Iii Emojis & Text

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iii
(Autistic author)

"It's okay, Plankton," Sponge 
Bob said, his voice soothing. 
"We're just going for a walk. 
Nothing to worry about."

The three of them walked in 
silence for a while, the only 
sounds the lapping of the 
waves and the occasional 
squawk of a seagull. Karen 
could feel the tension, and 
she wondered what was going 
on inside his head.

As they neared the jellyfish fields 
Sponge Bob perked up. "Hey, 
Plankton, you remember jellyfishing
right?" He asked, his tone hopeful.

Plankton's antennae stopped the 
nervous twitching for a moment. 
"Jellyfishing," he murmured, the 
memory sparking a glimmer of 
interest. "Jellyfish sting."

Sponge Bob's smile grew wider. 
"Yeah, but it's fun, right?" He said
trying to keep the conversation 
light. Karen could see the effort 
in his eyes and felt a pang of guilt 
for ever thinking poorly of him.

"Jellyfish... fun," Plankton repeated, his 
voice still flat.

Sponge Bob looked at him, his smile fading 
slightly. "Yeah, jellyfishing's the best!" he said 
trying to keep the energy up. "Remember all 
the good times we had?"

Plankton nodded, his gaze distant. "Good 
times," he echoed.

Sponge Bob's smile faltered, and he shot a 
questioning glance at Karen. "Is everything ok 
with Plankton?" he asked, his voice tinged 
with concern.

Karen took and squeezed Plankton's 
hand. "Hold on, Sponge Bob," she said gently. 
"Plankton, can you find us a rock? A pretty 
sparkly rock."

Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, and she could 
see the gears turning in his head. He nodded, his 
antennae tilting slightly. "Find rock," he said, before 
going in the familiar jellyfish fields.

Sponge Bob watched him go, his expression a 
mix of confusion and concern. "Is Plankton ok
Karen?" he asked.

"He's just... different now," Karen said, voice 
tight with emotion. "He had an accident, and 
the doctor says 
he has acquired autism."

Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "Hey I think 
I have that, too! But what does that mean 
for Plankton?" he asked, his voice filled with 
genuine concern.

"It means he's going to need some help," Karen 
said, her voice calm and measured. "He'll still be 
the same Plankton we know, but his brain works 
differently now."

Sponge Bob's eyes searched hers, trying 
to understand. "Different like how?"

Karen took a deep breath. "Well, he might repeat 
what we say," she began, watching Plankton as 
he picked up rocks and examined them. "It's 
called echolalia. It's a way for him to process 
language now."

Sponge Bob's eyes widened with understanding. 
"Oh, like a parrot!" he exclaimed, nodding.

Karen chuckled, despite the heaviness of the situation. 
"Sort of," she said, "but it's more than just repeating 
words. It's how he processes information now."

Sponge Bob watched Plankton, who had found a 
particularly shiny rock and was now examining it 
with intense focus. "What else, Karen?" he asked.

Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain as best 
she could. "Sometimes, Plankton might need more 
time to understand what people are saying to him."

Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving 
Plankton. "How might he act?"

Karen sighed, looking at the ocean. "Well, sometimes 
he might get overwhelmed by sounds, lights, or even 
textures," she said. "It's like his senses are on overload. 
Although he'll have it for the rest of his life, he can 
potentially improve his skills. It happened yesterday, 
I don't think you were working but Krabs hit Plankton's head.."

Sponge Bob's expression grew serious, and he nodded 
solemnly. "I'm really sorry to hear that, Karen," he said, 
his eyes filled with genuine empathy. "Plankton's always 
been pretty tough, but I won't let Mr. Krabs know."

Plankton returned with the sparkly rock, his gaze still a bit 
unfocused. "Pretty rock," he said, holding it out to Karen.

Karen took the rock. "Thank you, Plankton," she said, her 
voice filled with warmth.

"Good find," Sponge Bob added, giving him an 
encouraging thumbs-up.

The walk continued, yet a distant wail of a boat's horn 
created a symphony that seemed to overwhelm him. 
He stopped, his antennae flattening against his head, 
his eye wide with distress.

"Too loud," he murmured, his voice strained.


Karen noticed Plankton's agitation. They guided him 
to a nearby bench, and he sat, his arms wrapped 
tightly around himself, rocking back and forth.

"It's okay, Plankton," she soothed, her voice calm. 
"Just breathe, darling."

Plankton's gaze remained fixed on the horizon, his 
antennae quivering.

"What's wrong, Plankton?" SpongeBob asked, voice 
filled with concern.

Plankton didn't respond, his eye squeezed shut as 
he hummed a tune to himself.

Karen and Sponge Bob sat beside him, giving him 
space and waiting for the overwhelming sound to 
pass. After a few moments, the boat's horn ceased 
and Plankton's breathing began to even out. He looks up,  
gaze still slightly unfocused.

"Plankton ok now?" Sponge Bob asked, his voice gentle.

Karen nodded. "I think so," she said, watching Plankton's 
antennae slowly untangle from their protective pose. 

"Sounds can be really intense for him now."

Sponge Bob nodded solemnly. "We'll keep it down 
then," he said, his voice a whisper.

Karen smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you, Sponge 
Bob," she said. "It means a lot."

They sat for a few more moments, the sound of the 
waves crashing against the shore acting as a soothing 
lullaby for Plankton. Finally, he spoke up, his voice still 
flat. "Home now," he said, his eye still on the horizon.

Karen nodded. "Alright, let's go home," she said, her voice 
gentle.

"SpongeBob?" Plankton asks, wanting him to come with.

Sponge Bob looks to Karen, who nods with a grateful smile. 
"We'd love for you to come, Sponge Bob," she says. "We can 
all help each other understand."

Plankton's gaze immediately falls on a biology 
book that's been lying on the coffee table, half 
open to a page about jellyfish. His antennae start 
twitching rapidly, and he picks it up with a new
found interest.

"Look, Karen," he says, his voice filled with excitement 
as he points to a picture of a jellyfish. "Jellyfish."

Karen nods. "Yes, Plankton," she says gently. "That's a 
jellyfish."

Plankton opens the book wider, eye scanning the pages 
with a fervor that was almost palpable. His antennae 
quivered with excitement as he absorbed every piece of 
information he could find about jellyfish. It was as if he 
had found a new obsession, a puzzle to solve that could 
potentially drown out the cacophony of the world around 
him. "Jellyfish," he murmurs to himself, his eye scanning 
the text. "Jellyfish sting. Jellyfish pretty."

Sponge Bob's curiosity peaks, and he leans over to look 
at the page Plankton is fixated on. "Jellyfish, huh?" He 
says, his voice soft so as not to disturb Plankton's focus.

Karen nods. "It's like he's trying to make sense of everything 
again," she explains. "It's one of his special interests now."

Sponge Bob nods. 

Karen watches as Plankton traces the outline 
of a jellyfish with his hand. "It's called hyper
fixation," she explains. "It's when extremely 
focused on something to the point where it's 
almost all he can think about."

Sponge Bob nods thoughtfully. "Well, Plankton 
I see you like the book of jellyfish?"

Plankton nods, his antennae still quivering with 
excitement. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his eye 
never leaving the page.

Sponge Bob nods, a smile spreading 
across his face. "I can see you really 
love jellyfish, Plankton," he says, 
trying to keep the conversation flowing.

new a life of diversity jellyfishcore iii

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iii

(Autistic author)

Inside, she sets him down 
on their favorite couch, the one 
with the frayed edges and 
the squeaky spring that always 
reminded them of their first date. 
The room is cluttered with 
half-finished inventions and 
plans for Krabby Patty heists. 
She sits beside him.

The silence stretches on, 
heavier than a net full of 
anchovies. Plankton's antennas 
twitch, his eye darting around 
the room, taking in the chaos. 
Karen's mind is racing, 
wondering if he recognizes any 
of it, if it brings back any 
memories of their life together.

"Home," he murmurs, his 
voice filled with uncertainty. 
The room feels smaller, more 
cramped than she remembered, as if 
the walls are closing in on them.
"Do you like it here?" she asks, 
trying to gauge his reaction.

He looks around, his antennas 
moving slightly as he processes 
his surroundings. "Home," he says 
again, his voice a mix of 
curiosity and confusion.

The room is a jumble of 
wires, gadgets, and half-eaten 
chum sticks. Karen's 
with tears as she realizes 
how much she's taken for granted 
their life together. She had 
always loved Plankton's quirks and 
his boundless energy, but now 
his mind seemed to be stuck in a 
loop, unable to move beyond 
the basic functions of 
acknowledgment.

"Home," Plankton says again, 
his antennas drooping. "Home with 
Karen."
The repetition of the words 
stirs something within Karen. 
Echolalia, the doctor had called it, 
a common trait in those with 
autism. It was Plankton's way 
of trying to understand the 
world around him, to find 
comfort in familiar words and 
phrases.

"Yes," she whispers, her 
throat tight with emotion. "This 
is our home."

The room seems to 
shrink around them as Plankton's 
echolalic chant of "home with 
Karen" repeats in a soothing 
loop. Each time he says it, 
Karen feels a pang of hope. 
Maybe, just maybe, he was 
finding comfort in the 
simplicity of their life together.

"Home with Karen," he 
says again, his antennas 
slightly more animated. 
Karen nods, 
brimming with tears. "Yes, 
Plankton, we're home."

But she sees a flicker of 
distress in his eye. "Sponge Bob," 
he whispers, his antennas 
quivering with urgency. "Where's 
Sponge Bob?"

Karen's heart squeezes at the 
mention of him. "Sponge Bob's not 
here right now," she says, 
choosing her words carefully. 
"But he'll come to visit."

Plankton's antennas shoot up, 
his eye wide. "Sponge Bob," he 
repeats, his voice gaining 
strength. "Friend. Need Sponge Bob."
The desperation in his tone is 
heart-wrenching, and Karen knows 
she needs to act fast to soothe his 
anxiety.

"Ok, ok," she says, her voice 
calm. "Let's call Sponge Bob."

Karen picks up the phone, her 
hands shaking slightly as she 
dials the familiar number. The 
phone rings once, twice, before 
it's answered by a cheerful 
voice.

"Karen?" Sponge Bob's voice 
sounds surprised but concerned. 
"Is everything ok?"

Karen takes a deep breath, 
trying to keep her voice steady. 
"It's Plankton," she says. "He's 
asking for you to come over."
There's a pause on the 
other end of the line. "Plankton? 
But we're... I mean?" Sponge 
Bob's voice is filled with 
confusion.
Karen's with 
desperation as she watches 
Plankton rock back and forth 
on the couch, his chant 
growing louder. "Sponge Bob. Need 
Sponge Bob."

"Please, Sponge Bob," she 
pleads, her voice cracking.

Sponge Bob's voice on the 
other end of the line softens.
"Of course, Karen. I'll be right 
over."
The line goes dead, and Karen 
hangs up the phone, feeling a 
tiny spark of hope. Plankton's 
cries for Sponge Bob have become 
more insistent, his rocking more 
pronounced. She gently places 
a hand on his shoulder, trying 
to soothe him.
"Sponge Bob's coming, Plankton," 
she says, her voice steady. "He'll 
be here soon."

Plankton's rocking slows, 
his antennas drooping slightly. 
"Sponge Bob," he whispers, 
his eye searching hers. "Safe."
The word hangs in the air, and 
Karen realizes that despite his 
confusion, he feels comfort in 
Sponge Bob's presence.

A few moments later, they 
hear the telltale sound of 
bubbles popping against the 
glass, and a knock on the door. 
With a tremble, Karen 
stands and opens it to reveal 
Sponge Bob, looking slightly 
nervous but determined.

"Hi, Plankton!" he exclaims. 
Plankton's antennas shoot up at 
the sound of his name, and he 
whips his head around to face 
the door. "Sponge Bob!" he 
shouts, his eye lighting up 
with an unmistakable joy.

Sponge Bob steps into the room.

"Sponge Bob!" he exclaims, his 
voice a mix of excitement and 
relief. He lunges forward, 
wrapping his tiny arms around 
the larger sponge in an embrace.

Sponge Bob looks surprised but 
quickly returns the hug, his 
spongy form enveloping Plankton 
completely. "Plankton, what's 
going on?" he asks, his eyes 
wide with concern. He's never
seen Plankton like this.

Plankton pulls back, his 
expression a jumble of 
emotions. "Sponge Bob," he says 
again, his voice filled with 
affection. He grabs Sponge 
Bob's hand and tugs him closer.
"Home with Karen. Need you."

Sponge Bob looks to Karen, 
his eyes filled with 
uncertainty, but she nods 
encouragingly. "It's ok," she 
says. "He's just happy you're here."

The sight of Plankton's 
excited state brings a smile 
to Sponge Bob's face, despite 
his confusion. He sits down 
next to him on the couch, 
his own excitement growing.
"What do you want to do?"
Sponge Bob asks, his voice 
filled with genuine enthusiasm.

Plankton's antennas twitch 
as he thinks, his eye darting 
around the room.

"Let's play a game," he 
suddenly exclaims, his voice 
filled with a child-like 
excitement that hadn't been 
there before.

"What kind of game, Plankton?"
Karen asks, eager to encourage 
his newfound energy.

"Chess!" he exclaims, pointing 
to a dusty board in the corner 
of the room. Sponge Bob's eyes 
widen with surprise, but he 
doesn't hesitate. He leaps up 
from the couch and wipes the 
dust from the board with his 
spongy hand, setting up the 
pieces with surprising 
efficiency.

Karen watches from the 
sidelines, her heart swelling 
with love and hope as Plankton's 
enthusiasm grows. 
He moves the pieces with a 
frenetic energy, his eye
alight with a joy she hadn't 
seen since before the accident. 
Sponge Bob, ever the optimist, 
matches his excitement, even 
though he's clearly outmatched 
by Plankton's strategic mind.

"Checkmate!" Plankton cries out, 
his antennas waving with 
each word. Sponge Bob's 
expression is a mix of 
surprise and admiration. "Wow, 
Plankton, you're really good at 
this!"

The room echoes with Plankton's 
laughter, a sound that's both 
familiar and foreign to Karen's 
ears. The old Plankton would 
have gloated.

"Checkmate," he says again, 
his antennas bobbing in 
excitement. "Checkmate, 
checkmate."

Sponge Bob laughs, a 
wonderful, genuine laugh that 
fills the room. "You win, Plankton," 
he says, his hands clapping 
together.

Plankton's antennas stop 
twitching for a moment, and he 
looks at Sponge Bob, his eye 
studying the sponge's reaction. 
"Win," he repeats, a hint of 
understanding in his voice. 
"Win at chess." He claps like
SpongeBob.

Sponge Bob's eyes light up, 
seeing the connection. "Yes, 
Plankton, you won the chess 
game," he says, his voice 
soothing. "You're really good 
at it."

Plankton's antennas start to 
twitch again, his eye darting 
between the board and Sponge 
Bob. "Win," he murmurs, his 
voice filled with a newfound 
sense of pride. "Win with Sponge 
Bob."
The phrase becomes a chant, 
his brain finding solace in 
the repetition. "Win with Sponge 
Bob, win with Sponge Bob."

Sponge Bob smiles warmly, 
picking up the rhythm of 
Plankton's words. "Yes, 
Plankton," he says, his voice 
soothing. "You won the game. 
You're a great chess player."
Plankton's antennas quiver, 
his eye locking onto Sponge 
Bob's. "Great chess player," 
he echoes, his voice a mix of 
pride and amazement. 
"Win with Sponge Bob."

Karen watches from the 
sidelines with hope. 
Maybe, just maybe, this was 
the breakthrough they needed. 
Sponge Bob's presence was 
calming him, bringing out a 
side of Plankton she hadn't 
seen since the accident.

new a journey to autism plankarenbob iii

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iii
(Autistic author)

"Now let's go 
to the living room 
and I'll go pick up
a smoothie for you.
Can you stay here by
yourself?"

He nodded, his 
expression slightly 
less tense.

"I'll be back 
soon," she assured him, 
squeezing his 
shoulder before 
leaving the 
Chum Bucket.

Just moments later, 
Karen's friend Hanna
came for a surprise
visit. She knew Karen
had a husband named
Plankton, but she never
met him. Plankton was 
now back on the
living room couch.

"Oh, you must be 
Plankton!" Hanna 
exclaimed.

Plankton's eye 
flitted to her, 
his expression 
unreadable.

Hanna walked 
over to the couch, 
her smile wide and 
genuine. "It's so 
nice to finally 
meet you," she said, 
embracing him in
a hug.

Plankton stiffened, 
his eye wide with 
surprise. 
His body tensed, 
his mind racing 
to process this 
new sensory input.

"You ok?" Hanna 
asked, pulling back 
slightly. She had 
noticed his reaction 
but didn't know 
the reason behind 
it.

Plankton nodded, his 
eye darting around 
the room again. 
He wasn't used to 
such spontaneous 
affection, and the 
unexpected sensation 
of Hanna's arms around 
him had thrown him 
off balance.

"Yes, I am Plankton," 
he murmured, his 
voice monotone. 
He wasn't quite 
sure how to respond.
Hanna's smile didn't 
waver, unaware of 
the turmoil within 
his mind. "How are 
you feeling today?"
Plankton's gaze 
flicked to the 
ceiling, his mind 
racing to find 
the right words.

"Today, feeling," 
he echoed, his voice 
still a whisper. 
The repetition 
was a comfort, a 
way to process the 
flood of sensory 
information that 
assaulted him 
continuously.

Hanna looked at 
him with a 
puzzled expression.

"You know, your 
wife Karen tells me 
you're an inventor,"
she said, her tone 
innocently curious.

Plankton's eye 
locked onto hers, 
his mind racing 
to understand 
the context of her 
words. "Inventor," 
he repeated, his voice 
flat. It was a word 
he knew, but it 
felt foreign 
now, as if it belonged 
to someone else.

"Yes, inventor," 
Hanna said, nodding 
enthusiastically. "I've 
heard so much 
about your gadgets 
and contraptions. 
What are you working 
on these days?"

Plankton's eye 
flitted around the 
room again, 
his mind struggling 
to grasp the 
concept of 'working'. 
"Gadgets, contraptions," 
he murmured, his voice 
a broken record.

Hanna's expression 
was one of 
confusion, her smile 
beginning to fade. 
"Well, what do you do 
all day?" she 
prodded gently, 
trying to coax him 
out of his silence.

Plankton's 
reply was 
immediate and 
robotic, "Do, all day, 
all day."

Hanna's brow 
furrowed, 
uncertain how 
to interpret 
his repetitive 
response. She had 
known Karen for 
years, but Plankton's 
behavior was unlike 
anything she had 
ever heard of her 
friend's husband.

"Do you like 
the beach?" she 
asked, hoping to 
engage him in 
conversation.

Plankton's eye 
blinked slowly, 
his mind processing 
the question. 
"Beach," he echoed, 
his voice hollow.

Hanna nodded, 
encouraged by his 
response. "Yes, the 
beach! It's such a 
beautiful place. Do 
you ever go there?"

Plankton's gaze 
shifted to the 
window, the 
memory of sand 
and surf a distant 
whisper. "Go, beach, 
beautiful place," he 
said, his words a 
stuttered echo of hers.

Hanna's smile 
dimmed slightly. 
This wasn't the 
witty banter she 
was expecting from 
Karen's husband. 
"Is there anything 
you'd like to talk 
about?" she asked, 
uncertain.

Plankton's eye 
moved to hers, 
his gaze intense. 
"Talk," he repeated, 
his voice a 
whisper.

Hanna felt a 
twinge of 
discomfort. Something 
was off about 
his responses, but 
she couldn't quite 
put her tentacle on 
what it was. 
"Well, what do you 
like to do for fun?" 
she tried again, her 
tone tentative.

Plankton's eye 
wandered back to 
his own hand, 
fidgeting with his 
fingers. "Do, fun," 
he murmured, the 
words a reflexive 
response to the 
question.

Hanna's eyes 
narrowed slightly. 
"What do you do for 
fun?" she clarified, 
wondering if he had 
simply misunderstood.

Plankton's gaze 
remained on his 
fidgeting hand, 
his mind racing 
to connect the 
concept of 'fun' with 
his new reality.
"Do, fun," he 
repeated, his voice 
devoid of the 
mirth he once 
expressed so freely.

Hanna's smile 
was now forced, her 
confusion growing 
with each 
interaction.

"Plankton, can you 
tell me what you 
enjoy doing?" she 
asked, hoping for 
a clearer response.

He looked up at 
her, his gaze 
slightly less 
focused than before. 
"Enjoy doing," he 
repeated, his voice 
a faint echo.

Hanna's 
twitched with 
concern. "You know, 
like hobbies or 
interests," she 
prompted gently, 
trying to keep her 
voice light.

Plankton's eye 
moved back to 
his fidgeting hand, 
his mind a 
whirlwind of 
thoughts and 
sensory overload. 
"Hobbies, interests," 
he murmured, his 
voice a hollow echo.

Hanna's concern 
was now clear 
on her screen.

"You know, like 
things you like 
to do in your free 
time," she tried again, 
her voice a little 
less bright.

Plankton's eye 
latched onto hers. 
"Free time," he 
repeated, his voice 
a monotone. "Like to 
do."

Hanna's eyes 
widened slightly, 
her confusion 
growing with each 
word he said. 
"Yes, exactly," she 
nodded, her voice 
a little more 
cautious now. "What 
do you like to do 
in your free time?
Well, other than 
repetition.." She 
awkwardly laughs
as she elbows him
multiple times, not 
knowing how her
touch is irritating
Plankton.

Plankton's getting
more frustrated/angry
now, as Hanna goes
to pat his shoulder.
He can't take much 
more now.

Hanna's touch 
was like a brand, 
searing his already 
overwhelmed senses. 
He flinched away, 
his body rigid with 
tension.

"Plankton, are 
you ok?" Hanna 
asked, her voice 
filled with 
concern. She noticed 
his discomfort but 
couldn't pinpoint the 
cause.

He nodded 
slightly, his 
expression unreadable. 
"Ok, ok," he 
mumbled, his voice 
still a monotone.

Hanna looked 
at him with 
concern, her 
smile slipping. 
"Karen said you 
used to be quite 
the conversationalist. 
What happened?" She
says, grabbing his
elbow; but that's the
last straw for Plankton.

Plankton's 
eye snapped up to 
hers, his voice 
sharp. "What happened?
You happened!" He 
snapped, his words 
sharp as a knife. 
The sudden aggression 
in his tone 
was like a slap in 
the face, catching 
Hanna off guard.

She took a step 
back. "I'm sorry, 
I didn't mean to..."
she began, but Plankton 
was on a roll now.

"You don't know 
what happened!" 
his voice grew 
louder, his words 
quickening with 
each syllable. "You 
don't know anything!"

Hanna's eyes went 
wide with shock. 
This was not the 
Plankton Karen had 
described. Her arms 
flailed in the air as 
she tried to placate 
his sudden anger. 
"I'm sorry, Plankton. 
I just didn't know..." 

new neurobehavioral plankton neurodivergentcore iii

CATCH IN MY CHIP iii
(Autistic author)

They sit in silence for a few
moments, Chip's screen glued to
his dad's still form. The only
sound is the steady rhythm of
Plankton's shallow breathing.

As the minutes tick by, Chip's
thoughts swirl with confusion and
guilt. He had no idea that his
dad's quirks and sensitivities were
part of something so complex.
He'd just thought Plankton was
easily annoyed or tired.

Karen notices his son's distress
and decides it's time to explain
more. "You know how sometimes
you get really excited about
something, and you just can't
keep it in?" she asks.

Chip nods. "Yeah, like when I
see a new toy or when I've got
a great idea for a sandcastle."

"Well, for Dad, it's like that
all the time," Karen continues.
"Every little thing can be a
big deal, and sometimes it's just
too much." She pauses, looking at
Plankton with a mix of love and
concern. "But he's also the smartest
person I know, and he loves you
so much. That's what's important."

Chip nods, his eyes filling
with tears as he watches
his mom care for his dad. He'd
always felt a bit left out, not
understanding why Plankton would
sometimes retreat from the world.
But now he gets it. It's not that
his dad didn't want to share in
his excitement, it's just that sometimes,
the world was too much for him.

"Mom, I'm sorry," he whispers, his
throat tight with emotion. "I didn't
mean to make him... like this."

Karen pulls him into a warm
embrace. "You didn't do anything
wrong, Chip. This isn't your fault.
Dad's brain just works differently.
And now that we know, we can help
each other understand."

Chip sniffles against her,
his thoughts racing. "Does
he know what's happening
or can he understand us?"

"Sometimes he can," Karen says,
her voice low and soothing. "But
right now, I don't think he realizes
anything's happening around him."

"What if he doesn't wake up?"
The fear in his voice is palpable.

"He will, honey," Karen says, her
tone reassuring. "It just takes
a little time. It's like when you're
really tired and you need a nap.
His brain needs to rest."

The room is quiet except for
the occasional sound of the
air conditioner kicking in,
a stark contrast to the excitement
that had filled it just moments ago.
Chip watches his dad, feeling a
wave of emotion wash over him.
He wants to laugh and share more
stories, but he knows now that
his dad's brain needs a break.

As they wait, Karen starts to
clean up the mess Chip made.
The sand and papers scattered
across the floor seem so trivial
now, a stark reminder of the chaos
his enthusiasm can create for
his dad. He helps her, carefully
picking up each piece, placing
them back into their rightful
spots. His mind is racing with
thoughts of how to be a better
son, how to make sure his dad
doesn't feel like this again.

They work in silence, the only
sounds the rustling of papers and
the occasional clank of a metal
item being set back on the desk.
The room slowly transforms back
to its usual state of order, a stark
contrast to the turmoil Plankton
was experiencing. Chip's eyes never
leave his dad, hoping to see
any sign of improvement.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity,
Plankton's eye blinks, and the tension
in the room shifts. His breathing
becomes deeper and more regular.
Karen's shoulders relax as she sees
the first signs of Plankton coming
back to himself. She gives Chip's hand
a gentle squeeze. "Look, honey. He's
starting to come out of it."

Chip stares, hope filling his chest.
Plankton's antennas twitch slightly.
He blinks a few more times, as if trying
to bring the room into focus. "What...
what happened?" His voice is weak,
almost a whisper.

Karen's grip tightens on Chip's hand.
"You just needed a little break,
sweetie," she says softly. "It's okay."

new catch in my chip Chip Plankton II iii

⟡ pls note the ai inflicts emotional damage (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

→ AI Story Generator ←

completely free, NO signup required (ever), and unlimited!

GREAT CHIP iii
(Autistic author)

Karen followed, her screen
on her husband's tentative steps.
"Chip," she called out softly,
knocking gently. "Can we come in?"

There was no immediate response,
just the faint sound of sniffling.
"It's ok, sweetie," she said.
"Your dad and I want to talk to you."

Slowly, the door cracked open,
and Chip's tear-stained screen peeked out.
His eyes searched theirs, looking
for answers, for reassurance.

Plankton's heart twisted at the sight.
He had never wanted to cause his son
any pain, especially not like this.
He felt a wave of self-consciousness
wash over him as he stepped into the room,
his every move feeling clumsy and exposed.

"Chip," he began, 
his voice strained,
"It's just..."

Plankton's words trailed off,
his gaze flitting around the room
as if searching for the right ones.
The air felt thick with tension.

Chip looked up at him, his eyes
swollen with unshed tears.
"Dad, I'm sorry," he managed to say,
his voice thick with emotion.

But Plankton's anger hadn't
subsided entirely. "You shouldn't have
touched me," he snapped, his voice
sharp, his frustration still palpable.
"You now know better than that!"

Chip flinched at his father's tone,
his own eyes brimming with tears.
"But Dad, I didn't mean to," he protested.

Plankton's gaze was unyielding.
"You should know better!" he insisted,
his voice echoing with accusation.
"You're not a baby anymore!"

Chip's eyes fell to the floor,
his shoulders shaking 
with held-back sobs.
"But I didn't know!" he choked out,
his voice small and defensive.

"Well, now you do," Plankton said firmly,
his eye still avoiding Chip's.
"You have to respect my space!"
The room felt too small,
his emotions too big.

Chip's face crumpled, his voice
barely audible. "I just wanted
to..."

But Plankton's anger was like
a storm, unyielding. "I don't care
what you wanted!" he shouted. "You
can't just touch me like that!"

The room felt like it was closing in,
his heart racing faster with each word.
He saw the hurt on Chip's face, but
his own emotions were a tornado
whipping through his thoughts.
He couldn't stop, couldn't apologize.

"It's your fault for not knowing!"
Plankton's voice was like thunder,
filling the room with accusation.
Karen's eyes grew wide with shock,
but she didn't dare to interrupt.

Chip's sobs grew louder, his body
shaking with the weight of his father's
wrath. "But I didn't know, Dad,"
he pleaded, his voice thick with pain.

Plankton's eye was like a stone,
his words cutting through the air.
"That's no excuse!" he bellowed.
"You should've learned by now!
Or are you just to busy with your
silly games and neurotypical friends
to care about your own father?"

Chip's shoulders shook
as he tried to hold back his sobs.
He didn't know what to say,
his mind a jumble of emotions.
All he knew was that he had hurt
his dad, and now his dad was hurt
and mad at him.

"Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered again,
his voice trembling.
"It was an accident, I didn't know!"
But Plankton's anger didn't abate.

"Accident or not, you should've known better!"
Plankton's voice grew louder,
his words piercing the air like knives.
"You're not a baby anymore, so
don't act like one!"

Chip felt his world crumbling.
He didn't mean to upset Dad,
but he didn't know what to do.
He just wanted to help, to show
his love, but it all went wrong.

"But Dad," he tried again, his voice
barely a whisper, "I didn't mean to..."

"I DON'T CARE!" Plankton roared,
his anger a living, breathing entity
that filled the room. His words were
sharp, like shards of glass in the air.

Chip's sobs grew louder, his heart
breaking with each accusation.
He didn't understand why his dad
was so mad at him. "I'm sorry," he choked,
his voice barely audible. "I didn't know..."

Plankton's anger didn't waver.
"You never know!" he spat. "You
never pay attention!" His words were
like a whip, each one stinging Chip's
already bruised heart. "You think
the world revolves around you!"

Chip's eyes were a pool of tears,
his body trembling as he tried to
find the right words. "But Dad,
I just..."

Plankton's anger grew with each
of Chip's stumbling attempts.
"You just what?" he snarled,
his senses overwhelmed by the
emotional turmoil. He felt
the urge to break something,
anything to release the pressure
building in his chest.

With a roar, he swiped
his hand across Chip's desk,
sending papers flying and toys clattering
to the floor. "DO YOU SEE?"
he yelled, his voice shaking
the walls. "DO YOU SEE HOW YOU
MAKE ME FEEL?"

Chip cowered, his eyes
locked on the chaos, his mind
whirling. He hadn't meant to make
his dad feel like this. He didn't
understand why his curiosity
was so wrong. "I'm sorry,"
he whispered again, his voice
tiny and lost in the maelstrom
of Plankton's rage.

Plankton's eye was wild,
his movements erratic. He knew
his anger was a storm, but
he couldn't stop it. The room
spun around him, his thoughts
a jumbled mess. He felt a hand
on his arm, Karen's voice cutting
through the noise in his head.
"Plankton, please," she begged.

But he shrugged her off, his rage
now a living, breathing monster
inside of him. He picked up
a toy, one of Chip's beloved creations,
and threw it across the room.
It shattered against the wall,
the sound piercing the silence
that followed. Chip's sobs
grew quieter, his body trembling
with fear.

"This," Plankton said,
his voice low and dangerous,
"is what you do to me."
He picked up another toy,
his hand shaking with anger.
"This is what your curiosity does!"

Chip's eyes widened with fear
as Plankton's hand arced back,
ready to hurl it. But as
the toy could leave his grip,
his body seized up again,
his legs buckling. Another
absence seizure had struck.

Karen's heart raced as she watched
her husband's uncontrolled
movements. She knew she had to
intervene before things escalated.
She rushed to Plankton's side,
grabbing his arm to steady him.
"Stop," she whispered urgently.

Chip's sobs grew quieter,
his eyes wide with fear.
He had never seen his dad
so out of control before.

Plankton's seizure
was taking over, his body
betraying him once again.

Karen's voice pierced
the chaos, a beacon of calm.
"Chip, let me handle this."

Her son nodded, his eyes
never leaving his dad's
shaky form.

Karen turned to Plankton's
form, supporting.
"Come on," she said firmly,
guiding his trembling form
to their own bedroom.
"Let's sit down, okay?"

As they do, Plankton's
still caught in the throes
of the seizure.

Chip felt like he was watching
a stranger, his dad's body
twitching uncontrollably.
He didn't know what to do.

new great chip fitscore iii

SHELF IMPROVEMENT iii
(Autistic author)

As the minutes ticked 
by, Plankton's trembling 
subsided. He looked up at 
her, his antennae still 
twitching slightly. "Sorry," 
he murmured, his voice 
barely audible. "Plankton
sorry Karen." This 
wasn't like him. Plankton had 
his quirks, sure, but this 
was something else entirely. 
It was as if the fall had 
shaken something loose 
in his mind, revealing 
a part of him she had 
never seen before.

Her arms tightened around 
his slight frame, and she 
pressed her screen to his 
forehead. "Don't be sorry," 
she whispered. "You're 
scared, and that's okay."

Plankton nodded, his 
single eye squeezing shut 
as if to hold in his fear. 
He leaned into her embrace, 
his body finally going 
limp. Karen felt his 
wetness on her neck, and 
realized he was crying.

"It's okay," she 
whispered again, her voice 
the only sound in the 
silent room. "You're safe 
with me."

Plankton's antennae 
stilled against her, 
and she felt his breathing 
grow calmer. The quiet was 
unusual for their home, 
but in this moment, it 
was a welcome balm.

Her mind raced, trying to 
recall any signs she might 
have missed, any indication 
that Plankton was suffering 
from something deeper than 
the physical trauma of the 
fall. Was this a sudden 
onset of a condition? Or had 
it been there all along, 
masked by his quirks and 
his usual bravado?

"Karen," Plankton murmured 
again, his eye squeezed 
shut. "Karen Plankton."

"It's okay," she soothed. 
"You're okay."

But the silence grew 
louder, and she knew 
it was more than just 
the quiet of their usual 
bickering. This was a 
new Plankton, one she 
wasn't sure how to reach. 
His repetition of her 
name was like a 
mantra, a lifeline to 
the world he knew.

Karen held him 
closer, her own eyes 
now brimming with tears. 
They had been through 
so much together, and 
she had always been 
his anchor, the one 
constant in his life. But 
now, she felt adrift, 
uncertain of how to 
navigate these uncharted 
waters.

Plankton's grip 
around her tightened, 
his breath hitching in 
sobs. His muttered 
repeating of her name grew 
louder, almost frantic. 
"Karen, Karen, Karen..."
It was like he 
was stuck in a loop, 
his mind unable to 
comprehend the sudden 
change around him.

"Shh," she soothed, 
stroking his back. "It's okay, 
we're here, together."

Plankton's repetition 
of her name grew more 
frantic. "Karen, Karen, 
Karen," he chanted, his 
voice rising in pitch. "It's okay, 
Plankton," she said, her 
voice steady despite her 
internal turmoil. "Everything's 
going to be okay."

But his chanting 
continued, growing 
louder and more 
desperate. She knew she 
couldn't just sit here 
forever, she had to do 
something. But what?

Her mind raced, 
thinking of all the 
times Plankton had 
fixed her when she 
was broken. Now it 
was her turn. She had to 
find a way to reach him.

"Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice 
steady despite the 
tremor in her chest.
"Look at me." She gently
lifted his chin so he 
was forced to meet her 
screen. "You're okay, 
we're together."

His eye searched 
hers, desperation 
clear in its depths. 
The chanting of her 
name grew softer, but didn't 
cease. Karen's mind 
raced, trying to think 
of anything that 
could help him snap 
out of this state.

"Remember the chum?" 
she said, her voice 
trembling slightly. "The 
time we had a picnic 
and the seagulls came?"

Plankton's chanting 
paused for a moment, 
and his eye flickered 
with recognition. 
It was a memory from 
their early days, a 
moment of shared 
joy amidst their usual 
bickering.

"Chum," he murmured, 
his antennae twitching 
slightly. "Seagulls."

Karen's screen lit up 
with hope. It was a 
start, a crack in the 
facade of his fear. "Yes, 
the seagulls," she said, 
smiling through her 
tears. "Remember how we 
laughed when they stole 
our sandwiches?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitched again, and a 
tiny smile graced his 
lips. "Seagulls," he 
repeated, his voice a 
little less shaky.

Encouraged, Karen 
pressed on. "And remember 
how we chased them 
together?"

Plankton's smile grew 
slightly, and his antennae 
moved a bit more 
naturally. "Chased," he 
agreed, his voice 
still wobbly but with a 
hint of his usual spirit.

Karen felt a 
wave of relief wash over 
her. He was remembering, 
engaging with her. "Yes, 
we chased them, and we 
got the chum back," she said, 
trying to keep the 
conversation going.

Plankton's antennae 
moved slightly, and he 
nodded, his eye focusing 
more clearly on her. 
"Chum," he murmured, his 
voice stronger now. "Good 
chum."

Karen took a 
deep, shaky breath, 
fighting the tears that 
threatened to fall. She had 
to keep him grounded, 
keep him with her. "Yes," 
she said, her voice 
determined, "good chum."

Plankton's antennae 
stilled, and he took a 
deep, ragged breath.

"Karen," he said, his 
voice a little stronger. 
"Chum."

Karen's eyes searched 
his, seeing the flicker 
of the man she knew. 
"Yes, Plankton, chum."

The room remained 
silent, except for the 
sound of Plankton's 
deepening breaths. The 
word "chum" seemed to 
have a calming effect on 
his agitated state. He 
repeated it to himself, 
his antennae finally 
stilling.

Karen watched him, 
relief and sadness 
mingling within her. 
This was a side of 
Plankton she had never 
seen before, a raw 
vulnerability that made 
her ache. He was 
like a lost child, seeking 
comfort in familiar words.

"Chum," he murmured 
once more, his eye
shutting.

Karen nodded. "Yes, chum,"
she said, her voice 
soothing.

Plankton's body 
relaxed in her arms, 
his breathing evening out.

For a moment, 
the room remained 
still, save for the 
steady rhythm of his 
breath. But then, 
his antennae began to 
move again, not with 
fear this time, but 
with something else. 
It was almost as if 
his mind was racing, 
trying to process the 
world around him. Karen 
felt his grip on her loosen, 
his body shifting slightly 
in the couch cushions.

"Plankton?" she 
asked, her voice tentative. 
He didn't respond, but 
his eye fluttered open, 
his gaze focused on a 
spot on the wall.

"Looks like he's in a 
trance," Karen thought 
aloud, her voice 
barely above a whisper. 
"What's going on with 
you?"

Plankton's antennae 
twitched rapidly, as if 
trying to capture 
invisible signals. His 
face was a mask of 
concentration, his body 
tense and poised like 
he was ready to flee.

Karen felt a cold 
wave of understanding 
wash over her. This 
wasn't just fear or 
confusion, it was 
something deeper. She
scanned his brain, and
then she saw the results.

"Oh, Plankton," she 
breathed. He had 
developed autism. The 
fall had triggered 
something within his
brain, irreversible
damage to. She 
felt a mix of shock 
and sorrow, but also 
a fierce determination 
to support him. "Autism.
You're autistic now."

He looked at her, 
his eye blinking in 
understanding. "Autism," 
he echoed. "Different."

Karen nodded. "Yes, but 
you're still my Plankton."

Plankton's expression 
was a jumble of 
emotions. Recognition,
fear, confusion, and a
tiny spark of hope. "Different,"
he repeated. "But... same?"

Karen nodded, 
squeezing his hand. 
"Different, but still 
my Plankton." She 
swiped at her tears, 
determined to be strong 
for him. "We'll get 
through this, I 
promise."

Plankton looked 
at her with a mix 
of relief and fear. 
"Karen... love."

Karen felt 
love and pain. "I love 
you, Plankton," she 
whispered, her voice 
shaking. "We'll get 
through this together."

Plankton's antennae 
stopped twitching for 
a moment, and he 
squeezed her hand. "Together,"
he repeated, his voice 
small but firm.

Karen nodded, 
swiping at her tears. "We'll 
face this together, I 
promise. Now, it's late; 
let's get to sleep.." She cleaned
up the remnants of the
shelf.

new shelf improvement karen plankton iii

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iii


(Autistic author)



Karen picked him up, and carried
his limp form to his bed. She
stood there for a moment, watching
his chest rise and fall. The
snores grew quieter as sleep
consumed him.

The weight of what had just
happened settled on her shoulders.

Karen lay him down gently. She
tucked him in, his antennae 
resting against the pillow.

The room was quiet except for
his soft snores, a stark contrast
to the chaos that had filled it
moments before. Karen sat by his
side, her hand on his arm.

After a few moments, she
stood up and walked to the door,
closing it gently behind her. She
found Hanna in the living room,
her eyes red-rimmed and worried.

"Hanna, I need to talk to you,"
Karen said, her voice firm but not
accusing. Hanna looked up, her
expression hopeful for guidance.

Karen sat beside her, her eyes
on her own hands, which were
fidgeting in her lap. "Plankton's
been through a lot," she began, her
voice measured. "He's different now."

Hanna nodded, her eyes wide
with unspoken questions.

"Still coming to terms with it but you're
just fine. It's a rarity, yet he'll be fine."

"I guess I'll head out. I never meant 
to cause Plankton distress."

Karen nodded, her eyes still on her
fidgeting hands. "Thank you for
understanding. I'm pretty sure he
knows you didn't mean to, but I
can still tell him when he wakes up."

Hanna left, and Karen went back
to the bedroom.
Plankton was still asleep, his
breathing steady and peaceful.

Karen sat by the bed.

Plankton's snores were the 
only sound in the room, a 
gentle reminder of the peace 
that sleep brought him from 
his tumultuous world of 
heightened senses.

Karen took a deep breath, 
her thoughts racing. This was 
their new normal, a dance 
of understanding and patience 
they would have to learn.

When Plankton next woke up,
his eye searched the room, 
his antennae twitching slightly.
He looked over to find Karen
sitting in a chair beside the bed,
her gaze on him.

"Hi," she said, her voice gentle.
He sat up slowly, the fabric
of the bed rustling beneath
his weight.

"How are you feeling?" Karen's
concern was palpable, her eyes
scanning his face for any signs
of distress. Plankton took a
deep breath, trying to organize
his thoughts. Karen's presence
was a balm to his soul, her
understanding a lifeline in the
storm of sensory input.

"Where's Hanna?"

Karen sighed, her gaze never leaving
his face. "She left, sweetie. You were
a bit...overwhelmed."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching with the memory of the
sensory assault.

"It's okay," Karen assured him, her
voice a soft whisper. "She just
didn't understand, and felt bad
for the way she treated you."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
still. The room was quiet, a stark
contrast to the chaos from before.
He took a moment to collect himself,
his thoughts racing.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice
barely a whisper. Karen reached out
and took his hand, her grip firm
but gentle. "You have nothing to
apologize for," she said, her tone
soothing. "This is all new to us.
Would you like to eat?"

Plankton nodded.

"I'll get you something quiet and simple," Karen
said, standing up. She knew that too
much stimulation could send him spiraling.

In the kitchen, she prepared a
snack of plain crackers. She
placed the plate on the table
carefully, not wanting to startle
his heightened senses again.

Plankton entered the room, his
movements deliberate and slow.
He sat down across from her, his
eye darting around the room.

"It's ok," Karen reassured him,
handing him the plate of crackers.
"Just food."

"Just food. It's ok; just food." He
repeats back to himself, focusing
on the plate. Each cracker was a
tiny square of safety, a familiar
comfort in a sea of sensory
uncertainty.

He took a deep breath and
selected one. The taste was
comforting, a reminder of
a simpler time. Karen watched
him, her screen filled with love.

Plankton took a sip of water,
his eye never leaving hers. "It's
ok just food," he said again, his 
voice still low. "Karen good and
good food. It's ok."

Karen nodded, her smile a mix
of relief and sadness. She knew
his echolalic tendencies was
the autism, but she's glad he
likes the food as well.

They sat in silence, the only
sound the crunch of crackers
and the occasional sip of water.

Plankton's eye focused on the
cracker in his hand, the patterns
on the surface a comfort. His
autistic brain craved the predictability,
the sameness that calmed his
nerves.

This was the man she knew, yet
he was different. The Plankton who
was always plotting and scheming
was now one who found
comfort in the mundane.

His mind felt clearer
now, the overwhelming chaos of
the earlier encounter with Hanna
beginning to fade.

Karen watched him, her heart
breaking for the silent struggle
she knew he faced every moment.
"I'll talk to Hanna," she said
gently. "I'll explain. What do you
want me to tell her? What'd you
like for her to know?"

Plankton's gaze remained on the
cracker, his thumb tracing the
edge. "Tell her sorry," he
mumbled.

"What else? I mean, is it ok if
I tell her you're autistic now?
Or what about the accident
that lead to the autism?"

Plankton's antennae twitched at
the word 'accident', his mind
reeling with memories of the
stove, the fight with Mr. Krabs,
the pain. But he nodded slowly.
"Ok," he murmured.

Karen's heart ached at the
simplicity of his response. The
complexity of his thoughts was
now a tightly guarded secret, hidden
behind a wall of sensory overload.

"Okay, I will," Karen said, her voice
soft. "But remember, it's ok to be
different." 

Plankton nodded, his eye still on
his food. But as he took another
cracker, he paused. He looked up,
his gaze locking with hers.

"Karen," he said, his voice a
little stronger now. "I, I l-love you."

Karen's eyes widened at the sudden
declaration. "Oh, Plankton," she
whispered, her voice thick with
emotion. "I love you too." 
Plankton nodded, his gaze never leaving 
hers. "Karen making everything okay," he 
murmured.

He took another cracker, his
hands shaking slightly. "You make 
Plankton feel safe," he continues 
with sincerity. "In a world that's too
much, Karen not too much."

Karen's eyes filled with tears
at his heartfelt words. She reached
across the table and took his
hand. "Plankton, I'm here for
you. Always."

Plankton's antennae stopped
twitching. He looked into her screen,
his own filled with a depth of
emotion that hadn't seen
before. "You good, Karen," he said,
his voice steady. "Helping
Plankton."

Plankton was finding his way to
express himself, to connect with
her in a way that was meaningful.
She squeezed his hand.
"I'll always help you," she promised.

"Karen," Plankton began, his
voice tentative. He took a deep
breath, trying to find the words.
"I love you, Karen," he said finally, his
eye intense with feeling. 

Karen swelled with love
and pride. Despite his struggles,
Plankton was learning to express
his emotions in a way that made
sense to him. It was a victory,
small but significant.

"Thank you, Plankton," she said,
squeezing his hand. "Your love makes
me happy." His antennae twitched
slightly, a sign of his awkwardness
with the emotional exchange.

The room was quiet, the only
noise the soft sound of their
breathing and the occasional
crunch of a cracker. Plankton's
eye searched hers, looking for
reassurance.

"Plankton need...space," he 
managed, his voice
shaky. "Too...much emotional
interaction. Still love."

Karen nodded, understanding
dawning. "Okay, sweetie," she said,
releasing his hand. "I'll be right
here. Take all the time you need."

new autism in the plankton family plaren karen plankton iii

CHIP AND FAIL iii
(Autistic author)

"Ok Dad," he said.
"Let's go to your workshop."
Maybe there, he would
be able to come back to himself. But
Plankton's not budging, despite Chip's
efforts to get him up. "Come on,"
he said, his voice gentle, trying to
mask his own fear. "Let's go."
But he sees it's not gonna work.

He hadn't realized that his
excited touches and loud
laughter were only making
things worse. Plankton's condition
meant that even the smallest
disruption could send him spiraling,
and here Chip was, bombarding him
with sensations.

With a tremble in his voice,
Chip tried one more time to
reach his father. "Dad, can you
just come with me?" He asked,
his voice small and hopeful. "We'll
talk in the workshop." But Plankton
still didn't move, his eye
fixed on some unseen horizon.

Chip stood up, wiping the
tears from his screen, trying
to listen for his dad's breathing.

Chip doesn't like this.

Chip's face crumpled, 
realizing that his dad isn't okay.

This was chilling.

The more Chip talked, the
more he touched, the deeper
Plankton's mind spun into a vortex
of overstimulation. 

"Dad, you're not talking," Chip
whispered, his voice cracking with
concern. He had never seen his
father like this, so silent and
still. He didn't know that the
affectionate gestures and loud
stories were only adding to
Plankton's distress.

"Dad, please," Chip said, his voice
small.

This wasn't right.

This is wrong.

Something is very wrong
with his dad.

Chip's eyes
filled with tears,
his mind racing
with fear and confusion.
Something's wrong with
his dad.

"Dad, you're not okay," Chip said,
his voice filled with a new
urgency. But now, he
knew it was something more, something
he didn't know how to fix. But he
needs to try. "Can you tell me
about your week too?"

Absolutely no sign of life
from him. This is bad.
He's getting worse...

Chip didn't know that Plankton's lack of
response was due to his autism, that
his sensory system was in overdrive.
All he knew was that he needed to
help, to do something.

With a tremble in his hands, Chip
gently touched Plankton's shoulder.
"Dad, can you hear me?" He asked, his voice
soft and soothing, hoping to cut through
the storm in his father's mind. But Plankton's
expression remained unchanged, his eye
unfocused. Chip felt like he was
shouting into a void, his words
disappearing without a trace.

The room was spinning, the air
thinning with each shallow breath
Plankton took. Chip's mind raced
with scenarios, trying to piece
together what could've caused
this sudden change. "Is there
something wrong?" He asked, his voice
quavering. "Did something happen?"
But Plankton was lost, the cacophony of Chip's
excitement echoing through his
overstimulated brain like a never-
ending nightmare.

Chip's touches grew gentler, his
laughter fading into a soft
concern. "I don't get it," he said,
his voice thick with confusion. "I
just wanted to tell you about my
week." Plankton felt the pressure but
his mind was a maelstrom of sensation.

"Dad," Chip said, his voice barely
above a whisper, "I don't know what's
going on." He nudged him, and he
remained still and unblinking as the
prod toppled him onto his side, with
no reaction.

The room felt colder, the air
heavier with each passing second.
He had never seen his father so
unresponsive, so utterly lost to the
world around him. "Dad," he tried
again, his voice trembling. "You're
scaring me."

Plankton's eye remained fixed.
The gentle touches from Chip were
now a maelstrom of sensation, each
one a wave crashing against the
shore of his overwhelmed mind.

Chip's smile faded as he watched
his father. "Dad,
you're not okay," he murmured, his
voice laced with concern. He didn't
know about Plankton's condition,
how his brain processed stimuli
differently, how easily it could
be overwhelmed. All he knew was
that his dad, the man he looked
up to, was trapped in a silent
prison of his own making.

new chip and fail Chip Plankton II Sheldon J. Plankton & Chip Plankton II iii

THE LIFE OF UNITY iii
(Autistic author)

Kevin's laughter reaches a crescendo as 
he takes a step closer to Plankton. 
"What don't I know?" he asks, his voice 
sharper than ever. "That PLANKTON 
JUST. DON'T. WUV. THEM. JELLYFISH. 
YOU ARE COMPLETELY AND UTTERLY..."

But his words are cut off by the 
sight of Plankton, his antennae 
drooping, his eye brimming with 
tears. The tiny creature's body 
trembles as Kevin's to 
loud words settle upon him, and 
suddenly, all the pent-up frustration and pain 
come rushing out in a torrent as 
a single tear forms and slides down his face. 
Plankton's antennae quiver uncontrollably, and 
he squeaks out a sob, his tiny 
body convulsing with the weight of Kevin's cruel words.

SpongeBob is shocked.

Kevin's words hang in the water, his 
laughter fading into an awkward silence 
as he watches Plankton's reaction. The sea 
cucumber's eyes widen as he 
takes in the sight of Plankton's tears, his 
own expression morphing from smug 
to surprise, then to something akin to fear.

"Plankton?"

Plankton's antennae quiver as he sniffs, 
trying to compose himself, his 
monotone voice thick with emotion. "Plankton... 
brainless," he murmurs, his 
one eye filled with unshed tears. "Plankton," he 
adds, his voice cracking, 
"Plankton... not like jellyfish."

Sponge Bob's heart squeezes tight 
in his chest. "Hey, Plankton," he says 
softly, "it's ok. Kevin didn't mean it."

But Plankton's antennae quiver, his monotone 
voice echoing Kevin's hurtful 
words. "Kevin... right," he murmurs, his eye 
glistening with tears. "Plankton... 
brainless. Like jellyfish."

Kevin's expression morphs from 
smugness to shock, his eyes wide as he 
realizes the impact of his words. "It's just... 
you know, a joke."

But Plankton's antennae quiver, his 
monotone voice trembling. "Joke?" he 
murmurs. "Plankton... a joke. Plankton... 
brainless."

Kevin's grin falters, his eyes widening in 
horror as he sees the pain etched 
on Plankton's tiny face. "No," he stammers, 
his voice cracking. "It was just a... I 
didn't mean it like that."

But Plankton's antennae continue to 
quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo 
of Kevin's cruel words. "Plankton... no 
purpose in life," he murmurs, his one 
eye filled with a sadness so profound it 
seems to suck the color out of the 
surrounding waters.

Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock. 
"Plankton," he says gently, "you 
have friends. You have a purpose."

But Plankton's antennae droop even 
lower, his monotone voice a sad 
echo of his own self-doubt. "Plankton mindless.."

Kevin's smugness evaporates, replaced 
with a flicker of concern as he 
watches the usually unflappable Plankton 
crumple under the weight of 
his words. "Look, Plankton," he says, reaching 
out to touch him.

But Plankton flinches, his antennae quivering 
with pain.

"Plankton," Kevin says, his voice a mix of 
surprise and regret, "I didn't mean 
it like that. I was just messing around."

But Plankton's antennae continue to 
quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo 
of Kevin's insults. "Mindless," he murmurs, 
his one eye fixed. "Brainless."

Sponge Bob's eyes wide with shock and 
sadness. "Plankton," he whispers, his 
voice filled with a tenderness Plankton 
rarely hears from anyone. "You're 
not brainless."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
doubt, his monotone voice echoing 
Kevin's words. "Plankton... mindless," 
he murmurs, his one eye unable to 
meet Sponge Bob's gaze. "Like jellyfish."

SpongeBob knew that Plankton's obsession 
with jellyfish is more than just a 
hobby; it's a deep connection, a part of 
who he is after the traumatic brain injury. 
And now, Kevin's careless words have struck 
a nerve, leaving him feeling 
exposed and vulnerable.

"Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice gentle, 
"you're not like that. You're 
smart. You're... you're you."

But Plankton's antennae quiver 
with insecurity, his monotone voice a sad 
echo of Kevin's words. "Mindless," he 
murmurs, his one eye still avoiding 
contact. "Plankton... like jellyfish."

SpongeBob understood 
that the brain 
trauma has 
affected him, making him 
more vulnerable to words that question 
his intelligence and identity due to his autism.

"Plankton," he says, his voice filled with 
concern, "you know that's not true. 
You're not like jellyfish in that way."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with doubt, 
his monotone voice a sad echo 
of Kevin's mockery. "Mindless," he 
murmurs. "Mindless, brainless."

Sponge Bob's heart aches for his friend, 
reaching out to offer 
comfort. "Plankton, you're not like that," 
he says, his voice gentle 
and assuring. "You're brilliant. You 
know more about jellyfish than anyone."

But Plankton's antennae quiver with 
insecurity, his monotone voice a sad 
echo of Kevin's laughter. "Mindless," 
he murmurs, eye downcast. 
"Plankton... brainless."

Sponge Bob tries to find the right words 
to say. "Plankton," he says gently, 
"you're not like that. You're so much 
more than what Kevin said."

But Plankton's antennae quiver, his 
monotone voice a sad echo of the 
cruel words. "Mindless," he murmurs, 
his one eye avoiding Sponge Bob's 
gaze. "Plankton... no purpose."

Kevin's eyes dart from Plankton to 
Sponge Bob, his grin faltering. "What's going 
on?" he asks, his voice tight with confusion. 
"You guys are acting weird."

Sponge Bob's embrace tighten around 
Plankton's tiny body, his voice firm 
but kind. "Kevin," he says, his gaze fixed 
on Plankton, "you don't know what 
happened to Plankton."

Kevin's laughter fades into a puzzled look. 
"What do you mean?" Kevin's 
smirk fades, his eyes narrowing with 
confusion. "What are you guys talking 
about?" he asks, his voice tight.

Sponge Bob hesitates, glancing at 
Plankton, who nods almost imperceptibly. 
"Kevin," he says, his voice serious, "Plankton 
had a bad accident. He hit his 
head, and now he's... different."

Kevin's tentacles freeze in mid-air, his 
smugness evaporating. "What do you 
mean, 'different'?" he asks, his voice tentative.

Sponge Bob sighs. "Plankton's had a 
brain injury," he says, his eyes never 
leaving Plankton's quivering antennae. 
"He's... autistic now."

Kevin's eyes widen, his tentacles dropping 
to his sides. "What? No way," he 
stammers, his smugness gone. "You're... 
you're joking, right?"

But Sponge Bob's expression is serious, 
gently stroking 
Plankton's antennae. "It's true, Kevin," he 
says, his voice gentle. "Plankton's 
had a tough time, and he's different now."

"Plankton, joke."

Kevin's confusion turns to shock as he 
looks from Sponge Bob to Plankton, 
his tentacles dropping to his sides. "But... 
but why didn't you say anything?" 
he asks, his voice trembling.

Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix 
of sadness and determination. "We 
didn't think it was anyone's business,"
he says tightening around Plankton's 
shaking antennae. "But now you know
Kevin. And we need you to be cool 
about it."

new the life of unity bullycore iii

JUST A TOUCH iii
(Autistic author)

 ¦ ᶠˡⁱⁿᶜʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃᵗ ᵗᵒᵘᶜʰ

Once home, she helped him
settle into his favorite chair,
his eye scanning the room.
Everything was in its place,
exactly as he liked it. Karen
noticed his breathing slow
as the familiarity washed over
him. She knew that routine
and order could be vital to his
comfort now to avoid
triggering his anxiety.

Then suddenly, Plankton
began to rock back and forth.

Karen recognized the motion.
It was a new behavior, one
she hadn't seen before. His
body swayed with a rhythm that
matched the ticking of the
antique clock on the wall. "It's okay,
sweetie," she said, trying to keep
her voice steady. "We're home now."

The rocking grew more intense,
his eye darting around the room,
his antennae vibrating with each
back-and-forth movement. Karen's
mind raced, trying to remember
the doctor's words. Sensory
overload. He needed calm.

Swiftly, she dimmed the lights,
the neon signs from the Krabby Patty
franchise across the street casting
soothing shadows through the windows.
The glow was just enough to
illuminate the space without
causing further distress, and
she watched as Plankton's rocking
subsided. She sat by him.

She grasped and squeezed
his shoulder. But
this time, he flinched.
"Plankton?" she asked,
concern etching her voice.
He pulled away from her,
his antennae dropping to
his side.

The doctor had
mentioned that some with
autism might have heightened
sensitivity to touch.
Karen felt a knot in her
stomach. "What if he
doesn't like me touching
him anymore?" she thought.
"What if I can't comfort
him when he's upset?"

She decided to
test the waters gently.
Reaching out, she lightly
trailed her finger over his
hand. Plankton didn't react. Encouraged,
she placed her hand on
his shoulder again,
this time more softly.
He tensed, then relaxed.
It was progress.

"Let's start with simple touch,"
she said, her voice soothing.

The doctor had mentioned that
Plankton might be hypersensitive
to certain types of touch,
and Karen was determined to
navigate this new aspect of their
relationship with care. She placed
a gentle hand on his knee, and Plankton
flinched, his antennae retreating.

"It's okay," she whispered, her voice
as soothing as a lullaby. "It's just me, Karen."
Her hand hovered over his, unsure
of the best way to provide comfort.

Karen took a deep breath,
deciding to try again. This time,
she approached with care, her touch
feather-light, gliding over his hand
like the softest of sea breezes.

Plankton's antennae twitched, and
his gaze remained on her hand,
watching the movement as if it were
the most fascinating thing he had
ever seen. Gradually, the tension in
his body eased, and his hand
lifted to meet hers. It was a tentative
touch, his fingers brushing against
hers, testing the waters.

Karen felt a rush of
relief. "See, it's okay," she murmured,
keeping her voice low and even.
Plankton's hand was cold, his grip
firm but not painful. His eye
locked onto hers, searching for
reassurance.

Slowly, she began to stroke his
hand with her thumb, applying
the slightest pressure. His breathing
evened out, his antennae rising slightly.
Encouraged, she tried a different
type of touch—a gentle squeeze.
This time, he didn't flinch. Instead,
his hand returned the gesture,
his own grip matching hers in strength.

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
"Maybe we can find a way
through this," she thought.

They sat in silence for
a few moments, their hands
entwined, as Karen tried to
think of the next step. The
doctor's words echoed in her
mind: find what works for him.

Gently, she began to rub
his hand, her thumb moving in
small, soothing circles. Plankton
seemed to find comfort in the
predictable pattern, his body
unwinding a fraction more.
Encouraged, Karen leaned in closer,
her other hand reaching out
to tap his shoulder. But as soon
as her hand made contact with
his skin, he jerked away, his
eye flashing with fear and
pain.

"I'm sorry," she said
quickly, her heart racing.
"I didn't mean to scare you."
Plankton stared at her, his
expression unreadable. "It's just,
sometimes touch feels..." His words
trailed off, and Karen felt her
own fear rising.

"Painful?" she guessed, her voice
trembling. Plankton nodded,
his antennae drooping. "Some
touches are okay, others..."
He paused, his eye darting
to his hand, which was still
wrapped around hers. "It's confusing."

Karen nodded, her heart
aching for him. She
knew she had to be more mindful
of his sensory needs. Carefully,
she pats his cheek with
the back of her hand, the lightest
of touches.

Plankton's antennae
flinched, but he didn't pull
away until she put both of
her hands on his shoulders. The
sudden pressure was too much,
like an electric shock. "Karen,"
he said, his voice tight with
discomfort, "too much."

Karen nodded, her
hands retreating to her lap.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice
small. "I didn't mean to..."

Plankton's antennae twitched,
his eye searching hers. "It's okay,
Karen," he said, his voice measured.
"But some touches are too much."

Karen nodded, her heart
heavy. She had so much to learn
about this new Plankton, this
person she knew so well yet
barely knew at all. "I'll be
more careful," she promised,
squeezing his hand gently.

Plankton's gaze remained
steady on hers, his expression
neutral. "Thank you, Karen,"
he said, giving her a side hug.

This was a Plankton she had
never seen before, one who
spoke in a staccato rhythm,
his movements precise and
calculated. Yet, in the safety
of their home, Karen saw
glimpses of the man she knew.

Her eyes fell upon a
pamphlet the doctor had
given her, titled 'Understanding
Neurodivergence'. She picked
it up and began to read.

The first few pages were
dedicated to explaining
what it meant to be neurodivergent,
how it wasn't an illness
but a natural variation in the
brain. Plankton's new
condition, Acquired Autism, was one of
the many spectrums that
fell under this umbrella.

Karen read through
the descriptions of different
behaviors, her eyes widening
as she recognized some
of the changes in Plankton—
his need for order, his heightened
sensitivity to stimuli, and his
newfound obsessions. The
pamphlet explained that these were
common in individuals with
his condition and offered
optional suggestions for 
supporting them.

Her gaze fell upon a section titled
'Seizure Protocols'.

Karen's eyes widened as she
read about the different types
of seizures that could occur
due to neurodivergence.
Some were minor, like staring
spells, while others could be
more severe. Her heart raced
as she thought of Plankton,
his body stiffening and shaking.
The pamphlet recommended to
keep any sharp or harmful
objects away from him. It was
important not to restrain him,
but instead, to gently guide him
to the floor if necessary.

The next section discussed
how to communicate with someone
on the spectrum. It suggested
using clear, direct language,
avoiding sarcasm and idioms.
Karen realized that she would
have to learn a new way
of speaking with Plankton.

Her screen skimmed over
the pages, absorbing the
information like a sponge.
The pamphlet highlighted the
importance of individuality
and diversity, emphasizing
that Plankton's brain was not
broken, but simply wired differently.
This was a concept she had
heard of before, but it had
never hit so close to home.

The causes of neurodisability
varied widely, from genetics
to congenital to trauma.
One paragraph caught her
attention—brain injuries
could lead to conditions like
Acquired Autism. The words
swirled in her mind, a stark
reminder of the wrench that
had changed everything.

As Karen read on, she
learned about the complex
interplay of biological factors
and life experiences that can shape
a person's neurodivergence.
It was both overwhelming and
fascinating, a glimpse into a world
she had never truly understood.

new just a touch neurodivergentcore iii

THE TOOTH OF A CHILD iii

He took another sip of water,
his cheeks puffing out as he
swished it around his mouth.
"Mmph, tath's betta," he said,
handing the cup back to the nurse.

Karen couldn't help but chuckle
at his antics. "Okay, let's get
you up," she said, her voice
still filled with laughter. Plankton
nodded, his antennae bobbing.

He swung his legs over the side
of the bed, his movements slow
and clumsy. Karen slipped her arm
under his and helped him stand. His
balance was wobbly, like a newborn
foal taking its first steps. She had to
stifle her giggles as he tried to
navigate the unseen world with his
numbed mouth.

"Mmph... Kahen," he began,
his voice a series of muffled sounds.
"How long wi’ this lafs?"

Karen chuckled at his question.
"It'll wear off in a few hours.
But until then, you're going to
have to be careful."

Plankton's antennae wiggled
with determination. "Mmph, I'm
a bih boy," he slurred.

Karen couldn't help but laugh
at his bravado. "Yes, you are,"
she said, her voice warm and
supportive. "Let's get you to
the car."

With Plankton leaning heavily
on her, they shuffled down the
hallway."

"Mmph... Kahen," Plankton slurred,
his words still thick with the
remnants of the anesthesia. "You know,
I've alwaths wanthed to know...
how youw wove me wath."

Karen raised an eyebrow, her
smile growing.

"What do you mean, Plankton?"
she asked, her curiosity
piqued by his sudden
sentimental turn.

"Mmph, wike, how... how youw...
feww in wove?" he managed,
his tongue thick and clumsy.

Karen's smile grew tender at
his earnest question. "Well, it's
complicated," she began, her voice
soft. "But I guess it started
when we met. Now, let's get in
the car."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
waving with understanding.
"Mmph, okay."

Karen helped him shuffle
his way out of the hospital,
his feet dragging slightly.
He was still groggy from the
anesthesia, but his curiosity
was in overdrive.

"Mmph, Kahen," Plankton
slurred, his voice barely above
a whisper. "Wha's wove wike?"
Karen glanced down at him,
his expression earnest. "It's like
when two people really, really
like each other," she replied,
her voice gentle.

"Wike... I wove youw tho 
mush." He says.

Karen couldn't help but laugh 
again. "Plankton, you're not
making any sense," she said,
her voice filled with affectionate
exasperation. His antennae
drooped slightly, his eye looking
disappointed.

"Mmph... I'm tawwy," he mumbled,
his mouth still a mess of numbness.
"It's just... I wove youw Kahen."
Karen's heart skipped a beat,
his words a sweet jumble of slurs.
"I know, Plankton," she said,
her voice thick with emotion.

They reached the car, and Karen
gently guided him into the passenger seat.

"Mmph, Kahen, wath's that?"
Plankton asked
pointing to the dashboard.

Karen chuckled. "It's the 
car's dashboard, Plankton.
You're just seeing things differently because
of the medicine." She buckled his seatbelt,
his movements exaggerated.

"Mmph, oh," he murmured, his
interest shifting to the
windshield wipers. "Mow, theath 
things, they'we like... like... arms,"
he said, his speech still a
slurry mess. Karen laughed,
shaking her head.

"They're wipers, Plankton. For
the rain," she corrected, starting
the engine.

He nodded, his antennae still
waving with fascination. "Mmph, wath's
theath wound?" he asked, pointing
at the steering wheel.

Karen couldn't help but laugh.
"That's the steering wheel,
buddy. It's what I use to drive
the car," she said, her voice
still filled with humor. Plankton
stared at it for a moment, his
expression thoughtful.

"Mmph, and theath wound?"
he asked, his finger tracing
the path of the windshield
wipers.

Karen couldn't help but
laugh. "It's to keep the
windshield clear, so we can see
while driving."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
twitching with curiosity.
"Mmph, so many tings in this
big wowld."

Karen couldn't help but laugh,
his innocent wonder bringing
a smile to her face. "Yes,
Plankton, there are so many things
to discover," she said, backing out of
the parking spot.

"Mmph, and wath's wath?"
Plankton asked, pointing out the
window at a passing scallop.
"That's a scallop, Plankton. It flies
in the sky," she explained, her voice
still filled with amusement.

He nodded, his antennae bobbing
as he took it all in. "Wow, so-o
beautiful," he slurred, his eye
gazing out the window like a child
seeing the world for the first time.

Karen couldn't help but be
captivated by his innocent
wonder. "You know, Plankton,
sometimes you say the sweetest things
without even realizing it."

His antennae perked up. "Mmph, do I?"
he asked, his speech still a
garbled mess. Karen nodded,
her smile tender. "You do."

"Mmph, gweat," he says with a
slow nod of his head.

Karen steers the car onto the
road, the sun casting a warm
glow over Plankton's sleepy face.
His antennae wilt slightly as
his eye struggles to stay open.

"Mmph, Kahen, theath sun is so
bright," he complains, his voice
still slurred from the anesthesia.
Karen chuckles, reaching over
to adjust the visor. "Better?"

He nods, his antennae drooping.
"Mmph, yeth. Thanf you." He
said, as drool began to form
again in the corner of his
mouth. Karen reached over
with a tissue, carefully
dabbing it away. Plankton
flinched slightly, his mouth
still too numb to feel the
touch.

"Mmph, I wathn't expehcting
this," he mumbles, his gaze
fixed on the passing scenery.
The world outside the car
was a blur of colors and shapes,
his mind still trying to
make sense of it all. Karen
navigated the road, her eyes
flipping between the road
and Plankton's amusing expressions.

"Mmph, Kahen, wath's thaf?"
he asks, his eye half-closed.

Karen looks over at the
traffic light, its red light a stark
contrast to the bright sun. "It's
a stoplight, Plankton. It tells
me when to stop and go."

Plankton nods, his antennae
barely moving. "Mmph, wike a
twail." His eye closes, and Karen
can feel his weight shift slightly
toward her as sleep begins
to claim him again.

"Mmph, Kahen?" Plankton's voice
interrupts the quiet hum of the
engine, his words a soft whisper.
"Ith wike I'm swimmin' in
molasses," he says, his mouth
still not cooperating.

Karen laughs, keeping one
eye on the road and the other
on his peaceful face. "You're
just tired from the surgery,"
she assures him. "You'll be
fine once you get some rest."

Plankton's antennae twitch,
his eye opening slightly. "But,
Kahen, I don't wan' to sleep,"
he slurred. "I wan' to expehrience
this wowld with you." His words
were earnest, his gaze
firm despite his grogginess.
She watched him fight
the tide of sleep, his eyelid
drooping again.

"Mmph, wath's theath wowndow?"
he asked, pointing at the car's side mirror.

Karen couldn't help but chuckle
at his confusion. "It's a mirror,
sweetheart," she said, her voice
soothing. "So we can see what's behind us."

Plankton nodded, his antennae
barely moving. "Mmph, wike a... wike
a... wookie," he mumbled, his speech
still a garbled mess. Karen laughed,
shaking her head. "It's okay, Plankton.
You're just tired."

His eyes grew heavier, his
lid drooping. "Mmph, I am,"
he admitted, his voice a faint
whisper. The car's gentle rocking
and the hum of the engine began to
lull him into a doze.

Karen watched him, his
snores growing louder as he
succumbed to sleep. His hand
still held hers, the connection
warm and comforting. She felt
his grip loosen slightly, his
body relaxing into the seat.

His breathing grew deep
and even, his antennae
quietly bobbing with each
exhalation. Karen couldn't help
but feel a swell of affection
for this vulnerable side of
Plankton she'd never seen before.

The car ride home was
quiet, punctuated only by
Plankton's gentle snores
and the rhythmic swish of the
windshield wipers. Karen
smiled to herself, her grip on
his hand never loosening.

new the tooth of a child wisdomtoothcore wisdomteethcore iii

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣦⣄⠀⠈⢻⣿⣏⠉⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⢻⣿⡿⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀
⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⢼⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⢻⣧⠀⠀
⢸⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣸⣧⠀⢻⣷⡄
⠈⠻⠯⠛⠛⠻⠿⠿⠟⠀⠀⠸⠿⠿⠷⠦⠀⢤⡿⢻⠀⡼⠇⠑

new iii emoseerht ijome tra tod tra txet tra iicsa

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⣟⣯⢿⡹⣏⠿⣭⠯⡽⣩⢏⡝⢮⡙⢮⡙⣎⠳⡙⢎⠳⡍⢞⣡⠛⣬⠳⡩⢞⣡⠛⡬⢓⡭⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀
⡿⣼⢳⡻⣜⠻⣔⢫⠖⡱⢊⡜⡡⡙⢢⠑⡌⠱⢉⠌⡱⢈⠒⠤⠉⡄⠣⠑⠌⠤⢉⠔⢃⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⢀⠀⠄⠀⠄
⡿⣜⢧⡛⣬⠳⣌⠣⢎⠡⢃⡐⠡⠐⠁⠂⠌⠐⠀⠂⠀⠀⠈⠀⠁⠀⠁⠈⠀⠂⠠⠈⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡦⠜⠄⠢⠀
⡟⡼⢣⡝⢤⠓⡄⢃⠂⠌⡀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠈⠢⠠⠍⠂
⢯⡝⣣⠚⡤⢃⠌⡐⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠃
⡗⢮⡅⢫⠐⢂⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢫⢐⠇⢄⠃⢀⣿⣀⣤⣤⣤⣠⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠂⠑⠀⠈⠀⠂
⣝⡲⢌⠣⡘⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣱⢻⢠⡐⣴⣾⣿⣿⢿⣿⢽⡻⣳⣳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢀⣴⣾⣻⣞⡧⡽
⢮⡱⢊⡱⢀⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢡⠃⠈⡤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣯⢿⣹⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣜⣿⣿⣯⣷⢯⣷⢶
⢧⣃⠧⡐⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⢺⣀⣀⣇⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⡳⣌⢒⠡⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣱⣬⣭⡭⢶⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⠿⢻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⡳⡌⢎⠰⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡿⠋⠀⠀⠌⠸⣭⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡽⠛⠀⠀⠁⢋⡞⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⢧⡙⣌⠢⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⡄⠩⢌⢂⡐⠀⣈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⣽⣿⣿⣿
⣇⠳⡄⢃⠄⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣎⣮⣤⡄⠠⠈⠁⠂⠢⡄⢁⠀⢨⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢠⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⣿⣿
⣎⣷⣿⡾⣆⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢫⣵⣚⣿⣿⣧⣀⠄⡀⠀⠈⢂⠠⡘⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠄⡄⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⢏⣡⢛⣿⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⢰⣻⣿
⣯⠶⣏⠷⣧⢖⡩⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⡨⠐⢋⡻⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⢀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠱⡘⢬⣿⣿⣿⣿⢒⡛⠂⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠁⠘⢿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢀⠯⣿
⣯⢟⣼⣳⣽⣿⢿⣷⣿⣶⣶⠔⠠⢁⠙⠻⣾⣿⡿⣿⣏⢯⣳⣱⣌⡆⠀⠈⠳⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⠄⡀⠀⢐⣡⡣⣌⠀⠠⣄⠔⠀⠀⠸⣬⣛⣿⣿⣿⣝⢣⢀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⢹⣿
⣟⣮⣳⣽⣿⣽⢷⣳⣿⣿⢯⡘⢄⠂⠄⢀⠀⢈⠛⠒⠋⠸⠷⣹⣾⣿⣷⣦⣄⠠⢻⣻⣿⣿⣠⠃⠀⣔⡮⢳⡌⡘⣎⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⠻⠰⠉⠏⡞⣻⢿⣷⣄⣄⠀⠂⡝
⣟⡶⣿⣿⣽⣿⣷⣿⢿⣿⡧⡜⠬⢌⢰⠎⠬⠒⠈⠡⠀⠀⢦⣹⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡉⠱⣺⡥⢀⣪⡯⣵⡿⣐⣿⢿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡴⠈
⡿⣼⣿⣿⣿⢿⡁⠄⠹⣿⣱⣯⣗⣈⢰⣷⣷⡠⢀⠈⡀⠀⠀⠻⣯⡿⢿⣻⣷⣟⠿⢔⠀⣺⡋⣹⣟⡾⣿⡙⠋⠙⢺⡯⢀⣎⠀⠀⢰⣄⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡷⣾⣿⢿⣭⡙⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣻⡼⣅⠆⠹⡿⣿⣿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣟⣾⣆⠉⢲⠇⠀⠈⠹⠶⡂⠝⠻⠁⠀⣴⣿⣰⣿⢷⡾⡟⣡⠂⡀⠈⢳⣿⣿⡷⢶⣾⣿⣿⢢⣴⡀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⢈⠙⠿⠓⠀
⣿⣿⣿⡿⣾⣿⡷⣜⣞⡷⢟⡀⠀⠱⡀⠻⣿⣿⣷⠉⠚⠰⢢⢐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⣡⢸⣿⣿⡿⠯⣰⣷⢀⡁⠤⣴⠔⠉⠐⠀⠉⢟⣻⣷⡞⠃⠔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣟⣽⣿⣿⢻⣯⢟⡔⣢⠙⣧⢄⡘⢄⠈⠻⢯⣷⣦⣸⢫⣌⠄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣞⡼⣿⣿⣿⣿⠓⣸⣿⡿⢷⣻⠏⠁⠘⢆⡀⡀⢂⠀⠻⣿⣱⣠⡀⡖⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌
⣿⢷⣾⣿⣿⣽⣿⠷⢿⣿⣆⠷⡘⢧⡜⢪⢗⡀⠉⢻⣿⡟⢋⡡⡌⢀⣀⣴⡾⣛⣽⣾⢻⢶⣿⡇⣱⣿⡟⣵⣿⣡⣾⣆⡀⠀⢣⡀⠀⡑⡀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡗⠐⠀⡀⠀⠀⣠⢖⢣⣝
⣯⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⢯⣗⢦⢩⢿⣯⣙⢎⠹⡁⠎⡱⡀⣹⢡⣒⣿⣽⣿⢟⡯⣾⣵⣿⠿⣭⢯⣾⠡⣼⣿⢟⡾⣿⣃⡀⠈⠻⣷⡈⢅⡳⢆⠈⠀⠂⠀⡼⠋⢠⡴⣾⣤⠖⣯⢱⣫⣾⢫
⡷⡿⣏⣟⠾⣟⣿⣿⣎⢧⢳⡹⢗⠮⡑⡓⡎⡔⢸⣿⣿⣿⣯⣟⣮⣟⣿⢿⣛⣭⣷⣿⣿⣿⢴⣿⢋⠋⢸⡷⣿⣇⠢⠑⡙⢿⣄⠐⠒⢄⠀⠀⢲⣶⡾⣟⡽⣳⢬⣛⣴⣿⠻⣌⣷
⣿⡷⢯⣿⣫⣟⡾⠽⢻⣮⣧⣹⢦⡷⣼⣟⢽⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣻⢮⣷⣿⢯⣷⣿⣿⣛⠿⣩⣻⣝⠁⡲⢀⢸⠠⢽⡿⠱⣂⡄⢡⡈⢀⣴⡎⡴⣧⣾⣿⢻⡽⣛⣼⣳⢿⣙⣦⣿⠿⣟
⣿⣟⣷⣭⡟⣬⢒⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢏⣵⣿⣿⣟⡷⣟⣾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣾⣿⣿⣛⢻⣫⢘⡀⢹⠜⠀⠁⢜⣼⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⣩⣾⣿⣻⣞⢯⣳⣻⡾⣏⣷⣿⡿⣏⣳⣼
⣿⣷⣾⡿⣜⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣋⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠈⠉⢹⣵⡎⣵⠋⠀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟⠗⣵⣿⣿⣿⣳⢯⡼⢯⣾⢯⣿⡿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠟⠻
⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⡡⣿⣷⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣴⣿⣿⣿⣟⣧⣻⢮⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⣽⣿⣿⠿⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⡀⢸⣿⠓⣽⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣫⢿⣼⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢨⣓⣷⡿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣳⢯⣿⡿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣹⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠸⣶⡽⢷⣿⣿⡻⣿⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣷⣻⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⢿⣷⣿⣷⢾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⢿⡻⣟⣾⣻⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡈⠂⠀⠀⠀⣟⣳⢿⣹⣾⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⡀⠄⠀⠀⣿⣽⣺⢿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡁⠂⢸⣷⣯⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⡽⣹⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⡔⠢⠀⠀⠁⠈⠀⠘⠌⢰⠉⠻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀
⣳⢣⢯⡘⡙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣟⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢿⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣧⢋⢦⡙⢲⡀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡕⢧⠞⠛⣾⣢⢄⡀⠀⠀⠨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠸⣇⡻⢷⢦⢄⠀⠀
⢧⡏⡖⡌⢂⠙⢢⡄⠘⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⢭⣚⡆⢒⠉⠙⣾⣜⢣⡀⢘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡃⢳⠠⠤⠛⢯⣽⡂
⡳⢎⡵⣎⠰⢈⠀⠱⡄⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣶⡐⢶⡉⠐⡆⠉⢹⣳⣜⢪⠀⠀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠈⢿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠜⠩⣆⠃⢠⠀⠙⢿
⡝⣎⠲⣙⠦⡁⢂⠀⠹⣄⠂⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣥⠊⢵⣂⠀⡖⠀⠘⢮⣻⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠘⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢯⡂⠣⣦⠈⠀⡀⠘
⡟⣬⠓⡌⢶⡁⠆⠀⠀⠘⡄⢸⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡭⣗⡀⢞⡡⡐⠄⠄⠈⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠀⢻⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣽⡄⠈⠝⢌⢀⠀
⡝⣦⠛⡌⢆⡿⢠⠁⠀⠈⣧⠖⣿⣿⣥⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣞⣧⢖⠨⠔⢂⠄⠀⠺⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠘⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢜⣿⡤⡉⠜⠡⠀
⡻⣔⠫⡜⢂⡿⣀⠂⠀⠀⢱⠈⣼⣿⣿⡖⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣾⣅⡙⠀⠙⠦⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⣿⣿⣧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⣗⡀⠀⠀
⢷⣩⠓⣌⣹⡷⠄⢂⠀⠀⢸⡈⠊⣿⣿⣿⣖⡱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⠦⠠⠐⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣦⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠽⣤⠀
⡧⣇⢏⠤⣻⣿⢌⠠⠀⢠⣿⣅⠀⣹⣿⣿⣿⣷⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣇⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉
⣳⢭⣚⣾⣿⡿⣈⠐⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⡓⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⣳⢮⣿⣿⣿⡓⠄⡈⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠀⢀⣾⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⣄⣀⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣾
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣉⢒⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣠⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⢀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣣⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡠⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

new iiii iii vii dot art text art ascii art

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES iii

The nurse's voice is calm as
she informs Dr. Finnegan that
his blood pressure is stable,
his oxygen levels good. The
monitors beep steadily, a lullaby
of safety amidst the cacophony
of surgical sounds.

With one final tug, the fourth
wisdom tooth gives way, and
Plankton's snoring remains a
steady crescendo in the background.
The doctor holds it up in
triumph, and Karen feels a weight
lift from her chest as the wisdom
teeth are disposed of. A trickle of 
drool starts to form at the corner 
of Plankton's mouth.

The assistant quickly moves in to
clean up the remaining debris,
his movements efficient and
precise. Plankton's snores
morph into something closer to
a gentle purr, his mouth open wide
and vulnerable, revealing the
now empty sockets where the teeth
once were.

Dr. Finnegan takes a step
back, wiping his brow with a
satisfied sigh. "Alright, that's
the last one," he says, looking
over at Karen. She lets out the
breath she's been holding, her
grip on Plankton's hand finally
loosening.

The nurse begins to clean
Plankton's mouth, the suction tool
humming as it removes blood
and excess saliva. His snoring
softens, turning into a gentle
purr that's almost endearing in
its vulnerability. Karen can't help
but feel a swell of love for
his unconscious form, even as
Dr. Finnegan's hands probe his
swollen gums.

The assistant starts to
stitch the incisions closed,
his movements swift and sure.
The sound of the needle
passing through Plankton's gums
makes Karen wince, but Plankton
doesn't flinch. He remains a
picture of peace, his snores
continuing their lulling rhythm.

The room's tension dissipates
as the final stitch is placed.
Dr. Finnegan steps back, a
satisfied look on his face as
he surveys his handiwork. "We're
almost done here," he says,
his voice calm and soothing.
The nurse begins to prepare
the recovery area, laying out
gauze and ice packs, as the
mouth prop is gently removed
from Plankton's mouth. His
snores become a little less
snuffly.

Karen leans in closer,
whispering, "You did so good,
babe," to him. The nurse chuckles
lightly. "He's a champ," she says,
applying pressure to the
gauze to stem the flow of
blood from the stitched sockets.

Dr. Finnegan nods in
agreement, his eyes on the
monitors. "Just a few more
minutes," he tells her, his voice
soft and reassuring.

"He'll be out of it for a
bit when he wakes up," Dr.
Finnegan says with a chuckle,
looking over at Karen. "The
anesthesia can make people
act a little... peculiar."

The nurse gently wipes
Plankton's mouth with a
moist cloth, his head lolling to
the side. Karen's heart is a
wild thing in her chest, but she
can't help the smile that tugs
at her lips.

"He might say some funny
things when he wakes up," Dr.
Finnegan says, his voice low
and amused. "The anesthesia
can do that."

The nurse nods in
agreement. "Don't worry, it's
completely normal. He might not
even remember most of it, or he
may just feel a bit loopy." Karen
smiles nervously, her mind racing
with all the funny scenarios
that could play out.

"But for now," Dr. Finnegan
says, patting Plankton's shoulder,
"he's going to keep sleeping
while we make sure everything
is all set."

The nurse administers a
final dose of anesthesia in
his gums to numb his
mouth to keep Plankton 
comfortable.

"When he wakes up,"
Dr. Finnegan says, his
gloved hands now free of
blood, "his mouth will be
a bit swollen, and he'll
probably be groggy. The
important thing is to keep
his head elevated and have
him use the ice packs to
reduce the swelling. And
don't let him eat anything
too solid for the next few
days. Soft foods only."

The nurse adds, "And if he
says anything strange or
does something unexpected, just
roll with it. It's the anesthesia
talking."

Karen nods, her mind racing
with the instructions, the
possibilities of Plankton's
anesthesia-induced ramblings.
He's always had a wild imagination,
so who knows what might come out
once the drugs kick in?

The nurse gently wipes Plankton's
face, catching the droplets of
drool that form at the corners
of his mouth. His snores turn
into a soft snuffle as his mouth
shifts with each breath.

Karen can't help but chuckle
softly at the sight, the tension of
the surgery giving way to the
comfort of knowing it's almost
over. Plankton's arm, still
numb from the I.V., hangs
loosely by his side. His chest
moves up and down in a deep,
steady rhythm, the only
indication of life amidst the
stillness of his body.

new wisdomtoothcore wisdomteethcore iii

TRUTH AND NAIL iii

 Karen felt his weight
shifting, his body swaying
towards sleep again.
“Stay with me, Plankton,”
she murmured, her voice
a gentle prod to keep
his consciousness afloat.

He blinked, his eye
trying to focus on her face.
“Wha...?” he mumbled,
his words trailing off
like a forgotten melody.

Karen's tightened.
“You’re okay, Plankton,”
she whispered, her voice
a gentle caress in the
stillness of the room.
“You’re just tired from
the surgery, that’s all.”

But even as she
spoke, Plankton’s head
lolled to the side,
his mouth open slightly,
drooling. Karen reached over
and wiped it away, her
fingers coming back wet.

"It's normal
for them to nod off
like this," the nurse assured
Karen with a kind smile. “Let’s 
walk to your car..”

But as they shuffled
along, Plankton’s knees
buckled, and he slumped
against Karen, his mouth
falling open in a deep snore.
Her arms tightened around
his waist, her strength
supporting his sudden
weakness.

"Wha...?" Plankton mumbled,
his eye fluttering open,
his mind trying to catch up
with his surroundings.
"You okay?" Karen asked.

His head bobbed slightly,
nodding in sleepy agreement.
But as they shuffled closer
to the exit, his knees
buckled again, and he
was out cold.

Karen's grip tightened,
keeping him from collapsing.
The nurse chuckled softly,
"It's okay, Mrs. Plankton.
This happens a lot after
the anesthesia. Wake
up, Mr. Plankton.."

But Plankton's snores
only grew louder, his head
lolling onto Karen's shoulder.
Her laugh was a gentle
sigh as she looked at
his peaceful face, marred
only by the occasional
dribble of saliva.

"Come on, love," Karen
whispered, her voice a soft
nudge. "Let's get you to the car."
With the nurse's help, they
managed to make him 
stir in his sleep.

Plankton's eye cracked
open, his gaze unfocused
and glazed. "Karen?"
he murmured, his voice a
slurred whisper.

Her eyes searched his,
the love in them a beacon
in the starkness of the
hospital corridor. "You're okay,
sweetie," she said, her voice
a gentle reminder.

But Plankton's response
was a snore, his head
lolling forward again.
Karen's grip tightened,
his weight leaning heavily
on her. "Wake up, Plankton,"
she whispered, her voice a
caress in the air.

The nurse chuckled.
"It's just the anesthesia,"
she assured Karen. "Let's
get him to the car."
Plankton's eye
snapped open, his mind
fighting to wake up.

But each step was a
battle against the fog.
Karen's arms wrapped
around him, her grip
firm and loving. His legs
threatened to give out,
his knees like jelly,
but she held him upright.

"Come on, darling,"
she cooed, her voice a
beacon through the
haze. "Almost there."

They made it to the
car, Plankton's snores
filling the quiet
of the parking lot.
The nurse opened the
back door, and Karen
managed to get him
sitting upright, his head
lolling to one side.

"Wha...?" he mumbled,
his eye opening a crack.
"We're going home," Karen
soothed, her voice a soft
song. She fastened the
seatbelt around him,
his limbs heavy and
uncooperative.

As she drove, Plankton
fought to keep his eye
open, his head drooping
forward before jerking
back up with a snort.

"You okay back there?"
Karen called over her
shoulder, her eyes on the
road.

A faint snore was
his only reply, his
head lolling against
the headrest. She chuckled,
a mix of concern and
affection, her screen
flitting to the rearview
mirror. His mouth was
still open, a string of
drool connecting his
bottom lip to his chin.

Karen reached back,
carefully wiping it away
with a tissue. Plankton's
face twitched in his
sleep, but he remained
oblivious to her touch.
The car's gentle hum
lulled him further, his
snores punctuating
the silence of the drive.

new truth and nail sleepycore iii

NEW REALITY iii
(Autistic author)

"You know, Plankton," she starts,
trying to keep the conversation
going, "you've always been so
clever with your inventions. Maybe
this is just your brain working in
overdrive, processing everything
faster than ever before."

He nods, his eyes still glued
to the fan. "Fast," he agrees,
his hand moving in the same
repetitive motion. "Like fan."

Karen tries to keep her voice
even as she sits beside him.
"You're right," she says, smiling.
"It is fast."

Plankton's hand stops moving
for a moment, then resumes the
wave-like motion. "Fast," he
agrees, his eye never leaving
the fan's rotation.

Karen watches him, her mind racing.
Could it be that he's just really
focused on the fan? Maybe his
brain is working differently now,
focusing on details that she's
always missed. She tries to find
comfort in this explanation, but
the emptiness in his gaze
unsettles her. She reaches for his
arm, hoping to ground him, to bring
his attention back to her. But
his hand jerks away, his movements
quick and erratic.

"Plankton, honey, are you okay?"
she asks, her voice tight with worry.
His eye flicks to her for a brief
moment before returning to
the fan. "Karen," he says, his tone
flat and emotionless. "Water. Thanks."

He takes another sip, his hand
shaking slightly as he sets the
glass down. Karen's heart clenches,
wishing she could take his pain away.
Maybe he's just overwhelmed, she tells
herself. Maybe all this spinning is a
way for him to calm down, to make
sense of the world again.

"Plankton," she says softly, placing
a hand on his shoulder. "Look at me."
He does, his eye meeting hers with a
flicker of something she can't quite
place. "You know, you can tell me
anything."

He nods, his gaze flicking back
to the fan. "Tell Karen," he repeats,
his voice a monotone echo.

Karen's mind is racing, but
she keeps her tone calm. "Plankton,
sweetie, what do you mean?"

He points to the fan again. "Fan.
Spin. Like." His words come out
slowly, as if he's trying to piece
together a puzzle.

Karen nods, her heart racing. "Yes,
the fan spins. It's like when you
tell me your grand plans for the
Krabby Patty formula," she says, trying
to draw him back into their shared
world. But Plankton's eye doesn't
even flicker at the mention of his
lifelong obsession.

Instead, he starts to rock slightly,
his hand moving back and forth in
the same pattern. "Spin. Fan," he
mumbles, his voice a distant echo.

Karen tries to ignore the fear
creeping into her voice. "Plankton,
what's going on? Why are you
doing this?"

Plankton's hand stops moving
for a moment, then starts again.
"Fan," he murmurs. "Spin."

Karen's mind is racing, but she tries
to stay calm. "It's okay, Plankton,"
she says soothingly, her hand still
on his shoulder. "The fan is spinning.
It's a simple machine, doing what
it's meant to do."

He nods, his gaze still locked on
the fan's blades. "Spin. Yes." His
voice is flat. Karen
swallows hard, trying to find the right
words. Maybe if she can get him to
focus on something else, he'll snap out of
this strange behavior. "LOOK AT ME!" 
She grabs his wrists..
Startled, Plankton's eye darts to hers,
his pupil wide with shock. "Karen?"
he asks, his voice tinged with anger.
"Karen scaring Plankton." He says,
his eye welling up with tears as he
starts crying.

Karen's heart shatters, she didn't mean to
scare him, she just wanted to get through to
his old self. "I'm sorry," she whispers,
pulling him into a tight hug. "It's okay."

Plankton's sobs are muffled against
her chest, his body stiff and unyielding.
Her eyes fill with tears as she tries
to soothe him, rubbing his back in
small, gentle circles. "It's okay," she repeats,
desperation lacing her words. "You're okay."

He pulls away 
slightly, looking up
at her.

"Karen, sad," he
says, his voice still
flat. "Why Karen sad?"

Karen sniffs, wiping
away her tears. "I'm just...
worried about you."

Plankton's eye widens, his
expression unchanged. "Worry?"
he questions, as if tasting
the word.

Karen nods, her heart heavy.
"Yes, worry. It's when someone
cares about you and is concerned
about your well-being."

Plankton nods, but his gaze
slides back to the fan. "Fan spin,"
he says, his voice monotonous.

Karen sighs, trying to redirect
his focus. "Plankton, let's talk about
something else. Like, what do
you want to do today?"

He blinks, his hand still
waving. "Do today?" he echoes.
"Fan spin."

Karen's stomach drops.
Maybe he's just fixated on the fan,
but something in his voice sends
a shiver down her spine. "Plankton,"
she says softly, her hand still on
his back. "I know you're not feeling
like yourself right now, but can you
try to focus on me for one minute?"
"One minute, sixty seconds,"
Plankton murmurs, his hand
continuing its rhythmic dance.

"Yes, that's right," Karen encourages,
despite the sinking feeling in her chest.
"Can you tell me what you see?"
Plankton looks at her, his expression
still eerily blank. "See Karen," he says,
his voice devoid of warmth. "See bed. See wall."

Karen's eyes widen as realization hits her.
He's not just fixated on the fan; he's taking
everything she says literally. "Plankton,
I'm not sad about the fan spinning. I'm sad
because you're not acting like you."
He looks at her, then at the fan, then back at her.
"Fan spin," he repeats, his eye searching
hers for understanding.

"No, no, Plankton," she says, her voice
gentle but firm. "I'm sad because you're
not okay." She takes a deep breath.
"You're not you."

He nods, his hand still moving.
"Plankton okay," he insists. 
"Karen sad."

Karen's heart breaks a little more.
"I know you think you're okay,"
she says, her voice trembling.
"But you're acting differently,
sweetie. You're not the same."
She decided to scan his brain.
The brain scan results come back,
and Karen stares. There it is,
stark and clear: acquired Autism
It's not something they can reverse.

new new reality Karen the Computer iii

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS iii
(By NeuroFabulous)


Plankton feels a
wave of self-consciousness
crash over him. He's always
been different, and now
his son is seeing him at
his most vulnerable.
He doesn't look at
Chip, focusing instead on the
ceiling above.

Chip stares at him, his
face a mix of confusion
and concern. "Dad, are 
you o..."

But Plankton snaps, cutting
his son off with a harsh
tone that slices through
the tension in the room.
"The show's over, Chip; you
can leave now!"

Chip's eyes widen in shock,
his screen flushing with a
mixture of embarrassment
and hurt. He had never
seen his father like this
before. Karen intervenes gently.

"Chip, your dad's just tired.
Why don't you go play in
your room for a bit?"
Her voice was calm, but
there was a firmness that
Chip knew meant business.

He nodded, feeling the weight
of the situation settle on his
small shoulders. As he turned to leave,
his gaze caught the sadness
in his father's eye, a look
that seemed to apologize
without words.

The door clicked shut
behind him, and the silence
was deafening. Chip sat on
his bed, his mind racing with
thoughts about his father.

He knew Plankton was different,
but seeing him like that... it was
like looking at a robot that
suddenly turned off. It was
scary, but also fascinating.
He had so many questions,
but his mother's words echoed
in his mind: "Give him some space."
He'd have to be extra careful
around his dad from now on.

Back in their own room,
Karen sat beside Plankton,
still stroking his arm.
"I'm sorry, Plankton," she murmured.
"I know it's hard for you."

His eye searched hers,
filled with a quiet desperation.
"It's not your fault," he rasped,
his voice barely above a whisper.
"It's just... sometimes it's too much."

Karen's gaze softened, and
she leaned in to press a gentle
kiss to his forehead. "I know,"
she whispered, her thumb
continuing its soothing
motion on his arm. "We'll get
through it together."

Plankton's antennae
twitched again, and he took
a shaky breath. "I'm sorry,"
he murmured, his voice
still hoarse from his
self-imposed silence. "I know
it's scary for you, for Chip."

Karen's eyes remained
on his, filled with love and
understanding. "You have
nothing to apologize for,"
she said firmly. "You're doing
the best you can."

Plankton managed a
weak smile, his body slowly
starting to uncoil from the tight
knot it had formed during
his shutdown. Karen's gentle
touch was like a warm blanket,
wrapping him in a cocoon of
comfort.

"Thank you, Karen," he
whispered, his voice still
shaky. "I'm just so tired."

Karen nodded, her hand
never leaving his arm.
"You've had a long day,"
she said, her voice a soothing
balm. "Why don't you rest
a bit?"

Plankton nodded, his
energy depleted. He
managed to get himself into
a lying position, the bed
creaking beneath him. Karen
pulled the covers over him,
tucking him in.

Her voice was a lullaby
in the quiet room. "Close
your eye, Plankton. Take
deep breaths. I'm here."
Her hand remained on his
arm, her thumb tracing
the same comforting pattern.

Plankton's breaths grew
even, his body slowly
relaxing into the mattress.
The tightness in his chest
eased with each exhale, and
his antennae drooped slightly
as he succumbed to his body's
needs for rest. Karen watched
over him, her screen never
straying from his face.

"Rest, love," she whispered,
the words carrying a gentle
lilt of reassurance. She knew
the battle he faced every day,
how hard he tried to fit into
a world that didn't quite
understand him. She felt a
surge of admiration for his
strength and resilience.

new chip on the shoulders Chip Plankton II iii

CHIP IN MY BOX iii
(Autistic author)

"What's in the box?"
Chip asks again, his voice
steadier than he feels.

Plankton's eye bulges, his
fists tighten around the
box. "You're going to
make me show you?"
He snarls, his voice low and
dangerous.

Chip nods, his curiosity
now a raging inferno that
overpowers his fear.
"Yes," he whispers, his voice
shaking.

The room seems to hold
its breath as Plankton's grip
on the box tightens. His knuckles
turn white with the effort of
not flinging it open, of not
revealing whatever dark secret
it holds. Chip's heart thunders
in his chest, his eyes never
leaving the box.

"Fine," Plankton growls, his
voice low and dangerous. "If you
have to know, I'll show you."
He opens the box, and the
tension in the room snaps
like a rubber band.

Chip leans in, his heart racing
with a mix of excitement and
apprehension. Inside, there's a
variety of sensory apparatus, and a few
other odds and ends.

"It's... it's just stuff," he
stammers, not quite grasping
why his dad had reacted so
strongly. Plankton's chest
heaves, his face red with anger.
"It's not just stuff!" he yells,
slamming the box shut. "It's
private, it's mine, it's none
of your business!"

Chip's eyes water, the
sting of his father's words
cutting deep. He's never seen
his dad like this, so out
of control. He takes another
step back, his curiosity
now overshadowed by fear.

"Dad," he whispers, his voice
barely audible. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"You just what?" Plankton's
tone is like ice. "You just
have to know everything, don't you?
You can't leave well enough alone!"
He stands, the box clutched in his
hand, the knuckles still white.

Chip's eyes dart to the
closed box, then back to
his father's furious face.
"I'm sorry," he repeats, his
voice small. "I just wanted to
help." But his apology seems
to fall on deaf ears.

Plankton's anger is a living,
breathing thing in the room,
swirling around them like a
tornado of unspoken words.
"You don't help," he spits out.
"You never do. You just make
things worse." His eye bore
into Chip's, the accusation
stinging like a slap.

Chip's bottom lip quivers
as he tries to understand
his father's fury. His eyes
flit to the sensory box,
now closed with a finality
that feels like the slamming
of a door. "But why can't I
help?" he whispers, his voice
tiny in the face of Plankton's
wrath.

Plankton's eye narrows,
his voice a low growl. "You
don't know what you're asking."
He turns away, his shoulders
hunched, the weight of his
secret heavy on his shoulders.

Chip feels his cheeks
wet with unshed tears, but he
can't stop. "What don't I know?"
He asks, his voice trembling.
"What's so bad about the box?"

Plankton whips around, his
face a twisted mask of anger
and pain. "It's not about the
box, you little brat!" he yells.
"It's about respecting my
space!" He slams the box
down on the table, causing
the contents to rattle. "You
never think before you act,
always poking your nose where
it doesn't belong!"

Chip's eyes widen, the
realization dawning that
his curiosity has crossed
a line. He takes a tentative
step back, his voice shaking.
"Dad, I'm sorry, I didn't
mean to-"

"Mean to what?" Plankton
interrupts, his voice a
whip crack in the tense silence.
"Mean to invade my privacy?
Mean to make me feel like
a freak?" His hand slams
on the table, the box jumping
under the impact.

Chip's eyes widen with
understanding, and his
stomach drops. He hadn't
meant to make his dad feel
that way. "No, I..."
he starts, but Plankton
doesn't let him finish.

"Just go to your room!"
Plankton's voice is a thunderous
wave, crashing over Chip's
apology. "You've done enough
damage for one day."

The hurt in Chip's eyes
deepens, but his curiosity
doesn't waver. He goes
to open the box..

"What could be so bad?"
Chip asks, his voice
smaller now, his hand
trembling as he reaches
for the box's latch.

Plankton's eye widens
in horror, his anger a
volcano about to erupt.
"Chip, no!" Karen's
voice is a desperate
plea, but her son's need
to know is too strong.

The box's latch clicks
open, and Chip's hand
freezes in mid-air as
his eyes land on the
contents within: a collection
of small, seemingly random
objects, each with a specific
purpose to soothe and
comfort Plankton in his
moments of distress.

Plankton's anger boils over,
his face reddening as he
watches his son's curiosity
expose his most private
weakness. "You had to see
for yourself, didn't you?" he says,
his voice low and venomous.

Chip's hand hovering over
the open box, the sensory
items laid bare before him.
He looks up, his eyes wide
with a mix of fear and
understanding. "Dad, I'm
sorry," he whispers, his voice
shaking.

But Plankton's anger is a
tidal wave that can't be held
back. "You're always sorry,"
he snarls, his eye flashing
with a rage that makes Chip's
heart pound in his chest.
"But it's never enough, is it?"
He grabs the box, his hand
shaking with the force of his
emotions.

Chip's curiosity turns to
regret as he sees the pain
his questions have caused.
He takes a step back, his
hands up in a defensive
posture. "I didn't me—"
But Plankton isn't listening,
his rage a living entity in
the room. "Get out!"
He roars, his voice shaking
the walls. "I don't want to
see you right now!"
Tears spill down Chip's
cheeks as Karen intervenes.

"Chip, go to your room,"
she says, her voice shaking
but firm. Plankton's
anger is a storm that's
been brewing for too long,
and she's afraid of where
this could lead.

Chip nods, his eyes never
leaving the box. He feels a
heavy weight in his chest,
his curiosity now a burden.
Slowly, he turns and heads
upstairs, his feet dragging.

Karen watches him go,
her heart aching. She turns
to Plankton, her eyes
pleading. "Honey, maybe we
should talk to him," she says,
her voice shaky. But Plankton's
glare silences her.

He slams the box shut
and storms out of the
room, leaving Karen alone
with her racing thoughts.
Should they have told Chip
earlier? Would it have
made a difference?

new chip in my box chip plankton ii iii

TOOTH AFTERNOON iii

Karen chuckled. Despite his current
state, she was just happy
he was out of pain. She sat
back in her chair, watching him
sleep and planning their quiet
afternoon at home. Ice cream,
his favorite blanket, and a
marathon of their favorite show.

The doctor returned, his
expression one of understanding.
“He’ll be out of it for a
little while longer. But we can
discharge him now if you’re
ready to take him home,” he said,
his voice a calm assurance.

Karen nodded, her smile
tired but still present. “Thank
you, doctor. I think we’re ready,”
she replied, her voice a soft
acknowledgment of the journey
that had only just begun.

The doctor gave her a nod
of understanding, his gaze
softening. “Alright, let’s get
you both home. I’ll go grab the
gauze for his mouth,” he
said, turning to leave the room.

Karen nodded, her eyes
still on Plankton’s sleeping
form. She felt a mix of
relief and exhaustion wash
over her. The surgery was over,
but the real challenge was just
beginning: navigating Plankton’s
recovery.

The doctor returned with
a small bag of supplies and
instructions. “Make sure he
doesn’t chew on anything too
hard, and keep the gauze in to
soak up the bleeding. He’ll be
on a soft diet for a few days.
Lots of rest, and no strenuous
activities, okay?” he said, his voice
kind and professional. “Now let’s 
get some gauze in.”

Karen watched as the doctor
carefully placed the gauze in
Plankton’s mouth.
Would he wake up? Would he
panic? But Plankton remained
asleep, his breathing steady.
The nurse offered a gentle pat
on the shoulder. “You’re a trooper,
Mr. Plankton,” she said, her voice
a soft whisper of encouragement.

The doctor turned to Karen,
his expression a blend of
pride and fatigue. “You’ve
both done well today. He’s ready
to go home, but make sure to
follow the instructions I gave
you. No chewing, no crunchy
foods, and keep that gauze in place.
Call us if you have any
concerns, okay?”

Karen nodded, her smile
grateful. “Thank you, doctor.
We really appreciate it,” she
said, her voice a soft echo of
the beeps that surrounded them.

With a gentle touch, Karen
shook Plankton’s shoulder.
“Wake up, Plankton. Time to go
home,” she whispered, her voice
a soothing lullaby to rouse him
from his anesthesia-induced slumber.

Plankton’s eye cracked open,
his gaze unfocused. “Whathapennin’?”
he mumbled, his tongue a thick
obstacle in his mouth.

Karen’s smile was a warm
reassurance. “It’s time to go
home, sweetie. The surgery’s all
over,” she whispered, her voice
like a gentle breeze.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his thoughts a tangled mess.
“Home?” he murmured, his mouth
moving awkwardly around the
gauze.

Karen nodded, her smile a
beacon in the sterile room.
“Yes, Plankton. We’re going
home now. The doctor says
you can go if you’re feeling okay,”
she said, her voice a gentle
reminder of the world waiting
outside.

Plankton’s eye searched hers,
his thoughts slowly coming into
focus. “Home?” he repeated,
his voice still thick with sleep.

Karen nodded, her smile a warm
embrace. “Yes, we’re going home.
The surgery is done, and the doctor
says you’re okay to leave. Can you
stand up for me?” she asked, her
tone a gentle coax.

Plankton’s body moved with the
sluggishness of a marionette.
He pushed himself up, his legs wobbly
like gelatin. Karen helped him to
his feet, her arm a sturdy pillar
under his. The room spun, and
his eye searched for a focal
point. “Wheh…” he murmured,
his mind a foggy mess.

Karen’s grip was firm, her voice
steady. “Take it slow, Plankton.
You’re ok, just a bit wobbly.
We’re going home now,” she said,
guiding him towards the door.

Plankton’s steps were shaky, his
legs unsure beneath him. The
world outside the recovery room
was a blur of faces and colors,
but Karen’s was the only one
that made sense. She led him
to the car, her arm a warm
security around his waist.

The cool air hit him like a
wave, his skin prickling as
his mind swam with the sudden
shift from the clinical calm
of the dentist’s office to the
bustling chaos of the parking lot.
“Walk with me, love,” Karen said,
her voice a gentle guide in the
storm of his disorientation.

Plankton’s feet shuffled
forward, his movements mechanical
as Karen led him to their car.
The brightness of the afternoon
sun was a stark contrast to
the sterile fluorescence of the
recovery room, making him squint.
He felt like a newborn fawn,
his legs wobbly and unsteady.

With Karen’s guidance, Plankton
managed to get into the passenger
seat, his body sinking into the
softness with a sigh of relief.
The car door clicked shut,
sealing them into a cocoon of
quiet comfort. Karen climbed
behind the wheel, her movements
efficient and familiar as she
adjusted the mirrors and started
the engine. The world outside
their bubble grew fuzzier as
they drove away from the
dental clinic, the hum of the tires
lulling Plankton into a
semi-lucid state.

He leaned his head against
the cool window, watching the
trees and buildings blur past.
“Wheh...awe we...going?” he slurred,
his voice a sleepy echo.

Karen’s smile was a warm
comfort. “Home, Plankton. We’re
going home so you can rest
and heal. You’ve had a big
day, haven’t you?” she said, her
voice a gentle reminder of the
journey behind them.

Plankton’s nod was a sleepy
affirmation. “Yeah...big...day,” he
mumbled, his eye drooping
closed again, his head
lolled to the side.

“So, sweetie, what’s the first
thing you want to do when we
get home?” she asked, her voice
a gentle prod to keep him
engaged.

Plankton’s mouth moved
slowly, his thoughts a thick
sludge. “Ish...cweam?”

Karen’s laugh was a soft
symphony. “Ice cream, yes. As
soon as we get home and you’re
comfortable, you can have all
the ice cream you want. I’ve got
your favorite flavor waiting for
you in the freezer,” she said, her
voice a sweet promise.

Plankton’s eye lit up with
the mention of ice cream, a
tiny spark of excitement in the
sea of confusion. “Fishy...flaver?”
he mumbled, his mouth still
numb.

Karen chuckled, her voice
warm and loving. “Chocolate,
Plankton. Your favorite chocolate
chip cookie dough. I know you’ll
love it,” she assured him. She was ready to
play nurse, chef, and entertainer
all rolled into one.

Plankton’s head lolled
to the side, the gauze in his
mouth a stark white against
his pale cheek. His eye
flits open and closed, the world
a mosaic of colors and shapes
as they drove.

new tooth afternoon tripcore iii

PLUSH ONE iii
(By NeuroFabulous)

Karen watches him, his hands
stroking the fabric.
She reaches out tentatively,
touching his arm with the
back of her hand. He flinches,
his hand freezing mid-stroke.

Her eyes fill with regret,
but she doesn't pull away.
Instead, she lets her hand hover
for a moment before slowly
drawing it back. Plankton's gaze
flips to hers, his pupil wide with
surprise. He stares at her, then
back at her hand.

"It's okay," she murmurs, her
fingers hovering above his arm
once more. This time, he doesn't
flinch. Encouraged, she lightly
traces his skin, mimicking the
movement he'd made with her palm.

He watches her, his expression
neutral. Then, ever so slightly,
his hand relaxes its grip on the
blanket. It's as if he's giving
his consent for the contact.
Karen's eyes well up with tears.
This is the first real interaction
they've had since the accident.

She strokes his arm, her touch
light and cautious. He seems to
enjoy it, his body slowly unwinding
from the tension. It's a dance,
learning his new boundaries,
his new language of touch.

"What do you like?" Karen asks,
her voice soft. "What feels good?"
Her eyes are on his, watching for
any flicker of response. Plankton
looks at her, his gaze unreadable,
and then his hand moves to cover
hers on his arm. It's a gesture
so simple, yet so profound, that
it takes her breath away.

His skin is warm, his touch gentle.
He seems to be communicating
without words, and she's desperate
to understand. "Is this okay?"
she whispers, her hand stilling.
He nods, his eye never leaving hers.

Plankton's movements are
precise, deliberate. He's not
the same man she knew, but he's
still her Plankton. She can see
the love in his gaze, the trust
in his touch. It's a new way of
interacting, but she's willing to
learn.

As they sit together, Karen
notices how Plankton's eye darts
around the room, focusing on
specific items before moving on.
It's as if he's cataloging everything,
trying to make sense of his
surroundings. She decides to try
to engage him with his environment,
hoping to spark some familiarity.

"Look, Plankton," she says, pointing
to a framed photo on the wall.
"It's us. Do you remember?"
He looks over, his gaze lingering
on the picture for a moment.
"Karen," he murmurs, his voice
soft. "Us."

"Yes, that's us. Do you recall?"
His eye darts back to the photo.
"Yes, Karen; July 31, 1999."

The exactitude of the date
stuns her. It's a memory she'd
thought lost to time. "How do
you remember that?" she asks,
a smile playing on her screen despite
the fear that lingers in her.

His gaze doesn't leave the photo.
"Special day," he murmurs. "Day
married. Karen and Plankton."

Karen's eyes widen. His memory
for dates and specifics seems to
have sharpened, a trait not uncommon
in those with autism. It's a stark
contrast to the man who often forgot
the day of the week unless it was
a Krabby Patty special by the Chum Bucket.

"You remembered our wedding day,"
she says, her voice filled with amazement.
"That's incredible, Plankton."

He nods, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"Happy," he murmurs. "Karen happy."

Karen's eyes well up 
with tears as she nods.
"Yes, we were happy," 
she whispers. "We still are."

Plankton's hand moves
to hers, his grip firm 
but gentle. "Karen," he says, 
his voice a declaration of
his presence, his acknowledgment
of her. It's a moment of profound
connection that transcends words.

Her screen swells with hope. 
They're finding a way to communicate.

"Do you want to watch TV?" Karen asks,
keeping her voice calm and steady.
Plankton nods, his eye still on the photo.
She grabs the remote and turns it on.
The flickering light from the screen
illuminates his face, the blue hue
of the plasma waves washing over them. But
the program is to loud, and Plankton's body
tenses up.

"Too loud?" she asks, reading his expression.
He nods, his eye never leaving the screen.
She quickly turns it off.

In the darkness, Karen's mind races.
They'd need to make adjustments,
little by little.

Plankton's gaze remains fixed
on the spot where the TV was,
his eye searching for the pattern
of light that was there moments ago.
Karen takes a deep breath, her hand
still resting in his. "It's okay," she
whispers. "We'll find something else."

She tries humming, starting with a soft
lullaby that fills the room, and she
watches his expression, looking for
any sign of comfort. His eye flickers
closed, and his body relaxes, the tension
in his fingers loosening their grip
on hers.

Encouraged, Karen 
continues, her
voice low and soothing. 
Plankton's breathing
evens out, and she can 
feel his hand
start to relax in hers as he's
lulled to a calmness by the 
predictability of the
song's melody. It's a small 
victory, but one that fills her
with hope. She decides to
try speaking again, her words
carefully chosen.

"Plankton, sweetheart, 
can you tell me
what you're thinking about?"
He doesn't respond, his eye
still closed. 
"Plankton," Karen whispers.
Plankton's breathing remains
steady, his hand relaxing further
in hers as she notices him sleepily
squeezing her fingers. It's a gentle
reminder that he's still there,
that he's listening.

"Karen," he says, his eye
sleepily fluttering, "I love
you Karen, I love yo..."

Plankton's voice trails off
as he drifts off to sleep, his 
head lolling onto her shoulder
with a snore. Karen's eyes 
brim with unshed tears, but 
she's smiling. The love in 
his voice was unmistakable. She 
sits there, holding him.

The room is quiet except 
for his snores and the 
occasional squeak of the couch. 
Karen's mind is racing with 
thoughts, planning for their 
future. How will they live with
his new autism? What will 
change? What will stay the same?

As Plankton sleeps, she 
notices the way his hand 
still clutches hers, a silent 
plea for comfort. She 
understands that their world
has changed, but she's 
determined to adapt. 
The quietude of the room
is pierced only by the 
steady rhythm of his 
snores and the distant 
hum of the city outside.

The TV remains off, the
colors of the room muted.
Karen knows that bright lights 
and loud noises can 
overwhelm him now. She'll
have to learn to live with
the quiet, to appreciate the 
small moments of joy that 
can be found in the 
simplicity of their new life.

Her eyes scan the room, 
taking in the clutter of 
their shared life. The 
unfinished inventions, the 
half-eaten Krabby Patties, 
the dusty knick-knacks that 
once held so much meaning.
Everything seems different 
now, filtered through the lens
of Plankton's altered reality.

Karen makes a mental note
to create a sensory-friendly 
space for him, a sanctuary
where he can retreat from
the chaos of the world. But
right now it's getting late, and
they're both tired. She needs
to carry him to their room.

With a gentle sigh, she shifts
his weight and stands up,
his arm draped over her.
Plankton's body is limp, his 
snores a comforting sound 
in the quiet room. She walks
carefully, avoiding any noise
that might startle him awake.

In their bedroom, Karen lowers
Plankton onto his bed and covers
him with the blanket.

He's still snoring, and she watches him
for a moment, committing the sight
of him to memory. This is their new
normal, and she's scared but ready to
face it. Karen reaches over to kiss him
on the forehead, her hand lingering there,
feeling the warmth of his skin.

"I'll figure it out," she whispers,
wiping at her tears with the back of
her hand. "We'll make it work."

new plush one learncore iii

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iii
(Autistic author)

The sound of the door opening
interrupted. Sandy
barged in. "Hey,
Karen!" she called out.
"Hi, Sandy; come in.." Karen says.

Sandy looked over at Plankton
sitting at the
kitchen table, his plate empty,
his gaze fixed on the spot where
his food had been. "Hey, Plankton!"
she exclaimed, as he got up to go
sit on the living room floor with a
science book. She followed him.

"What's up, buddy?" she asked,
her voice cheerful. But Plankton
ignored her, his focus solely on the
pages in front of him. Karen watched
their interaction with a mix of
concern and curiosity.

"Plankton, you ok?" Sandy's
voice grew softer, her eyes
narrowing as she studied her friend.
"You seem... different."

Karen tensed, waiting for his
response. Plankton didn't look
up from his book, his eye
scanning the pages.
"Plankton?" Sandy tried again, her
voice a mix of confusion and
concern.

But Plankton remained
oblivious, his new condition
rendering him unable to read social
cues. "Why?" he asked, his tone
matter-of-fact, as if inquiring
about the weather.

Sandy's smile faltered. "Well,
you're just sitting there, not
saying anything," she said, trying
to keep the frustration from her
voice.

Plankton didn't look up from his
book. "Reading," he said, his voice
devoid of any inflection.

Sandy's confusion grew into
hurt. "Is everything ok?" she
asked, her voice tentative.

Plankton, still engrossed in
his book, didn't look up. "Ok,"
he murmured.

Sandy's known
Plankton for years, but his behavior
today was unlike anything she had
ever seen.

Karen prompts him. "Plankton,
say hello to Sandy."

He glances up from his book,
his gaze passing over her without
recognition. "Say, say hi Sandy," he 
says, his voice lacking any warmth.

Sandy's smile fades, her paws
clenching slightly with irritation.

"What's gotten into you, Plankton?"
she snaps, her voice sharper than
she had intended. "You're acting
like you don't even know me!"

Karen's circuits whir with
activity. "Sandy, it's okay," she
hesitates, not quite
sure how to explain
without revealing the truth.
"I'll go pick up some soda
pop drinks." She says, leaving
them both.

Sandy watches her leave, her
expression a mix of anger and
hurt. She turns to Plankton.

"What's your deal, Plankton?"
she asks, her voice tight.
"You've been acting weird
ever since I got here."

Plankton's eye snaps to hers,
his gaze unnervingly intense.
"Weird," he repeats, as if
processing the word for the first
time. "Different."

Sandy's anger bubbles to the
surface. "Yeah, you're different.
You're ignoring me!" she exclaims,
her paws on her hips. Plankton's
expression doesn't change. "Reading,"
he says simply.

Her frustration grows. "You're
always reading, Plankton," Sandy says,
her voice rising. "But you've never
ignored me like this before!"

Plankton's eye blinks, his focus
shifting to her. "Sorry," he says,
the word a mere echo of what
he used to express. It's clear
his social awareness has shifted.
He doesn't understand the subtleties
of her emotions anymore.

Sandy's hurt turns to anger. "You
don't just say sorry and go back
to ignoring me," she snaps. "What's
going on with you?"

But Plankton seems lost in his
own world, the words on the pages
of his book more real to him than
the friend standing before him.
Sandy's patience wears thin. "Why
aren't you listening to me?" she
demands.

"Listening," Plankton murmurs, his
gaze never leaving the book.
Sandy's eyes widen, her anger
building. "I'm right here!" she
says, her voice a mix of frustration
and sadness. "What is so important
that you can't even look at me?"

But Plankton's mind is elsewhere,
his thoughts racing through the
pages of his book. The words
swim before his eye,
each line a puzzle waiting to be
solved. He's oblivious to Sandy's
hurt, his world now filtered through
a new, more intense lens.

Sandy's voice pierces through
his concentration, her tone
sharp. "I said, why aren't you
listening to me?"

Plankton looks up, his eye
dilating slightly as he takes in
Sandy's stance. He tries to
interpret her body language.
"Plankton reading," he says, his voice
still flat, his gaze drifting
back to the book.

Sandy's eyes flash with anger.
"That's not what I asked, Plankton!"
she says, her voice rising. "What's
going on with you? Why are you
ignoring me?"

Plankton's gaze flicks back to
her, his expression still vacant.
"Reading," he repeats. The
word feels like a shield, a way to
explain the inexplicable.

Sandy's eyes narrow, her paws
snatching the book from his grasp.

Plankton's eye widens in surprise
at the sudden movement. He tries to
retrieve the book, body moving in jerky
motions. "Book," he says, his voice
still monotone.

Sandy holds it out of reach. "Look at
me Plankton!" 

Plankton's arms flail, his body
straining to retrieve the book.
"Book," he says, his voice
desperate, his mind overwhelmed.

Sandy, unable to understand feels her
own anger flare up. "What's your
problem?" she snaps, holding the
book higher. "You're acting like
a little kid!"

Plankton's eye locks onto the
book. "Mine," he whispers,
voice strained.

Sandy's seen him at his worst,
but this is something she can't
comprehend.

"I'm not a toy for you to ignore!"
she shouts. She hid the book on a
high shelf. 

Plankton's body tenses.
"Mine," he repeats, his
voice rising in desperation.

Sandy's eyes fill with tears of
frustration. "Why are you acting
like this?" 

He stands up, his body
shaking. "MINE," he shouts.

"What's gotten into you? Why
are you being like this?"

Plankton's eye darts around
the room, unable to hold
Sandy's gaze.

"Plankton, you're acting like a
complete jerk," Sandy says, her voice
shaking. "No wonder Karen is
always so tired with you."
"Karen," Plankton murmurs.
"Karen ok?" he asks, his voice
filled with genuine concern.

Sandy throws her arms in the air,
exasperated. "How can you be so 
selfish? Don't you know that
Karen is sick of you?" "Sick 
of me?" he echoes. "Yes, sick of you," she 
snaps. "Why don't you try acting
normal? Perhaps then
Karen would be happier! Or
better yet, leave her!"

The words hang in the air like a
toxic cloud, their sting hitting
Plankton's core. But his new
brain can't process the depth of
her anger. "Karen happy," he
whispers, his voice a broken
echo of his former self.

Sandy's eyes flash with rage.
"You don't know anything," she
spits out, her words like acid.
"You're just a selfish, self-centered
plankton who doesn't care about
how Karen feels!"

Plankton's concepts of "selfish" and
"sick of" are foreign to his new
way of thinking. He tries to
find the patterns in her words,
the logic in her accusations, but
it's like trying to solve an
impossible equation. "No," he
whispers, his voice trembling. "Karen
not sick of me?"

"You really don't get it,
do you?" she says, her voice
filled with a mix of anger and
sadness. "You're so caught up you
can't see what's right in front of
you! Karen doesn't deserve this!"

Plankton's eye narrows slightly,
his mind struggling to piece
together the puzzle of her
emotions. "Karen happy," he
repeats, his voice strained. 

Sandy's anger turns to
despair. "You don't even know
what you're saying," she says, her
voice heavy. "You're
so wrapped up in your own little
world that you can't see how much
Karen does for you, and how
much you hurt her."

As if on cue, Karen returns 
with coffee. "I'm back," she says, her
voice a gentle hum. She notices
the tension in the room and
Plankton's distress.

"Is everything ok?" she asks,
placing the drinks on the table.
Sandy glares at Plankton.
"No," she says, her voice
shaking. "Everything is not ok.
Plankton's been acting weird
all morning and, I told him how
you're always tired of him,
and he just doesn't get it."

Karen takes in the scene. She tries to
intervene gently. "Sandy, I think
there's something you should
know," she begins, but Sandy cuts
her off, turning to Plankton.

"See? Even Karen
thinks you're a burden!"

Plankton's world
shatters. Sandy's words hit him
like a tidal wave, her accusations
sinking into his new reality.
His teary gaze locks onto Karen,
desperation in his voice. "Burden?"
he croaks.

Karen's 
circuits racing as she tries to
smooth over the situation. "No,
Sandy," she says, her voice calm
but firm. "That's not what I said."

"Don't lie to me, Karen," Sandy
snaps, her eyes never leaving
Plankton. "I can see you've had enough
and if Plankton can't see that, then
perhaps it's best if he just leaves."

Karen's circuits race with
a mix of emotions - anger at
Sandy's accusations, sadness at
Plankton's distress, and fear of
what this means for their friendship.
"That's not true," she says, yet
Plankton's searching for any hint of
deception.

Sandy's eyes are steely, her
body language confrontational.
"Why don't you just leave her alone?"
she spits out, her voice thick with
frustration.

Plankton stands up, his sobs echoed
through the corridor as he runs back 
to the bedroom, shutting the door with
a thud.

"Sandy
that was uncalled for," she says,
trying to keep her voice steady.

Sandy's anger turns to surprise.
"What are you talking about?"
she says. "I'm
just telling the truth.."

Karen's expression is a mix of
sorrow and anger, her
voice tight. "You don't know what
he's going through."

Sandy's anger fades, replaced
by confusion. "What do you mean?"
she asks, her voice softer.

Karen takes a deep breath,
steeling herself for the
conversation she had been dreading.
"Plankton had an accident, hit
his head on the vault and got
knocked out."

Sandy's in shock.
"What? Is he ok?" she asks.

Karen sighs, her shoulders
slumping. "Plankton has
autism now," she says. "He can't
help the way he's acting."

The revelation hits Sandy like a
ton of bricks. The realization of
her own harshness crashes over
her. "Oh no," she murmurs, her
eyes filling with tears. "I had no
idea."

Her gaze drifts to the
closed bedroom door.
"What have I done?"
she whispers, her 
voice cracking.

new karen and the autistic journey readingcore iii

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CHIP AND THE DILEMMA iii
(Autistic author)

| ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ғᴀᴍɪʟʏ |

Chip looks at Plankton, his
dad's face a mask of pain.
He's never seen him look so
vulnerable, and it makes
his own chest ache. "But
why can't you just be like
everyone else?" he asks, not
fully understanding.

Plankton's antennae droop
even further. "Chip, everyone
is different," he says, his voice
weak. "And that's what makes
us all..."

But Chip doesn't want his dad
to be like that..

He looks away. "Chip,"
Plankton says, his voice barely above
a whisper. "Look at me."

When Chip meets his
father's gaze, he sees the pain in
his eye, the desperation to
make his son understand.
But Chip is too caught up
in his own.

"You're not like other dads,"
Chip spits out, the words
sharp and cutting. "You're
weak." The hurt on Plankton's
face is palpable, but Chip's
mind is too clouded with fear
and confusion to care.

Plankton's antennae droop,
his shoulders slumping. "Chip,"
he starts, but his voice cracks.

Chip's eyes fill with tears,
his voice harsh. "I don't
want a dad who's unfixable!"
He says, the word sticking in
his throat like a shard of
glass.

The room goes still, the air
crackling with tension. Plankton
recoils as if struck, his antennae
flattening against his head.

"Chip," Karen says, her voice
sharp with warning. "That's not
a nice thing to say."

But Chip's anger isn't
easy to douse. "You're not
my dad," he yells, the words
echoing off the walls. "My
dad is supposed to be strong,
and normal, not... like you, who
should’ve never existed in the 
first place."

The room goes silent, the
weight of Chip's words like a
tonne of bricks on Plankton's
chest. He looks at his son,
his heart shattering into a
thousand pieces. He's never felt
so misunderstood, so...
less.

Karen's screen is a mix of
disbelief and anger. She's
always known Chip to be a
good kid, but this... this is
not her son. "Chip, that's
enough," she says, her voice
shaking.

But Chip's rage has
overtaken him. "Why did
you have to marry him?" he
snaps at her, the tears
spilling over. "Why couldn't
we just get a normal dad?"

Karen's eyes widen in
shock, her hand rising to her
mouth. "Chip," she says, her
voice trembling. "You don't
mean that."

But Chip's anger doesn't
subside. "Yes, I do!" He yells,
his fists clenched at his
sides. "Why can't you be like
other moms and marry a real
dad?"

The room feels like it's
closing in on Plankton, his
heart pounding in his chest.
He's never felt so small, so
unworthy. The air is thick
with the scent of burnt
dinner forgotten in the
kitchen, and the taste of
his own failure is bitter in
his mouth.

He opens his mouth to
speak, but the words are
stuck in his throat. All he
can manage is a weak "Chip..."
his antennae trembling.

Karen stands, her face a
mixture of shock and anger.
"Chip, that's enough," she says,
her voice firm. "You need to
apologize to your father."

Chip turns, his
screen flashing with defiance.
"Oh, sorry," he says, his tone
dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't
realize that marrying a broken
person was a good idea. I
guess I'll just have to deal
with it. I’m sorry Sheldon Plankton was
born wrong. You know, I
might just make sure not to
have any kids who isn’t right in the
head, they don’t deserve to…"

"CHIP!" Karen's voice is a
whipcrack, cutting off his
words. She's never raised
her voice to him like this before,
and the shock of it sends
his anger reeling back.
The room seems to spin around
Plankton, his vision blurring.
He can't believe what he's
hearing—his own son, the
light of his life, speaking
such cruel words. He's failed
as a father, as a husband. He's
failed them all.

Chip's eyes widen,
seeing the devastation on
his dad's face. For the first
time, he truly understands the
power of his words, the
hurt they can cause. "I-I…"

But it’s too late. Plankton
stands, his legs wobbly. "I'll
be in my room," he mumbles,
turning away.

Chip sinks as he
watches his father leave, the
weight of his words pressing
down on him. He looks at his
mother, her screen a mask of
disappointment and hurt. "Mom..."

Karen's eyes are filled
with unshed tears. "You need
to go apologize to your dad,"
she says, her voice shaking.
"What you said was..."

But they hear a
crash from the 
next room.

Karen and Chip rush to
find Plankton in a frenzy.

The sight that greets them is one of
destruction. Chip's school projects,
carefully crafted over weeks, are
scattered across the floor. Plankton,
his eye wild with a mix of anger
and despair, is in the middle of the
wreckage. He's holding one of Chip's
favorite toys in his hand, ready to smash
it against the wall, tears streaming down.

"Dad, no!" Chip yells, his
fear and regret swirling into a
single, desperate plea. But Plankton
doesn't seem to hear him. He's lost
in a world of pain and confusion,
his movements erratic as he
continues to wreak havoc.

Karen rushes to Plankton's
side, her voice firm but gentle.
"Plankton, stop," she says, placing
a hand on his shoulder. But even
her touch is too much. He flinches,
his grip on the toy tightening.

"Leave me alone!" he roars, swinging
his arm wildly. The toy narrowly
misses a picture of the two of them,
shattering the glass frame instead.

"Dad, please," Chip begs, his
voice thick with tears. But Plankton
doesn't stop, his movements growing
more frenzied with each passing
second. It's like he's lost in a
storm of his own making, unable to
see or hear the world around
him.

Karen tries again, her voice
softer now. "Plankton, it's okay.
We're here for you."

He grabs another project,
Chip's solar system model, the
one he was so excited to
help with. It feels like a
mockery now, a symbol of all
the times he's failed to be
the dad he thought Chip
deserved. With a snarl, he
throws it across the room.
The planets scatter like a
handful of dust in the wind.

"Dad, please," Chip whispers,
his screen pleading. But Plankton
can't hear him over the
roar in his own mind. His
body moves of its own
accord, driven by a rage he
can't control.

He snatches up another
project, a robot Chip had
been working on for weeks.
He slams it to the floor,
his eyes glazed over. The robot's
parts fly everywhere, the
sounds of breaking plastic
like a symphony of pain in
the quiet room.

Chip watches in horror. He can't
believe what's happening.
This isn't his dad—his hero,
his rock. This is a stranger,
someone he doesn't know.

He tries to reach for
Plankton, to stop him, but
his mother holds him back.
"Let me," she whispers, her
voice firm but gentle. "He needs
space."

But Chip can't just stand
there and watch his world
fall apart. He has to do
something. "Dad, please,"
he begs, his voice shaking.

Plankton's movements are
sporadic, his breaths coming
in ragged gasps as he
continues to destroy
everything in sight. It's
like he's to erase
his existence from their lives.

Chip's screen follows the
wreckage, each broken piece
of his heart reflected in the
shattered mess. His projects,
his dreams, his connection
to his father—all of it
crushed under the weight of
Plankton's pain.

Plankton's hand hovers over
the last item on the table, a
half-finished puzzle they'd
been working on together.
It's the one thing in the room
that's still intact, a symbol
of their shared moments,
now threatened by his
father's erratic actions.

"Dad," Chip says, his voice
shaking. "It's okay. It's just
stuff. We can fix it."
But Plankton won’t hear him,
his eye wild with a
frenzy that seems to
consume him whole.

He reaches for the puzzle,
his hand shaking. "No,"
Chip whispers,
welling up. But it's too late.
With one swift movement,
Plankton sends the pieces
flying in every direction,
scattering like the
shattered pieces of their
once-happy home.

Chip flinches at the sound,
aching as he watches
his dad's breakdown unfold.
He's never seen Plankton
like this—so out of control,
so lost. And it’s all because of
Chip...

"Dad," he says, his voice
barely audible. "Please stop."
But Plankton's rage is a
freight train, unstoppable.

Karen's screen darts around
the room, searching for a
way to diffuse the situation.
She is breaking for
both her son and her
husband. She knows the
pain Plankton is in, yet she
can't bear to see Chip hurt
like this.

"Chip, go to your
room," she says, her voice
shaking. "I need to talk to
your father."

But Chip can't move. He's
rooted to the spot, his eyes
glued to the heartbreaking
scene before him. Plankton's
breathing is ragged, his
movements jerky as he
picks up another item, a
science book they'd read
together countless times.

"Dad," Chip whispers, his
voice hoarse with fear. "It's okay.
You don't have to..." But Plankton
doesn't hear him. The book
meets the same fate as the
puzzle, pages fluttering like
leaves in a storm.

Karen's screen is wet with
tears as she watches her family
fall apart. She knows she has to
intervene, but how? She's seen
his meltdowns before, but never
like this..

"Plankton," she says firmly,
taking a step forward. "Look at
me." She holds out a hand,
offering him a lifeline in the
chaos he's created.
 

new chip and the dilemma Chip Plankton II iii

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iii
ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ
(By NeuroFabulous)
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Karen turned to Chip, her face a mask
of calmness. She knew she had to
explain, but she also knew it wasn't
going to be easy. "Let's go talk to Dad,"
she said, her voice steady. Chip nodded,
his hand in hers as they walked back
up the stairs.

Plankton was still 
sitting on the
edge of the bed. 
He looked up as they
approached.

"Daddy?" Chip's voice
was small and
trembling. Plankton's
expression shifted
from confusion to
realization. He knew
he had been somewhere
else, lost in his
thoughts again.

Karen sat down next to
Plankton, her eyes
meeting Chip's. "Chip, sweetie,
there's something we need
to tell you about Daddy," she began,
her voice a gentle whisper.

Chip looked at her, his eyes
full of questions. "What is it,
Mom?"

Karen took a deep breath. "Your
Dad has something called
autism," she began, her voice
soft. "It's like a special way his
brain works that makes him see
the world differently than we do."

Chip's eyes widened. "Is that
why he did those weird
things?" he asked, his voice
filled with curiosity rather than
judgment, but that's not how
Plankton took it. His expression
grew defensive.

"Weird things?" 
Plankton's voice
was sharp. "What 
do you mean, Chip?"

Karen's gaze
softened as she
saw the look of
hurt in Plankton's
eye. She placed
a comforting hand
on Chip's shoulder.
"Sweetie, it's not that
he does weird things.
It's just that sometimes
his brain needs a break.
It's like he goes on a little vacation
without telling us. It's called an episode."

Plankton flinched at
the word, his antennas
drooping. "But why
does it happen?" Chip
asked, his voice still
filled with innocence.

"Well, autism is like a
different operating system
for the brain," Karen
explained, choosing her words
carefully. "Some people with
autism have moments where
their brains need to recharge
or process information in a way
that's unique to them. It's not
weird or wrong, just different."

Chip looked from Karen to
Plankton, his mind racing with
questions. "So my dad's just
being... special?" he asked, trying
to make sense of the situation.
Plankton's gaze fell to the floor, feeling
patronized and belittled by Chip's
curiosity.

"In a way, yes," Karen said, her voice
soothing. "But it's not something
to be ashamed of. It's part of who
Daddy is, and it makes him special
in a lot of wonderful ways." She took
his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring
squeeze. "But it can also make things
difficult for him, like today."

Chip nodded slowly, trying to digest
the information. "Does that mean
he won't ever be able to play with
us like other dads?" His question,
though unintentionally, was laced
with a hint of disappointment.

Plankton's eye narrowed, and he
felt the sting of microaggression in
his son's words. "Chip, I can play
with you. It's just sometimes I need
to be by myself, okay?" His voice
was tight, the frustration of years
of misunderstanding bubbling to
the surface.

Karen intervened, sensing the
tension. "Chip, Dad's episodes are
just part of who he is. He loves you
very much, and he'll always be here
for you."

But Chip's mind was racing. He
couldn't help but wonder if there
was something wrong with his
dad. He looked at Plankton,
his confusion and fear evident. "But
why does he have to be like this?"

Karen sighed, her heart heavy with
the weight of the conversation.
"Chip," she said gently, "it's not a
choice. It's just how Daddy's brain is
wired. It's not something bad, just
different."

Chip frowned, his brow furrowed
as he thought. "But why can't he just
turn it off?" He didn't mean to sound
so dismissive, but the concept of
his father being 'different' was still
difficult to grasp. "Why's he gotta have
this...this thing? I mean, if it makes him
sick, why do we have to keep hanging
out with him?"

The words were out before Chip could
even realize the impact they would have.
Plankton's eye snapped up. A
wave of fury washed over his face, his
small form seemingly growing in size as his
autistic mind processed the unintended
slight. "You think I'm sick?" he roared, his
voice echoing through the room, the walls
seemingly trembling with his rage.

The sudden outburst startled Chip, his eyes
going wide with shock. He had never
seen his dad like this before—his usually
quiet and introspective father now a
whirlwind of raw emotion. Karen's grip on
his shoulder tightened, a silent warning to
tread carefully.

"No, Chip," she began, her voice firm
but calm. "Autism isn't an illness. It's not
something Daddy can just turn off or ignore."
But Plankton's fury was unyielding. He
stood up, his entire body trembling with
the intensity of his anger. "You think I'm
a burden?" he shouted, his voice
shaking the very air around them.

Karen's eyes flashed with a protective
flame, her grip on Chip's shoulder
becoming almost painful. "Chip, you need
to apologize to your father," she said, her
voice leaving no room for argument.

Chip looked up at her, his own anger
building. "Why? I just want a dad who's
normal!" His voice was laced with
frustration and hurt. "Why can't he just be
like everyone else's dads or else leave?"

The words hung in the air like a toxic
cloud, heavy with ableism and pain.
Karen's face fell, her heart breaking for
Plankton. "Chip, that's not fair," she said,
her voice a mix of disappointment and
sadness. "Your dad can't just change who
he is because you don't understand."

Plankton's face was a storm of emotion.
He looked from Karen to Chip, his anger
fading to something deeper, something
more profound. It was the look of a man
whose entire world had just been questioned
by the person he loved most. "You think I'm
not good enough?" he whispered, his voice
shaking with barely contained hurt.

Karen's eyes filled with tears, her heart
breaking for her husband. "Chip, that's
not what you meant," she began, but Plankton
cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Let him speak," he said, his voice
deflated. "Let him say what he really
thinks." His gaze was unblinking, a challenge
in his eye that Chip didn't quite understand.

Karen took a deep breath, her heart
breaking for the both of them. "Chip," she
started, her voice steady despite her
tears. "You know we love your dad just the way
he is, right?"

But Chip's anger and confusion were
like a dam that had burst. "Yeah, but why
does he have to be like this?" he demanded.
"Why don't you just get me a better dad?"
The words were like a slap in the face, and
Plankton's eye widened in shock.

Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened,
but she didn't say a word. She knew this was
something Chip had to work through on his own.

"Better?" Plankton's voice 
was hollow, echoing
the emptiness in Chip's 
heart. "What makes
a 'better' dad, Chip?"

Chip's cheeks flushed with
embarrassment and anger.
"One who can play with me
without getting stuck
like a broken toy!" he shot back.
"Even Mom doesn't want you
around when you're like that!"
The accusation hung in the
air like a sword, slicing through
the tension.

Plankton's antennas drooped, his
eye reflecting a deep hurt that
Chip couldn't comprehend. "Is that
what you think, Karen?" he
asked, his voice barely audible.

Karen's eyes snapped to Chip,
her expression a mix of anger
and sorrow. "That's not what
anyone thinks, Chip," she said firmly.
"Your dad is a wonderful person.
And he's the only dad you've got."

But Chip's frustration had
taken over. "Yeah, well, maybe
you should've picked
a dad who actually deserves
to be here," he spat, his words
dripping with accusation. "May
be we'd be happier if we could
just start over without
the 'autistic' baggage and get
someone who doesn't need to
be babysat all the time. Or better
yet, maybe we should just get rid
of him." His voice was harsh,
his thoughts racing in a whirlwind
of pain and confusion.

The room fell silent, the air thick
with the tension of unspoken truths
and misunderstood pain. Karen's
hands were trembling, her eyes
filled with a mix of anger and
hurt. "Chip, you can't say things like that,"
she managed to choke out, her voice
barely above a whisper.

Plankton's expression was
unreadable, his body rigid with the
weight of his son's accusations.
"Is that what you want?" he asked, his
voice devoid of emotion. "Do you
wish I was gone?"

Karen's grip tightened on Chip's
shoulder, her eyes flashing with
anger and hurt. "Chip, that's
enough!" she exclaimed. "You don't
mean that!"

But Chip's rage was like a wildfire,
spreading uncontrollably.

"Maybe we would!" Chip shouted,
his voice echoing through the room.
He didn't know where these words
were coming from, but they felt like
a release from the pressure cooker
of his thoughts. "Maybe if you weren't
around, we could be a real family! Even
Mom wouldn't have to pretend
everything's okay all the time, because
she's too nice to go out and get a
husband instead of being a burden 
she has to take care of like a parasite!"

The moment the words left his mouth,
Chip felt a deep pang of regret. But the
damage was done. Karen's hand flew
to her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.
Plankton's antennas quivered, his face
white as a sheet.

new a plankton family story NeuroFabulous iii

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠻⡝⠻⢿⣻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡶⣻⡿⣟⢽⣫⣧⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⡛⠾⠿⠷⠶⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣡⣾⡿⣽⣵⠿⢋⠉⡄⢢⠘⡌⠱⡐⡀⠆⡐⠠⠀⠄⡁⠉⠛⠿⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣡⣾⡿⢻⣿⠛⡁⢎⠠⢃⠔⡡⢊⠔⡡⠐⡐⡈⠤⢁⡉⠐⠄⡑⠠⠂⠄⡙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⢃⣿⣿⡝⣵⠟⡁⠰⢈⠢⡑⠌⢢⠑⢌⠂⠄⡑⠠⠐⠂⠄⠠⢁⣢⠠⠑⣈⠐⠠⢀⠻⣧⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⣷⣿⣿⣮⡿⢋⠐⡈⢅⠂⢡⠐⡡⢦⣜⣀⡌⠐⠠⢁⢸⣤⣾⠿⠛⢁⠂⠡⢀⠊⣁⠂⠄⢺⣧⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣹⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠄⢃⠌⢢⠘⢰⣶⢀⠒⠈⣿⣿⠛⢃⠂⠌⠳⣶⣶⠶⠶⠞⠠⢁⢂⡐⠨⠐⡀⢻⡆⠀
⠀⠀⠀⣾⠣⣿⣿⣾⣿⠁⠜⣈⠰⡈⠆⢌⠈⢻⣧⠀⡡⠘⠃⡐⠠⡈⠄⡁⠻⠟⠠⠁⠌⡐⠂⡄⠄⠃⡔⠠⢘⣿⠀
⠀⠀⣸⡏⢒⣿⣟⣿⠏⡐⠌⠤⠑⠠⠊⡀⠂⠄⠛⣷⣄⠂⠡⢀⠡⠐⣈⠐⠄⡈⠄⡡⠈⢄⠡⠐⣈⠂⠤⢁⠂⣿⠆
⠀⢀⡿⢌⣻⣟⣾⣟⠠⡐⢉⠠⠈⠄⠡⢀⠁⠂⠄⠀⠹⠷⣧⣤⣂⠡⠀⠌⡐⢀⠂⢄⣁⠂⠄⠃⠄⠌⢂⠄⢂⢸⡆
⠀⣸⡇⠦⣹⣯⣿⠇⠀⠄⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⢈⠡⢀⠂⠀⡐⠠⢉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⢋⠃⠌⠡⢈⢂⠡⠈⠄⢸⡇
⢠⣿⢡⠒⣉⢿⡿⠀⡈⠄⠡⢈⠐⠠⠈⠄⡁⠂⠀⠠⠁⢀⠡⠂⠄⡡⢈⠂⠡⠈⡄⠑⡠⢈⠄⠃⡄⠂⡌⠡⢈⢸⡇
⠘⢷⣦⣹⠤⣾⡃⢀⠐⠈⢀⡄⠈⠄⡁⢂⠁⠂⢁⣤⣀⠀⢂⠡⢈⠐⠠⢈⠁⠂⠌⡐⡐⠠⠌⢂⠤⠑⠠⢁⠂⢸⡇
⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⠿⠧⣷⣶⣮⣼⣯⣴⣠⣔⣠⢌⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⢶⣶⣾⣶⣿⣧⠁⢂⠡⠠⠡⠌⡀⢂⠡⢁⠂⠌⢸⠇
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢯⣽⠋⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣦⣢⣅⣦⡰⣄⣸⣦⢀⡌⠐⣾⡆
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢦⣤⣤⣾⠟⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠈⠉⠙⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠉⠉⠉⢛⡿⠋⠛⠻⠛⠟⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⡟⢿⣦⣄⣠⣴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ‧₊˚ ⋅(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) ‧₊˚ ⋅
     

new II osc BFB inanimate insanity beloved hot british taco british taco love dearest tpot bfdi iii england twosome

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠛⠛⢿⣿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡐⢀⣀⡛⢿⣿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⣿⣿⣿⣷⣇⣨⣂⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠋⠈⠘⠛⢿⡏⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⠋⠀⠀⠀⠐⠲⣿⣷⢳⢠⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣜⠅⠨⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠠⠢⡄⢀⣠⠄⢠⣴⣶⡴⢠⠈⣱⠻⡾⣵⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢿⠀⢘⣿⢋⢁⣏⣾⡦⠙⠒⠃⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠁⠻⠀⠀⠁⠹⠛⠩⠟⠁⢨⠁⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡏⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⣛⠟⠉⠢⠀⠀⠀⠀⢤⣮⡖⠀⢀⣬⣤⣶⠾⡱⠑⠏⠀⠰⡉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠈⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢬⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⠿⠈⡀⠀⠀⠀⣖⡦⠐⠨⠱⠒⠍⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢉⡄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠖⣿⣻⣏⣲⡝⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠒⣾⣷⣦⡄⠴⠆⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠩⣾⢿⣿⣬⡜⣿⣿⣿
⣿⠟⣁⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣆⡾⣮⣿⢧⢀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡽⠻⢿⣧⠌⢹⣿⣿
⠃⠈⠰⠟⠳⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣴⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡜⠷⣾⡼⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠩⣱⣾⣿⣾⢇⢿⣿
⠀⠀⢀⠀⠐⢀⡊⠀⠀⠀⢉⡹⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠨⣮⣷⣾⢆⠀⣄⠀⠀⠈⠊⠙⠛⣵⣾⣿⠀
⣆⠀⠐⠂⠀⠁⠈⢠⣦⣄⡐⣴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣦⣗⡫⣺⠀⢿⣷⠄⠀⠀⢸⣮⣔⣮⢻
⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⢠⣄⡙⠛⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢴⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠡⠜⡋⡅⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⣽⣽⣿⣼⡞
⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢀⡀⠛⠛⢣⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢴⢈⢽⡿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⠨⠀⠬⠁⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⣟⣿⡍⠇
⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠙⠩⢅⣾⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⣯⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⠢⠻⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⣵⣿⣿⠝⢸
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⢄⡆⠀⣸⣿⣧⠀⠀⠈⠈⠚⠻⢀⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠔⢠⣵⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡨⠂⠁⠐⢻⣿⡿⠁⣀⢠⡀⡠⠴⣾⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠘⠛⠛⠻⠟⢛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠠⡾⡇⣾⣛⠜⢠⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⡙⣣⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣷⣿⣗⡕⡾⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡀⠈⢠⢟⢈⣾⡽⣘⡆⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠸⠂⢸⠟⠁⡆⢱⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⣚⣬⣵⣢⠄⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⢀⣠⡮⠁⣿⣷⣤⣬⣥⣤⣥⣾⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢵⡿⣿⣿⣯⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⡟⡾⢿⣃⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢀⡭⢯⠻⠋⢀⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⡿⣿⣿⡿⠒⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⡁⣀⡀⢁⣾⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⣈⣀⢁⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠸⠟⠋⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠁⢺⠳⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡰⣶⣶⡆⡈⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢰⣾⣿⣕⠎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣘⣿⣿⠅⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⡻⣿⣻⣳⢶⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⢿⣿⡟⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢻⣨⣿⡿⠇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠈⡡⢫⣿⣅⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⢽⡿⣋⠉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡟⠼⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢠⠰⡿⠆⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⣭⡀⠈⢻⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠈⣥⡌⠁⠙⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠉⠁⠚⢁⠀⣠⠔⠁⠀⠀⠻⠛⠀⠀⣿⣿⢃⠁⠀⠖⠀⠀⠈⠆⠀⢀⡑⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠐⠇⠀⠀⢀⡶⠿⡆⠀⠀⠘⠁⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⣸⣶⠀⠘⠙⠎⢊⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢅⡃⠀⠀⠨⢵⠧⠆⢤⡴⠀⠀⠠⣕⡄⠀⠀⠀⣽⣘⠂⠀⠘⣾⣿⠠⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿
⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣿⣶⣶⣤⣬⣭⣭⣥⣾⣷⣤⣄⣘⣛⣤⣤⣀⣐⣀⣓⣡⣤⣄⣒⣢⣬⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

new 3 iii common year starting on monday dot art text art ascii art

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣄⠠⢄⣳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣄⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⡶⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⡀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣿⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡄⢀⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⠁⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⡏⠰⢿⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⠃⢸⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⡀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡇⠀⠀⠉⠙⠉⣿⠇⠀⠸⣿⠛⠛⠿⢿⠇⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⡇⠀⠄⠀⠀⢾⣥⣤⣀⣰⣻⡇⠀⠀⣾⠀⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⡼⡿⣥⣄⣠⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠠⣴⣿⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣿⡿⡿⣿⠷⠟⠓⠶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣷⡘⢿⣝⠻⠷⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⢿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⣿⣦⣿⣤⣀⠘⡉⢉⣽⣏⣠⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⣿⠁⣻⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡾⣿⡇⢹⡄⠀⠀⢢⡛⠁⠀⠀⢹⡿⠀⣼⡏⢸⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⡾⣿⣏⣿⣿⡇⠀⠹⣦⡀⠘⣧⠀⠀⢠⠼⠁⣴⡟⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⢾⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠙⣿⠲⢦⣄⣈⢈⣠⣾⠟⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⡶⠛⠋⢠⡏⣻⡞⣧⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⡀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⣀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡲⢦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣽⡇⠀⠀⣤⣤⣴⣿⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣤⣮⣿⣷⠀⠀
⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀
⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇
⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

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