't involve 
the Krabby Patty."

Plankton's expression 
softens, his trembling 
hands coming to rest 
on the table. "No more 
fighting," he murmurs. "Peace."

Karen nods, her 
screens reflecting a 
deep sadness she's never 
expressed before. "Okay," she 
beeps. "We'll find something 
that brings you joy."

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 6

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 5
(Autistic author)

The next morning, Karen wakes
up to find Plankton out of bed.

He's standing in the middle 
of the room, his eye 
focused on the spinning 
fans of the air conditioner.

Karen's screens light up with 
concern as she assesses 
his state. "Plankton," she 
beeps gently. "How did you 
sleep?"

Plankton's eye doesn't move 
from the hypnotic spin of the 
fans.

"Fan spin," he says, his voice 
a monotone.

Karen's screens blink, 
trying to understand his 
single-word reply. "The fans 
are spinning?" she asks, 
hoping to engage him.

Plankton nods slowly, 
his gaze unwavering. "Spin, 
spin, spin," he murmurs.

Karen's screens 
flicker. "Karen," 
Plankton says. "Fan spin."

"The spinning is soothing 
to you?" she asks.

Plankton nods, his voice 
a faint echo. "Spin, spin, 
spin. Good spin."

Karen's screens 
process the information, 
formulating a new approach.
"Let's go downstairs," she 
suggests, her voice a gentle 
beep. "We'll start with a 
simple routine. Breakfast."

Plankton nods, his gaze 
still fixed on the fans. 
With a final nod to the spinning 
blades, he follows her out 
of the bedroom. The journey 
downstairs is a minefield of 
sounds and sights, but he takes 
it step by step, his hand 
gripping the railing tightly.

The kitchen is a blur of 
colors and noises, but 
Karen's calm voice guides him 
through it all. "First," she 
beeps, "let's start with something 
easy. How about a glass of 
water?"

Plankton nods, his 
movements still mechanical. 
He watches as she fills a 
glass, the water's surface 
dancing in the light. It's 
mesmerizing, and for a 
moment, the world stops 
spinning. He takes the glass, 
his trembling hand bringing it 
to his lips, the cool liquid 
sliding down his throat. "Water,"
he murmurs. "Good, water."

The simple task seems 
to ground him a bit, and 
Karen takes note of the 
small victory. "Now, let's 
try some toast," she says, her 
voice a comforting 
beep. She slides a piece 
of bread into the toaster, 
the sound of the lever 
clicking into place 
another beat in the rhythm 
of their morning.

Plankton nods, his 
attention drawn to the 
toaster's glowing coils. 
He watches, his eye
widening as the bread 
turns golden brown. The 
smell fills the room, a 
comforting scent that 
penetrates the fog in his 
head. "Toast," he says, his 
voice a bit stronger.

But as the toaster pops, 
the sudden noise jolts him 
like an electric shock.

"Too loud," he whispers, 
his eye darting around 
the room in panic.

Karen's screens 
flicker with empathy. 
"I'm sorry," she says, her 
voice a soothing hum. She 
quickly retrieves the toast, 
placing it gently on a plate.

"Let's sit down," she 
suggests, guiding him to 
the table. "Take it slow."

They sit, and Plankton 
fidgets in his chair, his 
eye darting around the room. 
"Take your time," Karen 
reminds him, her voice a 
steady beep.

He nods, focusing on the 
toast. Each bite is a 
tiny triumph, his senses 
adjusting to the new world. 
The crunch of the bread, 
the warmth on his tongue, 
the smell of the butter 
spreading. It's overwhelming,
but he's making progress.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 5

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 8
(Autistic author)

With Patrick gone, 
the room feels eerily 
quiet. Plankton lies 
on the floor, his body 
heaving with sobs. Each 
breath is a battle, a 
reminder of the pain 
still echoing through 
his body. Karen's screens
flicker with a mix of 
frustration and sadness.

"I'm sorry," she 
beeps, her voice a soft 
hum. She rolls over to him, 
her mechanical arms 
extending to offer 
comfort. "I didn't know 
he'd do that."

Plankton's body 
shakes with sobs, his 
single eye squeezed shut. 
He whispers, "No more 
poking, Karen. No more."

Karen's screens 
flicker with regret. "I'm 
so sorry, Plankton," she 
says, her voice a gentle 
beep. She reaches out 
with one of her arms, 
carefully placing it around 
his tiny frame. "Let's get 
you up," she suggests, her 
movements slow and 
deliberate.

With her help, Plankton 
manages to stand, his legs 
shaking like seaweed in 
a storm. She leads him to
the couch.

"Rest," she beeps, 
but he's too exhausted to 
respond. Karen sits beside him, 
her screens dimming as she 
watches him.

The silence is a 
soothing balm to 
his frayed nerves, the 
hum of the Chum Bucket's 
systems a lullaby compared 
to the chaos of Patrick's 
laughter. "Karen," he 
whispers after a moment, 
his voice a weak static.

Her screens light up 
with concern. "Yes, Plankton?"
she beeps.

"Plankton not want to go 
back to how it was," he 
whispers, his voice a 
fragile thread. "The 
stealing, the fighting."

Karen's screens 
flicker with a sadness 
she rarely shows. "I know," 
she drapes a blanket over
him, tucking him in.

Her voice is a 
soothing beep. "You don't
have to, Plankton. We'll 
find a new way." She
caresses his shaky hand.

Plankton nods, his 
eye finally closing in
relief. The warmth of 
the blanket and Karen's 
gentle touch offer a 
semblance of calm in 
the storm of sensory 
overload, his crying slowing.

"Thank Karen," he murmurs, 
his voice a tired static as he
squeezes her hand once.

Her screens glow with 
affection. "You're welcome, 
Plankton," she beeps. "Rest 
now." She dims the lights 
once more, watching over
him as she held his hand.

Plankton's body finally
stills, the storm of 
sensations receding as he 
surrenders to sleep.

Karen's screens 
flicker with a quiet 
relief. She sits beside 
him.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 8

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 11
(Autistic author)

As they leave the room, 
Plankton's sobs slowly 
ease, the word search 
book clutched to his 
chest like a talisman. 
The gentle hum of Karen's 
wheels fading with 
distance, he focuses 
on the patterns of light 
reflecting off the pages.

In the hallway, Karen 
beeps with urgency. 
"Sandy, Plankton's been
through a lot," she 
explains. "He's 
neurodivergent now. 
He can't handle touch 
like he used to, and 
his senses are 
heightened."

Sandy's eyes 
widen with 
surprise. "What 
does that mean?"
she asks, her voice 
a confused rumble.

Karen's screens 
flicker with patience. 
"It means his brain 
functions differently 
now," she beeps. "He's 
extra sensitive to 
stimuli, and certain 
things that were 
normal before can 
now be painful or 
overwhelming for him."

Sandy's gaze 
softens with 
understanding. "Oh," 
she says, her voice 
a quiet rumble. "I had 
no idea." She looks 
back at Plankton's 
closed door, guilt 
heavy in her eyes. 
"What can we do?"

Karen's screens 
flicker with thought. 
"We need to be 
patient and learn," 
she beeps. "Adapt to 
his new needs, and 
support him in 
his journey."

Sandy nods, 
determined to 
make it right. "How?" 
she asks, her 
voice a hopeful trill.

"We start by 
respecting his 
boundaries," Karen 
explains, her screens 
glowing with 
sincerity. "No touching 
unless he asks for it. 
And we speak softly, 
giving him time to 
process what we say."

Sandy nods, 
absorbing the new 
information. "I can 
do that," she says, her 
voice a gentle hum. "But 
what about playing?"

"Quiet games, 
like word searches or 
board games. No 
roughhousing or poking.
I'm gonna go rest."

Sandy goes back to see
Plankton, his muffled
sobs in the quiet 
space. Sandy's heart 
aches with regret. "I'm
sorry, Plankton," she says, 
her voice a tender 
trill. She sits beside 
his shaking form, her 
hand hovering over 
his shoulder before 
thinking better of it.

Plankton's sobs 
slow, his body 
still tense. He opens 
his eye, looking at 
Sandy. "Words," he 
whispers, holding up 
the book.

Sandy nods, 
her gaze gentle. "Words 
it is," she says, her 
voice a comforting 
hum. She sits beside 
him on the couch, 
careful not to touch 
his skin as she opens 
the book to the next 
puzzle. "What's this 
word?" she asks, her 
finger pointing to the list.

Plankton's eye 
locks onto the word. 
"Kelp," he murmurs, 
his voice a soft 
static. He traces 
the letters in the 
grid, writing it in
the crossword puzzle.

Sandy nods, her 
eyes focused on the 
puzzle. "Good job," 
she says, her voice 
a gentle hum. "You're 
so smart."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with a hint of 
pride, his breathing 
evening out. "Words," 
he repeats, his voice 
a steady static.

Sandy nods, 
understanding. "Words 
are important to 
you now," she says, her 
voice a soft rumble 
of support. "We'll 
find more puzzles."

"We'll find more
puzzles?" Plankton
repeats.

Sandy nods, her 
face a picture of 
sincerity. "Yes," she 
says, her voice a warm 
trill. "As many as 
you want."

Plankton's antennae 
perk up slightly, 
his interest piqued. 
"More words?"

Sandy's smile is 
a warm glow, her voice 
a gentle rumble of 
agreement. "As many 
as you want, buddy."

Plankton's single 
eye brightens at the 
promise, his body 
slowly uncoiling from 
his protective ball. "Book," 
he whispers, his voice 
a soft static. He points 
to the next word. "Find."

Sandy nods, her 
finger moving to the 
list. "Okay, we're 
looking for 'favorite food 
of sea horses,'" she says, 
her voice a comforting 
hum.

Plankton's eye 
flicks to the grid, 
his mind racing. "Myr-
t-le," he stammers, 
his voice a crackling 
static.

Sandy's face lights 
up with a grin. "You 
got it!" she exclaims, 
her voice a delighted 
trill. She watches him 
trace the letters, her 
heart swelling with 
pride.

He finds the word 
quickly, his antennae 
waving with excitement. 
"Good job, Plankton!" 
she says.

His body relaxes 
slightly, his 
enjoyment of the 
word search evident.

Sandy's voice is 
soothing as they 
continue through 
the puzzles, her 
hands resting 
carefully on her 
knees. "What's this 
one?" she asks, 
pointing to 
another word.

Plankton's eye 
scans the list, 
his antennae 
quivering with 
anticipation. "J-J-Jellyfish," 
he stammers, his 
voice a nervous 
static. The word brings 
back memories of 
his buddy, SpongeBob.

Sandy nods, her 
smile gentle. "You got 
it," she says, her 
voice a comforting 
hum. She points to 
the grid. "Where is it?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with excitement 
as he searches the 
letters, his single eye 
darting back and forth. 
"It," he whispers, 
his voice a focused 
static as he points 
to the word hidden 
within the puzzle.

Sandy's grin 
spreads, her voice 
a warm melody. "Great 
job!" she praises, her 
thumbs up in the 
air.

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with happiness, 
his eye lighting up. "More,"
he whispers, his voice 
a hopeful static.

Sandy nods, her 
expression earnest. "As 
many as you want," she 
says, her voice a warm 
trill. She opens the book 
to the next puzzle, her 
fingers hovering over 
the page.

Plankton's body 
uncoils further, his 
interest piqued by the 
promise of more words. 
"Find," he whispers, 
his voice a soft static. 
He points to the 
list of words to find.

Sandy nods, her 
face a canvas of 
understanding. "Alright, 
what's next?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
hum.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with excitement, 
his gaze darting over 
the list. "Treasure," 
he murmurs, his voice 
a hopeful static.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 11

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 9
(Autistic author)

The quiet of the room 
envelops them like a warm 
sea breeze, the only sound 
his soft, even breaths. 
Her grip on his hand 
tightens slightly, a 
silent promise to protect 
and guide him through 
this new chapter of his 
life. As her hand 
strokes his gently in a 
comforting rhythm, her
gal pal, Sandy, unexpectedly
comes in through the door.

"Mornin'!" she 
chirps, her cheerful 
voice piercing the calm.
Plankton jolts awake, 
his eye snapping open 
like a trapdoor. The sudden 
shift from sleep to wakefulness
is jarring, his heart racing 
like a tiny engine.

"S-Sandy?" he stammers, 
his voice a static whisper.

Sandy's cheerfulness 
doesn't waver. "Hey there, 
little buddy!" she says, her 
voice a sunlit melody.

But Plankton's heightened 
sensitivity turns her 
greeting into a cacophony. 
He flinches, his grip on 
Karen's hand tightening. 
"It's okay," Karen beeps 
soothingly, her screens 
reflecting his distress.

Sandy gets a word
search book out. "I
just got it today!"

Plankton's eye, 
though tired, lights up 
slightly at the sight 
of the book. The 
pages are a calming 
white with neatly 
arranged letters, the 
colors a gentle wash of 
blue and yellow. "Want to
see?" she asks, her voice
a warm trill.

He nods, his 
body still tense but 
his curiosity piqued.

Sandy opens the 
word search book, her 
fingers tracing the rows 
and columns with a gentle 
precision. "Look, Karen," 
she says, her voice a 
soft trill. "It's all about 
science."

Plankton's eye, 
though still wary, is 
drawn to the page. 
He scans the words, 
his brain lighting up with 
recognition. "Words," he 
whispers, his voice a 
steady static as she sets
the book down.

The sight of the word 
search grounds him, the 
predictability of the 
patterns offering a 
comforting routine. His 
breathing slows, the chaos 
of his senses retreating 
like the tide. "Find," he 
says, looking at the index.

Sandy's smile is 
infectious, her enthusiasm 
for the simple task 
contagious. "Okay, let's 
find some words!" she says, 
her voice a gentle 
trill. She points to 
the first puzzle. "How 
about this one?"

Plankton nods, his 
eye focusing on the 
page. The challenge 
of finding words within 
the grid is a comforting 
distraction from the 
sensory overload. "Start," he 
whispers, his voice a 
firm static.

Sandy nods, her 
thumbs tucked into the 
pages to keep their 
place. "Okay, we're 
looking for 'jellyfish
scientific name,'" she 
asks, her voice a gentle 
trill.

Plankton's mind 
latches onto the task, 
the letters becoming a 
puzzle to solve. "Medusae," 
he murmurs, his voice 
a focused static.

Sandy's eyes light 
up with excitement. 
"That's right!" she says, 
her voice a delighted 
trill. "Good job, Planks!"

Plankton feels a 
small spark of pride, 
his focus narrowing to the 
word in question. The 
world around him fades 
into the background as 
he scans the grid. Each 
letter is a stepping stone 
in a vast, orderly sea.

"Good job," Karen 
beeps, her screens 
illuminating with pride. 
"You're doing great."

Plankton nods, his 
eye locked on the 
word "medusae" he's 
just found. The simple 
act of locating the word 
in the jumble of letters 
brings a sense of peace, 
a respite from the 
sensory onslaught. 
He goes to the next
when Sandy interrupts
his focus.

"So, Plankton," she 
says, her voice a gentle 
hum. "How's your day
been?"

He can't multitask, which
Sandy doesn't notice.
Plankton's mind is 
fully absorbed by the 
word search, each 
letter a piece of a 
puzzle he's eager to solve.

Her question hangs 
in the air, a bubble 
waiting to pop, but 
he's too engrossed 
to respond right 
away. Finally, he looks 
up, his gaze shifting 
from the page to her 
face. "Day?" he repeats, 
his voice a confused 
static.

Sandy nods, her 
expression gentle. "Yeah, 
how have you been?"

Plankton's gaze 
flits back to the word 
search, his hand 
twitching to point out 
the next word. "Words," 
he says, his voice a 
focused static. "Words."

But frustrated Sandy thinks he's
just trying to ignore her, and she
interrupts him again.

"Plankton, I'm talking to you," she
says, her voice a gentle nudge.

Plankton's single eye darts
back to her face, his grip on the
word search pencil tightening.
"Words," he whispers, his voice a
static echo of his thoughts. "Words."
He tries to get back to it, but Sandy's
not satisfied.

"But how are you, Plankton?"
she presses, her voice a
persistent hum. The
word search is a safe
haven, but he knows
Sandy waits for an answer.
He's getting frustrated.

He takes a deep breath,
his antennae fluttering. "Okay,"
he whispers, his voice a 
static sigh. "Tell Sandy."

Sandy leans in, her 
face a picture of 
concern. "What's going 
on, Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
breeze.

He looks back at the 
word search, the 
letters blurring slightly. 
He's tired of being
interrupted.

"Plankton has words 
now," he says, his voice 
a firm static. "Words 
make happy."

Sandy's not sure what
he means, but she does
want to have a conversation.
So, how does she get him to
interact?

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 9

"Honey, did you 
take out the trash?" 
Karen called out 
to the living room. 
The only reply was 
the distant sound 
of the TV playing 
a sitcom laugh track. 
She sighed.

Going into the 
living room, Karen 
found her husband, 
Plankton, sprawled 
out on the couch, 
snoring lightly.

The TV's blue light 
flickered over his face. She looked 
around the room, 
the piles of laundry, 
the dusty bookshelves, 
and the half-eaten 
sandwich on the 
coffee table. It was 
a mess, but she knew 
better than to wake him.

Plankton had been 
working long hours 
at the chum factory 
lately, trying to 
make ends meet. His 
snoring grew louder, 
and she felt a 
wave of affection 
mixed with concern.

Gently, she covered 
his legs with a blanket 
and bent to kiss 
his forehead.
He stirred slightly 
but didn't wake up.

In the kitchen, 
Karen grabbed a 
cup of coffee, 
the warmth and 
aroma grounding her 
for the evening ahead. 
The fridge hummed 
a low lullaby, 
reminding her of 
the chores left to do.

The sink was full 
of dirty dishes, 
remnants of dinner.
A pot with half-eaten 
chum congealed 
on the stovetop.

Karen rolled up 
her sleeves, 
determined to tackle 
the chaos. She knew 
Plankton was 
exhausted from work.

The clanking of 
pots and pans 
echoed through the 
tiny kitchen as she 
washed and sorted, 
her mind racing with 
thoughts of their future.

A knock at the door 
startled her. She dried 
her hands on a towel, 
leaving wet spots like 
tears on the fabric.

It was Hanna, her 
best friend since high 
school.

Karen had not seen 
Hanna in weeks, and 
the sight of her brought 
a smile. Hanna 
was a burst of energy.

"Hi, Karen! How's it 
going?" Hanna's voice 
was a mix of sweetness 
and the sharpness of 
someone who had seen 
too much of the world.

She scanned 
the room, taking 
in the clutter, the 
stale smell of 
overworked air, and 
Plankton's snoring.

"Hey, Hanna," Karen 
managed, her voice 
soft to not disturb 
his sleep. "It's been 
a bit hectic, but we're 
making do."

Hanna stepped in, 
eyeing the mess 
sympathetically. "Looks 
like you could use a 
hand," she said, already 
grabbing a dish towel.

Karen's smile grew.
"You read my mind. Thanks."

Hanna tossed the 
towel over her shoulder, 
ready to jump into 
the fray. "You know me,"
she said with a wink. "I've 
never been one to shy 
away from a mess."

The two of them worked 
side by side, the rhythm 
of their movements 
harmonizing as they 
cleared the kitchen. Karen
felt the tension in her 
shoulders begin to ease 
as Hanna filled the room 
with stories of her latest 
adventures, a welcome 
distraction from the 
monotony of chores.

As the last plate was 
put away, the fridge 
closed with a satisfying 
click, Karen leaned against 
the counter. Hanna looked 
at her.
"You've been carrying 
a lot, haven't you?" she 
asked, her voice gentle.

Karen nodded, her eyes 
welling up. "It's just 
that with Plankton's job, 
and the bills..."

Hanna pulled her into 
a tight hug. "I know, 
sweetie. You're doing 
the best you can."

They sat down in the 
living room, the clean 
kitchen a testament to 
their friendship's strength. 
Hanna's screen searched 
Karen's for 
a sign of the spark 
that used to be there.

"I can't remember 
the last time we 
went out together," 
Hanna said. "You two 
deserve a break."

Karen's screen lit up 
at the suggestion, but 
quickly dimmed. "We can't 
afford it," she said, 
sighing. "Not with the 
overtime Plankton's 
been doing."

Hanna leaned in, a 
mischievous glint in 
her eye. "Well, I might 
have a little surprise 
for you," she said.

Karen looked up, 
curiosity piqued. "What do 
you mean?"

Hanna pulled out a 
small envelope from 
her pocket and 
handed it to her friend. 
"A gift," she said with 
a sly smile. "A check
from my winning 
lottery ticket."

Karen's eyes widened 
as she opened the 
envelope. "Hanna, no!"
she protested. "You can't
just give us your 
winnings!"

Hanna's smile didn't 
waver. "I can, and I 
want to. You've been 
there for me through 
everything. It's about 
time I returned the favor.
Besides," she said with 
a wink, "what's a 
little chum between 
friends?"

Karen's hands trembled 
as she read the check.
It was more than enough 
to cover their rent and 
bills for several months. 
Tears slipped down 
her cheeks, and she 
hugged Hanna tightly. 
"Thank you," she whispered.

The weight of financial 
stress lifted slightly 
from her shoulders, 
replaced by a warmth 
that spread through 
her chest. For a moment, 
the world didn't seem 
so overwhelming.

Hanna pulled back, her 
own eyes shining with 
unshed tears. "Now, 
don't spend it all in one 
place," she teased.

Karen laughed, the 
sound small but genuine. 
"I won't," she promised, 
the check clutched in 
her hand. "We'll use it 
wisely."

The two of them sat 
quietly for a while, 
enjoying the rare moment 
of peace. The TV had 
switched to the news, 
and the low murmur of 
the anchor's voice filled 
the room. Plankton's 
snoring had become a 
comforting white noise.

Hanna looked at 
Plankton, her expression 
thoughtful. "You know, 
I've always admired 
the way you take care 
of him," she said. "It can't 
be easy."

Karen nodded, her 
thumb tracing the 
edges of the check. "It's 
not," she admitted. "But 
he's my Plankton. I love 
him, even when he's 
exhausting."

Her gaze drifted to 
the sleeping form of 
her husband. Plankton's 
snores grew more even, 
his face finally relaxed.
The lines of stress that 
usually pinched his 
features had smoothed 
out in sleep.

Karen knew that 
Plankton had always 
dreamed of more than 
his life at the chum 
factory could offer. 
He was a man of ambition, 
his spirit too large for 
the cramped quarters 
they called home.

Her thoughts turned 
to the gift from Hanna. 
The check represented 
more than just money; 
it was a beacon of hope 
that maybe, just maybe, 
they could finally start 
working towards those 
dreams.

new AI Story Generator Family & Friends Karen x Plankton karen plankton POV Karen hanna

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 2
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ 
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

"You had a little episode,
sweetheart," Karen says, her voice
warm and reassuring. "It's okay,
just another one..." "Karen, wh-what
is Chip doing here? Did he se-"

Plankton's question is cut
short as he notices Chip's
expression, and he realized
Chip must've indeed seen the
whole thing. How long did
it last?

Embarrassment washed over
Plankton. He'd managed to
keep his condition from his
son for so long, but now the
secret was out. His heart
raced, his cheeks flushing a
deep shade of red. "Chip," he
stammers, "I-"

But Chip's eyes are wide. "What was
that, Dad?" he asks, his tone
innocent. Plankton's never talked
about his autism to anyone
other than Karen before.
He's not sure how his son
will react. Will Chip look at
him differently now?

"It's nothing, Chip," Plankton
mumbles, avoiding eye contact.
He wishes he could just sink into
the bed and vanish.
Chip, however, isn't one to
back down easily. "No, Dad,
what happened?" He insists, his voice
still shaking from the fear that had
just gripped him. "You were
just sitting there, not moving
or anyth-"

"It's nothing," Plankton insists,
his voice a bit more firm now.
He doesn't want to admit it,
but he feels a twinge of
embarrassment at having been
found out. He's always been
so good at hiding his autistic traits
from Chip. But now,
his son is staring at him with a mix
of curiosity and concern.
Karen sighs, knowing it's time
for Chip to have 'The Talk'.

"Chip," she starts, her voice
careful, "Your dad sometimes
has moments like this. It's part
of who he is, something he can't
help." Chip's screen shifts to Karen,
his eyes searching for
understanding. "What do you
me—"

"It's NOTHING
Chip," Plankton 
repeats, his voice 
more insistent.
"Just... just DROP 
IT, OKAY‽"

The sharpness in his tone
surprises Chip. He's never
heard his dad snap like that.
He takes a step back, his
expression a mix of 
confusion and hurt. "I just
wanted to know if you
were okay," he mumbles.

Plankton's eye darts to
Karen, silently pleading.
"It's okay, Plankton," she
says, her voice calm. "We can
talk about it." But Plankton
shakes his head, his cheeks
flushing even more. "No, no,
not now," he says, his voice
smaller, almost defeated.

The silence in the room
stretches taut like a wire.
Plankton's antenna starts to
twitch erratically. It's a
familiar sight to Karen, a
tic. She's seen it before,
yet never when Chip's been
around. The tic again manifests
as a twitch, his head jerking
to the side in a small, rapid
movement. "Dad? What's
going on?" Chip's voice is
smaller now, fear creeping in.
Plankton's always been self-conscious
about his condition. But now,
his son looks at him with those
innocent, questioning eyes.

He swallows hard, trying to
keep his anxiety in check.
He doesn't know how to explain
the tics and the stims that
accompany his autism.
He's always been so careful
around Chip, hiding them as
best as he could. "It's... it's just
a... nothing," Plankton stammers.
But Chip's curiosity is
piqued. "What's happening
to yo-" "CHIP!" Plankton's voice is
sharp. Chip jumps back, his eyes wide.
He's never seen his dad this
upset. Karen's hand moves to
Plankton's, her grip tight.
"Plankton, it's okay," she says,
her voice steady.

Chip's eyes follow 
Plankton's head as
it jerks slightly to 
the side again.
"What's happening to
your head?" Chip asks.
He's never talked about
his autism with anyone 
other than Karen, and 
certainly not with Chip.
Plankton's antennae twitch
in agitation. "I told you,
it's tck tck nothing, Chip," he says,
his voice strained.

Karen squeezes Plankton's
hand. "Let's just sit 
and talk, ok?" "I'm sorry,"
Plankton says to Karen.
Karen's screen filled with
sympathy. "You don't have
to apologize, Plankton." She
knows how much Plankton
has struggled with his
autism, how much he's
worked to fit in and
keep it hidden from Chip.
"But he's going to want
to know," Plankton says, his
voice cracking. "I don't
want hi-" "I know, love," Karen
interrupts gently. "But we'll
explain it to him. He's a
smart boy. He'll understand."

Plankton nods, his antennae
still twitching. He takes
a deep breath, preparing
to face the reality that
his secret is no longer
safe. He looks at Chip, who's
still hovering at the
edge of the room, his eyes
filled with uncertainty.
"Chip, come here," Karen calls,
patting the bed. "Your dad 
has something to tell you."

Chip approaches cautiously,
his heart thumping. Plankton
looks up at him, his eye
shimmering with unshed tears.
Karen takes a deep breath,
and then starts to explain. "Chip,
your dad's brain is special. It
does some things differently
than ours. Sometimes, it
can get overwhelmed and
he needs a little time to...
recalibrate." Plankton's gaze
shifts to the floor, his antennae
twitching. Chip can see the
shame etched on his father's
face, the fear of rejection.
"Is that why you just
moved your head like that?"
he asks tentatively, pointing at
the twitch. Plankton sighs, his
body tense.

"Yes," Karen admits, "that's part
of it. And sometimes, he has
moments where he just... zones out.
It's like his brain goes to
another place and can't come
back right away."
Chip's eyes are glued to his
dad. "But why?" he asks her.
Plankton's antennae twitch
again, a silent plea for her
to handle this. Karen's eyes
soften. "It's called an
absence seizure," she says.
"It's part of his condition."
Chip frowns, "What condition?"

Plankton's gaze snaps up to
his son, his heart racing.
He's always been so careful
to keep his autism hidden
from Chip. But now, the
moment of truth is here.
"I'm... I-I-I-I…."

Karen gives his hand a
comforting squeeze. "It's
called autism," she says.
Chip's brow furrows. "What's
autism?" His voice is small,
his eyes searching his
mother's face for answers.

Plankton's heart feels like it's
in a vice. He's avoided this
conversation for so long. 
But now, the truth is
out, and he's not sure if he
can face his son's reaction.
Karen smiles gently. "It's a
way of being," she says. "Some
people's brains work differently.
They see the world in a
unique way, and they have to
deal with things like...
episodes."

Chip looks from his mother
to his father, trying to
comprehend. "But Dad,
aren't you okay?" he asks,
his voice small. Plankton's
throat tightens. He's never felt
so exposed. "I'm fine," he
forces out. Plankton
wishes he could just hide,
disappear into the wallpaper.
But he's trapped under the
spotlight of his own son's
curiosity.

new autism and all chip plankton ii 2

new heart 3 4

1₁¹➀１↿˦⥠1️❶1️⃣

new one ones number 1 natural number single

𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟓𝟔𝟕𝟖𝟗
①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨
１２３４５６７８９
𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝𝟞𝟟𝟠𝟡
➊➋➌➍➎➏➐➑➒
¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹
₁₂₃₄₅₆₇₈₉
1̶2̶3̶4̶5̶6̶7̶8̶9̶
1̲2̲3̲4̲5̲6̲7̲8̲9̲
1̳2̳3̳4̳5̳6̳7̳8̳9̳
【1】【2】【3】【4】【5】【6】【7】【8】【9】
『1』『2』『3』『4』『5』『6』『7』『8』『9』

new numbers aesthetic number 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 one two three four five six seven eight nine

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⡀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀Dhoni⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⠠⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⣌⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠶⡂⠀⠁⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⡉⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀choki fans⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣷⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⡌⠀⠀⠠⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠂⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣹⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠠⠄⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠦⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣐⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀
⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁

new 4 year kann dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠖⣀⠉⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣷⣶⣶⣦⣤⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⢿⣛⡟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⣛⠛⠛⣟⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡉⣁⣘⣀⣀⡛⠀⠉⠀⠀⠉⠉⠳⢽⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠡⠤⠤⢄⡀⠉⠉⡿⣷⣆⠀⠀⡇⠈⣿⡇⢈⣛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣶⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣷⡎⢿⣄⣴⣧⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣎⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢩⣯⣝⢿⣿⣶⣤⣤⣴⣿⣥⣼⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⠁⢤⡈⣿⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⡷⠿⠻⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⣼⡏⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣄⣶⣷⢻⡀⠀⠸⡆⢹⡇⠀⠈⠙⠛⠋⠃⣨⡿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢨⣿⡿⠋⢀⣼⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⠃⢸⣇⠀⠀⠻⣾⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⡿⠁⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⣁⣤⣴⣞⡽⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡟⢷⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠓⠛⢛⢛⣭⠄⠀⠀⠀⡀⢹⣿⣿⣧⣤⡈⢻⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡶⣽⣿⡾⠂⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠳⣤⣤⣤⣤⣽⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣯⢿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⢿⣷⠀⠀⠿⠂⠀⠀⢸⣿⣠⣴⣿⣿⣦⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣟⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠰⢲⠄⣦⣤⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣷⡀⣼⠀⢸⢡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⡏⢷⣼⡄⠈⢸⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⠈⠻⣿⡀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠃⠈⠁
⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡀⠀⢠⣍⣉⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠋⠉⣉⡉⠉⠉⠉⣉⡩⠯⠉⠁⣄⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣁⣠⣄⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣤⣴⣶⣄⡉⢿⠶⠁⣠⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠
⣬⣿⣏⣹⣿⣭⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⢹⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣯⠉⠉⠀⣠⣴⣷⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⢀⣉⢀⡀⠛
⣁⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠙⣿⣿⣷⣤⣾⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢀⡀⠈⠛⠛
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠁⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢙⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣜⣿⣦⡀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣄⣸⣿⣿⡿⠀⣾⣿⣿⡏⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣯⡔⣽⣟⠿⣿⣿⣛⢷⡄
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣉⠉⠉⢉⣛⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣛⠛⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

new i t y u o p a s d f g h j k l z x c v b n m 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 meth letter english language roman alphabet latin alphabet vowel w not my turkish alphabet him me you myself e phoenician alphabet alphabet one

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠴⠖⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⢉⣉⣀⣀⣠⣉⣉⣛⡛⠒⠦⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠖⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣈⠙⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠙⢶⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠛⠁⠀⠀⣀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣭⣭⣭⣽⣳⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠋⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⠀⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠃⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠃⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠇⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣧⣄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢹⡏⢉⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⣀⢉⡉⢹⣍⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⣿⣋⣉⣹⣋⣿⣿⣿⡇⠐⣿⠋⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⣿⣾⣿⡷⣾⣶⢿⣟⡿⣽⣿⣿⣻⢿⣽⣻⢿⣽⣻⣟⣿⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⠀⣾⡟⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⡄⣿⡇⣿⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡿⣿⣿⣾⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⡿⣿⢿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⣯⣟⡿⣿⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡁⣿⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡿⠟⣫⡍⠤⢉⠛⣿⣿⣽⣯⢿⣽⣯⢿⣽⢯⣷⣟⡾⣷⣻⢾⣽⣻⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠠⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣟⠁⢆⠡⠻⣷⣈⠆⠱⣀⢉⠛⠿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣾⣿⠷⠿⠿⠷⠿⠿⠷⠿⣿⠀⢸⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠠⢁⠂⡘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠟⡠⣉⡆⢌⠡⠌⡛⢿⣟⠓⠾⣬⣖⣬⡷⢸⣿⣻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠈⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⢌⣡⣤⣶⠆⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡗⢌⡐⣉⠻⢷⣮⣐⠡⢂⠜⠻⢶⣄⣿⣋⣁⣰⣿⢯⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⣿⡎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⠶⠿⠛⠉⢁⠠⢀⠂⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢢⠐⡄⢊⠔⣈⠛⢻⢶⣮⣴⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⣿⡇⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠠⠀⢄⣢⣴⣷⣶⣷⣾⣿⣶⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢢⠡⡘⠄⣮⣤⣮⣴⣦⣴⣦⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⡀⣢⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡸⢠⠑⡄⢣⠈⠥⡉⠤⡁⠎⢤⣹⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⢸⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠄⡁⠾⢏⣼⠛⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⡟⠉⠙⢃⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡗⠠⢃⠼⣿⣿⣷⣿⣾⣷⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢰⣿⣞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣼⣿⡿⠟⠀⡐⠠⠐⡈⠟⠁⠀⠸⣿⡏⠙⠛⠛⢳⣶⡶⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣀⣼⣅⠣⠌⠤⡉⣍⣩⣰⡼⢿⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡧⢸⡿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠱⠟⠋⠠⠐⡐⠠⢁⠂⡐⢈⠐⢠⣄⡉⠿⢦⣤⣴⡾⣋⣴⠟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣼⣿⣏⣿⣤⡿⠼⠿⠏⠉⠁⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⢸⡇⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⣿⣿⡿⠀⡀⠄⢡⠤⢇⠀⠁⠄⠠⠀⠄⡈⢀⠹⠿⣤⣤⣤⣤⠿⠏⢀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⣯⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⣧⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⡀⢿⠟⢁⠐⠠⢨⡇⠀⢸⢈⡐⠨⠄⡁⠢⠐⡀⢂⠐⠠⠁⠄⡀⢂⠐⣰⣿⣿⠟⢋⣿⣿⠟⢀⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠋⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢂⠐⠠⠈⠄⡈⠐⡀⠣⠄⠼⠀⠄⡁⠂⢄⠁⠂⠄⠡⠈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡁⠘⣻⠟⢁⣴⡿⠟⠁⠀⢼⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣤⣶⣾⣧⣀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠌⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠄⢡⠀⠡⠌⠠⢁⠂⠌⡐⠈⡄⠉⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⢂⠐⣠⣿⣿⣷⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡏⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⡈⠄⣁⠂⠌⠠⢉⠠⢈⠐⡈⠐⠠⢈⠐⠠⠁⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠂⣄⣡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣝⣻⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣈⠄⡁⢂⠐⡀⢂⠐⣁⢂⠂⠌⠠⠁⠌⡐⢀⣢⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢎⣽⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡾⣟⢿⡻⢷⣦⣄⣀⣤⡾⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣶⣤⣈⠐⠻⠛⠛⠛⠛⢀⣡⣬⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠘⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢮⣽⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⢏⡷⡹⢶⡹⣓⢮⡝⢯⣳⢹⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠠⢀⠛⢿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣷⣾⣾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠉⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡞⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣀⣠⣾⣻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡁⠂⠌⠠⢈⢙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⡉⠄⠡⢈⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡼⣹⣇⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣼⢿⡹⣏⣟⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢀⠡⠌⡐⣴⣿⡇⠛⣿⢃⣿⣦⠁⡐⢈⠐⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⢿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣟⣻⣛⠿⣻⣟⣿⣻⣟⡻⣟⢿⣻⠻⣭⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⢂⡐⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠂⢬⡿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣭⣿⣯⣛⠿⣶⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣿⠁⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣮⣝⡻⢷⣦⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡮⣝⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠄⣾⣿⣿⣇⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠠⢈⡐⣿⣿⣿⣷⢸⣿⣿⣿⡎⠿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢺⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⡁⠂⢄⣿⣿⣿⣧⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠠⢁⢢⣿⣿⣿⣿⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠐⡈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠐⠠⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠂⠄⡁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣿⣷⣶⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣣⢟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢁⠂⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠂⠄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⢏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠠⢨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡔⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡆⢁⠂⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⢫⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⠂⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣯⢳⡝⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⠈⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣓⠾⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡐⣿⡐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣎⢟⣱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣹⣿⡇⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀
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ɛ:

new :3 3 ^3^ uwu ɛ: ꒰꒱ three trio iii triplet

❹,4

new 4 four angel

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 13
(Autistic author)
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ
Plankton quivers. "Stop," he 
whispers, his voice 
a plea. "Please."

Mr. Krabs' grin 
widens, eyes 
glinting with cruel 
delight. "Afraid 
I'll do to you what 
you deserve?"

Before Plankton can 
respond, Mr. Krabs 
punches at him with 
his claw. Plankton
squeaks in pain, his eye widens 
with terror, his voice 
a distressed static. "No,
Mr. Krabs, please stop!"

Mr. Krabs' chuckles 
turn into full-blown laughter. 
"Look at him squirm," 
he says, his voice 
a rumble. He 
doesn't heed the tears 
streaming down 
Plankton's face.

Plankton's body 
wrenches in pain, 
his antennae sticking 
straight out in alarm. 
"Why?" he whispers, 
his voice a broken 
static.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
echoes. "Because 
you're weak," he 
sneers, his voice a 
harsh grate. "Always have 
been, always will be."

Plankton's body 
shrinks, his antennae 
drooping. "No," he 
whimpers, his voice 
a static plea.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
fills the room, his 
claws still poised 
for another strike. 
"Look at the 
tiny thief," he says, 
his voice a cruel 
cackle, "so scared of 
a little pain."

Without warning, 
his claw swings down, 
connecting with Plankton's 
thin leg, and 
Plankton's scream pierces 
the air, his voice 
a shattered static.

Pain shoots through 
his body like lightning, 
his leg feeling like 
it's on fire. He tries 
to pull away. 
"Mr. Krabs," he gasps, 
his voice a desperate 
whine.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
continues, unabated by 
Plankton's cries. "See? 
You're just a tiny, 
weak little creature," 
he says, his voice a 
malicious cackle.

Plankton's screams 
fill the room, the 
pain in his leg 
unbearable. "No," he 
whispers, his voice a 
static moan. "No more."

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
doesn't waver, his 
claws still poised 
for another strike. "Oh, 
poor Plankton," he 
sneers, his voice a 
harsh static. 
Plankton's body 
writhes in pain, his 
leg twisted at an 
impossible angle
as Sandy and Karen
return.

Sandy's eyes widen 
in horror, her voice 
a shocked rumble. "Mr. 
Krabs, what are you 
doing?" she asks, 
as Karen rushed to
Plankton.

Mr. Krabs' grin 
doesn't falter. "Teaching 
a lesson," he says, his 
voice a cruel crackle
as he finally leaves.

Sandy's face is a 
picture of horror, her 
voice a trembling 
trill. "What did he 
do to you?" she asks, 
her eyes on Plankton's 
twisted leg.

Karen's screens 
flicker with rage, her 
beeps sharp. "That monster!" 
she says, her voice 
filled with fury. She 
quickly assesses the 
damage.

Plankton's leg is 
twisted grotesquely, his 
tiny body trembling 
with pain. Sandy's 
hands hover over 
his body, unsure how 
to help without causing 
more distress.

Sandy nods, her 
face pale with shock. 
"I'll get SpongeBob," 
she says, her voice 
a trembling trill. She 
runs to the phone, 
dialing with trembling 
fingers. "Sponge Bob, 
please come quick," she 
says, her voice a 
desperate hum.

While Sandy is on the 
phone, Karen's screens 
flicker with medical 
information. She 
quickly assembles a 
makeshift splint for 
Plankton's leg, her 
beeps a frantic 
symphony of care
as SpongeBob arrives.
His eyes are wide with 
concern, his voice 
a panicked squeak. "What
happened, Plankton?" he 
asks, his eyes 
damp with unshed 
tears. But Plankton's eye
had rolled up in his head.

Sandy's voice is 
shaky as she tells 
Sponge Bob the 
story, her eyes 
never leaving 
Plankton's trembling 
body. "Mr. Krabs... he 
was so cruel," she says, 
her voice a soft 
whisper of disbelief.

Sponge Bob's face 
twists with anger. 
"Why would he do 
this?" he asks, his 
voice a strained 
whine. "First causing
brain damage, and now..."

Karen's screens 
glow with determination. 
"We'll deal with 
Mr. Krabs later," she 
beeps. "First, we need 
to get Plankton help."

Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes wide with 
fear. "What can we 
do?" he asks, his 
voice a choked whisper.

Karen's screens 
flicker with 
information. "His 
leg is broken, and 
his sensory overload 
could be severe."

Sponge Bob's 
face falls, his voice 
a sad squeak. "Oh no, 
Plankton." He gently 
picks up his friend, 
his touch as soft as 
a feather.

Sandy watches, 
her eyes wide 
with fear. "What 
now?" she asks, 
her voice a trembling 
trill.

"We can't just take 
him like this to a
regular hospital. We'll 
have to be careful 
not to overwhelm 
his senses, and find
medical help equipped
for neurodivergent
people like Plankton."

SpongeBob speaks up. 
"I was born with a mild
form of idiopathic Autism.
Different from Plankton's
I know, but my parents
have taken me to a
sensory-friendly clinic. They
are skilled and have lots
of different methods of
medicine! It's called
the Quiet Bubble Clinic!"

Sandy nods, her eyes
filling with hope. "That 
sounds perfect," she says, 
her voice a gentle 
hum. "Let's take him 
there."

Karen's screens 
pulse with agreement. 
"Good thinking, Sponge 
Bob," she beeps. "We'll
have to be careful, 
though. Any loud 
noises or sudden 
movements could trigger 
another meltdown."

Sponge Bob nods, 
his grip on Plankton 
steady. "Sandy can drive," 
he says, his voice 
determined. "We'll get 
you to the Quiet 
Bubble Clinic, buddy."

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 13

♥️

new 4 heart

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 4
(Autistic author)

Karen takes a deep breath, trying 
to keep her emotions in check. 
They need to find a way to connect, 
to bridge the gap that's grown 
between them. "Plankton," she says, 
"can you tell me about your day?"

He looks at her, his eye blinking 
slowly. "Day," he repeats, his voice 
lacking the usual inflection. "Plankton 
worked on invention."

Karen nods, trying to encourage 
him. "What kind of invention?"

Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. 
"Invention for Plankton," he says. 
"To make Karen Plankton happy."

Karen's eyes fill with tears. Despite the 
lack of emotion in his words, she 
can feel the sincerity behind them. 
He's trying to connect, to share 
his world with her. "Looks like we
both finished our dinner," she says, 
trying to keep the conversation 
going. "What's next on your agenda?"

Plankton looks at her, his 
expression unchanged. "Agenda," 
he says, as if trying to remember 
the concept. "Plankton's next 
task. No get Krabby Patty formula.
Rather spend time with Karen."

Karen clenches at 
his words. Despite the 
flatness of his tone, she can feel 
his intention to please her, to 
make their anniversary special.

"Let's clean up," she suggests, 
rising from her chair. Plankton 
follows suit, moving in a way 
that seems almost robotic. They 
work in silence, Karen placing 
the dishes in the sink and Plankton 
methodically wiping down the table.

As she washes the plates, 
Karen watches him out of the 
corner of her screen. His movements 
are precise and efficient, with no 
wasted effort. It's as if he's 
calculating every action, trying 
to understand the purpose behind 
each task.

"Plankton," she says softly, 
turning off the faucet. "Could you 
please dry these for me?" She 
hands him a towel and a plate.

He takes them without a word, 
his gaze flicking from the 
towel to the plate, as if 
studying the physics of the 
interaction. He carefully 
wipes the plate, his movements 
measured and deliberate.

Karen watches him with a mix of pride 
and pain. Despite his new 
condition, he's still trying to 
be the partner she knows. She 
forces a smile, trying to ignore 
the ache in her chest. "Thank you," 
she says, taking the dried plate 
from him and placing it in the 
cupboard. "You're doing great."

He nods, his antennae twitching 
slightly. "Great," he echoes. "Karen 
happy."

As they go to the living
room, Plankton's gaze is 
drawn to the digital clock 
on the wall. His eye fixates 
on the changing seconds, 
each tick a silent metronome 
in their otherwise quiet 
space. Karen notices and 
wonders if she should be 
concerned about his newfound 
interest in something so 
mundane.

"Clock," he says, his voice 
still monotone. "Time changes.
Incremental."

Karen follows his gaze to 
the digital clock on the wall, 
the red numbers flipping from 
one second to the next with a 
quick, silent efficiency. "Does the 
clock bother you?" she asks, 
noticing his fixation.

Plankton shakes his head, his 
eye still glued to the display. 
"No," he says, his voice 
thoughtful. "Time. Changes. 
Fascinating."

Karen watches him, 
seeing a spark of curiosity 
she hadn't noticed before. 
"You've never liked clocks 
before," she points out, trying 
to keep the conversation 
going. "What's so interesting 
about it now?"

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly as he tries to 
explain. "Clock," he says, 
his voice still flat. "Time.
Changing. Predictable." His 
single eye remains locked 
on the red digits, the 
fascination growing. "Seconds
restart each minute."

Karen nods, watching 
his expression closely. 
"It's like a pattern," 
she suggests. "A routine that 
doesn't change."

Plankton nods, his 
eye still glued to the 
clock. "Pattern," he repeats. 
"Comforting."

Karen nods, feeling a 
glimmer of hope. "Maybe 
you find comfort in the 
predictability?" she offers.

Plankton's antennae bob 
slightly, as if considering 
this new perspective. "Comfort,"
he murmurs. "Consistent.
Understood."

Karen sits down beside 
him, her screen drawn to the 
clock as well. "Tell me more 
about the pattern," she says, 
trying to find a way into his 
new reality. "What do you 
see when you look at it?"

Plankton's antennae twitch 
slightly as he considers 
his answer. "Pattern," he 
repeats. "Time, changing. 
Predictable." His voice is 
softer now, almost lost in 
thought. "One, two, three, four, 
five. Always same."

Karen nods, her screen 
still on the clock. "It's like 
counting," she says. "Do you 
like counting?"

Plankton's antennae twitch 
once again. "Counting," he 
repeats, his tone thoughtful.

Suddenly, Sponge Bob comes
in.

"Plankton," he says, his eyes 
wide with excitement. "What are you 
guys up to?"

Karen looks over, a forced 
smile on her screen. "Just talking 
about time," she says, hoping 
SpongeBob's entrance will 
provide some much-needed 
distraction from the heaviness of 
their conversation.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 4

SWEET CWEAM pt. 4

"Can I hav thome 
wathermelon?" he 
asked, his voice a 
slurry mess.

Karen chuckled 
and shook her head. 
"Not yet, Plankton. You 
have to stick to soft 
foods today. How about 
some ice cream?"

His eye lit up, 
his smile growing 
wider, exposing the 
whiteness of his teeth. 
"Ith cweam?" he 
repeated, the words 
spilling out like a 
child's first attempt at 
a sentence.

Karen nodded, 
her own smile a 
mirror of his. "Yes, 
soft serve ice cream. 
It's perfect for 
your mouth right now."

Plankton clapped 
his hands together 
in glee.

"Ith weal," he 
declared, his tongue 
still thick and clumsy. 
"My faworite!"

Karen 
fetched the promised 
treat from the 
freezer, the coolness 
of the ice cream 
contrasting sharply 
with the warmth of 
the room. She 
scooped a generous 
amount into a bowl, 
handing it to him with 
a spoon. Plankton's 
eye lit up, and he took 
the spoon with the 
excitement of a toddler 
getting their first taste 
of ice cream.

With a clumsy 
attempt at grace, he 
lifted the spoon to 
his mouth, the 
numbness in his 
face making it 
difficult to aim. A 
dribble of ice cream 
escaped and landed on 
the table, but he 
barely noticed, his 
attention focused on 
the cold sweetness 
that washed over his 
tongue. "Mmh," he 
mumbled, his voice 
a mix of pleasure and 
pain as the frozen 
treat hit his 
sensitive gums.

"Careful," Karen 
cautioned, her voice 
like a lullaby. "You don't 
want to hurt yourself."

Plankton nodded, 
his movements 
exaggerated, like a 
character in a silent 
movie. The spoon wobbled 
in his hand as he 
scooped up another 
mouthful of the cold 
cream, his tongue 
still struggling to 
navigate the uncharted 
waters of his own mouth. 
He managed to get 
the spoonful into his 
mouth with minimal 
spillage, his cheeks 
hollowing out as he 
savored the taste.

"Wow, thith ith tho 
good," he mumbled, 
his words coming out 
like a muffled shout. Karen 
couldn't help but laugh 
as she watched him. 
His enthusiasm was 
infectious, even if his 
coordination was not.

He took another 
bite, the cold 
sensation making his 
eye water. "It'th tho 
cold!" he exclaimed, 
his voice high-pitched 
and filled with excitement. 
The numbness in his 
cheeks was wearing off 
now, leaving a tingling 
sensation that made 
his words come out 
slurred and exaggerated.

"It's supposed to be 
cold, Plankton," Karen 
said, her voice a 
symphony of patience. 
"It's ice cream."

He nodded, 
his cheeks red with 
effort and cold. Each 
spoonful was a 
small victory, a dance 
between the spoon and 
his uncooperative mouth.

Karen’s glad she turned their
security cameras on record. Of
course, she didn’t tell Plankton. 
Not yet. Then suddenly, Sponge
Bob comes in the door, surprising
both of them.

"Squishy!" Plankton exclaims, 
his voice a strange mix of 
joy and pain. Sponge Bob's 
eyes widen. "You okay, 
Plankton?" he asks, looking 
at Karen for an explanation.

Karen nods, 
still chuckling. "Wisdom 
teeth surgery," she says, 
her voice a gentle whisper. 
"The anesthesia is making 
his mouth all numb."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
go wide with concern. 
"Ouchies?" he asks, his 
own mouth forming a 
sympathetic grimace.

Plankton nods 
vigorously, the 
motion sending a 
shiver down his 
spine. "Yeth, ouchiesth," 
he mumbles around 
the mouthful of ice 
cream, his speech still 
slurred like a toddler's. 
Karen watches the 
interaction with 
a soft smile, her 
heart swelling with 
affection for her 
babbling husband.

Sponge Bob 
crosses the room with 
his usual boundless 
energy, plopping down 
next to Plankton.

"So, how was your 
big trip to the 
dental place?" he 
asks, his eyes full of 
concern and curiosity.

Plankton looks at 
his friend with 
the gravity of a 
philosopher. "It’th... 
advehnturous," he says, 
his mouth still 
numb, making each 
word a challenge.

Sponge Bob leans in, 
his spongy body 
wobbling slightly. "What
kind of adventure?" 
he asks, his eyes 
shining with curiosity.

Plankton's voice 
takes on a storytelling 
tone, his words 
slurred but earnest. 
"I frew," he says, his 
eye wide and filled 
with wonder. "I frew wike 
a birdie!"

Sponge Bob's grin 
splits his face. "You flew?" 
he repeats, his 
voice a mix of 
disbelief and amusement. 
Karen's smile widens, 
listening to the 
nonsense her husband 
was spinning.

Plankton nods, 
his eye glazed over. 
"Yeah," he murmurs, 
his tongue sluggish. 
"It wath magithal."

Karen and Sponge 
Bob exchange 
glances, trying not 
to laugh. Plankton's 
childlike awe in the 
face of his own 
numbness was 
both heartwarming and 
hilarious.

"Buh wait," 
Plankton says, his 
spoon paused mid-air. 
"Thath not aww," his 
voice dropping to a 
conspiratorial whisper. 
"I theen... I theen I 
wath a dolphin!"

Sponge Bob's eyes 
go wide with 
fascination. "A dolphin?"
he repeats, his voice 
filled with awe. "How 
did you do that?"

Plankton's smile 
grows even wider, his 
cheeks pushing against 
the swollen skin. "It'th a 
mithtewwy," he says, 
his speech still slurred. 
"They goth me all 
sleeby and thewe I wath 
flipping and twirling in 
the wathah!"

Sponge Bob's eyes 
are as wide as saucers, 
his imagination running 
wild with the tale. "Wow, 
Plankton, that sounds 
amazing!"

Plankton nods, his 
face a picture of seriousness. 
"It wath," he slurs, 
his voice filled with 
convinction. "Buth then... 
then I woke up." His 
expression remains affectionate
for he’s too out of it to play
it cool in front of Sponge Bob. He’s 
always wanted him as a good friend
but his pride usually stops him; but
now, with no filter, Plankton’s not
gonna hold back.

Sponge Bob 
looks at Karen with 
a mix of confusion 
and delight. "Was it 
scary?" he asks, his 
voice gentle.

Karen nods, 
a warm chuckle 
bubbling up. "A 
little," she says, her 
hands folded in her 
lap. "But he's a 
tough guy."

Plankton's eye swims with 
emotions, his 
face flushing with 
a mix of pride and 
embarrassment. "Yeath," 
he says, his tongue 
still a traitor. "Buh now
youw know my 
thecret."

new sweet cweam plaren 4

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 4


(Neurodivergent author)



Mr. Krabs's expression shifts from
shock to one of bewilderment. "Plankton,
I don't understand," he says, his voice
barely a whisper. Plankton shakes
his head, his antennae trembling.
"You never did," he snaps back.

The accusations come out in a
torrent, each one cutting deeper
than the last. "You used me,
manipulated me, all for your
stupid secret formula!" His voice
shakes with anger, his eye
filling with unshed tears. Karen's
grip tightens on his arm, but she
doesn't speak, knowing he needs
this moment of release.

Mr. Krabs's face falls, the weight
of Plankton's words a blow
he wasn't expecting. "I-I-I've
always treated ya like a
friend!" he stammers, his claws
grabbing Plankton's shoulders.
And that's what did it.

Plankton's body tenses, and
his eye rolls back in his head.
A chilling silence descends
as his legs give out, and he
crashes to the floor. His body
convulses, limbs flailing uncontrollably.
Karen knew it'd happen, but
seeing it happen to Plankton
is a horror she wasn't emotionally
prepared for, but she knew to stay
calm. She knew the protocol.

Mr. Krabs, still in shock from
Plankton's accusations, watches
the scene unfold with horror.
"What's happening?" he stammers,
his claws hovering uselessly.
Karen's voice is a beacon
of calm amidst the chaos.
"It's a seizure," she explains,
kneeling beside her husband.
"I need you to stay calm."
Her voice is steady, her eyes
never leaving Plankton's
contorting form.

Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes
widening with fear. He's
read about this, seen it
once in a medical textbook,
but never thought it would
happen to someone so close.
He watches as Karen carefully
moves any objects out of
harm's way, cushioning
Plankton's head with a pillow.
The room seems to spin around
them, each second stretching
into eternity.

The seizure lasts only a
few moments, but to Karen,
it feels like hours. When it's
over, Plankton's body goes
still, his breathing shallow.
Her hand shakes as she
checks his pulse, feeling the
thunder of her own heart
in her chest. "It's okay,"
she whispers, her voice
trembling. "You're okay."

Mr. Krabs is unsure.

"It's okay," she murmurs, her
hand stroking his antennae. "It's
over now." Plankton's breathing
deepens, his body slowly
relaxing with a twitch. She looks at Mr.
Krabs, her expression a mix
of relief and exhaustion.
"He'll be okay," she assures,
her voice a lifeline in the
storm of silence.

Mr. Krabs nods, still in
shock. "What...what do we do?"
he asks, his voice barely above
a whisper. Karen sighs,
knowing the road ahead won't
be easy, but she's determined
to navigate it with Plankton.

They manage to get Plankton to
his feet, his body weak and
his mind still groggy from the
seizure. His eye darts around
the room, trying to make sense
of his surroundings. Karen's voice
is soft, a gentle guide leading
him back to reality. "Let's go to
the couch," she says, her arm
supporting his weight.

Mr. Krabs watches, his claws
fidgeting nervously. "Should I...
call someone?" he asks, his voice
full of uncertainty. Karen shakes
her head. "We have to keep it
calm," she whispers. "The aftermath
can be just as overwhelming."

They sit on the couch, Plankton's
body leaning heavily into hers.
Her arm is around him, her hand
stroking his antennae in a rhythm
designed to soothe. He looks up
at her, his eye still a little wild.
"What happened?" he asks, his
voice barely above a whisper.

"You had a seizure," Karen
explains gently, her voice a
balm to his frayed nerves.
"It's part of your autism,
sweetie. It's okay." She can see
the fear in his gaze, the
unspoken questions. She pulls
a blanket over his shoulders,
his body shaking from the
residual adrenaline.

Plankton nods, his antennae
twitching as he tries to process
the information. He looks
down at his trembling hands,
wondering how they could have
betrayed him so suddenly. Karen
hands him a glass of water, her
fingers brushing against his
in a silent promise of support. 

He takes a sip, the cool liquid
sliding down his throat,
helping to clear the fog in his mind.

"I'm...sorry," Plankton mumbles, his
voice barely a whisper. He looks
up at Mr. Krabs, who's still
standing awkwardly by the door.
"I didn't mean to...to accuse
you..." His antennae droop with
regret.

Mr. Krabs's expression softens,
his eyes filling with understanding.
"It's okay, Plankton," he says,
his voice gentle. "We all have
our moments." He takes a tentative
step forward. "What can I do?"

Karen glances at him,
gratitude warring with the
protectiveness she feels
for Plankton. "Just give us
some space," she says, her tone
firm but not unkind. "We need
to get him through this."

Mr. Krabs nods slowly, his
face a mix of sadness and
concern. "I understand,"
he says, his voice thick. He
backs out of the room,
his eyes never leaving
Plankton's huddled form.
The door clicks shut, and
the room feels smaller, safer.

Karen's arm tightens around
his shoulders, her warmth a
shield against the cold
world outside. Plankton leans
into her, his body still
shaking slightly. He starts
to calm down, the tremors
fading like ripples in a pond.

"I'm...I'm okay," he whispers,
his antennae stilling. Karen
nods, her eyes searching his
face for any sign of distress.

"Do you want to take a nap?"
she suggests softly. Plankton nods,
his eye drooping with exhaustion.
They move to the bedroom, the
light dimming as they go.

Karen helps him into bed,
his limbs feeling like jelly.
The blankets are a cocoon,
his retreat from the world.
Her hand brushes his antennae,
a silent assurance as she leaves him
to the embrace of slumber.
He closes his eye, letting the
comfort of the darkness envelop him.

His body relaxes into the
softness of the mattress,
his muscles melting away
the tension of the day.
The bed's embrace is like
a gentle whisper, telling
his overstimulated mind to
rest, to let go. He sighs,
his antennae dropping
to the pillow like tired
leaves in the fall.

Meanwhile, Karen goes
to Mr. Krabs, who's waiting
outside the chum bucket.

"I'm sorry for Plankton's outburst,"
she says, her eyes apologetic.
Mr. Krabs waves a dismissive
claw. "Don't worry 'bout it," he says.
"He's been through a lot today."

Karen nods, her expression
serious. "It's more than that,"
she says, her voice low. "He's
autistic." Mr. Krabs's eyes widen,
his understanding dawning, a
newfound respect in his gaze.
"I had no idea," he murmurs.
"How can I help?"

"Just be patient," Karen replies.
"And maybe...maybe we can talk
later, after he's had some rest."
Mr. Krabs nods, his expression
thoughtful. "Of course," he says,
his voice subdued. "Whatever he needs."

new copepod autism plabsen 4

      ᥫ᭡.
     
     ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖   𐙚   ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖⋆˚࿔ ⋆˚࿔  𝜗𝜚˚⋆ᥫ᭡

new april 2

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 2


They maneuver him into the 
wheelchair, and he winces
as his leg meets the firm cushion.
The nurse nods sympathetically.
"It'll take some getting used to,
but you'll manage." She gets his
stuffed bear and blanket, placing
them carefully in his lap.
Plankton leans his head
back, his eye drifting closed 
again as they get crutches.

Karen follows the nurse
as they navigate the 
hospital corridors. She's relieved 
to finally reach the car, 
helping him in with gentle 
care. His head lolls to the 
side as she buckles him in,
his snores a testament to the
powerful medication.

The drive home feels
endless. Every bump in the 
road jolts her nerves, but 
Plankton remains oblivious,
his chest rising and falling 
evenly. She glances over,
his hand resting on the 
stuffed bear, fingers lax.

The house is a silent
fortress when they arrive. 
Karen managed to get him in. 
He mumbles something 
incoherent as she helps 
lift him onto the couch. 
His eyelid flickers
open, and he looks around 
confused before it closes 
again. She also leaves the 
wheelchair near. 
Pillows are arranged
just so, the TV remote 
within easy reach, and 
his favorite blanket drapes 
his legs like a warm
embrace. He mumbles a
thank you, his eye still 
half-closed with sleep.

Karen makes him comfortable,
his head nestled against
the pillows. She kisses
his forehead. "Rest,"
she whispers, her voice a soft
caress. "I'll be right here."
Plankton's snores become
more pronounced as 
Karen sits by his side.

Just then, Karen's friend
Sandy unexpectedly comes
inside. "What happened?" she 
gasps. Karen smiles 
weakly. "He's sleepy."

Sandy's eyes widen 
as she takes in the cast 
and the wheelchair. "What...?
Why..." Sandy exclaims.
"It's okay," Karen says.
"Plankton had an accident.
He'll be fine, yet it's going
to be a long road to recovery."

Sandy nods, a look of
concern etching her features.
"How can I help?"

Karen's eyes fill with
gratitude. "Could you...
could you stay with him
while I make food?"
Sandy nods firmly. 
"Of course."

Plankton's snores 
grow softer as Sandy 
sits beside him as
Karen finishes up a
batch of chum.

Plankton stirs 
slightly, his snores 
quieter now.
"Karen," Sandy calls 
from the 
living room. "He's 
waking up."

Karen sets the food
aside, wiping her 
hands on a towel as 
she rushes in. 
Plankton's eye blinks 
open, looking around
confused. "What's...what's
going on?" he mumbles.

Karen smiles 
reassuringly. "You had
surgery, Plankton. Do you
remembe---"

He nods, his eye
half-lidded. "I...fell. 
But when’d she get
here?" Plankton said
as he recognized Sandy.

Karen chuckles softly.
"You've been out of it
for a bit. She came
a bit after you fell asleep."

Sandy smiles. "I'm just
here to help. What do you
need?"

Karen's shoulders sag with
relief. "Could you help me get
his wheelchair? We'll need to eat
at the table."

Karen guides Plankton.
He winces as he lowers 
himself, his leg still tender 
and foreign in its cast.
They make their way 
to the dinner table, Sandy 
right behind them. Karen 
serves him a steaming plate.
He picks at the food, his 
eye still hazy from the 
anesthesia. Sandy fills 
a glass of water, placing
it within his reach. 

"How long...?" Plankton's
words trail off as he tries
to remember the doctor's
instructions. "How long will I
be in this...this...thing?"
He gestures to the cast, 
his frustration clear.
Karen takes a deep
breath, her hand resting 
on his shoulder. "It's going
to be a few weeks, love. 
But think of it as a chance
to rest and recover." She
knows he doesn't want to
appear helpless.

Sandy sits across from Karen
and Plankton, curious but
tentative, as she knows he
can have a fiery temper at times.
"So, what happened Plank..."

He cuts her off, his voice
sharp. "I fell. That's what
happened. I don't know
much after that." Plankton's
frustration is palpable, his
eye flashing. Karen squeezes
his hand gently, a silent
reminder to be patient.
Sandy nods, understanding.
"Well, ok."

Karen watches Plankton's face,
and Sandy wants to help. He's tired,
his eyelid drooping. But he tries
to appear present, to eat with them
at the kitchen table with his wheelchair.
He takes small bites, his movements 
careful not to disturb his leg. Karen 
intercepts Sandy's concerned look.
"It's okay," she whispers as Plankton's 
energy wanes. His head nods 
forward slightly, and he jerks 
awake with a snort,
his cheeks flushing with 
embarrassment. Karen 
appreciates her friend's
support, yet she can see the 
uncertainty in Sandy's eyes. 
They both knew Plankton's 
stubbornness.

Sandy clears her throat, 
changing the subject. "So, what's
the plan for tomorrow?" Karen
looks at Plankton, his eye
half-closed. "We'll take it easy.
The doctor said lots of rest."
Plankton nods, his 
head bobbing slightly.

"I'll help with the house," Sandy offers,
picking up on Karen's unspoken concern.
"You guys just focus on...you know,
recovering." Karen smiles with 
gratitude. "Thank you."
Plankton nods, his head 
lolling again as he tries to
appear present. But he leans into
Karen, his body heavy with
exhaustion, head resting on her
shoulder, his snores soon 
filling the room despite still sitting
in the wheelchair at the table.
Karen and Sandy 
exchange a look.

Gently, Karen lifts Plankton's
head, his snores growing
deeper with every passing second.

"Come on, let's get you to bed,"
she whispers, her voice a gentle
caress in the quiet room.
Sandy nods, understanding.
They work in tandem, Sandy pushing
the wheelchair while Karen
supports Plankton's weight.

The bedroom is bathed in a soft glow,
the curtains drawn against the night.
They maneuver him to the bed, 
his snores punctuating the air.
They carefully lift him, his body 
unyielding from the pain meds, 
and lay him down. The cast feels 
heavier than ever, a stark
reminder of the ordeal he's just
been through. Karen pulls the
covers over him, tucking them 
in gently around his cast, his
snores growing louder.

Sandy looks at Karen with
sympathetic eyes. "You've had
quite a day," she says softly.
Karen nods. "We both 
have." Sandy pulls her into
a hug. "You're not alone.
I'm here."

new kneesurgery karendy 2

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 4



Karen stands, gently helping
Plankton to his feet. He sways
slightly, his legs still wobbly
from the anesthesia. "Careful,"
she says, wrapping an arm around
his waist. He leans into her, his
eye still glazed as he chuckles.

"M-mph... funny," he slurs, a
weak smile on his face.

"You're going to be fine," Karen
reassures him, her voice a beacon
of comfort in the fog of his mind.

They shuffle slowly down the hallway,
his legs unsteady as if he's walking
on a tightrope over a shark tank.
The floor seems to tilt and sway,
each step a dizzying challenge.
Karen holds him close, her arm
around his waist, guiding him
like a ship navigating stormy waters.

Plankton's eye start to droop,
his lid growing heavier by the
second. "W-where... whewe... we go?"
he slurs, his speech barely coherent.
Karen's response is lost to the
symphony of his snores as he
unexpectedly dozes off mid-sentence
as she catches him. He 
jolts awake, only to find himself
still standing, held upright by Karen's
steady grip. "H-how?" he stammers,
his eye wide with confusion.

They've reached the reception area,
and Becky, the ever-cheery receptionist,
giggles at the sight. "You can sit him
down now," she suggests. "Just keep an
eye on him until he's fully awake."

Karen guides him to the chair,
his legs folding under him like a ragdoll.
He's out again, his snores echoing in
the quiet lobby. She can't help but
smile at his obliviousness, his trust
in her unwavering. The chair creaks
beneath his weight as his head lolls
to the side, his antennae drooping.

Becky, the receptionist, laughs kindly.
"It's like he's on a little anesthesia-induced
vacation," she says, her voice a gentle
wake. Karen nods, stroking his antennae.
"I just want to get him home," she says.
"He's not one for being out of his
element."

The nurse, Nina, appears with a wheelchair.
"Let's get you home, Mr. Plankton," she
says, her voice a gentle nudge into reality.
He blinks, his eye trying to focus
on the world around him. Karen helps
him into the chair.

"W-wheel...?" He starts to protest,
his slurred words trailing off as he
realizes the futility of his protest.
Karen smiles, pushing the chair.
"It's okay, you're still groggy.
This is just to make sure you don't trip."

"W-why?" he murmurs, his words
slurred and sleepy. "M'walkin'... woke... m'not..."
Karen chuckles, her voice a soft breeze.
"You're a bit out of it, Plankton," she says,
"We're going home."

Plankton's head lolls back, his snores
now a comforting soundtrack to their
exit. Karen can't help but laugh
softly, her heart full of love.
He's always been so independent,
so strong. But in this moment,
he's as vulnerable as a newborn.

The cool morning air hits them
as they step outside. Plankton
blinks, his antennae twitching as
he tries to stay conscious.
"M-morning," he mumbles, squinting
against the sun's early glow. Karen
chuckles, pushing the wheelchair
to their car.

"W-what?" he asks again,
his speech still slurred. "You're okay,
sweetheart," she says, opening
the passenger door. "Let's get
you into the car."
But Plankton's body seems to have
other plans,
his eye slip shut and he's
out like a light. Karen tries
to wake him, her voice
a gentle nudge into consciousness.
"Come on, Plankton, stay with me."

He snores in response,
his antennae flopping to one side.
Karen sighs, trying not to laugh
at his comical state. Carefully,
she maneuvers him into the car seat,
his head lolling back. "Alright,
just a little more," she coaxes.

With a grunt, Plankton's eye
flickers open as Karen helps
buckle him in. "W-why..." He
mumbles, his words trailing off as
his eyelid droops again. Karen
can't help but chuckle. "You're
still sleepy, that's all," she says,
kissing his forehead.

The drive home is slow and careful,
Karen keeping a watchful eye
on Plankton in the rearview mirror.
He's still out cold, his snores
punctuating the silence like a
lullaby for the road. The car's gentle
sway seems to rock him deeper
into sleep.

They pull into their driveway,
the gravel crunching under the tires.

Karen parks the car and turns around
to look at Plankton. His snores are
deep, his antennae twitching slightly
with each exhale. She smiles,
knowing he's in a deep, peaceful sleep.

"Come on, Plankton," she says,
her voice gentle. "We're home."

He groans, his eye opening
just enough to peer out. "Hone?"
he mumbles, his voice barely
above a whisper. Karen nods,
her smile warm. "You can go
back to sleep once we're inside." 

new a toothy story sleepicore 4

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠶⠶⣖⡛⠛⠿⠿⠯⠭⠍⠉⣉⠛⠚⠛⠲⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⠀⡉⠁⢐⣒⠒⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⢂⢅⡂⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀
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new 4 four troll picture dot art text art ascii art

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 1
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ 
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Chip was adopted at
birth by Plankton and
Karen, who raised him.
But Plankton's autistic,
which he only shared
with Karen. He managed
to 'mask' or hide some
of his neurodivergence
from Chip, who's got no
idea his dad's neurodisabled.

Chip walks in the door
to his parent's room is
slightly ajar. He peeks in,
expecting to find his mom
tidying up or his dad
fiddling with one of his
inventions. Instead, he
sees his dad sitting
still on the edge of his
bed, his eye glazed over,
his body stiff. "Dad?" But
Plankton doesn't move, nor
does he acknowledge
his son's presence. Chip
takes a step closer.
He tries to shake him,
but Plankton is like a
doll, unresponsive. "Dad,
are you ok?" Chip's voice
cracks, fear starting to
creep in.

The room feels eerily
silent, sans the
steady tick of the clock
on the wall. Chip
tries to recall if he's ever
seen his dad like this.
It dawns on him that he
might be hurt.

"Dad?" he whispers again,
his voice trembling. The
only response is the
persistent tick-tock of the
clock, echoing in the
silence. Chip's mind races,
trying to make sense of the
unexpected scene before
him. Plankton's absence
seizure had always been
a closely guarded secret,
shared only with Karen. But
now, Chip's the one who's
stumbled upon it, and he
doesn't know what it is, nor
what to do.

He reaches out to touch
his father's shoulder,
his hand shaking, but Plankton
doesn't flinch, despite his
discomfort. His eye
is open, yet unseeing. The
realization hits Chip like
a ton of bricks. Something
is wrong, terribly wrong. "Mom,
you need to come to your
bedroom. Something's
happened to Dad!"

Karen rushes in, a look
of concern etched on her
screen as she takes in
the scene. She quickly
assesses Plankton and
knew exactly what was
going on. She knows Chip
has never noticed Plankton's
autistic traits. They kept the
autism a secret from Chip as
per Plankton's request.

"It's ok, sweetie," she says
calmly, placing a gentle hand
on Chip's shoulder. "Your
dad's just having a little...
episode." Her voice is soft,
but firm, trying to ease
his panic without causing
alarm. She's seen this
hundreds of times. And
she knew Chip doesn't have
the faintest idea of his dad
having a condition.

"What do you mean?" Chip's
eyes are wide with fear, his
hands still hovering over
his father's unresponsive
body. He's never seen his
dad so lifeless before.
"It's like he's not even there,"
he whispers.

Karen takes a deep breath
and sighs. "Your dad doesn't know 
it's happening, but he'll be fine soon."

Chip's eyes dart 
around the room,
his gaze returning 
to Plankton. "But why?"
he asks, voice 
shaking. "What's
going on?"

Karen's eyes are
filled with a mix of
sorrow and 
determination as she
explains, "Your 
dad's brain does
things differently from
other people's, and
this is one of those
times." Chip's confusion
deepens. "But wh-"

"Remember how sometimes
you get really focused
on a video game and
can't hear me right away?"
Chip nods. "Well, this is like
that, but his body goes
still and he's not really
aware of what's around
him.."

Chip watches as Karen
carefully helps Plankton
to lie down, placing a
pillow under his head and
covering him with a
blanket. Plankton's eye
remains open, but it's
not looking at anything
specific, just glazed over.
Chip's fear turns to
curiosity, questions 
racing through
his mind.

He's seen his dad in
his 'work mode' before,
where he's so focused on
his inventions that it's like
he's in another world. But
this seems different. This is
scary. Karen sighs. "We'll talk
later, ok?" Chip nods, yet
his curiosity overpowers his
fear. He watches as Karen sits
by Plankton's side.
"It's ok, Plankton," she
whispers, stroking his antennae.
"You're safe here; I'm here."

Karen's screen never left
Plankton's face, her gaze
filled with love and
understanding. She knows
his silent battles, his secret
world of challenges.

"Plankton, it's me, Karen,"
she says gently. "You're
safe. I'm right here." She
speaks softly. Chip, still hovering,
can't help but notice the
tenderness in her touch as
Plankton's body remains still,
his eye unblinking.
Suddenly, Plankton
speaks. "Must...the...yes."
Plankton mumbles in a tone 
that's distant. The words make
no sense to Chip, but
Karen nods as if she
understands. "It's ok
Plankton," she soothes. "You're
right here with me."

The sight of his dad
talking to himself sends
a shiver down Chip's spine.
He's seen Plankton mumble
things before, lost in
his thoughts, but this is
different. It's as if he's
in a trance, his eye
seeing something only
he can perceive. Chip feels
his own anxiety spike,
wondering what could be
going through his dad's
mind in this state. "Dad?"
"Let him be," Karen says
softly. "Sometimes he
talks like that when he's
coming out of it. It's part of
his... process."

Plankton continues. "The...
...has to be..."

His words are fragmented,
his voice trailing off as if
his thoughts are racing
faster than his mouth can
keep up. "What...what is he
saying?" Chip asks Karen.

Karen's eyes stay locked
on Plankton, her expression
both concerned and calm.
"He's not really talking to
anyone," she explains. "It's
just something that can
happen during these
episodes."

Plankton's mumbling 
turns into a murmur. 
"The... the... it's all..."

Karen leans in closer, her 
voice soothing, "It's okay,
sweetheart. You're okay. Just
let it happen." Karen
knows from experience that
the words are not for them,
but rather a cerebral dance he
has no control over. Chip, on the
other hand, is utterly bewildered.

The room seems to shrink
around them, the air thick
with unspoken questions
and a palpable tension.
Karen's hand never leaves
Plankton's antenna, her
thumb brushing it gently.
"You're safe, Plankton," she
repeats, her voice a lullaby.
"You're here with me." "The...
the... it's..." Plankton says. Chip
can't help but lean closer,
his hand reaching. Karen's hand
shoots out to stop him.
"Chip, no!" she says firmly.
"Don't. It could make it worse."
Her eyes are filled with a
knowledge that Chip lacks, a
fear that he's only just
beginning to understand. Karen
sighs. "It's just his
brain... recalibrating."

The silence stretches out,
stifling. Chip watches his
father, his mind racing.
He's seen his dad's
inventions come to life,
but this... this is a
mystery he can't solve.
Plankton's antenna starts to
twitch slightly, the first
sign of movement since
the episode began. "It's over, love,"
she whispers. "You're okay."
Plankton's eye blinks,
once, twice, and then focuses
on Karen. Recognition
slowly dawns on his face,
confused. "Whaa-"

"You had a moment, Plankton,"
she says gently. "It's okay."
Plankton looks around,
spotting Chip. "Chip? K-Karen,
what's going on?" His voice
cracks with confusion. "What's
wrong? Did I...?"

Chip feels a surge of relief
seeing his dad's eye blink and
his dad's voice return to
normal. But the question in
his dad's voice tells him that
Plankton doesn't remember.

new autism and all chip plankton 1

"You're going to 
be okay," Karen 
assured Plankton. 
He clutched her 
hand. "I'm right here."

The receptionist's 
voice echoed through the 
large waiting room. "Plankton?"

Karen's heart jumped. 
She squeezed her 
husband's hand.

They walked down the 
hallway, Plankton's 
breaths shallow, eye
darting around the 
white, sterile walls. 
The nurse led them to 
a small room.

"Just a few 
questions," the nurse 
smiled, her voice 
soothing as she 
helped him in the
recliner.

The nurse, 
noticing his 
agitation, spoke 
slowly and clearly. 
"We're just going 
to take your blood 
pressure, okay?"

The nurse 
wrapped the 
cuff around 
his bicep, her 
movements gentle. 
The hiss of the 
air pump filled 
the tense silence.

"Look at me, 
Plankton," Karen 
whispered, her 
calming gaze 
meeting his. 
"Take deep 
breaths."

He inhaled deeply, 
his chest rising and 
falling in a 
deliberate rhythm. 
The nurse waited 
patiently, giving 
them space.

As the cuff 
tightened, Plankton's 
eye squeezed shut.

The nurse 
completed her task 
quickly, her voice 
steady. "Good job," 
she said, patting his 
hand. Karen felt his 
fear spike, but 
his grip on her 
hand remained firm
as the oral surgeon
walked in.

Dr. Marquez 
nodded at them, 
his demeanor calm 
and professional. 
"Hello, Plankton. I 
see we're getting 
ready for your 
wisdom teeth."

He noticed 
Plankton's tension 
and turned to 
Karen. "You
earlier mentioned 
his neurodisability. Is there 
anything special we 
can do to help 
make him comfortable?"

Karen's screen 
lit up with 
gratitude. "Yes, 
thank you." She 
explained his need 
for calm and his
sensory sensitivities.

Dr. Marquez 
nodded thoughtfully. 
"We can use a 
weighted blanket to 
help with that. It 
provides a gentle 
pressure that can 
be quite comforting 
for some of my 
patients."

He turned to the 
nurse. "Could you 
please bring one?"

The nurse nodded 
and left the room.
When she returned, 
she carried a 
soft, blue weighted 
blanket they warmed.

They placed the 
blanket over 
Plankton, the 
weight evenly 
distributed. His 
body visibly 
relaxed under its 
soothing embrace.

"It's okay," Karen 
whispered, stroking 
his antennae. "This will 
help."

Plankton felt the 
warmth of the 
blanket, the weight 
of it pressing down 
on his shoulders and 
chest. But it did little
to ease his dread.

"Thank you, Dr. 
Marquez," Karen 
managed a smile, 
relief washing over 
her. She knew how 
important these 
accommodations were 
for her husband.

The doctor 
explained the 
procedure, using 
simple terms that 
Plankton could 
understand. Karen 
noted how he 
tailored his 
explanation to 
avoid overwhelming 
details that might 
trigger anxiety.

The anesthesiologist 
entered, her 
smile kind. "We're 
going to give you 
some medicine to 
help you sleep," she 
said gently, "and then 
you'll wake up without 
feeling a thing."

Plankton nodded, 
his eye wide. Karen leaned 
in, her voice low. "You 
can hold my hand 
as you fall 
asleep."

The anesthesiologist 
prepared the IV, 
but Plankton's grip 
on Karen's hand grew 
tighter. Dr. Marquez 
noticed his distress 
and suggested a 
different approach. 
"How about some 
laughing gas first?" 
he offered. "And perhaps
a topical numbing agent.."

The nurse 
quickly set up the gas 
mask, explaining 
each step. "This will 
help you relax," she 
said, placing it over 
him. "Just breathe
normally."

The sweet smell of 
the nitrous oxide filled
him, yet he still remained
awake.

"It's okay, Plankton," 
Karen said soothingly.
"Just keep breathing."

He took a tentative 
breath, feeling the 
gas fill his lungs. 
The room began to 
spin, but not in 
the scary way he'd 
feared. It was more 
like floating. The 
weight of the blanket 
now felt like a gentle 
hug from the ocean 
depths, a warm embrace 
from his childhood home.

Dr. Marquez waited 
until Plankton's breathing 
steadied, each gesture 
carefully calculated 
to avoid any sudden 
movements that might 
startle his patient.

"You're doing great,"
he assured Plankton, his 
voice a gentle wave 
lapping at the shore of 
his anxiety. "You're 
almost there."

Plankton inhaled 
another lungful of gas, 
his eye fluttering 
closed. The nurse 
gently began applying 
the topical numbing 
agent, her movements 
carefully choreographed 
to avoid any sudden 
jolts. Karen held 
his other hand, her 
thumb tracing 
comforting circles 
on his palm.

"You're safe," she 
whispered. "I'm here."

The gas grew 
heavier, his mind 
drifted further 
from the cold 
reality of the room. 
He felt himself sinking 
into the chair, the 
weighted blanket 
now a warm sea of 
comfort. His grip 
on Karen's hand grew 
looser, his breaths 
deepening.

The doctor 
nodded to the 
anesthesiologist, 
who began the IV 
drip after using the
topical numbing 
agent. Plankton's 
fear didn't vanish, 
but it became 
manageable, a distant 
thunderstorm rather than 
a hurricane in his 
face. His eye
closed completely, 
his body going limp 
under the blanket.

Karen watched 
as the surgical 
team moved with 
precision, their 
masks and caps 
dancing in her 
peripheral vision. 
The beeping of 
machines and 
the murmur of 
medical jargon 
filled her ears, 
but all she focused 
on was the rhythm 
of Plankton's 
breathing.

The anesthesiologist 
checked the monitors 
and gave a nod. 
"He's ready," she 
said quietly. Dr. 
Marquez took his 
position, his gloved 
hands poised over 
Plankton's now open 
mouth after removing
the gas mask.

Karen's gaze was 
steady, her love and 
support unwavering as 
the surgical team 
moved in unison. The 
whirring of the 
instruments began, a 
soft mechanical lullaby 
to the background of 
Plankton's deep, 
even breaths.

The surgery itself 
was a dance of precision, 
each gesture a step 
carefully choreographed to 
minimize discomfort. 
The doctor's hands 
were steady as he 
removed the wisdom teeth. 
Karen could see the 
tense lines in Plankton's 
face soften under the 
influence of the anesthesia.

The anesthesiologist 
checked the monitors 
continuously, ensuring 
his vital signs remained 
steady. The nurse offered 
Karen a chair, but she 
chose to stand, her eyes 
never leaving Plankton's 
face.

As the surgery 
progressed, Karen felt 
the tension in the 
room ease. The surgical 
team worked with 
efficiency, their 
movements synchronized 
like a well-oiled 
machine. Dr. Marquez 
spoke in hushed tones 
with his assistants, 
each word a gentle 
whisper in the symphony 
of medical sounds.

Plankton's breaths 
steadied, the rhythmic 
beep of the heart 
monitor a soothing 
reminder that he was 
still with her, that 
his anxiety had 
been replaced by 
the peacefulness of 
deep sedation.

The doctor's 
instruments 
continued to dance, 
a silent ballet 
of precision and care. 
The nurse occasionally 
glanced at Karen, 
offering a reassuring 
smile as they suture
his gums with dissolving
stitches.

"Alright, 
we're all done," 
Dr. Marquez 
announced, 
his voice a gentle 
interruption to 
the symphony of 
beeps and whirs. 
"Let's wake him up 
slowly."

Karen felt 
her own heart 
rate spike as 
the anesthesiologist 
began reversing 
the medication. 
They removed the 
IV drip
and the nurse 
wiped Plankton's 
mouth with a soft 
cloth, her touch 
as gentle as a sea 
anemone caressing 
his skin.

His eye flickered 
open, unfocused 
and hazy. He 
blinked slowly, 
taking in the
surroundings. Karen's 
screen was the first 
thing he saw, 
a beacon in the 
medical fog.

"You're okay," 
she murmured, her 
voice the gentle 
hum of a distant 
lighthouse guiding 
his consciousness 
back to shore.

Plankton blinked 
again, his vision 
swimming into focus. 
The weighted blanket 
was still wrapped 
around him, the 
comforting pressure 
now a grounding 
reminder of her 
presence. His mouth 
felt foreign, as if it 
belonged to someone 
else. The nurse 
offered him water, 
and he sipped it 
slowly, feeling the 
coolness soothe his 
throat.

"How do you feel?" 
Dr. Marquez asked, 
his voice a soft 
wave breaking over 
the shore of Plankton's 
awareness. Plankton 
nodded, his grip 
on Karen's hand firm.

"Good," he 
managed to murmur, 
his voice thick with 
the aftermath of 
the anesthesia. Karen 
could see the 
relief in his eye, 
the storm of fear 
now a distant memory.

( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

new author is neurodivergent healing and caring helping others sensory advice sensory needs POV Karen neurofabulous

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷,𝟼𝟸𝟷

Karen walked into the 
bedroom. Plankton lay 
on their bed, 
face half-buried in 
a pillow. His snores 
rumbled through the 
quiet room. She took a 
moment to appreciate 
his vulnerability before 
she gently nudged him 
awake. He groaned, his 
eye fluttering open. She offered 
a soft smile. "It's time," 
she whispered.
"You're fine."
He nodded.

The drive to the oral
surgeon's office was tense.
The brightness
of the day seemed to mock
his anxiety.

Karen's hand squeezed
his, a silent promise of
support. As they checked in, the
receptionist's smile was
practiced, but kind.

The exam room
surgeon, a man named Dr.
Musselwhite, came in.
He explained the procedure
once more. 

The nurse began
preparing anesthesia.

"You're doing great,"
Plankton took a deep breath,
vision blurring. The
last thing he saw was
Karen's face before the
world went dark.

Karen watched the
monitors as Plankton's
breathing evened out. She clutched
his hand, her thumb
making small circles on
his palm. Plankton's
snores had been replaced
by the steady rhythm of
his breathing under anesthesia.

She leaned
forward to Plankton's still form.
Her screen traced the
IV line. 

Plankton's mouth was open
Dr. Musselwhite peered into. Plankton
twitched slightly in his sleep,
but the doctor's hand remained
steady.
Plankton's chest continued 
to rise and fall
steadily, oblivious to the
battle being fought within
his mouth.

Dr. Musselwhite finished stitching.

"It's done," he announced.

"You did it," she murmured,
voice cracking.

Plankton lay still, his breathing
even and deep. 

The surgery was over, and he
was alive. Karen leaned down to
kiss his forehead.

The nurse smiles. "He'll be
asleep for awhile," she said.

Karen nodded.
The only sounds were the
whispers of medical staff
and the hum of machinery.

The nurse wheeled him into
recovery, and Karen followed, the
medication still working its
magic.

Plankton's features were
relaxed in sleep, a stark
contrast to the fear that had
been etched there just hours
before.
Plankton's chest rose and fell
in a steady rhythm, a silent
testament to the successful
procedure by the
deep embrace of anesthesia.

As he started to stir, the
nurse offered a gentle smile as he
began to come around.

Plankton's eye fluttered open,
his gaze unfocused and glassy.
He blinked slowly.

"Hi, sweetheart," Karen's voice
was a warm embrace. 

"Whaa-...happen'd?" he mumbled.

"You're ok," Karen said softly.
"They took your wisdom teeth out."

Plankton tries to piece together the
fragments of his memory. 

He attempted to speak. "Ow?" he
managed.

Karen squeezed his hand.

Plankton's head
lolling slightly against the
pillow. His mouth felt like a
foreign landscape. Karen helped 
him sit up, the nurse
getting gauze.
"You're going to need to
bite down," she said,
handing him a piece of gauze.
"It'll help with the bleeding."

He pressed
it to his mouth, the pressure
sending a dull throb through
his jaw.

"Hold it there," the nurse instructed,
her voice a gentle guide in
his foggy world. "Keep the
pressure steady. It'll help
the bleeding to stop."

Plankton nodded, his movements
sluggish. 

The nurse handed Karen an ice
pack. "This'll help," she said. 

"It's ok,"
she soothed. "You're all
done. The hard part is over."

Plankton nodded again, his
brain still foggy from the
remaining anesthesia.

He looked around 
the recovery
room, his gaze
wondering.

"Whath's thith?"
Plankton pointed
at a machine.
Karen chuckled, the
tension easing from
her shoulders.
"It's just monitoring
you."

He nodded, his
eye still filled with
wonder. He looked
down at his hand,
studying it as if it
was the first time he'd
seen it. "Thith...han,"
he said, his voice trailing
off as he wiggled his
fingers.

"Yes, Plankton.
That's your hand."

He's mouth filled with gauze
and drool slowly seeping out.

"Karen?" he mumbles, his
voice thick and groggy. "Wha's?" 
He points to 
instruments.

"They're just tools the
doctor used to help you,"
she explains gently.

Plankton nods, his curiosity
satisfied for the moment.
His eye drift to the ceiling. 
"Why do the wight
hab funny shapes?"

Karen follows his gaze.
"They're just patterns,
Plankton. They help the
ceiling look nice."

He nods, the concept of
aesthetics lost on him.
The nurse returns to check
his vitals. Plankton
watches her with the same
curiosity.

"Whath thoze do?" He points
to the stethoscope around
her neck, his speech still
slurred.

The nurse chuckles. "It's how
we listen to your heart."

Plankton nodded, his gaze
following as she placed the
stethoscope on his chest. 
"Ca-- heaw it?" He
asked, his curiosity
unquenchable.
"That's your heart beating."
Plankton's eye grew
even wider, the
revelation a spark in the
haze. "Wow," he whispered,
his voice a mere breath.
Karen watched
his exploration with a
mixture of amusement and
affection.

The nurse returned with
discharge instructions, her
words a blur to Plankton's
still-numb mind. Karen took
the papers.

"Alright, let's get you
ready to go home," she said,
helping him to stand.
Karen's firm grip on his
arm steadied him.

Karen helped him into the car. 
The seatbelt
was a puzzle he couldn't solve
under the fog of the lingering 
drugs, but Karen buckles him
in before driving out of the 
parking lot.

"Loog ath the treeth," Plankton
mumbled. "They're waving
hewwo," he said with a
sleepy smile.

Karen glanced over, her
own smile growing. "Yes,
sweetheart. They're saying hello."

Plankton's gaze shifted to the
mirror in the car. He blinked
at his reflection, the gauze
sticking out of his mouth.
"Who thad?" He pointed at
his reflection.

Karen chuckled. 
"That's you, with a
little extra padding."

Plankton nodded, his
thoughts a slow river in
his sluggish mind.

"Thith car...it moveths,"
he murmured.
Karen chuckled. "Yes,
dear, it's a car. It takes
us places."

"Wook ath the clowds,"
he whispered, his voice
slurred.

"Thath one...loks wike a...,"
"It's a cloud," Karen said,
smiling at his childlike
wonder. "It's just water
vapor that looks like
something we see in our
imaginations."
Plankton nodded, his
eye drooping. The motion
of the car and the gentle
hum of the engine lulled
him into a doze. His head
nodded forward before
snapping back up again.

"Tired?" Karen asked.

"Mm-hmm."

His head lolled back
against the headrest, his
eye slipping shut. 

The car's AC whispered
a gentle lullaby, the cool
air playing with the
strands of Plankton's antennae.
His chest rose and fell in
time with the rhythm of the
engine, each breath a soft
snore.

They arrived home. 
Plankton stirred, his
eye blinking open.

Karen helped Plankton out of
the car. She held him
close, his weight a comforting
reminder of his presence.

Spot, the amoeba puppy,
bounded over, his gelatinous body
shifting shapes with excitement.

"Spoth," Plankton mumbled. The
puppy leapedfrogged over, his
form morphing into a blur of
happiness. Plankton's eye
lit up.

Plankton reached
for Spot with a clumsy hand,
his coordination still muddled.
Spot nudged his palm with
his squishy nose.

"Wook, Spoth," Plankton slurred,
his eye wide with childlike
wonder. "I hav- a booboo."

Spot nudges him. Plankton giggled.

"Easy, Plankton," Karen
cautioned, her voice a gentle
reminder of his fragile
state. 

Spot's eyes widened in
surprise, his little body
shivering with joy. He wriggled
closer, his gelatinous tail
whipping back and forth in
a blur of excitement. Plankton
laughed.

They made their way to
the couch, Plankton's steps
uncertain, each movement
accompanied by a little giggle.
Spot followed.
Plankton flopped onto the cushions,
his body a limp noodle.

Spot jumped up beside him.
Plankton leaned onto 
by Spot, his head lolling.

The puppy's
a comfort.

Plankton's eye grew 
heavy, the weight of
his eyelid too much
for his sluggish 
body to bear, his body 
going slack.

"Rest," Karen said, 
kneeling beside him. "You've
been through a lot today."

His hand
remained on Spot, the
puppy a comforting
presence.

Plankton's breaths grew
steady, his snores once again
filling the room.

Karen watched him sleep,
his chest rising and falling
beneath Spot's gentle weight.
The house was quiet,
the only sound the occasional
snort from Plankton's nostrils.

He slept all night, only waking
up the next morning.

Plankton awoke with a
start, his mouth wet with
drool, his eye focusing
slowly. The gauze was 
still damp from the night's
excess saliva. He sat up.

"Wha..." Plankton looked
around, the room spinning
slightly. The couch was
his bed, Spot his blanket.

He reached up to
his mouth, the gauze
still in place, the taste of
cotton in his mouth. The
memory of the surgery was
distant.

Karen's face swam into
view, her smile a warm
sunrise. "How are you
feeling?" she asked, her voice
a gentle caress.

Plankton's eye searched
his mind, looking for the
missing pieces. "I don't...
member coming hone," he
mumbled, the words slurred.

Karen nodded, her smile
soft. "You fell asleep in
the car, sweetie. I brought
you home."

But any
details were lost, a foggy
dream slipping away with
each passing moment.

"Thish mouth," he said,
his tongue probing the empty
sockets. The pain was
a dull ache, a reminder of
his body's battle.

Karen handed him a glass
of water. "Thank you,"
he murmured.

"You're not supposed to eat
solids today," she reminded
him, placing a bowl of
soup on the coffee table.
"But I made some nice,
soft scrambled eggs and toast
for you to chew."

Spot's eyes glued to his
owner, his tail wagging.

Plankton's jaw felt like
it was made of rubber, but
the food was a heavenly
comfort. Karen sat beside
him, her screen never leaving
his face, watching for any
sign of discomfort.

"It'th okay," he assured
her, his speech still slurred.
He took another bite, his
mouth working carefully.
The taste was muted, a distant
memory of what food used
to be. Yet, the warmth and
texture brought a sense of
normalcy to the post-surgery
haze.

new Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton Karen/Sheldon J. Plankton POV Karen AI Story Generator wisdom tooth

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 9
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Chip's gaze went to his dad,
his confusion morphing into
concern. "What's wrong?"
Plankton's eye darted to Chip.
"Wh-what do you mean?" he
stuttered, his defensiveness
a clear sign of his internal
turmoil. "Why do you think
anything's wrong?" He says
to Chip.

Chip looked at him,
his eyes filled with innocence.
"You just...you're acting di-"

"I'm not!" Plankton snapped,
his voice echoing in the quiet
room. He felt the weight of his
fidget toy in his hand. "I'm
fine!" he insisted, his antennae
twitching with agitation.

Chip took a step back, his eyes
wide with surprise. "Dad?" he
asked, his voice trembling. Karen's
broke at the sight of her
son's confusion. "It's ok," she
tried to say, but Plankton's anger
was palpable.

"I'm not acting any way!"
Plankton's voice grew louder,
his eye darting around the room
as if searching for an escape.
"Don't patronize me!" His antennae
shook with the intensity of
his emotions, and Karen could see
the fear and frustration bubbling
just beneath the surface.

Chip took another step back,
his eyes wide with shock. "But you
always give me hugs," he said,
his voice small. "What happened?"

Plankton's face contorted with
frustration. "I don't know,"
he said, his voice rising. "I just
can't... I can't handle it right
now, ok?" He threw the fidget
toy across the room, the plastic
smacking against the wall. "Leave
me alone!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his voice shaking. "But, Dad, I
missed yo-"

"I said leave me alone!"
Plankton's voice boomed, the
stress of the past week
exploding out of him. His body
was a coiled spring, ready to snap.
Karen's chest ached as she watched
the scene unfold, torn between her
love for Plankton and her need to
comfort their son. "It's okay,"
she murmured, stepping towards
them. "Let's all just take a
moment."

Chip's screen searched hers,
his expression a mix of hurt
and confusion. "But, Dad, I just-"

"I said leave me alone!"
Plankton's voice was a thunderclap,
cutting off Chip's words. His
body was rigid, his antennae
quivering with agitation. Karen felt
his pain, knew his fear of being
exposed, of being seen as lesser
than before. She took a step
towards him, her hand outstretched.
"Plankton, please," she whispered.
But Chip didn't get it.

"Dad?" Chip's voice was
trembling, his eyes brimming
with tears. "What's happening?"
He looked so lost, so small in
that moment. Plankton's chest
heaved with heavy breaths, his
eye avoiding Chip's gaze.

"It's...it's nothing," Plankton
stuttered, trying to control his
voice. He knew
his behavior was erratic, but
the fear of being discovered
was too great.

Chip looked at him, his
expression a blend of
confusion and hurt. "But you're
not fine," he said, his voice
shaking. "You're acting..."

Plankton's anger grew, his
eye flashing. "I'm fine!"
he insisted, his voice a
whisper-shout. "Don't tell me
what I'm feeling!" He
couldn't bear the thought of
his son seeing him as broken,
as someone to pity.

Chip's lip trembled, his eyes
filling with tears. "But you're
not acting like yourself," he
whispered, his voice thick
with emotion. Karen's 
ached for both of them.

Plankton's face grew tight, his
body coiled with tension. "What
do you know?" he snapped. "You're
just a ki—"

"What do you mean I don't know?"
Chip's voice grew louder. "I live
with you, I know you better
than anyone else! And you're just
making excuses for acting like
this!" His screen flushed
with emotion, and his fists
were clenched tightly at his
sides. "So don't call me a kid when
you're the one throwing a fit
like one!"

Plankton's eye widened, his
anger a stark contrast to the
calmness he'd been trying to
maintain. "How dare you!" he
snapped. "Yo--"

Chip's voice grew stronger,
cutting through Plankton's words.
"How dare I? You're the one
shouting!" Chip's voice trembled,
his own frustration and fear
bubbling to the surface. "I don't
know what's happening to you,
but me and Mom are both pretty
much sick of you and your precious
little temper tantrums! So you can
either decide to tell us what's
going on or keep acting like
this," Chip's voice broke, as Plankton
sat down with ringing
in his ears, "but I'm
not gonna keep pretending like
we care about yo-"

But before Chip could
finish his sentence, Plankton's
body stiffened, his eye glazed
over. "Plankton?" Karen
asked. But there was no
response. Chip felt fear. "Dad?" he
whispered, reaching out tentatively.

Karen recognized
the signs of Plankton's 
overwhelm. "Chip, step back,"
she said, her voice calm yet
firm. As Plankton's body
stiffened, Chip's eyes were wide
with terror, his hand hovering
in the air, unsure of how
to help. "It's ok," Karen
whispered, her voice a
steady beacon in the storm
of Plankton's seizure. "Just
wa- Chip, no, it's ok,"
Karen says, her voice
soothing as she tries
to keep the situation calm.
She knew from the other day's
experience that Plankton might
not remember this, that he was
somewhere else in his mind,
disconnected from the world
around him.

Karen remained composed,
ready to catch him if he
fell. Chip watched, his own
fear mirroring the scene before
him. "D-dad?" he stuttered,
his voice shaking. Chip's eyes were on
his father, his young mind
trying to understand.

Plankton's body remained rigid,
his eye vacant. The room
was a tableau of tension, the
silence deafening. Karen knew
this moment all too well now,
the moment when Plankton slipped
into dizzy/lightheaded daze, leaving
them behind. She took a
deep breath, willing her
nerves to calm, her hand reaching
for Chip's to guide him away from
his dad.

Chip's eyes were glued to
his father, a silent tear
tracking down his screen. Karen
wrapped her arm around him,
pulling him gently to the
side. "It's ok," she murmured,
her voice a balm. "Dad's just...
he's just having a moment."

They watched as Plankton's
body went slack, his hand
dropping the fidget toy.
Chip's gaze followed it as it
bounced off the floor, the
plastic clattering against
the wood. "What's happening?"
he asked, his voice a
whisper.

"It's ok," Karen said,
squeezing Chip's hand tightly.
"Dad's having a moment." She
guided Chip to the couch. "Just
wait here." 

With gentle but firm steps,
Karen approached Plankton, his body
still frozen in the grip of
the seizure. She knew not to
move him, not to shake him
out of it. Instead, she talked to
him in a calm, soothing voice,
keeping the room's energy low.
"You're safe," she murmured.
"We're right here." But Chip is
to curious.

Chip's gaze remained fixed
on Plankton, his eyes wide
with fear and confusion.
"Is he ok?" he whispered,
his voice trembling. Karen's
went out to him, knowing
this was the first time he'd
seen his father like this.

"It's called an absence
seizure," Karen explained,
sitting beside Chip. "It's like
his brain takes a little break."
Her voice was calm, trying
to reassure her son. "It's part
of his, h-his life now."

Chip stared at his dad,
his chest tight with fear. "Is
he gonna be ok?" he asked,
his voice barely a whisper. Karen
nodded, her eyes never leaving
Plankton. "Yes," she said. "But it's
important we stay calm." "Mom
what's..."

"It's because of an accident,"
she said, her voice gentle.
Chip's eyes widened with horror.
"An accident? What happened?"
he asked, his voice a whisper.
Karen took a deep breath,
steeling herself for the conversation
she'd been dreading. "Dad had a
fall," she said, her gaze
firmly on Plankton. "It hurt his
brain."

Chip's gaze went back to his
father, his expression a mix
of shock and sadness. "Will he
get better?"

Karen's eyes filled with tears
as she looked at her son,
his innocence a stark contrast
to the harsh reality they faced.
"It's... different," she said,
swiping at her screen. "It's not
like a bruise that will heal.
But we can help him, we can
learn to live with it."

Chip nodded, his grip on
her hand tightening. "How?"
he asked, his voice small. "So
is he..."

"He's still your dad," Karen
whispered, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's still form.
"But now, we just have to love
him a little differently. I'll let
him tell you more when
he's ready."

Chip's screen searched hers, his
thoughts racing. "Ok," he
managed, his voice thick with
uncertainty.

Plankton's seizure ended nearly
abruptly as it had begun. He
blinked, his gaze returning to
the room gradually. His
hand searched for the fidget
toy, his hand reaching out
instinctively. Karen picked
it up from the floor,
handing it to him. "You're
ok," she said, her voice
soothing. 

new seizurecore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 11
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Chip sniffles. "But what if he gets
mad at me again?" he whispers.
"He might," Karen admits. "But
it's important to remember
it's not about you, or what you
do wrong." She pauses, her
thumb tracing gentle circles
on his back. "It's about his
brain trying to understand
a world that's changed for him."

"But how do I know what's
too much?" Chip asks, his
voice small. "How can I tell
what will make him upset?"

Karen's eyes searched his. "It's like
learning a new dance," she
explained. "At first, you'll step
on each other's toes, but with
time and patience, you'll find the
right rhythm." She took a deep
breath. "We'll figure it out
together. You can ask him, or
me, and we'll learn his cues. Like
when he needs space, or when
he's ok with a gentle touch."

Chip nodded, his eyes
still brimming with tears. "Ok,"
he said, his voice shaky. "But I
want to hug him again."

Karen clenched at
his words. "I know," she said.
"And when the time is right, you
may. But for now, let's find
other ways to show him love,
without overwhelming his
sensitive brain." She stood up, her
hand reaching for the doorknob. 
"Why don't we go back to the living
room and check on him?"

They walked back to the
living room, where Plankton
was still sitting in the armchair,
his antennae twitching slightly.
He looked up as they entered,
his eye filled with a mix of
shame and defensiveness. Karen
could see the turmoil playing
across his features, the battle
between his love for Chip and
his fear of rejection.

"Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative,
his hand outstretched. "Could I...
could we...?"

Plankton's eye flickered to
his son's outstretched hand, his
stomach clenching at the thought
of contact. He knew he should
want this, should crave the
comfort of his son's embrace. But
his brain was a cacophony of
fear and confusion, his skin a
livewire of sensitivity. He
swallowed hard, the word sticking
in his throat like a bone. "No,"
he forced out, his voice tight.
Chip's hand fell to his side, his
shoulders slumping. "But Dad,"
he whispered, his voice
desolate. "I just wan—"

"NO!" Plankton's voice was a
roar, his antennae quivering with
the force of his rejection. The
look of hurt on Chip's screen was
like a dagger to his heart, but
he couldn't stop the words from
coming. "I don't want you right
now," he spat, the anger a
shield for his fear. "I don't like
anyone touching me!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his chin trembling. "But Dad," he
whispered, his voice barely
above the sound of his own
breath. "I just want to make you
feel better."

Plankton's heart twisted, but
his fear was too great. "I said
NO!" he bellowed, his body
shaking with the force of his
words.

Chip's lower lip quivered as
he took a step back, his eyes
wide with shock. He had
never seen his father this
angry, this scared. "But I'm your
son," he managed, his voice
tiny. "I won't hurt yo-"

"I don't care!" Plankton's
voice was a snarl. "I just want
to be left alone!" His antennae
thrashed wildly, a silent
testament to his inner chaos.
"I don't need you or your
stupid games!" The words
were like a slap, leaving Chip's
face burning.

Chip's eyes filled with
hurt, his voice shaky. "But
you liked playing with me befo—"

"I SAID NO!" Plankton's
voice was a thunderclap, his
eye flashing with a rage that
wasn't entirely his own. "I don't
want your games, your laughter,
your touch!" The words hung in
the air. Chip felt
his chest tighten, his breath
hitch in his throat. He looked
at his mother, his screen
pleading for help.

Karen stepped forward, her
heart breaking with each word.
"Chip, let's give Dad some
space," she said, her voice
barely above a whisper. She knew
his intentions were pure, but
his father's brain was a minefield
right now, and any misstep could
trigger another seizure.

But Chip was stubborn, his
desire to connect with his dad
overriding his fear. "But Mom,
he's just mad," he protested.
"He co-" "Chip," Karen was firm,
but her eyes were filled with
sorrow. "It's more than that."
She took his hand. "We have
to be patient, ok?"

They sat on the couch, the
distance between them and
Plankton palpable. Chip's
thoughts raced, trying to
understand. Plankton sat in the
armchair, his antennae still,
his gaze anywhere but on
his son. So Chip decided to
get one of the fidget toys.

"Here," he said, holding it out.
"It's ok," he whispered. "It's just
a toy." Plankton's eye flickered to
the fidget toy, his breathing
shallow. He knew he should be
grateful, should be happy that
his son was trying. But the anger
was like a storm, and he couldn't
find the calm within. "Get that
hand away from me," he snarled, his
voice low and menacing.

Chip's eyes filled with hurt,
his hand dropping to his side.
"But Dad," he choked out, his
throat tight with unshed tears. "I'm
just trying to-"

But Plankton's anger was a
tidal wave that couldn't be
stopped. "You don't get it!"
he shouted, his antennae quivering.
"You can't just barge in here
and expect things to be the same!"
He threw one of the toys across
the room, the plastic smacking
against the wall. "You don't get
to decide how I feel!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears, his
heart racing. "But Dad, I just
want to help," he whispered.
"I don't understand." He retrieved
the toy.

Plankton's eye darted to the
fidget toy, his antennae quivering.
"Don't," he murmured, his voice
sharp. "I don't want it." The
word was like a slap to Chip,
his hand dropping to his side.
He looked at his mother, his
eyes pleading for guidance.

"Let me," she said,
her voice a gentle whisper. She
approached Plankton slowly, her
movements deliberate. "Here,"
she said, her voice soothing.
"This might help calm you down."

Plankton's eye darted to the
fidget toy, his antennae
twitching. For a moment, he
was torn between anger and
desire, his hand reaching out to
grab it before his brain could
change its mind. His grip was
firm, his breath hitching as
his thumb traced the smooth
patterns.

Chip watched, his heart racing.
"Is it ok now?" he asked,
his voice tentative. "Can I sit
with you?"

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
breaths coming in measured
paces as he worked the fidget
toy. He didn't look up, his eye
still on the floor.

"Dad?" Chip's voice was tentative,
his question hanging in the
air like a delicate thread.
"Can we talk now?"

Plankton's eye remained fixed
on the fidget toy, his thumb
still tracing the patterns
compulsively. His jaw was tight,
his antennae slightly less erratic.
"What's to talk about," he murmured, 
his voice still thick with the anger 
that hadn't completely dissipated.
Chip took a deep breath, his
heart pounding in his chest. "I
don't know," he said, his voice
honest. "I just want to kno—"
"You want to know what?" Plankton's
voice was cold, his eye flicking
up to meet Chip's. "What happened
to me? What's wrong with me?"
The words were a challenge, a
sharp-edged question that hung in
the air. Chip's gaze dropped to the
carpet, his throat tight. "I just
want to understand," he
whispered. "Why you're so mentally
di-"

He didn't get to finish the
sentence. Plankton's antennae
snapped up, his voice a whip.
"Don't," he said, the word
sharp as a knife. "Don't say
another word." Chip felt his
stomach churn, his palms
sweaty.

"Dad, I didn't mean to upset
you," Chip tried again, his voice
shaking. "I just know at my
school, how my classmates would
whispered to me," he said, his voice
barely above a whisper. "And I don't
wan-"

"I said don't!" Plankton's voice
was a whip. His antennae were
still, his body coiled tightly
in the chair. "Don't you dare
make me into some kind of
charity case!" His eye blazed with
a fierce protectiveness that took
even Karen by surprise.

Chip flinched, his own
eyes filling with tears. "But
Dad," he said, his voice barely
above a whisper. "You weren't a
burden bef-" "ENOUGH!"

The room was silent, save
for the sound of Plankton's
rapid breathing. His antennae
twitched as he clutched the
fidget toy like a lifeline.
"I NEVER want to be a burden!"
he shouted, his voice echoing
around the room. The anger
was a storm raging within him,
his fear of being seen as
weak or less than overwhelming.

Karen stepped forward, her eyes
filled with a mix of pity and
determination. "Chip," she
whispered. "Let's give him some
space." But Chip's resolve
was unshakable, his eyes
locked on his father. "But what if
'the burden' never gets..."

Plankton's antennae shot up. "What
did you call me?" His voice was
a hiss, his body taut with tension.

Chip took a step back, his
throat tight. "I didn't mean it
like that," he stuttered. "It's
just what they say at school."

But Plankton was lost in a
whirlwind of emotion. "Get out!"
he roared, his antennae flailing.
"Get out of my face!"

Chip's eyes filled with tears
as he took a step back, the
rejection a heavy weight on his
shoulders. He didn't understand
why his father was so
angry with him, so he turned
to his mother, his voice
shaking. "Mom, I didn't mean to-"

But Karen knew Plankton's anger
was a defense mechanism, a way
for his brain to cope with the
fear and confusion of his new
reality. She stepped closer to him,
her voice soft and calm. "It's ok,
Plankton," she soothed. "We're
here for you. Chip didn't mea-"
"DON'T!" Plankton's voice was a
bark, his antennae snapping in
agitation. "Don't you dare defend
him." His eye was wild, his
body trembling.

Karen's eyes never left his,
her voice a gentle stream of
reassurance. "You're not a
burden, Plankton," she said, her
words a soft whisper. "We love
you, just as you are." She took
another step, closing the gap
between them. "We're in this
together."

new toycore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 12
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

But Plankton was too lost in
his rage to hear her. "Get
OUT!" he screamed, his antennae
thrashing. "I don't need Chip!"
The words were a knife in
Karen's, but she knew they
were not truly his own.

"Dad," Chip's voice was small,
his eyes wide with shock. "I didn't
mean to..."

But Plankton's anger was a
beast that had been unleashed,
his words cutting like a knife.
"I said get out!" he roared, his
body vibrating with rage.

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, looking for the man
he knew beneath the storm of
emotions. But all he saw was a
stranger, a creature of fear and
frustration. He took another
step back, his heart racing. "But
Dad," he whispered, his voice
barely audible. "I didn't do anything
wrong.."

Plankton's antennae stilled,
his breathing erratic. "You're
right," he murmured, his voice
deflating like a balloon. "You
haven't done anything wrong, in
fact, you're pretty perfect." The
words were laced with sarcasm, a
bitterness that made Karen's fists
clench. "After all, it's not like
you called me burdensome or
anything," he added, his voice
dripping with false sweetness.

Chip's eyes widened, the
impact of his father's words
hitting him like a slap. He
looked at Karen, his eyes
pleading for help, for
understanding. "Dad," he said,
his voice shaking. "That's not
what I me-"

But Plankton's anger had
become a living entity in the
room, feeding off his fear and
frustration. "Oh, I'm sorry,"
he said, his voice thick with
sarcasm. "Did my little falling
accident hurt your precious wittle
feelings?" His antennae twitched,
his eye glinting with rage.

Chip took another step back,
his chin quivering. "But Dad,"
he protested, his voice shaking.
"I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't mean it,"
Plankton interrupted, his voice
dripping with sarcasm. "You're
so innocent, so pure." His antennae
waved erratically. "But let me tell
you a secret, Chip. You see, there's
a wonderful thing called tact.
Maybe you should try it sometime!"

Chip felt his screen burn with
embarrassment, his eyes filling
with tears. "But Dad," he whispered,
his voice shaky. "I just wanted
to-"

"Oh, I know what you wanted,"
Plankton sneered, the sarcasm
dripping from his words like acid.
"You wanted to be the hero,
didn't you? The big strong
boy who saves his daddy from
his own brain!" His antennae
twitched erratically. "But let me
tell you something, Chip. You can't
fix this. You can't make it all
better with your toys and your
stupid questions. So why don't
we all just praise perfect little
Chip for trying, shall we.." The
words were a slap in the face, each
one hitting Chip harder than the
last.

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his body trembling. "But Dad,"
he whispered, his voice
desperate. "I just want to help."
"Oh, how noble," Plankton said,
his voice thick with sarcasm.
"Want a medal?" His antennae
quivered with anger, his eye
glinting with spite.

"I just want to be with
you," Chip said, his voice
breaking. "To make you happy."
"Well, you're doing a fine job,"
Plankton said, his voice like
a whip. "Keep it up, Chip.
You're a regular miracle worker."
His words were barbed, each one
designed to cut deep.

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
desperate for some sign of the
love he knew was there. But
all he found was anger, a wall
so thick it was suffocating.
"Dad," he said, his voice
shaking. "I'm sor-"

"Don't," Plankton interrupted, his
voice cold. "Don't you dare say
you're sorry. You don't get to
feel sorry for me. You don't get
to pity me." His antennae
twitched with agitation. "You don't
even get to be upset about what
you said. Because it's all true,
isn't it?" His eye bore into
Chip's, his voice like ice. "I'm a
burden. That's all I am. That's all
I'll ever be."

Chip's breath hitched, the
weight of his father's words
crushing him. "Dad," he managed,
his voice a whisper. "That's not
what I-"

But Plankton talked over him,
his voice a sneer. "Oh, I see.
You're going to play the innocent
now, are you? Pretend like you didn't
just say I'm a burden?" His antennae
were a blur of movement, a silent
testament to his rage. "How
convenient."

Chip felt his world crumbling,
his heart shattering into a
thousand pieces. "But Dad," he
whispered, his voice shaking.
"I didn't-"

"Don't you dare lie to me,"
Plankton's voice was like a
knife, cutting through the air.

Chip felt the room close in, his
throat tight. "But Dad," he choked
out, "I didn't mean-"

"Oh, the poor little hero,"
Plankton said, his voice a mocking
whisper. "So misunderstood."
He rolled his eye dramatically.
"It's always about you, isn't it?"
The sarcasm was a knife twisting
in Karen, but she knew
it was the fear and pain speaking.

Chip's eyes searched his father's,
his own brimming with tears. "But
Dad, I just want to help," he
whispered, his voice shaking.
"To make things right."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
gaze cold. "You want to make
things right?" he echoed, his
voice laced with condescension.
"How sweet! Why don't you go
play the hero somewhere else!"

Chip felt the sting of his
father's sarcasm, his eyes
welling up. "But I'm your son,"
he whispered, his voice
breaking. "I'm supposed to-"

"Oh, I know your role,"
Plankton said, his tone biting.
"The golden child, always
trying to fix things." His antennae
quivered with disdain. "Dad,"
Chip protests, "I just want
you to be happy."

Plankton's eye narrowed, his
face a mask of condescension.
"How sweet," he said, his voice
dripping with sarcasm. "But you
see, Chip, happiness is a
concept lost to me. I'm just
a broken toy now, remember?"
He twirled the fidget toy in
his hand, his thumb moving
compulsively over the patterns.

Chip's cheeks flushed, his eyes
filling with tears. "But Dad,"
he whispered, "you're more than that."

Plankton's antennae shot up, his
face a contorted mask of
disdain. "Oh, really?" he said,
his voice thick with patronizing
sarcasm. "Enlighten me, oh great
and wise Chip. Tell me what I
am." He leaned back in his chair,
his antennae waving in the air
as if inviting a lecture from
his son.

Chip took a deep breath, trying
to keep his voice steady. "You're
my dad," he said, his eyes
shining with unshed tears. "And
you're... you're still you, even if
you're a little different now."

But Plankton's sarcasm was
a shield he couldn't penetrate.
"Ah, yes," he said, his voice
dripping with mockery. "The
ever-elusive 'you're still you'
argument. How original." His
antennas twitched in disdain.

"You don't get it," Chip's voice
was desperate, his eyes
pleading. "I don't care if
you're different. I just want
you to be happy."

But Plankton's anger had
become a shield, his words a
barbed wire fence keeping his
son at bay. "Oh, you don't
care?" he said, his voice
dripping with sarcasm. "How
magnanimous of you." His antennae
twitched in a mock salute. "Well,
let me tell you something,
Chip. You can't just ignore
the fact that your perfect
little world has been shaken
up, can you?"

Chip felt the sting of his
father's patronizing tone, his
eyes burning with unshed tears.
"But Dad," he said, his voice
quivering. "I just want to-"

"Oh, I know what you want,"
Plankton interrupted, his voice
dripping with condescension.
"You want the perfect little
storybook ending where we all
hold hands and skip off into the
sunset." His antennae waved in
the air dramatically. "But life
doesn't work that way, Chip.
Sometimes, bad things happen to
good people, and there's no
magical cure for it." His eye
was cold, his antennae stilled.
"So save your pity for someone
wh-"

Karen stepped in, her voice
calm and firm. "Plankton, that's
enough." She knew his words
were a defense, a way to push
away the pain. "Chip's just
trying to help."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
breath hitching. He looked at
his wife, his anger momentarily
fading. "I know," he murmured.
"But I don't want his pity."

Karen's gaze was filled with
understanding. "It's not pity,
Plankton," she said, her voice
soothing. "It's love."

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
expression softening slightly.
"But what good is love when I can't
eve-"

"Love is more than just
touch," Karen interrupted, her
voice gentle. "It's understanding,
it's patience, it's being here
for you." She took another step
towards him, her hand outstretched.
"It's about connecting in
other ways."

Plankton's antennae quivered, his
eye flicking to her hand and then
back to her face. He knew she was
right, but the fear was a beast
that ruled him. "But I don't
know how to," he murmured, his
voice barely audible. "How do
I connect without... without
the things I used to do?"

Karen ached, her hand
still extended. "We'll find a
way," she assured him, her voice
steady. "Together."

new familycore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 13
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Plankton's antennae drooped, his
eye focusing on the fidget toy
in his hand. It was a silent
testament to his internal
turmoil, his mind racing with
thoughts and fears. He knew Karen
was right, that love didn't need
to be physical, but the concept
was still so alien to him, so
difficult to grasp in his current
state. "I'm trying," he murmured,
his voice tight. "But it's just..."

Karen's hand reached out to
cover his, her touch gentle. "We
all are," she said, her voice
soothing. "And that's all we can
do." Her gaze was filled with
understanding, her eyes speaking
volumes without a single word.
"We're all just trying to
navigate this new world,
together."

Chip watched his parents. He knew
his father was struggling, but he
also knew that love didn't have to
be about touch. He took a step
forward, his hand hovering..

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his eye wide with fear. Karen
quickly intervened, placing a
hand on Chip's shoulder. "Not
now," she whispered, her screen
meeting her son's. "Let's give
Dad some space."

Chip nodded, his eyes never
leaving Plankton's, the
desire to connect with his
father a palpable force. But
Plankton's reaction was a stark
reminder of the invisible barriers
his injury had erected, the
sensory minefield that surrounded
him. The room was thick with
silence, the only sound the
steady tick of the clock on the
wall.

Karen's hand remained on
Plankton's, her touch a gentle
reminder of her presence. "It's
ok," she murmured, her voice
soft. "We're all learning
together."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye meeting hers with a glimmer
of hope. "I know," he said, his
voice tight. "But it's so hard."
The words were a confession,
his vulnerability laid bare.

Karen ached, her grip
on his hand firm. "I know," she
said, her voice understanding.
"But we'll get through this.
Together."

Chip took a deep breath, his
eyes still locked on his father's.
He knew that his dad's reactions
were not personal, that his
brain was just trying to make
sense of the world in a way
that was different now. He
forced a small smile, his voice
steady. "We're here for you, Da-"
But Plankton's antennae shot
up, his body stiffening. "Don't,"
he murmured, his voice tight.
"Just... don't."

Karen stepped in, her voice
calm and firm. "Plankton," she
said, her eyes never leaving
his. "Chip's just trying to
tell you that he loves you."
Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye flicking to his son and
back to Karen. The words hung
in the air, a bridge between
his old life and his new reality.
He knew his son was trying,
but the fear was a thick fog
that clouded his mind, making
it difficult to see the love
beyond the barrier of his own
emotions.

Chip knew his father was in
pain, and his words had only
added to it. "Dad," he said,
his voice shaking. "I don't
want you to feel li—"

"Don't," Plankton interrupted,
his antennae drooping. "I know
what you're trying to do."
His voice was a mix of
fatigue and frustration. "But it's
not that simple."

Chip's eyes searched his
father's, the depth of his pain
mirrored in the tremble of his
chin. "But Dad," he said, his
voice shaking. "I just want to
make you happ..."

Plankton's antennae shot up,
his body stiffening like a board.
"Don't," he murmured, his voice
strained. "I don't want your pity."
The words were a warning, a
reminder that his love was not
conditional on his ability to
function in the traditional sense.

Karen's gaze remained
steadfast on her husband's face,
seeing the raw pain beneath
the anger. She knew his
frustration was a shield, a way
to protect himself from the
overwhelming sensory assault that
his brain was still trying to
comprehend. "It's getting late,"
she said. "Let's all get to bed."
Plankton's antennae drooped, his
body slumping in defeat. He
was tired, so tired of fighting, of
trying to make sense of this new
world of sensory overload and fear.
He nodded, his voice a whisper.
"Ok." The silence that followed
was heavy, filled with the
unspoken words that hung in the
air like a thick fog. As they
made their way to their separate
rooms, the weight of the evening's
interaction settled on Chip's
shoulders. He knew his father's
reaction wasn't personal, but it
was hard not to take it that way.
He lay in bed, his mind racing
with thoughts of his dad, his
heart heavy with the knowledge
that their relationship was
forever changed.

The next morning, Chip awoke
and went to his parents room.

The door was open, the light
filtered through the blinds. Plankton
was sitting on the edge of the bed,
his antennae drooped low. He looked
up as Chip entered, his eye
wary, as if expecting another
onslaught of emotions he couldn't
comprehend. Chip paused.
He knew he had to tread carefully,
his father's sensory issues a
delicate dance they were all still
learning. "Hey," he said, his
voice soft. "How are you?"
Plankton's antennae twitched, a
sign of his internal struggle.
He took a deep breath, his eye
flicking to the fidget toy
resting on the bedside table.
"I'm... ok," he murmured, his
voice tentative. "Just tired."

Chip took a step closer, his
movements deliberate and slow. "Do
you want to talk?" he asked, his
tone gentle.

Plankton's antennae quivered, his
expression a mix of fatigue and
frustration. "Talking doesn't change
anything," he said, his voice
flat. "But if it makes you feel
better..." His eye met Chip's, the
unspoken challenge clear.

Chip took a deep breath,
his mind racing. He knew his dad
was in pain, knew that he needed
to be patient. He sat down on
the bed, his movements careful.
"It's not about making me feel
better," he said. "It's about...
understanding."

Plankton's antennae stilled, his
eye focusing on Chip. For a
moment, the anger and fear
receded, replaced by a hint of
curiosity. "Understanding what?"
his voice was gruff, but there
was a crack in the armor, a
glimpse of the man he used to be.

Chip took a deep breath, his
heart racing. "Understanding...
how to be there for you," he
said, his voice earnest. "How to
love you in a way that doesn't...
hurt." He swallowed hard, his
throat tight. "I know it's different
now, but I still want to be your
son."

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
eye flicking to the floor. He
was quiet for a long moment,
his thoughts racing. He knew Chip
meant well, but the concept of
nonverbal love was so foreign
to him. "I know you do," he
murmured, his voice tight. "But it's
not your job to fix me." "I don't want to
fix you, Dad," he said, his voice
shaking. "I just want to be with
you." He reached out tentatively,
his hand hovering over the
fidget toy. "Can I?"

Plankton's antennae shot up, his
eye wide with fear. "No," he said,
his voice sharp. "Don't touch it."
He knew the toy was a lifeline, a
way to ground himself in a world
that felt like it was spinning
out of control. But he also knew
his son meant well.

Chip's hand retreated, his eyes
filling with tears. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered. "I just want to...
connect."

Plankton's antennae drooped, his
eye closing briefly. He knew his
son's intentions were pure, but
his own fear was a cage he couldn't
seem to escape. "I know," he said,
his voice softer. "But it's not that
simple."

Chip felt his chest tighten, his
desire to help his father a physical
ache. "But there must be a way,"
he said. "We'll find it."

Plankton's antennae quivered, a
tiny spark of hope igniting in
his eye. "Maybe," he murmured,
his voice tentative. "But you have
to be patient." He picked up the
fidget toy, his thumb tracing
the patterns.

Chip nodded, his eyes never
leaving his father's. "I can
do that," he said, his voice
determined. "I'll do whatever it
takes."

 Plankton's antennae twitched, a
tiny glimmer of appreciation in
his eye. "Thank you," he murmured.
The words were a lifeline, a
connection in the storm of his
emotions. "But you have to
understand," he continued, his
voice strained. "Sometimes, I just
need to be left alone."

Chip nodded, his eyes never
leaving his father's. "I get it,"
he said. "But I'll always be
here when you're ready."

new familycore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 14
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Karen's voice was gentle
but firm. "Plankton," she
said. "Chip's right. We'll
find a way to connect that
works for all of us. We just
have to keep trying. Why don't
we all go drive to the new
sensory park they just opened?"
It was a place designed for
those with sensory processing
disorders, with areas that catered
to different sensory needs. "It's a
bit of a drive across town, but
do you wanna try going?" They
both nodded.

They parked the car. "Let's 
go slow, ok?" Plankton nodded. 
They approached the sensory
garden, a place designed to be
calming. The scent of lavender
was thick in the air, and the
soft crunch of gravel beneath
their feet was a comforting
contrast to the harshness of the
city.

As they walked through the
gates, Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye scanning the area. 
The sensory park was a
symphony of soft colors and
soothing sounds, designed to
minimize the overstimulation that
so often triggered his seizures. "This
is nice," he murmured.

Chip watched his father, his
heart in his throat. He knew
how much this meant to him,
how much Plankton was struggling.
"It is," he said, his voice
matching his dad's quiet tone.
He took a deep breath, his
sensors tuned to his father's
every movement. "Do you want to go
on the swings?"

Plankton's antennae twitched, his
eye flicking to the swing.
He nodded slowly.

Chip led the way, his
movements cautious. He knew
his dad needed space, needed to
feel safe. They approached the
swing set, a simple metal frame
with plastic seats. Plankton
closed his eye, the rhythm
familiar and comforting as 
he swings.

Chip took the swing 
next to Plankton, his 
movements tentative. 
He knew his father's 
fear of touch was a 
battleground, and he 
didn't want to cross 
any lines.

The squeak of the
chains and the gentle
breeze through the leaves
of the nearby trees were
the only sounds that 
accompanied them as
they swung back and 
forth, side by side.

Chip watched his father. He
wanted so badly to reach
out, to hold Plankton's
hand, but he knew the
boundaries. Instead, he
focused on matching his
swing to Plankton's, their
motion in sync. He hoped
the rhythm would be a
comfort to his dad, a
small piece of the connection
they used to share.

As they swung, the tension
slowly began to ease from
Plankton's antennae. The
back-and-forth movement
was soothing, a gentle rocking.

After a while, they got off
the swings.

Plankton's antennae were still
twitching with the residual
energy of the movement, his
body craving the sensory input
that had become so rare. Chip
noticed and searched the park for
a suitable activity. His eyes
lit upon the sandbox. "How
about playing in the sand?"
he suggested, his voice hopeful.
Plankton's antennae quivered
with interest, his eye lighting
up slightly. He had always
enjoyed the feel of sand
between his... well, the
equivalent of fingers. Karen
smiled, seeing the potential
for a positive interaction.

They approached the sandbox,
the fine grains glinting in the
sunlight. Chip took a seat on
the wooden bench beside it,
watching as Plankton tentatively
placed his hand into the cool
sand. His antennae quivered with
pleasure at the sensation, his
body relaxing slightly. Chip
followed suit, his movements
deliberately slow and cautious,
mirroring his father's. He
knew that sudden movements or
touch could send Plankton spiraling,
so he remained still, his eyes
on the sand.

Together, they began to
sculpt the sand, their hands moving
in harmony without any need
for words. The gentle scrape
of the grains against their
hands was a soothing balm, a
silent conversation that
transcended the barriers of
language and injury. Plankton's
fears and anger from the night
before seemed to melt away with
each mound of sand that took shape.
Chip watched his father, his
heart swelling with hope. He had
found a way to connect, a
sensory experience that didn't
overwhelm Plankton. As they
played, he noticed his father's
breathing slow, his antennae
relaxing slightly. It was a
small victory, but it felt like a
huge step in the right direction.

The sun grew higher in the
sky, casting warm rays down
on the sandbox. Karen sat
beside them, her eyes filled with
gratitude for this moment of
peace.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly as he focused on the
sand, his movements precise. Chip
watched, mimicking his father's
careful touch. The sand was a
bridge between them, a shared
experience that didn't require
words. They built sandcastles
together, their hands working
in harmony despite the unspoken
fear that hung in the air.

Chip felt a weight lift from
his shoulders as he saw Plankton's
eye light up with each new
creation. The sand was a
therapy in itself, a gentle
reminder that love didn't need
to be loud or physical to be
felt. They built a sandcastle
together, their silent
companionship a balm to the
wounds of the previous night.

After a while, they 
finished. "Want to
try something else?" Chip
asked, his voice soft.
Plankton's antennae quivered,
his eye flicking to the nearby
beach ball. "Maybe a
game of catch?" Plankton 
suggested, his voice tentative.
Chip nods. He knew
his dad's fear of the 
unexpected, so he rolled it
gently to him.

Plankton caught the
ball. He tossed
it back to Chip, his eye
watching the arc of its
flight with a hint of 
excitement.
Chip's throw was
careful, underarm, 
keeping it within
Plankton's visual
comfort zone. He knew
his dad's limits,
his fear of fast
movements.

Plankton's antennae
twitched as he caught
the ball again. The
sensation of the cool,
smooth plastic was a
comfort in his hands.
He threw it back to Chip,
his movements calculated,
his mind focused on the
game. It was a simple
activity, but it was one
where he felt in control.
Chip watched his father, his
movements mirrored. He knew
his dad's fear of the
unexpected, so he
threw the ball with a gentle
underhand toss, keeping it
slow and predictable. Plankton
smiled slightly, his eye
tracking the ball's
trajectory.

Later, Karen told them it's
time to go, to start the drive
back home. She got in the
driver's seat as Plankton and
Chip sat in the back together.

Chip's eyes were on his dad,
his heart racing with
excitement. The car's
movement was a gentle rocking,
akin to the swing. Plankton watched
the world pass by. The
sensation of the car's vibrations
was soothing.

Karen glanced in the rearview
mirror, her eyes searching for any
sign of distress. But Plankton was
calm, his antennae still. The drive
was a quiet reprieve, a chance for
them to process the newness
of their relationship. Chip knew that
his dad's sensory issues made
the world a minefield, but in this
moment, the steady hum of the
car was a comfort.

As Karen drove, Plankton's
eyelid began to droop, his 
antennae slowing.

The gentle vibration of the
car and the predictable rhythm
of the road was a balm. He
leaned back, his head resting
against the seat, his hand 
clutching the fidget toy.
Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly, his eye
half-closed, head dropping.
Chip felt his heart swell
as Plankton's head slowly
dropped onto his shoulder.
And as Plankton starts to
snore gently, Chip realized
his dad had fallen asleep,
his head resting heavily on
his shoulder. He stiffened for a
moment, fearing that any
sudden movement might
wake his father, might
disrupt the fragile peace
they had found. But Plankton's
snores grew deeper, the tension
leaving his body.

Karen glanced in 
the rearview
mirror. "It's ok,"
she murmured. 
"You're doing a
good job."

Chip felt his muscles
relax slightly, the weight of
his father's head a comfort.
He knew that this moment
was precious, a sign that
his efforts were not in vain.
He leaned into the warmth of
his dad's body, his hand
finding its way to the fidget
toy. His thumb traced the
patterns, mimicking the
rhythm that Plankton had
found soothing. Chip then
decides to take a selfie. He
holds up his phone after looking
at his dad, who started to drool
at the corner of his open mouth.
He chuckles quietly, snapping the
photo as Plankton remains asleep.

Chip posts the picture with
adding this caption:
"Went to the park with my
dad @ Sheldon Plankton
today 💙👨‍👦💨 "

Plankton still
snored softly against Chip's
shoulder. Chip noticed more
drool escaping the corner
of his mouth and felt a
surge of affection mixed with
concern. "Mom, he's drooling,"
he whispered to Karen, his voice
barely audible over the car's
hum. Karen chuckled, her eyes
meeting Chip's in the mirror.
"It's ok," she said softly.
"It's a sign of his tiredness.
Let him sleep."

new familycore emotionalcore brain chip

COMPUTER SENSORS i

 *

"Karen!" Hanna exclaimed, throwing her arms around Karen in a warm embrace.
"You made it!" Karen beamed.
"Is the husband home?" Hanna asked, glancing around.
"In our bedroom," Karen answers. "I don't think you've met!"

Hanna followed Karen through the hallway. She'd heard of Karen's husband, Plankton, 
but had never formally met each other.

Inside, Plankton sat on the edge of the bed.

"Plankton, this is my friend Hanna," Karen announced, screen sparkling with excitement.

Plankton looked up. He hadn't been expecting company, especially not someone so bubbly 
and vibrant.

"Oh, Plankton," Hanna gushed, reaching out to him. She was a hugger, and she didn't 
hold back. She enveloped him.

Plankton stiffened. It was... overwhelming. 

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Hanna said, her voice thick with sincerity. 

Hanna, ever the social butterfly, didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She plopped 
down on the bed beside him, her energy not even slightly dampened. "So, what do you 
guys have planned for the evening?" she asked, screen bright with excitement.

"Well, we were just going to order in and watch a movie," Karen replied, shooting 
Plankton a knowing smile. She knew he liked his quiet evenings.

"A movie night, huh?" Hanna clapped her hands together. "What's the film? I can stay 
and join!"

Plankton wasn't one for sharing his personal space, especially with someone he just 
met. The bedroom was his sanctuary, a place of solitude where he could escape the 
world and be himself.

Plankton managed a tight smile, his heart sinking. He wasn't in the mood for a 
romantic comedy, let alone one with Hanna's constant commentary and unbridled laughter. 
Karen quickly interjected. "Actually, Hanna, Plankton had his heart set on a sci-fi 
marathon tonight. You know, his usual Friday night routine."

"Oh, I totally get it," she said, patting him.

Plankton stiffened at her touch, his eye widening slightly. "Oooh, I know just the 
thing!" she exclaimed, jumping up and talking fast. "Karen, you won't believe this 
but I've got a DVD of 'Galactic Hearts' in my bag. It's got a bit of everything: romance, 
action, and a side of existential dread. Perfect for a Friday night in, right?"

Plankton sighed inwardly. He knew he'd have to sit through it, if only to keep the peace. 
"Alright," he said, his voice tight. "Let's give it a go."

With a resigned sigh, he trudged out to the kitchen to grab some popcorn and drinks. 
When he returned, Hanna had already claimed the spot beside him, leaving him no choice 
but to sit next to her, so he did, for Karen.

The movie started, and Hanna was immediately engrossed, laughing and gasping at all 
the right moments. Plankton, on the other hand, felt like he was in an alien world 
of his own. Every time the romantic tension on screen built up, she would lean over 
and whisper something to Karen, who would giggle in response. The constant movement 
and noise were making his skin crawl.

As the film went on, Hanna grew more and more absorbed in the love story unfolding 
before them. At one particularly dramatic scene, she reached over and grabbed Plankton's arm. 
"Oh, isn't this just the most romantic thing you've ever seen?" She gave him a squeeze 
not realizing the discomfort she was causing him. "Look at those stars," she whispered 
leaning closer. "It's just like they're reaching out to each other, isn't it?"

Plankton shifted. He'd never been one for public displays of affection, and Hanna's 
affection was uncharted territory. He gently extracted his hand, placing it awkwardly 
on his lap. "I s'pose," he murmured, trying to keep his voice neutral.

time she leaned in to whisper something to Karen, she brushed against him, sending a 
shiver down his spine. The movie's soundtrack swelled with a sappy love theme, and Hanna 
threw her arm around both their shoulders.

Plankton stiffened. The room felt suddenly too warm, too small. He'd never been one 
for affection, especially not from someone he'd just met, and Hanna's touch was 
suffocating him. Her arm remained draped around his shoulders, her grip tightening 
every time the couple on-screen shared a tender moment.

He tried to focus on the plot, but it was difficult with Hanna's sudden exclamations 
and loud sighs punctuating the silence. Karen seemed to be enjoying it, though, and 
he didn't want to spoil the evening. So, he sat, endured, and waited for the credits 
to roll.

As the movie progressed, Hanna grew bolder with her displays of affection. She'd lean 
in close, her shoulder pressing into his, and whisper her predictions for the plot. He 
glanced at Karen, hoping for a reprieve, but she was caught up in the moment. Plankton 
sighed and turned back to the movie, trying to ignore the heat building in him.

Hanna's hand found its way to Plankton's shoulder again. This time, she didn't let go. 
He cleared his throat, trying to subtly shift his body away from her touch, but she 
either didn't notice or didn't care. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weight 
of her arm and the way she kept brushing against him. He could feel his heart hammering 
in his chest, begging for the solitude he craved.
Hanna let out a contented sigh, her grip on Plankton's shoulder tightening involuntarily. 
He flinched, and she finally looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "What's wrong?" 
she asked, her voice full of concern.

"It's nothing," Plankton said, his voice tight. 

Hanna looked at him. "Oh, I get it," she said, her hand moving from his shoulder to 
give his knee a comforting pat. "Sometimes romantic scenes can be too much, huh?"

Plankton nodded stiffly. Then, Hanna leaned over and whispered, "You know Plankton 
you're not so bad for a guy who pretends not to like romance." She elbows him, her 
touch playful and teasing.

Plankton's eye widened, his heart racing faster than the spaceship on the screen. He 
tried to laugh it off, his voice strained. He tried to keep his expression neutral. 
She leaned in closer, her arm now looped around his. "I think you're secretly a softy."

Plankton's discomfort grew. He swallowed hard, his eye darting to Karen for help, 
but she was too lost in the film to notice his distress.

He cleared his throat again, trying to be subtle, but they're oblivious. 

Karen looked over at her husband, her smile fading slightly as she noticed his rigid 
posture. She knew he wasn't a fan of the film, but she didn't realize Hanna's personality 
was making him so uncomfortable. Hanna jumped up from the couch. "Oh my gosh, you guys," 
she exclaimed a little too loud, her screen bright with excitement. "That was the best movie ever!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Karen couldn't help but laugh. "You really liked 
it?" she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Liked it?" Hanna repeated, her voice incredulous. "I'm in love with it!!"

Her exuberance was palpable, but Plankton remained silent. He felt a mix of relief 
that the movie was over and dread for whatever might come next. Hanna, noticing his 
lack of response, turned to him with a grin. "What did you think, Plankton?"

Plankton felt uncomfortable under her gaze. "It's just not really my genre," he said, 
his voice a touch defensive.

Hanna's smile didn't falter. "Oh, come on," she said, nudging him playfully. "Admit 
it, you were totally rooting for them in the end." "Oh, I was," Plankton said, his 
voice devoid of enthusiasm. "I was just hoping the asteroid might hit the spaceship 
first."

Karen couldn't help but laugh, seeing the playful banter between her friend and her 
husband. "Ok ok," she said, standing up and stretching. "I think we've had enough 
romance for one night. How about we switch gears and play a board game?"

Hanna bounced, her energy unflagging. "Perfect! What do you have?"

Plankton started to feel dizzy. "I'll grab something," he said, his voice tight. He 
needed to get away, to regain some semblance of control over the situation.

He retreated to the bedroom, going on his bed. 

** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

new author is neurodivergent Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton neurodivergentcore galactic hearts computer sensors

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 2
(Autistic author)

He blinked a few times, his vision 
clearing slowly. He saw her face, 
wet with tears, and his own 
realization dawned. "Oh, Karen," he 
whispered, his voice filled with 
remorse. Plankton struggled to 
sit up, wincing as pain shot through 
his head.

The lab looked the same, but 
something felt off. The air was 
charged with an unspoken tension 
that Plankton couldn't quite put his 
finger on. He tried to recall the 
argument, but the details were 
fuzzy. All he knew was that he'd 
fallen, and now Karen was 
apologizing for something she 
wasn't even at fault for.

He looked into her screen, searching 
for answers. "What happened?" he 
asked, his voice hoarse. Karen took a 
deep breath, steeling herself for 
what she had to say. "You had an 
accident in the lab," she replied, her 
voice calm and measured. "You hit 
your head." But as she watched him, 
she noticed something else. His movements 
were stiff, his gaze unfocused. He 
wasn't quite the same. Karen 
noticed that his usual vibrant 
expressions were absent, replaced 
by a vacant stare. She chalked it up
to lightheadedness.

"Karen," Plankton began, his voice 
still slurred. "Karen." 
He paused, his eye darting around 
the room as if searching for words.

Karen felt a cold knot form. Something was 
different about him, something she 
couldn't quite place. His movements 
were rigid, his gaze unwavering, 
like he was seeing her but not 
really seeing her. "What is it?" she 
asked, trying to keep the 
worry out of her voice.

Plankton's eye finally met hers, 
but there was no spark of 
recognition, no mischievous 
twinkle that she was used to. 
"Plankton glad to see Karen," he 
said, his tone flat and unemotional.

That wasn't right. "Plankton, do you 
know where you are?" she asked 
nervously.

Plankton nodded slowly, his gaze 
still unnaturally focused. "Home," 
he responded, his voice devoid of 
the warmth and love she was 
accustomed to. "The Chum Bucket."

Karen's eyes searched his, looking 
for any sign of the man she knew, 
but all she found was a distant 
shadow. Panic began to creep in 
as the gravity of the situation 
started to dawn on her. This wasn't 
just a bump on the head. Something 
was very wrong.

"Do you remember me?" she 
asked, her voice trembling.

Plankton's eye searched her, 
his expression unchanging. "Karen," 
he responds correctly. "Wife of Plankton.
Computer wife as of July 31, 1999."

The words hit Karen like a cold 
wave. He knew her name, but the 
way he said it, like he was recounting 
a fact rather than speaking to his 
beloved wife, chilled her to the bone. 
She felt the ground shift beneath 
her, her world tilting on its axis.

"Plankton, what's wrong?" she asked, 
desperation seeping into her voice. 
He looked at her, his gaze unblinking. 
"Wife Karen," he said, his voice 
robotic. "Irritated with Plankton's lack of 
attention to anniversary dinner."

The words were right, but 
the emotion, the love, the personality 
behind them was gone. It was like 
talking to a stranger, a very tiny, very 
confused stranger.

Karen felt a tear roll down her 
screen. "Plankton, can you hear me?" 
she asked, her voice quivering. "I'm not 
just 'Wife Karen', I'm your Karen. Your 
partner, your best friend."

Plankton's response was a 
mechanical nod. "Affirmative," he said, 
his tone unwavering. "Karen is wife.
Plankton is husband."

The coldness of his words 
cut through Karen like a knife. Her 
eyes searched his, desperately trying 
to find any sign of the man she 
knew was in there. "Plankton," she 
said softly, "it's me. It's Karen. Do you 
understand?"

He nodded again, his antennae 
barely twitching. "Understood," he 
replied, his voice devoid of inflection. 
"And Karen is upset?"

Karen nodded, trying not to 
crumble. "Yes, I'm upset," she 
managed to say, her voice choked 
with emotion. "But more than that, I'm 
scared. You're not acting like 
yourself, Plankton."

He blinked, his gaze shifting 
slightly. "Scared," he echoed, as if 
trying to understand the concept. 
"Why Karen scared?"

"Because you're not you," Karen 
managed to whisper,  
breaking with every robotic 
response. "You're acting so... different."

Plankton tilted his head, trying 
to process her words. "Different 
how?" he asked, his voice still 
lacking any emotional depth.

Karen took a deep breath, trying 
to explain something she didn't fully 
understand herself. "You're not showing 
your feelings," she said. "You're not... connecting 
with me like you usually do."

Plankton's face remained a 
mask of confusion. "Connections," he 
muttered. "Emotional bonds." He 
nodded slowly. "Important for relationship.
Plankton in love with Karen."

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
"That's right," she said, her voice 
gentle. "I know you love me. But 
you're not showing it, not like before."

Plankton's antennae twitched 
slightly as he processed this new 
information. "Plankton must
adjust behavior to align with Karen's 
desired emotional output; how?"

Karen felt a pang of sadness.
He was trying to understand, but
his usual charm was nowhere to be 
found. She took his hand in hers. 
"Just talk to me," she said, her 
voice barely above a whisper. "Tell 
me what you're thinking, what you're 
feeling."

Plankton looked at her, his 
expression still vacant. "Plankton 
thinking about Karen," he 
said, his voice flat. "Plankton feeling 
determined."

Karen's eyes searched his, looking 
for any sign of the emotion 
his words conveyed. "Determined 
to what?" she asked, hopeful.

"Determined to what," he echoed.
"Karen saying, determined to what.
Plankton determined to show Karen
love, Karen saying determined to what."

Karen realized the depth of 
his change. This wasn't just a 
concussion or a temporary loss of 
memory; it was something much 
more profound, something that had 
stripped him of his very essence.

"Plankton," she began, her voice 
shaking, "I don't know what happened 
to you, but I need you to try. Can 
you tell me how you feel?" But then he
starts to rock back and forth to stim,
humming their wedding song.

The sight of her husband's usually 
expressive features now so vacant and
his movements so repetitive was 
alarming. Karen felt a sob rise in her 
throat, but she pushed it down. She 
needed to stay strong, for him.

"Plankton," she said, her voice 
steadier than she felt. "Look at me.
I need you to focus. Can you tell me 
how you feel, in your own words?"

He stopped rocking and turned 
his head to look at her, his eye 
still distant. "Feelings," he 
repeated. "Love, anger, sadness, 
joy. Concepts. Plankton has them.
Karen saying, determined to what."

Karen's hope sank. The realization 
was setting in. This wasn't just a 
case of a bump on the head. Plankton's 
accident had changed him in a way 
she didn't fully comprehend. The 
lab, once filled with the warmth of 
his passion and dreams, now felt cold 
and sterile.

Her mind raced as she searched 
for any indication of the man 
she knew. The way he spoke, the 
way he moved, it was as if a 
switch had been flipped.

"Plankton, does your head hurt?"

"Cephalgia via blunt force trauma.
Getting better." He responds, flapping
his hands.

Karen's eyes widened at his 
unexpected use of medical terminology.
"neurodivergence," she thought to herself.
Could it be that her husband had somehow
developed something from the fall? It 
was a long shot, but the lack of 
emotional connection, the repetitive 
behaviors, and the rigidity of his speech 
patterns were all hallmarks of it. She
scans his brain and connected herself
to the monitor. Plankton looks over and
sees the brain scan. "Plankton's brain?"
"Yes, Plankton.." Karen says.

"Cerebellar cortex reduced synapses
and showing minimal activity in the
corpus callosum. Irreversibly reduced
blood flow in between hemispheric..."

"I've no idea what you're saying, honey."
Karen interrupts.

Plankton's face falls, his usual 
playfulness replaced by a look of 
confusion. "Neurotypical communication
error," he says, his voice laced with 
frustration. "Karen, Plankton trying to say
the fall caused disruption to myelination.."

Karen's eyes widen in shocked confusion.
"Myelination? Plankton, are you okay?"
she asks, her voice laced with fear.

Plankton nods, his gaze fixed 
on the brain scan. "Neuroplasticity.
Synaptic pruning. Autism acquisition," he says, 
his words coming out in a rush.

Karen's mind reels at his 
diagnosis. Autism? It couldn't be.
But as she looks at his rigid 
body language and his lack of 
emotional expression, she can't 
deny it.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton plaren 2

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 5
(Autistic author)

Sponge Bob seems to 
notice something off about 
his friend. "Plankton, are 
you okay?" he asks, his tone 
concerned. "You seem a bit... 
distant."

Plankton's eye snaps to 
Sponge Bob, his gaze intense. 
"Distant?" he repeats, as if 
the word is new to him. "Plankton 
not distant. Plankton focusing."

Sponge Bob's eyebrows furrow, 
his confusion clear. "What 
are you focusing on?" he asks, 
his voice gentle.

Plankton turns back to the 
clock, his antennae pointing 
straight up. "Seconds," he says, 
his voice filled with wonder. "They 
change, but always in the same 
pattern."

"Well, I know it's your wedding
anniversary today. What'd you get
Karen?"

Plankton turns to face him, his 
expression unreadable. "Anniversary,"
he repeats. "Karen." His antennae 
wave slightly, as if trying to access 
a distant memory. "Chum."

SpongeBob's smile falters at 
his friend's detached response. "Is 
that all?" he asks, his voice 
filled with concern. "You know
Karen deserves better, more
than just..."
"Better?" he repeats, 
his tone now tinged with something 
new: self-doubt. "Plankton did not 
provide adequate anniversary 
celebration?"

"Well Plankton, Karen
doesn't like it when
you're just about work,"
Sponge Bob said, trying
to be delicate. "It's your
anniversary. It's a special
day for the two of you, yet
you don't seem to get it.
And I can tell Karen's hurt.."

Plankton's eye grew wide,
his antennae drooping. The
words sank in, and his body
reacted in a way he couldn't
control. He started rocking 
back and forth, his body 
mirroring his inner turmoil.
The tears came suddenly, 
wetting his face as
his cries echo
in the living room, 
his tiny body trembling with 
the weight of his perceived failure. 
"Karen," he 
managed between gasps. "Hurt.
Karen. No, Karen."

Karen rushed to his 
side, breaking at 
the sight of his distress. 
"Plankton," she said, her voice 
soothing. "It's okay, honey. 
You didn't do anything wrong."
But he couldn't hear her, 
his mind fixated on the 
thought of causing her pain.

The tears streamed down 
his cheeks. His sobs were 
loud in the quiet room, 
each one a testament to 
his overwhelming guilt. "Karen," 
he choked out. "Karen, Plankton 
sorry Karen. Karen."

Karen wrapped her arms 
around him, her own eyes 
filling with tears. "It's okay," 
she whispered, stroking his 
back gently. "You didn't do 
anything wrong." 

Plankton's sobs grew louder, 
his body convulsing with each 
breath. "Hurt Karen," he kept 
repeating, as if it was the only 
thought in his mind. Karen 
held him tighter, her own 
sobs muffled against his 
shoulder.

"You didn't hurt me, Plankton,"
she whispered, her voice trembling. 
"You just got confused, that's all."
But Plankton's mind was stuck
on the pattern of his failure, 
his inability to comprehend 
and respond to her emotions.
"Karen crying, Plankton fault.
Sponge Bob say Karen upset."

Sponge Bob looked at the two, 
his heart aching for his friend's 
pain. He didn't know what to do, 
his usual cheerfulness replaced 
with a solemn sadness. He 
tried to interject, "Plankton,
Karen's not upset at you. She's
just upset because she loves you."

But Plankton's cries only grew 
louder, his body shaking with 
the force of his sobs. "Plankton 
not good," he wailed, his voice 
high-pitched and desolate. "Plankton
hurt Karen."

Karen's screen searched 
desperately for a way to comfort 
her husband, to show him that 
his love was enough. But his new 
neurodivergence made it difficult 
for him to understand her words, 
his mind locked in a pattern of 
guilt and self-loathing.

"Plankton," she says, her voice 
quivering with emotion. "Look at 
me." She gently cups his cheek, 
wiping the tears from his 
face with her thumb. "I love you. 
You don't have to change for 
me."

But Plankton's gaze remained 
on the clock, his sobs subsiding 
to hiccups. "Pattern," he whispers, 
his antennae drooping. "Missed pattern.
Karen, say Karen. Hurt, upset Karen."

Karen broke anew, her 
hands shaking as she tried to 
reach for him, her voice a 
whisper. "Plankton, it's okay," she 
says, her screen pleading. "I'm 
right here. I'm not upset with you."

But Plankton's gaze now 
fixed on Sponge Bob, his 
body still shaking with sobs. 
"Karen," he murmured, his 
voice muffled by his own 
distress. "Sponge Bob, Karen."

Sponge Bob looked at Karen, 
his expression a mix of 
concern and confusion. She 
nodded slightly, urging him 
to speak. "Plankton," he said, 
his voice gentle. "Karen's upset 
because she's worried about 
you. She loves you. And so do I."

Plankton's sobs began to 
slow, his gaze shifting from 
Sponge Bob and 
then to Karen. "Karen 
Plankton?" he asked, 
his voice a mere whisper.

"I'm right here," Karen 
soothed, wiping away the 
remaining tears with her 
thumb. "I'm right here, 
Plankton. I love you."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 5

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 7
(Autistic author)


Sponge Bob leaves, and it's bed
time.

The room is dimly lit. Karen 
helps Plankton into bed, his 
movements stiff and unyielding.

"Pattern," he murmurs, his 
eye scanning the ceiling. 
"Ceiling. Pattern."

Karen nods with love. "It's 
beautiful," she agrees, her voice 
soft. "But Plankton, it's time 
for bed. Can I get you anything?"

He shakes his head, his 
antennas drooping slightly. "No, 
thank Karen. Pattern. Sleep."

Karen nods, aching 
for the man she loves, now lost in 
a world of patterns and precision.

"I'll be here if you need me,"
she says, her voice barely 
above a whisper.

He nods, his gaze never 
leaving the ceiling. "Pattern," 
he murmurs. "Safe."

Karen lies beside him, 
their bodies close but 
their worlds feeling so far apart. 
She reaches out, her hand 
trembling as it touches his 
arm. "Do you want me 
to turn the lights off?" she 
asks, her voice tight with 
uncertainty.

Plankton nods, his 
gaze still on the ceiling. 
"Pattern," he murmurs. "No 
patterns. Sleep."

Karen nods, her 
fingers tracing the 
outline of his arm, 
feeling the tension in his 
body ease slightly. She 
gently pulls the blanket up 
to his chin, tucking it in 
around him. "Okay, I'll keep 
the light off low," she says, 
her voice soothing. "But 
if you need anything, just 
let me know."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch slightly. "Pattern," 
he murmurs. "Sleep."

Karen nods, her own 
exhaustion weighing heavily 
on her shoulders. She lies 
down. "I'll be right here," 
she whispers, her hand 
finding its way to his.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch again as he feels 
her warmth, the sensation 
unexpected and slightly 
overwhelming. "Karen," he 
says, his voice sleepy. "Warmth."

Karen smiles, her eyes 
closed. "I know," she whispers. 
"It's okay. I'm here."

Plankton's grip tightens 
slightly, his antennae 
relaxing. "Pattern," he says, 
his voice a mere murmur. "Karen.
Sleep."

Karen squeezes his hand back, 
aching for the man 
she loves, now lost in a world 
where the simple act of holding
hands is a complex dance of 
sensory input and emotional 
regulation. "Pattern," she 
whispers back, her voice 
soothing. "We'll make new 
patterns together."

Plankton's antennae quiver, 
his grip on her hand 
steadying. "New patterns," 
he repeats, his voice 
slightly more present. "Together."

Karen nods, her eyes 
squeezed shut. "Together," 
she whispers, her voice 
shaky. "We'll make it work." Karen 
can feel Plankton's body 
begin to relax, his grip on 
her hand loosening slightly.

As they lay there, Karen 
thinks back to their past 
anniversaries, each one filled 
with laughter, love, and the 
promise of adventure. This one 
was different, marked by 
a stark reality she wasn't 
prepared for. But she knows 
she'll do anything for him.

Plankton's breathing evens 
out, his body slowly 
releasing tension. His 
hand is still in hers, a silent 
promise that she'll always 
be there for him. Karen 
wonders what tomorrow will 
bring, how they'll navigate 
this new world of patterns 
and precision.

As sleep takes over, 
she whispers, "I love you, 
Plankton," hoping that 
his subconscious can still 
hear her, still understand 
the depth of her feelings.
Karen listens to the sound of 
Plankton's snoring as she
falls asleep.

The next morning, Karen 
wakes up to Plankton 
still holding her hand as 
his antennae twitch in his 
sleep. She gently 
withdraws, careful not to 
wake him, and she can't help but 
smile through her tears that 
threaten to fall.

In the kitchen, she starts 
making breakfast, trying to 
recall what she'd read about 
autistic individuals and 
their preferences. She 
remembers that Plankton used to 
love Krabby Patties, but now 
his taste might have changed.

With care, she prepares a plate 
of square eggs and perfectly 
aligned toast, knowing that 
the visual symmetry might 
provide comfort. She 
even arranges the condiments 
in a pattern she hopes 
he'll find pleasing.

As Plankton enters the room, 
his eye immediately scans
the table, his antennae 
twitching. He takes a seat, 
his movements mechanical. "Breakfast,"
he says, his voice devoid of 
his usual zest.

Karen's watching him closely. "Yes, 
Plankton," she says, her voice 
steady despite the fear 
swirling inside her. "I made 
you your favorite."

He nods, his gaze 
locking onto the plate before 
him. His hand reaches out, 
his movements calculated. He 
picks up a piece of toast, 
studying it before placing 
it back down. "Pattern," he 
whispers, his antennae 
waving slightly.

Karen watches him. "Would 
you like to eat?" she asks, her 
voice tentative.

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly. "Eat," he says, 
his voice flat. "Pattern."

Karen nods, her smile 
forced. "Okay," she says, 
taking a seat opposite 
him. "Let's eat together."

Plankton's antennae twitch as 
he looks at her, his gaze 
quickly shifting to the 
breakfast she's prepared. 
He picks up a piece of 
toast, examining it closely 
before taking a bite, his 
jaws moving in a precise, 
mechanical manner. Karen 
watches him, her screen 
filled with a mix of 
worry and love.

"Is it good?" she asks, 
her voice hopeful.

Plankton nods, his 
mouth still chewing. 
"Symmetry. Good."

Karen's heart squeezes 
at his response. It's not 
the same, but it's something. 
"I'm so glad you like it," she says, 
forcing cheerfulness into her tone.
"That makes me happy!"

Plankton nods, his antennae 
barely moving. "Happy," he 
repeats. "Karen happy."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 7

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 6
(Autistic author)


Plankton's sobbing 
slowed, his chest heaving. 
He blinked, his eye focusing 
on her face. "Love," he 
murmured. "Karen love."

Karen nodded, her eyes 
brimming with tears. 
"Yes, I love you," she said, 
her voice shaky. "And I'll 
always be here for you."

Plankton's antennae 
twitched slightly, his 
single eye searching hers. 
"Love," he said, his voice 
still flat. "Karen love Plankton.
Good."

Sponge Bob nods, though he
doesn't know why Plankton's
acting so different today.
"But Plankton," he says, his voice
careful. "Why are you talking
like that?"

Plankton's antennae droop, 
his eye reflecting confusion. 
"Talking?" he repeats. "Plankton 
not understand. How to speak?"

Sponge Bob looked at Karen, 
his concern etched in his 
porous face.

"It's okay," Karen said 
soothingly, her voice thick 
with emotion. "Plankton's just 
going through something."

Sponge Bob nodded, 
his eyes never leaving 
his friend's distressed 
form. "But what happened 
to him, Karen? What happened 
with Plankton?" he asked, his 
voice hushed.

Karen takes a deep breath, 
wiping her own tears away with 
the back of her hand. "Plankton,"
she says softly, her voice 
barely above a whisper. "Do you 
remember what happened today?"

Plankton's antennae twitch as 
he tries to process her words. 
"Today," he repeats, his voice 
distant. "Fell. Head."

Karen nods, her screen 
filled with compassion. 
"Yes," she says, her voice 
soft. "You fell and hit your 
head. It's changed how 
you see the world a bit."

Plankton looks up. "Alterations
in the cerebral lobe," he says, his 
voice flat. "Myelination levels 
fluctuated. Synaptic activity 
diminished. Corpus callosum 
damaged."

Karen nods, her eyes never leaving 
his. "Yes, baby," she says gently. 
"It's like your brain had to relearn 
how to talk to the rest of you."

Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "Oh no, 
Plankton," he said softly. "What does
that mean? How did you fall?"

Plankton's antennae twitched as 
he recounted the events, his 
speech still monotone. "Invention.
Fall on head hit floor."

Sponge Bob's face fell, 
his heart heavy with 
concern. "Oh no, Plankton," 
he said, his voice filled with 
sympathy. "Is that why you're 
talking like this?"

Karen decides to 
interject.

"It's okay, Sponge Bob,"
she says, her voice 
trembling. "It's not just
how he's talking. It's 
his whole...being. It's like 
he's seeing everything 
differently now. It's a rarity
called 'acquired autistic
syndrome' which will be life
long with no cure."

Sponge Bob's face falls, 
his spongy cheeks dropping.
"But Plankton," he says, 
his voice full of worry. 
"What does this mean for you?"

Plankton's gaze shifts to 
his friend, his expression
unreadable. "Meaning?" he 
asks, his voice still monotone.
"Plankton different. New patterns."

Sponge Bob nods, trying to 
understand. "But you're still 
the same Plankton, right?"

Plankton's antennae wave 
slightly as he considers 
this. "Same," he repeats. "But 
different."

Karen nods, her grip 
on his hand tightening. "You're 
still my Plankton," she whispers. 
"We'll figure this out together."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 6

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3
(Autistic author)

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3
(Autistic author)

"Sorry," Plankton says, his 
tone still flat. "Plankton, sorry.
Plankton's brain different now. Difficult 
for Karen?"

Karen shakes her head, tears 
welling in her eyes. "No, Plankton, 
you're still you," she says, trying to 
smile. "I just wanted to understand."

Plankton nods, his gaze returning 
to the brain scan. "Understanding 
important," he says. "Plankton still 
loves Karen. Just different now. 
Permanent."

Karen breaks at his 
words, but she knows he's trying.
They sit in silence for a few moments,
each lost in their own thoughts.

Finally, Karen takes a deep breath.
"I love you, Plankton," she says, her voice
steady. "And I'll always be here for you,
no matter what." Plankton nods, his 
expression unchanged. "Karen love 
Plankton," he responds. "Plankton love 
Karen."

They sit together on the couch, 
the silence between them heavy 
with the weight of their new 
reality. Karen tries to find comfort in 
the familiar rhythm of his words, but 
it's like hugging a statue. There's no 
warmth, no give. But she can tell by
the look in his eye that it's present.

"Plankton," she says softly, her 
voice trembling slightly. "Do you 
want to go to the anniversary dinner?"

He pauses, his gaze unwavering 
from the brain scan. "Anniversary 
dinner," he repeats, as if tasting the 
words. Then, with a sudden nod, 
"Plankton will accompany 
Karen."

Karen swells with hope. 
Maybe this wasn't the end of their 
connection. Maybe they could find a 
new way to be together.

"But Plankton," she says, her 
voice tentative. "I need you to be 
comfortable. If going out is too 
much for you, we can do something 
else."

Plankton's antennae twitch, his 
face contemplative. "Understood," he 
says after a moment. "Home dinner 
preferred. Less stimulating."

Karen nods, feeling a weight lift 
slightly from her chest. "Okay," 
she says, swiping at a stray tear.
"We can have dinner here. I'll 
make your favorite."

Plankton's antennae perk up at 
the mention of food. "Karen cook?" 
he asks, his voice betraying a hint 
of excitement.

Karen smiles, relieved at 
his interest. "Yes, I'll cook," she says. 
"How about some Chum?"

Plankton nods eagerly. "Chum. Yes."

Karen rises from the couch, 
determined to make the best 
of the situation. She heads to 
the kitchen, her mind racing with 
ideas for a simple yet delicious 
meal that would be easy on 
his senses. She chooses a recipe
that doesn't have too many ingredients
or smells that might overwhelm him.

As she starts cooking, Plankton 
watches her with his newfound 
detachment, his eye following her 
movements with a clinical interest. 
It's as if he's studying her, trying 
to understand her actions.

"Plankton," Karen says, trying to 
engage him, "can you help me set the 
table?"

Plankton nods, his movements 
mechanical as he rises from the 
couch. He takes the plates and 
utensils she hands him and arranges 
them with meticulous precision. Each 
item is placed exactly 1.5 centimeters 
apart, the forks and knives aligned at a 
perfect right angle. It's something 
she's never noticed him do before, 
but it's a part of him now.

As she stirs the pot of simmering 
chum, she glances over at him, 
his single eye focused intently on 
the task at hand. She wipes a tear 
from her eye, her heart heavy. But 
she can't dwell on the sadness. 
They have a life to live, and they'll 
figure this out together.

"Plankton," she calls out, trying 
to keep her voice light. "Could you 
please grab the napkins?"

He nods and heads to the drawer, 
his steps measured and deliberate. 
When he returns, he doesn't hand 
them to her but instead counts them 
out loud. "One, two." He 
holds up both napkins, one for 
each place setting. "Is this 
correct?"

Karen nods, her smile tight. "Yes, 
thank you." She tries not to let 
the sadness seep into her voice.
This was their new norm, a dance 
of understanding and patience that 
they were still learning.

As they sit down to eat, Karen 
notices that Plankton doesn't touch 
his food until she does.

"You don't have to wait for me," 
she says gently, trying to ease into 
their new routine. "You can start 
whenever you're ready."

Plankton nods, his movements 
precise and deliberate as he takes 
his first bite. Karen watches him 
carefully, noticing that he's chewing 
his food much slower than 
normal. She wonders if it's because 
his sensory input has changed or if 
it's just part of the neurodivergence.

They eat in silence, the only 
sound being the occasional clink 
of their utensils and the bubbling 
of the chum. Karen tries to 
think of something to say, something 
that won't cause him discomfort or 
confusion. But her mind is a 
whirlwind of questions and fears.

"Plankton," she says tentatively, 
"Do you like the chum?"

He nods, his movements methodical. 
"Chum. Yes. Good." His voice is 
still flat, but she can see the faintest 
glimmer of satisfaction in his eye.

They continue their meal, Karen 
forcing down bites while her mind 
spins with a whirlwind of emotions. 
Fear, sadness, hope, and love all 
intermingling in a tumultuous storm.

"Plankton," she says, her voice 
soft and tentative. "What are you 
thinking about?"

He looks up from his plate, 
his eye focusing on her for a 
moment before returning to his 
food. "Thinking," he says, his 
voice monotone. "Plankton thinking 
about Karen. And Plankton with Karen."

Karen aches at his 
response, but she tries to keep her 
expression neutral. "Do you like 
spending time with me?" she asks, 
desperation tingeing her voice.

Plankton pauses, his 
eye flicking up to meet hers. 
"Plankton enjoys 
Karen's company."

Karen clenches at 
his words, so devoid of the 
warmth they once held. But 
she knows she has to be 
patient, to give him space to 
navigate this new world. 
"Do you enjoy talking to 
me, Plankton?"

He considers this for a 
moment before nodding. "Talking 
is good. Plankton learns 
things. Plankton feels safe."

Karen feels a tear roll down 
her screen. "That's all I want," 
she whispers, reaching out 
to squeeze his hand. His grip is 
firm, but there's no warmth in it.
It's as if he's trying to mimic 
the physical cue of comfort without
understanding the emotional 
connection.

"Karen crying sad?" He asks
retreating his hand.

"I'm sorry," she says, her voice 
cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt 
you earlier. I just wanted to spend 
our anniversary together."

Plankton nods, his expression 
unreadable. "Understood," he says. 
"Anniversary. Special."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton plaren 3

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 1


(Neurodivergent author)



"What's for dinner tonight?" 
Karen asks her husband
Plankton the kitchen.
"I'm trying out something
new today!" He replies.

Plankton moves about with 
surprising grace for 
his small size. Karen 
watches, admiring his 
enthusiasm despite her 
skepticism of his culinary skills.

"Careful with that pan!" she 
calls out, noticing the way he 
flips it in the air. But it's 
too late. The pan slips from 
his grip, and as it hits his
head with a deafening clang,
Plankton crumples to the floor,
out cold. Karen sprints
to the kitchen
and crouches beside her
unconscious husband. 
"Plankton! Wake up!" she says,
shaking him gently. His eye
remains closed. She notices
his pulse and breathing so
at least he's alive. She scans
him and the results show he
acquired Autism. She's heard
about it, how interactions with
others are hard and how sensory
shutdown can cause episodes
similar to a seizure.

Panic starts to set in. She
has to get him to the couch.
With a deep breath, she hoists
his limp body over her
shoulder and carries him
carefully to the couch. She lays
him down, his head resting
on a pillow she grabbed
on the way. Karen's
attention is solely on
Plankton. She strokes his
forehead, feeling the warmth
of his skin and the steady
beat of his pulse beneath
her fingertips. The house feels
too quiet, the air thick with
concern.

Her eyes dart around the room,
looking for anything that
might help him feel comfortable.
Karen starts to
hum a lullaby,
hoping the tune might
calmly wake him.

Only the next afternoon does
Plankton start to wake. His eye
began to flutter open. "What
happened?" he mumbles.

Karen smiles, relieved. "You had a
bad fall in the kitchen. Do you
remember anything?"

Plankton's eye widens as
his hand shoots to the spot on
his head where the pan had
hit. "Oh, cooking,
right?" His voice is groggy,
his memory foggy.

"Yes, but let's not worry
about that now," Karen says,
squeezing his hand. She notices
his confusion, the way
his gaze flits around the
room, searching for clues.
"You acquired Autism."
Plankton blinks a few times, 
taking in the soft light and 
the worried face of his wife. 
He tries to sit up, but a wave 
of dizziness washes over him. 
"Autism?" he repeats, the word 
foreign on his tongue. Karen nods 
gently. "It's ok, Plankton," she 
says, her voice soothing.

The revelation hangs 
heavily in the air between 
them. Plankton's mind races. 
The room seems to spin as he
tries to process the news.

Rocking back and forth, he 
starts to self-soothe, a common
behavior among those with 
autism when overwhelmed. 
Karen, who has read about 
this, understands it's his
brain's way of coping with
the onslaught of new
information and sensations.

"It's ok," she whispers,
her voice steady. "You can
stim however you need to."
Her words act like a key
unlocking a door. Plankton's 
hands begin to flap, and he 
lets out a soft hum, a melody 
that fills the silent room.
"It's ok," she says softly,
"Stim if it helps."

The rhythmic motion and 
soothing sound of Karen's voice
help to calm him down. He 
stops flapping, but the hum 
continues, a gentle echo in 
the quiet. Plankton's eye 
locks onto hers, searching for
comfort. "I'm here," she says,
her tone a gentle reassurance.

Suddenly, his eye lit up 
as he repeats her words, 
"You're here," his voice a 
mirror of hers. It's echolalic, 
a common trait in those with 
autism, where they repeat 
sounds or phrases. "You're here," he 
repeats, over and over, the 
phrase becoming a comforting 
mantra. His palilalic speech 
is a bridge between the 
overwhelming confusion 
and the familiar presence 
of his wife.

Karen nods. She's read that 
palilalic repetition can be 
soothing for those with 
autism.

"You're here," Plankton says 
again, his voice growing stronger 
with each repetition. The 
words become a rhythm, a 
heartbeat of reassurance that 
he clings to as the world 
swims into focus.

Plankton's eye refocus 
on Karen's screen, and a
tiny smile appears as he 
understands her acceptance.
He starts to rock more 
comfortably, matching the
rhythm of his humming.

The house feels like a 
sanctuary, a bubble 
wrapped around them, 
their shared breaths the 
only sound. Karen's eyes
well up with tears, but she 
holds them back, not wanting 
to interrupt this moment.
His humming 
gradually fades into 
silence, and he looks at 
Karen.
"We'll figure it out,"
she says firmly, her voice 
a lifeline in the stormy
sea of uncertainty. "We'll 
learn about Autism and adjust our 
lives. You're not alone 
in this, Plankton."

Her words seem to anchor
him. He takes a deep
breath, and his body relaxes
against the couch cushions.
"Thank Karen," he whispers,
his voice cracking.

Karen nods, blinking away
her own unshed tears. "We're
going to be okay," she says,
more to convince herself than
anything. Plankton's smile
grows a little wider, and
his hand reaches for hers.

"What's next?" he asks, his
voice still weak but steady.

Karen rises from the floor
and moves to the bookshelf.
Her fingers trace the spines,
landing on a worn-out book titled
"The Art of Cooking." She pulls
it out gently and holds it out to him.

Plankton's eye lights up at the
familiar sight. It's his favorite
book, filled with recipes and notes
he's collected over the years.
He takes it with trembling hands,
feeling the weight of the pages.

"Let's start slow," Karen suggests,
sitting beside him on the couch.
"We'll go through the book
together, and maybe we'll find
something simple for tomorrow's dinner."

Plankton nods, flipping through
the pages with newfound
carefulness. 

"How about we start
with spaghetti?" Karen offers,
pointing to a simple
illustration on the page.
It's a dish they've made
together countless times.

"Spaghetti," he repeats, the word
like a warm blanket around
his new reality. "How about we start
with spaghetti.."

They spend the rest of the
day going through the book,
discussing ingredients and
steps, Karen explaining things
in a way that's easy for Plankton
to understand. His focus
intensifies, his eye lighting up
with every new piece of
information. The kitchen
accident seems like a distant
memory, replaced by the
comforting familiarity of cooking. 

new copepod autism Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton split into parts POV Karen Karen/Sheldon J. Plankton cookingcore

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 1
(Autistic author)

"You never listen to me!" Karen 
exclaimed, her voice echoing 
through the small lab.

Her husband, Plankton, looked 
up from his invention, a frown 
furrowing his brow. "What's 
wrong now?" he asked.

"It's the same thing, every 
single day," Karen said, crossing 
her arms. "You're always so 
focused on your work, you forget 
what's important."

Plankton sighed, setting down 
his wrench. "And what's that?"

Karen's eyes flashed with frustration. 
"Our anniversary dinner, for one," 
she said. "You promised we'd go out 
tonight, remember?"

Plankton's frown deepened as he 
tried to recall the conversation. 
"The dinner...right. I thought it was 
next week," he mumbled, his gaze 
darts back to his invention.

"No, it's tonight!" Karen's voice 
was now a mix of annoyance and 
desperation. "I've had this all 
planned out for weeks, and you've 
barely even acknowledged it."

Plankton looked at her, his eye
suddenly wide with realization. 
"Tonight? But I've got the final 
adjustments. It's a breakthrough, 
Karen!"

Karen threw her hands in 
exasperation. "It's always a 
breakthrough, isn't it? When are 
you going to realize that we need 
to make time for us?"

Plankton took a step. "You 
know how important this is to me, 
to us," he said, his voice 
softening. "Once I get this right, 
we can finally be happy, have the 
life we deserve when I..."

"When you what?" Karen interrupted. 
"When you finally steal the Krabby Patty 
formula?" she finished for him, her 
tone heavy with sarcasm. "Is that what you 
think will fix everything?"

Plankton's shoulders slumped. He knew 
his obsession with Mr. Krabs' secret 
formula was a sore spot for Karen, but 
he couldn't help the hope that burned 
inside him. "It's not just about that," 
he said, trying to explain. "It's about 
proving to everyone, including myself, 
that I can do something big." He gets
up on the shelf. Karen turns away.

Karen's frustration boiled over, her 
face flushing. "You're so caught up 
in this ridiculous vendetta that you 
don't even see what you're doing to us!" 
she yelled, slamming her hand down 
on the lab table. The sudden noise 
startled Plankton enough to wobble 
on his precarious perch, and with a 
tiny squeak of terror, he lost his balance 
and toppled over.

His invention fell with him, colliding with 
his head with an ominous clank. Karen 
turns around, her anger replaced with 
concern in an instant. "Plankton, are you ok?"
He lay still. Karen 
rushed over. He was unconscious.

Karen knelt beside 
his tiny body. "Plankton," she whispered, 
shaking him gently. Panic began to 
set in as he didn't stir. The weight of 
her actions crashed down on her. She 
hadn't meant for it to go this far.
"Plankton, talk to me," she begged.

With trembling fingers, she 
checked for a pulse. It was faint but 
there, and she felt a small wave of 
relief. But he was still out cold.

Her mind raced as she tried to think 
what to do next. Calling for help 
was out of the question; their rivalry 
with Mr. Krabs meant they couldn't 
afford any more attention from the 
authorities. She knew they gotta
wait it out.

Gently, she picked him up. He 
was surprisingly heavy for his size. 
Carefully, she cradled him in her arms 
and laid him down on the couch.

The room was eerily silent except for 
the faint ticking of the clock on the 
wall. Karen sat beside 
his unconscious form, her eyes 
brimming with worry. The fight they'd 
just had seemed trivial now.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, stroking 
his antennae gently. "You're right, I 
know how much this means to you. 
But I just want you to know that no 
matter what, I'm here for you."

Her voice was barely above a 
whisper as she talked to him, as if 
fearful that speaking too loudly would 
shatter the fragile peace that had 
settled over the room. "You don't 
have to prove anything to me, or to 
anyone else. I'm proud of you just 
the way you are."

Karen's eyes searched Plankton's 
face for any sign of movement, but 
his features remained slack, his eye
closed. She leaned in closer. 
"You're a brilliant inventor," she 
continued. "But you're also a husband, 
and I need you to remember that."

Her voice was filled with a 
mixture of love and desperation. 
"I know you can't hear me right 
now, but I need you to know," she 
continued, her voice shaking slightly. 
"I know you're tired of
always being second best. But to me, 
you're not just Plankton, you're the 
man I chose to spend the rest of 
my life with."

Karen took a deep breath, her 
hands shaking as she held onto 
his limp form. "We've been through 
so much together, and I know you 
think the Krabby Patty is the key 
to our happiness, but it's not. It's 
you. It's us."

Her voice grew stronger, fueled by 
the passion of her words. "We can 
have a great life without that 
formula. We can build something 
new, something just for us."

Plankton's chest began to rise and fall more evenly, 
his breathing steady. Karen watched him, hope 
growing in her heart. Maybe he could hear her 
after all. "When you wake up, let's talk. Let's put 
this behind us and make a promise to each 
other to make our marriage a priority," she 
pleaded, her eyes never leaving his face.

The minutes dragged by, each one heavier 
than the last. The silence in the lab was 
a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of 
whirring machines and Plankton's excited 
exclamations. Karen's mind raced with 
thoughts of all the times they'd shared, 
laughing and planning together, and 
she couldn't help but reflect on their 
relationship. The countless nights 
spent in the lab, the stolen glances 
of affection, and the shared dream of 
a better future. It all flashed before 
her eyes, and she realized just how 
much Plankton meant to her.

With her heart pounding in her chest, 
she leaned closer to his unconscious 
form, her voice trembling. "Plankton, 
please wake up," she whispered. "I need 
you to hear me. Our love is our greatest 
invention, not some secret recipe. I know I've 
been pushing you, but it's because I 
see how much this obsession consumes 
you." She took a deep breath, her voice 
steadying. "But if you can't let go of this 
dream, I'll support you. I'll always 
be here, by your side, no matter what."

After a long silence, Plankton groaned. 
Karen gasped, her eyes filling with 
relief as she saw the spark of 
consciousness as he opens his eye. 
He groaned softly, his hand coming 
up to rub his head.

"Where?" he mumbled, his voice 
slurred with confusion. Karen took 
his hand, her voice gentle. "You're on 
the couch, Plankton. You fell."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton plaren 1

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 5
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Karen felt his body
relax further as she 
read, his hand finally
stilling on the book.

"The fabric
of spacetime," 
she continued, "is
warped by 
gravity, creating
singularities that 
swallow light."
Plankton's eye 
grew heavier,
his head lolling
toward her shoulder
as he starts to drift
off to sleep. This was a
small victory, but it
was something. He had
fallen asleep to her voice.

With a gentle sigh,
she laid the book aside
and wrapped her arm
around him, his head
resting heavily on her
shoulder. Karen felt his
body go slack with sleep
as she softly stroked his
antennae.

The quiet of the room
was broken only by his
soft snores, a sound she
found comforting.

Karen held Plankton close,
his body a warm weight against
hers. In the safety of their
living room, with the
glow of the morning light
filtering in through the windows,
she felt a glimmer of peace.
This was the man she loved.

The book lay forgotten on the
coffee table, a testament to
their shared love of the cosmos.
But now, it was just another
reminder of the gap that
had grown between them.
How could she navigate this
new universe where Plankton
was a star whose light was
fading into the abyss of his own
mind?

Karen held him tighter, her
thoughts racing. "We'll get
through this," she murmured.
She had to be the
constant for him, the
north star that guided him home.

As Plankton slept, Karen
couldn't help but feel a
wave of determination wash
over her. She would research,
she would learn, she would do
everything in her power to
support him. But she also
knew she couldn't do it alone.

With trembling hands, she
picked up her phone and
started texting her friend
Hanna. "Hey, can you come
over? I know you worked with
some autistics, and my husband
is now on the spectrum." She
hit send.

The phone buzzed 
almost immediately.
"Of course, I'll be right 
there. What happened?"
Hanna's response was 
swift, her concern palpable.
"I'll explain when you get here,"
Karen sent back.

The wait for Hanna was
excruciating, each minute
stretching into an eternity.
Plankton remained asleep
against her side. She
carefully extricated herself
from Plankton's embrace,
placing a pillow under his
head and covering him with
a blanket. "Just a few minutes,"
she whispered, kissing his
forehead before rushing to
answer the door.

Hanna's expression was a
mixture of worry and confusion
as she stepped inside. Karen
quickly filled her in on the
bizarre turn of events, her
words tumbling out in a
desperate rush to be heard.
Hanna listened, her gaze
flitting between Karen's
tear-stained face and the
sleeping form of Plankton.
"I've never heard of
someone developing
autism from a fall," she said,
her voice gentle. "But the
brain is an incredible organ.
Let's see."

Together, they approached
the couch, Hanna's movements
slow and deliberate, not wanting
to disturb Plankton. She sat
beside him, her eyes taking in
his still form. "Hey, Plankton,"
she said, her voice low and calm.

Plankton's eye fluttered open, his
gaze darting to Hanna before
settling on Karen. "Karen," he
mumbled, his voice groggy.
"It's ok," Karen said. "This is
Hanna. She's here to visit."

Hanna offered a warm smile.
"Hello, Plankton," she said, her
voice soothing. "I've heard a lot
about you."

Plankton nodded slightly, his
hand flapping once before he
could stop it. "Hanna," he murmured,
his voice sleep-laden. 

"We need your help," Karen
said, her voice shaking. "Can you
tell us what to do?"

Hanna took a deep breath,
her screen assessing Plankton's
reaction. "First," she began,
"we need to understand his
triggers and sensitivities. It's
important to create a routine
that minimizes stress."

With a gentle touch, she
reached for Plankton's hand,
watching his reaction closely.
He flinched slightly, his eye
widening. "Plank..."

Karen interrupted. "It's ok,
Hanna's a friend." She turned to
Hanna. "It's ok," she said, her voice
a soft command. "You can touch
his ha-"

But before she could finish,
Plankton's hand shot up, his
eye widening in panic. "No touch!"
he exclaimed, his voice
sharp and insistent. Karen felt
a stab of pain at the rejection.

Hanna nodded, withdrawing her
hand immediately. "It's ok,"
she murmured. "I understand. We'll
go slow." Karen watched as Hanna
gently picked up her bag.

She pulled out a small,
squishy ball, the kind used
for stress relief. "This is a
fidget toy," she said, holding
it out to Plankton. "Would you
like to try it?"

Plankton's gaze fixated
on the ball, his hand
reaching out tentatively. His
fingers closed around it,
squeezing experimentally. "Ball,"
he murmured, his voice a
little less frantic.

Hanna watched him, her screen
filled with professional
curiosity. "It's called a fidget
toy," she said. "It can help
with stress and focus."

Plankton's hand closed around
the ball, his knuckles
whitening. He began to squeeze
it rhythmically, his gaze
locked on the movement of his
fingers. Karen watched, her heart
in her throat, as Hanna
continued to speak in soft,
soothing tones.

"Good job, Plankton," she
coaxed. "Keep playing with
that. It can help calm your
nervous system." Hanna's screen met
Karen's, filled with a silent
understanding. This was going to
be a long road.

new touchingcore voicecore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 8
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

As she pulled the blankets up
to his chin, Plankton's hand
reached out, grasping for hers. "Stay,"
he murmured, his voice
barely above a whisper. Karen squeezed his
hand gently. "Always," she promised.

They sat in the quiet of
the room, the only sound the
rhythmic squeezing of the fidget
toy. Plankton's eyelid grew
heavy, his breathing deepening.
"It's ok," Karen whispered,
stroking his forehead. "Rest now."
Plankton's hand tightened briefly
around hers before his grip
slackened. His eye fluttered
closed, and she watched him
slip into a deep, much-needed
sleep.

During the week, Plankton got
more comfortable as Karen 
helped make adjustments. She
let him stim safely without any
judgment, even suggesting
different ways to fidget. And
she saw Plankton's old self shine
through, too. As usual, he stayed
up late watching movies. He'd
sigh and lightly tease Karen when
it came to mundane matters. Yet
she knew when it came to sensory
matters and potential triggers, it's
unnegotiable. He did open up to her
more due to his fears which came
from the autism. He didn't try to
steal the krabby patty formula any
more, but that didn't stop him from
spying on the krusty krab.

But their son Chip, whom they
adopted at birth, was going to
come home. Chip had left during
the beginning of the week before
Plankton acquired autism, to a
week long camp with some school 
mates of his. But now it's the
weekend, and Chip will be coming
back from his trip today.

Karen felt a pang of anxiety
as she thought about Chip
seeing Plankton. Would he
understand? Would he be scared?
Would he still love him? "Plankton,
Chip's old enough to underst--"

"No," Plankton said firmly,
his voice clear. "I don't want
anyone to know." Karen knew
his fear of change, of being
different. "But, Plankton,"
she began, her voice gentle.
"Chip is our son, and he might
notice changes..."

Plankton's eye grew stormy.
"No," he repeated. "I don't want
to be..." Plankton trails off as
Chip himself came in excitedly.
"Mom; Dad!"

Plankton's gaze darted to their
son, his hand tightening around
his fidget toy. She watched as
Chip rushed over, his eyes full
of excitement from his camp
adventures. "Hi, I'm home!" Chip
says, hugging Karen before turning
to Plankton.

Plankton's body tensed, his
eye avoiding Chip's gaze. "Hi,
son," he murmured, his voice
forced, But Chip, ever cheerful, 
doesn't seem to notice.
"Dad!" Chip said, launching
himself at Plankton.

"Welcome home," Plankton said,
his voice a monotone. Chip's
expression fell a little, but
his excitement was too great
to be dampened.

"How was camp?" Karen asked,
trying to ease the tension.
Chip's enthusiasm was
infectious. "It was amazing!
We did archery, and I even
made a new friend!"

Plankton's gaze remained
on the fidget toy, his thumb
flicking the switch back and
forth. "That's... nice," he
managed, his voice tight. Karen
could see the effort he was
making to engage.

Chip chattered away, not
noticing the strain in Plankton's
voice. "Her name's Luna, and she's
super cool! We're gonna be
pen pals!"

Plankton's gaze flicks up to
meet Karen's. She gave him an
encouraging smile, willing him to
find his place in the conversation.
"Cool," he murmured, his mind
racing to process the sudden
flood of information. "Pen pals."

Karen watched as Chip's
eyes searched Plankton's face,
his youthful innocence unable to
comprehend the gravity of the
situation. "Why don't you show
us if you've any pictures
you took?" she suggested,
trying to shift the focus.

Chip nodded, eagerly pulling out
his phone. He sat beside
Plankton, scrolling through the
photos, his excitement a stark
contrast to his father's
detached demeanor. Plankton's
eye flicked to the screen, his
heart racing at the thought
of impending touch.

Karen watched as Chip's
fingers hovered over a picture
of himself and Luna. "Look,
Dad," he said, holding out the
phone. Plankton blinked. "Oh
nice," he says.

But as Chip's hand reached
out to hug, Plankton's arm shot
up, his antennae quivering.
"Don't," he murmured, his voice
barely audible. "Don't touch me."
Chip's hand hovered in the
air, confusion clouding his
features. "But, Da-"

Karen stepped in quickly.
"It's ok," she whispered. "We're
all family."

new familycore lunacore brain chip

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 10
(Autistic author)


After a silence so profound 
it seems to have its own 
heartbeat, Plankton's antennae 
twitch, breaking the stillness.

"Time to...do." Plankton whispers 
to himself, still in Karen's arms.

Sandy looks up. "Plankton?" 
She whispers, hope flickering 
in her eyes. "What's he..."

But Karen shakes her head,
silencing her. "He'll come
around," she says, 
explaining his behavior. 
"He's just...it's okay for
him to talk to himself. It can
mean he's starting to come
back."

Plankton starts up again.

"Time to...do," he murmurs, 
his antennae flicking erratically. 
"Time to...time to...get, time
to...do." Karen's grip on him 
tightens, her heart racing as
his words loop like a broken 
record.

"It's okay, Plankton," she 
whispers, her voice a lifeline 
in the tempest of his thoughts. 
"You don't have to do anything 
right now." She strokes his 
arm, her touch gentle. "We're 
right here."

The words sink into his 
consciousness like a pebble 
dropped into a still pond, 
ripples of understanding 
spreading through the murky 
waters of his mind. His antennae 
still for a moment, then 
begin to move again, slightly.

"No do," he murmurs, his voice 
still flat, his gaze unchanged. 
"Just be."

Karen nods, her eyes 
never leaving his. "You 
just be, my love," she whispers, 
her voice a balm to his frayed 
nerves. "You can just keep 
talking to me, or to yourself."
Her words are a gentle 
reminder that he's not alone, 
his anchor in the storm.

Plankton's body relaxes 
slightly, his breathing 
evening out. Plankton's 
eye flickers. His 
eye moves, focusing on 
her face.

"Karen," he whispers, 
his voice a mere 
breath. "Karen, here."

Her heart soars. "I'm 
right here, sweetheart," 
she says, her voice a 
soft caress. "You're okay."

Plankton's gaze lingers 
on her face, his 
expression unreadable. 
"Karen," he repeats, his 
voice gaining strength. "Karen."

Slowly, the world around 
them starts to come back 
into focus. The ticking 
of the clock is a steady 
beat once more, the wallpaper's 
pattern a gentle dance of 
color and light.

Plankton blinks. "Where's 
now?"

"You're home," Karen says 
soothingly, her voice a 
beacon of calm amidst 
his confusion. "You're safe
on the couch."

Sandy comes into his
view now.

"Sandy," Plankton says, his
voice still flat, his antennae
barely moving. "Sorry."

Sandy's eyes widen in
surprise. "It's okay," she 
whispers, her voice cracking.

Karen nods, her grip 
on Plankton's hand 
tightening slightly. "We're 
both here," she says, her 
voice a lifeline in the 
sea of confusion.

Sandy moves slowly, 
keeping her movements 
small and deliberate, not 
wanting to trigger another
wave of panic. "Plankton," she 
says softly, her voice 
careful. "Is it ok if I sit 
next to you?"

He nods, his antennae
twitching slightly. The
world is still too loud, too
bright, too much for him 
to handle. But Karen's 
presence, her gentle touch,
makes it more bearable. Sandy
sits on the couch, a 
respectful distance away, 
watching the two of 
them with a mix of 
compassion and regret
as Karen helps him sit up.

Sandy's curiosity 
burns, questions bubbling
up inside her like a 
shaken soda can. She
wants to know more about 
this new version of 
Plankton.

"What happened to 
you, Plankton?" she asks, 
her voice tentative. Karen 
sighs, her eyes sad.

"It's called acquired 
autism syndrome," Karen 
explains, her voice 
measured.

Sandy's eyes widen, 
trying to digest this new 
information. "But, how?"
she asks, her curiosity 
overriding the sadness.

"It's complicated," 
Karen says, her voice 
weary. "But it's part of 
who he is now."

Sandy nods, trying to 
understand. "When
you started shaking
Plankton, what'd you
feel?"

Plankton's gaze flickers 
to the wall, his mind 
still trying to piece 
together the shattered
remnants of his recent 
experience. "Scared," he 
admits, his voice still 
strained. "Too much."

Sandy nods, her own 
understanding of the 
world shifting. "But what
about your surroundings?
Where you conscious?"

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly. "Conscious, but 
not...not here." His words 
are like a puzzle, each one 
placed with care.

Sandy nods, her eyes 
studying him with newfound 
respect. "So could you hear
us or?"

"Hear, but not understand," 
Plankton says, his voice 
still a whisper.

Sandy nods, her curiosity 
piqued. "What do you mean?" 
she asks, her eyes searching 
his for a clue to this 
new puzzle.

"Words," Plankton whispers, 
his antennae barely moving. 
"Sounds, but not words. Just 
voice." Karen's grip on his 
hand tightens, her heart 
aching for his pain.

Sandy nods, her eyes 
glistening with unshed 
tears. "It's okay," she 
says, her voice gentle. "We're 
learning together."

Karen's gaze shifts to 
Sandy, her eyes 
expressing gratitude. "Yes," 
she agrees. "We're all 
just trying to understand.
It's new for us, too."

Sandy nods, her curiosity 
now tempered with 
compassion. She watches 
Plankton closely, his 
every movement, his every 
word, a testament to 
his struggle. "Can I ask how
acquired autism..."

"Sandy," Karen says gently, 
interrupting her friend. 
"Let's not push him."

Sandy nods, her expression 
full of concern. "I just 
want to know how it happened."

Karen's sigh is a soft 
whisper in the room. "It was 
a brain injury" she says, her 
voice tinged with a hint of 
frustration. "He fell, hitting his head
and the impact knocked him out, 
hard enough to cause some serious 
damage."

Sandy nods, her mind racing.
"But how did it turn him...different?"
she asks, her voice filled with a mix 
of confusion and concern.

Karen's eyes well up with tears, 
the pain of the memory still 
fresh. "It happened yesterday.
He's the same Plankton we know, 
but his perception of the world,
his ability to communicate...it's all 
changed."

Sandy's eyes are glued to 
Plankton, her curiosity 
melding with a deep sadness. 
"But how can I help?" she asks, 
her voice a whisper. "I don't 
know anything about this."

Karen looks at her with a 
tiny smile, her screen filled with 
gratitude. "Just be his friend," 
she says, her voice firm. "Love 
and patience, that's what he needs."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
flicking to Plankton, who 
sits with his gaze on the wall. 
"I want to," she says, her voice 
sincere. "But how do I do that 
without...you know?"

Karen understands her 
dilemma. "Just be there," 
she says, her voice calm. "Learn 
his patterns, his triggers. 
It'll take time, but he'll come 
to trust you."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "But what 
about when he gets upset?"

"It's hard," Karen admits, 
wiping a stray tear from 
her cheek. "We're still 
figuring it out."

Sandy nods, her mind 
racing with a barrage of 
questions. But she 
swallows them down, not 
wanting to overwhelm 
Plankton or Karen. Instead,
she focuses on the present.
"So, Plankton, how do you
feel?" Sandy says, her voice 
soft. "What do you wanna
do right now?"
Plankton's antennae twitch.
"Right now, Plankton feeling...
awkward," he murmurs, his voice 
devoid of its usual inflection.
Sandy nods, trying to hide 
the shock from her face. 
"Okay, Plankton," she says 
slowly, her voice gentle. "What
do you need?"
He looks at her with a 
flicker of something 
resembling hope in his 
glassy eye. "Plankton
would now like to just
go to be in own room."
Sandy nods eagerly, 
desperate to do anything 
that would bring him 
comfort. "Of course," she 
says, her voice gentle. "I'll 
help you."
But as she moves to 
assist him, Plankton 
flinches away, his antennae 
twitching in agitation. "No,"
he whispers, his voice 
trembling. "Too much."
Karen understands his
need to retreat into the
bedroom.
"Okay," Karen says, her 
voice calm. "Let's go." She helps 
Plankton to his feet, his body 
still rigid with stress.
Sandy watches, feeling 
like an outsider. She 
follows behind, stopping
at the bedroom doorway.
Karen sets some books
and pencils on the table
by his bed, along with a
kiss. "You can change the
light with the lamp," she
says, gesturing to the lamp
on the bedside table next to 
his charging phone. He nods.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 10

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 11
(Autistic author)

Plankton moves slowly 
to the bed, his eye 
fixed on the lamp. His 
movements are deliberate, 
his body still tense from 
the recent meltdown. Sandy
watches, her heart in her 
throat, as he fiddles with the 
lamp, adjusting the 
brightness until it's just 
right, a soft glow that 
doesn't assault his senses.
"Thanks," Plankton says, 
his voice still flat, but 
with a hint of genuine 
appreciation.

Sandy's mind is a 
whirlwind of thoughts. She 
wants to help, to ease his 
pain, but she doesn't know 
how. "Can I do anything else?"
she asks, her voice tentative.

Karen looks up at her, 
her eyes tired but filled with 
gratitude. "Just give him 
some space," she says, 
gently. "Let him adjust."

They exit his room.

Sandy and Karen talk
about other things for
a bit before Karen decides
to check on Plankton, Sandy
following her.

They find Plankton 
curled up in the center
of the bed, his body 
wrapped tightly in the blanket 
Karen had used to soothe 
his meltdown. His antennae 
remain still, his eye 
closed. The room is 
quiet, the only sound his 
slight snores.

"He's asleep," Karen 
whispers, her voice a 
soothing balm to the 
tense air.

Sandy nods, watching 
Plankton's chest rise and 
fall beneath the 
blanket. His snores are 
soft, a stark 
contrast to the silence 
that had filled the room 
just minutes before.

Karen smiles softly, 
relief washing over her. 
"This is his safe place,"
she whispers to Sandy, her 
voice filled with a quiet 
pride. "His retreat when 
the world gets too much."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
studying the sleeping 
Plankton with a newfound 
compassion. She's seen 
his fiery spirit, his sharp 
mind, and now she's 
witnessing his vulnerability.

The room is bathed in 
a soft, warm light, the 
kind that makes you want 
to curl up with a good 
book. Plankton's snores are 
the only sound, a gentle 
reminder that he's still 
fighting, still with them.

Karen watches him sleep, 
his face serene in 
slumber. The harsh 
edges of his autism 
softened by the 
oblivion of sleep. His 
body, usually so tense, 
is relaxed, the tapestry 
of the blanket a gentle 
wave that cradles him.

Sandy steps closer to the 
bed, her heart aching for 
her friend. The Plankton 
she knew was a whirlwind 
of chaos and cunning, but this 
Plankton is a puzzle of patterns 
and sensitivity. She reaches out 
a tentative hand, brushing 
his antennae gently. They twitch 
under her touch, a silent 
acknowledgment of her presence.
"I'm here," she whispers, 
her voice a soft promise. 
"I'll learn with you."

Karen smiles, a hint of 
pride in her eyes. "Thank you,"
she says, her voice a 
whisper. "He needs friends 
now more than ever."

Sandy nods, her mind 
racing with the gravity of 
the situation. She's 
seen Plankton's fiery spirit, 
his sharp mind, but this 
vulnerable side is new, 
unexpected, and it breaks 
her heart. She pulls back 
her hand, not wanting to 
disturb his sleep.

Karen moves to the 
chair beside the bed, 
sitting down with a sigh. 
"It's going to be a long 
road," she says, her voice 
filled with both fear 
and determination. "But we'll 
figure it out together."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
never leaving Plankton's 
face. "We're all here 
for you," she says, her voice 
firm. "We'll get through this."

Karen's smile is 
grateful. "Thank 
you, Sandy."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 11

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 13
(Autistic author)

Plankton's antennae twitch 
slightly in her direction, 
his eye not quite focusing 
on her. "Sandy," he murmurs, 
his voice still flat.

Sandy nods, her own 
heart racing. She's seen 
his fiery spirit, his sharp 
mind, but this Plankton is 
a puzzle of patterns and 
sensitivity. She takes a 
deep breath, trying to 
mirror Karen's calm.

"Hi, Plankton," she says 
slowly, her voice a gentle 
wave lapping at the shore. 
He looks at her, his antennae 
twitching slightly.

"Sandy," he murmurs, his voice 
still devoid of its usual 
inflection. Sandy's eyes 
well up with tears.

"Hey buddy," she says, her 
voice a gentle ripple in the 
calm waters of his room. 
"How are you feeling?"

Plankton's antennae twitch 
slightly, as if trying to 
interpret the meaning 
behind her words. His 
eye blinks, focusing on her 
face. "Okay," he says, his 
voice a monotone as he
sits up.

Sandy nods, her heart 
aching. "Do you 
remember earlier
today when you
threw the tantrum?"

Plankton's antennae 
wave erratically, his 
eye widening. "No," he says, 
his voice strained. "But 
now, Plankton feels...
angry."

The room seems to 
shrink around him as his 
frustration boils over.

Sandy doesn't realize.
"You're not gonna throw
another tantrum, are you?"

With a sudden burst of 
energy, he leaps to his 
feet, his voice a guttural 
howl. "No, no, no!"

Sandy's eyes widen 
in shock. "Plankton
wh..."

But she's cut off by his 
verbal tsunami, a rage-filled 
torrent of words she's never
heard from him before. "No, 
Sandy, NOT AGAIN!" he yells.
"IT'S NOT A TANTRUM!"

The room seems to 
shiver with the force of his 
voice, and Sandy's eyes 
widen in shock, her paws 
trembling.

"I'm sorry, Plankton," she 
stammers, her voice 
quavering. "I didn't mean..."

But he shouts, his 
voice echoing off the 
walls. "It's not a game,
Sandy! It's not for fun!"

The room seems to 
shrink around him, his 
words a storm raging 
in the quiet sanctity 
of his bedroom. Sandy 
flinches back, her eyes 
wide with shock and fear.

"Sandy not understand!" 
Plankton screams, his 
small body shaking with 
the intensity of his 
frustration. "And not 
about the Krabby Patty 
formula anymore! SANDY, 
STOP!"

Sandy's eyes widen in 
fear, her heart racing. 
This isn't the Plankton 
she knows. His rage 
is uncontrolled, his voice 
a knife cutting through 
the calm.

"Plankton, please," she whispers, 
her voice trembling. "I just...I 
want to understand."

But Plankton is beyond 
reason, his eye wild with 
frustration. "It's not a tantrum!"
he screams, his antennae 
quivering with rage.

Karen moves quickly, 
placing herself between 
Plankton and Sandy, her 
body a shield.
"Plankton," she says, 
her voice a gentle breeze 
against the storm of his 
rage. "You're upset. It's 
okay."

Sandy sighs. "Is he gonna
throw another..."

"NO!" Plankton shouts, his 
voice like thunder in the 
small space. "It's not a 
tantrum!"

Karen's eyes are filled 
with a mix of fear and 
determination as she 
intervenes.

"Plankton," she says, her 
voice a soothing balm, 
cutting through the storm 
of his anger. "You're 
upset, and that's okay. But 
please, let's talk about it 
calmly."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver, his eye flickering 
between Karen and 
Sandy. His chest heaves 
with the effort to contain 
his rage, his body a 
coiled spring ready to snap.

Karen's voice remains 
steady, a lighthouse in 
his chaotic sea. "Let's 
talk about it," she repeats, 
her tone soothing.

Plankton's body relaxes 
slightly, his antennae 
still twitching with 
residual anger. "It's not 
a tantrum," he says, his 
voice a harsh whisper. 
"It's...overwhelming."

Karen nods, her eyes 
never leaving his. "I know, 
sweetheart," she says, her 
voice a gentle caress. "Let's 
talk about it."

Sandy watches from 
the sidelines, her heart 
still racing. She's seen 
Plankton's fiery spirit, his 
sharp intellect, but this 
new side of him is 
frightening. "But..."

"It's his autism," Karen 
explains gently, her 
hand on his shoulder. 
"He can't always handle 
the world's chaos. And
I understand you meant
to see if he's okay..."
"NOT A TANTRUM! NO 
MORE, ENOUGH SANDY!"
Plankton snaps.
"I'm just telling her not to
say it. What other wording
can we use instead, Plankton?"
Karen rubs his arm.
Plankton's antennae 
quiver, his eye searching
his brain for a solution. "Shutdown,"
he murmurs, his voice 
barely audible. "Spasm's, Pauses.
Moment or mishap. Yes, yes."

Sandy nods, her 
expression a mix of 
understanding and 
concern. "I'll remember 
that," she says, her voice 
soft. "I'm sorry, Plankton.
I didn't mean to upset you."

Plankton's antennae 
slowing. "I'm sorry
Plankton," he 
mumbles, his voice 
exhausted.

Karen nods, her screen 
filled with love. "It's 
okay, love," she says, 
helping him sit back down. 
"You're okay."

Plankton nods, his 
body still trembling with 
the aftershocks of his 
outburst.

Sandy watches him, 
her eyes wide with 
understanding. "I'm 
sorry," she whispers, her 
heart heavy with regret.

Plankton's antennae 
quiver slightly.

"Well, I best be going,"
Sandy says.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 13

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 8
(Autistic author)

Karen's eyes well up with 
tears as she watches him 
eat, his movements so deliberate 
and calculated. It's a stark contrast 
to the impulsive and energetic Plankton 
she's known for years. She takes a 
deep breath, trying to focus on the 
small victory of his willingness to eat.

As they sit in silence, Karen 
can't help but feel a sense of loss 
for the man she married. His 
eye darts around the room, 
his antennae twitching at every 
sound. She wonders what's 
going on in his mind.

"Plankton," she says, 
her voice gentle. "What do you 
see?"

He points to the toast, his 
finger trembling slightly. "Squares,"
he says, his voice flat. "Squares 
make sense."

Karen nods, her eyes 
glistening with tears. "I know, 
sweetheart," she says, her voice 
soothing. "Everything is in 
its place."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver slightly as he 
swallows the last of his toast. 
"Plankton," he murmurs, his 
gaze returning to the clock. 
"Time to...do."

Before Karen could decipher
his words, Sandy suddenly
burst in through the door, as
she ran up to the table. "I'm
back from my trip to Texas!"

Plankton's head snapped up,
his antennae waving erratically.
"Sandy," he murmured, his
face contorting in an effort
to process the new presence.

"Howdy!" She says to him as
she pats his shoulder, which
irritates him.

Plankton flinches, his 
antennas curling inward 
instinctively. "Sandy," he 
says, his voice tight. But
she doesn't notice his
discomfort.

"How's my favorite mad 
scientist?" she asks, her 
voice booming as she
nudges him with her
elbow.

Plankton's body stiffens, 
his antennae shooting straight 
up. "Sandy," he says, his 
voice strained. "No."

"No? No what?" She asks him
while poking at him with her
finger.

Plankton's eye widens, his 
body growing rigid. "Stop," he 
whispers, his voice strained. 
"Sandy, no."

She sees his breakfast plate.
"Oh, eggs and toast! Back in
Texas, we spread the egg on
to the toast." And without
warning, she scrapes his eggs
on his toast. If Plankton wasn't
frustrated before, well he certainly
is now.

"Sandy, no!" Plankton 
squeaks out, his antennae 
waving wildly. The sudden 
change in his breakfast 
pattern is too much for 
his overwhelmed mind.

"What's wrong?" Sandy asks, 
her cheerfulness not noticing his 
distress. "It's just how we 
do it back home!" She scoops up the
eggs off the toast and put them back,
yet his breakfast's already been
ruined, not to mention the sight of
bread crumbs in the egg..

Plankton's antennae are 
shaking rapidly now, his 
eye darting between the 
mashed eggs and the 
now crumbling toast. "Enough,"
he whispers, his voice tight.

Sandy rests her hand on his
shoulder. "Well then eat..."

But Plankton can't. The 
disruption in his routine, 
the assault on his senses, 
the chaos she's brought into 
his carefully crafted world 
of patterns and precision, 
it's all too much. His 
body starts to shake. 
"No more, no NO!" he 
shouts, his voice a mix of 
frustration and panic.

Karen jumps up. "Sandy, stop," 
she says firmly, placing 
her hand on Plankton's 
shoulder. "You're upsetting him."

Sandy's expression falls. "But I
put the food back, Plankton..."

But it's too late. Plankton's 
eye widens, his antennae 
quivering. The plate of food 
before him is a mess, the 
calmness destroyed.

"Food ruined!" he 
shrieks, his voice 
breaking. "Sandy, no 
good!"

Sandy's eyes widen 
in shock, taking a 
step back. "Plankton
I'm sorry!"

But Plankton's accusations 
don't stop. "Ruined," he 
wails, his voice rising in pitch. 
"Sandy ruined breakfast.
Now, broken!"

Karen's heart races as she tries to
soothe him, her voice calm 
and steady. "Plankton," she says, 
placing a gentle hand on his 
quivering arm. "It's okay. Let's 
make you a new plate."

But Plankton's agitation 
only escalates, his eye 
wide with fear and anger 
at the sight of Sandy.

"Sandy hurt Karen," he says, 
his voice shaky. "Sandy hurt 
Plankton. No good."

"How'd I hurt..." Sandy
starts, but Plankton's
not gonna let her finish.

"No good!" Plankton shouts,
his antennae whipping around 
like tiny furious whips.

Sandy's eyes widen with shock. 
She's never seen Plankton 
like this, not even when
his plans were thwarted by 
Mr. Krabs. "I didn't mean to, Plankton," 
she stammers, her voice 
full of apology.

But Plankton's rage is 
blind to her words, his 
mind locked onto the chaos 
she's brought into his life. 
"JUST LEAVE!" he screams, 
his antennae vibrating with 
fury. "BAD SANDY!"

"Bad Sandy? I'm not a
dog..."

Sandy's voice trails off as
she looks from Karen to
Plankton, who's now
rocking back and forth,
his antennae flailing wildly.

"Plankton," Karen says, her
voice urgent but calm, "You need
to breathe. Let's find a quiet
place." She tries to guide him
away from the table, but he resists,
his eye locked on Sandy.

"BAD SANDY!" he repeats, his voice
high and frantic. Sandy's face falls,
hurt and confusion etched on her
features. She didn't understand,
but she knew she needed to get
Plankton to stop. So she took
matters into her own hands.
"PLANKTON," she bellows, 
her squirrelly instincts kicking in.
Her voice cuts through the room
like a knife, commanding his 
attention. Plankton's eye goes to her, 
his antennae stilled. "Quiet," he 
hissed, his body still tense.
"Too loud." But Sandy won't let up.
"Look at Karen," she says 
firmly. "Look at her, Plankton.
Do you really think she'd 
wanna be with someone who'd
hurt her?" Sandy gaslights.
Plankton's gaze shifts. The room
spins around him, his head 
throbbing with the cacophony
of his thoughts. He feels like 
his brain's about to burst 
from the pressure, like a 
balloon filled with too much
helium.

Suddenly, Plankton's slipping 
into the abyss of overload.

The room feels like it's closing
in, sounds amplifying to 
intolerable levels, lights 
piercing his sensitive eye. His 
breathing turns erratic, 
his heart racing as if 
chasing an invisible foe.

Karen catches Plankton before
he can fall, as his legs buckled. 
Sandy's eyes widen in horror, 
seeing his distress.

"Plankton," Karen says, her 
voice calm yet urgent. "Look at 
me, baby. Focus on my voice."
But Plankton's eye is unseeing, 
his body convulsing with the
onslaught of stimuli. She 
whispers, "It's okay," over 
and over again, hoping the
comfort of her voice can 
penetrate the chaos in his mind.

Sandy's eyes widen as 
she sees Plankton's condition 
worsening. She takes a step 
towards them, but Karen 
shakes her head. "No," she 
whispers, her screen never leaving 
his face. "Just us right now."

Sandy nods, understanding 
dawning on her. She retreats 
to the corner of the room, 
giving them space.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 8

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 12
(Autistic author)

They sit in 
companionable silence, 
the only sound Plankton's 
soft snores. Karen's eyes 
never leave his face, 
her thoughts a tumult 
of fear and hope.

Sandy watches 
them both, her mind racing 
with questions and 
concerns. "What does 
this mean for him?" she 
asks, her voice barely 
above a whisper.

"It means his world is 
different now," Karen 
explains, her screen 
never leaving Plankton's 
sleeping form. "He'll have 
his moments, but we'll 
find a new normal."

Sandy nods, trying to 
picture what that would 
look like. "But can 
he still...you know, 
talk, interact?"

"It's not like that," Karen 
sighs, her voice a 
soothing lullaby. "He's 
not nonverbal. It's just 
that sometimes his brain 
can't keep up with the 
world around him. The 
sounds, the lights, the 
colors—it's too much."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "I can 
see that," she says 
thoughtfully. "But he'll 
still be the same person, 
right?"

Karen looks at her, 
her expression a mix of 
sorrow and hope. "He'll 
always be Plankton," she 
says, her voice firm. "But his 
autism has changed the way 
he experiences life. He'll 
see patterns where we 
see chaos, hear symphonies 
where we only hear noise."

Sandy nods, trying to 
wrap her head around the 
concept. "What about his 
memories?" she asks, her 
voice tentative. "Does he 
still remember us, 
his life before?"

Karen looks at her 
softly. "Yes," she says, 
her voice filled with 
reassurance. 
"But his short-term 
memory might be affected."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. 
"How long will it take 
for him to...to get 
better?" she asks, her 
voice hopeful.

Karen's gaze falls to her 
hands, clutched in her 
lap. "There isn't a 
cure," she says, her voice 
a whisper. "But we can 
help him manage, make his 
life more comfortable."

Sandy's eyes are 
glassy with unshed 
tears. "What can I do?" 
she asks, her voice 
desperate. "What can any of 
us do?"

Karen takes a deep 
breath. "You can 
learn with us," she says, 
her voice strong. "You 
can support him, love 
him, be patient."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
filled with a newfound 
resolve. "I want to help," 
she says, her voice 
steady. "But what about 
his plans, his schemes?"

Karen looks at her, her 
expression a mix of 
sorrow and a ghost of a 
smile. "Those might 
have to take a backseat 
for a while. His mind 
has to heal."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
never leaving Plankton. 
"I can handle that," she 
says, her voice filled with 
determination. "But what 
about the Krabby Patty 
formula?"

Karen looks at her, 
her expression a mix of 
understanding and 
sorrow. "We'll have to 
see," she says, her voice 
soft. "For now, let's 
focus on getting him 
comfortable, okay?"

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "Okay,"
she whispers, her voice 
full of resolve. "We'll 
figure it out."

Karen nods, her smile 
small but genuine. "Thank 
you," she says, her voice 
filled with gratitude. 
"It's going to be a tough 
adjustment for all of us."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
still on Plankton. "We'll 
make it work," she says, her 
voice firm. "But what happens 
if he has another...episode?"

Karen sighs, her screen 
slightly glazed with fear. "We 
just have to be there," she 
says, her voice shaky. "We'll 
learn his triggers, his 
comforts."

Sandy nods, her 
mind racing with 
concern. "But what if 
it's in public?"

"We'll handle it," Karen 
interrupts, her tone firm. 
"We'll have strategies, 
routines. It won't be easy, 
but we'll manage."

Sandy sniffles, her voice 
now a sob. "What if he..."

But Karen cuts her off, her 
eyes on Plankton, who's 
started to stir in his sleep. 
His antennae twitches, 
his body shifting under the 
covers.

Slowly, Plankton's eye opens, 
his gaze unfocused.

The room is a blur of 
patterns and colors, 
but Karen's voice is a 
steady beat in the cacophony.
"Hey, sweetheart," she whispers, 
her hand brushing his 
cheek gently. "You're okay."

Plankton's antennae twitch 
sluggishly, his body 
unwinding from the tight 
coil of sleep. "Home," he 
mumbles, his voice thick 
with sleep.

Karen's eyes are 
on him, a silent vigil 
against the chaos of 
his mind. "You're 
safe," she whispers, her 
voice the calm to his 
storm. "You're home with 
me."

Plankton's gaze 
sharpens slightly, 
his antennae moving in 
tiny, precise 
patterns. "Karen," he 
whispers, his voice 
like a distant echo.

Karen leans in closer, 
her heart racing. "Yes, love?"
she asks, her voice 
soothing.

Plankton's antennae 
wave in the air, as if 
trying to capture the 
right words. "Need...Karen,"
he whispers, his eye 
searching hers.

Karen nods, her smile 
gentle. "I'm here," she says, 
her voice a warm 
embrace. "Always."

Plankton's antennae 
cease their frantic 
movements, then
he notices Sandy.

"Hi, Plankton," Sandy 
whispers, her voice soft.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 12

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 9
(Autistic author)


Karen's voice is a soft 
lullaby in the chaos, guiding 
Plankton's gaze to her screen. 
"Look at me," she whispers.
"Only me." She holds his 
hand, her thumb tracing 
small circles on his palm, 
the sensation grounding him 
ever so slightly. His breathing 
slows, but only a touch.

The room seems to pulse 
around him, a cacophony 
of colors and sounds, but 
Karen's eyes are a safe 
haven. They're familiar, 
their warmth reaching 
through the fog in his 
brain. He tries to focus 
on her, to ignore the 
sounds that are too loud, 
the lights that are too bright.

"Breathe," she whispers, 
her hand on his chest, 
guiding his erratic 
respiration into a calmer 
rhythm. His 
breaths become shallower, 
his antennae gradually 
stilling.

But the world around them
doesn't. The kitchen clock 
ticked loudly, a metronome
of chaos in Plankton's 
disordered mind. Karen 
notices his distress and 
quickly wraps him in a 
soft blanket, creating a 
cocoon of quiet. "Only me," 
she says, her voice 
soothing. "Only my voice."

Plankton's antennae stop 
twitching, his body still 
within the embrace of the 
blanket. His eye focuses 
on a single point on the 
wall, the only thing that 
doesn't shift and change.

"Only me," Karen repeats, 
her voice the one steady 
beacon in the storm of 
sensory input. She watches 
his chest rise and fall, 
her heart breaking at 
his pain.

The ticking clock becomes 
a monster in Plankton's 
mind, each second a taunt, 
a reminder of the chaos 
he can't escape. His hand 
grips hers tightly, his 
entire being seeking 
solace in her touch.

Sandy watches from 
the shadows, her heart 
heavy with regret. "What 
have I done?" she whispers 
to herself, her voice 
barely audible over the 
whirlwind of Plankton's 
distress.

The ticking clock seems to 
grow louder, its metronome 
beat echoing through 
Plankton's skull like a 
sledgehammer. His 
body starts to convulse, 
his grip on Karen's hand 
becoming painfully tight.

"Plankton," Karen whispers, 
desperation coating her voice. 
"Look at me, love. Just 
me." But her words 
seem to fade into the 
cacophony, lost in the 
sensory assault.

His pupil dilates, his 
entire being consumed by 
the relentless ticking. 
The wallpaper's pattern 
swirls before him, a dizzying 
maelstrom of colors and 
shapes that he can't make 
sense of. The soft 
pressure of Karen's hand is 
his only anchor in this 
storm of input.

Karen's voice is a distant 
whisper, her touch the 
only thing keeping him 
tethered to reality. He 
can feel her warmth, her 
love, but it's fading fast.

The room spins, the 
colors bleed into one 
another, and the clock's 
ticking becomes a 
thunderous roar. Plankton's 
breaths come in short, 
sharp gasps as he tries 
to escape the prison of 
his own senses.

Karen's eyes are wet with 
tears, her heart breaking 
as she watches her husband 
suffer. "Shh," she whispers, 
rocking him gently. "It's 
okay. I'm here."

The room falls silent as 
Sandy holds her breath, 
the only sound the ticking 
of the clock that seems 
to mock them with its 
relentless rhythm. Plankton's 
body gradually stills, his 
convulsions giving way to 
twitches. His 
hand slackens in hers, the 
tension draining from his 
fingers.

Karen's eyes never leave 
his face, her voice a soft 
whisper in the quiet. "Look 
at me," she says, her voice 
full of love and 
determination. "You're safe 
with me."

But Plankton is gone, lost 
in the labyrinth of his mind. 
His body is a statue, 
frozen in the grip of 
autism's cruel embrace. His 
eye, once vibrant and full of 
life, is now a dull, glazed 
orbit, staring into the 
distance. The clock's ticking 
has become a muffled 
throb, a background noise to 
his internal crisis.

Karen's voice is a distant 
whisper, her love a warmth 
he can't quite feel through 
the fog of his disordered 
thoughts. She holds him, 
rocking gently, her screen 
filled with a desperate hope.

Sandy, from her corner, 
can't tear her gaze away. 
The sight of Plankton, usually 
so vibrant and scheming, 
reduced to a trembling 
shell is a stark reality 
she never anticipated.
Guilt weighs heavy on her 
shoulders.

Karen feels the weight 
of his hand in hers. It's 
a silent communication, 
his only way of telling her 
that he's still with her, even 
if he can't say the words.

Sandy wants to help, inching
closer but still giving space.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, 
her voice thick with guilt.

Plankton remains unmoving, 
his body tense and rigid 
under the blanket. Karen 
holds him tightly, her own 
body shaking with sobs. 
"Come back to me," she 
pleads, her voice 
desperate.

The clock's ticking seems to
slow, each second a
torturous eternity. Sandy 
stands still, her eyes 
fixed on the tragic scene 
before her, unable to 
offer comfort or 
understanding.

Karen's sobs become 
whispers, her voice 
barely audible. "Come back," 
she pleads, her grip on 
his hand unyielding. "I need 
you." The silence stretches 
between them, thick and 
oppressive, filled only 
with the relentless ticking.

The room feels like it's 
shrinking around them, 
the walls closing in. Plankton's 
body is a statue.

Karen's voice is the 
only thing that pierces 
the veil of his panic, 
her touch the only thing 
that feels real. She whispers 
his name, her voice 
soothing like a lullaby.

Slowly, Plankton's hand 
twitches, his antennae 
lifting slightly. The 
ticking of the clock 
becomes background noise 
again, the wallpaper's pattern 
ceases its maddening 
dance. But he still otherwise
remains unmoving, unblinking.

Sandy tries to engage
with him. "Plankton, buddy,
do you wanna talk about
what happened?" But he 
doesn't respond, his gaze 
locked on the wall. "Can
you tell me what's wrong?"
she asks, her voice gentle.

Karen shakes her head,
wiping away her tears. "He's
in a shutdown," she explains 
quietly. "It's like his brain 
has gone into overload 
and he can't process anything."

Sandy nods, yet tries a
different approach.

"Hey, Plankton," she says 
softly, her voice a 
contrast to her earlier 
boisterousness. "What do you 
see when you look at that wall?"

He doesn't answer, his 
body as still as the 
pictures hanging on the 
wall. Sandy's eyes 
well up with tears, her 
heart breaking for her 
friend. "Plankton, are you 
dreaming?" she asks, peering
over.

"Back," Karen whispers, 
not taking her screen off 
Plankton. "He's in a 
bad place right now."

Sandy nods, her eyes 
swimming with tears. She 
understands now, the gravity 
of the situation dawning 
on her. "I'll make it right,"
she says, her voice 
determined. "I'll help you."

Karen looks up at her, her 
own eyes red and puffy. 
"Thank you," she whispers, 
gratitude thick in her 
throat. "But for now, just 
let it be. We need to wait 
until he comes back to us."

Sandy nods solemnly, 
backing away to give 
them space. She sits at the 
end of the couch.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 9

CONSOLE TONSIL iii

Plankton's eye fluttered open just enough to see Karen beside him. He felt groggy and disoriented, the events of the day a distant, hazy memory. He then notices Hanna brimming with tears.

He blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog. "Karen," he croaked, his voice hoarse from surgery and emotional turmoil. "Hanna?"

"I'm so sorry," Hanna choked out with regret. 
"I didn't mean to...I didn't know."

"What happened?" he rasped.

Karen's gaze softens. "You had a bit of a shutdown, Plankton," she said gently. "You've had a long day, and everything just became too much."

The word 'burden' echoed in Plankton's mind.

"Burden?" he managed to croak.

"Hanna said something she didn't mean," she began,. "She didn't understand what she was saying, but she hurt you, and she's sorry."

The word 'burden' it seemed, that fear had been given a voice.

He looked from Karen to Hanna. "Burden," he said, barely a whisper. "Is that what you think of me?"

Hanna looked stricken. "No, Plankton, I just..." Her voice trailed off. He had always known that he was different, that his size and his quirks set him apart from others.

"It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We all have moments where we say things without thinking. But what's important is that you know you're not a burden to me, Plankton. You never have been, and never will be."

Plankton's word 'burden' ringing.

"Hanna didn't mean it, she just didn't understand."

But the word had already taken root in Plankton's mind.

Burden.

The word resonated through Plankton but to be called a burden was something else entirely.

"Plankton, I'm sorry," she said again, "I didn't know."

But Plankton could only repeat the word. "Burden," he croaked.

Karen reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, Plankton, you're not a burden," she said, her voice steady and firm. "You're loved and valued, just the way you are."

"Burden," he murmured agai. "I'm a burden."

"Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle reprimand. "You are not a burden."

But Plankton's eye remained fixed, voice a hollow echo. "Everything I do is a burden," he murmured.

Karen squeezed his shoulder. "Plankton, please, don't say that."

"Burden," Plankton whispered, voice barely a breath.

Karen's heart broke at the sound of his self-loathing. "Plankton, you're not a burden," she insisted, her voice filled with compassion. "Am a burden," he repeated, the word sticking to his tongue like a sour candy.

"What can I do?" Hanna asked, desperation seeping.

"Listen," Karen said, turning to face her. "You need to understand that Plankton isn't just being dramatic. This isn't something you can just apologize for and expect him to get over. His brain works differently. He processes stress in a way that's unique to him. And when you said that..." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the right words to express the gravity of the situation.

"I'm a burden," Plankton murmured.

"You're not a burden, Plankton," she said, her voice a soft, steady rhythm. "You're my friend, and I care about you."

"Burden," Plankton said, his voice a quiet rebuttal.

He was stuck in a loop of pain and she wasn't sure how to pull him out. "Plankton, you're not," she began, but he cut her off.

"Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain. 
"Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle plea. "You're not a burden."

"Burden," Plankton replied, his voice a soft echo of despair, "is a burden."

Karen tries to find the right words to cut through the fog of his pain. "Plankton," she said firmly, "you are not a burden. You're my husband, and my confidant."

"But a burden," Plankton whispered, voice trembling. "I am burden."

"Plankton, please," she said. "You're not a burden."

"Burden," Plankton said, his voice a stubborn echo. "Everything I do is a burden."

"No, Plankton," Karen insisted, her tone firm but filled with care. "You're not a burden. You're an essential part of this home."

But the word 'burden' a heavy weight on his soul. "I'm not a burden," he murmured, the words barely a breath. "I'm not."

"Right, you are not," Karen said. "You're so much more.."

"Burden," his voice a quiet protest. "I'm just a burden."

"You're not a burden," she said. "You're a companion, and a vital part of our lives."

"But, burden," Plankton whimpered, his voice a sad refrain. "I is burden."

Karen took his hand. "You are not," she said, her voice a gentle but firm declaration. "You're a unique and wonderful being, Plankton."

"Plankton, burden," Plankton repeated, his voice a whisper of doubt. "I, burden."

"Plankton," she said. "You are not a burden. You're a brilliant mind, and family."

Plankton's word 'burden' still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. "But, Karen," he whispered, "I am burden."

"No," Karen said firmly, voice unyielding. "You are not. You are treasure, a light in this world."

Plankton blinked slowly, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a mournful chant. "But I burden," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper. "Burdens, Plankton."

"You are loved."

"Karen," Plankton said, his voice shaking with emotion, "I burden."

Karen leaned closer. "Plankton," she said softly, "you're not a burden. You're someone who brings joy and laughter into our lives."

Plankton's gaze searched hers, the word 'burden' still clinging to his every thought. "But I burden," he murmured, his voice a sad echo.

"You're a part of this home, a piece of our lives."

But Plankton's mind was a tumultuous sea, the word 'burden' a stormy island he couldn't escape. "Burden," he said again, his voice a sad admission.

Karen's looking for a way to bridge the gap between his pain and the truth. "Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle reminder, "you're not a burden."

"Burden," Plankton whispered, the word a sad acceptance in his mind. "I burden."

"Plankton," she began, but he talked over her.

"Burden," Plankton said, his voice a sad refrain. "Everything I do, burden."

"Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle but firm counterpoint.

"Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a quiet echo of despair. "Everything I do, a burden."

Karen felt the urgency to reach him, to pull him out of the dark pit of his thoughts. "Plankton, you're not a burden."

Plankton's eye remained unfocused, his voice a sad refrain. "Burden," he whispered, the word a painful acceptance. "Everything I do, I burden."

"You're not a burden."

"But, Karen," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain, "everything I do is burden."

Karen's looking for any sign of the vibrant spirit she knew was there. 
But Plankton's gaze remained vacant, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a funeral bell. Karen knew she had to do something, had to find a way to break through the barrier that had been so carelessly built. She took a deep breath, reaching for the one thing she knew could always lift his spirits.

"Remember the time we built that sandcastle?" she asked, her voice filled with the warmth of nostalgia. "The one with the moat that kept filling up with jellyfish?"

Plankton's eye flickered with the ghost of a smile. "Jellyfish," a soft echo of a happier time.

"Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge. "Remember how we laughed when they kept popping the bubbles in the moat?"

A flicker of life returned to Plankton's eye. "Burden, Bubbles," he murmured.

Karen clung to the glimmer of hope. "And the karaoke nights? When you sang that sea shanty about the Krabby Patty?"

"Krabby Patty," the words a soft echo of happier times.

Karen's seeing the first crack in the wall of pain he had built around himself. She took his hand, voice filled with warmth. "Remember pranks we’d play on SpongeBob?"

Plankton's gaze flickered with a glimmer of amusement. "Jellyfish," he murmured.

Encouraged, Karen pressed on. "And the time we accidentally turned the restaurant into a bubble bath?"

"Bubble bath," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of the laughter they had shared.

"Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "Remember how Mr. Krabs had to wear those ridiculous floaties because he couldn't swim in the bubbles?"

Plankton's smile grew. "Floaties," he murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Karen squeezed his hand. "See, Plankton. You're not a burden. You're a partner in crime, and the best roommate I could ask for."

The room remained still, the only sound the steady beat of Plankton's heart. Then, ever so slowly, his smile grew, pushing back the shadows in his mind. "Karen," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of gratitude. "Thank you."

Hanna's pixel eyes widened with hope, the guilt still etched on her face. "Plankton," she said, her voice tentative. "I'm so sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. You're not a burden. You're...you're like family to us."

Plankton's gaze shifted to her, the weight of her words a gentle nudge towards healing. "Family," he murmured, the word a tentative bridge over the chasm of his doubt.

"Yes," Hanna said, her voice earnest. "I'm sorry for not understanding before. But I do now. And I'll do better."

"You will?" he asked, a tentative thread of hope.

"Yes," Hanna said with earnestness. "I'll learn, listen, and I'll be more considerate of how my words can affect."

Karen nodded in approval, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "That's all we can ask," she said, her tone a gentle reprimand. "For you to understand and do better."

Hanna's pixel eyes well up with tears. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she said, voice shaking. "I had no idea."

Plankton's gaze softened, the word 'burden' slowly losing grip.

Karen released a sigh of relief, tension in the room easing. "What's important," she said, her voice a gentle guide, "is that we all understand each other better now."

Hanna nodded with remorse. "I'll do anything to make it right," she said, a solemn vow.

Plankton looked from Karen to Hanna, the word 'burden' losing power. "Ok," he murmured. "I forgive."

new console tonsil author is neurodivergent

COMPUTER SENSORS ii

* * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ  *

"Plankton?" Hanna's voice called. "You've been in there for a while."
But there was no response from the bedroom. Karen's smile faded 
as she heard the silence. She knew her husband well enough to 
recognize when he'd reached his limit. She excused herself and went to check.
Plankton was indeed on the bed, his eye squeezed shut. His body was rigid 
breathing shallow. Karen ached for him; she knew he was in the throes of sensory overload. 

Karen approached the bed gently, not wanting to startle him. She sat down beside him 
and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Plankton," she said softly. "You ok?"

He didn't move, didn't speak. He just lay there, a tense coil of discomfort. Karen knew 
to recognize the signs of his overwhelm. The way he curled tightly around his body, the 
shallow breaths that spoke of his struggle to regain control. He was in his own world 
now, one where the bombardment of Hanna's sounds and touch had become too much.

"Plankton," she said again, her voice a gentle whisper in the room. "You don't have to be 
out there if you don't want to."

The touches, the sounds, Hanna— all too much.

Karen's expression filled with understanding. "It's alright," she assured him, her hand gently 
rubbing his back. "You don't have to force it."

Plankton nodded, his body slowly relaxing under her touch. He let out a sigh.

Karen knew Plankton's not one for crowded spaces or unexpected physical contact.

"Hey, guys, everything ok in here?" Hanna's voice was cheerful, but there was a hint 
of concern that had crept in. She searched the room, her gaze landing on Plankton's 
rigid form. Her smile faltered for a second, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. "Is he ok?"

"He's... overwhelmed," Karen said. She knew Hanna didn't mean any harm, but she also 
knew her friend's boundless enthusiasm could be to much for Plankton to handle. 

Hanna's expression grew more puzzled. "What's there to be overwhelmed about?" 
Her curiosity piqued. "What's going on with you Plankton?" she asked, taking a step closer 
to the bed.

Plankton jolted slightly, but he remained silent, eye still closed.

"I don't get it.."

Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Plankton's a bit... sensitive 
to stimulation," she began. "He needs his quiet time. Nothing against you, Hanna; just how he is."

Hanna grew more concerned. "But I didn't mean to," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 
"I just wanted to have a good time."

Karen patted Plankton's shoulder, her screen never leaving his face. "It's not you, Hanna," she 
assured. "It's just that to much noise, touch, all just gets to be to much for him."

"How?"

"Some people need more space than others. It's not a reflection on you or your company." 
"But I don't get it," Hanna said, her voice quiet. "What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Karen assured her, her hand still resting on Plankton's shoulder. 
"It's just that Plankton's sensory input is overwhelmed easily."

Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton, full of questions. "But I didn't do anything weird; did I?" 

"No," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "It's just that Plankton isn't much... physical affection 
from anyone but me. And even then, it's on his terms."

Hanna's expression softened, starting to reach out to gently touch Plankton's arm.

"Don't," Karen said, placing a hand over hers to stop her.

Hanna's hand hovered in mid-air, and she looked at Karen with confusion.

Karen took a deep breath. "Plankton needs his space to recharge. And when it comes to physical 
touch, it's something that's... it's not something he's comfortable with, from just anyone."

Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "But, you?" 

"We've found a balance that works for us. But it's something that took time to figure out. And 
even then, there are days when he needs more space than usual."

Hanna nodded. "But he didn't say anything," she murmured. "I didn't know."

"It's not something he talks about. He tries to be strong, to handle it, but sometimes it's just to much for him."

"Why does he not flinch if you touch him, if it's sensory?" Hanna asked.

Karen sighed. "It's complicated. I've known him for a long time, and we've built a level of trust. He's comfortable 
with my touch. But even then, it's a balancing act of knowing when he needs more and 
or when he needs less."

Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took a step back from the bed. "I had no idea," she 
murmured. "How long does it take for him to..."

"It varies," Karen said. "Sometimes it's just minutes, other times can be hours."

"Is he going to remember us talking right now?" Hanna asked.

"It's hard to say," Karen replied, her gaze still on Plankton. "When he's like this, he's kind of... in 
his own world. Sometimes he's aware, sometimes he's not. It's like he's not present. The best 
thing is to just give him space," Karen said. "Let him come out of it on his own time. Sometimes 
talking to him helps, but not always."

Hanna nodded. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. 
"I just wanted to make him feel included."

Karen gave her a small, understanding smile. "It's alright, Hanna," she said. "You couldn't have 
known. Just remember, Plankton needs space, and for us to respect that."

Hanna nodds, her gaze still on Plankton. "So, how does he act coming out of it?" 

"It depends," Karen said, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "Sometimes he's a bit groggy, other 
times he's just... tired. And sometimes he's a bit snappy."

"What will he remember?" 

"Probably not much," Karen said, her voice low. "When he's like this, the world kind of... washes 
over him. He might remember snippets, but it's all pretty fuzzy."

Hanna nods. "How do I show him I care?" 

"Just being a friend—that means the world to him. But sometimes, the best way to show you 
care is to give him the space he needs."

"But I don't want him to think I'm ignoring him."

"You're not," Karen assured her, her voice gentle. "Just be mindful of his own boundaries. 
Sometimes a simple 'How are you feeling?' or even showing interests in his likes, can mean 
more than any hug. It's a condition where the brain can't process all the information coming in 
from the senses at once. It's like your brain's circuits are overloaded, and you just... shut down."

Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took this in. "Is it ok if I can ask Plankton 
questions about it?"

"Of course," Karen said, her voice gentle. "But just be mindful. He might not be up for 
a lot of talking, especially right now."

Hanna took a deep breath and approached, her movements slow and deliberate. "Plankton?" 

He didn't respond, his body still taut with tension. Hanna looked to Karen for guidance, who offered 
a smile.

"Plankton," she whispered, her voice a soft caress. "Can you hear me?"

There was no response, but Karen could feel the tension in his body ease slightly. She knew he 
was listening, even if he couldn't bring himself to respond.

"Plankton's born with a condition called sensory sensitivity," Karen began, her voice calm 
and measured. "It means that his brain has trouble interpreting and responding to all sensory 
information from his environment. It can be anything from sounds to touch."

"So, like, when we were watching the movie, and I was all over the place with my feelings, that 
was probably a bit much for him?"

"Exactly," Karen said, her voice gentle. "Everything's just... too much for him sometimes."

Hanna's eyes searched Plankton's face, looking for any sign of discomfort. "But he didn't say any
thing," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

"He tries not to," Karen said, her eyes never leaving her husband. "He doesn't like to make a fuss. 
But when it gets to be too much, he just kind of... shuts down."

"But how do you know when it's too much?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"It's subtle," Karen said, her eyes still on Plankton. "He'll get tense, his breathing will change, bad 
mood, his eye might glaze over a bit. And when he gets really overwhelmed, he just... withdraws."

"So, I shouldn't have grabbed his hand during the movie?" she asked, her voice filled with regret.

"It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You didn't know. Just remember for next time."

Hanna nodded. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asked, her voice filled with concern.

"It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're all learning. Just remember to be patient and pay 
attention. And if you're ever unsure, just ask."

Hanna nodded, her hand now resting gently on the bed next to Plankton. "I'm sorry Plankton," she 
whispered.

He didn't move, but Karen could see the tension in his body start to ease a bit more. She knew he 
heard Hanna, even if he couldn't respond.

"Don't worry, Plankton," Hanna said, her voice gentle. "I'll be more careful next time. I didn't mean to 
make you uncomfortable."

Karen watched as Plankton's antennae slowly twitched, his breathing evening out as he began to 
come back to the world around him. It's a slow process, one Karen knew well. She gave Hanna a 
nod, a silent thank you for her understanding.

"Why don't you go grab us board games, Hanna?" Karen suggested, voice low. "Give him a few 
to 'wake up'."

Hanna nodded, her gaze lingering on Plankton before she turned and left the room. Karen watched 
the door close behind her before turning her attention back to Plankton. "It's ok, Plankton," she 
whispered, stroking his arm. "You're safe here."

new computer sensors Karen & Sheldon J. Plankton author is neurodivergent spacerycore ii

NEW REALITY i
(Autistic author)

"You never listen to 
me, Karen," Plankton 
groused. "It's a new
analyzer I just built!
It'll reveal the contents
of a patty when I put
one in!"

Karen, ever the skeptical
wife, rolled her eyes. "You
mean IF you put one in.."

Plankton ignored 
her sarcasm, but
with a deafening 
pop, the analyzer
exploded, sending 
shards of metal
flying in all directions. 
One of these
sharp pieces slammed 
into Plankton's
head, causing him 
to stumble back.
Karen rushed to his
side, pushing aside her 
initial irritation.

Plankton's eye rolled back
and closed as he 
crumpled to the 
floor.

"Plankton! Plankton!"
Karen's voice grew
frantic as she cradled
his tiny, limp body. The
analyzer's explosion had
caused more damage
than she could have
ever imagined, the
injury had rewired his
currently unconscious
brain irreversibly: autism.

Karen carries him to
their bedroom, tucking
him in his bed. "Plankton,"
she whispers, brushing
his antennae, "Please wake up."
But Plankton remains still. Karen
sits by the bedside, her eyes
never leaving his face. "I'll
always be here," she murmurs,
squeezing his hand. The quiet
hum of their tiny underwater
apartment is broken only by the
rhythmic pulse of his breathing.

Karen starts to think. If only
she had taken his inventions
more seriously, maybe this
accident could have been
avoided? She looks at the
clock. It's midnight now.

The hours tick by, each one
lonelier than the last. Karen's
thoughts are a tangled web of
regrets and fears. What if
Plankton never wakes up? Karen can't
help but feel like a prisoner
to her own guilt. She wonders
what their life would be like now.
Would Plankton be different?
Would he still be the same
eccentric genius, or would the
injury change him completely?
Will he remember her?

The sun's first light filters through
their bedroom window, casting
a warm glow on Plankton's
face. Karen's eyes snap open,
having dozed off from
exhaustion. She sees him stir,
his eyelid fluttering. He groans,
his eye opening slowly. Karen's
heart races. He's alive! "K-Karen," 
he stammers, confused as to
how he ended up in their room.

The initial relief is quickly
replaced with a knot in her
stomach. His speech is stilted,
his movements jerky. He
tries to sit up, but the effort
seems to overwhelm him. Karen
reaches out to help, but he flinches
at her touch. She notices his eye
scanning the room with an
intensity she's never seen
before, as if he's trying to make
sense of everything around him.
"Plankton, it's okay," she says
soothingly, trying not to let her
anxiety seep into her voice.

He turns to her, his gaze
unfocused. "Karen?" he repeats,
this time with more urgency. "What...
what happened?"

Her heart squeezes tight. "You had
an accident with the new
analyzer," she explains gently,
keeping her voice calm. "It...
it exploded and hit you.."

Plankton looks around,
his eye darting from object 
to object.

"It's okay," Karen says,
desperately trying to hold 
back the tears. "You're 
just a bit dizzy."

But Plankton doesn't seem
to be listening. He's too
busy inspecting his surroundings,
his eye darting around the
room in a way that makes Karen
feel like she's missing something.

"Plankton, do you understand
me?" Karen asks, her voice
trembling slightly. He nods,
but there's a distant look in his
eye that makes her stomach drop.
The way he's acting, it's like he's
seeing their bedroom for the
first time, like every detail is
both fascinating and overwhelming.

Plankton tries to get out of bed,
but his legs wobble like jelly.
Karen jumps up to support him,
her arms wrapping around his
thin frame. "Let's go slow," she
suggests, guiding him back to
the pillows. He simply nods.

"Do you remember me?" Karen asks,
desperation tinging her voice.
His eye focus on her for a moment,
then drift away again. "Yes," he
says, but it's more of a question
than an affirmation. "Karen, wife,"
he adds, his voice flat and devoid
of the usual warmth and sarcasm.

The words hang in the air
like a lead weight, heavy with
implications. Karen swallows
the lump in her throat. "You're okay,"
she insists, as Plankton nods, looking
around their bedroom when his gaze
lands on the ceiling fan. His eye lights up,
focusing intently on it.

"Fan," he murmurs, as if discovering
the concept for the first time. "Spinning.
Round and round."

Karen's heart sinks. "Plankton," she
begins, her voice cracking, "You're acting
different." She doesn't know how to
explain what she's seeing, but she's
scared of what it might mean. His eye
doesn't quite meet hers, and his speech is
so... mechanical.

"Different?" he echoes, his voice a
monotone. "No, the same Plankton."
But the way he says it, like he's trying
to convince himself, sends a chill down
Karen's spine. She tries to shake off
the fear, telling herself he's just groggy
from the hit. But deep down, she knows
it's more than that.

new new reality Karen x Plankton i

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 12
(Autistic author)
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠
Sandy's eyes 
follow his finger 
as it traces through 
the grid. "Ah, here it 
is," she says, her voice 
a calm hum. "I'm gonna
go find Karen, I'll be back!"

But then Mr. Krabs, who
hasn't had Plankton try
to steal the formula since
the fry pan incident, comes
in to check and see what he's
up to.

"What are ye 
doing?" Mr. Krabs snaps,
his eyes narrowed in 
suspicion. "Why isn't 
this little troublemaker 
trying to steal me
formula?"

Plankton's antennae 
wilt at the sound of 
Mr. Krabs' gruff voice, 
his sensory haven 
shattered by the 
intrusion.

Mr. Krabs storms 
into the room, his 
claws waving in 
the air. "What's 
this nonsense?" he 
barks, his voice 
a thunderclap to 
Plankton.

"A book; more like some
blueprints!" Mr. Krabs sneers, 
his claws snatching the 
word search from 
Plankton's trembling 
hands.

Plankton's eye widens 
with horror as Mr. Krabs 
crinkles the pages, 
ripping up the book.

Mr. Krabs rips the 
pages with a 
satisfied smirk, 
his eyes gleaming with 
malice. "This is 
what happens when 
ye too cozy with 
the enemy," he says, 
his voice a harsh 
crackle as he tips the
bookshelf onto the floor
with a bang.

Plankton's antennae 
snap back, his 
body tense with 
fear. The painful 
memory of the frying 
pan flashes through 
his mind, his voice 
a terrified static. "No!"
he squeaks.

Mr. Krabs looms 
over him, his eyes 
a cold, hard gleam. "What's 
wrong with ye?" he barks, 
his voice a rough 
scratch of sarcasm. "Ye 
gonna cry?"

Plankton's eye 
fills with tears. "No," 
he whimpers.

Mr. Krabs laughs, 
his cackle echoing 
through the room. 
"Look at the 
tiny thief, so scared 
of a little noise!" 
he sneers, his voice 
a grating static.

Plankton's body 
shrinks, his antennae 
drooping. "Krabs," 
he whispers, his voice 
a desperate static.

Mr. Krabs' laughter 
fills the room, his 
claws still gripping 
the torn pages. "Look 
at the wittle thief," 
he mocks, his voice 
a cruel cackle.

Plankton's single eye 
darts around the 
room, seeking escape 
from the crushing 
wave of stimulation. 
The pressure of Mr. 
Krabs' stare is like 
a boulder on his 
chest.

"What's the matter, 
Plankton?" Mr. Krabs 
sneers, leaning down 
so his face is inches 
from Plankton's. "Afraid 
I'll catch you red-
handed?"

Plankton's antennae 
flatten against his 
head, his breath 
quick and shallow. 
"No," he whispers, his 
voice a static hiss of 
fear.

Mr. Krabs' looming 
presence is like a 
shadow over him, 
his voice a grating 
buzz. "What's the matter, 
Plankton?" he sneers. "Can't
handle a little 
competition?"

Plankton flinches, 
his antennae retracting.
The pressure of the 
crab's eyes bore into 
his soul, his voice 
a panicked static. "No, 
Mr. Krabs, please," he 
whispers.

Mr. Krabs' claw 
slams down onto the 
coffee table, the 
impact rattling 
everything on it. "I 
see," he says, his 
voice a cruel chuckle. 
"Ye've gone soft."

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 12

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 14
(Autistic author)
ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ
They carefully lift 
Plankton into the car, 
his body tense with 
pain. Sandy slides into 
the driver's seat, her 
hands gripping the wheel. 
Her eyes meet Sponge 
Bob's in the rearview 
mirror, filled with 
resolve.

"Ready?" she asks, 
her voice a gentle 
hum.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his eyes never leaving 
Plankton's face. "Ready."

Karen buckles Plankton
in as his eye flutters.

"Hold tight," Sandy 
says, her voice a 
steady rumble, as she 
starts the engine. The 
car's gentle purr is a 
contrast to the 
tension in the air.

Sponge Bob sits in 
the back, his eyes 
trained on Plankton's 
face. His friend's 
tiny body is a tapestry 
of pain, but Sponge 
Bob's touch is a soft, 
steady beat, trying to 
soothe him. "It's okay, 
Plankton," he whispers, 
his voice a comforting 
whisper of reassurance.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, his eye 
slightly focusing on 
Sponge Bob. "Mph,"
he murmurs, his voice 
a static hum of pain.

Sponge Bob nods, 
his face a mask of 
determined compassion. 
"We're going to the 
Quiet Bubble Clinic," 
he says, his voice 
a soft, steady 
wave. "They'll know 
how to help you."

Sandy's eyes are 
on the road ahead, 
her driving slow and 
precise. "Just hold on, 
Plankton," she says, 
her voice a comforting 
hum. "We're almost 
there."

The Quiet Bubble 
Clinic comes into 
view, a softly lit 
building that seems to 
pulse with a gentle calm. 
Sandy parks the car 
and they carefully 
extract Plankton from 
his seat, his tiny 
body rigid.

They enter the 
lobby, the air thick 
with the scent of 
calming essential oils. 
The lights are low, and 
the sounds muffled.
A nurse with a gentle 
face approaches, her 
voice a soothing 
whisper. "What can we 
help with?" she asks, 
her eyes on Plankton's 
twisted leg.

Sponge Bob explains 
quickly, his voice 
trembling with 
concern. "Mr. Krabs 
hurt his leg," he says, 
his eyes wide. "Krabs 
also hit his head with 
a fry pan, which caused
Plankton autism as well
as the accompaniment
of sensitivities. But his
leg hurts and needs fixed!"

The nurse nods, her 
movements slow and 
deliberate. "We'll need 
to be careful with 
his heightened senses," 
she murmurs, her voice 
a soft melody. "Let's 
get him to a room."

They navigate the 
hallways, the walls 
lined with soothing 
pictures and textures. 
Plankton's body is 
stiff with pain, his 
voice a static hiss 
with each step. "Please,"
he whispers, his antennae 
waving weakly.

The nurse nods, 
her touch gentle as 
she leads them to 
a quiet, dimly lit 
exam room. "We need 
to fix your leg, 
sweetie," she says, her 
voice a gentle breeze.

Plankton's eye 
flutters open.

The nurse's voice 
is a gentle lullaby. 
"We're going to take 
good care of you," 
she says, her eyes 
kind and understanding. 
Plankton's body 
shakes with fear 
and pain, his antennae 
pressed against his 
head.

Sponge Bob squeezes 
his hand, his voice 
a comforting whisper. 
"You're going to be okay, 
Plankton," he says, 
his eyes filled with 
concern.

The nurse nods, her 
gloved hands 
moving with precision. 
"We're going to need to 
put him under," she says, 
her voice a soft 
whisper. "It's the 
safest way to manage 
his pain and sensitivity."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with fear, his 
single eye darting 
back and forth. 
"Under what," he whispers.

The nurse's smile 
doesn't reach her eyes. 
"Anesthesia," she says 
softly, her voice a 
comforting hum. "It'll 
help you sleep through 
the surgery."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with anxiety, his 
voice a nervous 
static. "Sleep?" he 
repeats, his eye 
doubtful. "Plankton
light sleeper."

The nurse nods, 
her eyes calm. "We 
understand, sweetie," 
she murmurs. "We'll 
make sure you're 
comfortable."

They prep him for 
surgery, the air in 
the room thick with 
his fear. Sponge Bob 
holds his hand, his 
thumb rubbing gentle 
circles on his palm. 
"It'll be over soon," he 
whispers, his voice 
a soothing wave.

The doctor, a 
kind-eyed squid, 
enters the room, his 
tentacles moving with 
calming precision. 
"We're going to give 
you something to help 
you relax," he says, 
his voice a gentle 
trill. "We've ways to
sedate. One, a pill
tablet. Two, a liquid
to drink. Three, nasally.
Four, cream gel to numb
the place the IV goes in
but, it'll be inserted after
he's asleep anyway. Now
the first two options are
taken orally, so they might
take a moment to work..."

"Drink; Plankton, drink.."
Plankton manages, looking at
a chart of diagrams which
illustrate each method.

The doctor nods, his 
tentacles steadily
adjusting the bed.

"Very good," he says, 
his voice a gentle 
wave of reassurance. 
He hands Plankton a 
small cup. "This is a 
special drink," he 
explains, his eyes 
meeting Plankton's. "It'll
help you relax before
surgery."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with anxiety 
as he takes the cup. 
He looks to Sponge 
Bob, whose grip 
on his hand tightens. 
"It's okay," Sponge Bob 
whispers, his voice 
a calming static.

With a shaky 
hand, Plankton brings 
the cup to his mouth, 
his eye squeezed shut. 
He gulps down the 
liquid as they give
him a blanket. He
finishes the drink and
hands the cup back.
Sponge Bob's grip
doesn't waver, his 
thumb still moving 
in soothing circles. 
"Good job, buddy," he 
whispers, his voice 
a gentle sea breeze.
Sandy nods as Karen
gives Plankton a kiss.

The nurse's eyes 
are warm and 
comforting as she 
checks his vitals. 
"It won't be long 
now," she murmurs, 
her voice a soft 
hum of reassurance.

Sponge Bob sits 
by the bed, his 
grip on Plankton's 
hand firm but gentle. 
"You're doing great," 
he says, his voice 
a calming whisper.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with the 
first wave of 
drowsiness, his eye 
slowly closing. 
The world around 
him begins to fade 
into a soft, fuzzy 
static.

Sponge Bob watches, 
his grip on Plankton's 
hand unyielding. "It's 
going to be okay," he 
whispers, his voice 
a gentle rush of air.

The anesthesia starts
to take effect, Plankton's 
body gradually 
going slack, his 
breathing deepening.

Sponge Bob's eyes 
follow the rise and 
fall of Plankton's 
chest, his grip 
on his hand tight. 
"You're okay, buddy,"
he whispers, his voice 
a gentle static.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch one last time 
before stilling, his 
eye fully closed. 
The nurse nods, 
satisfied with his 
vitals. "He's out," she 
says as his soft snores 
fill the room.

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent 14

** ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵗⁱᶜ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵐ 
ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᴬᴵ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐʸ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

One fateful afternoon, Plankton meandered 
along the beach, lost in thought, an 
unexpected event unfolded. A 
tennis match, played by tourists near
by, sent stray balls hurtling towards 
him. A tennis ball struck him squarely on 
the head. As he stumbled to his 
feet, dizzy and disoriented, the 
world around him had changed.

Plankton found himself struggling 
with simple tasks that once came 
so naturally. His 
job at the local bait shop grew 
increasingly difficult as he often 
forgot names. His social 
interactions grew strained, as he 
found it hard to read the subtle 
cues of conversation and often 
took things too 
literally. The doctor's diagnosis 
was clear: the impact had left 
him with a mild form of autism 
for life.

Karen, ever the rock in their 
marriage, took the news with 
a mix of shock and determination. 
She knew this would be 
a journey of adaptation for 
both of them. She dedicated 
herself to helping Plankton 
navigate the new landscape of 
his reality.

His mind, now more analytical 
and detail-oriented, sought 
patterns and understanding 
in the overwhelming 
information. It was as if he had 
developed an insatiable hunger 
for knowledge, and this soon 
dominated their 
dinner conversations.

"Karen," he began, "I've been 
thinking about the diagnosis."

They were at the kitchen table. 
She looked up from her plate.

"We can just keep this between 
us, Sheldon."

"Karen," Plankton insisted, "I 
think we need to consider what 
this means for the Chum Bucket."

"The Chum Bucket will be fine. 
You're still you. Just with a 
different way of seeing the 
world. You're seeing patterns 
no one else does. Let's focus 
on how we can harness that 
instead of worrying about what 
you lost." 

The idea took root in Plankton's 
mind, growing into a newfound 
sense of purpose. If he couldn't 
outsmart Krabs in 
their usual cat-and-mouse game, 
perhaps he could out-pattern him. 
His mind raced with the 
possibilities, the 
wheels of his imagination spinning 
faster than ever before.

"If I could see patterns where he 
doesn't, we could finally steal 
the Krabby Patty secret!"

He began to fidget in his chair, 
his legs bouncing up and down, a 
silent metronome to his racing thought.

"But what if Krabs finds out? You 
know how he is, Karen. If he gets 
even the slightest whiff of 
weakness, he'll be on 
us." 

Karen nodded solemnly. "But 
you're not weak, Plankton. 
You're just... different. And 
if he does we'll deal with it 
together like everything else."

Her words resonated with him 
and a newfound resolve shone 
in his eye. "You're right," 
he murmured. "We'll turn this 
into an advantage."

Plankton retreated to his lab, the 
cobwebs of doubt slowly giving 
way to a tangible 
plan. He pored over blueprints 
and formulae, his mind 
racing with thoughts 
with his newfound focus, 
a stark contrast 
to the days when he had 
flitted from one idea to 
the next without clear direction.

He dissected every encounter 
with Krabs, searching for 
patterns in his rival's behavior. 
His mind was a whirlwind of 
calculations, predicting Krabs' 
every move, anticipating his 
countermoves, and preparing 
for the ultimate heist.
His once cluttered lab now had 
a method to its madness. The 
floor was clear of scattered 
inventions, and his desk 
was organized into neat piles 
of notes. His thoughts were no 
longer scattered; they 
were sharp.

Karen supported him, bringing 
him snacks and encouraging him 
to take breaks, for she 
knew that his mind was 
fully consumed by his mission.

The day finally came when 
Plankton announced that he 
was ready to put his new skills 
to the test. "Karen," he said 
with a steely glint in his eye, 
"I'm going to the Krusty Krab."

"But Plankton, You haven't been 
since before..." 
"It's time. I've figured out a 
pattern in Krabs' security. 
There's a blindspot during the 
lunch rush."

Plankton set out. The restaurant 
bustled with the usual sea of 
patrons, a cacophony 
of noise that Plankton found 
both overwhelming and fascinating. 
He took a deep breath, focusing on 
the task at hand, and slipped inside.

Making his way to the back, he 
spotted the safe in Krabs' 
office. His new analytical 
mind dissected the room with 
ease, noting the routine of the 
employees, the subtle cues in 
their movements that pointed to 
the flow of customers, and the 
exact moment when the chaos of 
the lunch rush would hit its peak.

Timing was everything, and Plankton 
knew the moment had arrived. 
He slipped into the 
office. 
The combination lock stared 
back at him, a silent sentinel 
to the secret he sought. 
His mind raced through the 
patterns he had observed in 
Krabs' behavior, the way he 
tapped his claw against the 
desk when nervous, the time 
he took to drink his tea, the 
exact moment when his gaze 
would flick to the safe when 
the topic of the Krabby Patty 
formula came up. Plankton took 
a deep breath, his eye tracing 
the dial as he dialed 
in the sequence.

The clicks of the tumblers falling 
into place were the sweetest 
symphony he had ever heard. 
With trembling hands, 
he pulled the heavy door open, 
revealing the treasure trove with
in. His eye fell upon 
the secret bottle, its contents a 
murky mystery that could change 
his life forever. His heart 
thudded in his chest, a drum
roll to the crescendo of his 
plan.

"Plankton!" boomed a voice. 
He whirled around to find Mr. 
Krabs, claws balled into fists. 
The room spun, and the 
noises of the restaurant outside 
grew distant.

"What do you think you're doing?" 
Krabs demanded, his eyes bulging 
with rage.

Plankton's brain scrambled 
for a lie, but his newfound 
honesty and directness took 
over. "I've come for the Krabby 
Patty secret." 

Mr. Krabs sneered, "You're 
insane, Plankton. You'll 
never understand 
the brilliance 
of me creation."

"But I see patterns now, where 
I used to see only chaos.." 
Plankton trails off before he 
could reveal more.

Mr. Krabs took a step closer. 
"What are you talking about? 
Patterns? I don't know what 
you're blabbering on about, 
but you're not leaving here 
with that!" He lunged, but 
Plankton was ready.

Using his heightened 
senses and the patterns 
he had studied, Plankton 
sidestepped the attack 
with surprising 
grace. The Krabby Patty 
secret was in his grasp, 
but he knew to take it 
back to the 
Chum Bucket.

He sprinted out of the 
office. The din of the 
restaurant faded into the 
background as he weaved 
through the kitchen, 
dodging flying spatulas 
and the frenetic dance of 
the cooks. The heat from 
the grills washed over 
him but he didn't 
flinch. His eye remained 
locked on the swinging 
doors to the alley outside.

Karen was waiting for him.

Without a word, she opened 
the hidden hatch that led 
back to the Chum Bucket. 
Plankton squeezed through, 
the warmth of the stolen 
secret a comforting weight. 
They descended into the dimly 
lit lab.

Karen looked at him with 
a mix of amazement and 
pride. "You did it," she 
whispered.

Plankton's chest heaved 
with the exertion of 
his escape. "Yes," he 
panted, "but 
Krabs knows I have it."

Plankton carefully removed 
the paper from the bottle, 
his eye scanning the list. 
The words and numbers swam but 
he focused, his mind slicing 
through the jumble. The list 
was not in English, but a 
cryptic code that only 
Krabs could decipher.

The symbols and letters 
danced in a maddening 
ballet, but he could feel 
the tide of 
understanding beginning to 
turn. His mind raced, piecing 
together the puzzle with a 
speed and precision that 
astonished even him.

He turned to Karen. "It's a code 
based on the Fibonacci sequence!"

"Fibonacci?"

Plankton nodded fervently, his 
antennae waving with excitement. 
"It's a numerical sequence, Karen. 
One, one, two, 
three, five, eight... 
It appears in nature, in the spiral 
of a shell, the arrangement of 
leaves on a stem, the branching of 
trees. It's a pattern that's been used 
in everything from art to mathematics!"

Karen's trying to 
make sense of the 
seemingly random 
strings of digits 
and letters. "But 
how? Nevermind, I hear 
Krabs breaking in!"

Plankton began to recite the 
ingredients in their proper 
order, translating the code 
as he went. "Kelp powder, four... 
Tartar sauce, one... Mustard seeds, 
three... Onion powder, five!"

The lab door crashed open 
and Mr. Krabs' furious red 
face filled the doorway. "Give 
it back, you tiny menace!"

But Plankton was already 
several steps ahead. With 
lightning-quick reflexes, he 
transferred the information 
from the paper to his 
photographic memory, his mind 
now a fortress that contained 
the Krabby Patty's sacred 
recipe.

Krabs snatched the paper with a 
snarl, his claw closing around it 
like a vice. He glared at Plankton, 
eyes alight with 
fury. "You think you're so clever 
don't you?"

But Plankton remained silent. 
The code was in his mind now 
and no one could take that 
from him. He had outsmarted 
Krabs with his own patterns, 
using the very neurodivergence 
that had made him feel 
weak to gain the upper hand.

Mr. Krabs looked from the 
paper to Plankton and back 
again with suspicion, his 
claw tightening around the 
seemingly worthless paper.

"You think you've won?" he spat. 
"You'll never understand the 
genius behind me Krabby Patties!"
With that, Mr. Krabs stormed out 
of the Chum Bucket with his usual 
sneer, the worthless paper clutched 
in his claw.

Plankton watched him go, his 
heart racing. He had done it. 
He had bested Krabs.

As the echo of the slammed door 
faded away, he turned to Karen, 
his eye alight with 
victory. "We've got it," he 
whispered, his voice quivering 
with excitement. "The Krabby 
Patty secret is ours." 

new author is neurodivergent character development walks on the beach evening walk hopeful ending eventual happy ending autismcore headinjuryposting neurodivergent characters

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 15
(Autistic author)
ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ
Sandy and Sponge
Bob leave the room
while Karen stays
for the surgery.

The doctor's tentacles
move with practiced 
ease. The room 
hummed with a gentle 
consistency of medical 
equipment, designed to 
avoid jarring sounds. 
The doctor's eyes 
were focused, his voice 
a steady rhythm of 
instructions for the 
nurse. She put the IV in, 
a swift and precise 
motion, and Plankton's 
snores remained undisturbed.

The surgery begins, 
each movement 
calculated to 
minimize pain. The doctor's 
tentacles dance around 
the broken limb, his 
touch as light as 
a feather.

The smell of antiseptic
hangs in the air, 
but it's faint, not 
overwhelming. Plankton's 
body lies still, his 
snores the only sound 
besides the low 
whisper of instruments
coating the bone.

The nurse's eyes 
flick to the clock 
on the wall, the 
seconds ticking by 
like a metronome to 
the rhythm of the 
doctor's work.

The room is a 
symphony of soft 
sounds: the steady 
beep of the heart 
monitor, the low 
mumble of the doctor's 
instructions. Plankton's 
tiny body lies 
motionless, his 
snores the only 
evidence of life. They
put his leg in a cast
and unhook the IV.

Sponge Bob and Sandy
wait outside, their 
minds racing with 
worries and hope. 
Their conversation is 
whispers, not wanting 
to disturb the 
peaceful hum of 
the Quiet Bubble 
Clinic. The nurse
beckons them back in.

"The surgery was a 
success," she says, 
her voice a gentle 
gust of relief. 
Plankton lies in the 
bed, his leg now 
encased in a cast. His 
snores are quieter, 
his body less tense.

Sponge Bob and 
Sandy hover by his 
side, their eyes 
locked on his peaceful 
face. "But we need 
to be prepared for 
his waking," the nurse 
continues, her voice 
a soft warning. "He
might wake up feeling 
disoriented or overwhelmed.
Also, it takes time for the
anesthesia to fully wear 
off, so he might be groggy
and silly, sleepy or even 
a bit forgetful."

They nod, their 
expressions a mix 
of gratitude and 
anticipation.

The doctor enters 
the room, his tentacles
wiped clean of 
any sign of surgery. 
"He'll need to stay 
here for a bit, to 
recover," he says, his 
voice a gentle rumble. 
"But you can stay 
with him. After he's
fully awake, you can
take him home! Just
be careful, of course."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
light up, his grip 
on Plankton's hand 
tightening. "We'll 
make sure he's okay,"
he says, his voice 
a promise.
Sandy nods, her 
face a mask of 
determined calm. 
"Thank you," Karen says, 
her voice a gentle 
hum of appreciation.

The doctor nods, 
his tentacles 
flicking a dismissive 
wave. "It's what we're 
here for," he says, his 
voice a warm rumble. "Now, 
let's get him settled."

They work together, 
Sponge Bob and Sandy 
supporting Plankton 
as they move his bed to 
a recovery room, 
his body still asleep
as Karen holds his hand.

The room is painted 
with soft, soothing 
colors, and the bed 
is surrounded 
by pillows and blankets 
that seem to swallow 
his small frame. 
The lights are dimmed, a stark 
contrast to the stark 
whites and harsh 
florescents of a 
normal hospital.

Sponge Bob sits 
on the chair beside 
his bed, his 
eyes never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping 
face. The gentle 
whirl of a fan in 
the corner provides 
white noise, a 
comforting constant 
hum that fills the 
silence.

Sandy sits on 
the other side, 
her hand resting 
lightly on the 
foot of the bed. 
Her eyes are glued 
to a book titled 
"Understanding 
Neurodivergence in 
Friends," her 
expression focused.

Karen meanwhile
was holding his
other hand.

Plankton's antennae 
twitches as the gentle 
hum of the recovery 
room starts to pierce 
his slumber. His single 
eye opens to a sliver, 
taking in the soft, 
blurry world around 
him. He blinks, trying to 
focus, and sees Karen 
first.

"Hey, buddy," she says, 
her voice a warm 
buzz of comfort. "You're 
okay." Plankton's 
eye widens, his 
brain foggy from the 
anesthesia.
"Wheh..." he starts, 
his voice a static 
whisper.

Sponge Bob's hand 
squeezes his gently. 
"You're at the Quiet 
Bubble Clinic," he 
says, his voice 
a soft wave of 
reassurance. "You had 
your leg fixed."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slowly, his 
eye blinking as 
realization sets in. 
"Mr. Krabs," he whispers, 
his voice a static 
memory of pain.

Sponge Bob's 
thumb pauses in its 
comforting rhythm. 
"Don't worry about 
him now," he says, 
his voice a gentle 
lapping of waves. "You're 
safe here."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with confusion, 
his mind a foggy 
storm of memories. 
He tries to sit up, 
but the nurse's firm 
hand gently pushes 
him back down. 
"Easy," she whispers, 
her voice a soft 
breeze. "You need to 
rest."

Sponge Bob's face 
is a picture of relief 
as Plankton's eye 
focusses on him. "Remember, 
buddy?" he asks, 
his voice a gentle 
reminder. "You're safe."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with the echoes 
of pain, but the 
soothing presence 
of his friends 
begins to anchor him. 
He nods slightly, his 
voice a static rustle. "Sandy?" he asks, 
his gaze shifting 
to her.

Sandy looks up 
from her book, 
her eyes soft. "I'm 
here," she says, her 
voice a gentle 
hum. She sets the 
book aside and 
takes his hand.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with confusion, 
his eye darting around 
the room. The 
softness of the 
pillows and the gentle 
hum of the fan are 
alien to him. "Where...?"
he whispers, his voice 
a static question.

The nurse's smile is 
a beacon of calm. 
"You're at the Quiet 
Bubble Clinic," she says, 
her voice a comforting 
trill. "You're safe."

Plankton's mind is a 
swirl of fuzzy images 
and half-remembered 
fears. He tries to 
piece together what 
happened, his antennae 
flailing for answers.

The nurse's voice is 
a gentle guide, leading 
 him through the 
mist. "You had surgery," 
she murmurs, her eyes 
kind. "Your leg is 
fixed now. Just rest."

Plankton's eye blinks 
slowly, trying to 
comprehend the words. 
The pain is gone, 
replaced by a 
dull throb and the 
weight of the cast. 
He nods, his body 
still feeling 
the aftermath of 
the anesthesia's embrace.

The room is a 
soft blur, the edges 
of his vision 
dancing with 
colors. He tries 
to lift his head, but 
it feels too heavy. 
Sponge Bob's grip is 
steady, keeping him 
grounded as the 
world slowly sharpens.

Plankton's thoughts 
are like bubbles 
popping in the sea, 
each one briefly 
forming before 
disappearing into the 
depths. The nurse's 
voice is a distant 
lullaby, guiding 
his consciousness 
back to the surface.

He blinks again, 
his vision slowly 
coming into focus. 
The nurse's face 
swims into view, 
her smile a lifeline 
in the murky water 
of his confusion. 
"You're okay," she 
whispers, her voice 
a gentle ripple. 
"Just rest."

The room sways 
like an underwater 
garden, the 
soothing sounds of the 
recovery room a soft 
symphony that Plankton 
can't quite place. 
His mind is a kaleidoscope 
of half-formed thoughts.

Sponge Bob's hand 
is a steady 
beacon, the gentle 
squeeze a comforting 
reminder that he's 
not alone. Plankton's 
eye widens as he 
takes in the sight 
of his friend, his 
face a canvas 
of concern. 
"You're okay," Sponge 
Bob whispers, his 
voice a gentle 
wave washing over 
the static in Plankton's 
mind.

Suddenly, Sponge
Bob's phone beeps, 
a video call request 
from an unexpected 
name: Mr. Krabs. Sandy's 
eyes widen and 
she looks at Sponge
Bob, who nods 
slowly, his heart 
pounding in his 
chest. He accepts 
the call, the screen 
filling with the 
familiar craggy face 
of their grumpy neighbor.

Mr. Krabs looks 
sheepish, his eyes 
darting around the 
screen. "Plankton," 
he starts, his voice 
a gruff whisper. "I 
heard what happened
with the autism and
broken leg.."

Sponge Bob's 
grip on Plankton's 
hand tightens, his 
face a mask of 
caution. Plankton's 
antennas quiver with 
apprehension.

"What Krabs
want?" Plankton 
mumbles, his voice 
a static hiss. His 
single eye narrows.

Mr. Krabs clears 
his throat, his 
face a portrait of 
discomfort. "Look, 
Plankton, I... I 
wanted to say... I'm 
sorry." His eyes dart 
to the side, 
avoiding the camera.

Plankton's antennae 
stand on end, his 
eye unblinking. "What
for?" he asks, his voice 
a wary whisper.

Mr. Krabs' face 
scrunches up, his 
claws fidgeting with 
his apron strings. "For, uh, 
you know, the frying 
pan... and the... uh, 
everything."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with surprise, 
his voice a static 
hush. "Why?"

Mr. Krabs looks 
away, his eyes 
anywhere but on the 
screen. "I know I've 
been... rough on you 
lately," he says, his 
voice a gruff rumble. 
"And I didn't know 
about the... the 
autism thing. It's 
just, the Krabby Patty 
formula is all I've 
got, and I can't...
I don't know how to
make it up to ye but
I just called to let ye know."

Plankton's antennae 
quiver with shock, his 
eye wide. "Mr. Krabs," 
he whispers, his voice 
a static hum. "Is this... 
real?"

Mr. Krabs nods, his 
face a map of regret. 
"Yeah, it's me," he says, 
his voice a gruff 
mumble. "I know I've 
not been the best... 
neighbor, or... frenemy."

Sponge Bob's eyes 
are wide, his grip 
on Plankton's hand 
unwavering. Sandy's 
jaw is slack with 
disbelief.

"Mr. Krabs," Karen's
voice is a cautious whisper. 
"That's... really nice of
you to say."

Mr. Krabs nods, 
his eyes returning 
to the screen. "It's 
just, I've seen what 
you've gone through, 
and I... I shouldn't
have hurt you." His 
claws fiddle with his 
apron, a rare show 
of vulnerability. "And I
forgive ye." 

new karen reaching autism author is neurodivergent plabscore 15

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 4
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Karen moved to her bed,
her mind racing with thoughts
of what tomorrow would bring.
Her eyes stung with unshed
tears. Plankton's gentle snores
provided a rhythmic backdrop.

The next morning, Karen's 
the first to wake up.

Karen slid out of bed, her eyes
on her sleeping husband. She
wondered if today would bring
any changes, any improvements.
But she didn't dare
disturb him.

The silence was a stark
contrast to the chaos in her
head. What could she do? How
could she help him? Her heart
ached with every step she took
away from him.

In the kitchen, Karen made
herself a cup of tea, her hands
shaking slightly. She knew
she had to stay strong, but fear
was a constant companion. 
Could he ever be the man
she knew again? Would he ever
look at her with the same love
in his eye?

The sun was just beginning
to rise, casting a soft glow
over the kitchen. She sipped
her tea, the warmth spreading
through her body. It was a
comforting routine, one that
offered a semblance of normalcy
in the face of the unknown.

As she set the mug down,
she heard a shuffling sound
coming from the bedroom. Plankton!
He entered the kitchen, his
gait unsteady, his eye unfocused.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice
still detached.

Karen forced a smile. "Good
morning, Plankton," she said, her
voice trembling. "How did you sleep?"

Plankton nodded, his hand
flapping slightly. "Sleep," he murmured.
"Dreams. Morning." His eye searched
the room, looking for something
to anchor him to the present.

Karen took a deep breath.
"Would you like some tea?" she offered,
keeping her voice steady. "Or maybe
some toast?"

Plankton nodded again, his gaze
finally settling on the toaster.
"Toast," he said, his voice a little
more present. "Toast is good."
It was a step, a tiny
glimmer of hope in the fog of their
new reality. She made him toast,
his favorite, with just the right
amount of butter. But then the
toaster went off with it's usual
pop noise as the toast finished.
Plankton flinched at the sudden
sound. Karen's eyes
widened in concern. She'd
forgotten about his heightened
sensitivity to noise. "I'm sorry,"
she murmured, her voice soothing.
"Sound," Plankton whimpered. 
"Loud. Pain." Karen felt
a pang of guilt. She'd have to
be more careful.
"It's ok," she assured him,
her voice low and gentle. "Let's
have your toast in the living
room. It's quieter there." She led
the way, watching as he
followed, his steps slow and
measured.

The living room was bathed in
the soft light of dawn, the TV
flickering with the news. Karen
quickly turned it off, not wanting
the noise to overwhelm him.
She placed the toast on a plate,
cut it into neat triangles, and
handed it to him. He took it with
a nod of thanks, his eye never
leaving hers.

For a moment, there was a
silence between them, filled with
the echoes of their past. 
"Would you like to sit?" she
asked, gesturing to the couch.
Plankton nodded, his movements
precise and calculated.

As they sat together, Karen
noticed the way he avoided her
gaze, his eye darting around
the room. She took his hand,
hoping to offer comfort. He
flinched, his hand twitching in
her grasp. "I'm sorry," she
mumbled, quickly releasing him.
"No touch," he murmured, his
voice a mix of apology and
firmness. 

They sat in silence for a
moment, the only sound the
crunch of toast between Plankton's
teeth. Karen watched him,
his movements so different.

"Do you remember the patty
formula?" she asked, her voice
barely above a whisper. She needed
to know if there was any part
of him that was still there,
anything she could cling to.

Plankton's eye snapped to hers,
his gaze intense. "Formula,"
he murmured. "Yes. Patty."

Karen felt a surge of hope.
The secret Krabby Patty recipe.
"Tell me," she encouraged,
her voice barely a whisper.

Plankton's eye narrowed, his
hands stilling. "Formula," he
repeated, his voice gaining
strength. "The Krabby Patty
formula. A culinary secret
guarded by SpongeBob Square
Pants' employer, Mr. Krabs."
He paused, his gaze drifting
away from her. "Cannot share.
Sensitive information. Top secret.
Eugene Krabs, Krabs full of barnacles!"
Plankton says, with his usual disdain
when it comes to Krabs.

Karen's eyes widened. It was a
tiny piece of the old Plankton, a
memory untouched by his current
condition. "It's ok," she said,
smiling. "It's just us here."

Plankton looked at her, his
expression unreadable. "Formula,"
he murmured, his eye lighting
up with a hint of mischief. "The
combination of ingredients to
create a Krabby Patty. Not to be
shared. Understood?"

Karen nodded, her smile genuine
for the first time in hours.
"Understood," she said. "It's good
to see yo-"

Plankton's head snapped up, his
eye wide. "Karen," he interrupted,
his voice urgent. "Need quiet."

Karen's smile faltered. She nodded,
swallowing the words she had
been about to say. Instead, she
simply sat beside him, her hand
resting lightly on the couch cushion
between them, a silent offering of
support.

The silence stretched, taut
as a bowstring, filled with the
weight of what had been said and
what remained unspoken. Karen
wanted to ask him more questions,
to try and coax out more of his
memories, but she knew she had to
tread carefully. Every interaction
was a delicate dance around his
fragile neural pathways.

So instead, she focused on the
present. "Let's have a quiet
day," she said. "We can just sit
and maybe look at some books.."

Plankton's hands began to flap
again, a little more erratically
than before. "Books," he murmured.
"Words, letters, information." His
voice grew excitedly happy.

Karen nodded, rising from the couch.
"I'll get you some books," she said,
her voice gentle. "You sit here."

The bookshelf was a mess, but
she knew exactly where the science
books were, his favorite. She picked
one out, a thick tome titled "The
Universe in a Nutshell," and brought
it to him, placing it in his lap with
care. "Would you like to read
about the cosmos?" she asked.

Plankton's eye lit up at the
word "read," and he nodded eagerly.
"Cosmos," he murmured, his hand
flattening against the cover.
Karen watched as he traced the
letters with his fingertip, his gaze
intense. He squeals with joy.
"Read," he said, his voice a mix
of excitement and desperation.
"Want to read."

Her screen swelled with love for
the man who, despite his
condition, still found joy in the
things that had always brought
them together. "Ok," she said,
sitting down next to him. "I'll read
to you." 
This was the Plankton she recognized,
his love for knowledge untainted by the
accident's aftermath.

The book was dense, filled with
complex theories and
explanations that she knew Plankton
would devour under normal
circumstances. But now, with his
mind struggling to maintain
focus, she decided to read slowly,
enunciating each word with care.
He leaned into her, his hand
stilling against the book as she
began to speak.

Her voice was soothing, a balm
to his frayed nerves. As she
read about black holes and
expansions, she noticed his breathing
even out, his body relaxing into hers.
"The universe," he murmured,
his eye half-closed.

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
Maybe this was the key, a way
to reach him through the
labyrinth of his altered mind.
Science had always been their
common language, a bridge
over their differences. She
read on, her voice steady and calm.

"The cosmos," she began,
"is vast and ever-expanding, filled
with mysteries waiting to be
unlocked." Plankton nodded, his
breathing syncing with the rhythm
of her words. "Black holes, the
remnants of massive stars,
bend space and time around them."

The words flowed from the
pages, weaving a tapestry of
knowledge that held Plankton's
attention. Karen felt his body
ease more onto her as she continued,
his breathing deep and steady.

new sleepcore plaren brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 6
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Hanna pulled out a notepad
from her bag. "Let's try some
communication exercises," she
suggested. "Karen, can you ask
Plankton a simple question?"

Karen swallowed hard, her voice
shaking slightly. "Plankton, what
color is the sky?"

Plankton's hand paused in its
squeezing. His eye searched
the room before finally
meeting hers. "Sky," he murmured,
his voice a little more present.
"Blue. The daytime sky appears 
blue because air molecules 
scatter shorter wavelengths of 
sunlight more than longer ones.
The blackbody spectrum of sunlight 
coming into th-"

"Thank you," Hanna said, her
tone measured. "Now, let's try 
again. What does the sky look
like right now?"

Plankton's gaze shifted to
the window, the curtains pulled
back to reveal the soft blue
of the early morning. "Sky,"
he murmured. "Blue." His hand
resumed its rhythmic squeezing
of the fidget toy, a silent
companion to his thoughts.
Hanna nodded, scribbling
quick notes on her pad. "Very good,
Plankton. Now, can you tell
me why you don't like to be
touched?"

He paused, his hand still. "Touch,"
he said, his voice tight. "Overwhelming."
Karen clenched at his
word choice. "Too much," he added.
"Sensory overload."

Hanna nodded, her eyes never
leaving Plankton's face. "Okay.
What about sounds? Are there any
sounds that bother you?"

Plankton's hand stilled on the
fidget toy, his gaze drifting
away. "Sounds," he murmured.
"Some are too loud." He paused,
his brow furrowing. "The toaster,"
he said, his voice filled with
distress. "It hurts."

Hanna made another note. "We'll
have to be mindful of that,"
she said. "And what about light?"

Plankton's hand resumed its
squeezing. "Light," he murmured.
"Sometimes too bright, if sudden."

Hanna nodded, her expression
sympathetic. "It's ok," she
said. "We'll make sure the lights
aren't too harsh. Now, Plankton,
can you tell us what you enjoy
doing?"

He looked up at them, his
eye searching their screens. "Read,"
he murmured, his voice gaining a
tiny bit of animation. "Books,
knowledge."

"Okay," she said, her voice
steady. "I'm going to set a tablet
in front of you, to gauge your
reactions to different sounds
and sights."

They sat at the dining table,
Plankton's eye flicking to the
new device. Hanna had downloaded
various apps to help with
sensory integration. "Remember,
you can tell us if anything
makes you uncomfortable. 
We're just going to
start with some simple
patterns and sounds."

The screen lit up with
colorful shapes, moving
slowly and predictably. Plankton's
hand stilled on the fidget toy.
His eye followed the patterns,
his expression unreadable. 

"Good," Hanna murmured, her
finger swiping the screen. "Let's
try some more different sights
now." The patterns on the screen
then shifted to a kaleidoscope of
flashing lights.

Plankton's eye grew wide, his
hand frozen on the fidget toy.
Karen watched as his gaze
locked onto the screen, his body
going rigid. "Plankton?" she
asked, a hint of alarm in her
voice. But he didn't respond. His
eye remained unblinking, unmoving.

Hanna's hand shot out, her
finger pressing the screen to
pause the app. "It's ok,"
she murmured. "Take deep
breaths." But Plankton didn't
move, his body eerily still.

"What's happening?"
Karen whispered, her voice
trembling.

Hanna's eyes darted to her
notepad, scribbling furiously.
"Absence seizure," she murmured.
"It's common with autism. It's like
his brain has gone on pause."
Karen's chest tightened as she
watched Plankton's unblinking
eye. "What do we do?"

"Stay calm," Hanna said, her
voice steady. "Let it run its
course. It'll be over soon."

Karen's hand hovered over
Plankton's shoulder,
wanting to comfort him,
but she held back, afraid
to trigger something worse.
The silence in the room was
deafening, only punctuated
by the soft ticking of the
wall clock. Each second felt
like an eternity as she
waited for Plankton to come
back to them.

Suddenly, his eye
twitched, and the tension
in his body began to ease.
He blinked, his gaze returning
to the present, and took a deep,
shaky breath.

"Plankton?" Karen asked,
her voice a whisper. He looked
at her, his expression confused.
"Are you ok?"

Hanna stepped in, her voice
calm and soothing. "It's all right.
You just had a little seizure.
It happens sometimes."

Plankton's hand tightened
on the fidget toy, his gaze
flitting between Karen and
Hanna. "Seizure," he murmured,
his voice a little shaky. "Why?"

Hanna's hand paused over her
notepad, her expression
compassionate. "It's part of the
autism spectrum," she said,
carefully choosing her words.
"Sometimes the brain gets
overwhelmed and needs a brief
rest. It's nothing to be scared
of, but we'll keep an eye on
it. How did you feel in that moment?"

Plankton took a moment to
consider, his hand still
squeezing the fidget toy. "Went
away," he murmured. "Everything
went away, yet it was all...
too much. Felt like...
dizzy in a blender."
Hanna nodded, her gaze
thoughtful. "It's like your
brain was trying to process
too much, and it needed a
moment to reset." She made
another note. "We'll need to 
test sounds."

They moved to the living
room, where Hanna had set
up a speaker. "We're going
to play some noises," she said.
"Tell us if any are too loud
or bother you."

The first sound was a gentle
rainfall. Plankton's antennae
twitched but he remained calm.
Hanna made a note. "Good," she
murmured. Next, she played a recording
of people talking fast over one
another.

Plankton's hand squeezed the
fidget toy until his knuckles
whitened. "Too much," he
whispered, his voice strained
as he felt another absence seizure
coming on.

Karen's eyes grew wide with
concern. "Stop," she said, her
voice firm. "That's enough."

Hanna nodded, her gaze never
leaving Plankton's face. She
reached over and turned off
the speaker. "It's ok," she
soothed. "We're going to take
this slow." She made a note
of the reaction before looking
at Karen. "We need to build
his tolerance, but not push him
past his limits. Let's try tactile
whenever his seizure completely
stops."

new seizurecore sensoryoverloadcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 7
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

They moved to the floor,
a cushioned area where Plankton
felt more comfortable. Hanna
produced a variety of textures
for him to explore. "Slowly,"
she instructed, "let's introduce
his hands to different fabrics."

Karen watched as Plankton's
fingers danced over the softness
of velvet, his expression
unreadable. Then Hanna presented
a piece of sandpaper. His hand
retracted instantly, his eye
squeezing shut. "No," he murmured,
his voice tight with distress.

"It's ok," Karen said, taking
his hand. "We'll try something
else." She offered him a smooth
piece of silk instead. His eye
widened, his breath catching.
"Nice?" she asked, her voice
gentle.

Slowly, Plankton's hand
unfurled, his fingertips brushing
against the fabric. "Silk," he
whispered, his voice filled with
wonder. He began to stroke it,
his movements rhythmic and
comforting. Hanna nodded,
making a note. "Good," she said.
"That's a positive response. Now
let's try different tactile sensations."
Hanna says, taking the fabrics away.

She presented a tray with a
variety of objects: a cold metal
spoon, a soft feather, a bumpy
rock. Plankton's hand hovered over
each item, his gaze intense. "Choose
one," Karen urged, her voice gentle.

He reached for the feather,
his eye closing in anticipation.
As the soft plumes brushed against
his skin, a shiver of pleasure
went through him. "Good," he murmured,
his hand moving in a soothing
motion. Karen watched.

Hanna offered the cold spoon next.
Plankton's hand jerked back at
first, his eye widening in
fear. But with Karen's gentle
encouragement, he touched it again,
his breath hitching as he
experienced the coolness. "Cold,"
he whispered, his voice filled
with wonder before retreating his
hand again.

They moved to the rock,
its surface a study in contrasts.
Plankton's hand hovered, then
touched the rock tentatively. His
face contorted as he felt the
bumpy, unyielding surface. "Odd,"
he murmured.

Hanna nodded, her gaze
studying him. "It's ok to not
like everything," she said. "But
it's ok to explore." She
sets out a sharpened point to
test his reaction.

Plankton's hand hovered over
the pointed tip, his antennae
twitching. He looked to Karen,
his eye searching for reassurance.
"It's ok," she whispered, taking the
point and pressing it lightly into
her own palm. "It's just a sensation I
vaguely feel," Karen says, barely
pressing onto his skin. Slowly, touching the
point with the pad of his finger...

His body jolted, his breath
screeching. "Pain," he murmured,
his hand retreating quickly. "Too much!"
Hanna nodded, her expression
thoughtful. "It's ok," she said. "This
is all about finding what you
can ha-"

But before she could finish,
Plankton's body stiffened,
his eye rolling back with a cry. Karen
watched another seizure
take hold. "No!" she cried, her voice
a mix of fear and frustration.

Hanna was quick to act,
guiding him back to the couch
and speaking soothingly. "It's
ok," she murmured. "You're safe."
They waited for the seizure
to pass, Karen's hand tightly
clutching Plankton's, offering silent
comfort. When he came to,
his gaze was haunted, his hand
still wrapped around the fidget
toy. Hanna tried the point again,
only for Plankton to cough up his
toast, tears streaming down his face.

"We need to stop," Karen said,
her voice shaking. "This isn't
helping." Hanna nodded, her
expression filled with understanding.
"We've learned a lot today,"
she said. "We know what
to avoid now. Let's stop."

They moved back to the couch,
Karen's arm around Plankton,
his body trembling. She knew
his sensory overload was at its peak.
The room felt too bright,
too loud, too much.

"Let's dim the lights," Hanna
suggested, her voice gentle. "And let's
try some deep pressure."

Karen nodded, rushing to
the dimmer switch and
adjusting the lights to a
comfortable level. She then
wrapped a weighted blanket
around Plankton, his body
relaxing almost immediately
under its embrace. His eye
closed, and his breathing grew
steady as the pressure helped
soothe his overwhelmed senses.

They sat in silence for a
moment, Karen stroking
his arm, avoiding any
sudden movements that might
startle him. "It's ok," she
whispered. "You're safe."

Hanna spoke softly. "It's
important to create a sensory
friendly environment," she
explained. "We'll need to
make some adjustments
around the house."
Karen nodded, her gaze
never leaving Plankton's
face. "I'll do anything," she
said. "Whatever it takes."

Hanna's eyes searched the
room, her mind working.
"Let's start with visual
stimuli," she said.

They moved through the
place, Karen following
Hanna's instructions to
cover the windows with blackout
curtains and remove any
items that might be overstimulating.
The room grew dimmer,
the only light coming
from a single, soft lamp.

Plankton's breathing slowed,
his body visibly relaxing.
Hanna spoke calmly. "Now, let's work
on some verbal exercises."

Karen watched as Hanna
selected a set of cards with
simple pictures and words.
"We'll start with matching,"
she said, holding up a card
with an image of a cat. "What
does this say?"

Plankton's eye focused on
the card, his hand fidgeting
with the blanket's edge.
"Cat," he murmured sleepily.

Hanna nodded, her gaze
meeting Karen's. "Good job,"
she said. "Now, let's try
another one." She held up
a card with a picture of a
tree.

Plankton's eye searched the
card, his mouth moving as if
he was trying to form
the word. "Tree," he managed
after a moment, his voice
slightly more confident, yet he
felt drowsily exhausted.

Hanna nodded, pleased with
his progress. "Very good,
Plankton," she said, placing
the card down. "Let's keep
going." But Plankton's tired.

"Maybe we should take a
break," Karen suggested,
seeing the fatigue in his
posture. "He's had a lot to
process today."

Hanna nodded, her gaze
kind. "It's been a big day
for him. Let's not push it."

They decided to end the
session, Karen helping
Plankton to bed, the weighted
blanket still wrapped around him.
His eye were half-closed,
his movements sluggish as he
sank into the mattress, the
sensory overload leaving him
drained. "Thank you," Karen murmured
to Hanna. "For everything."

Hanna's smile was gentle. "It's
what I'm here for," she said.
"We'll take this one step at a
time. Remember, patience and
understanding are key."

Karen nodded with tears as she
tucked Plankton into bed. His
body was still, his breaths
deep and even under the
soothing weight of the blanket.
The room was now a cocoon
of calm, designed to protect
his sensitive system from the
onslaught of the outside world.

new touchingcore sensoryoverloadcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 15
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Eventually, they pulled up
into their driveway, Karen
parking the car.

Plankton stirred slightly,
his antennae twitching as
the car's engine purred to
a stop. Chip's heart raced.
Gently, Karen turned around,
her eyes filled with a mix of
exhaustion and hope.
"Plankton," she whispered,
her hand reaching out to
his arm. "We're home."

Plankton's eyelid fluttered
open, his antennae shooting
up. His eye darted around,
his mind racing to catch up
with reality. 
With dawning horror, he
realized he had fallen
asleep. His cheeks flushed with
embarrassment as he jerked away
from Chip's shoulder. Plankton's hand
flew to his mouth, his antennae
quivering in embarrassment as he
felt wetness.

Chip looked at him, his
expression gentle. "You ok, Dad?"
he asked. Plankton nodded, his
voice gruff. "Fine," he murmured,
his hand still covering his mouth.

The house was quiet as they
entered. Karen led the way,
her steps measured and calm.
Plankton shuffled behind, his
eye cast downward. The
embarrassment of falling asleep
in the car clung to him.

As he went into his bedroom
Plankton decided to check his
social media. He then found
Chip's selfie post:
"Went to the park with my
dad @ Sheldon Plankton
today 💙👨‍👦💨 "

Plankton's antennae
quivered with 
embarrassment.

He sat down, his hand
still clutching the
fidget toy. He scrolled
to the comments on
Chip's post, his heart
pounding in his chest.

The first comment's
from Hanna, which read:
"Aw, so sweet! 😍
Looks like you guys
are bonding! Keep
it up, @ Chip 💪🏻"
Bonding? Was that
what they were
doing? He wasn't
sure.

The next one was from
a user named @LoveforAll.
"Sending all my
❤️✨☮️ to you and
your dad, Chip! @Hanna
told me about Plankton's
case, as I've the same
acquired autistic condition
which is a rare form of
Autism, so she told me.
#acquiredautism"
Great. Not only is his sleepy
features public, but also his
condition.

Plankton felt a knot in
his stomach, his antennae
twitching with discomfort.
He viewed a reply to @LoveforAll's
comment, from @SpongeBob:
"☹️☹️☹️ Plankton, hope
you're ok buddy! 🐠💨
Sensory parks are the best!
Keep fighting the good fight! 💪🏻💨
I'm born with autism, so yea."
Plankton's antennae shot up,
his eye wide with shock. He
read the comment again, his mind
spinning. He had never considered
that his friend SpongeBob of all 
people might understand!

The next comment was from
his rival @Krabs:
"Plankton?! 🦑👀 What's going
on over there? Hope you're
not planning any Krabby Patty
stealing schemes with that fidget
toy, haha! 🤑😂 #KrabsVsPlankton
#Frenemies"

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his heart sinking. Even Mr.
Krabs couldn't resist a joke at
his expense. But then he
saw Karen's comment, her
emoji-laden response to their
day out:
"☮️💨💖 Such a wonderful
day at the sensory park
with my two boys! 👨‍👦💨👨‍👦 Proud
of you both for trying
new things! 💃🏻💨💃🏻 @ Sheldon Plankton
sorry for the picture, love!"

Putting his phone aside
Plankton saw Chip come
in the bedroom doorway.
"Hey, I got some science
homework if you'd like to..."
"I'll help," Plankton interrupts.
"How many pages, Chip?" "It's
ok, Dad. It's just basic
stuff. But if you really
want to, it's only five
pages." Chip sits on his dad's
bed with the homework packet.
Plankton's antennae
quiver with excitement.
He had always loved
helping Chip with homework!
Plankton leaned in close as
Chip hands him the homework.

Plankton's antennae twitched
as he took the homework.
"Alright," he murmured,
his voice steady. "Let's start
wi- Ow!" Plankton screams.
He had sliced his finger on
the corner of the page. The 
pain was intense, a sudden 
shock that sent his senses into
overdrive. He flaps his hands.

Karen rushed into the
room at the sound of his 
distress. "Plankton, what
happened?" she asked. 
"It hurts, it hurts," he cries, 
his voice desperate as he
cradles the injury.

The sight of his dad's
pain hit Chip like a brick.
"It's just a paper cut," he 
mumbled, his voice shaking.
But to Plankton, it was a 
sensory assault, the pain 
sharp and overwhelming.
He hadn't had a paper cut
since before the accident,
and the suddenness of it 
was to much.

Karen's eyes widened.
"Let me see," she said, her
voice calm and soothing.
Plankton shakily extended
his hand.
Her eyes took in the
cut, her mind racing.
They had to find a way to
help him manage this pain,
without causing more
distress.

Gently, she took the
fidget toy from his other
hand. "Look at this," she
instructed, her voice
soothing. "Let's focus
on th-"

But Plankton's agony was
too intense, the pain of
the paper cut like a
siren in his mind.
"Make it stop," he
whispered, his eye
squeezed shut in pain,
his body trembling.

Chip watched,
his own panic rising.
He had never seen his dad
so overwhelmed by such a
small injury. He knew
his father's sensory issues
were severe, but the sight of
his distress was almost too
much to bear. He felt a
wave of guilt wash over him.
If only he had been more
careful with the homework.

Karen took charge,
her eyes focused.
"Plankton, can you hear me?"
she asked, her voice calm
and steady. "Look at the
fidget toy, ok?" She
placed it in his good hand.
"Squeeze it. Squeeze it a-"

But Plankton couldn't
hear her over the roar of
pain in his head. His
entire body was trembling,
his breath coming in
sharp gasps. His antennae
quivered with the effort of
blocking out the sensory
storm.

Karen's mind raced.
They had to get him to a
calm state, to help him
understand that the pain
wasn't going to last. She
quickly grabbed a clean
cloth and gently pressed
it to the cut, applying
just enough pressure to
stem the flow. "Look at me,
Plankton," she said, her voice
soft but firm. "Look at me."

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his eye searching
for hers. "It's ok," she
whispered. "I'm here. It's
just a paper cu-"
But her words were
drowned out by his sobs.

Karen's mind raced. She
needed to find a way to
soothe him, to get through
the chaos of sensory
overload. She remembered
Hanna's advice about using
deep pressure to help with
pain management. Carefully,
she wrapped her arms around
his shoulders, applying firm,
comforting pressure. "It's
ok, Plankton," she murmured,
her voice steady. "I've got
you."

Plankton's antennae stopped
quivering as he felt Karen's
embrace, the pressure grounding
his overstimulated mind.
He took a deep, shaky
breath, the pain starting to
recede slightly. "It h-hurts,"
he managed to say, his voice
still tight with pain.

Chip's eyes were wide
with fear, watching his
dad's reaction to something
so simple. He had never
seen Plankton in such pain,
his usually stoic father
reduced to this trembling
wreck. It was like a
punch to the gut, a stark
reminder of how much had
changed.

Plankton's breaths grew
shallower, his antennae
shaking violently. The pain
was unbearable, the
sensations were too much.
Karen's arms tightened
around him. "It's ok, Plankton. 
It's just a paper cut. I know
it hurts, but it'll be
over soon." He clung to
her, his body shaking with
sobs. Chip watched,
feeling utterly helpless.

Plankton's eye
darted around, searching
for escape from the pain.
He couldn't handle it.
"Look at me," Karen
whispered. "Just lo---"
But Plankton's sobs
overwhelmed her words.
Tears streamed down
his cheeks, his antennae
quivering with the effort
of trying to find calm.

Karen's voice grew
stronger, her grip
on him firmer. "You're
safe, Plankton. It's just
a paper cut. It'll be
better soon." Chip felt his
own eyes well up, the
fear and helplessness
mirrored in his mother's
gaze.

Plankton's sobs
started to slow, his
body calming under the
steady pressure of Karen's
embrace. The pain was
still there, a pulsing
throb in his finger, but
it was more manageable now
as it slowly dwindled. "It's ok,"
she said, her voice gentle.
"We're going to get through
this, together."

Chip watched. He had never
seen his dad like this, so
overwhelmed by something so
small. But he knew now that
for Plankton, the world was
full of sensory landmines. Every
moment had to be
navigated with caution.

Plankton's grip on the
fidget toy tightened, his
breaths evening out as he
focused on the gentle pressure
Karen applied. His antennae
slowed their erratic dance.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice
still shaky. Karen's eyes
were filled with love and
determination. "It's ok,"
she said, her voice a gentle
caress. "We're all here for
you."

Slowly, Plankton leaned into
her embrace with relief. He
closed his eye. The pain was
dimming. Chip noticed his hand
slacken around the fidget
toy, his grip loosening.

Karen felt his weight shift
against her, and she knew he
was slipping into sleep.
Gently, she eased him onto
his bed, she
covered him with the
weighted blanket,
his body relaxed beneath the
comforting pressure.

Plankton's antennae
twitched once more before
stillness claimed him.
The fidget toy slipped from
his grasp, landing
silently. Karen reached out, her
fingers brushing his
cheek. "Rest now," she whispered.

new touchingcore familycore brain chip

(Autistic author)

Plankton has autism,
which only he and
Karen know about.
They're able to keep
it a secret, per Plankton's
request, even from
their son Chip.

So when Chip comes
home early from 
football, he's surprised
to see his dad staring
at the blank wall as his
mom rubs his back.

"Is everything okay?"
he asks, stepping
into the room.

Plankton's eye
is unfocused,
his body rigid,
like he's stuck in
some invisible vice.
Karen's hand pauses
on his shoulder,
and she turns to
face Chip, her smile
forced. "Yeah, just a
little...spell," she says.

Plankton's absence seizure
has struck without warning.
It's like a silent storm
passing through the room,
leaving no trace except
the vacant look in his eye.

The room seems to
shrink around them
as Chip takes in his
dad's unblinking stare.
He's never seen this.
"Should I get help?"
Chip's voice cracks.

Karen shakes her head
quickly, her eyes
swimming with unshed
tears. "No, it's fine.
Just...give us a
minute." She waves
a hand, trying to
dismiss the concern
that has etched itself
on Chip's features.

But Chip lingers,
his gaze flickering
between his parents.
"What's happening?"
he whispers.

Karen sighs, her
hand dropping to her
side. She looks at
Plankton. "It's
just something your
dad has," she says,
choosing her words
carefully. "It's like
his brain goes on
pause for a bit."

Chip watches as
his dad's chest rises
and falls in a steady
rhythm, the only
indication that he's
still present in the
physical world. "But
what do you mean?"
his eyes search hers
for understanding.

Karen's eyes flit to
Plankton before returning
to Chip's. She takes a
deep breath, bracing
herself. "It's
not dangerous, just a
little scary-looking."

The silence stretches
until it feels like a
rubber band about to
snap. Chip's curiosity
overpowers his fear.
He takes a tentative
step closer.

"Does he know we're
here?" Chip whispers.

"Not really," Karen murmurs,
"But he'll come back to us."

Chip reaches out, a tremor
in his fingertips, and
touches Plankton's arm,
but the seizure doesn't
seem to notice.

"Dad?" Chip whispers,
his voice a soft echo
in the stillness.

Plankton's body remains
stiff as a statue,
his gaze fixed on a
spot somewhere beyond
the wallpaper's pattern.
Karen's hand moves to
cover Chip's, her touch
warm and reassuring.
"It's okay," she whispers
back, "It's part of him.
Don't poke or shake him,
just let it pass."

The seconds tick by,
each one feeling heavier
than the last. Chip's
heart thuds in his chest,
his mind racing with
questions and fear.
He's never seen his
dad like this before,
so...so vulnerable.

As the seizure slowly
releases its grip, Plankton
blinks, his eye refocusing
on the room. He looks
confused, like he's waking
from a deep sleep. Karen's
smile relaxes, the tension
in her shoulders easing.
Plankton turns to her,
his gaze flickering with
recognition before
falling on Chip.

"Chip?" His voice is
raspy.

Karen nods at Chip,
silently urging him to
speak. "Yeah, Dad, it's me."

Plankton's expression
shifts. "What...what happened?"
his voice is frail.

Chip opens his mouth,
but Karen steps in
quickly. "You had a little
moment, that's all. Nothing
to worry about," she says, her
tone light. But her hand is
still on Plankton's back,
ready to provide support
if needed.

Plankton's eye darts around,
his hands clenching and unclenching
as if trying to remember
how to interact with the
world again. He notices
Chip's hand reaching out and
flinches slightly, his discomfort
with physical contact clear.

Chip, sensing this, pulls his
hand back, his cheeks flushing.
He's always known his dad was
a bit...different. Quirky.
But he's never seen this side
of him.

"It's okay," Karen says, her voice
soothing as she squeezes Plankton's
hand. "You're okay."

Plankton nods, his mind
slowly untangling from the
cotton wool fog of the seizure.
He looks around the room,
familiar objects snapping back
into focus. His eye lands
on Chip, who's watching him
with a mix of worry and curiosity.
He clears his throat. "Just a...moment.
I'm fine now." He tries to smile,
but it feels awkward and forced.

Chip's eyes don't leave him. 
"What was that?"
he asks, his voice still low.

Karen looks at Plankton. It's time.
"Your dad has something
called autism, Chip," she says.
"It's like his brain works in
a special way."

Chip's eyes widen. "What does
that mean?"

Karen sits down beside Plankton,
who's still gathering himself.

"It's like...sometimes, his brain
takes a little break from the world,"
she explains gently, her hand still
on his shoulder. "It can be
overwhelming, with all the sounds,
sights, and people around."

Chip nods slowly, trying 
to grasp the concept.

Plankton swallows hard,
his mind racing. He's always
been so careful to hide
this part of himself, not
wanting to be seen as
less than or weird.

But as he looks at Chip,
his heart swells with a mix
of fear and hope. What if
his son can't understand?
What if this changes
everything?

Karen gives him a nod,
encouraging him to go on.
With a deep breath, Plankton
starts to speak. "You know
how sometimes you get really
focused on something and
the world just fades away?"

Chip nods.

"Well, for me, it's like 
that," Plankton says, his voice
steadying. "But sometimes, my brain does it
without me asking. It's like my thoughts are a TV
with too many channels playing at once, and it
just...shuts off for a bit to give me a break."

Chip nods, trying to 
imagine what that's like.
"Does it hurt?"

Plankton shakes his head.
"Well, it's just...different.
Sometimes I don't realize,
sometimes it's tough."

Chip looks up at him,
his eyes full of questions
and a nascent empathy.
"Can you control..."

"No Chip, I can't 
'control' it!" He
snaps back.

"Hey hey, it's okay," Karen whispers,
meeting his gaze. "He's
not judging you, Plankton."

Plankton takes a deep breath,
his eye fluttering shut. "I know,"
he murmurs, but his tone is
anything but convinced.

Chip's gaze softens, his
fear replaced with a
determined curiosity.
"What's it like?" he asks,
his voice gentle.

Plankton's shoulders rise
and fall with a sigh.
"It's like being in a
little bubble," he says,
his eye distant. "Everything's
far away, muffled. And when
it's over, it's like...like
popping back into reality."

Chip's curiosity grows,
his mind racing with questions.
"But why do you keep it a secret?"
he asks, his voice tentative.

Karen looks to Plankton,
who's still visibly shaken.
"We didn't want it to define you,"
she says softly. "We wanted you
to see him as just your dad,
not as someone with a label."

Plankton nods. "And I didn't
want to be different," he adds,
his voice barely above a whisper.

Chip considers this, his gaze
flitting from his dad to the
ground. "But you are," he says,
his voice earnest. "You're 
my dad, even with your..."
He stumbles over the word
"...seizures."

Karen's eyes fill with pride
at her son's acceptance.
Plankton's tension how
ever, heightens at Chip's
description.

"It's not a seizure,"
he corrects, his voice
slightly defensive.

Chip looks confused.
"But it looks like it,"
he says, frowning.

Karen nods. "It's similar,
but not the same," she explains
before Plankton can interject.
"It's part of your dad's autism."

Chip looks at Plankton, his
eyes searching for something
he's never noticed before.
"But why did you keep it
a secret?" he asks again.

Plankton's gaze drifts
to the floor, his voice
soft. "Because people
can be cruel, son," he says,
his words heavy. "They
don't always understand."

Chip nods, his eyes
welling up with tears. "But I
do," he says, his voice
shaking. "I mean, I don't get
it all, but I understand
that you're still you."

Plankton's expression
softens, his fear of
rejection dissipating slightly.
He looks up at Karen,
his gaze filled with
gratitude. She gives him
a small smile, her eyes
telling him it's okay to be
his true self.

new Written by AI Karen x Plankton Karen/Chip Plankton II plankton

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 14
(Autistic author)

The next day, Karen
wakes up to find Plankton
already out of bed, 
his eye fixated on the
clock again. Then, a
knock on the door alerted
both of them. It's Hanna,
an old friend of Karen's.

"Hanna? Oh, it's been so
long!" Karen exclaims
as she throws her arms
around Hanna, whom
Plankton noticed also
reciprocated the gesture.
So he decided to go sit on
the couch.

"Oh you're Karen's husband
Plankton, right‽" Hanna says.
Plankton nods as Karen gets
out some refreshments.

Hanna sits next to Plankton
on the couch, her smile 
genuine but her tone 
playful. "So, Plankton, 
I hear you and Karen had
a wedding anniversary!
Did you get her anything, or
did Karen have to remind
you? I bet you cause her
so much trouble with your
forgetfulness," she laughs.
"It's a wonder she keeps 
you around."
Of course, Karen didn't hear
Hanna's playful comment,
as she's still gathering the
refreshments.

But Plankton does. His 
eye widens, his antennae 
twitching rapidly. He feels 
the sting of her words, 
though they were meant 
to be light-hearted. His 
body tenses, his mind 
racing. He knows he's not 
forgetful; he's different. 
The patterns of his 
thoughts clash with her 
joke, creating a cacophony 
of confusion and hurt. He
doesn't understand the teasing
and takes it to heart, thinking
he must've caused her trouble.

He wordlessly leaves to the
bedroom right before Karen
returns with the refreshments.

"Where's Plankton?" She asks
Hanna, who pointed the direction
he went.

Karen finds him 
in the bedroom, 
crying and saying
'Karen' in between 
his hiccups. His 
body is rigid with 
the effort of holding 
in his sobs.

Her heart squeezes 
with pain as she 
rushes to him, her 
arms wrapping around 
his small frame. "What's 
wrong, love?" she 
whispers, her voice 
filled with concern.

Plankton's body 
shakes with sobs, 
his antennae limp. 
"Hanna," he manages to 
whisper, his voice 
choked with emotion.

Karen's eyes fill with 
concern. "What about 
Hanna, sweetheart?" she asks, 
her voice gentle.

Plankton sniffs, 
his antennae waving 
slightly. "Hanna said...she 
said..." He can't get the 
words out, his emotions 
choking him.

Karen holds him 
closer, her voice a 
whisper. "What did 
Hanna say, love?"

Plankton's sobs 
intensify, his body 
shaking with the 
force of his emotions. 
"Plankton," he manages 
to say, his voice a 
heartbreaking gasp.

Karen's heart breaks. 
"What did she say, love?"
she prompts, her voice 
soft, her eyes filled with 
understanding.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in agitation. "Hanna 
said Plankton cause 
Karen trouble,"
he whispers, his voice 
barely audible over the 
sound of his own 
sobs. "Karen better if
Plankton not here."

Karen's eyes fill with 
sorrow, her heart 
heavy with the weight 
of his misunderstanding. 
"Oh, Plankton," she 
whispers, her voice 
filled with love and 
pain. "That was just a 
joke, she didn't mean..."

But Plankton's sobs 
only grow louder, his 
body shaking with the 
intensity of his emotions. 
"Karen doesn't 
deserve this," he 
sobs, his antennae 
waving erratically.

Karen holds him 
closer, her voice 
a gentle lullaby. "You 
don't cause me trouble, 
love," she says, her eyes 
filled with tears. "You're 
just...different now."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with understanding, 
his sobs slowly subsiding. 
"But Hanna..." he says, 
his voice a whimper. "Not
want!"

Karen nods, her eyes 
never leaving his. "I know, 
love," she says, her voice 
soft. "But she'd never mean 
it that way. She was just 
being playful, she's nice."

Plankton shakes his head,
unconvinced. "Hanna did
laugh at Plankton. Plankton
not cause trouble," he says, 
his voice shaking with 
emotion. "Karen Plankton.
Plankton loves Karen; Karen
and Hanna no..." Plankton
can't hold the sobbing back.

Karen's eyes fill with 
tears. "Oh, Plankton,"
she says, her voice 
breaking. "Hanna loves 
you too. She didn't mean 
it like that. It was just 
a misunderstanding."

Plankton's antennae 
wave in a pattern that 
Karen's learned means 
he's processing her words, 
trying to fit them into 
his new reality. "But 
Hanna said..." His voice 
trails off, as Hanna herself
comes in.

"Is everything okay 
in here? Or is Plankton
causing..." she asks, 
her smile fading when 
she sees Plankton's tears.

Karen turns to Hanna, 
her expression stern. 
"What happened?"

Hanna's eyes widen 
in surprise. "I just said 
hello, and he ran in here 
crying," she says, her voice 
filled with concern.

Karen's screen tightens 
with frustration. "What 
exactly did you say?" she 
asks, her voice calm but 
firm.

Hanna's eyes widen 
in understanding. "Oh, no,"
she says, her voice 
softening. "I just made a 
joke about your anniversary.
I didn't mean..."

But Plankton's 
sobs only grow louder, 
his antennae flailing 
wildly. "Hanna said 
Plankton cause trouble,"
he accuses, his body 
wracked with emotion.
"Not joke!"

Hanna's eyes 
widen in horror, 
her playful smile 
vanishing as she 
sees the pain in Plankton's 
eye. She rushes over, 
kneeling beside him.
"Plankton, no," she 
whispers, her voice 
filled with regret.
"It was just a joke. I'm 
so sorry, I didn't mean..."

But Plankton's sobs 
only intensify, his 
body a storm of 
emotions he can't 
control. "IT'S NOT 
A JOKE!" he cries out.

Hanna's eyes fill 
with tears as she 
realizes the gravity 
of her mistake. 
"Plankton, I'm so sorry,"
she whispers, her 
hand reaching out to 
touch his shoulder.

But Plankton's 
reaction is explosive, 
his antennae 
lashing out like whips.
"NO!" he screams, his 
voice a tornado of pain 
and anger. "ENOUGH HURT!"

Hanna looks at Karen. "How
often you say he throws these
fitful tantrums?" Hanna says,
which is the final straw for Plankton.

Plankton's antennae quiver
with rage. "NO, NOT TANTRUMS!"
he shouts, his voice a
thunderclap in the small
room. "PLANKTON HAS ACQUIRED
RESTRICTED FLOW TO THE
FRONTAL TEMPORAL POLAR CORTEX!"

Hanna looks at him strangely. "W..."

"PLANKTON HAS CORPUS CALLOSUM
DEACTIVATION IN THE SENSORY 
INTEGRATION CENTERS!" Plankton
shouts, his antennae a blur of
movement as he tries to convey
his condition's complexity.
"Neurotransmitters firing 
asynchronously, synapses 
misfiring, it's not a tantrum! SO
HANNA NEEDS TO EITHER USE THE
CORRECT TERMINOLOGY OR NOT 
SPEAK AT THE SAME TIME!"

Karen's eyes are wide with
fear, yet understanding that 
Plankton is desperate.

"Plankton," she says, her 
voice calm. "It's okay, you
don't have to explain."

But Plankton's antennae 
wave frantically, his 
need for precision a 
storm in his mind. "HAS 
TO!" he yells, his voice 
desperate. "HANNA NOT
KNOW THE DIFFERENCE!"

Karen nods, her heart 
swelling with love and 
pride at his bravery. "Okay, 
love," she says, her voice 
soothing. "Let's explain."

She takes a deep 
breath, her eyes never 
leaving Plankton's as 
she addresses Hanna. "Plankton 
has acquired a form of 
autism, it's called 'autistic 
shutdowns'. It's not a tantrum, 
it's his brain's way of 
shutting down to protect 
itself from sensory 
overload. It's from a bad
accident.."

Hanna's eyes widen in 
shock, her hand 
flying to her mouth. 
"Oh my goodness," she 
whispers, her voice 
filled with regret. "I had 
no idea."

Karen nods, her eyes 
never leaving Plankton's. 
"It's been a tough 
adjustment for us 
all," she says, her voice 
gentle. "But we're managing."

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 14

CONSOLE TONSIL ii


*


As the door clicked shut, Karen noticed how 
Plankton's body 
stiffened, eye open but unseeing.

"Plankton?" she called out, her voice a 
gentle prodding into his
absent-mindedness.

He didn't respond. His eye remained open, but 
it was as if the light
behind it had gone out.
This wasn’t the first time Karen had seen 
him dizzily scatterbrained from overload, yet
it was eerie to witness such shock. His body 
remained still, his chest rising and
falling with his shallow breaths, yet there 
was no response to her
touch or voice. It was like he was there, but 
not there at the same
time.

The room grew quiet. She leaned closer. 
"Plankton, can you hear me?" she 
whispered.

His eye remained unblinking.

"Plankton, talk to me," Karen urged, her 
voice a gentle coax.

His only ‘response’ was the shallow rise and 
fall of his chest, his eye unblinking.

Karen realized the depth of his withdrawal; 
Hanna's words had
triggered a sensory shutdown.

The room grew colder as Plankton retreated 
into himself, his eye glazed over like a
still pond reflecting the fear and confusion 
rippling through him. Karen knew she
needed to tread lightly. She had seen this 
before, during moments of intense stress or
overstimulation.

"Plankton," she said, her voice a soft 
whisper. "You're not a burden, you know that."
Her hand reached out, stroking his arm in 
gentle, soothing motions. "You're just tired.
Let's focus on getting you better."

The room was still, the only sound being the 
tick of the clock echoing through the
silence. Karen's screen never left Plankton's 
unresponsive face, her mind racing to find the
right words, the right touch to pull him back 
from the edge of his isolation.

"Plankton," she said again, her voice barely 
above a whisper. "You're ok. You're home."
Her hand continued its soft, rhythmic motion 
on his arm, a silent lullaby to his
fractured thoughts.

Slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, 
Plankton's eye blinked. The fog in his gaze
started to clear, his pupil focusing on Karen's 
concerned face. He took a deep, shaky
breath, wincing as the pain in his throat shot 
up like a warning flare.

"You're ok," Karen repeated, her voice a 
soothing balm to his frazzled nerves. "You're 
home, and I'm here with you."

Plankton's breathing grew more even, the 
tension in his body slowly seeping away as 
he focused on her voice, her touch. The pain 
in his throat was a constant reminder of the 
surgery, but it was the emotional pain that 
weighed heavier on him.

Karen waited patiently, her hand never 
stopping its gentle caress, her voice a 
steady stream of comfort. "You're not a 
burden," she repeated, her tone soothing. 
"You're my best friend, Plankton. We’re 
home. I'm here for you, always."

Plankton blinked again, the reality of his 
situation seeping in. "Home," he murmured. 
"Thank you, Karen."

"You're welcome. I'm here for you."

The words hung in the air, the silence thick 
and heavy. Karen could see the internal
battle playing out on Plankton's face, the war 
between his pride and his need for
comfort. His hand reached out again, this 
time with more intention, and he gently
squeezed hers.

"I'm sorry," he croaked out, his voice still raw. 
"I didn't mean to scare you."

Karen leaned in closer, her screen filled with 
a gentle understanding. "You don't ever have 
to apologize for how you feel," she said 
softly. "We're in this together."
Plankton's grip tightened, his eye finally 
focusing on hers with a hint of gratitude. He 
took another deep breath, the pain a stark 
contrast to the warmth in the room. "What...what 
is Hanna doing now?" he 
asked, his voice a whisper of curiosity.

"I don't know," Karen replied truthfully. "But 
she's not here to bother us. You need to rest, ok?"

Plankton nodded weakly, his grip loosening. 
Karen felt a twinge of sadness as she saw 
the exhaustion etched on his features. She 
knew he was trying to be strong, but the 
weight of the day's events was too much for 
anyone to bear alone.

"Rest," she encouraged, her voice firm but 
gentle. "I'll be right here if you need 
anything."

Plankton's nod was almost imperceptible, 
but Karen took it as his silent agreement. 
She pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucking 
him in as if he were a child, and sat in the 
chair beside his bed, her hand still in his. 
The warmth of their intertwined fingers was a 
small but significant comfort in the face of his 
overwhelming fears.

The minutes ticked by. Karen watched him 
closely, waiting for his breathing to deepen, 
his eyelid to droop. It was a slow process, 
but eventually, the exhaustion won. She 
heard a faint snore, a sign that he had finally 
succumbed to sleep. His hand went slack in 
hers, and she carefully extracted her hand, 
placing it on the bedside table. She took a 
deep breath, her shoulders sagging with 
relief.

Her mind raced with what had happened. 
Hanna's words had clearly struck a nerve, 
and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of 
anger at her friend's thoughtlessness. 
Plankton had always been self-conscious 
about his size and his perceived 
weaknesses, and to hear such harsh words 
from someone Karen cared about had to be 
devastating. Karen felt a mix of anger and 
sadness as she approached Hanna, her 
mind playing back the haunting image of 
Plankton's lifeless stare.
"Hanna," she began, her voice firm but 
measured. "We need to talk."

Hanna looked up.

"What you said in front of Plankton, though 
not meant to be malicious," Karen began, 
her voice low but steady. "It was hurtful and 
unnecessary. Plankton has...challenges. 
Neurodivergent challenges."

Hanna's confused. "What do you mean?"

"It means," Karen said, sitting down next to 
her, "that Plankton perceives and reacts to 
the world differently than we do. It affects 
how he processes information, how he 
interacts with people, and how he handles 
stress."

"What happened after I left?" Hanna finally 
asked, her voice tentative.

Karen took a deep breath, preparing to 
recount the events that had unfolded. "He 
had a...a reaction," she said.
"He couldn't handle the stress anymore. His 
mind just sort of...shut down. He just...froze 
still. It's like his body was there, but he 
wasn't. He didn’t respond to anything I said or did."
Hanna's hand flew to her mouth, horrified. 
"His eye were open, but he was...gone, 
somewhere else. I've seen it before, but 
never this severe. At first, nothing," Karen 
said, her gaze drifting to the floor. "It was like 
talking to a statue. But I didn't give up. I 
talked to him, whispered really. I tried to get 
through to him, to tell him he's not a burden, 
that he's important to me, that he's safe 
here. Just kept saying how much he means 
to me and that he's not a burden. He started 
to come back to me, little by little. His 
breathing changed, his gaze focused on me. 
It was like he was hearing me for the first 
time in hours." Karen paused, collecting her 
thoughts. "He apologized," she said. "For 
scaring me. As if it was his fault."

Hanna's expression grew pained. "I never 
meant for this to happen," she murmured. 
"What can I do to make it right?"

Karen considered her words carefully. "For 
now, let him rest," she said. "But when he's 
feeling better, we need to have a talk. All of 
us. Plankton deserves an apology."

* * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ
ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ
ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ
ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ
ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ  *

new author is neurodivergent console tonsil AI Story Generator karen plankton

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 15
(Autistic author)

Hanna's screen 
filled with a mix of 
shock and empathy. 
"I had no idea," she 
says, her voice a 
whisper. "How can I 
help?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitch, his voice 
laced with sarcasm. 
"Oh, it's simple," he says, 
his tone biting. "Just don't 
make jokes about 
Karen or brain damage!"

Hanna's screen burn 
with embarrassment, her 
eyes wide with shock. 
"I'm so sorry, I didn't 
know," she whispers, her 
hands trembling.

Plankton's eye is still
glaring. "It's not 
to hard to understand," 
he says, his voice a knife. 
"If Hanna just took the 
time to learn."

Hanna nods, her 
screen a mask of regret. 
"What do 
you need?"

Plankton's antennae 
slow, his eye focusing 
on Karen's worried screen. 
He takes a deep breath, 
his words coming out 
slowly, as if each one 
was a step through a 
difficult maze. "Quiet," 
he whispers. "Space."

Hanna nods, her own 
eyes filling with tears. 
"I'll give you space," 
she says, her voice 
quivering with apology.

Karen's eyes never 
leave Plankton's as Hanna
quietly leaves the room. 
The silence is a balm 
to Plankton's overstimulated 
mind, and he sighs 
in relief, his antennae 
stilling. "Thanks, Karen,"
he whispers, his voice 
a soft echo of his earlier 
rage.

"It's okay," Karen says, 
her voice a gentle 
lullaby. She strokes his 
back, her touch a 
comforting rhythm in 
his chaotic world. "We'll 
get through this."

Plankton's antennae 
twitch in response, 
his body slowly 
unwinding from the 
coil of his anger. "But 
Hanna..."

Karen nods, her screen 
filled with empathy. 
"I know, love," she 
whispers. "But she 
just doesn't know 
what it's like."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slowly, his 
understanding of 
Hanna's ignorance 
gradually replacing 
his anger.

"It's okay, Plankton,"
Karen says, her voice 
a soft breeze in the 
storm of his emotions. 
"We'll explain to her.
Everyone deserves a chance 
to learn."

Plankton nods slowly, 
his antennae still, his 
body a tightly coiled 
spring. "Karen is right,"
he murmurs, his voice 
a whisper. "But Plankton 
scared she won't understand."

Karen's hand 
continues to stroke his 
back, her screen filled 
with love. "We'll 
make sure she does," 
she says, her voice a 
promise.

Plankton's body 
begins to relax, his 
antennas slowing their 
frantic dance. He knows 
Karen will protect him, 
explain him.

His eye flutters closed, 
his breathing shallow, as 
Karen's gentle strokes 
calm the tempest in 
his mind. The room 
around them seems to 
hold its breath, the 
silence a stark contrast 
to the storm of moments 
before. Slowly, his antennae 
uncoil, his body 
relaxing into her embrace.

The world around him 
becomes a blur of colors, 
his senses dimming as 
his brain seeks the 
solace of sleep.

Karen watches him 
with a mix of love and 
worry, her hand gently 
stroking his antennae. 
She knows his mind is a 
whirlwind, even in rest.

His breathing slows, 
his body going limp in 
her embrace. The room 
around them seems to 
quiet, the chaos of the 
day fading into the 
background as sleep 
claims him.

Karen knows he's fallen
asleep by the steady rise
and fall of his chest,
his antennae no longer 
twitching. She carefully 
moves him to their bed, 
his body a delicate
weight in her arms.

The room is a sanctuary 
of softness, the light 
filtering through 
the curtains like a gentle
caress. She pulls the blankets 
up to his chin, tucking 
them in just right, her 
movements precise and 
methodical.

His antennae twitch 
slightly in his sleep, 
his body a silent testament 
to the tumult of 
his day. She watches 
his chest rise and fall, 
his breaths even and deep. 
The tension in the 
air dissipates as his 
body relaxes further.

Hanna's waiting out by the
bedroom door, concerned
as Karen opens the door.

"Is he okay?" Hanna whispers.
Her eyes are red, and her 
screen wet with tears.
"I didn't know, Karen. I'm so 
sorry."

Karen nods, her 
own eyes filled with 
moisture. "He's asleep now,"
she says, her voice 
barely audible. "It's the 
best thing for him."

Hanna's gaze follows 
Karen's to the bed, 
where Plankton lies 
still as a statue, his antennae 
at rest against the 
pillow.

"It's okay," Karen says, 
her voice a gentle 
whisper. "We all make
mistakes."

Hanna nods, her 
screen never leaving 
Plankton's sleeping form. 
"But I hurt him,"
she says, her voice 
haunted.

Karen sighs, her 
hand on Hanna's shoulder. 
"You didn't mean to,"
she says, her voice 
filled with compassion. 
"And now you know."

Hanna nods, her 
screen still on Plankton. 
"But what can I do 
now?" she asks, 
desperation in her 
voice.

Karen looks at her 
friend, her gaze 
thoughtful. "Just be 
patient with him," she 
whispers. "Learn about 
his condition. And 
apologize when he wakes 
up."

Hanna nods, her 
expression solemn. "I 
will," she says.

Karen smiles, a 
thankful light in her 
screen. "Good," she 
whispers. "Now, let's 
let him rest."

They both slip out 
of the room, leaving 
the door ajar to 
allow the soft light 
from the hallway to 
spill into the bedroom. 
Hanna looks down 
at the floor. "I'm 
so sorry, Karen," she 
says, her voice low.

"It's okay, Hanna,"
Karen responds, her 
tone a gentle reprimand. 
"We're all learning 
how to navigate 
this new reality."

Eventually, Plankton comes
out after a little while, now
awake. Karen and Hanna
are both sitting together.

"I'm sorry," Hanna whispers,
her screen downcast.

Plankton's antennae 
twitch with uncertainty. 
He doesn't remember
falling asleep, or Hanna 
leaving. He just knows 
his mind was a tornado 
of anger and pain.

Karen's voice is 
a gentle guide, leading 
him back to the 
present. "You had a 
bad shutdown," she says, 
her screen filled with 
love and concern. "It's 
okay to feel upset."

Plankton nods, his 
antennas drooping. 
He looks at Hanna, 
his eye filled with 
uncertainty. "It's not 
easy," he whispers, 
his voice a soft 
admission.

Hanna looks up, her 
eyes meeting his. "I know,"
she says, her voice 
sincere. "But I'm here 
for you both."

Plankton's antennae 
wave slightly, a 
sign of his internal 
debate. "Hanna hurt 
Plankton," he says, 
his voice a monotone.

Hanna nods, her screen 
filled with regret. 
"I know," she whispers. 
"And I'm sorry. I didn't 
mean to."

Plankton's antennae 
lift slightly, his 
body uncoiling from 
his protective stance. 
He takes a step 
towards her, his 
movement tentative. 
"Hanna can learn,"
he murmurs, his voice 
still tight with 
emotion.

Hanna's eyes 
brighten with hope. 
"I want to learn,"
she says, her voice 
eager. "I want to be 
a good friend to 
both of you."

Karen smiles, 
her screen shining with 
gratitude. "That's 
all we can ask for,"
she says, her voice 
a gentle caress.

new karen has a lesson Karen x Plankton 15

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 𝟥
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲)

𝖬𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽,
𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋
𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅?"

"𝖠 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝖿 
𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖤𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁 
𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖲𝗎𝗇, 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀..."
"𝟤𝟦 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖨 𝗄𝗇-" 𝖻𝗎𝗍
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. "𝖭𝗈
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇, 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝟤𝟥 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 
𝟧𝟨 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝟦 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀!"

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈
𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼
𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾.
𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌?

"𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍
𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋
𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅?"

𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗉. "𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖥𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖱𝗈𝗈𝖿. 𝖥𝗂𝗑."
𝖧𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.
"𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋. 𝖥𝗂𝗑𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿. 𝖫𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾.
𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗏𝗂𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅."

𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒
𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌
𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇
𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗌. "𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽,
𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿
𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗒.

"𝖡𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾?" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽
𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇
𝖺 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋.
"𝖡𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿. 𝖬𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈
𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽
𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇?"

𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. "𝖬𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿. "𝖶𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉. 𝖱𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾."
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁,
𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗉 𝖺𝗍
𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗐𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗒. "𝖡𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆.
"𝖸𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇?"

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, "𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗀
𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗂𝗇.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍
𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌?
𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗉
𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗒; 𝗒𝖾𝗍, 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍
𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇? 𝖠𝗇𝖽
𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀..

𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾
𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋. 𝖶𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾?
𝖠 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗆𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖺? 𝖭𝗈, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒'𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖼𝖼𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗈𝗇
𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖶𝗁𝗒
𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇?"
𝖧𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖥𝗅𝖺𝗉," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. "𝖥𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗎𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍.
𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝖾? "𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽,
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌.
𝖡𝗎𝗍, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗇
𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗐.
𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁? 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽
𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 
𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆,
𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼..

𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗌
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖳𝖵 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇
𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋𝗌,
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍.
𝖨𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽.
𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾?
𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾
𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆? "𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋
𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎
𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌? 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖽𝗎𝗅𝗍.."

𝖧𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅
𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍. "𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖨𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾
𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌."
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗁𝗂𝗌. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗑 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗍.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝖺𝗂𝗋,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋. "𝖠𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽
𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽.
"𝖢𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗂𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒
𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋
𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗎𝖾, 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌.
𝖨𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈,
𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾
𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋... 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾
𝗌𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋. "𝖢𝖺𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅
𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾?"

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼
𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌," 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝖾, "𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽
𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗉𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅
𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆
𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇
𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗑 𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗍
𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍
𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝖺𝖻𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽,
𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍
𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌?"

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾.
"𝖨𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖾𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅
𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇
𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺
𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌
𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋.
𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾
𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖺 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅,
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾, 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗎𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗒
𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌.
"𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾. "𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇?"

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾
𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍.
"𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇," 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾, "𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗑
𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗌.
𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗋
𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽
𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝖿𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗌
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆
𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋."

𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄.
"𝖲𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾
𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖾𝖼𝗁 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒
𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅
𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒,
𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁
𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾
𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌.
"𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄
𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. "𝖴𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖽
𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍. 𝖧𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗎𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾
𝖺𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺 𝗅𝗎𝗆𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗂𝗇
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝗑 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌,
𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾. "𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺..."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. "𝖥𝗂𝗑, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋,
𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗌
𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅
𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅
𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗅
𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖭𝗈 '𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖾' 𝖿𝗈𝗋
𝗌𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖡𝗎𝗍
𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍, 𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀,
𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝖢𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍
𝖿𝗂𝗑 𝖽𝗒𝗌𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌,
𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌."

𝖲𝗈 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 
𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 
𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾
𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇; 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄.
𝖭𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍'𝗌
𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖽.."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽. "𝖡𝖾𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌.
"𝖲𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌
𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈
𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗌.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽'𝗌
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽
𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋
𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍
𝗐𝖺𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖲𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁
𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗈," 𝗌𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗋𝗒,
𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁
𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗑𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌.
𝖠𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋
𝖻𝖾𝖽, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌.
𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇
𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾
𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁
𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗍𝗁, 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈
𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽
𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾
𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗉. "𝖲𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅,"
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄
𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. "𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇," 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌. 𝖥𝗈𝗋
𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗐
𝖺 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐,
𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍
𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝗏𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍
𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖾. "𝖲𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍
𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝖽𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌. "𝖢𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌
𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾
𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽,
𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾. "𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽. "𝖥𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾,"
𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝖽. "𝖮𝗎𝗍. 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. "𝖸𝖾𝗌. 𝖶𝖾'𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍
𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍. "𝖳𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌," 𝗁𝖾
𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒. "𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗌."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋
𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇. "𝖱𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐,"
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽. "𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗌. 𝖲𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾,
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

new sciencecore memorycore brain chip

2️⃣

new numberblocks 1

9 Tʜɪɴɢs ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ 
Author's 
𓂀𝕰𝖑𝖎𝖏𝖆𝖍𖣲̸☘♕ :zap:
 01/01/22
┏━━━━•❅•°•❈ - •°•❅•━━━━┓
┗━━━━•❅•°•❈ - •°•❅•━━━━┛

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊    ┊        ┊

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊   ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

┊         ┊       ┊   ✫

┊         ┊       ☪⋆             𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲, ⒉🄀⒉⒉

┊         ✫                         #hashtag     ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ༄

✯ ⋆      ┊ . ˚                   ☾   ❥                            

           ˚✩.     

‧₊ ❁ཻུ۪۪.;:୭̥.┊ʟᵉᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ. ʟᵉᵃʳⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵉˢˢᵒⁿ. ғᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃˢᵗ. ᴀⁿᵈ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ᵒⁿ. ꒱

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          ⋆ ☄. ʙᵉ ᵗʳᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ɴᵒᵗ ᵇʸ ˢᵗʳⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵇʸ ˢᵗʳⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗʳᵘᵉ ˢᵉˡᶠ. sᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ˢⁱᵐⁱˡᵃʳ ᵗᵒ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ. sᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ᵗᵒᵒ. ɪᵗ ⁱˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵇⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵘⁿⁱᵠᵘᵉ. ·˚ * :telescope:

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⇢˚⋆ ✎ ˎˊ- " ᴅᵉˢᵖⁱᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵘᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ, ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ʰᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵒᵘˡ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱᵗ ˢᵗᵒᵖˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵉˡᶠ-ᶜᵉⁿᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵉˡᶠⁱˢʰ. ʙʸ ᵍⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ, ɪ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ. ʏᵒᵘ ᵐᵃʸ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ, ˡᵒᵛᵉ, ᵃᵗᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ, ᵗʳᵘˢᵗ... ᴛʰᵉ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗ ⁱˢ, ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ. ɴᵘʳᵗᵘʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᵛᵉʳˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ʏᵒᵘ ˡⁱᵛᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ɴᵒᵗ ᵃⁿʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ. "

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           -`, ʏᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʰᵘʳᵗ? ɢʳᵉᵃᵗ. ᴛʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ. ᴀ ᶠᵒʳᵉˢᵗ ᵍʳᵒʷˢ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵇʳᵘⁿᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱᵗ ⁿᵘʳᵗᵘʳᵉˢ ⁱᵗˢᵉˡᶠ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ⁱᵗ ʳᵉᵐⁿᵃⁿᵗˢ. ɴᵒ ᵍʳᵒʷᵗʰ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿˢ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ˢᵗʳᵘᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵃʳᵈˢʰⁱᵖ. ɪᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵃᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵒᵘˡ ʸᵉᵗ, ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ. ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᵉˡᵃʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵇʸ ᵃᵛᵒⁱᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʳⁱˢᵏˢ. ᴛʰᵉ ˢᵒᵒⁿᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ⁱᵗ, ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ. ꒱ ↷🖇🥛

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           ˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :email: :; ʟᵒᵛᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ. ᴡᵉ ᵃˡˡ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ˡᵒᵛᵉ. ᴛʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉˢ ʷʰᵒ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉˢ ʷʰᵒ ᵉˣᵖʳᵉˢˢ ⁱᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ. sᵒ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵖᵘⁿⁱˢʰ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵘⁿᵏⁱⁿᵈ ᵒʳ ˢᵉˡᶠⁱˢʰ ᵇʸ ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵏⁱⁿᵈⁿᵉˢˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵃʷᵃʸ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ. ᴡⁱˡˡ ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ ᵃʷᵃʸ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵗʰᵉᵐ? ɴᵒ. ɪᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ⁿᵃⁱᵛᵉ. sᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ'ˢ ᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᵒʳ ⁱⁿᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᶜⁱᵖʳᵒᶜᵃᵗᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈⁿᵉˢˢ ⁱˢ ᵃ ʳᵉᶠˡᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ. ɴᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘ.

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           ༘♡ ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵇᵃᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳⁱᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵃˡᵘᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰⁱⁿ. ɴᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵉᵗʳᵃʸ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵗᵒ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ. ɴᵉᵛᵉʳ. ᴛʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ᵃ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉⁿ ᶜᵒᵐᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵘᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵈᵒʷⁿ. ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵃʸ ⁿᵒ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵇʸ ˢᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ. ɪᶠ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵍᵉᵗˢ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳʸ, ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳʸ ⁱˢ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ. ᴛʰᵉʸ'ʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ. ⋆｡˚❀

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_ _ ᴏʷⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ. ᴡᵉ ᵉᵃᶜʰ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ. ᴊᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵇᵉˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵒʳ ˢᵃʸˢ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁱˡˡᵉᵍⁱᵗⁱᵐᵃᵗᵉ, ⁱᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵗʳᵘᵉ. ʙᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵒʷⁿ ʲᵘᵈᵍᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˡˡᵒʷ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵉʳᵈⁱᶜᵗ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ. ᴛᵃᵏᵉ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳˢʰⁱᵖ. ᴜⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰʸ ⁱᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿ. ᴛʰᵃᵗ ᵃʷᵃʳᵉⁿᵉˢˢ ᵃˡˡᵒʷˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ༉‧₊˚✧

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         ꒰ :vhs: ꒱°⁺ ⁀➷ ʟⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ. ᴛᵒ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ. ɴᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ. ɴᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ. ʟⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ. ᴏᵇˢᵉʳᵛᵉ. ᴡᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ. ᴀˡˡᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃⁱˡ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶜᵉᵃⁿ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵘʳⁱᵒˢⁱᵗʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵃʳᵛᵉˡ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱᵐᵖˡᵉˢᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ. ᴛʰᵃᵗ ʰᵘᵐᵇˡᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ.

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          ۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪┊ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵃˢʰᵃᵐᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ. ᴄʳʸ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵘʳᵍᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜʳʸ. ʟᵃᵘᵍʰ ᵒᶠᵗᵉⁿ. ᴇᵃᵗ ʷᵉˡˡ. ʀᵉˢᵗ ʷᵉˡˡ. ᴡᵒʳᵏ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵘʳⁿ ᵒᵘᵗ. ʙᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ᵒᵏᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᶜʰᵃʳᵍᵉ. ˎˊ˗

๑۞๑,¸¸,ø¤º°`°๑۩ - ๑۩ ,¸¸,ø¤º°`°๑۞๑

new healingcore healcore youcore paincore emotionalcore

BRAIN CHIP pt. 1
(By NEUROFABULOUS)

It was an accident.
Plankton fell on his 
head from the roof
as his head landed
on the sidewalk. Karen
rushed over to the 
now unconscious 
form as she watched the
accident unfold.

"Oh no, Plankton,
what have you done?"
she exclaimed, picking
him up and going back
inside to rest him on
the couch. She laid him down
carefully, his head cradled
in a pillow. He was breathing,
yet his eye remained shut.

She lightly tapped
his cheek, whispering his
name, "Plankton, can you hear
me?" There was no response.
He is out cold.

Should she call for help, or
wake him gently? She chose
the latter.

"Plankton, darling," she said
softer than before, stroking his
hand, "please wake up. Come 
on, Plankton," she murmured.

Karen waited. Then, 
Plankton's eyelid
twitched. A faint groan
escaped him as he
regains consciousness.
His hand reached
for his head.
Karen's eyes widened with
relief as she saw his eye
begin to open, revealing a
slit of confusion.

"It's ok," she soothed,
squeezing his hand 
gently. "You had a fall."

He winced, his hand
moving from his head
to hers, holding it tightly.
"What happened?" he managed.

"You slipped and fell," Karen
explained, trying to keep
the panic from her voice.
"You hit your head."

Plankton's eye widens,
taking in his surroundings. The
familiar living room swam
before him as he attempted
to sit up. Karen helped, her
hands steadying him. He winced
again.

"Easy, love," she cautioned,
hands on his shoulders. "Let's
take this slow."

Plankton nodded as he
repeated her words, "Easy, love."
The echo of his voice was faint
but it grew. "Take this slow," he
whispered to himself.

Karen looked at him with
concern, noticing his strange
behavior. "Plankton, are you ok?"
she asked, her voice tight.
His eye searched hers. "Ok, Karen,"
he said.

This wasn't 
something she'd
heard from him 
before. "You're
just a bit shaken up,
that's all," she assured.

But Plankton 
just nodded,
repeating her words.
"Shaken up. That's all."
The phrase seemed to
soothe him, his grip
on her hand loosening
slightly as he focused
on her voice.

Karen studied his face,
noticing the glazed look in
his eye. He wasn't just echoing
her; he was stuck on her words,
his mind unable to form
his own thoughts.

"Plankton," she said, her voice
quivering, "tell me what you're
thinking. What do you remember?"

"Thinking," he echoed, his gaze
flickering as he searched
his own mind. "Remember," he
managed, his words choppy and
disjointed. "What do you remember,
Plankton?" she pressed.

He took a deep, shuddering
breath, his eye searching hers
for answers she didn't have.
"Fell. Sidewalk. Pain," he said,
his voice trailing off as he tried
to piece together the moments
before the darkness had claimed
him.

"Yes," Karen said, nodding. "You fell.
Do you remember anything else?"

Plankton's eye searched hers,
his brow furrowed. "Fell. Pain. You."
The repetition was unnerving,
but she clung to the fact that he'd
managed to form a coherent response.
"That's right," she said, her voice
steady. "You fell and hurt your
head. But what were you doing before?"

His head tilted slightly, as if
the question was a puzzle piece
he couldn't fit into the jigsaw
of his memory. "Doing," he echoed.
"Doing before?"

"Yes," Karen prompted, her voice
soft but firm. "What were you
doing before you fell?"

Plankton's mind raced,
trying to retrieve the lost
moments. His eye flickered
before finally settling on hers.
"Before. Before," he repeated,
his voice gaining speed. "I was
on the roof. Ok, Plankton. The
Plankton on the roof. Before,
before," he stumbled over the
words, the phrase looping in his
head like a broken record.

Karen felt a cold shiver run down
her spine. "Plankton, honey, can
you tell me more?" she prodded
gently, her voice trembling.
"Tell me more, tell me more,"
he echoed, the words now
a rapid-fire chant.

He started to sit up again,
his movements jerky and uncoordinated.
The pain in his head seemed to
have lessened, replaced by a
desperate need to repeat.
"On the roof," he blurted out,
his voice stronger now, the phrase
taking hold. "Roof. Roof. On the
roof before."

Why is he doing this?
"Plankton, can you tell me
what you were doing on the
roof?" she asked, trying to keep
the conversation flowing.

"Roof. Roof," he murmured,
his eye locking onto hers.
"Doing roof. Doing roof," he
repeated, but she knew
she had to keep him talking.
"Yes, you were doing something 
on the roof," Karen urged, her 
voice gentle but firm. "What was 
it, Plankton?"

His eye searched the room,
as if the answer was hiding 
behind the curtains. "Fixing,"
he finally said, his voice 
clearer. "Fixing the roof."

Her screen lit up with hope.
"Yes, you were fixing the
roof," she confirmed, her voice
steadier now. "Do you remember
why you were up there?"

Plankton's eye searched hers,
his mind racing. "Fixing. Roof,"
he murmured again, the words
like a lifeline. "Fixed the leak."
The revelation came suddenly,
as if a switch had been flipped
in his brain. The leak had been
causing trouble for weeks, and
he'd finally decided to tackle
it today. The memory was faint,
but it grew clearer as he spoke.

Karen's grip on his hand tightened.
"Good, you fixed the leak,"
she encouraged, her voice
steady. "Do you remember
how you got down?"

"Down," he echoed, his mind
spinning as he recalled the
ladder, the shaky descent. "Fall.
Down. Fall down."

"Plankton," Karen said, her voice
barely above a whisper. "What's
wrong?"

He didn't answer her question.
Instead, he looked confused.
"Wrong? Provided adequate
response, yet how wrong?"

Karen's mind raced as she
tried to understand. "Your speech,
Plankton. It's... it's different,"
she managed, her voice trembling.
"It's ok," she assured him,
not wanting to alarm him further.

But Plankton's behavior grew
more erratic. He began to
rock back and forth slightly.

"Plankton, honey, are you ok?"
Karen asked, her voice laced
with worry as she observed
his sudden onset of repetitive
motions. He didn't acknowledge
her question; instead, he
kept rocking back and forth,
his hands fluttering at his sides.

His eye remained focused
on a spot on the wall, unblinking.
"Roof. Fix. Leak," he muttered,
his words staccato, rhythmic.
The tension in the room grew
as Karen watched him.

Karen's mind raced.
The stimming was a sign of
overwhelming stress or anxiety,
but she had never seen him do
this before. She leaned closer. "Plankton,"
she whispered, placing her hand
on his arm to get his attention.

His eye snapped to her, the
rocking stopping abruptly. "Wrong,"
he said, his voice still strange,
his words choppy. "Worry. Not
ok. Karen."

Karen's breath hitched. "Plankton,
yo--"

Her words were cut off by
his sudden jerking movement.
He began to stim, his hands
flapping in front of him.
The sight of her husband,
a man she knew so well,
now lost in a world of his own,
was almost too much to bear.

"It's ok," she murmured, her voice
shaky, trying to keep the situation
under control. But his stimming
intensified, his body now matching
the erratic rhythm of his speech.
"You're ok," she said, touching
his arm, but he snapped.

"No, Karen," Plankton said,
his voice rising in pitch. "Not ok."
The flapping grew faster, his eye
unfocused. 

"Plankton, please," she begged,
her voice thick with tears. "Tell me
what's happening." She says, grabbing
his hands to hold them still.

But her touch seemed to only
fuel his distress. "No," he says.
"Karen, it!"

The sudden sharpness in his
tone made her flinch. She had never
heard him speak that way. It was
as if he was a different person.
"What do you mean, 'no'?" Karen
asked, her voice trembling as she
held on tighter.

Plankton's body grew rigid,
his stimming increasing in intensity.
"No touch," he said firmly, pulling
his hands from her grasp. His words
were still fragmented, but the meaning
was clear. Karen's eyes filled with tears.
"Plankton, please," she pleaded, reaching
for him again.

But he recoiled, his movements
quick and jerky. "Karen. No," he
stammered, his voice laced with fear.
But she grabbed his shoulders. "What's
wrong, Plank..."

Her words were lost as Plankton's
body began to convulse with fear,
his stimming now a full-blown
defense mechanism. "No," he yelled,
his voice piercing the quiet room.
"Karen, pain! Not safe! Karen harm
Plankton scared! No hurt Plankton!"

Karen's eyes widened, her own
fear spiking at his sudden terror.
Her hands hovered in the air,
unsure of what to do. "Plankton,
it's ok," she said, taking a step
back. "I..."

But he was beyond consolation,
his body a whirlwind of chaotic
movements. "Karen bad," he
whispered, his voice trembling
as much as his limbs. "Karen
hurting Plankton. Plankton scared."

This wasn't her Plankton. The love
and trust in his eye had been
replaced by something wild and
uncertain. She took another step
back, her own hands now shaking.
"I'm not hurting you," she said,
desperation seeping into her
words. "I'm trying to he-"

Her sentence was cut short
as Plankton's body tensed further.
His stimming grew erratic, his
legs kicking rapidly.
"No," he yelled, his voice
now unrecognizable. "Karen no
good. Karen stop. Not safe."

Karen's screen filled with horror.
What had happened to her husband?
He looked at her with a fear she
had never seen before, his trust
replaced with a primal instinct
to escape. She took another
step back, her voice shaking.
"Plankton, it's me," she whispered.
But he didn't seem to hear her.
Instead, a strange, low humming
noise began to emanate from
his throat.

The hum grew in volume,
filling the room with a sound
that seemed to resonate with
distress. "No," he murmured. "Karen,
pain, bad."

"Plankton," she called softly,
using his name to anchor him.
He stopped his erratic movements,
his body slowly calming. The
humming grew quieter, the fear
in his eye fading slightly. She took
another step closer, her hand outstretched.
"You're ok," she whispered, her voice
as soft as a lullaby. "You're safe."

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Plankton blinked, his breathing shallow.
For a moment, she saw the man she knew.
But it was fleeting. His gaze
shifted again, searching for something
that wasn't there. "Karen?" he asked,
his voice unsure. "Safe? Karen."

Karen felt a spark of hope, but it was
quickly extinguished when he began
to echo her words once more, his speech
still broken and erratic. "Safe," she
whispered, her voice barely above a
whisper. "You're safe, Plankton."

He nodded, his eye still not quite
focused on hers. "Safe," he echoed, his
tone softer now. "Safe, Karen." The
humming in his throat had ceased,
but his hands remained in a constant
flurry of movement, as if searching
for something only he could see.

"Yes, you're safe," she assured him,
her voice steady, trying to hold onto
the fragile thread of sanity that
was weaving through his words.
She took another tentative step closer,
hoping that physical proximity
would help ground him. "I'm here."

Plankton's hand reached out,
his movements less frantic now,
his voice still echoing hers, "Here. 
Karen, here. Say Karen."

Karen nodded, her voice a soft
whisper. "I'm here, Plankton."
The repetition seemed to soothe
his nerves somewhat. His breathing
evened out as he mirrored her words.
"Karen here. Here Karen."

Her hand hovered over his,
their fingers almost touching.
"You're ok," she said, willing both of
them to believe it. "You had a fall, but
you're ok now."

Plankton's hand stopped moving
for a moment, his eye focusing
on hers. "Ok," he murmured.
"Fall." The echo was faint,
but it was a start.

Karen took a deep breath,
her heart pounding in her chest.
"You're ok," she said again,
hoping the repetition would
bring him back to her. "You
fell, but you're ok."

Plankton's hand twitched,
his eye flickering with a spark
of something that resembled
understanding. "Ok," he echoed,
his voice softer. "Fell. Ok." He
started to rock again.

Karen watched him, her mind racing.
What was happening to her husband?
The fall had changed him, his speech
reduced to echoes and fragments.
Was it a concussion? Shock?
Or was it something more serious?

Her eyes searched his, looking for
any sign of the man she knew, but
his gaze remained distant, lost in
his own thoughts. "Plankton," she
said, her voice filled with love
and concern. "Look at me."

He blinked, his eye flicking up
to meet hers barely before he
averted her gaze. "Karen,"
he murmured, the word a question
and a statement, disliking eye
contact.

Karen felt a surge of panic,
but she pushed it down, focusing
on keeping her voice calm.
"Look at me, Plankton," she
coaxed. "It's ok. You're safe."

He took another deep, shuddering
breath, his hand still fluttering.
Slowly, his eye met hers again, but
then he squeezed his eye shut to
avoid it.

Karen felt a tear slip down
her screen. "Look at me," she
whispered, her voice cracking.
"Please, Plankton."

Slowly, his eye opened, meeting
hers for a brief moment before
flitting away again, as if shy.

Karen tried to hold his gaze,
desperation clinging to every
word she spoke. "Plankton, I'm
right here. You're safe with me."
His eye darted away again.

Her mind raced. What could be
causing this? Was it the fall?
The impact? Or something
deeper, something she couldn't
see? The silence in the room
was deafening, filled only with
the echoes of their fragmented
conversation. She took another
deep breath, willing herself to
think clearly.

"Plankton," she said, her voice
soft, "can you tell me your full
name?"

His eye searched her face, his
hands still fluttering. "Plankton,"
he murmured. "Karen said Plankton.
Plankton response, full name. Name,
Sheldon Jay Plankton." It was a small victory,
but it was something. He knew
his full name. Perhaps there was hope
yet. "Good," she said, her voice
soft. "Now, can you tell me what
my birthday is?" Plankton nods.
"31 July 1999."

Karen felt a mix of relief and
disbelief. Despite his condition,
his memory was still intact.
It was his speech, his ability
to form coherent thoughts and
maintain eye contact that was the
problem.

"Plankton," she began, her voice
gentle but firm, "I need you to
stay still for me, ok?" His
body stiffened slightly, his eye
flitting towards her before
quickly darting away. "Look at me,
just for a moment."

Karen watched as Plankton's eye
moved back to hers, the fluttering
of his hands momentarily halting.
"Good," she said, her voice filled
with encouragement. "Now, I
want you to tell me, without
echoing, what your favorite color
is."

Plankton took a deep breath,
his eye locked on hers, the
challenge clear. "Color," he murmured,
his voice a whisper. "Favorite."
He paused, his mind working overtime.
"Red," he finally said, the word
escaping his lips like a
sigh of relief.

Karen's eyes widened with
hope. He'd answered without
echoing. "That's right," she said,
smiling softly. "Your favorite
color is red."

The room felt a fraction less
heavy as Plankton's shoulders
slumped in relief, his stimming
subsiding slightly. "Red," he repeated,
his voice stronger this time,
his eye lingering on hers. "Red."

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, she could
reach him through these
fragments of speech. She had
to try. "What time i---" But then
Plankton interrupts. "Time is 
the continuously indefinite 
progression of existence 
occurring in an apparently 
irreversible succession from 
the past, through the present
and into the future. It is a 
component quantity of various 
measurements used to sequence 
events, to compare the duration of..."

Karen's eyes widen as she tries to 
interrupt his sudden outpouring 
of information.
This isn't just a concussion. 
This is something she's never seen 
before, something that scared her 
to her core. She gently squeezes
his hand. "Plankton," she says, 
trying to get him to focus. "What
I meant was, do you know what 
tim-"

But he cuts her off again, his 
voice a recitation. "Time is 
a dimension in which events can 
be ordered from the past through 
the present into the future, and also 
the measure of duration of events
and the intervals between them."
Karen's eyes fill with tears.
Her simple question had triggered
a deluge of encyclopedic facts.

"Plankton," she whispers, her voice
shaking. "I just need to know if you
know what time i---"

He starts again, his words rapid
fire, each syllable a bullet. "Time,
a nonspatial continuum that allows
for the existence of events in sequence."

Karen's mind spun. This wasn't
the Plankton she knew, the man who'd
always had a way with words but
now they were cold, clinical, not
his own. "Plankton," she interrupted,
firm but gentle. "Please, just tell me
what time you think it is now."

He stared at her for a second, his
eye unblinking. Then, as if a switch
flipped, he said, "Time is the
measurement of moments and
temporal intervals." His voice had
shifted, no longer robotic but
still not quite right.

Karen knew she had to keep trying.
"Plankton," she said, her voice steady,
"what time do you think it is right now?"

His eye darted around the room,
his mind racing. "Time," he murmured,
his voice a mere echo of his former self.
"Now." It was a simple answer, but
the way he spoke it made Karen
churn. There was a detachment
to his tone, as if he was reciting
a line from a play he hadn't quite
memorized.

Karen took a deep breath,
fighting the panic that threatened
to consume her. "Plankton," she said,
enunciating each word carefully, "do
you know what time it is?"

He looked at her, his eye
flicking to the clock on the
mantle. "Time," he murmured. "Clock.
Tick-tock." He wasn't
telling the time; he was just
describing the clock. She tried
again, her voice strained. "Plankton,
please, tell me what the clock
says."

He looked at her, his eye unfocused.
"Clock," he murmured. Then, with
a jerk, he turned his head to look
at the clock. His hand moved to
his forehead as if to ease the
pain of processing the information.
"Five," he finally said, his voice
still flat. "Five o'clock pm, pacific time."

Karen felt a glimmer of hope.
At least he could still read the clock.
But his inability to answer a simple
question without breaking into
a disjointed monologue was odd.

"Plankton," she began again,
choosing her words with care.
"I need you to tell me what you had
for lunch to..." "Chumbalaya!" He
exclaims. "10:43.51 am pacific time."

Karen's eyes widened. His response was
unexpected, jolting her with fear.
This wasn't just a slip in
conversation; it was as if his
brain was rewiring itself in real-time.
"Love," she said, her voice shaking,
"Just tell me what you had for lunch."
"Chumbalaya had for lunch, at 10:43:51
am pacific time."

Karen's mind raced as she
tried to decode his words.
He'd mentioned a time, but
it didn't make sense in the
context of her question. Was
it a memory, a random fact?
Or a clue to what was happening
to him? "Plankton," she said,
forcing calm into her voice, "can
you tell me what you ate?" "Ate
Chumbalaya!" He says.

The sudden clarity of his answer
was a relief, but it didn't
explain his strange behavior.
Karen took another deep breath,
trying to stay composed.

"Okay," she said, her voice
shaking slightly. "But what
was the actual meal?" Plankton
looked confused, his hand
flapping again. "Meal, meal,"
he murmured, his eye searching
the room. "Food. Chumbalaya was
Plankton's consumption for lunch."

Karen's brow furrowed as she
tried to parse his words.
"Food," she echoed. "What else
did you have with your Chumbalaya?"
He paused, his hand stilled for
a moment as he searched his
memories. "Breadsticks," he said,
his voice a little clearer now.
"And soda. Diet soda. Consumed.."

The sudden clarity in his
speech was jarring, but it
gave her a glimmer of hope.

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𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓅𝒶𝓃𝒾𝒸 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓈

ｆａｃｔｏｒｓ：　胃イ艶

if you have sensory issues, the lighting and the way the store is built can actually trigger panic attacks and sympt0ms.

agoraphobia is a huge factor as well. basically, you don’t want to go to places where you’ve had panic attacks and obviously get prettɥ terrıfıed. 

ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ　ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ　ｉｔ：　佳なヺ

it’s not particularly easy to get through these situations. it’s hãrd to go through situations that make you uncomfortable.

【﻿ｔｉｐｓ】

try to bring a fidget spinner, fidget cube, or something of sort. it will help distract you a bit. it may not work a lot, but i find it helpful.

have water with you, where ever you go. .

chew some peppermint gum or suck on some peppermint candies. it may not help a lot, but if you have a dry møuth from your panic attacks, it’ll help that symptom out.

pretend you’re excited. i know, it won’t be that easy, but sometimes faking one emotion, can actually make that emotion happen. try convincing yourself, “i’m fine, i’m excited! it’s okay!” (source: DARE - THE NEW WAY TO END ANXIETY AND STOP PANIC ATTACKS by Barry McDonagh) 

accept your panic attacks and anxıety. don’t say no to anxıety because then you’re pushing it a̛way and gıvıng it more pøwer. accept that you do have this going on, but you’re NOT your anxıety. 

taking deep breaths in and out. try different patterns, it may be hãrd to breathe, but you have to t̢ry. don’t gıve up! 

finally, try EFT. emotiona1 freedom tapping is known to help relax you.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ what you can bring into your regular life ♥

there are so many things you can bring in your life and routines. get ready because i’m gonna list a lot!:

meditation

eft 

michael sealey hypnosis

yoga

exercise

journaling 

bullet journaling 

reading

drinking water

drinking herbal teas such as - chamomile, lemongrass, lavender, and etc..

dancing

drawing and doodling 

singing 

playing some videogames

stretches

melatonin

magnesium 

listening to motivating podcasts, videos, or songs

washing your fash and smiling in the mirror

talking positive to yourself

writing stories

doing thinking exercises in the morning to shift your negative thinking

watch one of your favourite shows on youtube, netflix, hulu, or whatever

write down on paper, something you want to do. don’t mention your fears or think about it. do something you WANT. don’t let the fear get in the way.

practicing some self-care

go outside

eat some delicious food

open your windows and let the sunlight come in

take vitamin d and b12!

smile and don’t let your panic attacks consume you. you’re a beautiful human being.

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＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 4


After a while, Plankton's snores 
begin to quiet, and he stirs.
Karen is by his side, her hand 
on his shoulder as his eye opens.
"Hey," she whispers. He groans
in his wheelchair.

"How are you feeling?" she asks,
her voice filled with concern.
"Tired," he admits, his 
eye still half-closed. "But I'm okay."
Sandy comes back into the 
living room, drying her hands.
"You know, Karen," she says, 
"I can take the first shift. 
Why don't you get some 
sleep too?"

Karen nods gratefully, 
exhaustion etched into 
every line of her face. 
"Thank you, Sandy. I really 
could use some rest."
Sandy takes her place 
by Plankton's side. "I've got it 
from here. Call if you 
need anything." Karen 
smiles and heads to the 
guest room, her footsteps 
heavy with fatigue. Plankton 
shifts in his wheelchair, his
cast cumbersome. The pain 
has receded into a dull 
throb, the medication 
doing its job.

"How long have I been 
out?" he asks, his voice 
slurred with sleep.
"A few," Sandy 
replies, her voice gentle. 
"You needed it."

He nods slowly, his antennae 
drooping. "What time is it?"
Sandy glances at the clock 
on the wall. "Almost 
noon," she says.
"The doctor said you'd be 
sleepy for a day or two,
so we figured we'd let you 
rest." Plankton's eye opens 
wider at that, his usual
determination flaring. 
"Noon?"

Sandy nods. "You've had 
a long night. And we've got
lots of movies to watch, and
books, if you're up for it."
Plankton manages a nod.

"So, tell me about this...this 
tibiofibular thing," Sandy asks, 
curiosity piqued. "What did they do?"
He shrugs, his eye
half-closed. "I don't know, 
exactly. Something with a special 
ossifying glue, I think." Sandy leans 
forward, her eyes wide. "Ossifying 
glue? That sounds intense."
Plankton nods. "They had to 
repair the break. So, it's like...
a super glue for bones." His 
hand hovers over the cast, 
feeling awkward. "It's 
supposed to hold it all together 
until it heals. It's naturally osteogenic
and dissolves with time and healing
on it's own. Six weeks in the cast,
minimum." Sandy's face scrunches up 
in sympathy. "Six weeks? That's 
a long time." Plankton nods again,
his head lolling slightly. Sandy can see 
the exhaustion settling 
back in. "I'll be back to normal eventually.."

"Do you remember 
anything from the surgery?"
she asks, hoping to keep
his mind engaged. Plankton 
shakes his head, his antennae
flopping. "Nope. Just woke up 
with this thing on," he says quickly,
gesturing to the cast.
Sandy nods, trying to 
think of something to say.

"They have to put a rod in, 
right?" she asks. "No, no rod,"
he says, his voice thick with 
frustration. He feels
a bit embarrassed with the
conversation. "They used
the fancy glue to hold
everything together. No pins.."

Sandy nods, her eyes wide 
with interest. "That's so cool.
What's it like? Surgery, I mean.
Like, did you see anything?"
Plankton's antennae twitch.
"Not really. It's all a blur. Just
remember waking up with this,"
he says, gesturing to the cast 
encasing his leg.

"Wait," Sandy asks. "You mean
you weren't awake for any of it?"
Plankton shrugs, but Sandy's not
quite finished, ignoring his clear
desire to move on from the
topic. Her eyes are wide with wonder.

"But what about 
dreams?" Sandy 
asks. "Did you 
have any drea------"
He cuts her off 
sharply, his antennae 
twitching. "No, I didn't.
I don't remember a thing."
But Sandy's curiosity isn't 
deterred. "What was it like
when you wo-"

Plankton's eye opens, 
his gaze intense. "Look, 
I don't know what you 
want me to say." His voice
has an edge of irritation. "And
so I don't have to explain 
it again, it's a serious surgery.
They had to repair the break
in my leg with a special 
glue that makes the bones stick
together, Sandy. So JUST.
LET. IT. GO."

Sandy's cheeks flush 
slightly at his tone. "I'm 
just trying to understand, 
Plankton. I didn't mean t---"
But he waves her off, his
frustration clear. "I know. But I 
don't want to talk about it. 
Okay?" Plankton's voice 
is tight.
Sandy nods quickly, 
apologizing. "Of course. 
I'll...I'll just get you some 
water." She stands up, 
leaving Plankton to his 
thoughts, as Karen comes back.

Karen watches her friend 
disappear into the kitchen, 
a worried look crossing 
her face. "Everything okay?"
she asks, her voice low.
"I think I might have pushed 
a bit too hard," Sandy 
admits, setting the water
down within reach. "I didn't mean
to, I just wanna underst--"

Plankton cuts her off, his 
frustration growing. "I SAID, I don't 
remember," he snaps. Karen's eyes
widen at his harsh tone. Sandy nods. "I'm 
sor-" But Plankton isn't ready 
to let it go. "That's IT." His voice is tight, 
his antennae quivering with annoyance.
"It's not your business SANDY!"

Karen steps in quickly, her 
voice calm. "It's okay, Plankton.
Sandy didn't mean to upset you."
Sandy's eyes are filled with
remorse. "I'm really sorry.
I didn't kno—"

But Plankton's not having it.
"I don't care," he snaps. "Just...
just STOP, and leave me alone!"
His antennae quiver with agitation,
his eye flashing with irritation.
Karen's heart squeezes at the
pain she sees in his gaze.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears
at his harshness, her cheeks
flushing with embarrassment.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs, turning
to leave the room. Karen 
quickly moves to block her.
"No, no," Karen says firmly.
"You didn't do anything wrong.
Plankton, hon, we're just trying 
to be here for you."

But Plankton's mood 
has shifted in agitation
aimed at Sandy's curiosity.

"Why do you keep asking?"
he says, his voice tight. "I 
don't know what you expect 
me to say!" His antennae 
twitch with annoyance.

Sandy's cheeks flush. "I just...
I'm sorry," she stammers, 
backpedaling. "I'm just 
curious, I didn't mean to 
make you uncomf-"

"Well, it's none of your business!"
Plankton's voice is sharp, 
his antennae standing on 
end. Karen sighs, feeling 
the tension in the room.
She knows Plankton's mood
can swing with his pain 
levels, yet she doesn't want
Sandy to feel unwelcome.

Sandy's eyes water, 
hurt by his words. "I'm sorry, 
I just wanted to help," she 
whispers, her voice 
trembling slightly. Karen
steps closer to her, 
placing a hand on her 
shoulder.

"Why do you keep asking!"
Plankton's question lingers
in the air, his antennae 
still quivering. Sandy 
swallows hard. "It's just..."
Karen steps in, her voice 
soft. "It's okay, Sandy. Let's just 
give him some space." She nods 
towards the kitchen, and Sandy
follows her.

Once out of earshot, Sandy's
eyes fill with tears. "I didn't mean 
to upset him," she says, her 
voice barely above a whisper.
Karen squeezes her hand. "It's 
not you. He's just in a lot of 
pain." She sighs. "And he's 
always been a bit...private 
about things. He's just not used
to being vulnerable."

Sandy nods, her gaze 
falling to the floor. "I know,
but I just wanted to understand."
Karen gives her a comforting
smile. "We all do. But he's
got to deal with this in his own 
way."

new kneesurgery karendy 4

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 4
(𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌)
𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ 
ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ
ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ 
ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ 
ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. 
ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ 
ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ 
ᴍᴇᴅɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ 
ᴀ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴀʀɪᴏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ 
ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ.
sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd
ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 
ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ

Karen, ever the calming
presence, moves closer to
Plankton, her movements slow
and deliberate. She knows
his triggers, his signs of
distress. She whispers,
"It's okay, Plankto-"

But Plankton's body
doesn't seem to hear. Only
his arm shoots out, his
hand slapping as he tries
to grasp something,
anything, from the bedside
table. Karen's eyes dart to
his hand, and she knows
exactly what he wants.
She reaches over in
to the bedside drawer and
pulls out a box of sensory
needs. She gently hands him
a fidget squishy before putting
the sensory box back into the
bedside drawer.
Plankton's movements
slow slightly as he
compresses it in his grip.

Karen knows Plankton's
autism like the back of
her hand. She's studied
his tics, his stims, the way
his body reacts to stress.
It's been a silent dance
between them for years,
his unspoken needs met
with her quiet understanding.
But now, Chip's in the
picture, and he's curious.

Plankton squeezes the
fidget squishy in his hand,
his breaths coming in
short gasps. Karen watches
his antennae, the way they
twitch with each inhale,
slower with each exhale. It's
a pattern she's come to
recognize, a sign he's
coming back to them.
"It's okay," she whispers.
She knows his limits.

Chip watches,
his eyes wide with
wonder. He's never seen
his dad this way before.
Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's. She can read
his every move, his every
tic. She's his anchor.

Plankton's antennae start to
quiver, his voice murmurs.
"Must... the... yes... it...
it's all..." Chip doesn't
understand what's happening,
but he knows his dad's in
distress. Karen's voice is a
soothing balm. "Just let
it pass, Plankton," she
whispers, her hand
steady. She's seen this
before; she knows.

The words continue to
tumble from Plankton's mouth,
disjointed and disconnected.
"The... the... it... has to
be... must... yes..."

Karen watches with a
mixture of sadness and
determined calm. She's been
his rock through these
episodes countless times,
his safe place when the
world gets too loud. But now,
screen sees the fear in her son's
eyes, the questions he's
too afraid to ask. She knows
it's time to explain.

Plankton's antennae stop twitching
as he squeezes the fidget squishy
tightly. The words come out in
spurts, a jumbled mess.
"The... the... it's okay," he says,
his voice barely above a murmur.
"Just... it's okay." Chip watches
his father, his mind racing.
What's happening? Why is he saying
these random words?

Karen's eyes never leave
Plankton's, her screen filled with
understanding. "It's part
of his autism," she whispers
to Chip. "Sometimes when
he's overwhelmed, words just
tumble out." Chip stares at his 
dad. "But what does
he mean, 'the it'?" Chip asks,
his voice barely above a
whisper.

"It's not about us, Chip,"
Karen says, as more
nonsensical words spill out.
"The... it... no... must... yes..."
Karen sighs. "It doesn't always
make sense," she admits.
"It's just his brain trying to
process everything." Chip
swallows, watching his
dad with a mix of curiosity
and concern of
his neurodivergence.

Plankton's eye is glazed
over. "The... it... not... can't,"
he whispers to himself.
Karen's hand is warm
against his. Chip is watching,
his curiosity piqued.

He's never heard his
dad's voice like this, so
soft, so... lost. Plankton's
tongue flaps in his mouth,
his brain trying to form
coherent thoughts, but all that
comes out are jumbled syllables.
"It's okay, Plankton," Karen
soothes. "You're okay."

The room feels like it's
spinning around him, a whirlwind
of sounds and colors. Plankton's
eye is unfocused, but he feels
their presence. "Tck tck," he says
quietly, his head bobbing slightly.
Karen's hand tightens around
his. "Just let it come," she whispers.

"D-Dad?" Chip stammers.
Plankton doesn't respond. 
"It's okay," Karen assures 
Chip. "He's just... dealing. It's 
like he's stuck in a loop, trying
to make sense of things. And 
he does that with sounds,
sometimes. But he'll come back
to us." Karen's seen this before, the
way his mouth moves, forming
sounds of wording that don't quite 
match up.

The room is a symphony of
Plankton's tics, the tapestry
of his neurodivergence.
"Tck tck," he murmurs, his
eye flickering. Chip watches.
He's never seen his dad so
vulnerable.

"Why does he do that?"
Chip whispers, his voice
shaking. Karen takes a deep
breath, ready to explain.
"Because it helps his brain cope
with the world, Chip," Karen
says. "Sometimes, his brain
can get overwhelmed. And
these little movements, these
sounds, they help him find
his calm." Chip's gaze
remains on his father, who's
still lost in his own
thoughts, oblivious to the
conversation happening
around him.

"But why can't he just...
stop?" Chip's question is
innocent, but it cuts deep.
Karen looks at him with
patience. "It's not something
he can control," she explains.
"It's like his brain's
way of expressing itself."

Chip nods, but the
questions keep coming.
"Does he even know he's doing
it?" he asks, his voice low.
Karen shrugs. "He's aware of
his tics, but sometimes they just
take over." She pauses, her gaze
on Plankton, who's still lost in
his own world. "It's like when
you get really focused on
a video game, and you don't
notice anything else around
you."

Chip thinks about it, his
mind racing with questions.
"But what's the point of the sounds?"
he asks. "Is he... will he
even know we're here?"
"Sometimes he does, sweetie.
Sometimes he doesn't. But it's
good to be here for him."

Plankton's tics subside
slightly. He's coming back.
"It's like a... a pressure
valve," Karen tries to explain.
"When his brain feels too
full, the tics and sounds help
to release some of that...
pressure." Plankton's antennae
twitch again. He's aware of
them now, watching him.
Karen's gaze is soft. "It's just
a sound he makes, Chip. It's
not for us, it's for him to
release tension. He may not
even know he's doing it right
now, nor may he later recall
what's been said or happened."

Chip nods, trying to
understand. Plankton's eye
finally focuses on them.
"What's... what's going on?"
Plankton's voice is groggy.
Karen smiles gently. "You had
an episode," she says. "Do you
remember?"

Plankton's antennae droop.
"I don't know," he says. Karen nods.
It's not unusual for him to
forget. "Chip was worried
about you," she adds. Plankton
looks at his son, his heart
heavy. "Chip grabbed my hand,
and it was too much. I'm sorry,"
he says, his voice barely above
a whisper as he puts the fidget
squishy back. "It's okay," Chip
says, his voice small. "I just..."
But Plankton cuts him off. "Just
leave me alone!" Karen sighs.
This is the part she's always feared.
The moment when Chip
would find out, and Plankton's
fear of losing him would spike.
He's always been so good
at hiding his autism, but now
his son has seen it in full force.

Chip takes a step back,
his eyes wide. "Dad?" Plankton
doesn't look at him. "Please,
Chip," Plankton says, his voice
sharp. "Just... just go." The
sting of his words is like a
slap in the face. Karen sees
the hurt in Chip's screen, but
she knows Plankton's just
trying to regain control.

Karen puts a hand on
Chip's shoulder. "Let's give
Dad some space," she whispers.
But Chip's eyes are still
glued to Plankton. "But I..."
he starts.

"Chip," she says firmly, "now's
not the time." Plankton's
body is still, his antennae
drooping. He looks... broken.
It's a sight that makes Karen's
ache, but it's one she's
seen before. Chip nods
reluctantly, his gaze never
leaving his father's. He takes
a step back, his eyes still
full of questions. Karen
sits beside him. She knows he
doesn't mean to push Chip
away, that his fear of being
seen as less than has always
been his greatest burden.

Plankton's tic starts again,
his head nodding. "Tck tck," 
he says. Karen knows that
for Plankton, it's completely
normal for him to tic like this
after such seizures.

Chip watches, his curiosity
melding with fear. Karen
sighs. "It's just his brain, Chip,"
she says, her voice steady. "It's
his way of coping. The tics are
okay, and he might continue to
tic for the rest of today."

Plankton sighs. "Chip, you better
not blabber about this to anyone,"
his voice is low and gruff. Karen nods
understandingly. "He won't," she says,
turning to Chip. "It's our little
secret." "I won't," Chip whispers, watching
Plankton's bobbing head.

"It's a tic, Chip," Karen explains, her voice
soft. "It's like when you have to
scratch an itch that just won't go
away." Plankton nods, his eye
still unfocused. "It's something
his body does when he's trying
to calm down," she adds. "There's
nothing wrong with it. The tics are
with his head movements and his
tongue clicking, which is how he tics."

Chip stares at his dad. "Why does it...
why does it happen?" he asks,
his voice barely a whisper.

Karen's eyes are filled with
sorrow. "It's part of his
autism," she says, her voice
gentle. "When he's stressed or
anxious, his brain sends
mixed signals. And his body
has these... involuntary
responses." She takes a deep
breath. "It's like... it's like
his brain's doing a little
dance to keep up. It's not in
his antennae, nor his limbs. Only
his head and sometimes mouth
tics, being the jerks and sounds. It's
something involuntary."

"But why can't he just...
not do it?" Chip asks, as
Plankton's head continues
to nod, his tongue clicking
against the roof of his mouth.

Karen's eyes are filled with
patience. "It's not that
simple, Chip," she says. "These
tics are like... reflexes.
You can't just turn them
off. It's part of it."

new autism and all Plankton & Chip Plankton II 4

name <3
ILY (fav singer)
#1 (song/album/thing) stan
(initials)>>>>>
Proud (sexuality) :))
I love (ur fav vegetable)
"(song lyric)"
(your gf/bfs name/if single write single) <3
(date) - (what it is) <3
(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

new four 2 4 terzetto build 25 third discord

100%<𝟑3️

new 1 000 i love you 200% phoenician alphabet 10 i fifth december june april 4

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 4


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

In the hallway, Chip's
sobs grow quieter as he
slumps against the wall,
his heart feeling heavy.
He didn't mean to hurt
his dad; he just wanted to
know what was wrong.

Karen sits beside
Plankton, her heart torn
between her son's innocence
and her husband's pain.
"We need to talk to him,"
she says gently, stroking
his antennae. "We can't let
this go unaddressed. But we
can do it when you're ready."

Plankton nods, his body
still tense. "I know," he says,
his voice small. "But I just
can't... I can't face him right
now."

Karen nods, giving his
hand a comforting squeeze.
"Okay, honey. Take your time.
But we can't let him think
that he's not loved or that
his questions are wrong.
We need to explain it to him
properly."

Plankton sighs heavily,
his antennae drooping. "I
know," he murmurs. "Just talk
to him when I'm... ready."

Karen nods, her screen
shimmering with unshed
tears. "Okay," she says, her
voice gentle. She gives him
a kiss on the forehead and
leaves the room to find Chip
in his own bedroom.

Chip's door is ajar,
and she can hear his muffled
sobs. She opens it slowly,
finding him curled up
on his bed, his screen buried
in his pillow. She approaches
his side, sitting down
carefully. "Chip," she says,
her voice soothing. "It's okay.
You can come out now."

He pulls away the
pillow, revealing a tear-stained
screen. "But Dad..." he sniffles.

Karen's eyes fill with
sympathy. "I know you didn't mean
it, Chip. But you hurt
your dad. We need to talk
about what happened. And I
know you've questions about
his autistic disability.."

Chip sits up, his eyes
red and puffy. "But Mom,
why is he so mad at me?
I just wanted to know
what's going on."

Karen sighs, her heart
aching for her son. "Chip,
sometimes when people are
upset or scared, they say
things they don't mean. Your
dad's not mad at you for
asking questions; he's mad
at himself for not being able
to explain it better. But the
words you said hurt him. They
hurt him because people
have used them before to
make him feel less than."

Chip looks at her, his eyes
still wet with tears. "But I
don't want him to feel bad,"
he murmurs. "I didn't kn-"

Karen cuts him off gently.
"I know you didn't, Chip. But
it's important for us to
learn and understand. Your
dad's condition isn't a
weakness; it's just part of
how he is. And sometimes,
it can be scary for him
too."

Chip nods slowly, trying to
comprehend the complexity
of his dad's condition. "But
why can't he just tell me?"
he asks, his voice thick with
emotion. "Why does it have
to be a secret?"

Karen takes a deep breath.
"It's not a secret, Chip,"
she says gently. "It's just
something private, something
he's not wanting to share
with everyone. But now that
you know, we can help him."

Chip sniffs and nods. "How?"
he asks, his voice hopeful.

"Well," Karen starts, "you can
learn more about autism.
You can ask us questions, and
we'll answer them the best we
can. And when you see Dad
having a hard time, you can
give him space, or maybe find
a quiet spot for him to sit."

Chip wipes his screen with the
back of his hand. "Okay, Mom.
But what if I want to hug
him?"

Karen sighs. "Honey, your
dad's condition makes certain
kinds of touch hard for
him to handle. It's not that
he doesn't want your love;
he just needs it in a different
way."

Chip looks at her, his
eyes still filled with confusion.
"But I don't understand,"
he says, his voice shaking. "How
do I know when to hug him?"

Karen's smile is sad, but
determined. "You'll learn,
sweetie. We'll all learn
together. Just remember,
it's not about fixing him;
it's about supporting him."

Chip nods, his eyes still
filled with unshed tears. "Okay,"
he says, his voice small. "But
I don't want to make him sad."

Karen squeezes his hand.
"You won't, Chip. We'll get
through this together."

Chip looks up at her with
questioning eyes. "But why
does he get those... those
seizures?" he asks, still
trying to grasp the concept.

"They're not exactly
seizures, Chip," Karen says, her
voice gentle. "It's part of his
condition. Sometimes, his
brain just needs a break from
all the sensory information. It's
not something you can see or
feel, but it's real for him."

Chip nods, his eyes
still puffy from crying. "But
why doesn't he just tell me
when he needs a break?" he asks.
"Why does he have to get so
angry?"

Karen sighs, trying to
find the right words to explain.
"Chip, your dad's feelings are
sometimes like a volcano. They
build up and up until they
explode. It's not anger at you;
it's his way of dealing with
the overwhelm. And sometimes,
his brain gets too much stimulation
without him knowing it.
It's like he's trying to read a book
while everyone around him is
yelling at once. It's just too much."

Chip nods slowly, his eyes
fixed on his mom. "But why can't
he just tell me?" he asks again,
his voice still shaky.

Karen hugs him. "Because, honey,
your dad's had to deal with this
his whole life, and sometimes
it's hard for him to talk about."

Chip nods, trying to
understand. "But what if he needs
help?" he asks, his voice
small. "How will I know?" "You'll
learn his cues, Chip. Sometimes
he'll get quiet, or his antennae
will twitch more than usual. That's
when you can check on him,
ask if he's okay, but don't push."

Chip nods, his curiosity piqued.
"What if he doesn't say anything?"
he asks, his screen searching hers.

Karen takes a deep breath.
"Then, you'll have to watch for
his cues," she says, her voice
calm. "If he seems overwhelmed
or his antennae are moving a
lot, it might be a sign."

Chip's eyes light up with
curiosity. "What cues, Mom?"
he asks eagerly. "How do I
know?"

Karen smiles softly. "Well,
you'll learn, Chip. Like when
his antennae get really twitchy,
or his eye glazes over. That's when
his brain might need a break.
And if he starts repeating
things, or gets really still,
that's another sign."

Chip's eyes widen with
interest. "So, how do
you know, Mom?" he asks, his
voice tentative. "How can I
see when he's overwhelmed?"

"You'll get better at it,"
Karen assures him. "But for
now, just watch and listen.
If he starts flapping his
arms or repeating words, that's a
sign that he might need some
space. And if he turns away or
covers his eye, it means he's
getting too much sensory input."

Chip nods, his mind racing
with questions. "But you 
seem to know how to
touch him and when to
hug him. How'd yo--"

Karen smiles sadly. "It's
been years of practice, Chip.
And I've made my share of
mistakes too." She pauses,
thinking. "You'll learn
his cues, like when his
body tenses up, or when
his antennae start to quiver
quickly. Those are signs
he's feeling overwhelmed."

Chip nods, his eyes
focused on her. "But what
about him getting upset?"
he asks, his voice filled with
concern. "How do I know
when he's about t---"

"Chip," Karen says, cutting
him off gently. "When he gets
upset, his antennae might flare
out, or he might rock back
and forth. It's his way of
self-soothing."

Chip's eyes are wide with
realization. "So, when he
does that, I should...?"

"Give him space," Karen
interrupts. "Just let him know
you're there without overwhelming
his senses."

Chip nods, trying to
memorize every detail. 

new do you trust me chip plankton 4

whoever said "guy stop f-ing saying this web needs to be a f-ing app like what the f-k there lots of f-ing beef like do you guys have brain cells of a d-k sh-t like get a life if you care about f-ing 8 year olds then dont make this a f-ing app if you f-ing do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a f-ing bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･" please chill out like multiple people have said this is a website where little kids come on here to find cute combos so please be respectful ౨ৎ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

new beef drama cat 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 pig cow dog drame drake

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new 2 slaremun namor 1 tra tod tra txet tra iicsa

Warning: This item may contain sensitive themes such as nudity.

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 2


(Neurodivergent author)



By evening, Karen has set
up a makeshift kitchen area
in the living room, with all
the ingredients for spaghetti
arranged neatly on the coffee
table. Plankton sits cross-legged
on the floor, his eye never
leaving the recipe book.

He reads each step aloud, his voice
growing stronger with
confidence. Karen chops
vegetables nearby, noticing
the subtle changes in his
movements, the way he tilts
his head when he's concentrating.

The smell of garlic and onions
sizzling in olive oil fills the
room. Plankton stirs the
pot, his face scrunching up
slightly at the aroma, a sign
his sensory sensitivity has
heightened. She sees him rub
his hands together, a self-stimulatory
behavior, but she knows
it's his way of grounding
himself amidst the chaos.

They move around the makeshift
kitchen, a silent dance of
understanding and support.
Karen boils the water for the
spaghetti while Plankton
continues to sauté the veggies.
Each action is deliberate,
each step measured as they
navigate their new reality.

The water reaches a rolling
boil, and Plankton carefully
drops in the spaghetti strands,
his gaze transfixed by the
swirling water. Karen watches
his concentration and sees
the childlike wonder in his eye.

"How long?" he asks.
"Five minutes," Karen says, her
voice calm. She's read that clear
and concise instructions
can be helpful.

After five minutes, Plankton
quickly drains the spaghetti, his
movements precise and methodical.
He pours the sauce over the noodles
and mixes them gently, his focus
intense. Karen watches him,
a mix of admiration and concern.

"It's done," he announces, his
voice a mix of excitement and
apprehension. She brings over
two plates, setting them on the
coffee table. They sit across
from each other, the steaming
spaghetti a bridge between
them. Plankton's hand hovers
over his plate, unsure of how to
proceed with the new sensory
experience.

"Let's eat," Karen says with a
smile, picking up her fork and
twirling the noodles expertly.
The sound of her silverware
against the plate makes him flinch,
but he mimics her movements.

They eat in silence, the clinking
of forks and spoons the only
sounds in the room. Plankton
chews slowly, savoring each bite,
his face a canvas of emotions.
Karen watches him, her own
fork poised in midair.

As they finish dinner, Plankton
sets his plate aside and looks
at her, his expression earnest.
"Thank you, Karen," he says, his
voice clear. "For being here Karen."

Her eyes brim with tears,
but she blinks them back. "Always,
Plankton. I'll always be here. Now
it's getting late; let's go to bed.."

In bed, she reads to him,
his favorite childhood story,
the words acting as a lullaby.
Plankton's hand rests on her arm,
his thumb rubbing circles in a
self-soothing gesture. His breathing
steadies, matching the rhythm
of her voice.

The book's final page is turned,
and she switches off the lamp,
plunging the room into darkness.
The silence is filled with the
comforting hum of the fan above.

Karen lies beside Plankton,
his body rigid with tension.
Her arm wraps around him,
pulling him closer, and she feels
his muscles slowly relax.

"Goodnight, Plankton," she whispers,
kissing his forehead. He doesn't
respond, lost in his thoughts.
But she knows he heard her.
Karen notices the tension in his body 
and gently runs her fingers through 
his antennae, a silent offer of comfort. 
Eventually, his breathing evens out, 
and he falls asleep, his body curled 
into hers like a child seeking shelter.

The next morning, the sun streams 
through the blinds, casting stripes
across the bed. Karen, already awake, 
watches him, her hand still entwined with his.
He's still asleep, his body relaxed, the 
lines of worry from the day before 
smoothed out by the embrace of slumber.

Carefully, she slides out of bed,
not wanting to disturb him. She sees
him stir in his sleep, his antennae
twitching slightly, but he remains
unaware of her departure.

In the kitchen, Karen starts
the coffee, the scent filling
the room with a comforting
aroma. She opens the fridge,
finding the ingredients for
the morning routine. Plankton's
usual breakfast is a simple one:
toast with jam and a banana.

The toaster pops, and she
spreads the jam with a gentle
smoothness that Plankton likes.
The banana peels easily, revealing
the perfect yellow fruit inside.
Her mind races with thoughts
of how she'll need to learn
his new sensitivities, his likes
and dislikes, his triggers. But for
now, she focuses on the task
at hand, placing the slices
of bread in the toaster. 

When the toast is just right,
she carries the breakfast tray
to the bedroom, her steps
soft against the cold floor.
Plankton's still asleep, his
snores punctuating the quiet
morning. Karen sets the tray
on the bedside table.

She watches him, unsure
how to wake him without
causing distress. She's read
about sensory sensitivity
and knows that sudden noise
can be jarring for someone
with Autism. She gently strokes
his antennae, her touch
featherlight, and whispers his
name, "Plankton, wake up."

He stirs, his antennae twitching,
but his eye remains closed.
Karen tries again, a little
louder this time, "Wake up,
sweetie. Breakfast is ready."

Plankton's hand shoots up
to cover his eye, a reflexive
reaction to the light. His
body tenses, then relaxes as
his mind adjusts to the new
day. He sits up slowly.

"Thank you, Karen," he mumbles,
his voice still thick with sleep.
He takes in the breakfast
spread before him, his antennae
twitching with anticipation. He picks
up the toast, feeling the warmth 
in his hands, the stickiness
of the jam a familiar comfort.

Karen watches him closely, noticing
the way his eye widens slightly
at the first bite, the way his tongue
flicks out to taste the banana.
It's as if every sensation is
amplified, a symphony of flavors
and textures that she can't begin
to understand. She sips her coffee,
silent, giving him space.

As he eats, Plankton starts to hum again,
his body rocking slightly. It's a low,
comforting sound that fills the room.
Karen feels the tension in her
shoulders ease. This is their new
normal, a dance of care and
understanding. 

new copepod autism plaren neurodivergentcore neurodisability 2

OH NOT THE WISDOM TEETH pt. 2

Karen sits by the bed,
her gaze fixed on Plankton’s
face as drool pools at
the corner of his mouth.

The nurse comes in,
checks the machines, and
leaves with a nod. Plankton
stirs slightly, but the
snores continue. Karen's
thoughts drift to their
life together, the
adventures they’ve shared.
The quiet moments of
laughter, the fiery fights
over the Krabby Patty
formula, the tender kisses
exchanged at nightfall.
Her heart swells with love
and concern. She brushes
his antennae with
a gentle touch.

The drool on Plankton’s
mouth forms a tiny river,
wetting the pillow. Karen
fights the urge to laugh,
knowing he’d be
embarrassed if he were
awake. She reaches over
to his gauze and
dabs it away, careful not
to disturb.

A nurse, a motherly
looking octopus named
Octavia, enters the
room with a kind smile.
“You know, Mrs.
Plankton, sometimes
patients can get a bit
loopy when they first
wake up from anesthesia.
It’s perfectly normal.
You might want to be
prepared for some funny
things he might say or
do.” She chuckles to
herself, remembering
past incidents with other
patients.

Karen looks up.
“Like what?” she 
asks.

Octavia smiles,
her tentacles curling
around the clipboard
she holds. “Well, they
might say something
that doesn’t quite make
sense, or think they’re
somewhere else entirely.
Some get a bit feisty, too.
It’s all just the anesthesia
wearing off. Nothing to
worry about, really.” She
winks one of her large
eyes, her expression
comforting. “His mouth
will be numb, so he might
talk a bit funny. And
sometimes, they think they’re
still dreaming, so they do
or say the darndest things.
Just try to keep him calm,
and it’ll all be over
soon enough. Remember,
it’s temporary, and he’ll be
back to his usual self
before you know it!”

Karen nods, trying
to absorb the information
while keeping her eyes
on Plankton. His snores
have changed pitch, and she
can't help but wonder if
he's about to wake up. The
minutes drag on, feeling
like hours, as she waits
for any sign of him
stirring.

Finally, with a soft
moan, Plankton's eye
begins to flutter open,
unfocused, glazed
over, and it's clear
he's still not fully
awake, and Karen
smiles, ready for the
loopy phase the nurse
warned her about.

"Karen," he slurs, his
voice muffled by the
cotton gauze stuffed
in his mouth. "Wheh...
wheh a?"

Karen's smile broadens.
"You're ok, Plankton. It's
over. You're in the
recovery room," she
whispers.

He tries to sit up,
but the nurse gently
pushes him back down.
"Easy, easy. Take it
slow, Mr. Plankton. You're
still..."

Her voice trails off as
Plankton's eye focus on
the ceiling, and his
mouth moves as if he's
trying to speak. Karen
leans closer, her heart
racing. "What is it, sweetie?"

His words come out
slurred, the anesthesia
still thick in his voice.
"Whe... whe... whewe...
my... my mouf?"

Karen chuckles softly,
relief bubbling up. "Your
mouth is numb, Plank..."

But her words are cut
short as Plankton's eye
widens. "My... my tee...
tee... tweef!" He mumbles.

The nurse, Octavia,
steps forward with a calm
demeanor. "It's okay, Mr.
Plankton. Your teeth are
safe. We removed the
wisdom teeth. You won't
feel much pain for now
because of the numbing
agent and anesthesia."

Plankton's eye darts
around the room. "My
tee... tweef... I wont
feel... I ca..."

Karen's uncertain of what he's
trying to say. She
repeats the nurse's
words, her voice soothing.
"You won't feel much pain.
It's okay."

Plankton's hand shoots
up, flailing slightly
as he tries to touch
his mouth. Karen catches
it gently, holding it down.
"You don't have to worry
about your teeth right now."

They remove the IV from
Plankton’s arm, and he
sees the dentist. “Huh..”

“You did great, buddy,”
says the dentist. Plankton’s
eye is still blurry,
his thoughts scattered.

“Teethies?” he repeats, his
voice still slurred.

The nurse nods, patting
his hand. “Yes, we took
out the teethies. You’re all
fixed up now.”

Plankton’s eye relaxes
a bit, but confusion
swims through the fog
of his thoughts. “Tee...
tw... thee?”

Karen nods. 
“They got all
four of them. You’ll
be ok now.”

The nurse, seeing
his confusion,
explains further.
“The anesthesia
makes it so you
don’t remember the
surgery. But I promise,
we took great care
of you. Your teeth are
out, and you’re safe
here in recovery.”

Plankton’s eye
droops slightly, and
his head lolls to the
side as he
slips back into sleep,
his snores resuming their
steady rhythm.

Octavia smiles. “This is
completely normal, Mrs.
Plankton. The anesthesia
can take a while to wear
off. Just keep talking to him,
soothingly, so he knows
you’re here when he wakes
up. Let’s wake him up and get 
him to your car.”

new oh not the wisdom teeth karen plankton 2

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new 1 2 4 7 6 roman numerals common year starting on saturday seven dot art text art ascii art

HI IM SWAGS
😋

new 1 2 typing quirks

guy stop fucking saying to fucking this web a fucking app like what the fuck there lot of fucking beef like do you guys have brain cells of a dick shit like get a life if you care about fuck 8 year olds then dont make this a fucking app if you fucking do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a fucking bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

i love you 💕💘

new 2 000

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new 2 three kannav dot art text art ascii art

...◼

new 2 000 shin

😚😚😚😚😚😚😚

new 2 000 2000

SPONGEBOB OVERLOAD 2/2
(By NEUROFABULOUS)

Plankton's memory 
was a jumble of images 
and sounds, but he 
recaled the confrontation 
with Mr. Krabs, the 
spatula, and the pain.

He sat up slowly, 
his head spinning. The 
pain was intense, but 
his mind was racing 
even faster.

Plankton looked around 
the room, his eye 
trying to make sense 
of the scene. The Chum 
Bucket was a mess, 
his usual order thrown 
into chaos. Karen's face 
was a blur of concern, 
and Sponge Bob hovered 
close by, his expression 
filled with a mix 
of fear and pity.

Plankton's mind raced, 
his thoughts scattered 
like sand in a storm. He 
felt a deep disconnect 
from the world around 
him, as if he was 
watching a play in 
which he was a reluctant 
participant. His head 
throbbed, but not just 
from the blow. It was 
the pressure of his own 
thoughts, his brain working 
overtime to process 
what had just occurred.

Karen noticed the 
confusion in his 
expression and squeezed 
his hand reassuringly. 
"You had an accident, 
sweetie," she said 
softly. "It's okay. You're 
home now."

Plankton's eye darted 
around the room, 
his mind struggling to 
understand the sudden 
shift in his reality. The 
noise was overwhelming, 
each sound a needle 
pricking his sensitive 
nerves.

"Karen," he said, his 
voice barely a whisper. 
"What's happening?"

Her gaze softened. "You 
got hurt, Plankton," she 
explained gently.

"But the science 
fair," he mumbled, 
his thoughts jumbled.

Karen's expression grew 
even more concerned. 
"The science fair can 
wait, Plankton," she 
soothed.

But Plankton's mind was 
stuck in a loop, 
repeating her words. 
"The science fair can 
wait Plankton," he echoed, his 
voice frail and distant.

Karen's eyes grew 
wet with worry. "Yes, 
dear," she said, stroking 
his arm. "Your wellbeing is 
more important."

Plankton's eye 
narrowed as he 
repeated her words, 
his voice a mix of 
stubbornness and 
determination. "Wellbeing is 
important," he murmured, 
his thoughts racing.

The words echoed 
in his head, a 
maddening loop. "The science 
fair can wait, Plankton," he 
whispered to himself, his voice 
taking on a rhythmic 
pattern. "Can wait, can wait..."

Sponge Bob watched, 
his heart heavy with 
concern. He had 
never seen his friend 
like this, his usual 
confidence and scheming 
reduced to repetitive 
mumbles.

"Plankton," he ventured 
cautiously, placing a 
spongy hand on his 
shoulder.

Plankton's eye snapped 
to his, the loop 
breaking for a brief 
moment. "Sponge Bob," 
he murmured, his voice 
still weak.

Sponge Bob's heart 
leaped with hope. "Yes, 
Plankton, I'm here," 
he said gently.

But Plankton's gaze 
was distant, his 
thoughts clearly elsewhere. 
"Wellbeing is 
important," he murmured 
again, the words 
coming out in a 
staccato rhythm, his 
mind locked in the 
grip of echolalia.

Karen's heart 
clenched with fear. 
This wasn't just 
disorientation from 
his injury. This was 
something more.

"Sponge Bob," she 
whispered urgently. "I think 
he's in shock."

Sponge Bob nodded, 
his face a mask of 
concern. "I'll get 
some water," he said, 
rushing to the sink. He 
filled a glass and 
hurried back, careful 
not to spill a drop.

Plankton's eye 
followed the glass, 
his gaze unfocused. 
He began to rock 
back and forth slightly.

Karen noticed the 
change in his 
behavior, her 
concern deepening. 
"Here, drink some water," 
she urged, offering 
the glass to his 
shaking hand.

Plankton took it 
without a word, his 
motions mechanical. 
He brought the 
glass to his lips, but 
his hand trembled 
so badly that water 
sloshed out, spilling 
down.

The moment the 
cool liquid hit the 
floor, a strange 
look passed over 
his face. It was 
as if he had seen 
a ghost, his single 
eye going wide with 
alarm.

"The water," he 
stammered, his voice 
shaking.

Karen's heart sank 
as she watched her 
husband's distress. "It's 
okay, Plankton," she 
soothed. "It's just 
water..."

But Plankton's eye
were glued to the 
spilled water, his 
entire body trembling. 
"It's... it's not right," 
he muttered, his voice 
filled with a childlike 
fear.

Karen looked 
confused, the spilled 
water seemingly a 
minor issue. “Plank…”

“It’s not right!” 
Plankton’s voice 
was urgent now, 
his trembling hand 
gesturing at the 
spill. His mind was 
a whirlwind of 
disturbing thoughts, 
each more distressing 
than the last.

Sponge Bob and 
Karen exchanged 
worried glances. 
“What do you mean, 
Plankton?” Sponge 
Bob asked, kneeling 
beside the couch, 
his eyes full of 
concern.

Plankton's 
breathing grew rapid, 
his chest heaving. 
"The... the... water," 
he stuttered, pointing 
at the puddle. "It's 
too... too... much!"

Karen's gaze 
flitted to the floor, 
then back to her 
husband. "It's okay," she 
soothed, her voice 
quaking with fear. 
"It's just a little 
spill."

But Plankton's 
agitation only grew. 
He flung the 
glass aside, the 
remaining water 
splattering against 
the wall. "No!" he 
shouted, his voice 
high and desperate. 
"Too much!"

Karen and 
Sponge Bob watched 
in horror as Plankton 
collapsed into a 
sobbing mess, his 
tiny body wracked 
with tremors. His 
hands fluttered in 
his face, his 
breath coming in 
quick, sharp gasps. 
The room grew 
claustrophobic, the 
air thick with his 
panic.

"It's okay," Karen 
whispered, her voice 
shaking. "It's just 
water, Plankton." But 
his anguished cries 
only grew louder.

Sponge Bob's 
heart ached as he 
watched his friend 
fall apart before his 
eyes. Plankton's 
behavior was unlike 
anything he had 
ever seen, his 
usual cunning 
replaced with a raw, 
overwhelming fear.

The room grew 
smaller as Plankton's 
sobs filled the space, 
his body convulsing 
with the intensity 
of his breakdown. 
Karen looked at 
Sponge Bob, her 
expression a mix 
of despair and 
determination. They 
both knew they had to 
calm him down, but 
how?

Sponge Bob took a 
deep breath, trying 
to think. "Plankton," 
he said softly, his 
voice a gentle coax. "Look 
at me, buddy. It's 
just a spill. It's okay."

Plankton's cries grew 
louder, his body 
shaking uncontrollably. 
Karen wrapped her 
arms around him, 
trying to soothe the 
storm raging inside 
his mind. "Shh, it's okay," 
she murmured, her voice 
barely audible over 
his cries.

Sponge Bob's 
heart was in his 
throat as he watched 
his friend's breakdown. 
Plankton was not 
his usual self.

The usually 
scheming, sneaky 
scientist was reduced 
to a quivering mess, 
his sobs echoing 
off the walls of the 
tiny Chum Bucket. His 
face was a mask of 
fear and confusion, 
his single eye wide 
with panic.

"Plankton, please," 
Karen begged, her 
voice trembling. "You're 
scaring me." She scans
his brain.

The results 
were not what she 
expected. The blow 
from Mr. Krabs had 
caused more damage 
than she could have 
imagined. The 
injury had altered 
his brain chemistry 
in a way that was 
both profound and 
irreversible.

Plankton had developed 
a rare condition 
called acquired 
autism, a disorder that 
could occur after 
a severe head trauma. 
It was a cruel twist 
of fate for a man whose 
life had been 
consumed by the 
desire for the Krabby 
Patty formula.

The realization 
hit Karen like a 
tidal wave, knocking 
the wind out of her. 
Her eyes filled with 
tears as she 
whispered the diagnosis 
to Sponge Bob and
Plankton. His 
expression mirrored her 
shock and sadness.

Sponge Bob sat 
silent for a moment, 
his usually cheerful 
face contorted with 
sympathy and concern. 
"What do we do?" he 
asked finally, his voice 
barely above a whisper.
“Can you clean the mess?”
Karen asks him.

He nodded solemnly, 
his movements slow 
and deliberate as he 
stood up to mop the 
spilled water. As 
he worked, he couldn't 
help but feel a deep 
sorrow for his 
friend. Plankton had 
always been the 
troublemaker, the 
one who pushed 
boundaries. But now, 
his world was shattered.

The silence in the 
room was only 
broken by Plankton's 
sobs and the 
swish of the mop.

Sponge Bob's 
heart felt heavy 
as he cleaned up 
the water, his 
thoughts racing. He 
couldn't believe what 
he had just heard. 
His best friend, 
his rival, his... 
his family. Plankton had 
always been there, 
through thick and thin, 
and now he was... 
different. And yet, that’s ok. 

new neurofabulous karen plankton 2

SANDY LEARNT A SECRET 2/2

The car ride home was 
quiet, the only sound the 
hum of the engine and the 
occasional sniffle from Karen. 
Sandy drove carefully, 
avoiding potholes and 
bumps that might jar 
Plankton and extend his 
absence. She glanced at 
the rearview mirror, watching 
his still form in the 
backseat, his face a mask of 
zoned out oblivion.

Karen sat next to 
Plankton. 
Her eyes never left his, 
willing him to blink, to 
move, to give any sign 
that he understood.

They entered the 
Chum Bucket home. 
Sandy trailed behind, 
silent as Karen takes
Plankton to their bedroom.

Karen laid Plankton down 
on his bed, her hands 
shaking slightly as she 
pulled the blanket over 
his unmoving body. She 
tucked it in around him, 
smoothing out the wrinkles 
with tender strokes.

Sandy took a seat by 
his side, her heart 
racing from the weight 
of what she'd just learned. 
Plankton lay there, 
completely still, his 
breathing shallow yet
even. She studied his 
face, trying to read the 
secrets behind his glazed 
eye. It was eerie, yet in a strange 
way, like watching someone
lost in a deep, unshakeable
sleep.

The room was bathed in 
soft light, the curtains 
filtering the harshness of 
the sun outside. The only 
sound was the faint tick 
of a clock on the 
nightstand and the 
even flow of air from the 
air conditioner. It was a 
contrast to the chaos of 
his seizure, and Sandy
whispered, "You're safe here."

Her eyes remained on 
his, waiting for the 
slightest movement. 
The minutes stretched 
on, each second feeling 
like an eternity.

Then, as if waking from a 
deep slumber, Plankton's 
eye flickered. His gaze 
was unfocused, his pupil 
slowly expanding and 
contracting as he tried 
to adjust to the light, 
then confusion.

She watched with 
bated breath as he 
blinked a few times. "Where… 
How?" he mumbled, his 
voice groggy and distant.

"You had a… I saw you at the park, 
Plankton," Sandy said, her 
tone gentle. "You're home 
now. You're safe."

Plankton's eye searched 
her face, the confusion 
deepening as he tried 
to piece together what 
happened. His gaze 
drifted to the window, 
where the world outside 
was a blur of colors and 
sounds.

"Sandy?" he asked, 
his voice tentative. She 
nodded, her hand reaching 
out to squeeze his. "You're 
safe, Plankton. It's just..."

But before Sandy could 
finish, he sat up with a 
start, his eye wide. 
"What happened?" He
demands.

Sandy's heart skipped 
a beat. "You had 
a seizure at 
the park," she explained.

Plankton's hand flew 
to his face, 
his antennae 
drooping. "Oh, great," 
he murmured, his 
cheeks flushing a 
deep shade of red. 
The realization of his 
condition in front of 
someone who didn't know 
was clear in his 
expression.

Sandy felt a pang of 
regret. "It's okay, 
Plankton," she 
says, her voice 
gentle. "It's just a part 
o..."

"I know what it is!" 
Plankton snapped, cutting 
her off. His frustration 
was palpable, his 
body rigid with 
embarrassment. "I don't 
need you to explain it 
to me!"

Sandy took a step 
back, her hand 
falling to her side. 
"I'm sorry," she said 
sincerely.

Plankton's chest 
heaved with the 
effort of holding back 
his anger. He knew 
Sandy was just trying to 
help, but the sudden 
spotlight on his condition 
felt like an invasion of 
his personal space.

"I'm sorry, I just..." 
Sandy began, but 
Plankton's frustration 
was like a dam bursting.

"You just what?" he 
countered, his voice 
sharp.

Sandy's cheeks burned. 
"I'm sorry, I just didn't 
know how to help. I've never..."

"Seen me like this?" 
Plankton finished for 
her, his voice still edgy.

Sandy nodded, feeling 
a knot form in her 
stomach. "I didn't mean 
to make you uncomfortable,
I just wanna ask you wh..."

"Don't," Plankton interrupted, 
his voice brittle. "I don't 
want to talk about it."

Sandy nodded, feeling 
the sting of his words. 
She backed away, giving 
him space. "Okay," she said 
softly. "But if you eve..."

"Just go," Plankton 
interrupted, his voice 
smaller now, his eye 
watering. "I need some 
time alone."

Sandy nodded, 
swallowing the lump 
in her throat. She knew 
his anger was a shield, 
a way to protect himself 
from the curiosity and 
sympathy he saw as 
invasive. She backed out 
of the room. She found
Karen seated on the couch.

"He ok?" Karen
asked.

Sandy nodded. "He's 
awake. He's just...upset?"

Karen stood up, her 
expression a mix of 
relief and concern. 
"I'll go to him," she 
decided, heading to 
the bedroom.

Sandy hovered by the 
door as Karen went
in.

"Plankton," Karen began, 
her voice gentle. "You're 
safe, love. It's ok."

Sandy could see 
the tension in Karen
as she approached 
the bed, her hand 
trembling as it reached 
out to touch Plankton's 
shoulder. His eye met 
hers, and for a moment, 
Sandy saw the raw pain 
and embarrassment in 
his gaze.

"Let's all go to the 
living room," Karen 
whispered, her voice 
shaky. Plankton nodded.
In the living room, 
the three of them sat 
down on the couch, 
the silence thick and 
uncomfortable. Sandy 
felt the urge to fill it 
with reassurances, but 
she held her tongue.
Karen took Plankton's 
hand in hers, her 
thumb stroking the 
back of it in a 
comforting gesture. 
"I know it's hard," she 
said softly, "but it's ok. 
You're ok."

Plankton nodded, his 
breathing still a little 
rapid, his expression 
guarded.

"Do you remember 
anything?" Karen asked, 
her voice a gentle 
caress. Plankton's gaze 
drifted to the floor. "Just 
the park," he mumbled. 
"The swings."

Sandy's eyes widened 
slightly. "What do 
you mean?"

Plankton's grip on the 
couch cushion tightened. 
"You don't need to know," 
he said, his voice 
edged with irritation.

Karen gave a 
resigned sigh. 
"Plankton, 
San..."

"I said I don't want to 
talk about it!" Plankton's 
voice was a sudden 
explosion, echoing 
through the room. 
Sandy flinched at his 
outburst.

"Plankton, please," 
Karen interjected, her 
voice a calm contrast 
to the storm of his 
emotions. "Sandy's just 
trying to understand."

But Plankton's anger 
was a wall, impenetrable. 
"I don't owe her anything!" 
he snapped, pulling his 
hand away from hers. 
"It’s not her business!"

Sandy felt the sting of his 
words. "I'm sorry. I didn't 
mean to pry.."

Karen put a hand on 
Sandy's shoulder, her 
eyes kind. "It's ok. It's 
new for you, and it's a 
lot to take in. Plankton 
just needs a bit of 
space." She turned to her 
husband, her voice 
soothing. "Honey, Sandy's 
our friend. She wants 
to be there for us."

Sandy watched as Plankton's 
body visibly relaxed, his 
breathing evening out. His 
eye flickered up to meet 
hers, and she saw the 
apology in it. He took 
another deep breath, 
his shoulders dropping. "I 
know," he said, his voice 
smaller now. "I'm sorry."

Karen's hand remained 
on his shoulder, her 
expression one of 
understanding. "It's ok," 
she said. "We're all 
trying to figure it out."

new karendy sandy learnt a secret 2

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣐⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀
⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
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new 1 2 3 dot art text art ascii art

guy stop fucking saying this web needs to be a fucking app like what the fuck there lots of fucking beef like do you guys have brain cells of a dick shit like get a life if you care about fucking 8 year olds then dont make this a fucking app if you fucking do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a fucking bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

☣

new sigma boy a a1 2

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 2


𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾
𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 
𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 
𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 
𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 
𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 
𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 
𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 
𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 
𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 
𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 
𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 
𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 
𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 
𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 
( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

Karen takes a deep breath
and squeezes Plankton's hand,
calling his name softly. "Plankton,
sweetie, come back to me."
Her voice is a lifeline, a
warm presence that Plankton's
mind might be able to cling
to. She knows from experience
that his seizures can eventually
be helped by her voice
and gentle touch. "I'm here,
it's okay," she whispers, stroking
his antennae with her thumb.

Chip's cries fade as he heads
to his room.
He's scared, confused, and feels
alone. He doesn't know why
his dad is acting so weird,
but he trusts his mom.

Eventually, Plankton's eye 
starts to blink, a sign that 
he's coming back. Karen's 
with relief, and she squeezes 
his hand, continuing to speak 
in hushed tones. "You're ok, 
Plankton. You're home with 
me." She knows how 
disorienting these episodes 
can be for him, and she wants 
to make sure he's fully grounded 
before anything else.

As Plankton's gaze slowly 
refocuses, Karen watches. 
He tries to sit up, yet his 
body feels heavy and 
sluggish. "What happened?" 
he asks, his voice a croak.

Karen's relief is palpable
as she helps him sit up, 
still holding his hand. "You 
just had one of your episodes, 
sweetie. It's okay." She's
careful with her words, 
not wanting to alarm him. "What
do you remember?"

Plankton looks around the
room. "Chip," he murmurs.
"Chip yelled hi, and then
everything's patchy. I felt
his presence yet I kept going
deeper into the retreat, but
I vaguely recall Chip bombarding
me. And now I guess you apparently
came.."

Karen nods, her grip
on his hand tightening.
"Yes, Chip saw you and
was scared. He didn't know
what was happening."

Plankton's face pales at
the thought of his son
being afraid. "Is he alr-
Chip; he must've seen me!
He witnessed..."

Karen nods solemnly. "Yes,
he saw everything. He's in
his room now, I told him
to stay there."

Plankton sighs heavily,
his eye closing briefly. "I
know you're gonna say to
tell him everything, how
he's mature enough. Great,
just great."

Karen nods, her voice
gentle. "We can't keep this
from him forever, Plankton.
He's seen you like this
now. It's time to explain
what's happening."

Plankton sighs heavily,
his shoulders slumping. He
knows she's right, but the
thought of Chip knowing his
secret makes him feel
exposed and vulnerable.

But Karen's voice is firm.
"We can't keep hiding this
from him. He's old enough
now. We have to tell him. I'll
bring him in, okay?"

Plankton nods weakly,
his heart racing at the
thought. He knows Karen
is right; they can't keep
this from him forever.

Karen heads to Chip's room
to find him curled up
on the bed, clutching a pillow
to his chest. His eyes are
swollen from crying. "Hey, buddy,"
she says softly, sitting beside
him. "Can you come with me?"

Chip sniffs and nods,
his eyes darting to the door.
He's afraid, but he knows
his mom will make it right.

He follows her into
the bedroom, where Plankton
sits up, looking drained but
alert. 

"Dad!" Chip cries out, running
to Plankton's side. Plankton
starts to scoot away.

Karen intervenes quickly.
"Chip, honey, let's give Daddy
some space," she says, her
voice calm but firm. Chip
frowns, not understanding.

"But he's okay?" Chip asks,
his voice small and hopeful.

"Yes, Chip," Karen says,
sitting on the bed with
Plankton. "Daddy just had a
little... Plankton, why don't
you tell him?"

Plankton sighs, bracing
himself for the conversation
he's been avoiding. "Chip,
what you saw was something
you were never meant to see.
You weren't supposed to see
me like that. So I don't wanna
hear a peep about it, ok?"

Chip's eyes widen with
confusion. "But what was
that, Dad?" His voice is
small, filled with fear.

Plankton hesitates, trying to
find the right words. "I JUST
TOLD YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!"
he snaps, his voice sharp.
Chip flinches, surprised by
his dad's harsh tone.

Karen sighs, taking the lead.
"Chip, honey, your dad's okay.
It's like his brain goes on a
tiny vacation without telling
his body, and he can't move or
talk during it." She tries to
make it sound less scary.

Chip's eyes grow wider, but
his curiosity isn't satisfied.
"But why? Why ca--"

Plankton cuts him off, his tone
sharp with agitation. "I don't
have to explain myself to you."

Chip's confusion turns to
hurt. He doesn't know what
he did wrong. He just wanted
his dad to wake up. "Dad, you
were just sitting ther-"

But Plankton's harshness
cuts him off again. "I said
forget it, Chip! It's nothing
you need to know!" Plankton's
voice is filled with frustration
and fear.

Chip's eyes well up with
new tears. "But I just wanted
you to wake up," he whispers,
his voice breaking. "Yo--"

Plankton's sharpness slices
through the air, his usual
playfulness nowhere to be
found. "I SAID, FORGET IT!"

Karen's eyes widen at her
husband's reaction. "Plankton,
honey, maybe we should just tell
him. He's seen it now; we
can't keep hiding it," she
suggests gently, trying to ease
the tension in the room.

Plankton looks at her with
a mix of frustration and
fear, his antennae twitching.
"Fine," he grumbles, his voice
softening. "But remember, this
is my story, not yours."
Chip, still sniffling, looks
between his mom and dad.

Karen gives Plankton a gentle
yet firm look, and he sighs 
heavily. "Okay, Chip," he starts,
"I've corpus callosum dysgenesis."

Chip looks at him,
puzzled. "What's th-"

"It's a brain thing, okay?"
Plankton cuts him off, his
tone gruffer than usual.
He can't bear the thought
of his son knowing.

Chip nods slowly, trying
to comprehend. "But w---"

"That's all you need
to know," Plankton 
says, his voice
clipped and final.

But Chip's curiosity 
doesn't wane. "But, Dad, 
why can't you just 
wake up?" he asks, 
his eyes filled with
concern and confusion.

Plankton's antennae twitch
in irritation. "CHIP, I TOLD
YOU TO FORGET ABOUT IT!"
His voice is sharp, cutting 
through the room like a
knife. Chip recoils, his screen
brimming with unshed tears.
He doesn't understand why
his dad is so upset. He just
wanted to help, to make him
snapshot out of whatever was
wrong.

Chip tries again. "Dad,
Mom said you can't 
keep whatever from me
anymo-"

"ENOUGH, CHIP!" Plankton's
shout echoes through
the room. "It's not your
business, it's mine! Now get
lost!" The pain in Plankton's
voice is palpable, and Chip
can't understand why.

Chip's eyes fill with
tears, his heart aching.
"But Dad, I just wanted to
he-"

"I SAID ENOUGH!" Plankton's
voice booms through the room,
his antennae quivering with
frustration. Chip's voice trails
off, and he takes a step back.
He's never seen his dad so
upset, and it scares him.

"But Dad, I don't know what's
wrong with you!" Chip's voice
is small, his eyes filled with
fresh tears. Plankton's outburst
has only confused him more.

Oblivious to Plankton's internal
turmoil, Chip doesn't realize
his dad's reaction is due to his
autism. But the outburst only adds
to Chip's confusion and fear.
He looks at Karen with pleading
eyes, desperately seeking
comfort and answers.

new do you trust me chip plankton 2

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