Ii Emojis & Text

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY ii (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen woke up to find Plankton still asleep, his hand still clutching hers. She gently pulled her hand away and stood up. Plankton's snores echoed through the quiet room. Karen studied his peaceful expression, his features softer in sleep, and felt a surge of affection for the man she had married so many years ago. In the cold light of day, the reality of his condition settled in. He was different, but she would not let that change the way she saw him. As a robot, Karen understood the importance of adjusting to new situations, and this was no exception. As Plankton stirred, she quickly moved to his side, ready to face whatever challenges the day might bring. His eye opened, looking around the room before settling on her. "Karen," he said, his voice still flat, but with a hint of recognition. "Good morning, Plankton," she replied. This was their first day facing his autism together, and she had spent the night preparing. Plankton sat up, his eye locking onto hers. "Morning," he repeated. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if his brain was processing each action. "Would you like some breakfast?" she asked. He nodded. "No vault," he murmured, and she could see the beginnings of a frown. Karen nodded, knowing that his obsessions might become more pronounced. "It's okay," she said. "We don't need the vault." Plankton's eye searched her face, his expression unreadable. "No vault," he repeated, his voice rising slightly. "Good." Karen nodded. "Let's start the day," she suggested, trying to shift the focus. She led him to the tiny kitchen area, the smell of chum wafting through the air. Plankton followed her, his steps measured and precise. His gaze flitted around the room, taking in every detail. "Would you like eggs or chum?" she asked. "Both," he said, his voice clearer than before. Karen nodded, cracking an egg over the sizzling pan. Plankton sat at the table, rocking back and forth slightly. It was clear that his senses were heightened, every sound and smell more intense than before. "Here's your breakfast, Plankton," she said, placing the plate in front of him. His gaze fixated on the food, his eye narrowing as if studying a complex puzzle. "Thank you," he said, the words coming out mechanically. But as Karen stirred the chum and eggs together, something shifted in his demeanor. He stiffened in his chair, his rocking coming to an abrupt halt. "What's wrong?" she asked, noticing the sudden change. Plankton's eye grew wide. "No," he whispered, his voice strained. "Not together. Separate," he demanded, his voice growing more urgent. Karen paused, her circuits racing. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I'll fix it." She carefully scraped the food onto two separate places, one with egg, one with chum. She placed it in front of him, hoping she was interpreting his needs correctly. Plankton stared. "Different plate," he murmured. "And a new spoon. And new eggs not touching new chum." Karen nodded, quickly moving to comply with his requests. She knew that routines and sensory preferences could be crucial for individuals with autism, and she wanted to make sure his first breakfast post-diagnosis was as comfortable as possible. She replicated his meal with meticulous precision, ensuring every detail was exactly as he had specified, ridding of the old food. The new plate was set before him, the eggs and chum neatly separated. Plankton's shoulders relaxed slightly. He picked up the spoon, his gaze intensely focused on the task at hand. Karen watched as he took a tiny bite in what seemed like pleasure. "Good?" she ventured. Plankton nodded, his eye not leaving the plate. "Good," he echoed, his voice still monotone. Karen observed him as he methodically ate his breakfast, each bite the same size, each chew lasting the same amount of time. It was fascinating and slightly disconcerting to watch the man she knew so well now engaging with the world in such a different way. Plankton's routine was always important, but now it had taken on a new level of significance. The clink of the spoon against the plate was the only sound in the room, the rhythm of it almost hypnotic. As Plankton finished his meal, his head snapped up, his gaze sharp and focused on her. "Karen," he said, his voice now clear and concise. "Yes, Plankton?" she replied, wiping down the counter. "Thank you," he said, his eye fixed on the now-empty plate. Karen nodded, taking the dishes to the sink. She could feel his eye on her as she moved about the room, the weight of his silence a stark contrast to his usual incessant chatter. She knew that autism would bring challenges, but she was determined to be there for him.

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON ii (Autistic author) The doctor stepped in, his tentacles moving gently as he spoke. "Mr. Plankton, it's important to stay calm. This is a big change. Can you tell me your name?" Plankton's gaze flicked from Karen to Dr. Kelp, his expression a mask of confusion. "I'm Plankton," he managed to say, his voice shaky. The doctor nodded, his tentacles still and calm. "Good. That's good, Mr. Plankton. Do you know where you are?" Plankton's eye darted around the room again, his breathing growing rapid and shallow. He looked down and then back up at Karen. "What's happening?" he repeated for the third time, his voice now a little more frantic. Karen's heart was in her throat. The doctor's explanation was beginning to take root in her mind, and she could see the stark reality of their situation. Plankton's repetition, his difficulty with understanding new surroundings and his increased sensitivity to sound—these were all hallmarks of his new autism. The doctor continued his assessment. "Mr. Plankton, can you tell me your wife's name?" he prompted. Plankton's gaze shifted to Karen, his expression becoming more focused, as if her presence was the only familiar thing in the room. "Karen," he said, his voice softening slightly. The doctor nodded, making a note on his clipboard. "Good. Now, can you tell me what happened before you woke up?" Plankton's eye flitted back to Karen, searching for answers. He began to rock slightly, his body moving in a rhythmic motion, a common self-soothing behavior for those on the autism spectrum. Karen recognized it immediately but seeing it in Plankton was jarring. His gaze darted around the room, his pupil dilating with every new sound or movement. The doctor's tentacles were a blur of activity making notes. "Mr. Plankton, I see you're feeling You're almost ready to go back home with Karen." Dr. Kelp says calmly. "Just one more question, if you don't mind. Now, can you tell me if you have any pets?" Plankton's eye flitted around the room. "Pets? Spot! Yes, Spot. Amoeba puppy; Spot.." The doctor nodded, his tentacles still scribbling notes. "Very good, Mr. Plankton. It seems like your long-term memory is intact, which is a positive sign. Now Karen can take you home!" Karen felt a wave of relief crash over her, but it was tinged with the stark reality that their life was never going to be the same. Plankton's autistic mannerisms were now a constant reminder of the accident—his newfound need for routine, his heightened sensitivity to surroundings, and the way his eye would dance around the room as he tried to make sense of his environment. As they arrived home, the stark reality of their new life hit Karen like a wave. His once-quick steps had been replaced with a cautious shuffle, as if the very floor beneath him was unpredictable. Inside, Plankton was drawn to the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock, his eye fixated on the second hand's journey. Karen watched him. His newfound need for predictability was overwhelmingly apparent. "Let's sit down," she suggested, guiding him to their couch, which was now occupied by Spot. Plankton's gaze flitted around the living room, his eye alighting on his beloved amoeba puppy Spot. "Spot," he murmured, his voice tentative, as if unsure if his words would have the same effect they once did. The pup looked up at him, its blob-like form shifting slightly with excitement. But instead of the weariness Plankton has shown today, he joyfully watched Spot's movements. Karen felt a moment of warmth— his love for Spot hadn't changed, nor their usual interactions. The doctor had told her that routines were vital for those with his condition. So, she decided to start their day with a familiar activity: breakfast. Plankton's eye lit up at the sight of the familiar kitchen. He took his usual seat at the table, his hands fidgeting with the napkin. Karen noticed his meticulous arrangement of his silverware, the way he lined up his plate and cup perfectly parallel to the edges. As she prepared their meal, she could feel his gaze on her, his eye darting between her and Spot, who was now playfully chasing his own tail in a loop around the living room. He began to hum a tune, his voice off-key and repetitive. Karen's with love despite the pain she felt. The clanging of pans was loud in the silence, making Plankton flinch—this was going to be so much harder than she had anticipated. The doctor's instructions echoed in her mind: stick to routine, keep things simple. Karen set the breakfast plates down carefully, each item placed exactly where Plankton liked it. His eye grew wide as she slid his plate closer. He stared at the food for a moment, then picked up his spoon. The clink of metal on porcelain was like a gunshot to his heightened sensitivity. He dropped the spoon, his hands shooting up to cover his head in distress. "It's okay, sweetheart," Karen soothed, moving quickly to his side. She retrieved the spoon and set it aside, her hand trembling slightly. "You don't have to eat right now," she said softly, her voice a gentle caress against the tension in the room. Plankton nodded slightly, his breathing slowing as his hands uncovered his ears. He fidgeted in his chair, his eye darting to the ceiling as if searching for something. "Let's go read a book," Karen suggested, desperate to find anything that might calm his nerves. Plankton nodded slightly, his gaze still unfocused. He stood up carefully, his body moving with the precision of a man who knew his world had changed. As they approached the bookshelf, his eye caught a glint of metal from the corner of the room. The invention that had brought them here lay in a tangled heap, its wires and gears silent and ominous, giving him déjà vu. Plankton stopped, his body rigid, his gaze locked on the machine. He stared unblinking, his mind racing back to the crash. Karen notices his suddenly unmoving form and gets concerned. "Plankton?" she calls softly, but he doesn't react. His entire being seemed to be consumed by the wreckage of his former life. The invention, a testament to his former brilliance, now a grim reminder of the accident. "Plankton, honey," Karen's voice was barely a whisper as she tried to get him to talk. He didn't move. The invention, a tangled web of wires and gears, seemed to hold his gaze captive. It was the very machine that had caused this transformation. Karen followed his gaze, her heart sinking as she realized the source of his distress. "Let's go to another room," she suggested gently, her hand resting on his arm. But he didn't move. Karen felt the weight of the moment settle heavily on her shoulders. It was time to face the reality of their new life together—a life where Plankton's once sharp wit and innovative spirit were now clouded by a disorder she was only beginning to understand. Her heart swelled with sorrow as she observed his interaction with the inanimate objects around him. The love she had for him remained unshaken, but the thought of what they had lost—what he had lost—was almost too much to bear. "Come on," she coaxed, her voice gentle as a lullaby. "Let's go to the living room. I'll read you a story?" Yet Plankton remains frozen. So Karen made a decision. She couldn't bear the thought of that accursed machine looming over them, a constant reminder of the tragic turn their lives had taken. With a fierce determination she hadn't felt in ages, she strode over to the invention and began to dismantle it, piece by painful piece. The metal clanked and clattered as she worked, her movements quick and sure, each part coming off with a satisfying crunch. Plankton's eye followed her, his expression unreadable. When the last piece was removed, his gaze lifted to meet hers, his eye filled with something that looked akin to gratitude. "Thank you, Karen," Plankton murmured, his voice a quiet rumble in the stillness of the now bare room. Karen paused in her task, her eyes meeting his with a surprised expression. This was the first time since the accident that he had spoken to her with anything other than fear or confusion. "You're welcome," she said, her voice choked with emotion.

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM ii (Autistic author) His eye took a moment to focus on her, and when it did, she saw a flicker of confusion, followed by a glimmer of recognition. "Karen?" he repeated, his voice still faint. "Yes, it's me, Plankton. You're ok." But his gaze remained distant, his focus unsteady. "Where...where are we?" "We're at the hospital, sweetheart," Karen said softly, stroking his antenna. "You had an accident." The confusion in Plankton's eye grew, and he tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. "What kind of accident?" His voice was still weak, but there was an urgency to his words that hadn't been there before. Karen took a deep breath, her grip on his hand tightening. "Mr. Krabs...he hit you with a fry pan." The words tasted bitter but she had to tell him the truth. Plankton's eye widened slightly, and she watched as the puzzle pieces of the situation slowly clicked into place in his mind. "Krabby Patty," he murmured, his voice distant. "Yes, Plankton, you were trying to get the recipe again," Karen whispered, aching at the memory. "But it's over now. You need to rest." His eye searched hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of his old self, the cunning and ambitious man she had married. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a vacant stare. "Don't... don't remember," he mumbled, his antennas drooping. This wasn't the Plankton she knew, the one who schemed with a glint in his eye and a plan in his pocket. "It's ok, Plankton," she soothed, her voice trembling. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "Do you remember me?" Plankton's gaze remained steady for a moment, and then he nodded slowly. "Karen," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. But the spark of recognition was tinged with confusion, as if he wasn't quite sure how he knew her. Karen's felt like breaking into a million tiny pieces. But she knew she had to stay strong. For Plankton. For them. "You don't remember what happened, do you?" she asked gently. "What else do you remember?" Plankton's antennas twitched slightly, his eye searching hers. "Don't know," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's chest tightened as she held back a sob. "It's ok," she reassured him, her voice shaky. "Do you remember your name?" she asked, her voice hopeful. He blinked slowly, his gaze fading in and out of focus, his brow furrowing as he concentrated. "Sheldon... Plankton?" The sound of his voice saying his own name brought a small smile to Karen's face. "Yes, that's right," she said, her voice filled with relief. "Do you remember where we live?" she continued, her tone gentle. Plankton's eye searched the ceiling of the hospital room, as if the answer was written there. "The Chum Bucket," he murmured, his voice unsure. Karen nodded, encouraged by his response. "Good, good," she said, smiling weakly. "What about our friends?" Again, the confusion clouded his gaze. "Friends?" he repeated, his voice tentative. "SpongeBob, Sandy...?" "Yes," Karen said, her voice soft. "Do you remember them?" Plankton's expression grew more distressed, his antennas drooping. "Square...SpongeBob. And a squirrel, yes?" He paused, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. Karen nodded, brimming with unshed tears. "Yes, SpongeBob SquarePants and Sandy Cheeks. They're friends." Plankton's antennas twitched as he processed the information, his brow furrowing with the effort. "Friends," he repeated, the word sounding foreign. Karen could see the gears turning in his tiny head, his brain desperately trying to make connections to his past. "Do you remember anything about your life before the accident?" Karen asked, her voice trembling with anticipation. Plankton's eye searched hers, uncertain. "Life...before?" Her heart sank. "You know, our adventures, our home, our love?" He stared at her, his expression unreadable. "Love?" The word was barely a whisper. "Yes, Plankton," she said, her voice cracking. "We love each other. We've been married for a long time, and we've had so many adventures together." She paused, willing the words to resonate with him, to ignite a spark of memory. "Do you remember any of that?" Plankton's gaze remained vacant for a moment before he nodded slightly. "Married," he murmured, as if tasting the word for the first time. "To Karen." His antennas lifted slightly, a glimmer of something familiar flickering in his eye. "Karen Plankton computer wife." "Yes, Plankton," Karen said, her voice thick with emotion. "Does that mean something to you?" she asked, her heart in her throat. He nodded slowly, his antennas waving slightly. "Computer wife," he murmured again, his voice gaining a hint of warmth. "Karen." Karen felt a flicker of hope. "Yes, Plankton, I'm your wife." She leaned closer, her voice gentle. "Do you remember anything about us?" Plankton's antennas twitched as he thought. "Wife," he said slowly, his voice a faint echo of the man she knew. "Wife...Karen. Married July 31, 1999." That was their wedding day, a date they had celebrated every year since. "Yes," she whispered, her voice choking. "We got married on July 31, 1999." The hospital room felt thick with silence as she waited for his next words. Plankton's eye searched the room, his antennas twitching as he tried to piece together the shards of his past. "Plankton, can you tell me about yourself?" Karen asked, her voice gentle. "What do you like to do?" Plankton's antennas twitched as he thought. "Invent," he said, his voice still weak but with a hint of pride. "Science?" The words came out as a question, as if he wasn't quite sure of his own identity. "Yes," Karen said, her voice brightening slightly. "You're a genius inventor. You've made so many wonderful things." She paused, hoping to see some spark of recognition in his eye. "Do you remember any of your inventions?" Plankton's antennas waved in the air, as if searching for the memories that remained elusive. "Inventions," he murmured, his single eye searching the ceiling. "Gadgets...machines." "That's right," Karen encouraged, squeezing his hand. "You've created so many amazing machines. Can you describe one of them?" He blinked, his antennas stilling for a moment. "Chum...Chum Dispenser 3000," he said, his voice picking up a bit. "It makes...makes food for fishies." Karen's smile grew despite the pain. The Chum Dispenser 3000 was one of his earlier inventions, a failed attempt to lure customers to their restaurant, but it was a testament to his ingenuity. "That's wonderful, Plankton," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "How about something more recent?" she prompted, eager to see how much of their shared history remained with him. Plankton's antennas twitched as his brain worked overtime. "Um... the Incredibubble," he said, his voice picking up speed as he talked. "It's a bubble that can shrink things down to microscopic size." Karen felt a jolt of excitement. "That's right!" she exclaimed, squeezing his hand. "You used it to get to find a secret plan." Plankton's gaze remained distant, but there was a hint of curiosity in his eye. "Computer... plan?" "Yes," Karen said, her voice shaking. "We've had so many adventures together, Plankton. We've faced so much together." He nodded, his antennas twitching slightly. "Together," he repeated, as if testing the word on his tongue. "Do you remember any of those adventures?" Karen asked, her voice trembling. "Adventures?" Plankton's eye flickered, and she could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. "With Karen... wife?" "Yes, with me. We've traveled the ocean, faced so many challenges together." The doctor came in. "You can go home now," he said. Karen nodded, never leaving Plankton's face. She had spoken to the doctor about his condition, about the autism, but she still wasn't sure how to process it all. How would their life change now? "Come on, Plankton," she said, helping him sit up gently. "Let's get you home." She buckles him into his side of the car, his newfound passivity making the usual struggle unnecessary. The engine of the tiny vehicle roars to life, and Karen guides them out of the hospital parking lot. The ride back to the Chum Bucket is quiet, the only sound being the hum of the car's engine and the occasional splash from the waves outside. Karen keeps glancing at Plankton, his antennas listless as he stares out the window. His mind seems to be somewhere else, lost in a world of his own making. When they arrive, she helps Plankton out of the car and supports him as they make their way to the door. The neon sign flickers in the gloom, casting erratic shadows across the sand. The once bustling environment now feels eerie and desolate. Karen's mind is racing with thoughts of how to make this place feel like home again for Plankton.

TEETHIES ii The nurse dimmed lights and adjusted the bed, giving Plankton's body a chance to recover from the wisdom tooth surgery. Gently, Karen began to hum a tune she knew Plankton loved. The melody filled the room, wrapping around them like a warm blanket. His breathing grew a little easier, the tension in his hand loosening slightly. Plankton stirred, eye fluttering open to reveal a world still blurred by the fog of anesthesia. "Where... what...?" Plankton slurred. "Who... who are you?" "The dentist had to get your wisdom teeth out in surgery." Karen told him. "Wis...dommm...surgery? I don't...I don't remembe--- much." Plankton says. "Had to take them out. You've been asleep for a while." The nurse said. The door to the room creaked open to SpongeBob, his face a picture of concern. "Plankton!" he exclaimed. "How are ya?" Plankton, still groggy from the surgery, tried to form a coherent sentence. "S-SpongeBob," he slurred. "M-more wike... 'Arrr, matey' than usual, I s'pose." Karen rolled her pixel eyes. "It's the anesthesia." Plankton chuckled. "Ahoy ther- Spongey! Aye, it's awh’ 'cause of tweasare... I mean, surgery," he corrected, his speech still swaying. "You two are always so... " Karen trailed off, searching for the right word. "Inseparabubble?" Plankton suggested. Sponge Bob's laughter bubbled up again. "You mean, no Krabby Patty stealing schemes?" "Thath's righ'. No mow... Krabby... Patties... fow awhile." The words came out in a drawn-out slur, his head lolling slightly on the pillow. "Thath's... wath I wath thhinking," his speech still slurred but fading as his eyelid growing heavy. "Arr, thith... thith way, me... hearty," Plankton mumbled, as the nurse helped 'em into the car. "Arr, me... tweasuwe... home,". Sponge Bob watched his eyelid grew heavier. Plankton's head lolled back against the seat and his mouth fell open slightly, emitting a soft snore. "He's gonna be out for a bit," Karen said, glancing in the rearview mirror. "The anesthesia usually takes a few hours to wear off completely. He'll be fine." He reached out and gently patted Plankton's arm, whispering, "Don't worry, buddy. We're almost there." "We're home, Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge. Sponge Bob turned to see Plankton's chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths, his mouth open in snore's. His usually scheming eye were shut tight. Karen carefully opened the door. Sponge Bob looked at Plankton, who was still out cold. Sponge Bob leaned over the seat, his arms wrapping around Plankton's frail body. Plankton's head lolled back, his mouth still open in snore's. "Should we... should we wake him?" "Let him rest, Sponge Bob. He's had a rough day." Karen puts him on the couch. "Do you think he'll... you know, remember any of this?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice low and tentative. Karen's smile was a gentle wave. "I doubt it. The anesthesia usually wipes out memories for a bit." "Rest well, honey," she whispered, kissing his forehead. "You've had a long day." Suddenly Plankton stirs in his sleep, his snores morphing into a groan as he shifts beneath the blanket. "Is he okay?" SpongeBob asks. "He's okay," she nods, her voice a gentle lullaby in the stillness. "Just anesthesia wearing off." She stood by him. "Easy, Plankton," Karen cooed, gently rubbing Plankton's back. "You're okay." The little villain's body twitched, and his eye fluttered open. For a brief moment, confusion clouded his gaze before he spotted Sponge Bob and Karen. "W-wha... whass happening?" Plankton's words were slurred, his lisp more pronounced than ever. "You're home, Plankton. You had wisdom teeth removed." "W-what? Did I miss... somefink?" He tried to sit up, his body moving as if through syrup. "You've been out for a bit," Karen said. "But you're home now." Plankton blinked. "Home?" he mumbled. "Yes, sweetie," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "You had your wisdom teeth out. You're going to be fine." "Oww... wha’ happened to my mouf?" "Your wisdom teeth were out." "Oh... wight," he murmured. "Need anything?" "Could... could I have some... ice... cweam?" His voice was a whispered plea. They get him some. "Thath's... thoothing. So, how'd I get home?" "Karen and I brought you back," Sponge Bob said. "You were out cold. Didn't even wake up when we carried you in." "Did... did you two... take care of me?" His voice was a mix of surprise and vulnerability. "Of course, Plankton!" He turned to Plankton. "Want me to pick something to watch?" "Mm-hmm," Plankton mumbled, eye already closing again. Sponge Bob flicked through the tv channels, finally settling on a rerun of their favorite show, "Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy." The familiar theme song filled the room, and Karen took a seat next to Plankton on the couch, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. As the adventure unfolded on the screen, Plankton's breathing grew deeper and more regular, his body gradually relaxing into the cushions. "Looks like he's out again," Karen said softly. Sponge Bob nodded, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall rhythmically. "Guess the surgery really took it out of him." The room grew quiet, save for the distant laugh track of their favorite show and the occasional snore from Plankton. Karen's hand remained on his shoulder, her thumb tracing small circles. At night, turning the tv off, Spongebob picked Plankton up, cradling him. His friend's head lolled back, his mouth slightly open in a peaceful snore. Sponge Bob carefully made his way to his bed, setting him down. He pulled the blanket up to Plankton and gave him a soft pat. They both settled into the makeshift beds they had set up next to Plankton's. The next morning, both woke up before Plankton. Karen chuckled. "We should take a picture." Spongebob snapped a picture of Plankton, still asleep with his mouth slightly open, a trail of drool escaping onto the pillow. "Morning, Captain Snores-a-lot," Sponge Bob whispered with a smirk, rousing Plankton. Plankton's eye opened, only to wince. "Oww... wath... what's happening?" "It's morning, Plankton," Karen said, her tone still gentle. "Look your post-surgery glamour shot," Spongebob teased, holding the phone out of reach. "You were out cold last night." Plankton's eye widened as he took in the image. "You... you took a picture of me?!" He was half horrified, half amused. "Couldn't resist," Karen said, grinning. Plankton rolled his eye and wiped his mouth, then winced. "How wong hav- I been out?" "Overnight," Sponge Bob said, unable to hold back a chuckle. "You had quite the ride home yesterday." Plankton groaned, his hand reaching up to gingerly touch his swollen cheek. "Whath happened?" "You had your wisdom teeth out," Karen reminded him, her voice filled with a touch of amusement. "It's normal to be a bit out of it after surgery." "Wisdom teeth?" Plankton echoed, his voice still groggy. "Oh, wight. The dentist." Karen chuckled. "Yeah, you don't remember much, do you?" Sponge Bob leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "You talked like a pirate all the way home, matey." Plankton's eye widened in horror. "I did what?" Sponge Bob nodded. "Yeah, you kept calling me 'Spongey' and said we were 'inseparabubble'." Plankton blushed. "Oh, come on," he mumbled, trying to hide his face in the pillow. Sponge Bob and Karen shared a knowing look, their laughter subsiding into a comfortable silence. They could both tell that despite his tough exterior, Plankton was a bit embarrassed. Plankton sighed, his small body sinking deeper into the pillows. "Okay, okay," he conceded. "But if I don't get to do anything, can I at leash wash TV?" "Of course," Karen said, handing him the remote. "But take it easy today, okay?" With a groan, Plankton managed to sit up, his hand still tentatively exploring his tender cheeks. He squinted at the TV, searching for something to watch. His eye lit up when he found a science fiction marathon. "Jackpot," he murmured.

THE LIFE OF UNITY ii (Autistic author; make sure to read A LIFE OF DIVERSITY i - x first!) Kevin scoffs. "Yeah, right," he says, voice dripping with disdain. Kevin snorts. "So jellyfish are smarter than you? You're saying you're like a jelly fish; Brainless and just floating around?" Plankton's antennae stiffen, taking on edge. "Kevin," he murmurs, "Jellyfish have nerve nets. Complex behaviors. Brainless? Not brainless. Different." Kevin's eyes narrow, his grin fading into a sneer. "So, what you're saying is that you're like a jellyfish?" he taunts. "Just with no real purpose?" The silence that follows is thick with tension. Plankton's antennae quiver. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, eye flashing, "have purpose. Plankton has purpose." Kevin snickers, unaware of the impact of his words. "Sure, Plankton," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your purpose is to annoy me I guess." Plankton's antennae stiffen. "Purpose," he murmurs, his one eye narrowing. "Annoying Kevin... not Plankton's purpose you don't understand." Kevin's sneer turns into a full-blown laugh. "Understand what?" he asks, his voice dripping with disbelief. "That you think jellyfish are your friends? That you're obsessed with them because you're just like them?" Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice tight. "Jellyfish. Different." Kevin's laughter echoes through the jellyfish fields, his ignorance fueling the flames of Plankton's anger. "Oh come on," he says. "You're just mad because you can't outsmart a jellyfish." Plankton's antennae quiver violently, his monotone voice filled with a rare emotion: insecurity. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you don't know what you're saying." But Kevin's laughter doesn't cease, eyes sparkling with mischief. "What, are you going to get all sensitive on me now?" he asks, his voice filled with mock concern. "Is Plankton thinking with his 'jellyfish brain'?" Plankton's antennae droop, the barb of Kevin's words hitting too close to home. "It's not funny," Plankton murmurs, antennae drooping. SpongeBob steps forward, fists clenched. "Kevin, that's not cool," he says firmly. "You don't know what you're talking about." Kevin's laughter falters, his smirk fading. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice defensive. "It's just a joke." "No," Plankton murmurs, his antennae drooping further. "Not funny." Kevin's sneer fades, his expression shifting to confusion. "What's your problem, Plankton?" he asks, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Kevin," Sponge Bob says, his voice a mix of concern and reprimand. "That's not nice. Plankton's interest in jellyfish is special to him." But Kevin's sneer only deepens. "Oh, I get it," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "You're all playing along with his little game. Well, I'm not. Jellyfish are just mindless blobs. And if you're so obsessed with them Plankton, maybe that's all you are, too." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye blinking rapidly. But Kevin, fueled by his own ignorance, continues to laugh, his words cutting deeper. "What's the matter, Plankton?" he sneers. "Can't take a little ribbing?" Plankton's antennae quiver with each insult, his monotone voice strained. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye wide with hurt. "Not a game." Kevin's laughter echoes through the jellyfish fields, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "Oh, I see," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You're just to sensitive for a little teasing." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice tight. "Jellyfish... complex," he murmurs, his eye flashing with determination. "Not brainless. Not like your jokes." "What's the matter?" Kevin asks, his smirk growing. "Can't handle the truth?" "Truth?" Plankton's antennae quiver with emotion. "Jellyfish," he murmurs, his monotone voice filled with a rare passion. "Jellyfish... beautiful. Complex." Kevin's eyes narrow, his laughter fading. "Beautiful?" he scoffs. "They're just jellyfish, Plankton. They don't have feelings. They don't have brains. Just like you." Plankton's antennae quiver. But Kevin's smirk only widens, his laughter bouncing off the surrounding coral, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "You can't talk without getting all worked up. What kind of brainless blob are you?" Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone voice strained. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you don't understand." "Understand what?" Kevin sneers, eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "That jellyfish are just mindless blobs of jelly? That you're just like them?" Plankton's antennae droop. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you don't know." "Know what?" Kevin's laughter is cruel, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "That jellyfish are just mindless animals and you're obsessed with them because you're just a brainless creature who can't get a life?" Plankton's antennae droop even further, his one eye blinking rapidly. "Not mindless." Kevin's laughter turns into a cackle. "Oh, so you think you're better than jellyfish now?" he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe if you had a brain, you could actually catch one of those Krabby Patties you're always after! Maybe if you had a brain, you'd realize THAT YOU'LL NEVER BE MORE THAN A TINY, BRAINLESS BOTTOM FEEDER!" The words hit Plankton like a tidal wave, antennae drooping even further. "Kevin," Plankton murmurs, his monotone voice thick with emotion, "you don't know."

Any moment now... Are you sure this is what you want? (Scoff) Oh spare me your spin, you tablet tabloid. If you want to psychoanalyze someone, don't look at me- Look at them! It's so pathetic, How they run to fetch their sticks… Sure, call me polemic, unsympathetic, At least I know other tricks! Look at me and all you'll see is the debris of some defective outcast, A frenetic, antithetic (if poetic) little iconoclast, But I won't live in the past. (I almost won this game once, you know.) But. History is rearranged just to credit those who win the glory, So reality is changed in the edit when they spin the story, And we choose, to feel this pain, And we lose, more than we gain... But I will BREAK this cycle, Of mistakes, unlike all, Of these SNAKES whom I call to condemn! If I can't win the prize, I'll play this last reprisal! Just to bring their lies all to an end… -Ack! You need regeneration. Unfortunately, I don't have much faith in that process. Of course not. Why "of course not?". You believe yourself to be incapable of starting over, in more ways than one. I do not know who you lost, but is it not possible to get them back? "Clear the slate, start again", Are you hearing how preposterous that sounds? How do you not comprehend that for someone with my MONSTROUS BACKGROUND, the whole slate has fallen apart! Taco that is not true. There are other ways to- IT’S TOO LATE- It's not too late, FOR ME TO RESTART! But it's not I, its they, (Let us talk about it when your), Who deign to play this game, so, (head is not so clouded. You're no), Cruel & inhumane, base & uncouth, (menace, Taco, how did they hurt you?) (Please think this through) I think they're too afraid to, (Feeling double-crossed is part of), Bear the bed they've made, (Dealing with a loss, yes, but the), Can't bring themselves to face the awful truth. (Healing is a process, that's the truth) So I'm turning up the heat to "sauté", I've a beef to get grilled, But I fully guarantee today that all the beans that get spilled, Won't be mine, No I'm fine, I- Shhhh... Now it's time...

WHERES ALL THE YOYLE CAKE LOVING BFB/BFDI/II/BFDIA/TPOT FANZ >_< ;; NEW WRITTER MIMI<3 *teleportz to mimi* you hav zummoned me. (im a bfb fan and im ztarting to watch hfjone lulz) -zombie gutz ^_^

if u like bfdi or inanimate insanity OR ANY OBJECTSHOW plz dm me on pinterest 😞 Pic0cooreee11😐𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎

TOOTH AFTERNOON ii Karen leaned closer, her laughter dying down to a soft giggle. “You’re going to have to be careful with that mouth, Plankton. It’s going to be sore for a few days. But don’t worry, I’ve got all the soft foods you’ll need once we get home. Ice cream, soup, mashed potatoes...” Plankton’s eye lit up at the mention of ice cream. “Ish...cweam?” he mumbled, his mouth moving awkwardly. Karen nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Plankton. Ice cream, and anything else you want. Just no crunchy things, okay?” Plankton’s eye searched her face, his thoughts swimming. “Cweam...no...crunchy?” Karen nodded, her smile sympathetic. “Just until you heal up, love. No crunchy food for a bit. But we’ll manage. You’ll have your favorites, I promise. Just not the crunchy snacks for now.” The nurse returned to check his vitals and gave Karen a knowing look. “It’s going to be a long afternoon, isn’t it?” Karen nodded, wiping away a tear of laughter. “I’m ready for whatever comes next,” she said, her voice filled with determination. Plankton’s eye finally locked on hers, and he managed a wobbly smile. “Karen...” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “What is it, Plankton?” she asked, her tone filled with warmth. His voice was a barely-there murmur. “Whath...is...this...placsh?” His eye shifted. Karen’s laughter had subsided, leaving a warm smile in its place. “It’s the recovery room, Plankton. You’re at the dentist’s office. You had your wisdom teeth taken out.” She hoped the repetition would help him understand. But Plankton’s gaze remained cloudy. “Denthis...tish...” he slurred, his tongue a traitor to his speech. “Whewe the...the ...lobby?” Karen’s smile grew. “The lobby is right outside this door, sweetie.” Plankton’s eye searched hers desperately, as if she held the key to his sanity. “Whish way?” Karen pointed to the closed door, her voice a gentle guiding force. “Just through there, love. You’re not going anywhere until you’re feeling better.” Plankton’s gaze drifted to the door and back to Karen, his mind a tangled web of half-formed thoughts. “Buth I wan...I wanna...to...thee...the... lobby...nowww,” he protested, his words trailing off into a sleepy whine. Karen’s heart ached with a mix of pity and love for her disoriented husband. She squeezed his hand, her voice calm and firm. “Just stay here with me. We’re going to wait for the medicine to wear off a bit more, and then we’ll go home, okay?” Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts a jumbled mess. “Buh...buth...my teefh... shaw I?” Karen nodded, her smile soft. “Yes, Plankton, your teeth. They’re okay.” Plankton’s eye searched the ceiling as if the answers were written there. “Whath...whath time ishit?” he mumbled. Karen checked her watch, trying to keep her voice steady. “It’s three in the afternoon, honey. You’ve been asleep for a while now.” Plankton’s eye drifted to the ceiling again. “Tee...tree in the afternish...” he repeated, his words slurred and slow. Karen nodded, her smile lingering. “Yes, Plankton. Three in the afternoon. It’s time to wake up now, okay?” Plankton’s gaze drifted down to her, his eye half-lidded. “But...I’m not still sleepsh,” he protested, his speech still thick with anesthesia. Karen chuckled softly, squeezing his hand. “You’re awake now, Plankton. Just a bit sleepy and loopy, that’s all. The doctor said you’d be like this for a little while.” Plankton’s mouth moved as his brain worked to form words. “Loopy? Whath’s loopy?” he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and irritation. Karen’s chuckle was a warm wave that washed over him. “It means you’re not quite all there yet, honey. The anesthesia is still in your system, so you’re a bit out of it.” Plankton’s mouth twisted as he processed her words. “Anesh...thia?” he slurred. Karen nodded. “Yes, Plankton. The medicine they gave you to help you not feel pain during the surgery. It makes you a little loopy when you wake up.” Plankton’s eye searched hers, his curiosity piqued despite his muddled thoughts. “Mishine...” he mumbled, his tongue thick in his mouth. “Whath’s...whath’s...thish?” Karen followed his gaze to the IV in his arm. “That’s just the medicine that helped you sleep through the surgery, Plankton. It’s ok, it’s almost done.” Plankton’s eye grew wide. “Shurgery? Did...did I...?” “Yes, sweetie, you had surgery. But it’s all done now. You’re going to be just fine,” Karen reassured him, her voice a gentle lullaby. Plankton’s eye grew wide with realization. “Shergy? Did it hurt?” Karen’s smile was a soft caress. “No, Plankton. You slept through it all. You don’t remember a thing, thankfully. It was quick and painless for you,” she said, hoping to ease his worries. Plankton’s gaze drifted to his swollen cheeks, his hand coming up to tentatively touch the numbness. “Cheek...hurt?” he mumbled, his voice a slurred mess of syllables. Karen nodded gently. “Yes, sweetie, it’s going to be a bit sore for a while. But you’re doing great. Just stay still and let the medicine do its work,” she soothed, her voice a comforting melody. Plankton’s hand dropped back to the chair’s armrest, his eye heavy with the weight of the anesthesia. “Karen, what’s...what’s that beep...beep...beep?” he asked, his voice trailing off into sleepiness. Karen looked at the monitor behind him, the rhythmic beeping a comforting lullaby. “It’s just the heart rate monitor, Plankton. It’s making sure everything’s ok,” she explained, her voice a gentle reminder of the world outside his drugged haze. Plankton’s eye squinted as he tried to focus on the steady green line that blipped with each pulse. “Hearth hate?” he slurred, his tongue still uncooperative. Karen nodded. “It’s your heartbeat, Plankton. It’s making sure you’re ok. It’s all part of the recovery process,” she said, keeping her voice calm and steady. Plankton’s eye searched her face, his thoughts a tapestry of confusion. “Hearth...hate?” he repeated, the words a jumble of sounds that didn’t quite make sense. Karen’s smile was warm and understanding. “It’s your heart, Plankton. It’s beating, which is a good thing. It means you’re ok,” she said, her voice a soothing balm to his bewilderment. Plankton’s eye searched hers again, his mind a foggy maze. “Heath...beep...beep...” he murmured, his words a sleepy mantra. Karen’s smile remained, her patience unwavering. “It’s ok, sweetie. It’s just the machine making sure you’re ok. It’s your heart, beating nice and steady,” she explained, her voice a gentle whisper. Plankton’s eye blinked slowly. “Heath...beep...beep...good?” he managed to ask, his voice a soft mumble. Karen nodded, her smile a constant reassurance. “Yes, Plankton, your heart is good. It’s beating nice and strong. You’re going to be ok,” she said, her voice a warm embrace. But Plankton’s curiosity had not yet been sated. His gaze drifted to his hand, his mind trying to make sense of the strange shapes. “Whath...whath awe...thish?” he pointed to his hand, his finger waving weakly. Karen’s smile grew wider, her eyes filled with love and patience. “That’s your hand, Plankton. It’s ok, it’s all part of you,” she said, her voice a soothing balm to his confusion. Plankton stared at the foreign appendage, his mind still a whirlwind of anesthesia. “Han’...hand?” he repeated, his finger twitching slightly. Karen nodded, her smile never leaving her screen. “Yes, Plankton. That’s your hand. You can use it to do lots of things. Like hold ice for your sore mouth,” she said, her voice a gentle guide through his haze. But Plankton’s curiosity had taken a turn. “Ish...moufh...hurt?” his words still slurred and slow. Karen’s smile was understanding. “Yes, sweetie, your mouth might be sore from the surgery, but the ice will help with that,” she said, her voice a gentle guide through the fog of anesthesia. Plankton’s eye searched her face, his thoughts a jumble. “Ish...cweam...loobypop?” he murmured, his mouth still numb and uncooperative. Karen couldn’t help but laugh at his garbled words. “Ice cream and loopy bop?” she asked, her voice a soft caress of humor. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts a foggy haze. “No...no...floobydust...bishbath...” he mumbled, his words a nonsensical jumble. Karen’s smile grew, her screen twinkling with affection. “Floobydust and bishbath?” she repeated, her voice a gentle mockery of his slurred speech. “What on earth…” Plankton’s mouth moved in a slow, sleepy attempt at speech. “Thish...thish...thish...” he muttered, his words a stream of nonsense that seemed to make sense only to him. Karen watched him with amusement, his random word association a cute side effect of the anesthesia. “What are you saying, love?” she asked, her voice a soft chuckle. Plankton’s eye rolled back into his head as his eyelid grew heavy. “Stay with me, Plankton,” Karen urged, her voice a gentle prod against the tide of sleep. “Mmm...Karen...tiwed...” his voice trailed off, his eye trying to focus. Karen leaned in, her smile warm and gentle. “You’re fine, Plankton. You’ve just had surgery. Try to stay awake for a little while longer.” But Plankton’s body had other plans. His head lolled back, his snore a soft counterpoint to the steady beep of the monitor.

PLUSH ONE ii (By NeuroFabulous) "What's your favorite thing to do?" Karen continues, her voice gentle. He looks around the room, his gaze finally settling on the metal container, his project before the accident. "Fix," he says, his hands moving in small, repetitive gestures. "Invent. Invent," he murmurs. It's a start. The paramedics nod, jotting down their observations. "It seems like his long-term memory is intact," the first one murmurs to the other. "Okay, Plankton, we're all done here; we'll be heading on out." Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening as she watches them leave, their boots echoing down the hall. The door clicks shut, and suddenly the room feels much emptier, the silence suffocating. She looks back at her husband. She's never dealt with someone with severe autism, let alone the man she loves. She takes a deep breath. "Come on," she says, her voice a gentle coax. "Let's sit up." With surprising ease, he allows her to help him into a sitting position. He looks at her, his gaze warm and affectionate. "Karen," he says, his voice gentle. It's the first time he's called her by name since the accident, and it fills her with a hope so profound it hurts. They sit there for a while, Karen stroking his arm, Plankton's eye closed as he leans into her touch. He seems to find comfort in her presence, and she in his. She whispers softly, "I love you, Plankton." He opens his eye, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Love... Karen," he echoes. "You, I... I lo-ove you Karen." It's not eloquent, but it's enough. It's more than enough. Karen feels tears sting her screen as she leans in and kisses his forehead. "I love you too, Plankton." His hand, stiff and unpracticed, moves to hers, tracing the outline of her palm. The simple gesture speaks volumes, a silent promise that they'll navigate this new world together. Karen's eyes well up, a smile forcing its way through the tears. "You're going to be okay," she whispers, trying to tell herself as much as him. Plankton nods, his gaze on their joined hands. He starts to fiddle with her fingers, his touch tentative but earnest. It's a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He's trying, and she loves him for it. The world outside feels muted as they sit together, sharing this quiet moment of understanding. Their bond, though altered by his new condition, remains strong. Karen can see it in the way he looks at her, his eye searching hers for comfort. And she's there, offering it in spades. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice steady "We'll figure it out." Plankton nods, his hand still tracing the lines of her palm. His movements are methodical, almost ritualistic. It's clear that touch is a way to connect, in a world that's suddenly become more confusing. Karen runs her thumb over the back of his hand. He looks up at her, his gaze intense, his eye searching hers for reassurance. Karen smiles through the tears. "We're in this together," she whispers, leaning in to pat his shoulder. But the second her hand makes contact, he flinches away, his body taut with discomfort. It's a stark reminder of the sensory challenges he now faces. "I'm sorry," Karen says quickly, retracting her hand. She's read about sensory issues in autism, but experiencing it firsthand is overwhelming. She's eager to learn what will soothe him, what will help him navigate this new reality without causing him discomfort. "It's ok" Plankton mumbles, his hands moving in a soothing motion over the blanket. Karen's determined to learn. "What do you need, honey?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's hand stops its erratic movement. He looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Karen," he whispers. Her eyes fill with hope, clutching onto his words like a lifeline. "What do you need, Plankton?" she asks again, her tone soft and patient. He turns his head slightly, his gaze fixed on the couch. Karen gently guides him to the couch, placing a pillow under his head. She grabs his favorite blanket, and drapes it over him. He stiffens for a moment, then relaxes into the softness. His hands resume their repetitive stroking, this time on the fabric. Karen notices his eye is drawn to the patterns, and she wonders if the visual stimulation helps him focus. Gently, she sits beside him, keeping a respectful distance. Karen's mind is a storm of thoughts and questions, but she forces herself to be present, to be patient. Plankton's hand continues to move over the blanket. He's in his own world, yet she's eager to understand it.

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KAREN AND THE TEETHIES ii Karen's relief is palpable, but she squeezes Plankton's hand even tighter. The process repeats. Karen's eyes never leave his face, searching for any sign of discomfort, but all she sees is peaceful oblivion. The second tooth comes out without much fanfare, and Plankton snores on, a symphony of deep, contented breaths that seem almost comical against the surgical backdrop. Karen's eyes stay glued to the monitors, watching the blips and waves that indicate her husband's steady heartbeat and rhythmic breaths. The assistant works quietly, keeping the area clear and sterile, his movements a silent ballet that complements the dentist's more forceful actions. The third tooth is a tougher proposition. The drill's whine deepens, the smell of bone dust more pronounced. Karen's knuckles are white from her tightened grip. The nurse notices and places a hand on her shoulder. "It's okay. He's fine," she whispers. The sight of his mouth, open and vulnerable, filled with foreign instruments, should be terrifying, but his deep, unbothered breaths reassure Karen. The drill's pitch changes again as the third tooth resists extraction. Plankton's snoring adjusts to a deeper, more rumbling tone, vibrating the chair. Dr. Finnegan's smile diminishes slightly, his brow furrowed as he applies more pressure. The forceps clamp and pull, the tooth refusing to budge. Sweat beads on the assistant's forehead as he quickly switches tools, preparing for a tougher extraction. The room falls quiet except for the persistent snoring. Plankton's chest rises and falls with each breath, his head resting back against the chair, utterly at ease. Karen wonders how he can be so comfortable amidst the chaos. The nurse monitors the vitals, nodding slightly to herself, a silent mantra of reassurance. Dr. Finnegan grunts as he applies more pressure to the stubborn tooth. The forceps clamp down again, their metallic grip unyielding. The tooth shifts, just a little, and the tension in the room releases slightly. Plankton's snoring changes once more, a symphony of slurps and gurgles as saliva threatens to spill over the prop. Karen giggles, the tension breaking like a dam. The assistant glances over with a smile of his own. "It's okay," he whispers, "It's normal. He's still under." Karen nods, her eyes fixed on the nurse's calm expression as much as the monitors. The fourth tooth is proving to be the most challenging yet, the drill's buzz a constant reminder of the work being done. The nurse whispers, "This one's a little stubborn," but doesn't look up from her task. Plankton's snoring continues, now a mix of deep, even breaths and the occasional snort that makes Karen want to laugh despite the gravity of the situation. Dr. Finnegan's grip on the forceps tightens. He wiggles the fourth tooth gently, then with more insistence. The drill starts up again, the sound echoing in the small room. Karen's heart is in her throat, but Plankton's snores don't change. They're a comforting white noise, a reminder that despite the chaos, he's still deeply asleep, unaware of the dance of metal and pressure in his mouth.

TRUTH AND NAIL ii The nurse returned. "How's he doing?" she asked, checking the monitors. "Just woke up briefly," Karen said, her voice a whisper. "He's still pretty out of it." The nurse nodded, jotting notes on a clipboard. "That's normal," she said. "The anesthesia takes some time to wear off completely. You can take him home now." "But he's still..." The nurse nodded, her voice firm but gentle. "It's normal. He'll be groggy for a bit, but he's stable enough." With her help, Karen managed to rouse Plankton to a semi-conscious state. He blinked at her, his eye unfocused and glazed over. "Tek me…” Karen nodded, smiling at his attempt to form coherent words. "Yes, sweetie. We're gonna go.." He sat up with a start, his body moving before his mind caught up, the world tilting and spinning around him. Karen's hand was quick to steady him, her voice a gentle reminder of where he was. "Easy," she said, her voice like a soft pillow for his pounding head. "You're okay." Plankton blinked, his eye trying to focus on her screen. "Wha...wha...wha...?" he stuttered, the words fighting to escape his numb mouth. Karen's smile grew wider, seeing the confusion in his glassy gaze. "It's okay, honey," she cooed, her voice a balm to his bewilderment. "You're just coming out of the anesthesia." He then notices the nurse standing by. "Nurse?" he croaks, his voice hoarse and his tongue thick in his mouth. "Nurse?" he tries again, his voice a bit stronger. The nurse looks over, seeing his struggle to make sense of his surroundings. She smiles, "You're okay, Mr. Plankton. You had a little surgery." Her words are clear, but they hit him like a foggy echo. "Sur...surg...teef?" he slurs, his mouth feeling like it's filled with cotton balls. "Yes, you had your wisdom teeth removed," Karen says, her voice a soothing melody in the white noise of the recovery room. “Who’s there?” Plankton's voice was a faint rasp. The nurse and Karen exchanged a knowing glance. He was coming around more, but still not fully with it. “It’s me, Plankton,” Karen whispered, leaning closer. Her screen swam into view, a beacon of familiarity in the sea of white. He squinted, trying to focus. “Karen?” he mumbled, his throat dry and raw. “Yes, it’s me,” she repeated, her voice a gentle lullaby. “You’re okay, you just had your wisdom teeth out. You’re still a little sleepy from the surgery.” Plankton's hand reached up to his face, feeling the swollen jaw and the cottony numbness. “Teef?” he managed to murmur, his voice a gravelly shadow of its usual self. The word felt strange and foreign in his mouth. “Wisdom teeth, darling,” Karen reminded him, her tone soothing as a warm blanket. “They took them out to stop your pain.” “Buh, buth Karen haz aww the teefs?” Plankton's slurred words hang in the air, a question mark painted on his confused expression. Karen laughs lightly with amusement. "No, sweetie. Let’s get you standing up." With the nurse’s help, Karen eases Plankton to his feet. The world swims around him, a blur of white walls and the steady beeping of machines. He tries to stand on legs that feel like jelly. "Easy, darling," Karen says, her arm around him, supporting his weight. "Take it slow." The nurse nods, guiding his elbow. "Just a few steps to the chair." Plankton's legs wobble like a newborn deer's, his feet shuffling along the cold floor. "Tek me ho...ho...home?" he slurs, the words like molasses escaping his mouth. "Soon, baby," Karen soothes, her arm tightening around him. She can feel his confusion like a heavy fog in the air, but she's determined to be his compass in this disoriented state. Plankton's eye darts around the room, trying to make sense of the shapes and sounds. "Wha...wha...where...?" he stammers, his mouth still not fully cooperating. The nurse smiles kindly, "You're in the recovery area. You had a little procedure to take out some teeth, remember?" Karen helps him into a chair, his body moving slowly as if through molasses. His gaze flits to her, his mind still groggy. "Tee...th?" he mumbles, his tongue sluggish in his mouth. Karen nods, her smile warm and comforting. "Wisdom teeth, darling. They're gone." “Wav...wav...Karen?” Plankton’s voice was a faint echo. “How will I eath?” The words were jumbled, his speech a slur. “Soft foods for now, love. We’ll manage, don’t worry,” she said, her voice like a lullaby. Plankton's head nodded slightly, his eyelid heavy. “Than...thank...you...” he slurred, his speech still a puzzle of sounds as they walk down the corridor.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS ii (By NeuroFabulous) "What causes this, Mom?" Chip asked, his voice quieter now, more contemplative. Karen sat beside Plankton, still stroking his arm. "Sometimes, sweetie, when people have brains that work differently, like Daddy does, they can get overwhelmed." She spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. "It's a type of 'neurodisability' he has." Chip's still confused. "But why didn't you tell me before?" his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's hand stilled on Plankton's arm as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Well, Chip, sometimes parents want to protect their kids from things they think might be too much for them to understand. But now that you're a little older, it's important you know about your dad's... condition." Chip looked at her with wide eyes, processing this new information. "Is it because of his inventions? Does he think too much?" Karen's gaze remained on Plankton, her thumb still making circles on his skin. "No, honey, it's not because of his inventions. It's just his disability. Some people's brains work differently, and that's okay." Chip's eyes darted back to his father, who was still as a statue. "But what does it feel like?" Karen took a deep breath. "It's hard to say, because everyone's experience is unique. For Daddy, it might be like being in a really quiet room where everything is far away and muffled." Chip nodded slowly, his gaze still on Plankton. "So, it's like he's not here, but he kind of is?" Karen nodded, her screen never leaving her son's. "In a way, yes. It's like his brain has gone until it's ready to come back and get unstuck." Chip's screen searched his mother's screen for any sign of fear or sadness, but she was calm, a rock in the storm of his confusion. "How long will he be like this?" Karen's gaze never left Plankton's still form. "It could be a few minutes or hours. We just have to wait it out." Chip nodded, his curiosity still burning. "Does he know we're here?" Karen offered a small, sad smile. "I think he can feel us, but he's not really with us right now." Chip nodded, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his camp t-shirt. "But how do we know when he's... not stuck anymore?" Karen looked up at him, her screen filled with a gentle wisdom. "You'll know, Chip. He'll blink, or twitch, or maybe even say something. It's like he's in a deep sleep, and we have to let him wake up on his own." Chip sat cross-legged on the floor next to the bed, his hands folded in his lap. He had so many questions, so much he wanted to share with his dad. "Does he remember stuff when he's like this?" he whispered. Karen's eyes remained on Plankton, her voice low and soothing. "It's complicated, Chip. Sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't. But it's like his brain is playing backup right now." Chip nodded, his thoughts racing. "But how do we help him?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency. Karen turned to her son. "We just have to be patient, Chip. And keep the room calm." Chip nodded, his curiosity now muted by the gravity of the situation. He watched his mother closely, studying her calm demeanor, the way her hand continued to move in gentle strokes on Plankton's arm. He wanted to be like her and help. "What can I do to make him feel better?" he asked, his voice quieter than his racing thoughts. Karen's eyes flicked to his, a gentle smile playing on her screen. "You're already doing it, Chip. Just being here, keeping the room calm, is helping." But Chip's mind was still whirring with unanswered questions. "But what causes this?" he pressed. Karen sighed, her gaze still focused on Plankton. "It's a disorder, sweetie. It's a neurological condition that makes his brain process things a bit differently. Sometimes, when his senses get overwhelmed, his body does this to protect him." Chip's brows furrowed. "But why didn't he tell..." "Because," Karen interrupted, "it's hard for some people to explain things like this, even to those they love most. Your dad's been dealing with this and it's not always easy to talk about." Chip nodded, his curiosity still not fully satisfied. "How will he feel whenever he wakes up?" Karen took a deep breath. "It can vary, Chip. Sometimes he's groggy, like waking up from a deep sleep. Other times, he's just tired, but he'll be okay. He might need some space, some quiet, and maybe a little time alone." Chip nods. "Mom, ca--" Plankton's antenna twitches suddenly. Karen's puts her hand up to silence Chip. "Shh," she whispers. Slowly, Plankton's eye begins to focus, the vacant stare shifting as he blinks, his pupil slowly coming into focus, as if surfacing from a deep sleep. He looks up at Karen, not recalling her coming in here. "Wh...what's going on?" he stammers, his voice rough from disuse. Karen's hand tightens on his arm, her voice a whisper. "You had a shutdown, sweetie." He figured that. He remembers Chip bombarding him before going dizzy/lightheaded as Chip kept prodding him, his son's gaze unwavering. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, his body still sluggish from the shutdown.

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PLANKTON GOING TO THE DENTIST Ii/Ii Plankton's eye dart around the room, trying to focus, confusion growing as the words won't come out right. "Th-th-the...th-the...th-th-th-th..." He stammers, his mouth working overtime to form the words. Karen's laughter subsides into a comforting chuckle. "It's ok, Plankton." "Th-th-then...why...why do I tawking wike thith?" He asks, voice a wobbly mess, each word a struggle. "I...I'm a g-g-genius!" He stammers, trying to sound defiant despite his speech impediment. "I'n noth s-s-suppothed to tawl wike thish!" Karen giggles. "It's just anesthesia, Plankton," she says soothingly. "It'll wear off soon." Plankton's eye widen further. "B-but...I nee, needff to...to think...think...think!" He stammers. "You'll be fine, Plankton," she says. The dentist pats Plankton's shoulder. "You're quite the charmer even with a mouthful of gauze," he quips, and the assistant snickers. Plankton's cheeks redden, indignation clear even through haze of anesthesia. "I caan...caan...can't...I caan't th-th-think!" Plankton splutters. Karen tries to stifle her giggles, shaking with amusement. "It's anesthesia," she repeats, her voice a gentle wave washing over him. "You're ok, Plankton. You're ok." He takes a deep breath, willing his tongue to cooperate. "G-got...it-t," he says. "Alright, Mr. Plankton, let's get you sitting up," he says. He tries to stand, but his body feels like it's made of jelly, his legs wobbling beneath him. "Whoa!" He exclaims, speech slightly clearer but still slurred. "Thish isn't goog." Karen and the dental staff help him to his feet, the nurse holding on to him as he sways slightly. His eye still glazed over, but there's a hint of the sharpness that she knows so well starting to shine through. "Steady there," she says supporting him. "Let's get to the car." Plankton nods. "Yeah...the...the...ca--" he says. He takes a shaky step. "Just keep taking it slow," she advises, her voice a beacon in the fog of his mind. Karen's supporting him as they navigate the hallway. "Where...wher's...wher's the...the...th-the...?" Plankton's words trip over each other, traitor to his usual eloquence. "The car, sweetie," Karen says, her voice a lifeline in the fog of anesthesia. She leads him through the hallway acting as a gentle guide. The receptionist waves with a smile. "Moth...thath...moth," he stammers. She fastens his seatbelt for him. "D-don't laug-fh at me," he mumbles, eye half-lidded with the lingering effects of anesthesia. "I'm not laughing at you," Karen says. "I'm just happy you're ok." Plankton nods. He tries to say "thanks," but it comes out as "thathks." "You're welcome, Plankton. You're going to be fine." She starts the engine. "Bh-buth...whath abou- the...the...th-the...the...teethies?" Plankton slurs, words a tangled mess. Karen laughs. "Don't worry about the teeth Plankton. They're out. You're all healed up." Plankton nods, his eye glazed and his speech still slurred. "Thath's...tha's good," he manages to say. "But I...I can't t-talk wight," he mumbles, frustrated. "Don't worry, honey," Karen says, patting his hand. "You're just a bit loopy from anesthesia. It'll wear off." Plankton tries to argue, but all that comes out is a series of garbled sounds. "Th-the...th-th-th..." "Your mouth is just numb, Plankton," Karen says, driving. "The anesthesia makes it hard to talk." But Plankton can't help it; he keeps trying, his slurred words a jumble of consonants. "Th-th-that's not ith’s," he protests, his voice bubbly. "I'm a g-g-gen-n-n...genius!" Karen giggles, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "You're a genius all right," she teases. Plankton's eye narrow in determination. "Th-that's not...noth fair!" He says, his tongue feeling like a thick sea slug. Karen can't help but laugh harder. "It's ok, Plankton," she says. "But I...I nee-f to...to...to th-th-think! I can't...can't th-think thish!" Karen's laughter bubbles up again and she squeezes his hand reassuringly. "You're ok, Plankton," she says, voice a warm current of comfort. "D-don't...d-don't leav-e me," he mumbles, his eye drooping. Karen glances over. "I'm right here, Plankton," she says. Plankton's head lolls to the side, and his snores become a soothing background to the hum of the boat's engine. His mouth hangs open, a stream of drool trailing down his chin, creating a small pool in the seat. Karen, noticing the gauze in his mouth has shifted, gently repositioned it, careful not to cause him any pain. He mumbles something incoherent, and she chuckles, shaking her head. "Rest my love," she murmurs. The drool continues to escape Plankton's mouth, creating a wet spot on the boat's upholstery, his slumbering form a stark contrast to the sharp scheming creature she's used to. She reaches over to gently dab at the drool, her movements careful not to disturb his sleep. As the boat docks at the Chum Bucket, Karen wonders how she'll manage to get him inside without him babbling incoherently and scaring off any passersby. But Plankton, in his anesthesia-induced haze, seems oblivious to the world around him, his snores the only sound. Karen helps him out of the boat, and she half-drags half-carries him through the door. They enter their living quarters and she gently lays him on their bed which feels like a vast ocean compared to his usual cramped lab space. She carefully takes out the gauze, watching his eye flutter open. "Where...where am I?" He mumbles. "You're home, Plankton," Karen says, her voice a soft wave of comfort. She wipes his chin clean with a warm, damp cloth. Plankton looks around, his eye finally focusing on the familiar sights of their home. "Home?" He slurs, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. "B-but...I..." "Just rest, Plankton," Karen says, pushing him gently back down. "You've had a big day." Home never felt so welcoming, Plankton thinks, as he sinks into the embrace of the bed. Karen fluffs a pillow under his head, her movements tender. "Th-thank youw," he manages to say, his speech still thick. "You're welcome," Karen replies, her voice a gentle caress. "Now, you just rest. I'll be here." He closes his eye, letting the numbness of his mouth and the heaviness of his limbs take over. Karen sits beside him, moving in a soothing rhythm against his arm. "You're going to be fine," Karen whispers, stroking his cheek. "Just sleep it off and by tomorrow you'll be back to your usual scheming self." Plankton tries to smile but his mouth refuses to cooperate. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a half-hearted attempt and he mumbles "I wove youw thoo." The next day, Plankton wakes up. The numbness in his mouth has subsided leaving only a dull throb. He opens his eye to see Karen. "How do you feel?" She asks. Plankton's eye blinked open, the room spinning around him. Karen came into focus. "Mmph; wha's? Wh-when..." "Your wisdom teeth," she says, her voice a soothing tide. "They're gone Plankton. You don't have to worry about them anymore." "Wis-wis-wis...?" He stammers, his tongue tripping over the word "wisdom." "Yes, Plankton," Karen says with amusement. "You had your wisdom teeth removed yesterday." Plankton's eye widen, and he tries to sit up. "Y-yesterday?" He slurs. "But I...I caan't...can't remember.." Karen nods, her smile full of mirth. "You were pretty out of it," she says. He tries to push himself up, but the pain in his mouth sends a shockwave through. "Mph-ow!" He flops back down, his hands flying to his cheeks. "What do you mean?" Karen laughs. "You were pretty loopy," she says, holding him down gently. "The anesthesia had you talking like..." she pauses, searching for the right words. "Well, like you've never talked before." "I hope I...I didn't say anything..." he starts, his voice trailing off. "Oh, you said plenty," she teases. "But don't worry, it was just the anesthesia talking." "Wh-wh-what did I say?" Karen chuckles. "You were worried about your 'teethies'," she mimics his slurred speech from the day before. "And you kept insisting you needed to think, even when it was clear you couldn't even talk straight. But don't worry; you're just fine."

CHIP IN MY BOX ii (Autistic author) As they wait, Chip's curiosity is obvious. "What's wrong with Dad?" he asks, his brow furrowed with concern. Karen sighs, sitting down beside him. "It's not that something's wrong, exactly," she starts. "Your father has a... condition. It's a bit like when you get overwhelmed by noise or too much to do and you need to go to your room to play with your toys by yourself, right?" Chip nods, still not completely sure. "It's like he has a... sensory processing thing," Karen elaborates, her voice soft. "Sometimes the world is just too much for him, so he needs these special tools to help him cope." Chip's eyes widen as he looks from the sensory curtain to his mother. He's heard about kids in school who have to wear noise-canceling headphones or sit in quiet areas, but he never thought his dad might be like that. He opens his mouth to ask more questions, but Karen puts a hand on his arm, her grip firm but gentle. "Let's give him his space," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Chip nods, his mind racing. He's heard of people who need breaks, but not like this. "What happens if he doesn't use it?" Chip whispers, his eyes flicking to the sensory box and back to Plankton. "Well," Karen starts, "he can get pretty anxious and overwhelmed. It's like his brain can't keep up with the world around him. It'd just take longer for his brain to wake.." But Plankton's eye starts to twitch, then blink rapidly. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and the room seems to snap back into focus for him. His gaze shifts, first to the box on the table, then to Karen and Chip. "What... what happened?" he stammers, sounding groggy and disoriented. Karen smiles warmly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You had a little moment," she says, using the term they've agreed upon to describe his episodes. Plankton blinks rapidly, his eye adjusting to the light. He looks around, noticing the sensory curtain lying in his lap, the open box. "Ah," he says, his voice a little hoarse. "I see." Embarrassment floods his features as he realizes his son has witnessed his episode. He's always tried to keep it from Chip, his pride not wanting his son to know. He doesn't like being seen this way, vulnerable. It's a side of him he's never shown to anyone outside of Karen. But his son's to curious and wants to ask, as he can't help his curiosity. "What was that?" he whispers. Plankton's face tightens, a mix of embarrassment and anger. He doesn't like for anyone, especially Chip, to see him when he zones out. It's a private battle. He tries to stand, but Karen's hand on his shoulder stops him. "Dad, w---" "Don't!" Plankton snaps, his voice harsher than Chip has ever heard. Karen's hand tightens on Plankton's shoulder, a silent plea for patience. "Chip just walked in, honey. He didn't mean to," she says soothingly. But Chip's curiosity is fueled by the unanswered questions swirling in his head. "But why do you need that?" he asks, touching the sensory curtain. Plankton's expression hardens, his cheeks flushing. He hates the feeling of being interrogated, especially when it's about something so deeply personal. "It's none of your business," he snaps, his tone cutting through the air like a knife. "Now just leave me be." Chip's eyes widen, hurt mixing with confusion. He's not used to his father's sharpness. His hand retracts from the sensory curtain as if burned. "But, Dad," he starts, only to be cut off once more. "I said, leave me alone," Plankton repeats, his voice like steel. Chip feels his heart drop, but his curiosity refuses to wane. "What's in the box?" He asks, reaching for it. Plankton's hand slams down on the box's lid with a force that makes the whole room jump. "I said enough!" His eye flashes with a rare anger that sends a shiver down Chip's spine. Karen intervenes quickly, placing herself between them. "Chip, let's go to your room," she says gently, her voice full of an urgency that usually meant serious trouble. But Chip's curiosity is a stubborn beast. "But I'm wor–" "I said, leave it!" Plankton's voice booms, cutting through the tension. His eye flashes with a fiery intensity that makes Chip's knees wobble. Karen's grip on Chip's arm tightens. "Come on," she urges, guiding him away from his father's wrath. But Chip resists, his curiosity not easily deterred. "Why do you have to use that?" He points to the box, his voice shaking slightly. "What's so important that you can't even talk to me? What's in there that's so important you can't even lo…" "I don't have to explain everything to you," Plankton snaps, his voice rising. Karen's eyes dart between them, worry etching lines on her forehead. "Plankton, please," she begs, her voice barely a whisper. But Chip, oblivious to the storm brewing in the room, presses on. "But why do yo-" "Because I said so!" Plankton's roar is a thunderclap in the quiet room. The box shakes with the force of his hand slamming down on it. Chip flinches, his eyes watering, but he's not backing down. "But, Dad-" "I said, I don't have to explain!" Plankton's voice echoes through the room, the force of his words almost tangible. Karen's grip on his arm tightens, but Chip still tries to stand his ground. "But why can't you?" Chip's voice cracks with the weight of his questions. "You're always telling me that talking about things makes them better. Why can't we talk abou-" "ENOUGH!" Plankton roars, his fists clenched, the knuckles white with tension. His anger is a palpable force. The sensory box seems to quiver under his glare. Chip's eyes widen with fear, but the stubbornness within him won't let him retreat. He opens his mouth again, desperate for answers. "But Dad, if you don't tell me, how can I understand?" Plankton's anger seems to grow with every question, his body tense and his face a mask of rage. "Understand?" he spits out. "You don't understand anything, you little brat!" His hand hovers over the box, as if it's the source of his fury. The room feels like it's shrinking around Chip, the tension suffocating. He's seen his dad upset before, but never like this. He tries to pull away from Karen's grip, his need for answers stronger than his fear of his father's wrath. "But why?" Chip repeats, his voice smaller now, the storm in the room making his courage waver. Plankton's eye narrows, his body vibrating with frustration. "Why can't you just leave it be?" he snarls, his hand still hovering over the box, his knuckles stark against the wood. Karen's eyes are wide with fear, her grip on Chip's arm now painfully tight. "Chip," she says, her voice trembling, "Please, just go to your room." But Chip is caught in the storm of his own curiosity. "But I want to know!" Chip's voice is louder now, his eyes shining with a mix of fear and determination. He can't understand why his father is so upset, why this simple question has caused such a reaction. "You don't need to know!" Plankton's voice is a thunderous boom, his hand slamming on the box so hard that the wood groans. "Just leave me be!" Chip's eyes are wide with shock and confusion, his cheeks flushed with a mix of fear and frustration. "But why?" He persists, his voice shaking. "What's so bad about me asking?" Plankton's fury seems to grow with each syllable Chip utters. He glares at his son, his hand still hovering over the box. "It's not for you to understand!" His voice is a roar that shakes the foundation of the room. Chip takes a step back, his heart racing. But instead of retreating, his curiosity blazes brighter. He's never seen his dad this way, so consumed by anger. It's like his questions are poking at a wound, a secret so deep and raw that Plankton can't bear to acknowledge it.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY ii (By NeuroFabulous) "Let's go downstairs," Karen suggested, her voice still calm but with an underlying urgency. They followed her, leaving Plankton to gather his thoughts. Once they were in the living room, Karen turned to face them. "I know this might be scary, but you guys need to remember that Dad is okay," she began, her eyes full of reassurance. "It's just his way of processing things." Chip nodded, trying to understand. Alex leaned against the wall, their mind racing with questions. "It's like when you get lost in a good book," Karen continued, looking at Alex, "you're not really gone, you're just somewhere else for a little bit." Alex nodded, their eyes reflecting their attempt to grasp the concept. "But why does he do that?" Chip asked, his voice filled with a childlike innocence that masked his worry. Karen sighed, looking from Chip to Alex. She knew it was important for Chip to understand, but she wasn't sure how much Alex needed to know. "It's complicated, Chip. But what's important is that we're here for him." Alex nodded, still not fully comprehending but willing to accept the explanation for now. They could see the love and concern in Karen's eyes and knew it was something serious. "Okay," they said quietly. But before they could leave, Karen spoke again. "Alex, can I have a word?" Alex turned, their eyes meeting Karen's steady gaze. Chip hovered in the background, sensing the gravity of the moment. "Of course," Alex replied, their voice cautious. Karen's expression grew serious, her eyes locking onto Alex's. "You know, what happens here, stays here," she said firmly. "Your friendship with Chip is important to him. And his dad's condition...it's something Chip doesn't even know about yet I will tell him, but it's a bit personal. You did nothing wrong." Alex nodded, understanding the weight of what she was asking. "I won't tell anyone," they promised, their eyes sincere. Karen took a deep breath, appreciating Alex's maturity. "Thank you," she said, giving their hand a squeeze. "But for now, I think it's best if you head on home." Alex looked at Chip, who was still trying to process everything. "But... what about our plans?" Chip's voice was small, his excitement of earlier replaced by confusion and worry. "We'll have to save them for another day, buddy," Karen said, her voice soft. "But I promise, we'll make it up to you." She gave Alex a gentle smile. "Thank you for understanding." Alex nodded solemnly, their eyes darting from Karen to Chip and back. They knew they had stumbled into a situation that was bigger than themself, and they didn't want to cause any more stress. "Okay," they murmured, "I'll go." Chip looked up at Alex, his eyes filling with unshed tears. "Do you have to?" he asked, his voice trembling. Alex forced a smile. "Yeah, I should get going. But I'll see you." They gave Chip's shoulder a comforting squeeze before turning to leave. Karen walked Alex to the door, her mind racing with thoughts of how to explain this to Chip. She knew he wasn't ready to understand Plankton's condition fully, but she also knew that keeping it a secret wasn't fair to him. As they reached the front door, Alex paused. "Is your dad going to be okay?" They asked, their voice filled with genuine concern. Chip hovered behind them, listening intently. Karen nodded, her hand on the doorknob. "Yes, he'll be fine," she assured them. "This happens from time to time. It's just part of him." Alex nodded again, their gaze lingering on Chip. "Okay," they said, trying to sound braver than they felt. "See ya, Chip." Chip managed a weak smile, his eyes still glossy. "See ya," he echoed. The door closed gently, and the house was once again filled with a tense silence.

NEW REALITY ii (Autistic author) He points to the fan again, his finger trembling slightly. "Fan. Spin." The words come out in a staccato rhythm, each syllable a separate entity. "It's okay," she tells him, her voice shaky. Karen tries to distract him, pointing to various items around the room. "Look, Plankton, that's our picture from our wedding day." She shows him the small, framed photograph on the nightstand. His eye flits to it for a second, then back to the fan. "Picture. 31 July 1999," he says, but his voice lacks emotion, as if he's simply reciting words from a dictionary. "Do you remember the day?" she asks, her voice hopeful. He nods, his gaze still glued to the spinning blades. "Wedding. Married to Karen. Happy day." The words come out like a rehearsed script, and the joy that should have filled his voice is painfully absent. Karen's heart aches. This isn't the Plankton she knows, the one who would tease her mercilessly or whisper sweet nothings when no one was around. This is a stranger, trapped in a body that's only familiar because of the memories it holds. She decides to keep talking, hoping that something will spark a memory, a connection. "Plankton," she says, her voice gentle but firm, "I noticed you're interested in the fan.." "Fan," he repeats, nodding his head slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Spinning. Fast." Karen tries to hide her concern. "Do you like it?" she asks, her voice a careful balance of casual and hopeful. "Like?" Plankton echoes, his eye still transfixed by the fan. He seems to think for a moment, then nods. "Yes. Like. Spinning." Karen tries to smile, but it feels forced. "Okay," she says, swiping at a tear that escapes. "Let's talk about something else." Plankton's gaze finally breaks from the fan and lands on her, his expression unreadable. "Else," he repeats, as if trying to grasp the concept of something other than the fan. Karen's mind races, desperately searching for a topic that might draw him out of his fugue. "Remember SpongeBob?" she asks, thinking of their shared friend and his successful rival. Plankton's face twitches, a glimmer of something resembling recognition flickering across his features. "SpongeBob," he murmurs, his eye focusing on a spot just over her shoulder. "Yes," Karen encourages, feeling a flicker of hope. "You two are always trying to outdo each other." But Plankton doesn't react. Instead, his hands start to wave slightly, a rhythmic movement that seems to soothe him. Karen's heart sinks. "What are you doing?" she asks, trying to keep the worry from creeping into her tone. Plankton's antennae twitch as he continues to move his hands. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soft and comforting. "You're just a bit out of it. You'll be okay." But Plankton doesn't respond. His hands keep moving in the same pattern, his eye on the wall. Karen's stomach churns. This isn't just dizziness. This is something else. Panic starts to set in as Karen realizes she might not have her husband back. "Plankton," she says, her voice trembling. "Look at me." Slowly, his eye shifts from the wall to her face, and for a moment, she sees a flicker of the man she loves. "Karen," he says, his voice a bit more present, but his movements still erratic. She can't ignore the fear that's building in her chest. "What happened to you?" she whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. Plankton's hand stops mid-wave. "What Karen meant?" he asks, his tone devoid of any understanding. Karen's throat tightens. "It's just... you're acting a little different, that's all," she says, desperately trying to keep her voice calm. Plankton's movements become more erratic, his hands flapping in an unnerving rhythm. "Different?" he repeats, his eye darting around the room. "No, Plankton." Karen tries to calm him down, her heart racing as she searches for a way to explain without upsetting him. "I just meant, you're not quite yourself today." Plankton's movements slow, his hands stilling in his lap. "Self?" he questions, his voice a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Plankton self, Karen." Karen nods, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Yes, yourself. You know, your personality, your... your quirks." She tries to laugh, but it comes out forced. Plankton's eye narrows, his expression unreadable. "Quirks?" he repeats. "Plankton has quirks.." Karen nods, her smile strained. "Everyone does, honey. It's what makes us who we are." Plankton seems to ponder this, his hand resuming its wave-like motion. "Plankton, self," he murmurs, his gaze returning to the fan. "Spin. Fast. Like." Karen watches him, her heart heavy with unshed tears. She doesn't know what to make of his behavior. Could he really be okay? Maybe this is just a phase, a side effect of the explosion. She clings to the thought like a lifeline, not ready to face any alternative. "Let's get you some water," she says, forcing a smile. Plankton nods, his eye still on the fan. As she moves to the kitchen, she tries to convince herself that he'll be fine, that this is just a temporary setback. But the way he's acting, so detached and disconnected, it's not like him at all. The kitchen is a blur as she fills a glass with water, her mind racing with questions. What do they do now? How do they get through this? She carries the water back to the bedroom, her hand shaking slightly. Plankton hasn't moved, still staring at the fan. She sets the glass on the nightstand, his eye never leaving the spinning blades. "Here you go," she says, offering the water with a trembling smile. He takes it, his movements precise but mechanical, and brings it to his mouth. As he drinks, Karen watches his every move, looking for any sign of the man she loves beneath the surface of this new, strange behavior. "Thanks," he says, his voice devoid of its usual sass. He sets the glass down, his gaze returning to the fan. Karen tries focusing instead on the way the light dances off the beads of water on his antennae.

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AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY ii (Autistic author) Karen's friend Hanna came over unexpectedly. Hanna never met Plankton personally, nor did she hear of his diagnosis. "Oh, Plankton, it's good to finally meet you!" Hanna exclaimed, voice bubbly. Plankton looked up from his book, his gaze unwavering. He didn't move or speak. Yet Hanna was oblivious. Karen stepped in, her smile forced. "Honey, this is Hanna," she said, hoping for a response. Plankton studied Hanna with a curiosity that was both intense and slightly unnerving. He tilted his head, his antennae vibrating slightly. "Hello," he said, his voice monotone. "I'll go get some refreshments," says Karen. Hanna took a seat right up by Plankton, unaware of his aversion to touch. "So, Karen tells me you're quite the inventor," Hanna said with a chuckle, reaching out to pat him on the back. Plankton flinched at the unexpected contact, antennae twitching. "What are you working on?" she asked, picking up a gadget. Plankton's antennae snapped to attention, eye widening in horror. "That's not for touching!" he snapped, his voice sharp and urgent. "Oh, sorry," she stuttered, quickly returning it to the bench. "I didn't know." Plankton's gaze didn't leave. He took a deep breath. But she didn't give him space, didn't understand him. Plankton felt tense, antennae quivering. "Could I see what you're reading?" Hanna leaned closer, trying to peer at the book. Plankton flinched, his grip tightening around the pages. His eye flitted to the book and back to her, his antennae pulsing rapidly. But Hanna was unaware of the discomfort she was causing. "It's just a book," she said with a wave of her hand. "Don't be so secretive." She leaned in even closer, trying to make eye contact. The room grew hotter, his antennae twitching uncontrollably. He felt his heart racing in his chest, the thump- thump echoing in his ears. He wanted to yell at her to go away, but he knew that would only make things worse. "Could you not talk so much?" Plankton's voice was tight, his desire for quiet clear. But Hanna, in her ignorance, just laughed, thinking it was a quirky part of his personality. "I've got so much to tell you about!" she babbled, her hands animated as she talked. Plankton's seeking an escape from the onslaught of sensory input. Hanna, oblivious to his distress, rattled on. Each word she spoke was a new pinprick on his already frayed nerves. He couldn't focus on the conversation. "So, what do you think?" Hanna asked, her eyes bright with expectation. Plankton blinked, pulled from his thoughts. "Think about what?" He replied, his voice flat. Hanna's smile wavered. "I said, what do you think about the new fashion trend in Bikini Bottom?" Plankton blinked again, trying to process her words. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, and the effort it took to engage in small talk was exhausting. He shrugs. It was the only response he could muster. His brain felt like it was short-circuiting, trying to keep up. Hanna was unfazed. "It's all the rage!" she exclaimed, grabbing his shoulder. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body stiffening. The touch was like a shock to his system, and he had to fight the urge to pull away. "Mm," he murmured, not really listening. The effort to maintain his composure was Herculean. Hanna didn't seem to notice, her laughter bubbling over, taking Plankton's lack of engagement as shyness. "You know, Patrick's even started a jellyfishing club!" Plankton nodded again, his eye flicking towards the doorway, willing Karen to return. Plankton felt his head throbbing. He tried to focus on her words, to find some semblance of meaning in the chaos. Plankton realized she was waiting for him to speak, but he can't. He wanted to scream, to tell her to just leave him alone. "You know, Plankton," Hanna said, her voice softer now, "Karen tells me you're quite the genius." She leaned forward. Plankton's antennae twitching erratically. She reached out to pat his arm again, but that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Plankton's eye widened with panic. He twitched abruptly, knocking over his chair. "I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?" Plankton didn't answer. He couldn't. The words were trapped in his throat, a tangled mess of frustration and anxiety. He took a step back, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. The room spun around him, his senses on overload. Hanna noticed his distress. "Plankton?" she whispered, her hand outstretched. But Plankton was beyond words. He couldn't form a coherent response, couldn't explain. Karen rushed into the room, alerted by the sound of the chair falling. Her screen searched her husband's face, seeing the distress he couldn't voice. "What happened?" Hanna stuttered, her hands up in defense. "I don't know! I was just talking to him, and he...he..." But Karen had already assessed the situation. She saw the fear in Hanna and the panic in Plankton. She knew he was overwhelmed. She stepped in quickly, her voice a soothing balm. "It's ok Plankton," she said, her tone calm and reassuring. "You're safe. It's just Hanna. She's a friend." Plankton's antennae stopped quivering, his breaths coming in slightly more even. But he didn't look at Karen, his gaze still locked on the wallpaper. Hanna watched, her expression mixture of concern and confusion. But Plankton couldn't find words. His mind was a maelstrom of thoughts and sensory input. He felt his body shaking, breaths coming in quick gasps. Hanna took a tentative step. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Plankton's body remained rigid, his eye still fixed on the wall. Hanna tried to reach out to him like Karen did. "NO!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the lab, the first time he'd raised it since his diagnosis. Hanna took a step back, her face falling. "I'm sorry," she whispered. But Plankton couldn't hear her apology, couldn't process anything anymore, couldn't move nor speak. The world was too much, too loud, too bright, too everything. He retreated into himself. Karen watched as Hanna took in the scene before her, her own hand freezing in mid-air. The room was silent except for Plankton's ragged breaths, his tiny body trembling. "I didn't mean to upset him," Hanna whispered, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to be friendly." Karen's gaze never left Plankton. She knew he couldn't help it. The diagnosis was new, and they were both learning to navigate this uncharted territory. Karen didn't want to go into details about Plankton's autism with Hanna, not yet. Hanna looked from Plankton to Karen. "What's wrong with you?" she asked him, shaking. Plankton didn't respond, his gaze still locked on the wallpaper. His body was a statue, but inside, he was a tempest of overstimulation and fear. Hanna's words, her touch, her very presence was too much for him to handle. Karen stepped closer, placing her hand on Hanna's arm. "He's just overwhelmed." Hanna looked at her, the confusion clear in her screen. "Can you give us a moment? He needs space." Hanna nods. Approaching Plankton, Karen knelt before his frozen form. "It's ok," she whispered, her voice a gentle lullaby. "You're safe here." She took his hands, guiding them to her shoulders, his grip tightening reflexively. Hanna hovered, unsure of what to do, but Karen's gaze was firm. "I'll take care of him," she assured. Karen sat with him, her heart pounding in her chest. She knew what he needed. "You're ok," Karen whispered, repeating it like a mantra. Plankton's body was rigid, but his grip on her shoulders began to loosen. She stroked his arm, her touch gentle and rhythmic. "It's just you and me, Plankton." Slowly, the tension in his body began to ease, his breathing evening out. Karen remained a constant, calming presence. "I'm here," she murmured, her eyes meeting his, which were now brimming with unshed tears. "You're ok. It's just us." Plankton's antennae stopped twitching as he focused on Karen's face. Her eyes were filled with love and understanding, a beacon in the storm of his overwhelmed senses. "You're ok," she repeated, her voice a lullaby that seemed to resonate with his racing heart. He nodded slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. Sensing his comfort with her proximity, Karen carefully wrapped her arms around him. He didn't resist, instead leaning into her embrace. She could feel his body relaxing, his breaths growing deeper. The room was quiet now. She rocked him gently, the motion soothing to them both. His antennae stilled, and his eye began to droop. Plankton's body grew heavy, his muscles finally relaxing. The storm of his thoughts began to calm, the sensory overload slowly abating. Karen felt his grip loosen, his breaths deepening as he leaned into her embrace. The weight of his head grew heavier against her shoulder. His breaths grew slower, deeper. Karen felt Plankton's grip on her shoulders loosen until his arms were draped over her, his breathing deep and even. She knew he was exhausted. Plankton's head lolled against her neck, and she felt the tension in his body ease away, his limbs going slack. Her hand stroked his back, the rhythmic motion a comforting reminder that he was safe. Karen noticed Plankton's breathing had turned into a gentle snore, his body finally at ease. Hanna, who stood in the doorway, came closer to the couple. "I am so..." Karen turned to her, her expression firm but gentle. "Shh," she hushed, raising a finger. "He's asleep." She didn't want to explain his condition, not yet. The words were still too fresh, too raw. Hanna nodded, brimming with unshed tears. She looked at Plankton, then back to Karen. "What can I do?" she asked softly. Karen took a deep breath, composing herself. "Just give us some space for now. I can explain later." Hanna nodded, her screen never leaving Plankton. "Ok," she whispered, retreating.

🗿

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢁⠔⠚⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⠒⢄⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠬⠬⠽⠉⠉⠝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡷⠈⡆⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢩⣋⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣘⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣛⣉⡉⢹⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⡃⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⡇⠀⢨⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⡆⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠇⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⡇⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠘⡇⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢀⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⠟⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⢿⣿ ⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠈⢻ ⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⡿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸ ⣿⣷⣦⣤⣤⣤⡀⠙⢿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣀⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠉⣁⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⡿⠋⠀⣠⣦⣄⣤⣾⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠈⠻⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⠘⠋⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠘⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⣈⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⡉⠉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⡉⠉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣉⣁⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠇⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

CHIP AND FAIL ii (Autistic author) "And then there's my roommate, Jake," Chip went on as he nudged Plankton. Plankton felt the nudge like a sledgehammer, the vibration reverberating through his bones, his body visibly taut. "He's got a pet named Steve," Chip said, laughing, "and he taught me how to play the guitar!" Plankton's eye grew larger, his heart racing as the room spun around him. He felt like his mind was being invaded by a swarm of jellyfish, buzzing with every word, every touch. But Chip was in his element, his words tumbling out. "And we had a food fight!" Chip said, slapping his hand down on the bed, sending waves of pain through Plankton's overstimulated nervous system. He swallowed a cry, his hands gripping the sheets. "It was like a battle royale with spaghetti!" Chip's laughter filled the room, but Plankton couldn't find it in himself to laugh. The noise, the motion, the smells - it was all too much. His mind was racing, trying to keep up but he was losing the battle. He needed silence, darkness, a chance to reset. But Chip was still talking, still touching, still demanding his attention. He felt trapped. "And then, get this, Dad," Chip said, slapping his knee with each new anecdote. "There's this professor..." Plankton knew he needed to tell Chip to slow down, to give him space, but more Chip talked, the less he could comprehend. His mind was a whirlwind of sensory input, spinning out of control. Chip, not noticing, was still grinning, his screen sparkling with joy, voice rising with excitement. But Plankton was no longer listening. His eye had glazed over, his mind a tangled web of sensory overload. He couldn't even hear Chip anymore. Chip, noticing the lack of response, paused. "Dad?" he said, his voice softening with concern as he poked him with his finger, adding to the cacophony of sensory input that engulfed and drowned Plankton. Chip, puzzled by his dad's lack of response, leaned in closer, his face a picture of innocent curiosity. "Isn't that amazing, Dad?" He asked, placing his hand on Plankton's arm again. The room was spinning, the sounds of Chip's voice and the memory of his stories a cacophony, his chest tight. "Dad?" Chip's voice grew quiet, his smile slipping away as he noticed his father's distress. He had never seen Plankton like this before, so still.. "Are you okay?" He asked, genuinely concerned. But his question was like another explosion of light and sound to Plankton. But Chip, in his excitement, misinterpreted. He leaned in even closer, his hand landing gently on Plankton's shoulder. Plankton's body constricted, unblinking. The pressure of Chip's hand was a heavy weight, and the softness of his voice was a scream in Plankton's overwhelmed ears. He couldn't speak, couldn't move.. Chip's eyes grew wide with concern as he watched his dad. He had never seen Plankton like this, so silent and unresponsive. Was he ok? Did he say something wrong? The doubt grew in his chest. "Dad?" He ventured again, his voice smaller than it had been. Plankton's body was a statue, his eye fixed somewhere beyond the room. Chip's hand hovered over his arm, uncertain of what to do. "Dad, are you okay?" He asked, his voice trembling. He had never seen his dad so silent. Plankton's body is rigid and unyielding. He can't understand why his dad isn't responding, why he isn't laughing at the funny stories or asking questions about his college life. "Dad?" Chip says again, his voice more tentative now. He reaches out to shake Plankton's shoulder. Something's wrong, he can feel it. He didn't know Plankton has reached a breaking point, and his mind shuts down in self-defense. He can't process anything, not even the love in Chip's voice. "What's wrong with you!" Chip asks, his eyes wide with confusion and hurt. He had only wanted to share his excitement, to connect with his dad after being away for a week. But Plankton's reaction was like nothing he had ever seen before. Plankton's unable to decipher Chip's words or the concern etched into his features. Chip's scanning Plankton's expression for some clue, some sign of what was happening. "Dad, talk to me," Chip pleads, his hand resting on frozen Plankton's shoulder. Nothing. He's expressionless. Panic starts to bloom in Chip. "Dad, say something!" He begs, his hands shaking. Plankton remains motionless, his eye unfocused. Chip's mind races, trying to understand, trying to piece together what he could've done wrong. The silence stretches between them, taut as a bowstring. Plankton's face remains an unreadable mask. Chip's thoughts tumble over one another, trying to remember anything that could've triggered this. He knew his dad was a bit of an introvert, needy of his space, but this was beyond that. The room felt claustrophobic, the air thick with unspoken words. "Dad, you're scaring me," he whispers, his voice cracking. "What's going on?" Plankton's trapped in his own body, a prison of sensory overload. The room seems to spin faster, the colors bleeding into one another. He can't find the words to explain. He wishes he could tell Chip to stop, to back away, but his tongue is a dead weight in his mouth. But Chip, his mind racing with worry, doesn't understand. He's never seen his dad like this before. "Dad?" He says again, his voice shaking with fear. "You're not moving." In a moment of desperation, Chip grabs Plankton's hand, trying to shake him out of his trance. "Please, Dad, talk to me," he whispers, his grip tight. But Plankton's hand is cold and stiff, like holding onto a mannequin's. Chip's face falls, his eyes filling with tears. "What's wrong, Dad?" He sobs, his voice thick with fear. Plankton feels the warmth of Chip's hand, the pressure of his grip, but he's trapped in a world of sensory overload, unable to move or speak. His heart aches with the pain of his son's distress, but his body won't cooperate. He desperately tries to break through the fog, to tell Chip he's okay, that he loves him. But even his consciousness is frozen now. Chip's sobs grew louder, his shoulders shaking with each breath. "Please, Dad, please," he whimpers, his eyes brimming with tears. The weight of his father's unresponsive hand in his own was like a stone, dragging him down into a pit of fear. He didn't know his dad was autistic, didn't know the silent torture he was enduring. Plankton's heart was a caged bird, flapping its wings against the walls of his overwhelmed mind. He wished he could tell Chip that he was okay, that he loved him, but his thoughts were a tangled web, catching and trapping every sensation until he couldn't move. Chip's grip tightened, his voice desperate. "Dad, please," he sobbed. But Plankton remained unresponsive, his mind a hurricane of stimuli. The weight of Chip's hand on his shoulder was unbearable, each touch a bolt of lightning striking his already fried nervous system. The room was spinning, the colors blurring into a swirl of chaos. Chip's voice grew louder, more insistent, his touches more frequent as he tried to pull his dad out of his silent world, his grip on Plankton's arm tightening. But Plankton's body was a statue. "Dad, please, say something," Chip whispered, his voice choked with sobs. Chip's face crumpled as he concluded his dad wasn't okay. He never saw him like this, so silent and still. But the more Chip talked, the more he touched, the deeper Plankton sank into his overloaded state. Plankton's body remained still. He didn't understand why his dad was so unresponsive. His heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. Chip leaned in closer, his eyes searching Plankton's for some glimmer of recognition, some sign that he was okay, desperate for any sign of life. "Dad, you're scaring me," he choked out, his grip on Plankton's hand becoming frantic. Plankton's heart was racing, but his body remained still as a statue, the storm inside his mind unseen by his son. "Please, Dad, talk to me," Chip pleaded, tears rolling down his cheeks. In his panic, Chip didn't realize his touches were only adding to Plankton's distress. His face crumpled as he realizes his dad, so still and unresponsive, is not okay. The room grew smaller, the air thicker with Chip's sobs. "Dad, please," he whispered, his voice shaking. He didn't know how to help, didn't know what was happening. All he knew was that the man he loved was slipping away from him, and he was powerless to stop it. Plankton's mind was a tornado of sensation, each touch, each sound a knife slicing through the fragile silence he needed to survive. He wished he could tell Chip to just give him a minute, to let him find his calm. But the words were stuck in his throat, his mind a whirlwind of panic and confusion. Chip, unable to understand the storm happening inside his dad, felt a sinking dread. He had never seen Plankton like this, and his inability to connect with his father was like a punch to his gut. He tried to lighten the mood, to pull him out of his silent cocoon with a joke. "Remember when I accidentally turned your laboratory blue with that chemistry experiment?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly. But it's not working. Plankton remained unmoving, his expression unchanged, lost in his own world of sensory overload. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the tumult in his mind. Chip's words were just more noise, more chaos to process. Chip's eyes searched his dad's face, desperation etched into every line of his youthful features. He didn't know about Plankton's autism, about the need for quiet and predictability to navigate the world. He only knew that his dad wasn't responding, and it was tearing him apart. He took a deep breath, trying to think of what to do. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on them like a heavy blanket. Then, suddenly, he had an idea.

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WHEN THE CHIP FALLS ii/ii (Autistic author) Karen takes a deep breath, preparing to explain. "You know how sometimes, when somethings made, things don't always develop as planned?" she starts, her eyes never leaving Chip's. "Well, Daddy's brain is like that. It's just how he was born." Plankton's shoulders slump, anger dissipating into a heavy sadness. He looks at his son, his heart aching. "It's hard for me to express how I feel," he says. "But that doesn't mean I don't feel it." Chip stares up at his father. "But why can't you just tell me?" he asks, trembling. "Why can't you just be like... normal dads?" The word "normal" hangs in the air and Plankton feels his rage reignite. "Don't you dare," he growls, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't you ever say that again." Chip takes a step back, his body shaking. "What did I say?" he whispers. But Plankton doesn't answer. He turns away, his movements stiff and jerking, as if he's fighting against invisible chains. Without a word, he storms out of the living room. The bedroom door slams shut with a finality that echoes through the house. Karen's gaze follows him, her heart heavy. Then she looks back at Chip, her eyes filled with a mix of love and disappointment. "Chip," she says firmly. "You can't just... expect him to change like that." Chip's eyes fill with understanding, his body slumping. "I didn't mean to..." he starts, his voice trailing off. "But I just want to spend time with him," he says, his voice small and defeated. Karen sighs, her gaze softening as she looks at her son. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice gentle. "But using the word 'normal' doesn't help. It makes Daddy feel like something's wrong with him, like he's not good enough." Chip's eyes widen, realizing his mistake. "I didn't mean it like that," he stammers, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "I just want us to be happy together." Karen nods solemnly, her eyes holding his. "I know you do," she says, her voice gentle. "But words can hurt, especially when we don't understand the full weight they carry. Your father's not 'normal' in the way you think, but that doesn't mean his love for you is any less." Chip bites his lip, his eyes glued to the floor. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing he's hurt his dad. With a heavy sigh, Karen stands up. "Let's go talk to your father," she says, placing a comforting hand on Chip's shoulder. They walk down the hallway to Plankton's bedroom. The door is ajar, and through the crack, Karen can see Plankton's hunched form on the bed, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shake with silent sobs. Her heart aches for his pain. With Chip in tow, she pushes the door open. Plankton doesn't look up, his body wrapped in a cocoon of self-loathing. The room is a mess of discarded lab equipment and half-finished experiments, a visual representation of his tumultuous thoughts. "Plankton," Karen says softly, her voice a lifeline thrown into the sea of his despair. He doesn't move, his body rigid with the weight of his own emotions. Chip takes a tentative step forward, his hand reaching out to touch his father's shoulder. "Dad?" he whispers. Plankton's body jolts, his sobs growing louder. Karen's heart clenches at the sound, knowing the depth of his pain. "Dad?" Chip's voice is tiny, his hand hovering over his father's back. He's never seen his dad like this, so vulnerable and broken. Plankton's sobs fill the room, each one a shard of pain that penetrates Karen's soul. Her heart breaks for her husband, for the struggle she knows he faces every day. Chip's hand shakes as he touches Plankton's shoulder, his voice a tiny thread of hope woven through the storm of emotions. "Dad, I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton's sobs intensify, his body wracking with the weight of his sorrow. Karen moves to the bed, sitting down beside him, her hand on his back. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle breeze in the storm of his grief. But Plankton is beyond consolation. His sobs are like waves, crashing against the shore of his pride, eroding the barriers he's built up over the years. He can't speak, can't even look at his son. Chip's touch is a soft whisper in the hurricane of his father's pain, but it's enough to make Plankton's shoulders shake even harder. The weight of his emotions is too much, his body unable to contain the torrent. Karen wraps her arms around him, trying to soothe the storm within. She knows the feeling all too well, having been his anchor through so many of these moments. Plankton's sobs are like a language only she can understand. Chip watches, feeling helpless, his hand still hovering over his father's back. He's seen his dad upset before, but never like this. It's like looking into the eye of a hurricane and wishing you could stop it from spinning. "Daddy," Chip says again, his voice tiny, hopeful. Plankton's body tenses under his touch, and for a moment, it seems like the storm might abate. But the sobs only get louder, the tremors more violent. Karen's heart breaks as she sees the hurt in her son's eyes. "Let's give him some space, okay?" she says gently, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "Go wait, I'll take care of him." With a nod, Chip retreats, his eyes never leaving his father's bent form. Once he's gone, Karen wraps her arms around Plankton, holding him tightly as he cries. "Shh," she whispers, stroking his back in soothing circles. "It's okay. I'm here." Her voice is a lullaby in the tempest of his emotions, a beacon of calm in the chaos. Slowly, Plankton's sobs begin to subside, his body unclenching from its self-imposed prison. He lifts his face, eye red and wet with tears. "I just want..." he whispers, his voice raw with pain. Karen's eyes well up with tears, her heart aching for his suffering. "You are normal, Plankton," she says softly. "You're just different." Plankton's body quakes, his sobs subsiding into hiccups. "But Chip..." he chokes out. "He thinks... he thinks..." Karen's grip tightens, her voice firm and loving. "Chip's young," she says. "He doesn't understand yet. But we'll teach him." Plankton's sobs slowly ease, his breaths coming less ragged. He nods, his body still tense. "I know," he says, his voice a whisper. "But it hurts." Karen pulls him closer, aching for his pain. She kisses his cheek, her touch gentle the way she knows he likes it. "You're a good dad," she whispers, her voice the calm after the storm. "You show Chip that you're here for him, in your own way." Plankton's eye meets hers, his gaze searching for truth in her words. He nods slowly, his shoulders slumping as he takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice still thick with emotion. Karen nods, her heart full of love and sorrow. "Let's go talk to Chip," she says gently, standing up. Plankton wipes his eye, his body still trembling. He nods, following her out of the room, each step a monumental effort. In the hallway, Chip is sitting on the floor, his back against the wall. He looks up as they approach, his eyes red and swollen. "Dad," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. Plankton's steps falter, his heart in his throat. He forces himself to meet his son's gaze, the weight of his guilt a heavy burden. "I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice shaky. The words are a balm to Plankton's soul, his anger and pain receding like a retreating tide. He looks at Chip, his eye swollen with unshed tears, his heart heavy with regret. "I didn't mean to... I just..." Chip's eyes are red, his cheeks stained with tears. "Dad, I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice a mere thread of sound. Plankton's heart clenches at the sight of his son's pain. He sits down next to Chip, his movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle him. "It's okay," he says, his voice shaky. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm not..." Chip looks up, his eyes swimming with tears. "You're not what?" he asks, his voice hopeful. Plankton sighs, trying to find the words. "I'm not like other dads," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "But that doesn't mean I don't l-love you, or that I don't want to be with you." Plankton's gaze drops to his son's small, trembling hand. "It's hard," he says, his voice tight with emotion. "I... I don't always know how to make you feel what's inside." Chip looks up at him, his eyes searching. "What's inside?" he asks, his voice tiny. Plankton's gaze meets his son's, and he sees the flicker of hope. "Love," he says finally, his voice cracking. "It's just... different." Chip's eyes widen with understanding, the fear fading from his eyes. "Can you show me?" he asks, his voice small but steady. Plankton nods, his body still tense with emotion. He thinks for a moment, trying to find a way to bridge the gap between his love and his inability to express it. "Look," he says, pointing to a jar on the shelf. "I only like certain touches from certain people. But I'm the one who recommended we get that ice cream yesterday, right?" Chip nods, his eyes glistening with hope. "Yeah, you always know the perfect flavor." Plankton's smile is forced, but it's a start. He takes a deep, shaky breath. "And remember when you had that science fair project, and I helped you?" Chip nods, his eyes lit with memory. "You stayed up all night, making sure I got it just right." Plankton's smile is a little more genuine this time. "I did that because I care about you. I want you to be happy, even if I can't show it like everyone else." He reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering near Chip's. For a moment, it seems like he might withdraw again, like a snail retreating into its shell at the first sign of danger. But then, with a deep breath, he touches his son's shoulder, his fingers light and unsure. Plankton's hand trembles, his touch as gentle as a feather landing on Chip's shoulder before retreating. "Normal is over rated," he whispers, the word a promise. "But I do, in my own way."

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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."

I love object shows🎉🎉🎉🎉

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🍊 ๋࣭ ⭑🌴 𝒉𝒊 𝒊𝒎 𝒌𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒊!! 𝒊𝒎 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒐/𝒃𝒊𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒓 🐁 - ☾ 🌷 - 👼 - 🌷 𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔 (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) ⋆ - 🦦 - ⋆ 𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒐 𝒔𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒒 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒘 ༗ • - 🐱 - • 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒘, 𝒃𝒚𝒆 ౨ৎ 🍒 ♪ 🍏 ๋࣭ ⭑ ۶ৎ ≽^• ˕ •^≼ 𝒌𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒊 🍐۶ৎ๋࣭

haii im looking for some friends!! if u like object shows pls add my dc!! @justkaavya thank u ✩.˚₊

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wassup yall so i'm looking for sourcemates;.. uhhh i'm a fictionkin andddd my source is inanimate insanity invitational; i am winged dr fizz, albino cabby and canon(?) tea kettle heh my tumblr is dr-fizzovich my yt is bassycello my strawpage is wingedfizzy (https://wingedfizzy.straw.page/) ꄗ 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 👅𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂𝕾𝖐𝖎𝖇𝖎𝖉𝖎 𝕿𝖔𝖎𝖑𝖊𝖙°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

raid this server!! pls https://discord.gg/2VP4AYJu ^_^ :3

join my server!!! https://discord.gg/2VP4AYJu

raid this server!! pls https://discord.gg/2VP4AYJu ^_^ :3 bleh

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⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⢀ ⣀ ⣀ _ _ ⣀ ⣀ ⣀ ⡀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⢸ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⡟ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⣈ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣇ ⡀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⢀ ⣤ ⣤ ⣤ ⡀ ⠀ ⣠ ⣼ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⠿ ⠿ ⢯ ⡿ ⠿ ⢤ ⡀ ⠀ ⣀ _ _ ⣀ ⣀ ⡀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⢰ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣾ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⡝ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠈ ⠸ ⠗ ⠽ ⣼ ⣿ ⣿ _ _ ⣿ ⣿ ⢆ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠈ ⢿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣷ ⣴ ⣷ ⣧ ⣤ ⡀ ⢰ ⣷ ⣻ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⡏ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠉ ⠉ ⢹ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⡝ ⣴ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣯ ⣍ ⠀ ⠈ ⡌ ⡟ ⠛ ⠛ ⠋ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⣸ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣽ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⠣ ⣺ ⣗ ⡇ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⢠ ⣿ ⣟ ⣝ ⢻ ⡿ ⠟ ⣻ ⡟ ⠋ ⠉ ⢋ ⡟ ⣷ ⠎ _ _ _ ⣄ ⢁ ⠊ ⡆ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠘ ⣿ ⣿ ⣿ ⡇ ⠀ ⡀ ⣿ ⡧ ⠀ ⡴ ⡾ ⠰ ⠁ ⢙ ⣦ ⣭ ⣼ ⡇ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ _ _ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ 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⠀⣠⠾⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠹⢁⠑⠀⡘⡿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢂⣄⡀⠘⣳⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣼⣷⣏⣠⣌⣨⣿⣿⣿⡟⠋⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⣈⠁⢃⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣖⠎⠁⠀⠁⡸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⡿⣿⣯⡿⢵⣿⣿⣿⡶⢆⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣗⠑⠈⠁⡹⣿⠻⣿⣿⣷⣵⣦⣤⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠹⣿⣯⣽⣿⣾⣷⡟⠙⠻⢯⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠙⠨⢔⠅⣿⡀⠈⣻⣿⣿⡇⠑⠫⠑⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⣿⡟⠻⢦⣤⠃⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡋⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣞⣣⢴⢺⣿⡇⢠⣿⣿⣿⠂⠂⠀⠃⢡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⢿⣤⣤⡜⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡋⡷⡂⢀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⣗⣿⣓⣾⣿⠇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⠠⠀⢲⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⢀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⢀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⡁⢠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶⣤⣀⠀⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⡀⢀⡀⢀⢀⠀⡀⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⣁⣥⣾⣶⣍⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⣛⣋⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣀⣂⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠙⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁

⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣾⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⡄⠀⠀⢱⠈⡀⠀⠀⡆⠷⠀⠰⣾⣿⣦⢠⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⡀⢿ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢇⢡⠀⠀⠸⡄⢧⠀⠀⣠⢸⣷⠀⢻⣿⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⠈ ⠀⠆⠀⠀⠠⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⡟⢻⢹⣿⠟⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⣥⠈⡄⢀⣿⠿⠿⠃⠈⠁⢾⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣇ ⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⢢⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣧⠀⠀⡀⠀⢁⣼⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠇⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿ ⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣇⠀⠘⡀⢿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠈⠀⠈⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⡡⠂⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻ ⠀⠈⣿⡆⠀⠀⢹⣿⡿⠀⡀⣧⠈⣿⡿⠀⠀⢰⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠁⢠⡆⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠇⠀⠐⠀⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠆⢿⡇⠀⣇⢹⡄⠻⠃⠀⠀⢸⡎⡄⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⢱⠀⣠⣼⠇⣸⣿⣿⠟⡋⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠺⢇⢨ ⠀⠀⠂⢿⣀⠀⢰⠸⠁⠀⠿⢜⣃⠐⠀⠀⢸⢸⡇⡇⠀⢰⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣿⣧⡇⢀⠱⣈⣾⣿⡿⠡⢊⡽⣨⣵⡇⢀⠀⠀⢦⠀⠀⣿⢿ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠸⠃⠀⠀⢚⣛⣛⠀⠀⠠⣾⢸⣷⣿⠀⡾⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣸⣿⣿⠟⡩⢞⡵⣫⡠⢹⣿⠇⠘⠀⠀⠰⠀⣀⣿⣾ ⡀⠀⠀⠘⣩⠀⠸⢃⠀⠘⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠉⠐⠺⣿⣿⣴⣿⡌⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⣘⣛⣩⣞⣛⣻⠼⣿⠀⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⣿⣿ ⣇⠀⠀⠈⡿⠀⠀⠁⠀⣀⠐⢚⠓⣶⡾⠃⣰⣶⣭⣻⣿⣿⣿⡸⣿⣿⣿⣿⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢹⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿ ⢹⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣵⣟⣤⣥⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿ ⡎⢿⠟⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⠀⡀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿ ⣴⣄⢺⣧⡀⠀⠄⠙⠻⢛⣭⣽⡛⢿⣿⠿⠛⣡⠶⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣿⠇⠀⡇⠀⣤⣄⡀⠻ ⢹⣿⣄⠁⠱⡀⠀⢉⢦⣙⣻⠥⠜⣂⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⡇⣸⣿⣿⣿⣷ ⠈⠊⠉⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⢦⡹⣿⣷⣦⢩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠎⢩⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢋⡀⠑⠀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡌⣽⣿⣦⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠁⣠⣶⣶⡀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⢠⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠸⣿⣦⡘⠿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢾⠻⣿⣷⡝⢿⣿⣿⡟⠉⢛⡍⢉⣉⣤⣤⡀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣧⢠⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⡸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠈⠉⠙⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⣁⠛⣿⣷⣁⣿⣿⣇⠸⢸⠐⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠸⣿⣿⠏⢠⣷⣦⣄⣀⡀⠙⠗⣛⡩⣵⣾⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠌⠳⢌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⢄⠋⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⡆⣿⠃⠀⡾⢟⣋⣩⣤⡶⢞⣙⣥⣶⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠻⠟⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣈⠙⠿⠿⣿⣦⣑⠲⢌⡻⠿⣿⣿⡿⠟⣋⣴⣶⠃⡰⢠⣶⣿⡿⢟⣡⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣤⣉⠣⢶⡶⣢⢬⣭⣕⣒⣒⠒⠶⠆⢧⣭⠟⠁⢚⣱⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡄⠀⠀⠘⡆⢄⠈⠑⠄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⣿⣶⣤⣁⣊⠉⠞⣚⣡⣭⣥⣴⣦⣭⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢻⣻⡘⡆⠀⠸⡌⡀⠄⠈⠊⠢⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣷⠹⢿⣿⠟⣩⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣱⡙⣥⢈⣆⠀⢕⡁⣨⢂⠀⠑⡱⡀⠀⢰⣿⣿⡷⢞⡡⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿