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𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 12 Chip climbs into the bed, his mind racing. "Can I be with you?" he asks, his voice tentative. Plankton opens his eye slightly, looking over at his son. "If you're quiet," he says, his voice tired but not unkind. "But remember, I might stir a bit.." Chip nods, climbing into the bed. He lies down next to his father, his heart racing. Plankton's arm moves slightly, to avoid touching Chip's shoulder. Chip lies there, his mind spinning with the new information about his father. He thinks about his dad's struggles, his dad's brilliance, and his dad's love for them. Plankton's breathing becomes even, a sign he's falling asleep. Karen kisses Chip's forehead and whispers, "I'm proud of you, for wanting to understand." Chip lies there, his thoughts racing. This is the same dad who invents amazing things, who tells the best bedtime stories, and who loves him so much. He looks over at his dad, who's now asleep, single eye closed, his chest rising and falling steadily as he snores lightly. Chip can't help but wonder what it's like to live in his world, where sounds are too loud, lights too bright, and people are too confusing. But he's determined to learn. The room is quiet, except for Plankton's snores as Chip lies there thinking about what his dad said. His heart swells with love and understanding. Eventually, Plankton starts to mumble in his sleep, his voice a whispered jumble of nonsensical words that make no sense to Chip. "Moh-moh- molasses... nuns..." Chip frowns, deciding to nudge his mom awake. "Mom," he whispers, tugging on her arm gently. Karen's eyes open, and she looks at her son, concerned. "What is it?" she whispers back. Chip points to Plankton. "Dad's talking. Is he ok?" Karen nods, her eyes sleepy. "It's just his brain working through it," she whispers back. "And sometimes even when he's sleeping, his thoughts are still busy. It's happened before. It's his brain dreaming," she says. "It's nothing specific, just his mind processing. He'll probably wake up not remembering a thing. Pretty much like a word salad." Chip nods as Plankton resumes his regular snoring. "Okay," he says, his voice still hushed. It makes him want to protect his dad even more, to create a world where his dad doesn't have to feel so overwhelmed. As Chip drifts off to sleep, he makes a silent promise to be the best support he can. The next morning Chip woke up with a determined look on his face. He had an idea to help Plankton feel more comfortable and understood. He grabbed a piece of paper and some crayons from his desk and set to work, his young mind whirring with thoughts. He drew a picture of his dad with a cape on, flapping his hands as he soared over the city, and labeled it 'Super Sensory Dad'. He hoped for it to possibly help his dad feel seen and even understood. Chip smiled as he wrote a message next to the picture: 'Neuro-awesomeness is AUsome. From your sidekick Chip, who loves your special powers!' Chip felt so excited; his dad will love that! Plankton stirred slightly, his antennae twitching as the dawn light crept through the blinds. He blinked open his eye, sitting up as Chip came into view, holding the drawing in his hand. "What's this?" Plankton asked, his voice still raspy with sleep. Chip handed him the drawing, his heart racing. "It's you," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "It's a superhero. 'Super Sensory Dad'. Because your autism is a super power. A special drawing, for my special dad!" Chip beamed. Plankton took the picture, his antennae twitching with surprise. He studied it for a moment, his eye taking in the image and caption.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 16 Karen sits down next to Chip, pulling him into a hug. "It's going to be ok," she whispers. "And he's proud of you for trying to understand." Plankton's stimming continues, his hand moving in repetitive motions, his gaze fixed on the wall. Karen can feel the tension in his body slowly dissipate. He starts to murmur, his words barely audible. "Did... I do something wrong?" He mumbles as he pulls his knees up to his chest, now rocking back and forth. "Say others don't want me because I'm... dif-fer-ent." The words are like a knife to Chip's heart, but he knows not to interrupt. Plankton's voice cracks. "Why can't they see that I'm more than... I'm not a monster," he whispers, his voice full of pain. Chip's eyes brim with emotion. Karen squeezes Chip's hand as Plankton's mumbling continues, his voice filled with a world of hurt. "I... I just want to be," he says, his hands flapping slightly as he speaks. "But I... I can't." His voice is a jumbled mess of thoughts, but his pain is clear. Chip's heart breaks hearing his dad's self-doubt, his young mind trying to grasp the depth of Plankton's lifelong struggle. He wants to run to him, to tell him he's not different, he's just... unique. But Karen's grip holds him back. "He needs this," she whispers. "To let out his thoughts." Plankton's voice continues to murmur. "I'm not... not... not," he repeats, his voice getting softer with each word. It's as if he's trying to convince his own brain that he's worthy of love and acceptance. Chip watches, his heart in his throat. He's never seen his dad this vulnerable, this broken. It's a stark contrast to the cunning, determined man he knows from their battles against Mr. Krabs. He wants to comfort him, to tell him that he's enough just as he is, but knows he needs to give his dad space, feeling his own tears fall as he listens to his dad's whimpers, filled with self-doubt and fear of being misunderstood. Plankton's body trembles as he continues to rock, his antennae drooping. He's curling into himself, a protective shell against the world that's often too loud, too bright, too much. His voice is a soft whisper, a plea to his own mind. "I'm not a burden," he says, his words almost silent. Chip carefully selects a spinner from the nightstand, his hands trembling slightly. He approaches Plankton, his heart racing. "Dad," he says softly, holding out the toy. "Would you li—" "No!" Plankton yells, his voice sharp. "Don't touch.." Chip freezes. Karen stands up, turning to Chip. "Chip," she says gently, "remember, his space is his when he's like this." Chip nods, his eyes filling with tears as he puts the spinner right back on the nightstand the way as he found it. "But he's hurting," Chip whispers, his voice filled with despair. "I don't want him to—" Karen nods, her eyes reflecting his pain. "I know," she says, her voice soft. "But this is how he deals with it. And we have to respect that. Remember, he's trying to sort through his feelings without getting overwhelmed." Chip sniffs, his hands clutching the bedspread. "But w---" "Chip," Karen says firmly. "Let him be. We're here if he needs us, but this is his process." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. Plankton's whispers turn into a soft, almost inaudible, humming. "Hmmmmm.." Chip's eyes are fixed on his dad, his heart breaking as he watches him from the bed. Plankton's humming increases slightly in volume. Karen sighs. "It's okay," she whispers. "This is your dad's way to calm down. To find his center again." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's form. He's seen his dad upset before, but never like this. It's a sight that makes him feel so powerless. He wipes away a stray tear. The room is silent except for Plankton's hums. Karen watches her husband with a mix of love and sadness, her hand still clutching Chip's. Plankton's rocking slows down, his hums becoming softer until they're barely a breath. Karen can see the exhaustion in his posture, his shoulders drooping. "It's okay," she whispers. Plankton's eye finally meets Karen's, and she sees the fear in it, the knowledge of his own vulnerability. She nods, her eyes filled with understanding. "Come here," she says, patting the space beside her on the bed. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks uncertain. But then, slowly, he unfurls himself, his legs swinging over the side of the bed, his bare feet touching the floor as he goes over to Karen's bed. He sits down, his body still tense. Karen opens her arms, and Plankton collapses into them, his body curling into a ball as he presses into her, his antennae drooping. "It's okay," she whispers, stroking his back. "You're safe." Chip watches, his heart in his throat. He's never seen his dad this way before. So vulnerable, so... clingy. It's strange, but also somehow comforting. Plankton is usually so independent, so strong. But here, in this moment, he's just a scared, overwhelmed person who needs comfort. Plankton scoots closer. "M-my head hurts," he mumbles, his voice still shaky. Karen nods, her eyes filled with sympathy. "I know, love. It's part of the overwhelm. Just let it pass." Chip watches his parents, feeling like an outsider in this intimate moment. He wipes away a tear. Plankton's grip tightens around Karen's. "I'm here," she whispers, rocking him slightly. "It's okay." Chip's eyes are fixed on his dad, his heart breaking for him. He's never seen him so... needy.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 17 Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breathing evening out as Karen continues to stroke his back. Chip feels a lump in his throat. He wants to help, to ease his dad's pain. "I never meant to hurt you," he whispers, his voice hoarse with emotion. Karen looks over, her expression a mix of love and sadness. "You didn't, sweetie," she says. "But sometimes, even good intentions can be overwhelming for your dad. It's not your fault. Just like it's not his." Plankton's antenna twitches, his gaze shifting to Chip. He takes a deep breath as Karen's hands continue to stroke his back. His body relaxes a little more, his grip on Karen loosening. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton eye opens. "Can I...?" Chip gestures towards his dad, his hand now outstretched. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his eye darting to Karen. She nods, her smile reassuring. "If you like," she whispers. With tentative movements, Chip's hand reaches for his father's shoulder. Plankton flinches slightly. "Gentle." Chip nods, his touch featherlight as he rests his hand on Plankton's shoulder. "It's okay," he murmurs. Plankton's body relaxes a fraction more under the warmth of his son's hand, his eye now closing. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, and she smiles weakly, her gaze filled with gratitude. "Thank you," she mouths. Chip nods, his hand still on his dad. Plankton's humming has stopped, his breathing steadying as Karen holds him. For the first time, Chip feels a profound sense of understanding for his father. He's seen his strength in the face of Mr. Krabs' competition, his genius in his inventions, but now he sees his softer side, his vulnerability. And it makes him love his dad even more. Plankton's breaths have now turned into a soft snore, his body relaxed against Karen's. Chip can see the exhaustion in every line of his father's face, a testament to the battle he's just faced. "He's asleep," Karen whispers, her voice filled with love and relief. Chip nods, his hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "Should we...?" Karen shakes her head. "Let him rest," she says, her voice a mere whisper. "He's had a long day." Plankton's clinginess was a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. Karen knew all too well the emotional toll his seizures took on him. But it was the first time Chip had seen his dad so... dependent on someone else for comfort. It was jarring, but it also made him realize the strength that Plankton held within himself, the courage to face, alone. As Plankton sleeps, his snores are rhythmic. It's a sound that Karen finds soothing, a sign that he's at peace. His body seems to melt into her side, his muscles unclenched. Chip watches him, his mind racing with thoughts. He's seen his dad's fiery temper, his ingenious inventions, his unwavering drive, but never this, raw and exhausted. It's a stark contrast that makes his chest ache. Plankton's snores remain steady, his body completely relaxed against Karen's side. Karen looks over at Chip, her expression a mix of love and sadness. "He's been through a lot," she whispers. "But he's stronger than anyone I know." Chip nods, his hand still resting lightly on his father's shoulder. Karen gently shifts Plankton, getting ready to tuck him into his bed, his snores unchanged, his mind resting. Karen carefully slides her arm from underneath Plankton's head, her movements practiced and gentle. Chip watches, his eyes never leaving his father's face, as if afraid to miss anything. Plankton's snores hitch, but don't stop. As Karen pulls the covers over Plankton, his snores don't miss a beat. His body sags against the pillow, his antennae still. Chip watches his dad sleep, a sight that both comforts and saddens him. He's seen Plankton's fiery determination in their battles against Mr. Krabs, but now his father seems so small, so vulnerable. Karen nods to Chip, whispering, "Why don't you go to your room? I'll keep an eye on him." Chip hesitates, his hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "But what if he wakes up?" Chip's concern is palpable, but Karen's smile is reassuring. "I'll wake you if he needs you," she promises. "But he's in a good place right now. He just needs rest." Chip nods, his hand lingering on Plankton's shoulder for a moment longer. He gently withdraws it, his gaze still locked on his father. "Okay," he whispers, his voice barely audible. Karen stands up, her movements silent as she crosses the room. "You've had a long day too," she says softly, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "Why don't you get some sleep as well? Your dad's got an appointment tomorrow with his sensory therapist." But Chip's eyes widen. "What‽" "It's okay," Karen whispers, her hand on Chip's shoulder. "It's just to help him and us understand his senses better." The next morning Karen wakes Chip up. "We're about to go; I'll wake your dad." Chip nods sleepily, his eyes still adjusting to the light. He walks into the room to find Plankton still asleep, his body still curled into a tiny ball, his snores steady and deep.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 26 The room is silent except for the sound of his quiet sobs, his body shaking with the force of his emotion. The pillow is damp from his tears. He clutches it tightly to his chest. His antennae hang limply, no longer twitching with his usual energy. "It's not your fault," he whispers again, his voice shaking. "It's not your fault. Why did it take this for him to see me?" He wipes his eye with the back of his hand, sniffling. "But he did see me," he says, his voice a little stronger. "He saw me and didn't laugh." He lies down, his body exhausted from the day's emotional rollercoaster. The weight of his thoughts presses down on him like a heavy blanket, making his eyelid feel heavy. He takes deep breaths, his body slowly calming down. "It's not your fault," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "You're not." The darkness of the room envelops him, the silence a stark contrast to the cacophony of his thoughts. His hand reaches for a favorite plushie, the small, squishy octopus that Chip had picked out for him. He squeezes it tightly, his body curling around it. The softness and familiarity of it grounds him, bringing a small measure of comfort. "It's not your fault," he murmurs, his voice like a lullaby to himself. Plankton's sobs have slowed, his breaths now hitching in his chest. His antennae lie flat, his body still. The words repeat in his head, a comforting mantra. "It's not your fault." He whispers it again and again, his voice soft and soothing. He closes his eye, his grip on the plushie loosening slightly. His thoughts are a jumble, but he tries to sort them out, one by one. Krabs had seen his weakness, his fear, and instead of mocking him, he'd been... kind. Plankton's mind reels with the implications. Was it pity? Or could it be... respect? He doesn't know. All he knows is that it feels... different. The darkness wraps around him like a cocoon, his plushie a silent witness to his pain. His thoughts swirl. What does it mean? Does Krabs really see him now? Or is this just a fluke? Yet his breathing evens out, his body relaxing into the embrace of the bed. as sleep claims him. The room is still, his plushie a silent sentinel keeping watch over his slumber. His stims cease, his hands uncurling from their tight fists. His eyelid flutters closed, his antennae drooping. Plankton's breathing deepens, his body surrendering to sleep. Karen, outside the door, leans closer, finally heard the gentle snores that signal he's asleep. She wipes a tear from her eye and slowly opens the door, peeking in to check on her husband. Plankton's body is still, his antennae no longer quivering with stress. He's curled into a tiny ball, his plushie pressed against his chest. Karen watches from the doorway, her heart heavy with the weight of emotions. She wants to rush in, to pull him into a tight embrace, to whisper that everything will be okay. But she knows better. He needs this space, this silence, to process today. The next morning, Karen awakes to find Plankton sitting by her on her bed, holding hands. "I'm sorry," he says. "For what?" she asks. "For pushing you away." Karen shakes her head. "You didn't push me away," she says, squeezing his hand. "You needed space." Her voice is gentle. "It's okay to be upset." Her eyes are filled with understanding. "It's okay to need time." He looks at her, his eye searching. "But I was mean," he whispers. "No, you're overwhelmed." Her smile is soft. "And that's okay. I know it's a lot to take in." Plankton nods slowly. They sit in silence, their hands entwined. Karen's thumb strokes the back of his hand, a soothing gesture that Plankton has come to rely on. "I'm here," she says. "I'll always be here." He swallows hard, his antennae twitching. "Thank y-you," he whispers. Suddenly, there's a knock on the front door. Chip's camp friend, JoJo, was here to visit Chip. "Hi, JoJo!" he says, opening the door wide. "How are you?" JoJo smiles shyly. "I'm okay," they said, their eyes darting around. "Do your parents know about me?" Chip shook his head. "I haven't really gotten around to talking much about camp because uh, family situation. Everything's fine though!" Karen heard the door and talking. "Who's Chip talking to?" "I don't know Plankton, but it doesn't sound like Krabs. I'll go check!" She left the bedroom, her heart racing. Who did Chip let in? "Oh, my mom's coming!" Chip says to JoJo. "Mom, meet JoJo; I met them at my camp!" Karen enters the living room. "Well, it's nice to me—" Karen falters at the sight of JoJo. JoJo has two heads, each looking at her with a shy smile. She quickly recovers, her face a mask of polite interest. "Hello," she says, extending her hand. "It's um, nice to meet you, JoJo?" she says awkwardly, not sure how to greet someone with two heads. She never even knew such a condition existed! Her eyes darted between Chip and JoJo. Chip's grin is wide, his eyes shining with excitement. "Yeah, JoJo's my new friend from camp!" he says. Karen's heart swells with pride at her son's openness and kindness. JoJo's heads nod in unison, their eyes sparkling. "Hi, Mrs. Plankton," one head says, while the other nods, adding, "It's great to meet you!" Karen's hand shakes JoJo's, her mind racing with questions. How does it feel to be two in one? How do they see the world? How do they... WHAT? Her thoughts stumble over themselves, and she quickly recovers with a warm smile. "Welcome to our home," she says, hoping to cover her initial shock. But JoJo notices. "It's okay," one of JoJo's heads says with a gentle smile. "Lots of people are surprised at first." The other head nods. "I get it," they add. "It's just how we are. We identify as one person." Karen's mouth opens and closes, trying to find the right words. "Okay! Um... I, I'm sorry if I was rude," she stammers. "I just wasn't expecting... I mean, it's just that..." "You're not the first," the second head says with a laugh. "And you won't be the last." JoJo's eyes, all of them, are kind. "It's fine, really. And I know what you're wondering, but our parents are both single- headed," they explain. Karen can't help but laugh a little, her nerves easing. "Chip's dad, just to warn you, can be blunt. He's curious and loves science so I'm sure he'll most likely ask more questions," Karen tells JoJo. JoJo nods, both heads thinking the same thing. "It's okay," they say. "We're used to it." Karen looks at her son, who's beaming, his face lit up by the simple joy of having a friend over. "So, what do you want to do?" Chip asks, his voice excited. JoJo's heads look at each other, then back at Chip. "How about a game?" they suggest.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 13 But instead of the joy Chip had anticipated, a flicker of discomfort crossed Plankton's face. Plankton's antennae flattened as he looked at the picture, his expression unreadable. "What's wrong, Dad?" Chip asked, his excitement fading as he saw the tension in his father's eye, for Plankton's hand tightened around the drawing, his mouth a thin line. "It's not a super power," Plankton said, his voice sharp. "It's a disorder." He threw the paper to the ground. "It's not something for you to make a game out of." Chip's eyes widened in shock. "But, I thought... you said it made you special," he stuttered. "Special?" Plankton's voice grew louder, his body tensing up. "I can't go to the store without flapping my hands. I can't even look people in the eye. That's not special, Chip. I'm not your little project." Chip's smile disappeared, his eyes filling with confusion. "I just wanted to make you feel better," he said, his voice small. "Well, it doesn't!" Plankton snapped, his antennae quivering. "It doesn't change anything! You don't get to just decide it's a super power because you want it to be!" Chip's eyes filled with tears as he stared at his dad, who was now sitting up in bed, his voice rising with every word. "It's not a game, Chip. It's my life!" Karen awoke and sat up in bed, concern etched on her face at the commotion. "Sheldon," she said, her voice calm, "what's going on?" Plankton took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "He's making fun of me," he said, his voice quivering. "I'm not making fun of you, Dad," Chip said, his eyes wide with fear. "I just wanted to make you hap–" But Plankton's anger can't be stopped. "I don't need you to make it into something it's not!" he interrupted, his antennae quivering with rage. "It's not cute or heroic! It's exhausting, confusing, and often painful!" Karen stood up. "What happened?" She asks, looking at them. "I just made him a drawing," Chip said, his voice shaking. "To make him feel better." He hands it to her, and she looked at it as understanding dawns on her features. "Plankton he didn't mean to make fun," she said, picking up the crumpled paper. "He's trying to understand and support you. But I can see how it might have upset you." Chip looks confused. "But..." "I know, honey," Karen cuts in gently. "But let's remember, your dad's had a hard time with this his whole life. He's not used to people trying to make it seem... glamorous. It's just his reality, not a costume he can take off. Yet I know you meant well." She turns to Plankton, her voice firm but kind. "Honey, I know you're upset, but you have to understand Chip's just trying to connect and show his love in his own way. He's still learning." Plankton's antennae stop quivering, and he sighs. "I know, Karen," he says. "But it's NOT a toy, it's NOT A GAME!" Karen nods, setting the drawing down on the dresser. "I know, sweetie," she says softly. "But let's talk to Chip abou–" But Plankton's anger isn't abating. "Why can't he ju—" Karen cuts him off. "Let's not do this, okay?" she says, her tone firm but gentle. "Let's not fight." But Plankton can't let it go. "It's not fair!" he says, his body tense but shaky. "I have to deal with this every day, and now you want me to pretend it's never been anything but positive?" He felt his ears ringing and Karen knew the look of overstimulation well. But he's not quite done with anger yet. "Dad," Chip says, his voice small. "I didn't mean to make yo--" "I SAID ENOUGH!" Plankton shouts, and Karen knew that a seizure's edge was near. The overwhelming emotion was too much for him to handle, his headache likely growing by the second. The room grew tense, his antennae quivering with frustration. He stood up, his body shaking slightly, his eye unfocused. "I DON'T LIKE IT!" he yelled. Karen saw the first signs of a seizure starting to form as his breaths quickened. "Plankton, you outta sit down," Karen urged, knowing what stress can do. Sure enough, his body jerked, and he stumbled slightly. Chip's eyes grew wide in terror as he saw his dad's knees give way. Karen rushed over to Plankton, knowing his seizures like the back of her hand, lowering Plankton gently to the floor. Plankton's eye rolls back into his head, his limbs jerking uncontrollably as he was gripped by the seizure. Chip watched, his heart racing. This was the second time he'd seen this, and it was just as terrifying. "It's okay, honey," she whispered to Chip. "This is what we talked about. Remember? Stay calm, don't touch him, and it'll be over soon." Chip nodded, his eyes fixed on his father. Karen quickly moved any sharp objects out of the way, then she knelt beside Plankton, her hand steadying his head, her voice calm and soothing. "It's okay," she murmured. "I'm here." Chip felt guilty as his father's body shook violently. Chip felt his throat tighten as he watched, his heart racing. He knew he had to be strong for his dad. He took a deep breath and whispered, "I'm sorry," hoping the words would penetrate the chaos of Plankton's mind. "It's all my fa-" But he's cut off by his mother's firm voice. "Chip, now is not the time," Karen says, her eyes never leaving Plankton's convulsing form. "This is NOT your fault. Just stay calm and keep talking to him. It'll help him feel safe." Chip nods, his voice steadying as he watches his dad's body contort. He speaks softly, his words meant to soothe. "Dad," he whispers, "I love you. It's okay, you're okay."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 9 Eventually, Plankton groans awake to find his son sitting beside him on his bed. "Hey, buddy," he says. "What's going on?" Chip looks at him, his eyes filled with worry. "You had another seizure at the park," he says, his voice low. "Do you remember?" Plankton nods. The memory of the loud music and the sensory overload floods back. "I'm sorry," he says. "It's not your fault," Chip says quickly. "But I promise to try to be a better son, to understand." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "I'm sorry too," he mumbles. "For what, Dad?" Chip asks, his voice filled with confusion. "For not telling you," Plankton says, his gaze shifting to the floor. "What do you mean, Dad?" Chip asks, his voice filled with curiosity. "Why didn't you tell me?" Plankton sighs, his antennas drooping. "Because it's hard, Chip," he says, his voice cracking. "It's not something people understand easily. I don't even fully understand it." Chip frowns, his eyes searching Plankton's. "But now I know," he says. "I want to understand, Dad. I want to learn." Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze meeting his son's. "Okay," he says slowly. "What do you want to know?" Chip's eyes widen. "Everything," he says. "What do you prefer me to call it?" Plankton pauses, his single eye looking into his son's earnest gaze. "Autism," he says. "Or, if you want to get specific, my form is neurodevelopmental autism." He takes a deep breath. "It's a type of disability. It affects how I think, how I learn, and how I interact with the world." Chip nods, taking it in. "So, like, why do you sometimes get so upset about noises or lights?" Plankton sighs, his antennas drooping slightly. "It's like my brain can't filter everything out. It's all too much at once. It's like listening to a thousand TVs at full volume. It overwhelms me." Chip's eyes widen further. "And the seizures, Dad?" Plankton's antennae twitch in thought. "They're a part of it, too," he says, his voice strained. "It's like my brain's wiring gets tangled up, and it has to reset. It's not always predictable, and it can be scary. It doesn't happen every single day." Chip nods solemnly, his curiosity piqued. "What about the toys?" he asks, gesturing to the plush bear still in Plankton's hand. "They're sensory items," Plankton explains, his antennae straightening. "They can help me when I'm overwhelmed. Something to fidget, when restless. Like comfort items, if you will." Chip nods, processing. "So, like, how long have you had this, uhm, autism?" Plankton's antennae twitch at the question. "Since I was born," he replies. "It's always been a part of me. It's just the way my brain works. Some days are easier than others. But it's not to be cured or reversed. I acquired it at birth. When my mum was to give birth to me, something happened, and it changed the way my brain developed. What exactly happened was during the birth, my head somehow got stuck, and it affected my brain." Chip's eyes widened. "But you're so smart," he said. "Does it affect your intelligence?" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he considered his son's question. "It's not that simple," he said. "It's like some things are easier for me, like solving complex problems or remembering details. But other things, like reading social cues or understanding sarcasm, are really hard." "But you're so good at inventing," Chip said. "Does it help with that?" Plankton's antennae twitched. "Yes," he said. "My brain works differently. It lets me see patterns and connections that others might miss. But it can also make simple things like talking to people really tough." Chip nodded, his hand still resting on the plush bear. "Can I ask you someth...? I just, the bad wor— I'm sorry; I just wanna ask about the slur I used." Plankton flinched at the mention of the slur. He took a deep breath. "As long as you know it was wrong, and you don't do it again," he said. "I'll tell you about it." Chip nodded, his eyes intent on his dad's. "Why did it hurt?" he asked, his voice soft. Plankton's antennae twitched with the pain of the memory. "Because those words, they're not just words," he said. "They're like punches. They hurt because they're not true. They're not who I am. And when people use them, it feels like they're trying to define me by something that's just a part of me. And that particular slur is used to mock, to belittle." "But, why?" Chip asks. "How's it a slur?" "That term has been used to refer to people with neurodisabilities like including autism in a way that suggests, um..." Plankton paused to wipe a tear from his eye. "Sorry," he whispers, taking a deep breath. "There were diagnosticians, non- disabled, who coined that term," he began, his voice shaky. "They referred to neurodisabled people that, and then those neurodisabled people were then had or given options to be 'fixed' by either trying torturous methods to 'normalize' them or, if that didn't eventually work, they'd just... tell caregivers or their guardians to refuse necessities including food or water until they'd ultimately pass away." Chip's shocked into silence as Plankton wiped another tear, sniffling. "And instead of giving any accommodations, they'd punish you. As if you were choosing to be something so wrong," Plankton continues, his voice quivering. "And in grade school, when kids couldn't understand, they'd use it as a weapon, to mean anything they didn't like. I personally was bullied a lot when I'd blurt out some random science fact or, just was left out. And even teachers sometimes, they'd say I was just being 'that'. And I'd get in trouble for 'that'. And when you said that Chip, it just... brought it all back."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 10 Plankton wiped the rest of his tears as Chip took in his dad's story, his eyes wide. "So, you've had to deal with that your whole life?" Chip asked, his voice filled with a newfound empathy. "Yeah," Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching slightly. "But it's not all bad. There's beauty in being different, you know. And your mom and I, we've learned to make it work." Chip looked at the plush bear in his dad's hand, now understanding its significance. "What happens during a seizure, Dad?" Plankton took a deep breath. "My brain gets overwhelmed, like too much data coming in at once. It's like a circuit breaker trips and everything goes haywire. My body can't handle it, so it shuts down a bit. It's like my brain's way of hitting the reset button." "Does it hurt?" Chip asked, his eyes searching his dad's. "No, not physically," Plankton said, his antennae twitching slightly. "But it's scary, and it can leave me feeling really tired. And sometimes it's embarrassing, because it happens when I'm not expecting it and I might act a bit strange after. Like, I might not recognize anything for a little bit. But it's like coming out of a daydream. You're just... there, but not quite. And then the real world hits as it passes. And most of the time I don't even know it's happening until it's over." Chip nodded, his hand tightening around the bear. "But why don't people understand, Dad?" "I guess because autism is internal," Plankton explained. "People can't see it. They don't know what's going on inside my head. They just see me acting differently, and that annoys them. They don't know how to react, I guess. It's a spectrum," Plankton continued. "There are lots of people like that. And some have it a lot worse. They can't talk or can't do things that come easy to me. It's just how their brains are." Chip frowned, deep in thought. "But you let Mom hug you but, not me; is that part of it?" Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Sometimes, Chip," he said. "It's about comfort and safety. With Mom, we know what to expect, but with you, it's still new. It's not that I don't love you or don't want to hug you. It's just... hard sometimes. Certain touches can be too much." Chip's eyes searched his father's face. "But, I'm your son," he said, his voice small. Plankton nodded. "And I love you more than anything," he replied. "But sometimes, my brain gets confused by touch, especially when it's unexpected. It's not because I don't want to be close to you, it's because it's too much for me to handle. And there are days where it's easier than others. But she knows what to do, and she understands when I can't take much more." Chip looked down at the bear, his eyes filling with tears. "I don't want to make it worse," he whimpered. "Just ask before you touch me, ok? And if I say no, don't take it to personally. It's not about you, Chip; it's about what I can handle, what my body craves." Karen then came to check on them. "How are we doing?" she asked, her voice gentle. "I see you're awake.." Plankton nodded weakly. "We're okay," he said. "Chip and I were just... talking." Karen's gaze moved from her husband to her son, noticing the bear in Chip's hand. "Oh?" Karen's eyebrows raised in suspicion. "Yeah," Chip said, his voice steadier now. "I just want to know more about... about Dad." Karen sat on the bed's edge. "You're growing up," she murmured. "Ok," Plankton said. "But keep it simple. I'm pretty tired." Chip nods as Karen moves closer to them. "So, Dad, what do you want me to do when you have a seizure?" Plankton's antennae twitched in thought. "Just stay calm," he instructed. "And keep me safe. Sometimes, I might lash out without knowing it, so keep yourself safe too. And if you can, help me find something to fidget with, like offering me the bear. But even if it's not at home, inform your mother. Perhaps find a quiet spot." Chip nodded, his mind racing with information. "What about when you move your hands like, is that because of it?" He turns to Karen. "Yes," Karen said, taking his hand in hers. "It's called stimming. It's a way for your dad to self-soothe or if jittery. It's usually when really emotional or just restless. And he does it to help manage the input his brain's receiving." Chip's eyes widen. "So it's for fun; can I try?" But Plankton shook his head. "No Chip, it's not a toy for you.." Karen squeezed Chip's shoulder gently. "It's okay to ask questions, honey," she said. "But remember, everyone's experience is different. For your dad, he can stim by fidgeting with his hands or talking to himself. He might hum or rock. But he doesn't like it to be mimicked. It's not for us to point out or make comments on, unless to offer support or ask if he'd like help. It's just something he does for himself, not for us." Chip nodded, his gaze back on Plankton. "And what about those moments where you just... zone out?" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "Those are called absence seizures," he said. "They're like staring spells. They can happen anywhere, anytime. It's like my brain pauses for a bit. It can be unsettling, but they usually don't last long. Just stay calm and let me know when I come back, okay?" "Okay," Chip said, nodding. "What about when you get upset and repeat words?" Plankton sighed. "That's called echolalia," he explained. "It's when I repeat what I've heard, or something I've said before. It's a way for me to cope with stress or anxiety. Sometimes, it's just easier than finding new words. But usually it's to process verbal directions. Palilalia is all part of the autism spectrum." Karen watched the two of them, warmth spreading through her heart.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 11 "What about when you won't look people in the eye?" Chip asks. Plankton nods. "It's not that I don't try to, sometimes it's just too intense," he explains. "It's like looking into the sun. It's just to much. It's part of being on the spectrum." Chip nods, his curiosity unabated. "But why?" he presses on. "Why can't you look at someone's eyes?" Plankton sighs, his eye fluttering closed. "Look, Chip, it's like my brain's got a lot going on," he says. "Looking someone in the eye is like... like uncomfortable, I don't know‽ But when I'm with people I trust, like you and mom, it's easier. Eye contact can be really intense, and it can be overwhelming. But I know we don't mean it that way. It's just how I experience it." "What about when you talk about the same thing over and over again?" Chip asks, his voice careful. Plankton nods. "That's perseveration," he says. "It's like my brain can't let go of an idea. It's not that I don't want to talk about other things; it's just that the idea keeps spinning around in my head. I know it might get repetitive, for others." Karen smiles at Chip's earnestness. "Dad," Chip asks, his voice gentle. "What's your favorite thing about being autistic?" Plankton's antennae twitched in surprise. "Favorite thing?" he repeats. He thinks for a moment, his eye focused on the ceiling. "Well," he says slowly, his antennae lifting a little, "I guess it's my ability to focus on tiny details that others might miss, sometimes." Chip's eyes light up. "Like when you make those amazing inventions?" he asks, his voice filled with admiration. Plankton's antennae perk up slightly, a tiny smile gracing his face. "Yes," he says. "Exactly. It's like my brain is wired to see the world in a unique way, and that helps me solve problems or create things others might not think of." Chip nods, his mind spinning with questions. "What about how you talk in a monotone?" he asks. "Is that part of it?" Plankton nods again. "Yes," he says. "It's because my brain doesn't interpret emotions the way other people do. It's hard for me to express how I'm feeling, like in my voice sometimes. So in every day things, my voice will be flat. But don't worry, it doesn't mean I'm not feeling them. I'm just... different, at showing it." Karen watches them, proud of Chip for his empathy. "Dad, what about people skills?" Chip asks. "Why do you have trouble?" Plankton sighs. "It's because autism affects how I understand unsaid social cues," he explains. "Sarcasm, faces, those things are like a different language to me. I have to learn them. It's hard to read people, to know what they're feeling just by looking. And sometimes, I say things that don't come out right, because I don't always get how they'll be taken." Chip nods, his eyes still wide with curiosity. "But you're so good at understanding mechanics and inventing," he points out. "If you can do that, why is underst--" Plankton's antennae twitch. "It's a different kind of understanding," he says. "My brain is good at patterns and logistics. Social interactions are more complex, less predictable. I might say something in a way that ends up sounding rude, but it's not intentional. It's just... I miss the subtleties. And people usually get upset if you don't get their jokes or understand their expressions. When me and Krabs fed Jenkins our burger, he got food poisoning. I wanted to comfort Krabs by showing we're not to blame, and I said, 'Jenkins is old' and, I've nothing against elderly. Krabs got mad, so I wanted to tweak the burger recipe, but Krabs’s had none of it. So that's why we became enemies." Chip nods, his eyes still glued to his dad. "But what about your relationship with Mom?" he asks. "It's complicated," Plankton admits. "Sometimes my autism can make it hard for me to understand what she's feeling, but we've learned each other's patterns. And she's really patient with me." He glances at Karen, who smiles back, her eyes shimmering with affection. "We usually cook at home or order takeout because crowded restaurants can make me really overwhelmed. She gets it." "But what if she's sad and you don't know it?" Chip persists. "Well, she'll tell me," Plankton says, his antennae twitching. "And if she needs something, she'll explain." He looks over at Karen, who nods in agreement. "It's a team effort, buddy," she says. "We communicate in our own way." "But what if you don't get what she's saying?" Chip asks, his brow furrowed. "Then I'll ask for help," Plankton responds. "Or she'll find another way to tell me. We've had our ups and downs, but we figured it out. It's not always easy, but we love each other. And she knows that I'm trying my best to understand her." "But what about others, Dad?" Chip asks. "Have you ever felt left out?" Plankton's antennae droop. "Yes," he admits, his voice quiet. "There are times when I don't know what's going on, or I miss a joke. And it can be lonely and tiresome. I was the nerdy weirdo, but Krabs was poor so we were both outcasts. But once Krabs perfected the burger recipe for himself, that changed. My only friend left me behind. But yes, kids went out of their way to make sure I was excluded. They'd see I was 'quirky' and a bit of a loner. They'd say I was that slur you used the other day." Chip's eyes widen in horror. "But that's not right," he says. "And I'm sor—" "I know," Plankton nods. "But it's how some people see it. And it's hard to explain to them that it's not my choice. That I'm just different, not less. But they didn't care." "But what about Mr. Krabs?" Chip asks, his voice small. "Couldn't he help?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "Krabs didn't know about my disability, he still doesn't. But now that we're rivals, I doubt he'd change his ways. He's a simple creature, driven by greed. I don't think he's gonna suddenly understand neurodiversity if he found out!" Chip looks down at the floor, his eyes filling with tears. "But why, Dad?" he whispers. "Why did you have to be different?" Plankton's antennae twitch gently as he considers his son's question. "Everyone's different, Chip," he says. "Some people have two eyes, some like me have one. Some people are tall, some like me are short. And some, like me, have brains that work a little differently. Remember I told you when I was born, I got stuck and that changed my brain structure? Well, it's like that. It's just how I ended up, and it's not something anyone could have prevented." Chip nods, his thoughts racing. "But what about friends?" he asks. "Do you have any that understand you?" Plankton's smile is sad. "Friends are hard to come by," he admits. "But I have you and your mom, and that's enough. And there's SpongeBob. He's a good... acquaintance?" He pauses. "He tries to be kind to everyone, but sometimes, well, his enthusiasm can be a bit much. But he's a good egg." Chip looks over at his mom, who nods, her eyes shimmering with pride. "Dad's right," she says. "Now it's getting late, which means bedtime. And you need to let him rest." She stands up, stretching slightly. Plankton nods. "Yeah, I really need some sleep."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 14 The seizure seems to last an eternity, each second stretching into a minute. "Just keep talking to him. That's all we can do. Keep the drawing out of his line of sight," Karen instructs, her hands steady and calm. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his father's face. "It's ok, Dad," he repeats as he folds up the paper. Plankton's body stiffens then relaxes, the seizure passing into the postictal phase. His single eye opens slowly, unfocused. Karen holds his hand, her voice calm. "You're okay, you're safe," she repeats. Plankton's speech is slurred, a child- like lilt to his words. "Yi," he says. "Loog?" He looks around, confusion clouding his features. Chip's heart breaks, but he knows what to do. "Hi, Dad," Chip says, his voice gentle. "You had a seizure, but it's over now. You're safe." Plankton's eye widens, trying to to sit up, but Karen eases him back down. "Shh," she whispers, stroking his forehead. "Easy, love. We're right here." Plankton's eye darts around the room, his speech coming out in jumbles. "Ka...ken... Utz...?" His voice cracks, and Chip's heart swells with love and fear. "It's okay, Daddy," Chip says, his voice steady. "You're safe. I'm sorry if I hu-" But Plankton cuts him off, his speech still slurred, his thoughts scattered. "Ha... happy? Haff... h-elp?" Karen's heart breaks as she sees the fear in his eye. "Yes, darling," she says, her voice soothing. "We're here to help. It's okay." She turns to Chip. "Can you get a stim toy?" Chip nods, quickly retrieving a soft, squishy ball from the shelf. He brings it over, placing it gently by Plankton's hand. "Dad, look," Chip says, showing Plankton the ball. "Can you hold it?" Plankton's hand reaches for the ball, his movements slow and clumsy. He squeezes it tentatively, his face contorting as if trying to remember what it's for. His eye is glazed, and his voice slurred. "Buh," he says. Karen nods at Chip. "Good," she whispers. "Keep it up." Chip takes a deep breath. "Can you roll the ball over?" Plankton looks at his hand. "O... kay," he says, his voice thick with confusion. He rolls the ball to Chip, his eye following its path. "Ba... baball," he mumbles. Chip's eyes well up with tears but he forces a smile. "That's right, Dad," Chip says, his voice shaky but hopeful as he rolls the ball back to him again. "It's a ball. You can roll it back to me." The simple act of interaction seems to help Plankton. He rolls the ball to Chip, antennae twitching slightly. "Ga... game?" he asks, his voice still out of it. Chip nods, his smile growing. "Yeah, Dad," he says. "We're playing catch. Just like we always do. Do you remembe---" But Plankton's eye glazes over again, his hand dropping the stim toy. "G-game," he stammers, his speech jumbled. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice soothing despite his concern. "You're safe now." He picks up the ball, rolling it back to his father gently. Plankton watches the ball's journey with sluggish curiosity, his eye still unfocused. "M-make... it... go?" His hand reaches out, his grip unsteady as he tries to roll the ball back. It wobbles before finally reaching Chip. "Good job, Dad," Chip praises, his heart heavy. "You're doing great." Karen's eyes are filled with love. "Good Chip, just keep talking to him," she whispers. Chip nods, his voice shaky. "Dad, remember we talked about how you see the world?" Plankton's single eye flickers, his antennae moving slightly. "You're so good at making things, because you notice details others don't. That's because of your autism. It's not a weakness, it's a strength." Plankton's gaze focuses a bit more, his eye searching Chip's face. "Ma... make... things?" He whispers. "Ma... make... bah?" Chip nods, his smile gentle. "You make amazing things, Dad. Your inventions are like none other because of how your brain works. It's not a bad thing," he says, trying to reassure his father. "It's what makes you, you." Plankton's hand shakes as he fumbles with the stim toy. "B-but... Ka... Chi... Utch...?" Karen sighs, her heart aching. "It's okay, love," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We're here. You're okay." Plankton's hand continues to fumble with the ball, his movements erratic and slightly uncoordinated. "Ma... mesh... ba... baball?" he mumbles, his brain still in a state of confusion. Chip nods, his heart aching. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice filled with patience. "You just had a seizure. You need some time to recover." Karen watches as Chip interacts with Plankton, his words gentle and understanding. She's proud of how he's handling the situation, despite the fear that must be coursing through his young body. She smiles at him, giving a small nod of encouragement. Plankton's gaze shifts, his eye still not quite focused as he laughs softly. "Ma... m-m-make me," he stammers, his voice childlike in innocence. "Meeeeeee.." Karen's heart clenches at the sound of his babbling. She knows this phase all too well, the aftermath of a seizure leaving Plankton in a vulnerable, confused state. "We're right here, baby," she coos, her hand stroking his arm. She knew the neuroregression he experiences all too well.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 15 Chip's eyes are filled with worry as he watches his father's struggle. "Dad," he says, his voice soothing. "We're here. It's okay." He reaches for the ball, yet Plankton's hand flaps it away, his gaze distant. He starts to laugh again. "Ma... ma... make me happy," Plankton says, his voice a mix of confusion and joy. Karen's eyes water as she sees the innocence in her husband's gaze, his autism making his thoughts a tangled mess. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice soothing, but she plays along, knowing it's part of his post-seizure state. "Yes, love," she says. Plankton giggles, his hands flapping slightly. "Ma... me... make... happy," he repeats, his eye locking onto the squishy ball. It's a sight that makes Chip's heart ache, but he joins in, his voice gentle. "We're playing catch, remember?" He rolls the ball back to Plankton, who's hand reaches for it again, his movements more purposeful now. His fingers graze the toy, his laughter subsiding. "Ga... good?" he says, his voice a soft echo. Karen nods, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, baby," she says. "You're doing so good." Plankton's hand closes around the ball, his grip firming as he tries to focus, his antennae twitching slightly as he starts fully coming back, groaning as he leans on to his hands. He gets himself upright, a bit confused/disoriented. Chip's heart races as he sees his father's condition improve. "Dad," he says, his voice filled with hope. "Do you want to sit down?" Plankton looks at his son, his eye blinking slowly as he tries to process the words. "Sit... down?" he repeats. Karen nods, gesturing to the bed. "What happened?" he asks, his voice weak but growing more clear. Karen sighs, her hands shaking slightly. "You had a seizure, honey," she says, her voice gentle. "But it's over now." Plankton's eye widen slightly as he looks around the room, his mind slowly piecing together the events. "Oh," he murmurs, his hand moving to his head. "The... drawing?" Karen nods, her voice soft. "You got upset. You had a seizure." Plankton looks down at the folded paper, his expression a mix of embarrassment and anger. "I didn't mean to scare you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm s-sorry." Chip's eyes widen, his heart racing. "Dad, I just wanted to make you feel better." Plankton's gaze meets Chip's, his expression filled with remorse. "I know," he says, his voice a mere murmur. "But sometimes, it's just... too much." He sighs, his body still trembling slightly. "I didn't mean to..." Karen wraps an arm around Plankton, her eyes filled with love and understanding. "It's okay," she whispers. "We know." She turns to Chip, her expression earnest. "Your dad's brain works differently, Chip. It's not his fault. And, it's not your fault for trying to be nice. We all just need to find better ways to support each other." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "I didn't know it'd be rude, I just made it to show how much I care." Plankton's gaze softens slightly, his antennae twitching as he processes his son's words. "I know you did, buddy," Plankton says, his speech still slurred. "But autism isn't a costume or a game. It's how I am." He takes a deep breath, his hand finding Karen's. "It's hard for me to explain sometimes. It's just... it's complicated." Chip nods, his eyes filling with tears. "But you're still my hero," he says, his voice shaky. "And I'll always love you no matter wh-" But Plankton cuts him off, his voice firm. "I understand," he says, his antennae flattening. "I l-love y-you too. Yet I'm not... I'm not okay with this right now." Karen looks at Chip, her gaze pleading. "Honey, why don't you sit down? Let your dad have a moment." Chip nods, his eyes brimming with tears. He sits on the edge of the bed, his heart racing as he watches his father. Plankton's eye is now focused, but the exhaustion is palpable. "I just want to make sure you're okay," Chip says, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't want you to be up-" But Plankton shakes his head. Karen sighs. "Chip, he's okay. He just needs his own moment. He's not up to talking right now." Chip nods, his eyes still on his father. Chip watches as his dad's face twists into an expression of sadness. "It's not a game," he murmurs, talking to himself as Karen recognized it as his stim. "I know," Chip says quickly. "But it's part of who you are. And that's am-" "Chip," Karen interrupts, her tone firm but gentle. "Come sit by me on my bed," Karen says, getting off Plankton's bed. Chip does so, sitting on the bed placed adjacent. "Chip," Karen begins quietly, "Your dad's talking to himself in a stim, and it's not for us to interrupt. He's in his own personal space, and he dislikes that right now. Remember, his stims are only for him and we shouldn't make a fuss about it. It's his way, and he personally gets frustrated when we needlessly interrupt." Chip nods, his throat tight with unshed tears. "I just don't want him to be sad," he says, his voice quivering. Karen hugs him close. "I know, baby," she whispers. "But sometimes, it's okay for people to be sad. And sometimes, the best thing we can do is just let them be. We can't fix everything. All his emotions are valid." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. He whispers, "I'll always be here for you, Dad." Plankton's antennae twitch as he hears his son's words, his stimming pausing briefly. He looks over, his eye meeting Chip's. "Thank you," he murmurs. "I... I just n-need a moment." Chip nods, his heart swelling with love and regret.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 𝟩 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍'𝗌 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝗈𝗍. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽. "𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒?" 𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖨'𝗆 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖾," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗈.." 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗓𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍'𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗀𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖾𝗋," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍. "𝖠𝗅𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍; 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗇!" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽, 𝖺 𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗌𝗐𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗍𝗈 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖽. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀-𝗈𝖿𝖿, 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄. 𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝗁𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗆 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖼 𝗆𝖾𝗅𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗃𝗈𝗒. 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗎𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗉𝗎𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌, 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗌, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝗍𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗅𝗒, 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇𝗏𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝗍. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝗂𝗌𝖾. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗀𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅. "𝖣𝖺𝖽!" 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗒𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽, 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗎𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗆𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗒𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗆. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗃𝗎𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗎𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗒. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗎𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖧𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄, 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌. 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖩𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗂𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆 𝗀𝗎𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄. "𝖲𝗁𝗁," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝗅𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝖨'𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎." 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗏𝖾, 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍. 𝖭𝗈𝗐. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗇𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖿. "𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾. 𝖣𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆." 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗆𝗇𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗌. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄𝖺𝗒, 𝖣𝖺𝖽," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝗎𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋'𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗂𝗓𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖧𝖾 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍. "𝖣𝖺𝖽, 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗆𝖾, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝗂𝗓𝗎𝗋𝖾," 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝗄 𝗇𝗈𝗐." 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗇𝖺𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗑𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. 𝖧𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗂𝖽𝗅𝗒, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 8 Karen rushed over, her face a mix of relief and concern. "Plankton, are you ok?" she asked, her voice filled with care. Plankton nodded, his antennae moving slowly as he took in his surroundings. He looked around, his eye darting to Chip. "H-How did we get here?" His voice was weak, his antennae still trembling slightly. "You fell off the swing," Chip said, trying to keep his voice steady. "But Mom and I caught you." He hoped the gentle explanation would ease his father's confusion. Plankton's antennae stilled for a moment, his eye focusing on Chip. He nodded, understanding dawning on his face. "Thank you...tired." Karen's eyes searched his face, reading his autistic cues. "Let's go home," she said gently, helping him to his feet. His legs were shaky, his balance precarious. With a nod, Plankton allowed her to guide him to the car, leaning heavily on her. Chip climbs into the back seat with Plankton. Karen pulled out of the park. "I'm proud of both of you," she said, glancing in the rearview mirror at Chip and Plankton. "You handled that so well." Plankton sat next to his son, still exhausted. Chip looked at his dad, his heart heavy with guilt. He reached for the plush bear he had brought from the house, placing it gently in Plankton's lap. "Here," he said softly. "It helps, right?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze flickering to the toy. He took it, his fingers curling around the soft fabric, finding comfort in the familiar texture. "Thanks," he mumbled, his voice a whisper of its usual strength. Chip watched as his father's eye grew heavy with sleep, his head nodding slightly as the car pulled away from the park. Plankton's antennae twitched as he fought the pull of slumber, his grip tightening around the plush bear. Plankton's antennae were twitching slower now, his eye half-closed. Karen knew her husband was trying to stay present, to show his strength. But the exhaustion was clear. "Home," Plankton murmured, his eyelid drooping. "Yes, we're taking the trip home," Karen affirmed, her eyes flicking back to the road. The car's gentle hum was soothing, the vibrations of the engine lulling Plankton closer to sleep. Chip noticed his father's antennae quivering with each bump in the road, his body slumping against the car seat. Karen glanced in the rearview mirror, her expression a mix of concern and love. Plankton's antennae stilled as sleep claimed him, his body leaning against Chip's shoulder. Chip felt the weight of his dad's head. Chip knew that he was tired, but he also knew his father didn't like to admit when he needed help, especially in public. But here they were. Plankton's antennae barely twitched, his snores soft but steady. Karen's eyes remained on the road, her gaze flitting to the rearview mirror to check on him. Chip watched his father's sleeping form. The car's air conditioner blew a soft breeze across his dad's sleeping form, his antennae fluttering with the occasional draft. "Mom," Chip whispers from the back seat, his eyes never leaving his father's sleeping form. "Can I stay with him when we get home?" "Of course, sweetheart," Karen responded, her voice calm and reassuring. "We'll all need some rest after today. Just make sure he's comfortable." As they arrived home, Plankton was still fast asleep, his antennae barely twitching. "What do we do now, Mom?" Chip asked, unbuckling his seatbelt. "We get him to bed," Karen said firmly, opening the car door. "You can help me." With care, Karen lifted Plankton out of the car, his body limp with sleep. Chip opened the house door, holding it wide as his mother carried his father inside, each step precise and calculated to avoid disturbing Plankton. The coolness of the air-conditioned house was a stark contrast to the warmth of the car, and Plankton's antennae twitched slightly at the change in temperature. Karen's grip was gentle but firm, her arms steady as she carried him to their bedroom. Karen laid Plankton down carefully, his body sinking into the softness of the bed. Plankton's antennae twitched once more before coming to rest against the pillow. His snores grew quieter, his body fully surrendering to sleep. Chip hovered at the foot of the bed, his heart heavy. "Can I stay with him?" he asked, his voice small in the quiet room. Karen looked at her son, the question in his eyes. She nodded, her heart aching for the burgeoning bond between them. "Yes, but don't disturb him," she instructed, her voice barely above a whisper. Chip climbed into the bed with his father, his movements careful not to wake his dad. He lay down next to Plankton. Plankton's antennae were still now, his snores even and deep. Chip studied his father's face, the way his antenna fluttered with every breath, his grip on the bear unwavering. He was so vulnerable in sleep, so different from the man who had been consumed by anger. Chip felt a mix of emotions—guilt for his carelessness, fear of what could have been, and a newfound love for his father that was both fierce and gentle. He lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of Plankton's soft snores.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠖⠶⠶⠶⠶⠦⠤⠠⣿⣿⡓⠶⠶⢶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣄⣀⠤⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠓⢢⣸⠛⠻⣯⣿⠏⠉⠛⢻ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠠⣿⣋⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⡿⠀⠀⠀⠙⣷⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⢴⣶⠚⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠐⠒⠒⠠⠤⠤⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⢠⠖⠒⠲⣾⠈⠳⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠖⠙⠛⠒⠿⣋⡉⢢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⣐⠶⠋⠳⣧⠒⠒⠚⠉⡆⠀⢹ ⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠑⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠐⠛⠯⠭⣉⣉⡩⠗⣂⡠⠔⠒⠒⣢⠤⢀⣀⠤⠄⠒⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣸⣿ ⣠⣴⡟⠀⣠⠞⠒⠤⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠐⠒⢊⡡⠔⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⢠⣧⣿⣿ ⣯⡀⠑⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠐⠒⠤⠄⣀⠴⠂⠀⠀⠀⠐⠒⠢⠤⡂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣖⣄⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⡿ ⢾⣿⡦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠄⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣾⣿⡏⢻⡜⡀⠀⣠⣼⣤⠞⣋⠥⢿⡿⠁ ⢸⣿⡇⠀⠸⡷⢶⣤⢄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⠂⠤⠤⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣮⣤⣤⣾⢿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣇⣿⣾⢷⣧⣾⠟⢋⠔⠋⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀ ⡿⣜⣇⣀⡤⠗⠤⢄⡉⠛⠛⠛⠻⢶⡒⠠⠤⢤⣄⢀⣹⣍⣉⣉⣉⣁⣀⠤⠔⠛⢹⣯⣽⣿⢛⣿⣿⣼⢈⠋⡠⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠑⢌⣻⢄⡀⠀⣠⣶⣿⣽⣖⡢⠄⣀⢱⠀⠀⢾⠉⣷⠀⠀⣳⠤⠤⢿⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⢉⣿⠈⡍⣍⢋⡿⠼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠉⠓⠯⣕⠻⢷⣿⡿⠊⠁⠀⠀⢩⠃⠀⡤⠿⢿⣶⣾⣯⣏⣩⣿⠀⠀⢸⣿⡶⢾⢹⢼⡿⢃⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⠠⢍⣑⠒⠠⠴⠯⣤⣴⣚⣒⣒⣒⣒⣶⣿⣿⡧⠐⠊⠁⠀⠀⢸⣀⣾⣷⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠒⠤⠤⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣉⣉⣩⣽⣞⠠⠤⠤⠒⢊⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣀⢀⣾⠿⠻⢶⣄⠀⠀⣠⣶⡿⠶⣄⣠⣾⣿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⡿⣿⠿⣿⡿⢼⣿⣿⡿⣿⣎⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⠉⠛⢛⣛⡉⠀⠀⠙⠛⠻⠛⠑⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣧⣤⣴⠿⠿⣷⣤⡤⠴⠖⠳⣄⣀⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣀⣟⠻⢦⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡈⠻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠉⡇⠀⠀⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠹⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡟⠀⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠈⠑⠪⠷⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣦⣼⠛⢦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠴⠲⠖⠛⠻⣿⡿⠛⠉⠉⠻⠷⣦⣽⠿⠿⠒⠚⠋⠉⠁⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢣⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⡾⢿⣀⢀⣀⣦⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⣫⣿⡿⠟⠻⠶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣿⣧⡾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⢿⣿⣧⠀⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⢒⣤⣶⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⡾⠁⠙⣿⡈⠉⠙⣿⣿⣷⣬⡛⢿⣶⣶⣴⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⠤⠾⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⣸⠃⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⠟⡉⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⣿⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠠⠿⠟⠻⠟⠋⠉⢿⣿⣦⡀⢰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁ ⢀⣿⡆⢀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠏⢿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣙⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣿⣻⢿⣷⣀⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀ ⢸⠃⠠⣼⠃⠀⠀⣠⣾⡟⠀⠈⢿⣿⡿⠿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠷⣄⠈⠿⠛⠻⠶⢶⣄⣀⣀⡠⠈⢛⡿⠃⠈⢿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀ ⠟⠀⠀⢻⣶⣶⣾⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⢸⣿⢅⠀⠈⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠋⠉⠉⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⠰⡀⢸⣷⣤⣤⡄⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢻⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠉⠀⠀⠈⠓⢯⡉⠉⠉⢱⣶⠏⠙⠛⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠇⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⠀⢠⡄⠀⠀⠀⣁⠁⡀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣐⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠻⠟⢛⣛⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣋⣉⡄⠀⣀⡀⠨⣙⣏⣉⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⡿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣿⣯⣿⣷⣿⢾⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⣒⡛⢫⠤⣠⢤⣤⣤⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣻⣯⣿⢿⣿⢯⣿⣯⣿⣿⣻⣞⡷⣿⣽⣻⡽ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢮⣭⣉⡓⠺⠊⢉⠓⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣿⣻⢿⡿⣯⢿⣷⢯⡷⣯⣟⠷⣯⡗⡿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⣩⣿⣿⢿⣷⣄⡙⢮⠭⡁⢠⣬⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣯⢿⣽⡿⣾⣻⣽⣳⣞⣟⡧⣟⡽ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⡴⠹⢿⣿⣀⣿⣿⣯⣍⢛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⡿⣯⣿⡽⣟⡾⣵⢫⣾⡱⢯⡜ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢀⣞⣰⣀⣾⡷⠘⣿⣿⣟⣩⠙⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣻⢷⣟⣿⢯⡷⣏⡟⣶⡹⢇⡞ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⢯⣾⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠼⢿⣿⠥⢤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣟⡾⣟⣯⢿⡼⣹⢶⡹⢣⠞ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⢿⡽⣯⣟⢾⡱⣏⠵⣋⠎ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢬⡙⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣽⣳⢯⣏⡗⣎⠳⡌⠆ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⢻⡗⣮⡝⣬⢳⠉⡎ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡿⣯⢷⣫⢗⡭⢎⢧⡙ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣶⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢡⣀⢛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣟⣯⣟⣧⡟⡼⣉⢆⠣ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠹⣿⢿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⡂⠭⢊⠻⡹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣷⣻⣞⡽⣲⢍⡎⢇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⢻⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢡⠒⠐⢀⠀⠠⠐⡆⢯⡹⡹⢛⡯⢭⡹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣾⢯⣷⣻⣜⡳⢎⡜⠦ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠛⠻⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠠⢎⢦⡹⢄⡄⣌⣩⣝⠾⣡⢃⠡⠃⡘⢧⠿⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣟⣷⣻⡼⣝⢮⡙⡖ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⣾⣷⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⣩⣁⣳⣶⣦⣤⣤⣈⣥⢛⡞⣶⣿⣜⣫⢝⣶⣫⢞⣡⣀⣒⣀⡴⣨⡽⣎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢾⣯⢷⣻⡜⣮⢱⢣ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⢻⠇⠛⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠾⠛⣉⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣿⣯⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣯⣿⢾⣯⢷⣻⣼⢣⢧ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡌⣿⠀⣶⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣶⡾⠟⠫⣈⢿⡿⠟⣨⣿⣿⣿⢿⡆⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢹⣯⣿⡟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢸⣿⢯⣿⢯⡿⣟⡾⣏⣞ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠸⡀⢿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣉⣛⠶⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣿⠃⠀⢠⣿⣿⡏⢿⣯⣭⠷⣭⣭⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣃⣿⣿⣯⣟⣯⡿⣽⣻⢞⡵ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠱⡈⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠋⣙⣹⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢺⣿⣿⣿⣆⢻⣿⣻⣶⣷⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⢯⡿⣽⡷⣯⢿⣹ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⢲⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠜⡹⠟⠉⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡽⢿⣿⡿⢿⡟⢶⣡⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣯⢿⣯⣟⣷⣻⣽⡳⣏ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⡀⣀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠱⠂⠄⣙⢣⣟⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣷⣻⣟⡾⣽⣞⡷⣯⡽⣳ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣍⠣⡉⠴⣌⢷⣾⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣞⣯⢷⣯⡟⣷⣫⡽⢶⡻⣵ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡑⢺⡿⢏⢀⣠⣀⠀⣦⣀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣣⣝⡳⣎⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⡽⣯⣟⢶⡻⣵⢣⡟⣯⢳⢧ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠟⠁⢰⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢢⣏⣷⢿⣭⣻⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣾⣳⣟⣷⣫⢯⡷⣭⢳⡝⣮⢛⡼ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠷⣞⡿⣎⡶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⡷⣟⣾⡳⣏⡷⣹⢎⡷⣙⢦⣋⠖ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣺⣽⢳⢏⣾⣿⣿⣿⡍⣉⣛⣻⡿⢿⣾⣽⣝⣳⣝⢮⠳⣍⠶⣉⠞ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⣿⡿⠿⠾⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⢿⣺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡉⢿⣿⡙⠲⣤⣈⡙⠻⠮⣽⣙⡌⢣⠱⣊ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⢸⣆⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⠁⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⣿⢿⡛⣴⣿⣻⢻⡽⣷⢯⣞⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡁⠀⠀⢢⠉⠱⣄⠀⠉⠈⠐⠃⠄ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠹⣄⠙⣄⡀⠀⠀⠜⢢⠳⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣯⡷⢭⡷⣯⢿⣯⣿⢾⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣆⠀⠀⠉⠢⠈⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡙⢧⡈⠻⣦⣄⠘⠀⠠⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢌⢧⡻⡽⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣷⡄⠀⠀⠃⠈⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⣧⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⢀⣠⠀⠀⢿⠛⠻⢤⡘⠻⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⡼⣼⢧⣿⣻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣿⡄⠀⠀⢀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣷⡿⣿⣽⠟⠁⠀⣠⡏⢰⡇⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠘⣧⠤⠄⠙⢶⣌⠛⢶⣤⣶⣶⣿⣾⣿⣯⣟⣯⣿⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⢯⣿⡄⠘⠤⢂⠙⢦⡀⠀ ⣟⡾⣽⠟⠁⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⠹⢿⣀⣤⡀⠙⢆⡰⣳⣦⣈⡛⣶⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢫⣞⢿⡃⠄⢂⠀⢣⢳⡀ ⣯⡟⠃⠀⡰⠀⠀⣿⠃⢸⣿⡇⢀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣷⣮⠵⣹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣻⣷⣿⣿⣟⡿⣷⣿⠮⣝⡷⣎⠲⣅⠀⠀⠈⠀⠡⢓ ⠋⠀⣀⠔⠁⠀⢀⡇⠀⣾⣿⡄⠈⣆⠘⡀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣙⣌⣙⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⢯⣟⣿⣿⡿⣿⡽⣾⣽⣻⣿⡹⣌⢳⣍⡒⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠠⣆⠀⢸⠀⢠⠿⣿⡇⠀⢸⣧⠑⢦⠀⠁⠀⠀⢈⠛⢿⣿⣽⣶⣯⣽⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣯⣿⣻⣞⡷⣿⢯⣟⣷⢳⣿⣯⡕⢎⠲⡡⠌⠐⠠⡀⠀⢀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢆⡇⠠⠊⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⣿⡷⣄⠳⣤⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⣿⢿⡿⠟⢉⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢷⣟⣾⢿⣽⡻⢾⡭⣟⣿⡗⢮⡡⠂⠑⣂⠀⡲⢱⠀⠄⡁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡄⠀⠀⣿⣷⠀⠀⢸⡷⠜⢧⡈⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡾⡽⢧⠿⣜⣿⡟⢢⠑⡤⠘⢤⠣⢌⢣⠘⠠⠀⠂ ⣾⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⣦⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⠐⠛⣦⣄⠠⣄⠀⠰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢯⡿⣷⣿⣻⠯⣷⣎⡿⡍⢦⡙⠴⡁⠎⣇⠫⢄⠊⢀⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠉⠲⣭⣯⣿⣾⣿⣷⣽⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣨⡇⠸⣷⣄⠁⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⡿⣟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡣⢿⡱⢎⡝⠻⠶⣾⡽⣙⠦⡙⠤⠃⢘⠀⢳⡈⡐⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⢠⠐⡁⢰⣿⠿⡷⠀⠹⡙⣶⣄⡀⠀⢠⡄⢀⣾⡿⣟⢣⠟⡼⢫⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣷⣏⠂⢜⡱⣌⡄⢣⣝⠂⡉⠒⡁⠀⠀⠂⠐⠈⠀⠠⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⡀⠄⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢢⣓⡴⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣝⣮⢳⣍⠶ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⠊⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢌⣉⠉⠓⠢⣄⠀⠀⡀⢀⣠⣀⢆⣬⡱⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡿⣼⢯ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠊⡡⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠒⢄⣀⠩⠖⠋⠉⠁⠉⠉⠁⠐⠢⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⣯⣷⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⡐⡈⢦⠱⣈⠂⡁⢀⠠⡀⢂⢀⡴⢋⠐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⣶⣧⣶⣯⣶⣦⣴⣮⠦⠉⣝⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠈⠻⢽⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⢠⠰⡡⢝⢢⢣⡔⢦⣱⢉⡐⡰⢢⠏⠠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢑⠄⠀⠀⣀⣀⣠⣯⣅⣀⠀⠀⣠⣊⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣱⡞⣫⣥⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⢧⠀⠀⣠⢬⣫⠟ ⠈⠄⣒⡽⣎⢯⣳⣹⢦⡛⢦⢱⣱⠃⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢾⡿⢿⣿⣿⣤⣬⣙⡻⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢷⣸⠷⠋⠁⠀ ⠖⠱⣈⡶⢯⡗⣯⢞⡶⡙⢎⢒⠃⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣉⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡞⡛⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠴⠳⣝⢾⡹⡽⣩⢞⣰⣵⠞⡟⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣌⡹⠿⣿⣿⣿⢋⠩⠾⠟⢻⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡬⠓⡌⢣⣝⡶⣽⢺⡱⣎⣽⡇⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠸⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠙⢄⠀⠀⢰⡟⠿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⡱⢜⡳⢯⡽⣷⡿⣟⣯⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢋⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠱⠀⠉⠻⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⢣⠀⠀⢠⣶⠄⣩⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢡⢓⣬⠷⣯⣟⣷⣿⣿⡻⣭⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⡾⠁⣾⠸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⢃⠀⠀⠙⡘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⢀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣛⢾⣼⣻⣿⣿⣟⢿⣻⣷⣷⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠶⣿⡇⢸⣿⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠈⠂⠀⠀⠁⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠛⠾⣟⣧⢷⡺⣭⢻⡽⣯⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⢷⣹⢻⢀⢨⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⣰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣉⡸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⠀⠀⢿⣻⣼⢣⡟⣮⢳⣯⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠼⢿⣾⡬⠚⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣷⠋⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣷⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣦⣝⢢⣂⢿⣳⣏⢾⡱⣏⠾⣽⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡐⢨⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠤⠖⠛⠉⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡷⣞⣳⡽⣾⡽⣾⢧⡻⣜⢯⣻⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢹⣻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡿⣡⢣⡙⠵⡻⢽⣯⡗⣯⢞⡵⣇⠈⠙⠻⣷⣶⣦⣤⣀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣧⣄⡰⠤⠀⣀⣤⡤⣾⠋⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡧⠄⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⢳⠰⣇⢮⡱⡙⢎⡷⣿⣎⠿⣜⢿⡀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡿⢏⠿⡹⠟⠻⠛⣝⢧⡘⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢣⠙⡺⢯⡳⢍⠎⣼⣳⢯⣟⡼⣫⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⢃⠱⠈⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢟⠦⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡒⠾⠛⠃⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⣿⡿⠂⠀⠀⠀ ⣧⠙⡔⠫⠜⡌⢺⢴⢫⢿⡽⣞⡵⣻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠋⡝⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠦⣉⢜⣡⠳⣌⠳⣎⢻⣎⢿⣯⣟⣷⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⡿⠀⠈⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠓⣌⠞⡴⢫⡜⣳⣮⣗⢾⣯⣿⡿⠿⠟⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠛⠿⠿⢿⣶⣦⣄⣀⣀⣀⣠⣞⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢫⠔⣫⡕⣣⢞⣵⣯⠿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⢛⣿⣿⣿⣟⡷⢶⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢧⢻⣴⢻⣽⡿⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠣⢀⠀⢠⡼⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣯⣟⣿⢳⢮⡵⣩⡛⡖⢦⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣎⢷⣺⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢌⣼⠏⠀⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⣟⡻⣽⢻⣮⢵⣣⢝⡹⣒⠦⣍⡹⣙⠶⡤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢮⣳⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⡿⠟⠐⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣟⡞⣯⢻⡽⣞⠷⣎⡷⣭⢳⣳⣬⡒⣍⠳⢮⣜⡲⣌⢳⣒⢦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⢻ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⡡⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘ ⣿⣽⡿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⢃⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⣿⣯⣿⡿⣟⣿⣷⣏⣶⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⢸ ⣿⡷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⣀⣀⣤⣴⢶⡠⡒⣌⠒⣤⣠⣠⡀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠜⣸ ⣿⣟⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢒⡭⣒⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⡄⠀⢼⣷⣿ ⣿⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣣⣚⡖⠁⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣽⡛⣟⠻⣌⣓⣾⣿⣟⡀⠈⢿⣿⡿⣿⡿⠋⠀⢸⣿⣿ ⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣟⠴⠛⢒⣿⢿⣿⣿⠏⠀⢂⢄⡰⢠⣠⣄⣦⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠈⠹⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡳⣭⣻⣤⠠⠈⠄⡈⢁⠀⠌⡀⢎⣾⡛⠇⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣴⣦⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡵⣫⢷⣯⣷⣯⣲⣅⣦⣬⣴⣤⣿⢵⠛⣈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢿⡯⠙⠛⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢏⡟⣞⠋⠿⠟⣛⠛⣛⠛⡔⢊⠔⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣶⣴⣷⣦⣱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡼⣌⠣⡐⡋⠆⡑⠠⢁⣰⣼⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢒⣄⢦⣤⣵⣾⡿⢛⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣍⢫⡙⡉⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢟⡞⣯⠞⡭⣑⠋⢼⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣾⣧⣷⣾⣴⣴⣌⢿⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣧⣟⣴⣡⣎⣴⣿⣾⣿⣯⣯⢝⣻ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡽⣛⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡻⣝⢯⡻⣝⠻⢋⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢸ ⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⠹⣿⣿⣮⣝⣻⡟⠑⢌⠢⠱⢈⠒⣤⣿⡿⠛⡍⣁⢂⣤⣹ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣷⣣⠙⣿⢿⣿⣿⣎⢰⢀⠡⢁⠊⢄⢹⢳⣭⣳⣼⣦⣿⣾⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣷⣷⣶⣾⣷⣿⣾⣾⣶⣶⣶⣾⣶⣶⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠐⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠢⢼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⡰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠞⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⣰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠋⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⡿⣯⡷⡴⢦⣤⡠⣶⡶⠀⢷⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣥⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⢦⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠳⠀⢳⡀⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡿⠘⠀⠀⠹⣼⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡄⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣴⠓⣾⣳⣀⢀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡇⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠑⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢳⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⡇⢹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠉⠓⠶⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠴⠋⠣⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠟⣸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣴⣿⠋⠘⣆⠀⢰⠶⠤⢍⣛⣶⠤⠿⣷⣦⡀⠒⠚⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠢⠤⡄⠀⠀⢀⡴⢯⠴⣳⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠘⢦⡈⠻⣖⠤⣤⣉⣉⣹⣯⣭⠉⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⠛⣫⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⣄⠉⢦⡀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⢿⣷⢚⡝⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢶⣷⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⠷⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⢤⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠋⠀⣀⠄⡂⠍⣀⣒⣒⠂⠀⠬⠤⠤⠬⠍⠉⠝⠲⣄⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠊⢔⠕⠈⣀⣀⡀⠈⠆⠀⠀⠀⡍⠁⠀⠁⢂⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣠⣾⠥⠀⠀⣠⢠⣞⣿⣿⣿⣉⠳⣄⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣶⡄⠀⠀⣘⢦⡀ ⢀⡞⡍⣠⠞⢋⡛⠶⠤⣤⠴⠚⠀⠈⠙⠁⠀⠀⢹⡏⠁⠀⣀⣠⠤⢤⡕⠱⣷ ⠘⡇⠇⣯⠤⢾⡙⠲⢤⣀⡀⠤⠀⢲⡖⣂⣀⠀⠀⢙⣶⣄⠈⠉⣸⡄⠠⣠⡿ ⠀⠹⣜⡪⠀⠈⢷⣦⣬⣏⠉⠛⠲⣮⣧⣁⣀⣀⠶⠞⢁⣀⣨⢶⢿⣧⠉⡼⠁ ⠀⠀⠈⢷⡀⠀⠀⠳⣌⡟⠻⠷⣶⣧⣀⣀⣹⣉⣉⣿⣉⣉⣇⣼⣾⣿⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡄⠀⠀⠘⠳⣄⡀⡼⠈⠉⠛⡿⠿⠿⡿⠿⣿⢿⣿⣿⡇⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣕⠠⣒⠌⡙⠓⠶⠤⣤⣧⣀⣸⣇⣴⣧⠾⠾⠋⠀⠀⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠶⣭⣒⠩⠖⢠⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠔⠁⡰⠀⣧⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠲⢤⣀⣀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⣠⠏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠛⠒⠲⠶⠤⠴⠒⠚⠁⠀⠀

⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀ ⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣟⣿⠯⠗⠒⠉⠉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⢿⡄ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣛⣻⡯⠝⠛⠒⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⣠⡆⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠠⠀⠇ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣦⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠁⠀⠸ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠟⠉⣀⣀⣀⡉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠋⢀⣶⡿⠓⠚⢿⣦⠤⣴⣶⣶⠾⣿⡏⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠧⡀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢻⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣀⣸⣿⣤⣾⡾⣶⣾⣿⡷⣿⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠈⡄⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣸⣿⡧⠶⠿⠿⠽⣿⡿⣿⣅⠙⠻⠽⠋⣠⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡸⠀⢀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠹⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣤⣬⠯⣷⣲⣶⡾⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡼⠁⠀⣸ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⠽⠋⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⢀⣿ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠛⠛⣻⣿⣿⣿⡤⢖⣫⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⣼⣿ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠁⠈⣿⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠉⠀⣠⠞⢻⣿⣿⣿⣾⢫⢶⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢠⣿⣿ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⡊⠀⢀⡼⣿⣿⡿⣇⢸⣿⡶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⣸⣿⣿ ⢀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠛⠛⠻⡏⠉⠛⠛⠓⠶⠶⠶⠤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⣀⠊⢠⣿⣿⡇⣘⣿⣭⠽⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠄⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣀⡴⠚⣛⣭⣤⣤⣬⣍⣛⡓⠦⠤⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⣿⠀⠀⢻⣿⡟⠋⠁⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣡⣴⠞⠋⡽⢠⢿⡟⢯⣙⢻⣗⠦⡀⠳⣄⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠙⣆⠀⠘⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⣿⣿⢟⣷ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⠻⣷⡀⠀⢱⣘⣾⣟⣫⢟⣷⣷⡷⠞⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢉⣵⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠈⠛⣦⣀⣙⡷⣴⡺⠟⠛⠁⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠐⠋⠁⠐⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣯⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡄⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢻⡟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⢸⣷⡃⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⢁⠷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⢸⣿⣷⡄⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⢿⣿⡏⡖⡽⣄⠀⠀⠐⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣤⡄⠀⣾⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⡀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣸⣿⣿⡼⢡⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠴⠖⠒⠉⠉⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⢿⣷⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠁⠀⢀⣀⣀⡤⠤⠖⠚⠃⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⢸⣻⣿⣻⣿⣃⠀⢻⣯⣯⣯⣭⡯⣭⣾⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⣿⠈⣿⣿⡏⣿⣿⣼⣾⡇⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⣽⣿⣾⠳⡆⠘⣷⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣿⣿⣷⢹⣿⣳⡻⢠⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠉⢲⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡵⣿⡀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⠸⢿⡟⡇⡼⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠈⡇⠻⡷⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣖⠭⣾⣿⣿⣿⠋⣾⠗⣧⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⡇⢻⢹⣿⠀⢸⣿⠀⠇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠸⣆⡿⣚⡩⣙⠶⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡤⢞⣫⣵⣫⠽⣿⣿⡿⢚⡥⣺⠜⡆⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣤⡀⢀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀ ⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇ ⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⢠⠒⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⢸⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⣼⠉⢹⣄⡀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⢸⢠⠏⢀⣤⣄⠈⢿⣄⠀⢠⣤⣿⠉⢠⣤⣤⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⢸⢸⠀⢠⣭⣭⣤⣼⣿⠀⢸⡆⠘⢦⣀⠈⠑⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⠀⢸⣸⣆⡈⠛⠛⢋⡿⠹⡄⠈⠛⣿⡉⠛⠋⣀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀ ⠈⡏⠁⢠⠤⠏⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⢻⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⣏⣀⣀⡀⠙⢦ ⢮⠁⠀⠈⢹⣿⠉⢳⠀⡞⠉⣧⣠⠞⠉⠉⠙⣾⡇⠀⣧⠞⢉⡽⠀⢀⣠⠇⠀⡼ ⠀⢹⠀⢸⠉⣿⠀⢸⠀⡇⠀⣿⡇⠀⣾⠉⠙⢻⡇⠀⠁⠠⡏⠀⠀⢸⠀⣴⠚⠁ ⠀⢸⠀⢸⠀⢿⠀⠘⠶⠃⠀⡿⣧⠀⠙⠦⠖⣾⡇⠀⣷⡀⠘⢆⠀⢸⠛⢿⠀⠀ ⠀⠘⠒⠚⠀⠈⠓⠒⠒⠚⠒⠛⠈⠓⠒⠒⠒⠛⠓⠒⠃⠙⠒⠚⠀⠘⠒⠚⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⣬⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣯⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠸⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢳⠘⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢏⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠱⣱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠁⡥⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣡⠔⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⠃⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠔⠋⠁⠀⠀⢀⡠⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡆⠀⠉⠠⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⠈⠁⢠⠎⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢦⡀⠀⠀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠚⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⠀⣴⠆⠀⠁⡆⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⣿⠰⢸⠀⡇⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⢹⡘⠈⢠⡇⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⠀⠀⠀⠁⠈⠚⠀⠀⢰⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣱⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣏⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠋⢹⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠤⠤⠒⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠋⡭⢽⠃⠀⠀⠀⡧⠴⠶⢖⣲⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠃⡠⠏⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣤⡤⠄⠀⠀⠈⠓⡆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡰⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⢀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⢰⠁⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⣠⢯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀⣠⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⢰⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⢸⠧⣤⡤⠖⣁⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⣀⣠⡴⠮⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠋⠀⠀⠀⡸⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

ᯓ★ “𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗺𝗲𝗮𝗻 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺!” 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜, 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭, 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬! 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞? ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

𝓫𝓾𝓼 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓹 𝓸𝓯 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝐍𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐥, 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰 & 𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝓒𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓼 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓹 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝐂𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝐃𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 -𝓲𝓷 𝓭𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

About Epilepsy > Understanding epilepsy > Seizure Types and Classification Seizure Types Seizure classification is a way of naming the many different types of epileptic seizures and putting them into groups. Where in the brain the seizure starts (e.g. the onset) If the person is aware or not during the seizure Whether the seizure involves movement. Seizures can be divided into three major groups. Focal onset (formerly known as partial seizures) means the seizure starts in just one small region of the brain. It may spread to other areas of the brain. These seizures can often be subtle or unusual and may go unnoticed or be mistaken for anything from being intoxicated to daydreaming. About 60% of people with epilepsy have focal onset seizures – which are also simply known as focal seizures. Focal onset seizures can be further divided into two groups relating to a person’s awareness during a seizure: Focal aware: the person is fully aware of what’s happening around them but may not be able to talk or respond (formerly known as simple partial seizures). They are usually brief, and are often called a warning or ‘aura’ (that a more significant seizure may develop) but are actually part of the seizure. Focal impaired awareness: awareness is affected (formerly known as a complex partial seizure) and the person may appear confused, vague or disorientated. A focal seizure may progress to a bilateral tonic-clonic seizure meaning that it starts in one area of the brain and then spreads to both sides causing muscle stiffening and jerking. Generalised onset means the seizure affects both hemispheres (sides) of the brain from the onset. Because of this, a person may lose cønsciøusness at the start of the seizure. Generalised onset seizures almost always affect awareness in some way, so the terms ‘aware’ or ‘impaired awareness’ aren’t used. However, they can be classified further by movement: Generalised motor seizure: may involve stiffening (tonic) and jerking (clonic), known as tonic-clonic (previously known as grand mal) or other movements Generalised non-motor seizure: These seizures involve brief changes in awareness, staring, and some may have automatic or repeated movements like lip-smacking. Types of Generalised Onset Seizures There are many types of seizures in this classification. They include: Absence – a sudden lapse in awareness and responsiveness that look like brief staring spells or daydreaming Tonic-Clonic – the body stiffens (the tonic phase) and then the limbs begin to jerk rhythmically (the clonic phase) Myoclonic – sudden single jerks of a muscle or a group of muscles that may last no more than a second or two Tonic – Can occur when a person is asleep or awake and involves a brief stiffening of the body, arms or legs. The person will suddenly fall if standing or sitting. Atonic – brief seizures that cause a sudden loss muscle tone and the person often falls to the ground or will have a sudden head nod if sitting. Clonic – although uncommon they cause jerking in various parts of the body Unknown onset means the seizure cannot be diagn0sed as either focal or generalised onset. Sometimes this classification is temporary and as more information becomes available over time or through further testing, the type of seizure may be changed to a generalised or focal onset seizure. Rarely, doctors might be sure that someone has had an epileptic seizure, but can’t decide what type of seizure it is. This could be because they don’t have enough information about the seizure, or the symptoms of the seizure are unusual. Most people will only have one or two seizure type(s), which may vary in severity. A person with severe or complex epilepsy or significant dàmage to the brain may experience a number of different seizure types. Can certain triggers set off a seizure?: Sometimes specific circumstances can increase the risk of having a seizure. These are usually called seizure triggers. Recognising these triggers can help to reduce or even avoid seizures. Some common triggers people report include lack of sleep, missed medication, fatigue, physical or emotional stress, hormonal changes and illness. What’s the best way to help someone having a tonic clonic (convulsive) seizure? 1. Stay with the person 2. Time the seizure 3. Keep them safe. Protect from ìnjury, especially the head 4. Roll into recovery position after the seizure stops (immediately if food/fluid/vomit is in møuth) 5. Observe and monitor their breathıng 6. Gently reassure until recovered 7. Call an ambulance if there is an ìnjury; if the seizure lasts for longer than five minutes; or if after the seizure ends the person is having breathıng difficulties or is non-responsive

Exercises to Increase Height Here are some of the common exercises that you can try if you are wondering how to grow height in one week— 1. Hanging Hanging on a bar for 15-20 minutes can help increase height as it stretches your muscles. It will also strengthen your core muscles. 2. Cycling Cycling may also help increase height as it stretches your calf muscles. You can adjust the height of your cycle's seat for the best effects. 3. Skipping Skipping is another easy exercise to increase height. As you jump, it expands and contracts your leg muscles. It might increase your height. You can try jumping for a few days before you start skipping with a rope. 4. Swimming Swimming is one of the best exercises for overall fitness. This exercise stretches your muscles and also helps tone them. There is no scientific research that suggests swimming can guarantee height gain. However, many people believe that muscle stretching while swimming can increase height.

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ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ɪʟʟɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴀʏɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ꜱᴛʀᴇɴɢᴛʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏʀᴅ

⠀⠀⠀⠅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢀⡀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠚⠋⡿⠟⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠳⢶⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠞⠋⠀⢴⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣏⠛⠳⢦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡁⠀⢀⣀⣤⠶⠛⠁⠀⠀⢀⡾⠑⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣀⣤⡶⠞⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⣠⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣠⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡁⠀⠤⣍⠉⠉⠀⣤⣀⣤⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠶⠷⣦⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⡾⣷⡀⠀⠙⠀⠀⢀⣬⣿⣿⡿⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠠⢤⠀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀ ⠸⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠾⠋⠂⠊⠛⠶⢦⣴⠾⣿⡚⠷⣼⣿⠟⣹⣦⣀⠀⠑⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣆⠀ ⠀⠙⠻⠶⠤⠴⠾⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⢁⣴⣟⠻⢦⡤⠼⢿⡏⠉⠻⣷⢶⣟⠛⣏⣁⡀⠙⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⠛⠻⢟⣛⣛⣶⣾⢿⣄⠀⠘⠋⢿⡟⠋⠉⠛⢶⣌⠻⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡏⢠⣀⡀⠀⢉⣄⡀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠀⢠⡄⠀⢹⡆⠀⠉⠛⠛⠲⠒⠚⠛⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡁⠾⠏⢻⣤⡟⠉⢻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠛⠛⠁⠀⣼⠇⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣷⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢹⡀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠿⢦⣤⣴⠾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⠶⠟⠻⠷⠶⠶⠿⠷⠾⠚⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣠⣤⣀⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣿⠟⣻⠯⢛⣛⣯⣿⣿⣯⣭⣉⢍⠉⢉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⣀⣤⣤⡴⠤⠤⣤⣤⣄⣉⠨⢟⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⡿⣹⢧⣊⠔⠛⣋⣭⣭⣭⣭⣙⣛⡿⠿⣶⣭⡽⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡷⣼⣾⣟⣿⣿⢷⣤⠩⣗⠠⡑⢌⢻⡿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⢴⣽⢻⣧⣮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣽⣛⣿⣯⣮⠵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣚⢿⠌⣿⣿⢿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢧⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣿⣼⢿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣟⣯⢾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣥⣿⣸⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣷⣟⢳⣟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⣠⣾⣿⢟⡽⢋⡋⣻⣜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣯⣹⣿⢿⣿⡀ ⢰⣿⣷⣷⣿⣳⣿⣶⣬⣭⢋⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢻⢿⣇⠀⠈⠂⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠓⣉⣉⣭⣉⠑⠘⢝⢷⣽⡇ ⠈⢻⣿⣿⡿⣟⣽⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣦⣑⠫⡿⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⢿⠏⣤⡀⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡋⣀⣌⠻⡿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠻⣑⣤⣾⣯⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡶⢪⠃⣿⠃ ⠀⠈⠻⣿⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣝⣟⣩⣟⣿⣯⣗⠾⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣟⣩⣭⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡿⣿⣿⠟⣡⢏⣼⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⡿⣛⠷⣯⣏⣹⢫⢏⠏⢻⡟⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢶⣭⣄⣢⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⠟⣿⠙⠙⡍⡍⢳⣻⣿⣿⣷⣽⠟⣡⣾⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣙⠺⣗⣮⣿⣗⣿⣾⣄⡎⠀⢡⠃⠆⢿⠟⠓⠈⠃⠙⡿⠏⠁⠀⠹⢇⠁⠀⠀⡇⠀⣇⣿⣿⡿⢟⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣦⡙⣿⣿⣿⣯⠻⣿⣷⣄⢈⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⡇⢀⣿⢟⢛⡡⢪⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣝⡌⢿⣮⣿⣇⠙⣿⣽⡿⢶⣤⣼⣤⣤⠤⣤⣤⣼⣴⣶⣶⡶⢾⠶⠓⡞⡟⡿⢡⠷⠃⡰⢟⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣦⡙⢿⡟⡆⠸⣷⣷⡔⣧⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢸⠀⣰⣳⡟⡁⢁⣴⠋⣴⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡝⢧⠙⢿⡄⠹⣿⣿⣿⡀⣿⡀⠀⢀⣿⢂⠀⣀⢸⣠⣿⣷⣿⡟⡘⢠⡿⢋⣾⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⡀⢃⢨⣻⠀⠸⣿⣿⣷⣿⣷⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣸⢣⡟⢁⣿⣾⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⣄⠣⠹⣷⡀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣰⣻⠏⣧⣾⣻⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡄⠀⢛⣟⢶⡈⠙⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⢋⡾⣽⡏⢰⡿⣱⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣷⡄⠩⢢⠙⠦⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⡤⠤⠖⢋⣼⠟⢠⡿⣹⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣿⡆⠀⠁⢰⣶⣶⣦⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡞⠁⠀⠀⣯⣴⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣷⡄⠀⠐⠺⠿⠿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠷⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⡿⠟⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⠟⠻⠛⠛⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠤⠦⣠⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣴⠖⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡀⠀ ⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⣠⡤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⢶⣦⡄⠀⠀⢳⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⣴⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢿⣷⣾⣿⡷⠀⠀⢸⠀ ⢰⣇⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⣿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⣸⠀ ⠀⠙⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠟⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠑⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣊⣁⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⡶⠒⠒⠒⠛⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⢰⠉⢹⣳⠀⠀⡸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⠀⠀⡟⡆⠀⢸⣄⣜⢘⣄⣠⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠶⠚⠀⠘⠶⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀. ⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣶⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀ ⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀ ⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇ ⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠈⠻⢿⣿⠟⠉⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃ ⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀ ⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀ ⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠠⠛⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠈⠙⠛⠛⠿⠿⠿⠿⠛⠛⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠞⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠓⠦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡏⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠃⠀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⠇⠸⡄⠀⢰⢒⠞⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠘⡖⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣸⠀⠀⣷⠀⢸⡎⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣄⣀⣹⠀⠀⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣃⣀⣀⣸⠇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠈⢆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣇⡤⢔⡟⠢⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠭⠤⠔⠒⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⣇⠍⠓⢦⡀⠀ ⡇⠉⢻⣄⣠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢿⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀ ⡟⠛⡇⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⢸⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀ ⢳⣚⡣⠤⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⣸⡀⠀⡼⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠤⠤⠤⢤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⢧⠙⠒⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣽⠼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⠤⠤⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠤⠤⠤⣀⣠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀among us

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠶⠟⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠙⠛⠿⢶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠉⠙⠋⢹⡆ ⠀⠀⢠⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠚⠉⠉⠛⠿⣦⡀⠀⠸⣷⡀⠀⠀⠹⣄⠀⠠⡹⠃ ⠀⢀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣶⠾⠟⠛⠉⠉⠛⠿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⢀⣠⣤⣄⠀⠈⢻⣦⠀⢻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⠋⠁⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣈⠙⣷⣄⠀⢠⣏⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠀⢻⣧⠘⣿⢀⢸⡛⠛⢲⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⡇⠀⠀⢠⡿⠁⠀⠀⣠⣾⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣌⢿⣆⢸⣿⡋⠉⢉⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠈⣿⠀⣿⣿⠀⠹⠶⠋⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⡟⣿⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⢀⣼⣄⠈⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⣿⢀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢷⢹⡆⠀⢸⡄⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣩⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⣿⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⠏⣸⢧⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⣇⢳⡀⠈⢧⠐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⢠⢁⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢎⠃⠀⠈⠳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠈⠙⡻⠿⢿⣿⡿⠿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠃⣀⡀⣰⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣀⡤⠬⣷⣄⡲⣤⣈⠀⠈⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⡴⢛⡵⠚⠁⠀⢀⣠⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠸⣇⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠒⠭⣟⣷⢶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⢾⣟⠯⠗⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⣾⠟⠁⠀⢘⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠈⣿⡄⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠒⠋⠛⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⠀⢠⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠇⠀⠀⠙⠛⠛⠒⠒⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⢷⡢⣤⣔⡶⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⠽⠟⠁⠀⠀⢺⡿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣾⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠛⠻⢿⣿⠒⠲⠛⠙⠲⠦⢼⣿⡿⠟⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠹⠿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⡻⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⢯⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠳⠶⠶⠶⣖⡿⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠮⣷⣶⡤⡤⠴⠾⠟⠋⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

(‿ˠ‿) Ɑ͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ ̶͞ لں͞

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣀⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣟⣛⣭⡽⠶⠶⠶⠮⠭⠭⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⣿⣿⣯⣭⣥⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⢟⣫⣶⠿⣫⣭⣶⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣷⣶⣮⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⣷⣶⣶⣶⣾⣽⣿⣷⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣫⣾⣟⣩⣞⣫⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣍⡻⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣵⣿⡿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣣⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣷⣼⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣚⣯⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣏⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣷⣯⡛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠉⠁⠐⣿⣿⣶⣽⣿⣟⣛⡻⠿⣦⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣴⣞⣯⣷⠶⣒⣛⣛⡻⢿⣷⣿⣷⣾⣶⣾⢟⣿⣿⣿⣶⣯⣟⣫⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣍⠀⣀⣤⣤⣬⣭⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⢶⡝⣦⠀ ⠀⣿⡿⣾⣿⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣭⣽⣿⣭⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢟⣫⣭⣭⣽⣿⣷⣿⢸⠀ ⠀⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢟⣴⣬⣛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣝⣛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⢟⣿⢸⠀ ⠀⢿⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⢙⡻⠿⣿⣿⣯⣭⣾⡇⣿⣿⣟⣭⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣸⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⡿⡁⢹⣿⣷⢿⣱⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⠻⢷⣝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠉⠻⢿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣷⣶⣭⣝⢛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣙⣛⣭⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⡋⣾⣿⡈⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡽⣿⣷⣆⢘⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⡎⣭⣭⣭⣭⡩⣭⣭⣽⣦⣰⣿⣧⢿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣻⣏⣿⣿⣾⣯⣍⠛⠋⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⠟⠈⠉⠀⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢦⣴⣦⣬⣍⡛⠛⠈⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠙⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡆⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣿⡻⣿⢏⣾⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣷⣶⣄⣴⣶⣤⡤⣶⣶⡆⣾⡿⡸⣱⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⣷⣝⡻⢶⣽⣻⢿⣿⣷⣭⣝⣻⣿⡿⠿⠿⠏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡿⠱⣿⣃⣵⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣶⣝⡻⢷⣮⣝⡻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠿⢷⣮⣝⡻⢿⣷⣮⣭⣛⣻⠿⠿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣛⣽⣾⣿⡿⣹⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⢿⣾⣶⣭⣽⣛⣛⠿⠿⠶⢶⣶⣶⣶⣶⡿⠿⠿⢟⣛⣭⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⠛⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠔⠂⠈⠉⠁⠒⠤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠓⠦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣔⠑⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢕⠉⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢨⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⢎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣶⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣤⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣾⣄⢀⣠⡴⢞⠟⣿⡵⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢾⡟⠛⠿⠿⣿⣿⠁⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠚⠉⢠⢎⣎⠀⣇⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢹⡇⠉⠒⠒⢺⠃⠀⠀⠱⣌⣉⠉⠙⠋⣡⠅⠀⠀⣼⢀⣋⣔⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣇⡀⣀⣀⣾⣄⣀⣦⣀⠄⢈⡉⠉⠉⢀⠀⢀⣾⣯⠈⢀⡝⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣇⡿⣿⣿⠿⣽⣿⣧⣦⣤⣹⣶⢦⢁⣤⣾⣻⣏⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢿⣾⢨⠛⠿⣾⣲⡾⠿⠟⠛⣟⣾⣿⣽⣿⡿⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠻⣬⢷⣦⣤⣄⣱⡜⠀⣵⡿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⣷⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⣶⡉⢹⣏⣁⣤⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣲⠶⣤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⢔⣿⡿⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠁⠈⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣾⠞⠿⢽⣺⣾⣿⡷⣶⢤⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢠⣷⣿⣧⠀⠀⠈⠙⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠅⠠⡪⣿⣽⣿⣿⡛⠉⢻ ⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣋⢸⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠘⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣫⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢾⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣾ ⣿⣆⠀⣀⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣋⠿⣿⣿⣿⣃⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟ ⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡼⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣟ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⢳⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⡄⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⢺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢿⣿⣿⣿⢴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣦⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣫⣵⣖ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⣉⠁ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣆ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⠚

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀free fire⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀pubg⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣶⣶ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⣀⣤⣶⣶⣌⠻⣿⣿⣿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣹⣟⣫⣼⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⡉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⣴⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⢿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣐⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀ ⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠉⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠛⡉⠁⠀⠉⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠂⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠿⠛⠉⠉⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠂⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⠤⠴⠃⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢶⣶⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⠟⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⡀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿ ⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣶⣶⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣾⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣾

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠴⠚⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠓⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠎⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠦⠤⣤⣀⣈⣉⣉⣛⣒⠶⠦⠤⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠴⠒⠒⠶⢤⣄⣀⡉⠉⠓⠦⣤⣀⣈⣉⣓⠲⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠓⠒⠶⠤⣤⣀⣉⣙⣒⠦⢭⣙⡒⠦⣄⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠴⠖⠒⠒⠲⠶⠦⠤⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠓⠲⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠴⠒⠒⠒⠲⠤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⣽⣿⣿⡛⢮⣷⠀⡶⠀⠀⢸⣀⡤⢴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⠀⢸⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣧⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠙⠛⠋⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⡿⣴⠚⣿⣿⣿⡟⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠃⠀⢀⡇⠈⠓⠻⠿⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡟⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⡏⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⠤⠴⠊⣹ ⣧⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠤⠴⠞⠉⠀⠀⠀⣴⠚⠑ ⡏⣽⣇⣶⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠉⠳⡶⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡧⠶⠶⠒⠛⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢾⠀⠀ ⡷⣿⣽⣿⣺⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⣶⠀⢀⡶⣤⡄⢢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣽⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡀ ⡇⣯⡏⣿⣾⣿⣯⡁⠀⡀⡾⠀⣶⡟⠀⣻⣤⣤⣼⣽⣧⠀⢿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠖⠒⠶⠾⠷ ⡇⣇⠴⣿⣯⡽⠇⢻⠲⣿⡧⠘⢩⣭⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⡛⣆⠐⣦⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠙⣿⣷⣼⠚⣆⣯⠀⠀⠸⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠘⣿⣼⢦⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠖⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣦⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢎⠛⠿⠿⢿⣿⡿⠀⢸⣻⣻⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠯⢿⣿⣃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠲⠶⠶⠛⠁⢀⢸⡿⠃⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠾⣿⠻⣧⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⢄⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⠛⣷⣾⣧⣽⣷⣤⣴⣷⡟⠩⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣒⡋⢙⢛⢿⢉⡽⠯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠴⣿⣷⡀⠀⢠⣾⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣷⣿⢷⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⣌⠙⠧⣀⣸⣏⣁⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⣩⡝⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠻⣦⣄⠀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣶⣿⣛⣿⣿⣯⣽⣿⠆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⣿⣇⢠⣶⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣟⠛⠛⠿⠷⣿⣿⣿⣷⡿⠟⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⣼⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡀⢰⣿⠁⠘⣿⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⣾⠋⠙⠋⠁⠀⣸⡏⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡇⠀⠀⢠⣴⢦⡄⢀⣀⠀⠀ ⠈⢿⣤⣀⣀⣀⣰⡟⠀⠀⠀⢿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣤⠀⠀⠀⠛⡇⠀⠀⠸⣧⠈⠿⠋⣹⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢘⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⢿⣦⡀⠀⠙⠷⠶⠟⠋⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⣴⣶⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⣠⣤⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⠾⠿⠿⠿⠿⢿⣧⣀⢽⡍⠻⢶⡄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠟⠋⣵⡀⣼⡿⣷⣴⣶⠿⠀⠘⠛⠛⠛⠿⠿⣶⣤⣀⢠⣾⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣦⠀⠿⠎⢻⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣏⠻⠇⠈⠁⠈⣴⡿⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⡇⠰⠦⣸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣦⡀⠠⣶⡶⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡿⠃⠀⣠⡿⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣭⣧⣤⣤⣤⣼⣿⣶⣤⣀⣀⣀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣿⣯⣼⣿⣷⣶⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣶⣶⣾⣯⣤⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣤⣤⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⣾⣿⠟⠉⢉⣉⣉⠛⢦⣀⡴⠛⣉⣉⡉⠙⠻⣿⣦⡀⠀ ⢀⣿⡿⠁⣠⣾⣿⡿⠿⠿⣶⣍⣴⠿⠿⢿⣿⣷⡀⠙⣿⣧⡀ ⢸⣿⡇⢀⣿⣿⠋⠀⢀⣤⣄⡉⣁⣤⡀⠀⠹⣿⣿⡀⢹⣿⡇ ⢻⣿⡇⢸⣿⣯⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⢹⣿⡇⠠⣿⡇ ⠸⣿⡇⠈⣿⣿⡀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⣾⣿⠃⢰⣿⡏ ⠀⢻⣿⡄⠘⣿⣷⣄⠈⠻⢿⣿⡿⠟⠁⢀⣾⣿⠋⢠⣿⡟⠁ ⠀⠀⠻⣿⣆⠈⠻⣿⣷⣄⠀⠈⠀⣠⣶⣿⠟⠁⣰⣿⡟⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠿⣷⣤⡈⠙⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠋⣁⣴⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⣿⣶⣄⡈⠉⣀⣤⣾⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠻⢿⣿⠿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠐⠶⣿⣿⡿⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣰⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⡤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣶⣿⣿⣆⣀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡿⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣔⡶⠦⠤⠤⠤⣱⣤⣄⡀⡄⡀⡀⠀⡔⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡮⠟⡽⡔⣖⡣⡇⢧⣼⡗⣵⠁⡬⠊⡋⢻⠭⡫⡇⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⠟⠁⡁⣊⡄⠂⡡⢇⢖⣧⠁⠊⠤⢡⠀⠁⠁⢪⣷⡏⢉⡕⣅⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⡡⠓⢐⠁⡁⠁⡓⡳⣢⠈⠆⠃⢇⢀⠐⠒⢀⠆⡀⠸⣸⢱⣠⡓⡇⠙⡞⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡬⡟⠕⣂⡁⡃⣆⡮⡀⢃⡱⡕⡀⠀⠁⠠⠁⠔⠝⣆⡗⠒⡼⣤⡓⣉⡏⡱⣼⣱⣤⠤⣄⣰⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢔⡔⣿⠁⠖⣲⡠⣤⡐⣋⣂⢢⠀⠀⠇⡉⠍⢰⡂⠶⠤⣥⡈⢠⣳⣋⣁⣏⢗⢽⡣⢷⢲⡳⠓⢿⣷⡤⣀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣊⣏⡠⡇⠌⠋⠫⠪⠁⣻⠝⠁⠁⡻⡀⠅⠘⢁⠀⣋⡏⡘⠄⠢⡱⢿⣻⣡⣟⡢⡤⡂⢸⠐⣉⡀⠋⠕⣇⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡶⢖⡿⡽⠅⠯⡇⡇⠏⠭⠧⠖⡤⣄⣠⠫⠁⢔⡨⠟⠌⠂⢘⡀⢄⠅⣼⣱⣧⣽⠇⣷⠏⠬⢸⡐⡋⠁⠀⠭⢕⠅ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡗⡅⡢⠋⠀⠀⣀⡤⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠈⠑⡮⣄⢀⡔⠢⠃⠀⠀⠭⡰⣫⡂⣮⡕⠟⢝⠥⡔⢴⠅⡆⠁⠔⣓⢘⡁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⡊⠒⠑⠊⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⡄⢌⠁⢣⠟⡤⣯⡺⢱⣍⣯⣋⣍⡁⢀⢪⣋⡁⠥⠀⢎⠀⠂ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡛⣾⣀⠄⠄⠤⠄⠄⠄⠐⠀⠁⠀⡀⠄⠫⠀⠀⢠⡁⢐⡇⢖⣐⡨⣭⢂⣟⡧⢩⣾⣎⠁⡋⡇⢯⠀⢸⣉⡁⡁⠀⡩⠀⡅ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⣻⡉⠢⠤⡀⠀⡀⣀⠄⠐⡐⡁⢄⠄⠐⠁⠀⠀⣀⣟⡗⡎⡺⣿⡎⣅⣋⢊⠹⣋⢁⠀⠊⢥⡁⠃⣩⠍⡏⠁⡐⢛⣐⡅ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠋⢧⣎⣈⡍⠂⠢⡴⣀⡀⣀⢀⣀⡀⣠⡔⣻⠇⣦⣖⡽⣏⣵⣻⠍⣷⣎⡟⠛⡀⠁⠘⡐⡵⠀⠈⡇⠑⠁⠉⢁⢕⡒ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠫⡟⡁⡋⣍⣅⣍⣍⣍⢅⡆⠯⡚⡯⣻⣟⣏⢆⠃⢨⡟⠑⡿⡧⣁⠡⢀⠡⡐⠝⠃⠀⠀⡇⠃⡐⡈⠃⣓⠌ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣧⠤⣄⡴⡆⡆⣯⣴⣆⢄⡥⢾⣃⣍⣕⠑⣭⢹⡉⢃⣋⡃⡌⠃⡈⠀⠂⣆⡤⠀⠀⣁⢾⡅⢀⡀⠄⢚⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡧⡴⡖⠚⡗⣎⢍⡁⣗⣑⣀⣡⣍⣃⣆⣓⣋⡤⣁⣼⠃⣁⡑⣀⡸⠀⠁⣂⠸⠂⠀⠐⠊⣇⠠⠉⠀⢸⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣇⠀⠂⡐⠇⢤⡛⠡⠀⢈⡱⠣⠘⠥⣯⡄⡙⡟⡌⠃⠀⣁⠅⡀⠃⢖⡠⠀⠈⠀⡆⠁⡄⣵⠩⢠⠁⠭⡍ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⡇⢴⣥⠱⠔⠣⠃⡡⢉⡌⣌⢉⡠⢉⡥⠸⠀⢱⢸⠀⠠⣅⣅⠄⠅⢀⡸⠁⠀⠐⡀⠜⠀⣝⡉⣐⣀⣯⣕ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⡅⡀⣆⠷⠒⢄⠃⡆⣏⠁⡕⠐⡈⡍⣂⠄⠀⠀⡟⡄⠀⠀⣤⠠⣑⡀⠈⠀⠆⡁⠖⠭⠥⣯⡤⢤⠎⠛⡁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠇⣭⡅⠀⡀⢀⡇⠍⠀⣁⠊⠙⡉⡇⠅⠀⠀⠀⢳⠆⠐⡱⠁⠄⢣⠀⣠⠒⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⣻⠋⠁⠉⠉⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⢹⠂⠃⠔⡀⡍⠆⢈⡆⠐⡑⠀⠋⡇⡃⠀⠀⠀⢸⣑⠠⠇⠻⠊⠢⢁⠃⢂⠁⠁⠁⠀⣠⡻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣯⠿⡄⠀⠀⢩⠐⡲⠌⢆⡂⠐⠀⣠⣧⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣄⡁⠁⠀⠀⠯⢁⣄⣦⣴⠶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠙⢳⠖⠗⠶⠻⠲⠖⡟⢞⡂⠃⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣿⣁⢈⠉⠉⣉⣉⡧⠀⠀⣼⠋⠁⠀⠘⠢⡾⠋⠉⠉⢳⠀ ⠐⠛⢻⣯⠀⢠⠋⠉⠀⠀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⢸⡿⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠀ ⢴⣯⣉⣁⣀⡈⠒⠒⡀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠊⠀⠀ ⠈⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠢⡠⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⣖⠒⡀⠀⢠⣴⠒⡂⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠙⣦⠈⢄⡾⠃⡜⣴⠟⢉⢥⡈⢢⢶⣯⢀⠁⠀⢰⡯⠉⡇ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⡬⢁⠌⢠⡿⠁⠆⠈⡇⢸⣿⣇⢸⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⢸⡯⢻⠀⢸⡇⠀⡀⢸⠇⢸⣿⠃⢈⠀⠀⣿⡀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⣾⠁⠘⠀⢸⣧⠀⠈⠁⢀⠎⣿⠀⢺⠀⣰⡿⠀⢠⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠛⠒⠃⠀⠈⠛⠳⠶⠖⠋⠀⢿⣄⡀⠉⠁⠀⡠⠋⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀

⡟⠉⡉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠋⠛⠿⢷⣶⣦⣄⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⡾⠿⠛⠙⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣷⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⡾⠿⠿⢷⣶⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣸⣿⣆⣤⣤⣤⣀⢰⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⡆⣀⣤⣤⣤⣰⣿⣇⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣾⠿⠟⠛⢿⣿⠟⠋⠉⠙⠻⣿⣿⣤⣤⣀⣀⣤⣤⣿⣿⠟⠋⠉⠙⠻⣿⡿⠛⠻⠿⣷⣦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠻⣿⡟⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡟⠋⠉⠙⢿⡿⠋⠉⠙⢻⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⢻⣿⠟⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠹⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣷⡀⣠⣤⣾⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣤⣄⢀⣾⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⢹⣷⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣶⣿⣿⡿⠉⠁⠉⠀⠀⣀⣴⣶⣶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⢿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⣄⣸⡿⠋⠀⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⡿⠋⠁⠈⠙⢿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠙⢿⣇⣠⣾⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣩⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡷⠀⠀⢸⣿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣿⡇⠀⠀⢾⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⡿⠋⢹⣷⣄⠀⠀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠈⢻⣷⣄⡀⢀⣠⣾⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⣠⣾⡟⠙⢿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⣸⡿⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⣿⣿⣷⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠉⠻⠿⠿⠟⠉⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣾⣿⣿⠿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⢿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⣰⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡿⠁⠙⠻⢿⣿⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡿⠟⠋⠈⢿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⣾⣿⣷⣤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣧⣄⣀⣠⣾⣷⣄⣀⣠⣼⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣷⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠻⢿⣶⣶⣴⣾⣿⣦⣄⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⠛⠛⠉⠉⠛⠛⣿⣿⣦⣄⣀⣠⣴⣿⣷⣦⣶⣶⡿⠟⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⢹⣿⠋⠛⠛⠛⠋⠸⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠇⠙⠛⠛⠛⠛⣿⡏⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⣷⣶⣶⣾⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⡟⢻⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣀⣴⣶⡾⠿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠙⠻⠿⢷⣶⣦⣀⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠟⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠻⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣟⣟⣻⣻⣛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢫⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣗⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣨⣭⣭⣭⣭⣭⠻⣯⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣡⣶⡞⣿⣿⡺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⣾⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⡿⣋⣴⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⡏⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣘⠿⠿⠸⠟⣋⣴⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⢓⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡅⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡿⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡎⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢃⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⣩⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡺⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣼⣿⠿⢋⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣟⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣌⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠓⣫⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⢳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢃⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣾⢴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣠⣶⣶⣶⣭⣭⣍⡏⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣻⣛⡛⣻⣿⣿⣿⢼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢟⣻⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣡⣿⣿⣿⡗⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡯⣾⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡟⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⢶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢱⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⡯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢗⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡸⣿⣿⣿⡿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡜⠟⣫⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣧⡻⣿⠿⢋⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 5 Karen saw the flicker in Plankton's eye that signaled his return to the present. She then motioned for Chip to back up. Plankton let go of the bear, his gaze flitting around the room as if searching. Karen wiped the drool from his chin. "Welcome back," she whispered, her voice calm and soothing. Plankton's eye met Karen's screen. "I'm here," she said, her own voice thick with relief. "You had another seizure, but it's over now." Plankton nodded slowly, his antennae drooping as he tried to piece together what had happened. The fog in his mind was lifting, but the weight of his emotions remained as he looked over to Chip. Chip's eyes met his, full of uncertainty. "Dad," he began, but his voice trailed off as Plankton's eye flickered with recognition. Chip's own eyes lit up with relief and hope. Plankton's antennae slowly raised, his gaze focusing on his wife and son. "I remember," Plankton said through gritted teeth. The memory of Chip's innocent yet hurtful word stung. "He said I was... 'slow'. He said it!" The anger in his voice was palpable, his antennae quivering with agitation. Karen's heart ached for her husband's pain, but she knew that anger was a part of his post-seizure frustration. She approached the bed, her voice calm but firm. "Plankton, Chip didn't mean it that way. He's scared and confused. He doesn't know how much that word can hurt." Plankton's antennae trembled with anger. "But it did!" he exclaimed. "It does!" His voice grew louder, no longer slurred. Karen's eyes searched his, understanding the pain he was feeling. "I know you're upset," she said gently, "but let's talk about thi—" "Talk?" Plankton spat, his body tensing with rage. "How can I talk to him after what he said?" The words echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder of his fears. Chip took a step back, his heart racing. He hadn't meant to cause such pain, but the look on his dad's face was unmistakable. He had hurt his hero, the one person he looked up to more than anyone else. "Dad, I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking with emotion. "I really didn't kn-" But Plankton was beyond hearing apologies. His antennae were a blur with rage. "You think I'm 'slow'?" he roared, his voice echoing in the small room. "You think that's all I am?" His words were sharp as knives, cutting through the tension. Chip felt the sting of his father's anger, his screen filling with tears. "No, Dad, that's not what I mea-" But Plankton's rage was a force unto itself. "How dare you!" he yelled, his voice shaking the walls. "After everything I've done for you.." Tears spilled from his single eye, his antennae quivering uncontrollably. "How could you say that?" he sobbed, his voice breaking with pain. Chip's eyes were wide with shock and fear at the sight of his father's distress. He hadn't really seen Plankton cry before, and the raw emotion was overwhelming. Plankton's sobs were deep, his antennae shaking wildly as he wept into his pillow. Karen stood at the side of the bed, her heart breaking as she stroked his back. Chip watched, feeling his own eyes burn with tears. "I'm sorry," he repeated, his voice small. "I didn't know. I won't say it ever ag-" But Plankton didn't seem to hear him, lost in his own grief. His sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. Karen could see the hurt and fear reflected in her son's face, and she knew they had to get through this together. "Chip," she said gently, guiding him closer to his father. "Your dad needs love right now." She placed his hand on Plankton's back. "Tell him you love him." Chip took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly. "Dad," he began, his voice cracking. "I love you." Plankton's sobs continued, unabated but his antennae quivered slightly, as if acknowledging his son's presence. Karen watched as Chip sat on the edge of the bed, tentatively placing his hand on Plankton's back. "I'm sorry," Chip whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt yo-" But Plankton's sobs interrupted him, his body wracked with emotion. His antennae thrashed about, his crying a silent testament to the pain he felt. The room was suffused with his sorrow, a stark contrast to his usually stoic demeanor. Chip felt the weight of his father's grief, his own chest tightening as he watched the man he idolized break down. He had never seen his father so exposed, so vulnerable, and it frightened him. He swallowed hard, his throat thick with tears. "Dad," he tried again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt-" But Plankton's sobs drowned out his words, his body convulsing with the force of his grief. Karen wrapped her arms around Chip, pulling him closer to her side. "Let him cry it out," she murmured. "He needs this." The room was filled with the sound of Plankton's sobs, each one a raw expression of the pain he felt. His antennae twitched erratically, as if trying to find a way to express the emotional thoughts inside his head. Chip sat there, frozen, his hand hovering over his father's back, unsure of what to do next. Karen watched them both, her own heart torn by the scene before her. She knew Plankton's autism made his emotions intense, and this misunderstanding had triggered a deep-seated fear of rejection. She also knew that Chip didn't intend to hurt his father—he was just a child, trying to understand a complex world. "Chip," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "It's ok. Just love him." She nodded towards Plankton. Chip took a deep breath, his hand shaking slightly. He slowly placed it on his father's back, feeling the warmth and tremble of his dad's shoulders. "I love you," Chip managed, his voice barely audible.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 1 Chip dragged his bag through the doorway. Adopted at birth by his parents Karen and Plankton, his bus from camp came earlier than originally planned. Chip's thus not expected to be home from another hour yet he's home. His parents weren't in the living room, so he crept to the bedroom of his parents to see a peculiar sight. Plankton only allowed Karen to know about his neurodisability. He sometimes gets harmless nonepileptic seizures due to his autism. He's having one when Chip came home but neither he nor Karen noticed their son's arrival. Chip's heart pounded in his chest as he peered into their bedroom. Plankton was lying on the bed, eye open, his body stiff. Karen was at his side. "It's okay, it's okay," Karen murmured, stroking his arm gently. Her voice was soothing, a stark contrast to the chaotic silence of the seizure. Then Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. It was a sign that the seizure was passing. Karen recognized this phase as the postictal period, where her husband's mind was trying to reboot. Plankton's eye flickered, his speech slurred and incoherent. "Wha... wawl... bibble," he mumbled, his face a mask of confusion. Chip felt his breath catch in his throat, unsure of what he was witnessing. This wasn't the Plankton he knew—his dad was always sharp and quick-witted. The contrast was jarring, and his heart ached for the man struggling to regain his composure. Karen nodded gently, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "You're safe, my love," Karen whispered. "It's alright." Chip's curiosity grew as he listened to his father's disjointed words. "Wish... bof... not enough," Plankton said, his voice strained. Karen squeezed his hand. "Shh, Plankton, you're home," she soothed, cooing. "What's he talking about?" Chip thought to himself, his confusion swelling. He had never seen his dad like this. This was his dad, the strong, clever Plankton he knew, now so vulnerable and lost. Plankton's eye searches the ceiling as if trying to find answers there. Chip's curiosity morphed into concern. He had always known his dad was different, but this was new. "Bof... bibble," Plankton repeated, his eye still dazed. Chip's mind raced, trying to piece together what his father's nonsensical words could mean. "Don't worry, you'll feel better soon," Karen says. Plankton's babbling grew more childlike. "Bibble-bobble... more... choxie," Plankton said with a weak smile, his voice slurred like a toddler's. Karen chuckled softly, her hand still resting on his arm. "Choxie?" she questioned, gently. "Do you want any thi—" Before she could finish, Plankton chuckled, drool sliding down his chin. "Eeeeee?" Karen wiped it away with a tissue, her gaze filled with a mix of tenderness and understanding, knowing Plankton's state was temporary. "Choxie?" Chip whispered to himself, his curiosity piqued. He'd never heard his dad talk like this before. It was almost as if Plankton was speaking in another language—a child's babble filled with longing and innocence. Karen leaned in, listening intently to his garbled speech. Her eyes searched Plankton's face for any hint of recognition or meaning. "Kay... more... love," Plankton murmured, his eye fluttering closed. Karen's heart tightened, but she kept her voice steady. "More love?" she asked, interpreting his words with care. "I love you too, Plankton." Plankton's smile grew slightly, his antennae twitching in contentment. It seemed as if his garbled words were a request for comfort, and his wife's gentle voice has sufficed. Chip watched from the shadows, his mind racing with questions. His dad, usually so sharp and in control, was reduced to this. He noticed the way Karen's face softened as she spoke, how she treated Plankton like he was the most important being in the world. It was clear that this wasn't the first time she'd seen him like this, but the sight was still heartbreakingly new to Chip. "Gibble... gibble," Plankton continued, his body starting to relax as the seizure's aftermath ebbed away. His hands began to fidget, as if trying to grasp at the air. Chip's chest tightened, watching his dad so helpless. Plankton's antennae waved. "Wibble... wobble... waddle," he managed to say, his speech still slurred but slightly more coherent as Karen helps him sit up. Plankton's body felt heavy and awkward in her arms, but she managed to get him into a sitting position. He looked at her with a mix of relief and exhaustion. "Wobble?" Karen questioned, trying to decode his speech. "Do you want one of your sensory fidget toys?" Plankton's antennae twitched erratically as his speech grew slightly more coherent. "Bibble... bobble," he said, looking around the room with a child-like curiosity. Chip felt his own curiosity building, watching the scene unfold with a mix of concern and fascination. "Fibble... wibble," Plankton tried again, his words still jumbled. Karen nodded encouragingly, handing him a sensory fidget toy from the nightstand. It was a small, colorful object with various textures and shapes. As his hand closed around it, his eye lit up with recognition. "Wibble!" he exclaimed, his grip tightening on the toy. He began to fiddle with it, his movements becoming more precise. "Fibble... fibble," he murmured, his voice gaining strength. Karen watched him with relief, knowing that his recovery was underway. But Chip remained in the doorway, his eyes glued to his father's face. "Dibble-dibble... wobble-wobble," Plankton mumbled to himself, his fingers tracing the toy's intricate patterns. His voice was still not quite right, but it was a step closer to the clever and crafty man they knew. Karen watched with a soft smile, her eyes reflecting the warmth of her love for her husband. "You're coming back to us," she whispered. Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye slowly focusing on his wife's face. He blinked a few times. "K-Karen?" Her smile grew wider. "Yes, love, it's me," she said, her voice brimming with love and relief. He looked around, taking in his surroundings with a confused gaze. "Wha?" he finally managed to say, his voice still shaky. "You're home," Karen said, smiling as she held his hand. "You had a seizure, but you're okay now."

confusion, or being unable to think with your normal level of clarity and may result in poor decision-making. delirium, your thoughts are confused and illogical or being confused and having disrupted attention delusions, or believing things even if they’re false agitation, or feelings of aggressiveness and restlessness hallucinations, or seeing or hearing things that aren’t there The medical term for fainting is syncope, but it’s more commonly known as “passing out.” A fainting spell generally lasts from a few seconds to a few minutes. Feeling lightheaded, dizzy, weak, or nauseous sometimes happens before you faint. Some people become aware that noises are fading away, or they describe the sensation as “blacking out” or “whiting out.” Even mild head injuries can lead to a concussion. This can cause you to have memory issues and confusion. Most of the time, if you have a concussion, you may not remember the events that led to the injury.‌ Seizures can also cause memory problems. Sometimes, directly after a seizure, you can enter a state of post-ictal confusion. This means you may be confused and not remember what happened directly before the seizure or what you did after the seizure happened. Generally, your memory of those events will come back within 5-30 minutes, once the post-ictal state is over. A blackout from intoxication is due to a brain malfunction. Your brain stops saving the things you do as memories. You may act normally and do things like socialize, eat, drive, and drink. But your brain is impaired and does not record your memories sufficiently during this time. What Are the Signs? Symptoms can vary. Some people become quiet and withdrawn, while others get nervous and upset. They may: Struggle to focus Seem groggy, like they can’t wake up all the way Mumble or say things that don’t make sense Not recognise you or know where they are A full recovery usually takes a few minutes. If there’s no underlying medical condition causing you to faint, you may not need any treatment.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠛⠛⠛⠒⠒⠶⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⠤⠴⠶⠒⠒⠲⠶⠦⢤⣼⡃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠳⣴⠛⠻⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠿⢦⡴⠇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡴⠟⠉⠈⠉⠻⣦⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣆⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣀⠀⢀⣠⠶⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠤⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⡏⠈⢳⣟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠉⣿⣿⣧⣨⠇⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠛⠚⠋⠉⠳⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠙⠿⢿⣿⣿⣯⠞⠋⠁⠈⠉⠳⢦⡄⠀⠀⢠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢷⣄⠀⠀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠞⠉⠉⠙⠛⠛⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡀⠙⣦⠀⣸⠃⠀⢰⠋⠉⠳⠋⠉⠙⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠤⠤⣄⡀⠈⠛⠚⠋⣷⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡶⢛⣿⣁⠀⢸⣦⡟⠀⠀⠸⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠵⠒⠲⢤⠀⠹⡆⠀⠀⢸⠇⢀⣤⡤⠤⣄⠀⠀⢠⠄⣄⠀⠀⢰⣿⠿⣿⣀⣸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⢤⡴⠊⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠇⠀⠙⢦⡀⢸⡄⠀⣻⣴⣶⡶⠀⠀⣬⠭⠅⡆⠀⠈⣴⠟⠉⠉⢻⣦⡶⢲⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡄⠀⣀⡤⠖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⣿⣤⣛⣿⠿⢧⣄⠀⠈⠒⣒⣡⡤⢾⡇⠀⢠⣴⣟⣯⡛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠉⠳⠖⠲ ⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠹⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣈⣽⠿⣇⠀⠀⠹⡗⠚⣋⡭⠤⠤⣤⣷⡀⠀⢻⢿⣄⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡀⠀⢀⡠ ⡴⠚⠻⠇⠀⣹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣅⣿⠋⢉⣛⣿⠀⠀⢹⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣶⠟⠀⠀⠀⡰⠒⠓⢆⠀⠀⠀⠘⠒⠉⠀ ⠹⢄⣀⠀⡰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡗⠒⠲⣶⠀⠀⠺⣥⣽⣦⡴⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⢨⡧⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⣀⣀⡞⠉⠙⡆⠀⣧⣴⣄⠹⣦⣀⣀⣸⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠁⠈⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠈⠀⠙⠳⠦⣬⣭⣽⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠀⠀⣹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡼⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢧⣄⣀⣀⠀⢠⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠀⠀⠻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣉⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⢦⣀⣀⣤⠞⠛⠶⠤⠴⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀···

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣤⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⡷⠀ ⡆⠘⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠃⣰ ⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿ ⢻⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣤⣤⣤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟ ⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁ ⠀⠀⠈⠛⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠉⠛⠛⠛⠋⠉⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣤⣴⣶⣶⢶⡶⣶⣶⣶⡶⣤⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣴⡾⣟⣯⣟⣾⡿⣞⣯⢿⣷⣻⢾⡽⣯⣟⡿⣿⢶⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢸⣿⣽⣻⢷⣻⣞⡿⠽⠯⠟⠾⣽⣯⣟⣿⣽⣻⣽⣻⣞⣷⡄⠀⠀ ⢸⣯⣟⡿⡿⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⢿⣽⢯⣟⣯⢿⡽⣿⡀⠀ ⠈⠻⣽⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⢾⡽⣯⣟⡷⣧⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣽⣳⣯⢿⣽⠀ ⠀⠠⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣞⡷⣯⢿⣞⡇ ⠠⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠑⢄⡠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠄⠀⠀⣿⣯⢿⣽⣻⢾⡇ ⠃⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⣿⢯⡿⣾⣽⣻⡇ ⢇⠀⠀⢁⢠⣤⠀⠀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⡰⠈⠁⣿⣿⡿⠷⢿⣷⡆ ⠈⠢⣀⡈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠢⢀⡀⣀⡀⠔⠁⠀⠀⣿⡽⡇⠔⠀⢻⠁ ⠀⠀⣀⣨⣦⣤⣤⣤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣟⠇⠀⠀⣿⠀ ⢀⣴⣿⡿⣿⣻⣽⣻⡽⣟⡿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣾⡏⠀ ⢾⣟⣷⣻⡽⣷⢯⡷⣟⣯⢿⣯⢷⣻⢷⠀⠘⠄⠀⢰⣿⣻⢷⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢄⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠘⠛⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⡽⠃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠇⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠠⠑⡂⠠⡤⢤⢤⠄⡐⠢⠑⢠⠈⡘⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡾⡄⢁⠂⢄⡟⢀⠂⠳⡠⢀⠑⡈⠄⣂⣰⣷⣄⡀⠀

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

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣏⣟⡻⣟⣿⣿⣦⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣘⡯⡜⡠⠃⠀⡀⠈⢇⡰⢁⠈⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣮⡽⣞⣳⣻⢿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠤⡘⣽⢚⡵⡱⢄⡰⠘⡤⣈⣵⣿⣷⡟⠄⡀⣀⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣞⣳⢯⣟⣿⣿⣾⣄⠳⣘⡧⠛⠚⠳⣭⡇⢀⡻⢁⡼⢃⡿⣏⠩⠡⠁⠘⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⠀⣀⠔⠊⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣟⣾⣳⡿⣿⣿⣝⣳⣽⡹⣏⠷⣄⢳⡎⣴⠋⠀⣽⣻⠅⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠊⢀⣴⠊⢀⢄⠔⠀⣠⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡒⢦⡀⠈⠑⠲⣌⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣬⣓⣽⡯⣋⣿⡁⣿⣦⡴⣻⣥⣴⠎⣄⢀⢀⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠀⡠⠚⢁⠆⣠⠊⢀⡨⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣌⠓⢤⡀⠈⠓⢭⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣛⣭⢷⣻⡽⣽⣿⣭⡵⢾⣏⢳⡘⢜⢢⡃⠂⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⡠⠈⡔⢠⠇⢠⠁⣠⠎⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠁⠀⡄⠀⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡄⠘⠢⠤⡀⠙⢾⡻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣞⣯⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢸⣏⡧⢄⢸⣷⣿⣦⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠜⠀⡘⢠⠃⢠⢃⢞⡝⠀⠀⠀⡴⢃⠇⠀⡀⠘⣄⠀⠈⠑⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢢⡀⠀⠉⠲⣌⠳⣜⣹⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣳⣿⣿⣿⣇⢸⡷⡽⣎⣀⣿⣿⣿⠟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⢀⠃⡟⢀⣇⠟⣸⠀⠀⠀⣸⢠⠟⢸⠀⠻⡀⢿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠣⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣄⠘⠤⠘⢧⡸⣇⢧⠀⡘⠻⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠃⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠆⡸⠀⣼⠇⢀⡇⠀⢀⣼⡷⠃⠀⢸⣧⠀⠱⡸⣏⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣟⠦⣄⠀⠀⠈⠣⣀⠀⠂⠙⣿⣞⢧⠠⢡⢀⠈⠹⣯⣙⠛⣿⣿⣾⡛⠋⠉⠡⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⢠⠃⢠⡏⠀⢸⠀⠀⢸⠏⠃⠀⠀⢸⣻⡄⠀⠀⢻⣧⠹⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠮⣝⡳⠲⠤⢌⡃⠠⠀⠀⠛⣿⣎⢡⠎⠌⣐⡸⢟⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⡇⠀⡼⠀⠠⠀⠀⢠⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⢧⠀⠀⠘⣿⣆⠛⠷⡄⢠⡀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠓⠶⠴⢤⣱⣄⣂⣈⣿⣤⣾⠾⣉⠄⣹⡞⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⣴⣿⣿⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⡀⢰⢃⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢸⡞⣆⠀⠀⢹⢿⣧⠀⠙⢦⠙⢶⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠤⢤⣀⣠⣤⣞⣳⣴⠴⢚⡧⠘⣯⢿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣿⣿⡷⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠀⣾⣏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠠⢷⡸⡆⠀⠈⡆⠹⣷⡀⠀⠙⢦⣈⣻⣿⠶⡶⠶⢚⡒⢡⡀⢄⠠⢀⠄⠠⣀⣶⣿⣘⡰⠘⢯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣧⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣃⠼⣽⠃⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⠀⠐⠀⠀⣾⣄⣀⣉⣧⣹⣄⠀⢣⠀⠈⢻⣄⡤⠖⠋⠳⢤⣀⢀⣰⠃⠼⢦⣴⣬⣤⣧⣾⣾⠿⠧⠿⢿⣽⣷⢦⡽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⡆ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠏⡼⢡⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⢠⢁⣴⠂⡟⠀⠀⠉⠉⢻⡹⣆⠈⣇⠀⠀⠈⠑⠦⣄⣠⢒⣭⣿⣷⣮⣶⣶⣶⣾⣯⠷⠋⠤⣤⣀⡀⠀⠈⠻⣟⢶⡜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢿ ⠀⠀⠀⡜⢁⡼⢁⠇⠀⠀⢀⠏⣾⣿⠈⣟⣦⣸⢻⣄⣀⣦⣤⡀⠙⣽⣄⠘⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⠿⢷⣦⣬⣙⣿⣿⠙⡻⣧⣌⡱⢦⣤⣈⡉⠙⠂⠀⠈⢣⡙⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻ ⠀⠀⣜⠤⠎⡠⠃⠀⠀⢀⢂⣼⣿⡟⢨⠇⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣷⠬⠻⣦⡈⠣⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣉⢻⣧⣾⡥⠚⠀⠀⠉⡏⠓⣲⣯⢽⣳⣄⠀⠄⠀⠹⣆⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠚⠀⠀⡴⠁⠀⢀⠀⣶⣾⣿⣿⡇⠋⢸⣿⣯⡀⠈⠻⣍⠛⢻⡿⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⣌⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⢁⡼⢋⡾⣇⢌⣩⡙⠦⣄⠀⠘⣧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⢀⡠⢶⡿⣋⡾⢉⣾⠀⠀⣽⣿⣄⠉⠒⠤⠬⠽⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠷⠶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣗⣫⣴⡏⠄⣻⢈⡇⢹⡀⢿⣦⡀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⣋⡼⠋⢴⡟⣰⣿⠇⢀⡾⣽⢿⣌⢦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣡⣼⣷⣾⣤⣤⣿⣂⡽⠈⣧⣿⡾⢧⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿ ⠀⢀⠞⠁⠘⣟⠠⢁⣏⡾⣽⢃⡴⣯⢰⡟⣺⣟⣧⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠐⣼⠀⡐⠀⠙⢢⣸⡿⣷⡟⠉⣰⣿⣼⡇⠸⢿⣶⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣤⣴⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠎⣹⣹⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠈⠳⢦⣀⣀⣀⡨⠿⢳⡆⢠⠟⡾⣿⡇⠀⢼⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠛⢿⣿⣩⣭⠷⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠞⠙⣶⠾⠟⠛⠋⢁⡺⡽⣉⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣽⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣿⡇⡏⢰⠃⡟⣷⢠⣿⣿⣿⡟⢻⣿⣿⣶⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠃⠀⠀⢨⣷⣶⣴⣮⣯⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⢣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⡿⠃⠠⣀⣾⣧⢿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣡⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⠲⠤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠚⠁⢀⢠⠞⣿⠃⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣶⣿⣿⡟⣿⡶⠶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣏⠑⠢⠤⠤⠔⠋⠀⢄⣰⣾⠏⡾⡅⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣻⢽⡺⣝⢯⣿⣻⣿⣿ ⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⡷⣿⢻⣶⡈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣥⣐⠀⠂⣤⣷⣾⣿⡟⢸⠁⣷⠉⣿⣿⣟⣷⢿⡿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣷⡿⣽⢶⣧⠿⠊⠁ ⠀⠀⣸⣟⣿⣿⣿⣷⡻⣟⡼⢻⣌⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢾⠀⢻⣷⡘⠿⣾⡽⣯⣟⣳⣟⡾⣽⣿⣿⡿⠟⠋⡡⠄⠀⠀ ⠀⢠⡟⢫⣿⢿⣿⢿⣷⣝⢷⣄⠙⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡉⠻⣿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣻⣄⠀⠹⢭⡓⠌⠙⠳⣯⣷⣾⣿⡿⢟⡡⠔⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠌⠀⣿⡽⣿⣿⣟⣿⣻⣿⣿⣷⣽⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⢴⣸⢧⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⣧⣤⣄⣌⣁⣀⠀⣹⡿⣋⠵⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣘⢧⣟⡿⣿⣾⣟⣷⣛⣶⡻⣿⡿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢋⣴⣿⣿⢲⣿⣿⡟⣹⢛⣿⣿⡻⢿⣿⣿⣟⡼⢣⡀⢿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡟⣟⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣠⣦⣀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡼⣳⣞⡿⣿⣳⡟⣾⡱⢏⡷⣭⢻⠾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⣿⣼⣿⡿⢯⣛⡏⢷⢺⣯⣟⣯⣥⣇⣹⣤⣶⣶⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡦⠀⠀🌊

⣤⢤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢹⣧⢸⠀⡀⠀⠸⡆⠉⠵⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⡄⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⣀⣼⣞⣴⣰⡖⣒⡒⠦⠀⣀⣀⣀⡤⠊⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⢿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⢷⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⢲⣯⣿⣿⡮⠋⠀⠀⣺⠀⠀⠀ ⣾⡇⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢵⣿⣿⠿⠻⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠠⣀⠤⠈⡙⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡅⠀⠀⢀⣠⣶⠀⠀⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠐⡿⡇⠑⠁⠀⠈⠁⠀⢰⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⢿⡇⠀⠀⢼⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣬⣥⣤⣄⣀⠤⠆⠀⠙⣆⠀⠀ ⣏⡇⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣃⠀⠠⠀⠀⠘⣦⠀ ⡟⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠻⠟⢇⣀⣈⠻⠿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠛⠁⠀⠦⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆ ⡇⡇⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠑⠤⠀⢿⡁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⢹ ⠧⠧⢄⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠒⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈ ⠀⠀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠐⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄⠀⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠁⠂⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠳⠴ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠰⠆⠄⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠠⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⠀⠠⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠠⢑⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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

⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⣷⣾⣿⣿⣿⣟ ⣿⣿##⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⢿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⠋⢉⣉⠉⢻⣿⡿⠉⡉⢻⣿⡟⠉⣉⠉⠻⣟⠉⢿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⣠⣤⣤⣤⠀⠀⢀⣠⣿⣿⣿⠀⣘⡋⠠⣾⡟⠁⣼⠀⢸⣿⠁⠘⠛⠁⣼⣿⡀⠀ ⣿⣿⢿⢿⣿⡀⠀⠘⠻⠛⠛⢠⡾⠿⠛⣿⣿⡇⠀⠛⠋⣠⡟⠀⣠⣤⡀⢸⡟⠀⠚⠛⠀⣾⣿⠇⢠ ⣿⣧⡀⣸⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾ ⣿⣿⡏⡟⠈⢉⢀⡀⠀⠐⢶⡶⠃⣠⣾⣿⡿⠀⣤⣤⠀⢹⡟⠁⣤⣄⠈⣿⠇⢀⠘⣿⠃⣸⣧⡀⠀ ⣿⣿⠀⣷⡀⢸⠘⡅⠰⢶⣛⡒⢶⣿⣿⣿⠇⢠⣿⡿⠀⣾⠁⣸⣿⠇⢠⣿⠀⣼⠀⠻⠀⣿⣿⠁⢰ ⡿⠇⢀⠙⣿⣾⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣹⣿⣀⣈⣁⣠⣴⣿⣄⣀⣉⣠⣾⣇⣰⣿⣄⣀⣸⣿⣏⢀⣼ ⠁⠀⠸⡄⠉⠹⣿⣿⣿⠷⢶⣶⣿⡿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿ ⡿⠿⣿ ⣆⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠸⣿⣇⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⣼⣿⠃⢠⣿⠀⣸⣿⠇⢠⡿⠀⣤⡄⠀⣿⣤⠀⢠⣤⣾ ⣿⣿⣷⣾⣧⣄⣀⠘⣯⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢀⣤⡤⠀⣼⡇⠀⣿⡿⠀⣼⠇⢀⣉⠁⢾⣿⡟⠀⣼ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣿⣿⣿⣤⣾⣿⣧⣴⣿⣷⣤⣤⣤⣾⣿⣤⣾⣿⣤⣾⣿⣧⣤ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⠿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢿⡿⠿⠿⠿⠿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⣿⠏⡠⠀⣸⠇⠀⠷⠶⢾ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠉⣴⠃⢠⡟⠀⠴⠶⠶ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣶⣾⣷⣶⣶⣶ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣟⠛⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟ ⠟⠉⠀⡟⠑⢾⡅⠀⠑⡄⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡤⠖⠋⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠛⠒⠲⠦⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⣿⡿⠿⠿⣤⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣤⠞⠋⠉⠉⣩⠟⠃⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡾⠃⠀⠀⢠⣾⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢷⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠸⡇⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠸⡇⠀⠀⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣷⠀⠀⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣌⢷⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠸⣇⠀⠹⣿⡧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⢠⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡅⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠙⣦⡀⠹⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣈⢿⡶⠟⠛⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⠏⢠⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⢘⡇⠀⠀⠘⣏⠓⠶⢦⡶⠛⠛⠀⠙⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠃⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣄⠀⠀⠈⠛⠛⠛⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⡄⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⡟⠀⢠⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢷⣠⠾⠛⣦⡉⠉⠙⠒⠶⠤⣬⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⠇⠀⠀⠀⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠳⢤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠀⠀⢀⣴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠲⠦⠤⠴⠞⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⠄⠀⠀⢀⣼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣄⠀⠀⠀⡟ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡇⠀⠀⣠⢾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⡤⠞⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠶⠚⠁⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡏⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⠘⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡇⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠘⢧⡀⠀⠀⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⢀⣴⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠦⠾⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠠⠤⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠠⠂⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠂⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡀⠤⢄⠠⢄⡐⢒⢒⠒⢢⠰⡈⢅⢃⠒⡐⢚⠒⡒⢠⢀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠔⣀⠣⢐⠁⠎⢠⠃⢂⠜⠠⢊⠘⡄⢃⡘⠄⡊⠔⠡⠊⠔⠡⠊⠄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡀⠤⠀⠊⠐⢀⠂⠄⠂⠌⠠⢉⠠⠈⠄⡈⠐⠠⠁⡐⠠⠐⠠⠐⡈⠄⠡⠈⠄⠡⠈ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠄⠂⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠁⠀⠠⠀⠈⠀⠁⠀⠂⠈⠀⠀⠄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠁⠀⠈⠀⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣠⣀⣠⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡤⣤⢤⡶⣶⢶⡻⡽⣏⡿⣱⢯⠷⣭⡻⣝⢿⡺⢶⡦⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⣀⣠⢤⡖⣾⢻⡝⣧⢻⡼⣣⢟⡼⣣⢟⡵⣫⢞⡽⣎⢿⣱⢻⡜⣧⢟⣧⣛⠶⣭⢻⡽⣲⢦⣄⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣧⣛⣬⢳⡝⢮⡳⣝⢮⡳⢭⣳⢫⢞⡵⣫⢞⡵⣫⢞⡹⣎⡳⢏⡾⡱⣏⠶⣭⢻⡜⡧⢯⢵⡺⣬⠳⣝⡻⣒⢧⡖⡶⢦⢤⠤⣄⠤⣄⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡳⣜⠲⡭⢞⡣⢗⢮⢣⡝⡳⢬⢳⣋⠶⣣⢏⠶⣣⠯⡵⢎⡳⢏⠶⡹⣜⠳⣎⠳⢮⡝⣚⠶⣣⢓⡟⣬⠳⡭⢶⡹⡜⢧⢫⡝⢮⡝⡲⢵⢫⠼⣍⢯⠳⣭⢛ ⡳⣌⢳⡙⡎⠵⣋⠮⡱⢎⠵⣋⠶⣉⢞⡡⢎⡳⢥⡓⢭⠎⡵⢋⡞⡱⢎⠳⣌⡛⢦⡹⢌⡳⢥⠫⡜⢆⡛⡼⡑⣎⢝⣊⠧⣚⡱⢎⠵⣋⡜⢳⡘⣎⠳⣌⠧ ⠳⣌⢣⠜⣩⠞⡰⣍⠱⢎⠳⣘⠲⣉⢦⠹⡘⢆⡳⢌⡓⢎⡱⢍⢲⣉⢎⠳⣘⠬⢣⠜⡣⠜⣆⠛⣌⠧⡙⡴⣉⠖⣊⠦⡓⢥⢚⡌⡳⣘⠬⢣⡱⢊⡵⢊⡜ ⡓⡌⢦⡙⢤⢋⠴⣈⠳⡌⢣⢅⢣⡑⢎⡱⣉⠎⡔⢣⠜⣡⠚⣌⠣⠜⡌⠳⢌⢎⡱⢊⠵⣉⠦⡙⢤⢣⡑⢦⡑⢎⡱⢊⡕⣊⠦⢱⠱⢌⢎⡱⢌⠣⡜⡡⢎ ⡱⢈⠆⡜⡐⡊⠴⣁⠣⢌⢅⠪⡐⠜⡰⠤⣁⠚⡌⣡⠚⡄⢣⠌⡜⢡⠊⡕⢊⡔⢢⢉⡒⠤⢃⠍⣂⠆⡱⢂⠜⣐⠢⢅⠲⠠⢍⠢⣑⠊⡔⢢⠉⣆⠱⢌⠢ ⠰⡁⠎⡐⢡⠘⡰⢀⠣⠌⣂⠱⢈⠜⢠⠑⡄⠣⡐⠄⢣⠘⢄⠊⡔⠡⢊⠔⢡⠈⢆⠢⠘⡄⠣⡘⠄⡊⠔⡡⠊⡄⠣⠌⢢⢉⣦⣷⢶⡷⣾⡶⣷⢶⣥⣮⣴ ⡁⠒⡈⠐⡁⢂⠁⠆⢂⠡⠐⢂⠡⢈⠂⠆⡐⠡⠐⡉⠄⠌⠂⢌⠀⢃⠂⠌⢂⠘⠠⠌⠡⠐⠡⠐⠌⡐⠡⠠⠑⠠⣡⡼⣞⡿⣳⢽⡺⣝⡧⣟⡽⣚⣧⢟⡼ ⠐⡡⢀⠃⡐⢈⠐⡈⠄⢂⠡⠂⠤⠁⠌⡐⠠⢁⠢⠐⡈⠤⠉⠄⠨⠄⠨⠐⡈⠤⠁⠌⠠⢁⠡⢈⡰⣤⡵⢶⣛⢾⡳⢏⡷⣹⠧⣏⢷⡹⣞⡵⣫⡝⣮⠯⣝ ⣆⣠⣀⢂⡀⠂⠀⠐⠈⢀⠀⠁⡐⠈⢀⠀⠁⡀⠂⠁⢀⠐⠈⠀⡁⠈⢀⠁⠠⠀⠁⠈⣐⣤⣾⢫⡝⣶⣩⠷⣩⢞⡭⣛⡼⢥⡻⣜⣣⠟⡴⣭⢣⡝⣖⡻⣜ ⢮⡱⢎⡽⡹⢦⡁⠀⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⣁⢶⡙⠶⣌⡳⡜⢦⢣⡛⡴⣋⠶⡱⢎⢧⠳⡜⢦⢫⡕⣎⠳⡜⢦⠳⣜ ⢇⢇⡋⢖⡱⢣⠹⡱⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⢜⡱⢎⡍⠳⡌⠵⣊⠧⢣⣙⠲⣉⠞⡱⢋⢎⠳⡙⢎⠳⣘⠬⣓⡙⢎⠳⣌ ⡍⢆⡙⠢⣅⠣⢣⢑⠣⠜⡢⢤⣀⢀⣀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡀⢀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣴⣶⣷⣾⣶⣷⢾⣷⣬⣳⣌⡸⠡⣌⠱⠌⢎⡡⢋⠬⡑⡩⢌⠓⡌⣒⠡⡜⣌⣣⣔ ⣈⠆⣌⣱⣀⣃⣒⣌⣂⢣⠑⢢⠐⡌⠰⡈⢅⠣⣐⣤⣵⢦⣶⡟⣿⢯⣟⣾⢳⣟⡾⣽⣻⠾⣽⣳⠿⣽⢷⣦⢧⡾⣤⡶⣥⣦⣵⡶⣟⣿⢻⣟⣿⣻⠿⣽⣻ ⣟⣻⢽⣫⢟⣻⡽⣫⢟⡯⣟⠿⡶⣞⣳⢟⡿⣻⡽⣞⣭⡟⣾⣹⢳⣛⡮⢷⣛⣮⢟⡵⢯⣛⡷⣽⢻⣭⢟⡞⣯⡽⣳⣛⡷⣽⢺⡽⣝⣞⣻⡼⣞⡳⣟⣳⢯ ⣝⣮⢳⡭⢏⡷⣹⡝⣮⢳⣭⠻⣵⢫⢞⡽⡺⣵⠻⣜⢶⡹⢧⢏⣯⠳⣝⢯⠳⣝⢮⢻⡭⣳⡝⢮⡻⣜⠯⣝⢧⡻⢵⢫⡞⣵⢫⡞⣵⠺⣵⢫⡽⣹⠭⣏⡟ ⣿⣷⣧⣞⣭⢒⢧⡚⠶⣭⣖⡻⣔⢫⣾⢲⡙⢦⡛⡜⢮⡱⣋⠞⡴⣛⠼⣊⠟⣬⢋⡶⣙⠦⣝⢣⠳⣍⠞⣭⢲⡙⢧⢫⡜⣎⢧⡹⣌⠻⣔⢫⠖⣭⢛⡴⡹ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣜⣢⣹⣿⣿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣿⣦⡙⢦⡙⠼⣡⢣⡙⡜⡱⢌⣣⢙⡚⡔⢫⠔⣍⢚⡌⢣⣋⠬⡙⢆⡣⢝⢪⡑⣚⠤⢣⠓⡬⢓⡬⢃⣻⠄⣏⠲⡱ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣝⣢⣵⣶⣧⣜⡱⣎⢄⠣⠜⣈⣧⠚⡄⢣⠜⡡⠜⢢⠙⢢⡑⢎⢢⠱⢌⠪⢅⢋⡔⢣⢘⡡⢺⡇⡌⢣⡑ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣾⣤⣿⣿⣿⡐⡌⠢⠘⠤⣹⣤⣍⠢⠘⠄⣢⠑⡈⣶⣿⠠⢘⢄⢣⢰⣽⣴⠈⠆⠰ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⣡⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣬⣶⣽⣠⣾⣿⣿⣦⢺⡇⣼⠢⣹⡶⣈⣠⣱ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⢷⣿⣻⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡷⣿⣯⡿⣽⣷⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣷⣟⣷⣻⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣾⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣼⣻⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣚⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

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⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 24 "Come to steal the formula again, have ya?" Krabs asks, his grip on the cash register tight. Plankton's eye widens, his lie evident. "N-no!" he says, his voice shaking. "I just- I just came for a visit!" But Krabs' gaze is thoughtful, his mind spinning with the knowledge he gained the night before. "Well, Plankton," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "Why don't we have that chat?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his body tense. "Chat?" he repeats, his mind racing. Krabs nods. "Sure," he says. "Let's go to me office." He leads the way, his heart pounding. Plankton follows, his eye lingers on the Krabby Patty. "W-what do you w-want to talk about?" Plankton stammers as they enter the office. Krabs sighs, sitting behind his desk. "Look, Plankton," he says, his voice gruff but sincere. "I know it's hard for ye to understand, but sometimes, people have things they can't control." Plankton's eye widens, his grip on the chair arm tightening. Plankton's expression is a mix of fear and confusion. "What are you playing at?" he asks, his voice shaky. Krabs leans back, his expression serious. "I'm not playing at anything," he says. "I just... I want ye to know that I get it now." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye darting to the Krabby Patty formula safe behind glass. "Get what?" Krabs sighs, his hand rubbing his chin. "Your... situation," he says, avoiding the word 'autism' for fear of upsetting his rival. Plankton's body stiffens, his gaze snapping to Krabs. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice sharp. Krabs clears his throat, his eyes flicking to the formula behind the glass. "I mean," he says, his voice gruff, "that I know ye got challenges. And I ain't gonna make fun of ye for it." Plankton's expression remains guarded, his antennae twitching rapidly. "What's gotten into you?" he asks suspiciously. "What challenges? What do YOU know?" Krabs looks at him, his eyes serious. "I know you're unique, Plankton," he says. "And I know that sometimes you do things that don't make sense to me, or to anyone else." He pauses, his voice gentle. "But I promise you, I'll try to underst--" Plankton's eye narrows. "Unique?" he says, his voice laced with sarcasm, when Squidward opens the office door. "A customer wants to 'speak with the manager' apparently," he says as said customer enters the office. Squidward leaves the room, closing the door. But Plankton recognizes the guy. And his breath hitches. The customer's one of Plankton's professors when he attended college long ago. One of his most ableist teachers he's had! And the teacher recognizes Plankton as well. "My burger is lukewarm and I... Sheldon Plankton what are you doing here?" Plankton's antennae quivered as he stood up, his face flushing a deep red. "I-it's a coincidence," he stuttered. "I-I just came for a Krabby Patty." His voice was shaky, a stark contrast to his usual bravado. The professor's gaze was cold, his arms crossed over his chest. Krabs' eye twitched. He could see Plankton's distress, but he couldn't let him lie right now. "Plankton," he said, his voice firm. "What's going on?" The teacher's eye darted between the two, sensing the tension in the air. Plankton's lie was evident, his eye darting around nervously. "I-it's nothing, Mr. Krabs," he said, his voice higher than usual. "Just a misunderstanding." Krabs raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. "I'm sure it's more than that," he said. The professor's stare was like a spotlight, exposing his lie. "You never understood anything when I had you in my class," the professor said, his tone icy. Plankton's throat tightened, his heart racing. "I-I've changed since then," he said, his voice small. "I-I've learned?" The professor's smile was cold. "Is that so?" he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Then tell me, what's the Pythagorean theorem?" Plankton's eye went blank, his mind racing. "Proves my point." He says. The room felt smaller, the air thick with tension. Krabs watched, his fists clenching. He'd never seen Plankton so... vulnerable. The professor's gaze was like a knife, slicing through Plankton's already fragile defenses. "Why do you keep pushing?" Plankton whispered, his voice shaking. The professor's smile was cruel. "Because you know your place isn't here," he said, his voice deliberately harsh. "You never belonged." Plankton's body trembled, his antennae waving erratically. "But I've changed," he repeated, his voice strained. "I have a family no-" The professor scoffed. "A family?" He leaned closer, his eyes bore into Plankton's. "How do you think they'd feel knowing they've been fooled by a profoundly severely mentally re--- being like you, whom Neptune himself has cast as—" Krabs snaps, his claws slamming down on the desk. "That's enough!" he roars, his voice thunderous. The professor jumps back, his smug smile wiped clean. "What did you call him?" Krabs asks, his eyes blazing. Plankton's gaze flits to Krabs, shocked. The professor sneers. "I called him what he is," he says, his voice cold. "A mistake." Krabs' fist clenches, his eyes never leaving the professor's. "Get out," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "Get out of me restaurant. I don't want your kind here." Plankton's eye widens. "K-Krabs?" The professor laughs, his eyes cold. "You're defending him?" he asks. "After al-" But Krabs cuts him off, his voice like steel. "I'm defending a man, a man who's had to fight harder than anyone I know just to be understood." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly, his face a mask of shock. "Apologize," Krabs says, his eyes narrowed. The professor's smile dwindles, his gaze shifting from Krabs to Plankton. "I... I'm sorry your parents decided to keep you," he says, his voice dripping with condescension. Plankton's face falls, his eye filling with hurt. Krabs' claw shoots out, his grip on the professor's collar tight. "You'll leave now," he says, his voice deadly calm. "Or I'll show you the exit meself." The professor sputters, his face reddening. "You can't-" But Krabs cuts him off. "I can, and I will." His eyes are hard as diamonds. "Get out." Plankton watches, his heart racing. He's never seen Krabs this protective over him. The professor's eyes widen, his arrogance faltering. He quickly leaves the office, his cheeks burning with humiliation. Krabs looks at Plankton. "He had no right to speak to you like that. You're not a mistake, you're a fighter. And I'm sorry, for not seeing that sooner. Now, I gotta get back to counting me money. You go on and get some rest; take care.." Plankton nods before running back home.

𝔐𝔶 𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔶 𝔡𝔬𝔢𝔰𝔫'𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔶𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢. 𝔏𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔡, 𝔦𝔱 𝔥𝔲𝔯𝔱, ℑ 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔡, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 ℑ 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔞 𝔰𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫.“

March 19, 2014 An aura or warning is the first symptom of a seizure and is considered part of the seizure. Often the aura is an indescribable feeling. Other times it’s easy to recognize and may be a change in feeling, sensation, thought, or behavior that is similar each time a seizure occurs. The aura can also occur alone and may be called a focal onset aware seizure, simple partial seizure or partial seizure without change in awareness. An aura can occur before a change in awareness or consciousness. Yet, many people have no aura or warning; the seizure starts with a loss of consciousness or awareness. Common symptoms before a seizure: Awareness, Sensory, Emotional or Thought Changes: Déjà vu (a feeling that a person, place or thing is familiar, but you've never experienced it before) Jamais vu (feeling that a person, place or thing is new or unfamiliar, but it's not) Smells Sounds Tastes Visual loss or blurring “Strange” feelings Fear/panic (often negative or scary feelings) Pleasant feelings Racing thoughts Physical Changes: Dizzy or lightheaded Headache Nausea or other stomach feelings (often a rising feeling͞ from the stߋmach to the thr*at) Numbness or tingling in part of the body Middle: The middle of a seizure is often called the ictal phase. It’s the perıod of time from the first symptoms (including an aura) to the end of the seizure activity, This correlates with the electrical seizure activity in the brain. Sometimes the visible symptoms last longer than the seizure activity on an EEG. This is because some of the visible symptoms may be aftereffects. Common symptoms during a seizure. Awareness, Sensory, Emotional or Thought Changes: Loss of awareness/explicit memory (often called “black out”) Confused, feeling spacey Periods of forgetfulness or memory lapses Distracted, daydreaming Loss of cønsciøusness, unconscious, or “pass1ng out” Unable to hear Sounds may be strange or different Unusual smells (often bad smells like burning rubber) Unusual tastes Loss of vision or unable to see Blurry vision Flashing lights Formed visual hallvcin4tions (objects or things are seen that aren’t really there) Numbness, tingling, or electric shockıng like feeling in bødy, arm or leg Out of body sensations Feeling detached Déjà vu or jamais vu Body parts feels or looks different Feeling of paпic, feariпg, impending doom (intense feeling that something bad is going to happen) Physical Changes: Difficulty talking (may stop talking, make nonsense or garbled sounds, keep talking or speech may not make sense) Unable to swallow, drooling Repeated blinking of eyes, eyes may move to one side or look upward, or staring Lack of movement or muscle tone (unable to move, loss of tone in neck and head may drop forward, loss of muscle tone in body and person may slump or fall forward) Tremors, twitching or jerking movements (may occur on one or both sides of face, arms, legs or whole body; may start in one area then spread to other areas or stay in one place) Rigid or tense muscles (part of the body or whole body may feel very tight or tense and if standing, may fall “like a tree trunk”) Repeated non-purposeful movements, called automatisms, involve the face, arms or legs, such as lipsmacking or chewing movements repeated movements of hands, like wringing, playing with buttons or objects in hands, waving walking or running Repeated purposeful movements (person may continue activity that was going on before the seizure) Convulsion (person loses cønsciøusness, bødy becomes rigid or tense, then fast jerking movements occur) Ending: As the seizure ends, the postictal phase occurs - this is the recovery period after the seizure. Some people recover immediately while others may take minutes to hours to feel like their usual self. The type of seizure, as well as what part of the brain the seizure impacts, affects the recovery period – how long it may last and what may occur during it. Common symptoms after a seizure. Awareness, Sensory, Emotional, or Thought Changes: Slow to respond or not able to respond right away Sleepy Confused Memory loss Difficulty talking or writing Feeling fuzzy, light-headed/dizzy Feeling depressed, sad, upset Scared Anxious Frustrated/angry, embarrassed, ashamed Physical Changes: May have injuries, such as bruising, scrapes or worse if fell during seizure May feel tıred, exhausted, or sleep for minutes or hours Headaçhes or other paın Náuseas or upset stomach Thirsty General weàkness or weak in one part or sıde of the bødy

ℑ 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡…. 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ'𝔪 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 ℑ 𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡… 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔤𝔬 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℑ 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡𝔫'𝔱 𝔤𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯… 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔲𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 4 Chip looked down at the octopus in his lap, his eyes filling with tears. "I didn't know," he whispered. "I just didn't understand." Karen took a deep breath, trying to calm her own shaking voice. "You need to understand, Chip. That word is not okay," she said, her tone steady. "It's hurtful and disrespectful. Your father is not 'that'. He's autistic. And autistic is just a part of who he is." Chip looked up at her, his expression one of shock and dawning realization. "But why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his voice small. "Why did you keep it a secret?" Karen took a moment to compose herself, her own tears threatening to spill over. "We didn't keep it a secret just to hide it," she explained, her voice trembling. "We kept it private because it's your father's story to tell, not ours. And because we didn't want you to think of him any differently. But we should have talked to you, yes. We should have helped you understand." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the octopus in his hand. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I didn't mean to make hi-" "Don't," Karen said, cutting him off. "Your apology can wait. Right now, you need to understand why that word is wrong." She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's not just a label, Chip. It's a way people have used to put others down. To make them feel less than." Her voice was firm, her eyes never leaving his. "Your father has felt that way enough times already; he doesn't need it from his own son!" Chip nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. He hadn't realized the impact of his ignorance. "What can I do to make it right?" he asked, his voice cracking. Karen took a deep breath. "First, you need to educate yourself," she said gently. "Learn your dad's specific needs. Talk to him. Hear his story. Understand what it's like for him." Chip nodded, his gaze firm. "Okay," he said, his voice still shaky. "I'll do that." Karen goes back to the bedroom to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his body wracked with sobs. His hand was moving in a repetitive motion, tracing the edge of the bedspread, a silent testament to his pain. Her heart breaking, she sat beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "It's okay, love," she soothed, her voice gentle. "It's okay to cry." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his body shaking. But amidst the tears, a steady sound emerged. It was the soft, rhythmic humming he often did when he was overwhelmed or even just restless. It was his way of self- soothing, his brain's attempt to find order in the chaos. Karen had learned to recognize this sound over the years. She held his hand, her thumb rubbing small circles in his palm. "It's okay," she whispered, her voice a balm to his raging emotions. "I'm here." Plankton's humming grew softer, his body slowly still. The anger drained from him, leaving behind only sadness. "Chip," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "He said the word." It was a private stim, one Karen knew meant Plankton was trying to process the pain. He spoke to himself often during these moments, his thoughts running in a loop as he tried to find comfort in his own company as he rocked back and forth. "But why?" Plankton whispered, his eye glazed over as he felt the familiar rhythm of his stim kick in. "Why would Chip, Chip did?" He stared at his own hand. "I'm not that. I'm not." Karen's heart ached at the pain in his voice. She knew this was his way of trying to make sense of the world. "You're not, love," she assured him. "You're just different. And that's okay." Chip goes into his parents bedroom and goes up to Plankton slowly, the octopus in his hand. "Dad," he whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton looks up, his eye red and swollen from crying. "I'm sorry," Chip says, holding out the octopus. "Can we ta—" But Plankton doesn't give him a chance to finish. "I don't want your apology," he says coldly. He turns his body away from Chip. Karen's eyes dart between the two of them, her heart racing with fear of the growing rift. "Plankton," she starts, but he shakes his head. "Please," Chip says, his voice breaking. "I didn't know." He takes another step forward, his hand outstretched. "Let me help you," he says, putting his hand on his dad's shoulder to turn him around. But Plankton flinches at the touch, his sensory overload already at peak. Karen's eyes widen as she recognizes the signs of another seizure coming on. "No," she says. "Not now." But it's too late. Plankton's eye rolls back. Chip backs away, his heart racing. This was his fault. If he hadn't upset him, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Karen moves swiftly, placing the bear in his trembling hand. The room goes quiet as the seizure takes hold, the only sounds Plankton's whimpers. Chip watches. He wants to help, but doesn't know how. Karen moves quickly, guiding the bear into Plankton's hand. "Now Chip," she says, her voice steady. "When your dad comes back, he may not immediately remember. He might talk funny or seem confused. It just means he needs some time to get his thoughts back." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his father's trembling form as the shaking slows. Drool trickled down the corner of Plankton's mouth as he began to mumble. "Wha-wha-wha," Plankton phrased, trying to piece together the shattered thoughts. It was like his brain had gone back to the beginning, relearning how to speak, to process the world around him. It was both heartbreaking and strangely endearing. "Bear," he mumbled, his fingers fidgeting with the plush toy. "Bear...good." He giggled, a high-pitched sound that seemed out of place coming from him. "Bear is...bear." His speech was a jumble of words. Karen watched with a mix of amusement and sadness. This was a part of Plankton's recovery she had seen before, his brain trying to find its footing again. It was like a toddler learning to talk, except it was her husband. She turned to Chip. "Try talking to him," she urged. "Keep it simple and calm."

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 8 "Chip!" Karen's voice cuts through the air like a knife, her eyes wide with alarm. Chip, realizing his mistake, goes to hug his dad. "Sorry," he says, going up to Plankton, who puts his arm out to stop him. Sandy, oblivious to Plankton's overload, grabs his arm. "NO!" she yells, her voice sharp. "You do not push your son away like that!" Plankton flinches at her voice. He tries to pry his hand out of Sandy's, but her grip is firm. "Let me go," he says, his voice strained. But Sandy doesn't budge. "You listen to me, Plankton," she says, her eyes flashing. "You are not going to push aw-" But she's interrupted by another seizure, Plankton's body convulsing. Sandy's eyes go wide with fear, not knowing what to do. "What's happening?" she cries, finally letting go of his wrist. Karen's eyes flash with anger and desperation as she quickly moves to Plankton's side. She glares at Sandy. "It's a condition," she snaps. "And it's not for you to judge." Her voice is sharp, her frustration with Sandy's lack of understanding palpable. Sandy's eyes widen as she realizes her mistake, her hand flying to her mouth. "What," she murmurs. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-" But Karen's fury cuts her off. "You didn't mean to what?" she snaps. "To bombard Plankton with your yelling? To make him feel like he has to be touched?" Her eyes bore into Sandy, sizzling with accusation. "This is why we don't tell people," she says, her voice shaking. Sandy's eyes fill with remorse as she takes in the sight of Plankton's trembling form. "I didn't know," she whispers, her voice shaking with regret. "I'm sorry, Karen. I didn't mean to..." Her words trail off as she realizes the depth of her mistake. Karen's face is a mask of sadness and anger as she tends to Plankton, her eyes never leaving Sandy. "You didn't mean to what?" she says, each word cutting through the silence like a knife. "To make Plankton feel guilty for Chip's ignorance? He has autism, Sandy." Her voice is low, but it carries the weight of a thousand unspoken words. "This is why we don't tell people, Sandy. This is why." Sandy's face falls, her complexion paler than the white walls of the room. "Autism?" she repeats, her voice barely a whisper. She's heard of it, of course, but never considered that Plankton's quirks could be more than just quirks. She feels a pang of guilt for her insensitivity. Karen nods, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes," she says, her voice thick with sadness. "He's been dealing with it his entire life. And we've worked so hard to make sure he's comfortable, to help him cope." She looks at Sandy, her gaze pleading. Her voice cracks as she says it, her heart breaking for her husband. Sandy's eyes fill with tears as she looks at her friend. "Karen," she whispers. "I'm so sorry." She takes a step back, realizing the harm she's caused. "I had no idea. I didn't mean to..." Her words trail off as she sees the pain etched on Karen's face. Karen's expression is a storm of emotions - anger, sadness, and a deep-seated frustration. "You didn't know," she says, her voice flat. "But now you do. And you see what it does to him." She nods towards Plankton, who's still shaking on the bed, his eye squeezed shut as he tries to fight off the seizure. Sandy's eyes fill with tears as she nods, her heart racing. Karen takes a deep breath, her gaze still on Plankton. "Just be there," she says, her voice tired. "Don't push him. Don't make him feel... less." Sandy nods again, her eyes fixed on Plankton as Karen continues to help him through the seizure. Her perception of him shifts, the layers of bravado and ambition stripped away to reveal the man beneath the madness. As the seizure subsides, Plankton opens his eye to find Sandy still hovering, looking at him with a mix of fear and regret. He feels exposed, his most private vulnerability laid bare before his wife's best friend. He takes a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. "I'm sorry," Sandy whispers, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I didn't know." Plankton's gaze remains on the floor, his body still trembling slightly. "It's not for you to know." Sandy feels the sting of his words, her cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and sadness. "I just wanted to help," she murmurs, her eyes filling with tears. But Plankton can't bear the weight of her pity, his own anger a shield. He turns away from her, his body rigid with tension. "Plankton," she says softly, her hand hovering in the space between them. "I'm here." But Plankton flinches at the touch, his body tightening. "No," he says, his voice firm. Sandy's eyes widen with hurt as she withdraws her hand. "But, I just wanted to-" "No," Plankton says, his voice firm. The seizure has passed, but his emotions are still raw, his body still shaking from the tremors. Karen's heart breaks as she sees the rejection on Sandy's face, but she understands Plankton's need for space. She steps in, placing a hand on Sandy's arm. "Let's give him some time," she whispers, her gaze never leaving Plankton's closed-off form. Sandy nods, her eyes brimming with tears as she backs away slowly, not wanting to cause any more stress.

𝖢𝖮𝖬𝖤 𝖳𝖮𝖦𝖤𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖱 𝖻𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌 part 18 Karen squeezed his hand, a silent reminder of her support. She knew that Hanna's apology was a step, but it wasn't enough to erase the damage done. She looked at Hanna, her gaze firm. "You have to understand that what you said was incredibly hurtful, not just to Plankton, but to me too. Our love isn't something to be bargained with or judged." Hanna nodded, her eyes now filled with genuine shame. "I understand, Karen," she said. "I'm sorry for the pain I've caused." Karen nodded back, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "Good," she said simply. "Because Plankton is my everything." Plankton felt a warmth spread through him, despite the anger still simmering just below the surface. Karen had stood up for him, just like she always did. "Okay." Hanna reached out slowly, her hand hovering over Plankton's arm. He stiffened at the uninvited contact, his skin prickling with discomfort. "You okay, buddy?" she asked him, her voice tentative. Plankton felt a familiar tension in his chest, a tightness spreading through his body. The room seemed to close in on him, the lights too bright, the sounds too loud. Another seizure was approaching, and Karen noticed the change instantly. She knew the pain from wisdom teeth extraction and the touch from Hanna has been too much. Hanna watched as Plankton's body began to tense up, the signs of an impending seizure all too familiar to Karen. "What's happening? Plankton!" she asked, her voice filled with worry. But Karen was already in action, her movements quick and precise. She guided Hanna's hand away from Plankton, as Plankton's body began to convulse slightly, his eye rolling back. "Seizure," Karen murmured, as she knew the signs all too well. Hanna sat on the edge of his bed as Karen got his sensory box of fidget items. "Just stay calm," Karen said to Hanna. "This happens sometimes." Hanna's eyes were wide with fear, but she nodded. Plankton's seizure grew more intense, his limbs thrashing as his body tried to cope. "Let it in, let it wash over you." Karen says, grounding him slightly. The room grew quiet, except for the sound of his labored breathing. Hanna watched, her heart racing, feeling useless. Karen held out a plush toy, a green squishy star. "Look at the star, sweetie. Focus on the star. Look at the star, Plankton. Just the star." His body continued to convulse. Hanna watched, frozen as the plush star trembled in Karen's hand. "Look at the star, Plankton," Karen repeated, her voice calm and steady. "Find peace in the star." Plankton's eye flitted towards the toy, his breathing erratic. The sensory overload was intense, but he tried to follow Karen's guidance. As the seizure subsided, Plankton's tremors grew less intense, his gaze remaining fixed on the green star. He took deep breaths, trying to regain control of his body. Karen watched him, her own breathing matching his rhythm, willing him to find peace. Hanna sat there, her heart pounding in her chest, seeing the raw vulnerability of her friend's husband. She felt a deep sense of regret for her earlier words. "It's okay, baby," Karen whispered. She knew the aftermath was often a hard part for him, his body still reeling from the neurological storm, his sense of reality skewed. Plankton's eye focused slowly on the green star. As the seizure's grip weakened, he turned to it, his gaze hazy. "It's okay," Karen murmured. "You're okay now." His breathing grew steadier, but his mind was still semiconscious in confusion. The world around him was a blur of color and sound, his thoughts tangled and disjointed. "Plankton?" Hanna's voice was tentative. Plankton barely registered her words, semiconscious. He turned to her, his gaze hazy and his movements awkward. "Hi, Hans," he mumbled, his voice slurred. Karen exchanged a knowing look with Hanna. "Hi, Plankton," she said, her tone gentle. Plankton giggled to himself, his laughter sounding distant and slightly off-key. Karen smiled softly, recognizing his postictal loopiness. It was a common reaction for him from a seizure, his brain trying to find its bearings. He stared at the green star in his hand, his fingers playing with its soft fabric. "It's so... fluffy," he said, his voice full of wonder. Karen couldn't help but smile at his childlike fascination. "It's okay, Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "Just keep focusing on the sta-" "Star," he interrupts, his laughter bubbling up again. "Fluffy star." Karen's smile grew wider despite the situation. "It's okay, Plankton," she reassured, her voice calm. "Just keep playing with it." Hanna watched, her heart in her throat. "Is he... is he okay?" she asked, uncertain of what she was seeing. "Want... want more is," Plankton said, his words slurred. Karen nodded, her expression filled with love. "He's okay, Hanna," she said. "It's just part of his recovery from a seizure." Hanna looked on, still struggling to comprehend the complexities of Plankton's condition. "After a seizure, he can act a bit... different, sometimes. He probably won't remember what happened," Karen explained, her voice calm and reassuring. "You can talk to him, just keep it simple and don't touch him without asking." Hanna nodded, feeling like an outsider in this world of understanding and care that Karen and Plankton shared. "Hey Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "You okay?" Plankton looked at her, his eye glazed over. "Fluffy star," he replied, his voice still slurred and playful. Hanna managed a smile, though it was tinged with sadness at the thought of her earlier cruelty. "Hanna," he said, his voice still off. "She smell like... like bubblegum?" Hanna's eyes widened. "Plankton, it's me, it's just your imagination playing tricks on you after the se-" But Karen held up a hand to stop her. "We don't want to overwhelm his senses right now," she explained. "Let him come back to us in his own time." Hanna nodded. "You like the star, don't you?" Karen asked, her voice soothing. Plankton nodded, his giggles subsiding into a soft chuckle. "It's so fluffy," he murmured, his fingers tracing the star's outline. Hanna watched the tender interaction, her heart heavy with regret. "You know, Plankton," Hanna ventured, her voice shaky. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He looked at her, his gaze unsteady. "You, hurt," he said, his words slow and deliberate. His finger traced the plush star's fabric, his mind still in a haze. Karen's heart broke for him, but she knew he needed to hear it from Hanna. "I know, Plankton," Hanna whispered, her eyes brimming with tears. "I'm so, so sorry." Plankton's gaze remained on the star, his finger tracing its fluffy outline. "Fluffy," he murmured, his voice a gentle echo of his usual self. "You like it?" she asked, her voice gentle. "Fluffy," he repeated, not really hearing her. The room was still, the air thick with the weight of their recent exchange. Hanna's eyes were glued to Plankton, his post-seizure state both fascinating and alarming her. "I'm sorry," she whispered again. Plankton's giggle was sudden, his gaze shifting from the star to Hanna. "Hans smell funny," he said, his words still slurred. Hanna swallowed her sadness, forcing a smile. "It's because I ate a whole pack of bubblegum," she lied. His eyes lit up, his innocence shining through. "Want bubblegum?" he asked, his voice filled with childish excitement. Hanna felt a wave of guilt wash over her. "No, Plankton, I'm okay," she said gently. "But you keep playing with your fluffy star." Karen watched as Hanna interacted with Plankton, his mind still in the same post-seizure state. It was both heartbreaking and a tiny bit amusing to see. "What's your name?" Plankton asked, his speech still slurred. Hanna's smile was sad. "It's Hanna, Plankton," she said, trying to keep the conversation light. "Oh, Hanna Plankton. You're a pretty name," he said, his voice filled with the same wonder. "Thank you," Hanna said, fighting back tears. She felt like a monster for the way she'd treated him. Plankton's laughter filled the room again, his body still slightly twitching from the seizure. "You smell pretty, Hanna Plankton," he said, his words still slurred. Hanna's heart clenched at the innocence behind his words, knowing how much pain she'd caused him. "Thank you, Plankton," she managed, her voice thick. Plankton's gaze drifted to her, in a way that Karen knew meant that his mind's slowly clearing back to himself, his expression becoming more aware, his eye focusing slightly as he took in his surroundings.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 18 Karen moves quietly. She gently shakes him. "Plankton, wake up," she whispers. "The therapist." Plankton's antenna twitches, his eye slowly opening. "Oh, right," he mumbles, his voice groggy. "He usually comes over when Chip's at school or someth-" Plankton startled at a knock on the front door, the sensory therapist arriving for the session. Chip follows his parents to open the door. The therapist, a calm and kind octopus, enters the room, her arms filled with toys and devices. She smiles warmly at Plankton. "Good morning," she says. "And who's this young man I see?" She looks at Chip. Chip smiles shyly. "Our son Chip," Karen said, introducing her son. "He's here to learn too." The therapist nods, her eyes understanding. "It's important for everyone to understand, isn't it?" she says, her voice gentle. Karen turns to Chip. "So Chip, this is Dr. Marla." "Hello," Dr. Marla says, coming in to the living room. "I've known your father and worked with him for ages. Let's all sit on the living room floor." Chip nods, his heart racing. This is the first time he's met someone who's known his dad's secret. He sits down next to Plankton, who's now fully alert as they all sit in a circle. Dr. Marla opens a bag filled with various sensory toys. "Plankton," she says, her tone gentle, "I assume your son has learned about your condition. How'd that come about?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "It was an accident," he says, his voice a mix of embarrassment and resignation. "But it led to... to a good discussion? It was when he saw me having one of my seizures.." Chip looks down at his hands, feeling his cheeks grow warm as he remembers that moment. Karen's hand finds his, giving it a squeeze. "It's okay," she whispers. "You can talk about it. Now is the time to ask, Chip." Dr. Marla nods. "And how has that affected your father and son relationship?" She asks. Chip looks up, his eyes meeting hers. "It's... it's different," he says. "But in a good way, I think." He glances at Plankton, who nods in agreement. "I've learned so much about his... his autism. And I know now that he's not just being mean, sometimes." Dr. Marla nods, her expression gentle. "That's important," she says. "It's about understanding and compassion. Now, I'd like to ask if there have been any mishaps with said relationship?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye flicking to Karen. "Well," Karen says, "There was the time Chip tried to be supportive, yet he accidentally used a slur.." The therapist nods sympathetically. "It's a learning process," she says, her tone reassuring. "Missteps are common when navigating new understandings." She glances at Chip, her expression encouraging. "But it's how you apologize and move forward that shows growth. May I ask what slur wa-" "It was just a... a silly thing I said," Chip interjects, his voice small. "I didn't kno—" "It's okay," Dr. Marla interrupts, her eyes kind. "We're here to learn together. What was the slur?" Chip swallows hard. "I... I called him a ret-" he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just saw him acting..." Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze dropping to the floor. Karen's grip on his hand tightens slightly, a silent reassurance. "It's okay," she whispers. "You didn't kn-" But Plankton's anger surges up, cutting her off. "No, it's not okay!" he snaps, his voice sharp. "I can't believe you said it, again!" His eye narrows, and he pulls his hand away from Karen's grasp. Chip shrinks back, his heart racing. He's never seen his dad so upset with him. "Dad, I'm sorry," he stammers. "I really di-" But Plankton isn't listening, his antennae thrashing. "How could you?!" he yells. "After everything we talked about!" His voice is loud, echoing in the small room, and Chip flinches. Karen's eyes dart between her husband and son, her heart breaking for both of them. She knows Plankton's anger is a defense mechanism, a way to cope with his pain. But she also knows the pain Chip is feeling, the guilt and fear of losing his dad's trust. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm, "Let's talk about this with Dr. Marla; she's he--" "No!" Plankton shouts, his eye wide with rage. He stands up, his fists clenched as he grabs a pillow, throwing it across the room. Karen flinches as the pillow hits the wall, but her voice stays calm. "Plankton, sweetie, let's breathe." But Plankton's in his own world, his autism exacerbating his reaction to the painful word. He's spinning, his antennae thrashing as he searches for something, anything to release his anger. "Dad," Chip whispers, his voice trembling. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" But Plankton's in the throes of his tantrum, his body moving erratically. He grabs a book from the shelf, tossing it across the room. Karen jumps up, intervening before anything else can fly. "Plankton," she says firmly, her voice a steady force in the storm of his anger. "Look at me. Look at me," she repeats, her hands up, palms out. "Just br-" But Plankton isn't calming down, his eye wild, kicking a chair over. Dr. Marla approaches them. "It's okay, Plankton," she says calmly. "Your feelings are valid. But right now, let's find a better way to express them." She holds out a fidget toy, her voice steady. "Remember, this can he-" But Plankton's anger has taken over. He swipes at the toy, sending it flying. He then moves to a shelf, his hand grabbing a picture frame. It hits the floor. "No!" Karen yells, but it's too late. Dr. Marla approaches Karen and Chip. "See, this is the anger," she says, her voice calm and understanding. "It's common with autism. He's feeling overwhelmed and doesn't know how to express it. This is Plankton's autism flaring up, and this is Plankton's way of dealing with it. This is Plankton's way of saying, 'I'm in pain, and I need help.' Plankton is angry, yes, but he's also scared."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 19 Dr. Marla gestures to the corner of the room, where there's a calming space set up specifically for times like these. "Let's go over there," she suggests, her voice calm and soothing. But Plankton's rage is like a tornado, spinning him in circles. Karen tries to guide him gently, but he shrugs her off, his body tight with tension. Chip's eyes are wide with fear, watching his dad's outburst. He's seen his father's temper before, but not like this, not with such unbridled fury. Plankton's movements are jerky, his face distorted with anger and pain. His breaths are quick, his eye unfocused. Karen moves closer, her voice still calm. "Let's go to this calming corner, sweetie," she says. But Plankton's rage doesn't abate. He throws another pillow, knocking over a lamp. The room is a mess, a reflection of the turmoil within him. "Dad, please," Chip whispers, his voice shaking. He's never seen his dad like this, his usually stoic facade crumbling into a chaos of emotions. Plankton's body jerks, his limbs flailing as his anger escalates. He knocks over a table, his eye unseeing as his senses overload. Karen moves quickly, trying to guide him to the calming corner, but he resists. "Dad, please," Chip pleads, his voice trembling. But Plankton's anger is uncontrollable, knocking over furniture, his eye filled with a mix of fury and fear. The therapist's calm demeanor remains. She knows this is part of his condition, and she doesn't flinch as a book flies past her. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice firm but gentle, "we need to—" But Plankton isn't listening, his rage consuming him. He grabs another pillow, squeezing it tightly. His eye darts around the room, searching for an outlet for his anger. "Daddy, no!" Chip whispers, his voice shaking. His heart is racing as he watches his father, his hero, fall apart. Chip tries to intervene, but Plankton swats his hand away, his movements wild. "Dad," Chip says, his voice louder, more urgent. "Please, let's talk!" But Plankton can't hear him, his mind lost in his emotions. He throws the pillow, watching it soar through the air before it slams into the wall, the feathers exploding out. The room is a whirlwind of movement and noise, and Chip can't help but flinch with every crash and smash. Karen's eyes are wide, her face pale. She's seen this before, but it never gets any easier. Plankton's breaths are coming in quick gasps, his body trembling with the effort of containing his emotions. He throws his head back, letting out a scream that echoes through the room, his antennae whipping around. Karen's heart is in her throat, but she knows she has to stay calm. "Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "Come to the corner, please." She holds out a hand, but Plankton's too far gone to see it. He throws another book, his screams filling the room. Karen's heart is racing, but she keeps calm. "We're here for you," she repeats. Yet Plankton's rage continues to build, his movements more erratic. The therapist watches, ready to step in if needed. "It's okay," she says soothingly. "Let's all stay calm and sa-" But Plankton's meltdown reaches a crescendo. He stumbles. Chip's eyes widen in horror as his father's body jerks uncontrollably. So Chip gets the box of all the sensory items and brings it out. But that ends up being a huge mistake. Plankton's flailing ends up kicking, sending every thing flying, everything slamming into the wall, the plaster cracking. The destroyed sensory box and unfixable items are what breaks the straw on the camel's back. His eye rolls back in his head, his body going slack. Karen gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. "Plankton!" she cries out, catching him as he falls. Chip jumps forward, his fear turning to dread. But the sensory therapist has seen it all before. "Let him down gently, his body and his brain have just decided to take a break." "But he's not moving," Chip cries, as Karen lowers Plankton. Dr. Marla opens her bag. "It's okay," she says calmly, her voice steady. "This is called a shut- down. His body has simply had enough. But I've got some new stuff for him. I'll show you as I set it up."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 20 Dr. Marla opens her bag, pulling out an extending rod black out curtain. "It kinda looks like a shower curtain, but these curtains muffle sound and block light." Karen nods, her eyes on Plankton's still form. "We've tried things before, but this is new." Dr. Marla nods. "We're always learning, aren't we?" She unfurls the curtain around Plankton, creating a small, cozy space. "This will help him feel safe and reduce his sensory input. It's good for absence seizures too." Plankton's breathing slows as he sinks into the curtained cocoon. Dr. Marla continues. "It's like you power off a tablet to restart, and it will gradually come back on, right? That's what Plankton's doing. And as he 'reloads' he might act like a newborn seeing the world for the first time as he wakes up. Meaning he might not recognize anything, speak incoherently, etc. Plankton might take a little while to fully come back. Like a file downloads it loads info little by little until it's finished, only then can you view it; so as with Plankton's consciousness." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving her husband. Her heart aches for him, but she knows that he's safe, his body cocooned in the sensory curtain. Chip, still shaking, watches his dad, his eyes wide as Plankton's eye blinks open. His gaze is as if he's trying to relearn his body. "K-kay?" Karen smiles softly, her voice gentle. "It's okay, sweetie," she says, her hand reaching for the curtain. "Your dad's just restarting, remember?" Chip nods, his eyes glued to Plankton's form as he sits up, his eyes blinking slowly. "Hi," Chip whispers, his voice barely above a breath. Plankton's eye focuses on him, and his mouth moves, but only one word comes out: "Hi." It's a tiny victory, but Chip feels a surge of relief. He knows his dad is okay, or at least on his way back to okay. Dr. Marla nods. "It's normal for someone coming out of a shut- down to speak in single words or not at all for a while." Karen strokes Plankton's antenna. "How do you feel?" she asks softly. Plankton's gaze is vacant, his voice weak. "Sedm." Chip looks at him confused, his heart racing. "Dad?" The therapist nods. "It's normal," she says. "After a shut-down, his words may come slowly. Give him space, let him come back to us." Plankton blinks, his eye unfocused. "Mm." It's all he says, his mouth moving slightly, as if tasting the air for words. Karen nods encouragingly. "Good job," she murmurs. "You're doing great." Chip feels like he's watching a newborn learn to speak again. The therapist sits beside Plankton, her voice calm. "Would you like a new fidget toy?" "Buth," he mumbles, his eye still glazed. His brain isn't comprehending. Karen nods, her hand gently taking the toy. "It's okay," she says, her tone soothing. "You just need to relax." Plankton takes the fidget toy, his hand shaking. He clutches it, his gaze unseeing. Chip sits cross- legged, his heart pounding. He watches his dad, his mind racing. Why is he like this? He's so smart, so capable, but right now, he seems so... lost. "Thuh..." Plankton whispers. Karen nods, her voice soft. "Take your time," she says. "We're not going anywhere." Chip nods, his throat tight. "I'm here," he says, his voice barely a murmur. Plankton's hand shakes, his grip on the fidget toy loosening. His eye blinks rapidly, his mind trying to come back online. "Ba-back?" he whispers, his voice tiny. The therapist, Dr. Marla, sits back, her eyes assessing. "It's normal," she repeats. "Your brain needs a moment to recalibrate." Plankton's breathing slows, his body uncurling from its defensive ball. He takes the fidget toy, his hand trembling. Karen's heart aches as she watches her husband struggle to find words. Chip's eyes are wide with concern, but he doesn't interrupt, giving his dad space. "Th-the... hash?" Plankton says, his voice barely a whisper. The therapist nods. "Good," she says. "Keep going." Plankton's hand shakes, the fidget toy clutched tightly. "Doge." Karen smiles gently. "Yes, you're getting there," she says. Chip watches, his heart in his throat. "Toy?" Plankton says, his voice a little stronger. Dr. Marla smiles. "Yes, the toy is helping," she says. "Keep playing with it." Plankton nods, his hand moving slightly as he flips the fidget toy in his hand. "Yea," he whispers. Chip watches his dad, his own hands still. He's seen Plankton in tough situations before, but never like this. It's like his mind is a computer that's been hit by a virus, trying to reboot with only basic functions. "Dad," he says, his voice filled with longing. "Can you tell me what yo-" But Plankton's gaze remains unfocused, his mouth moving slightly. "Chip," Karen says, interrupting gently. "Give him a minute, okay?" Chip nods, his eyes still on his father. He doesn't want to leave, but he understands. He sits back, his heart racing as he watches Plankton's slow progress. Plankton's hand moves, the fidget toy spinning in his grip. "Good," he murmurs, his voice a little stronger. "Home." The word is a relief, a sign that he's coming back to them. Karen smiles, her eyes filled with love and concern. "Would you like to sit up?" she asks, her voice soft. Plankton nods, his body moving in slow motion as he sits. The curtain is still up, creating a small, safe space for him. Chip watches, scared, but he's also in awe of his dad's strength. Plankton, his hero, who's faced so much and is still here. "D-dad," he says, his voice shaking. "You okay?" Plankton's eye flicks to Chip, his mouth opening slightly. "Yeahhh." It's a simple word, but it feels like a lifeline. "Need?" he whispers, his voice strained. Karen nods, her hand still on his back. "We're here," she says, her eyes never leaving him. "We're always here for you." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye focusing a little more. "Th-thank," he stammers. Chip feels his heart swell with love. He's still in there, his mind just needs to recalibrate.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 21 The room is quiet, except for the soft whir of the fidget toy. Plankton's breathing evened out, his eye focusing on the spinning discs. "More?" he asks, his voice a whisper. Karen nods, her heart swelling with pride. "You're doing so well," she says, her voice gentle. "We're here for you." Chip's eyes are wet, but he nods in agreement. He wants to hug his dad, but he knows Plankton needs his space right now. Plankton's hand shakes as he holds the fidget toy, his gaze fixed on it. "Ma-more?" he asks again, his voice still a whisper. Dr. Marla nods, reaching for a weighted blanket. "Let's try this," she suggests, her tone calm. Karen helps drape it over him, the heavy material grounding him. "Ma-make it," he says, his voice slightly stronger. Chip's heart leaps at the sound. "Make what?" he asks, his voice eager. But Plankton can't quite articulate. He just shakes his head, his eye squeezed shut. "M-make," he repeats, his frustration clear. Karen nods, her hand on his shoulder. "We know you can," she says. "Ma-make it st-sto-" He stammers, his body trembling with the effort of speech. "Ma-make it stop," he whispers, his voice breaking. His gaze meets Chip's, desperation in his eye. Chip looks up at the therapist, his eyes pleading for guidance. "What do we do?" Dr. Marla nods, her expression calm. "Just keep talking to him," she instructs. "Use simple words, and let him know you're here." So Chip does, his voice softer than ever. "Dad, we're with you." Karen's eyes are wet, but she smiles encouragingly. "You're doing so good," she says, her voice barely above a murmur. Plankton's hand clutches the blanket, his breath coming in quick gasps. "Ma-make," he says again, his voice strained. "Ma-make it sto-" Karen nods, her voice soothing. "You're doing so well, sweetie," she says. "Keep going." Chip watches, his eyes filled with hope. "Ma-make it qui-et," Plankton whispers, his body still trembling. The therapist nods, understanding. "Let's turn down the lights," she suggests, her voice calm. Karen nods and moves to the switch, the room plunging into a soft glow. "Ma-more?" Plankton whispers. "Ma-make it qui-et," he repeats, his hand flapping slightly. Karen's heart aches, but she nods. "We're here," she says, her voice steady. Chip looks around, his thoughts racing. "How- how do we do that?" he asks, his voice shaking. Dr. Marla smiles gently. "Just talk to him," she says. "Keep your words simple, and use a sensory toy to help." So Chip picks up a small, squishy ball, its surface covered in bumps. "Dad," he says, his voice soft. "Look." Plankton's eye sluggishly turns to the toy. "Ball," Chip says, his voice clear. Plankton's gaze flicks to the therapist, then back to Chip, his mouth moving slightly. "Bah," he tries, his voice barely a whisper. It's a start, a tentative step forward in understanding. The therapist nods. "Good," she says. "Keep trying." Plankton's hand reaches out, his grip weak. Chip places the ball in his palm, and his dad's eye light up slightly. "Bowl," he says, his voice a little stronger. It's a simple word, but it feels like a breakthrough. Chip nods, a smile spreading across his face. "Ball," he repeats, his voice encouraging. "Ball," Plankton says, his tongue wrapping around the word slightly. "Ball." It's a small victory, but it's enough to make Chip's heart soar. He picks up another toy, a plush octopus. "Dad, look," he says, his voice trembling. "Octo." Plankton's gaze shifts, his antennae twitching slightly. "Ah- pple," he says, his voice confused. "No," Chip says gently, taking the octopus. "This is octo. Octo." He shakes it slightly, the legs flailing. "See?" Plankton's eye widens slightly, his mouth forming an "o." "Ah- tto," he whispers. It's not perfect, but it's a start. Karen's hand squeezes his shoulder. "Good job, Plankton," she says, her voice filled with relief. The therapist smiles, her eyes observing them both. "Keep going," she says. "This is great progress." Chip holds up the octopus closer to him. "But-but," Plankton murmurs. Karen smiles. "You can do it." Plankton's hands are still, his gaze locked on the octopus. "Octo," Chip says again. Plankton's eye blinks slowly, his mouth moving. "Ah-tto," he tries again, his voice slightly louder. Chip's heart skips a beat. "No," he says gently. "Octo." He waves the toy in front of him. "Octo." Plankton's antennae twitch, his mouth forming the word. "Octo," he repeats, his voice stronger. Chip can't help the grin that spreads across his face. "Good," Dr. Marla says, nodding. "Keep working together." Karen's hand squeezes Chip's shoulder, pride in her eyes. Plankton holds the octopus, his hand still shaking. "Ma-make it sp-spin?" he asks, his voice hopeful. Chip nods, his hand steady. He spins one of the octopus's arms. "Spin," he says. Plankton's eye follows the spinning arm, his gaze focused. "Spin," he whispers, his tongue working the word. "Spin." His voice grows stronger, the word becoming more than just a sound. "Spin," he says, his hand tentatively reaching for an arm. "Mo- re," he whispers, his hand reaching out. Karen smiles encouragingly. "Good job," she says. "Keep talking to us." Chip nods, his heart racing. He holds up another toy, a shiny spinner. "Dad," he says, his voice hopeful. "See this?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "Spin?" he asks, his voice a question. "Yes," Chip says, his voice steady. "Spin." He flips the spinner, watching the colors blur. Plankton's eye follows the movement, his mouth opening slightly. "Clis," he whispers, his voice barely audible. Karen smiles, her eyes shining. "Keep going," she says. "You're doing so well." Chip nods, his hand steadier. "Dad, watch," he says, his voice filled with hope. He picks up a small, plush star, its material soft and comforting. "Look," he says, his voice clear. "This is star." Plankton's eye flicks to the toy, his hand reaching out. "Sta," he tries, his tongue sluggish. Chip nods, his heart racing. "Yes," he whispers. "Star."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 22 Karen watches, her eyes glistening. "Keep going," she says, her voice filled with admiration. Plankton fumbles with the star, his hand shaking. "Sta," he whispers again, his voice stronger. "Sta." The therapist smiles. "This is excellent," she says. "Keep up the good work." Chip's eyes are on his dad, his mind racing with ideas for more words. "D-dad," Chip says, his voice gentle. "Look at me." Plankton's gaze shifts to Chip, his eye unfocused. "Look at me." Plankton's eye narrows slightly, his antennae twitching. Karen's hand strokes his shoulder. "Come back to us," she says. "Ma-make it... Ma-make it... qui-et?" he whispers. The therapist nods. "Good job," she says, smiling. "Keep focusing on the toy." Chip holds the star closer. "This is... star," he says, his voice calm. Plankton's eye follows the toy, his hand reaching out. "Sta," he murmurs. "Yes," Karen says, her voice soothing. "It's a star." Plankton's hand closes around the star, his grip firm. "Sta," he repeats, his voice growing stronger. Chip feels his heart swell with hope. He picks up a small, plush dolphin. "Dad," he says, his voice clear. "Look." Plankton's gaze shifts, his hand still shaking. "Dolf," he says, his voice slurred. Chip nods. "Yes, it's a dolphin. Can you say dolphin?" Plankton tries, his mouth moving slightly. "Dolf," he whispers. Chip's face lights up. "Yes," he says, his voice filled with excitement. "Dolf." The therapist smiles, seeing the progress. "Keep it up," she says. "You're both doing wonderfully." Plankton's hand clutches the dolphin, his gaze unfocused. Karen's heart aches, but she knows this is a step forward. "You're doing so good," she says. Chip nods, his eyes on his dad. "More?" he asks. Plankton's eye flicks to him, his mouth opening slightly. "Ma-make?" he whispers. Karen's hand squeezes his shoulder. "What else would you like?" Plankton's hand shakes, the dolphin dropping to the floor. "Ma-make it... K-Karen. Neeeed Karen!" Karen's eyes fill with tears, but she smiles, her voice gentle. "I'm right here," she says, moving closer. "Yo--" Plankton's body jerks slightly, his gaze shifting to her. "Ka," he whispers, his voice a plea as tears stream down his face. Karen's heart breaks, but she smiles. "I'm here," she says, her voice a lifeline. "Karen," he repeats, his hand reaching out but not recognizing her. Karen takes his hand, her eyes never leaving his. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice soothing. "I'm right here." Plankton's eye lock onto hers, his tears falling harder. "Karen," he says again, his voice a desperate whimper. Chip watches, his heart wrenched. He's never seen his dad like this, so vulnerable and lost. He picks up the dolphin, his hand trembling. "Dad," he says, his voice gentle. "This is do-" But Plankton's cry interrupts him, his body trembling. "Karen!" he sobs, his hand reaching for her. Karen takes his hand, her eyes filled with love. "You're right here," she whispers. "I'm right here with yo-" But Plankton's cries grow louder, his grip on her hand tightening. "Karen! Need Karen!" His eye is wild, his body shaking uncontrollably. Karen's heart aches as she tries to calm him, her voice steady. "You have me," she says. "I'm right here." But he's lost in his own world, his fear overwhelming his senses. "Karen," he sobs, his voice breaking. Chip's heart is in his throat, his hands clutching the dolphin toy tightly. He's never seen his dad so desperate, so lost. The therapist, Dr. Marla, watches them, her eyes knowledgeable. "It's okay," she says, her voice calm. "This is part of the process." But Chip can't help feeling helpless, his mind racing to find a way to reach his dad. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's as she speaks to him gently. "You have me," she repeats, her voice a lullaby. "I'm right here." Plankton's grip on her hand is crushing, his sobs becoming more desperate. "Karen! Ka- ren!" he cries, his body wracked with tremors. Karen's eyes fill with determination. "I know you're scared," she whispers. "But I'm here. You're sa-" Her words are cut off by another sob from Plankton. Chip feels his heart tear in two, watching his father's agony. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "We're here." But Plankton's gaze remains unfocused, his mind lost in a whirlwind of overstimulation. Karen's eyes are wet, but she keeps talking, keeping her voice steady. "You're okay," she says, her hand stroking his back. "You're safe." Plankton's body convulses, his cries escalating. "Karen!" he wails, his voice raw. "Need Karen!" The therapist nods at Karen, her gaze compassionate. "Keep going," she whispers. "This is a breakthrough." Karen's voice is a beacon in the storm. "You have me," she repeats. "You have us." Plankton's cries turn into sobs, his body convulsing with the force of his emotions. Karen's hand remains steady on his back, her heart breaking for him. "You're okay," she soothes, her voice a gentle wave of comfort. "We're right he--" But Plankton's panic doesn't abate. "Karen!" he cries out, his voice shattered. "Need Karen!" Chip feels his own tears burn his cheeks as he watches his father's pain. "Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "You're not alone." But Plankton's eye is wild, his mind a tempest of fear and overwhelming stimuli. Karen leans in, her face close to his. "Look at me," she says, her voice firm but gentle. "You're safe with me." Plankton's gaze shifts, his sobs quivering his body. "Safe? If with Karen safe.." Karen's hand moves to his cheek, her thumb wiping away a tear. "Look at me," she says again, her voice a soft command. "You're okay."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 23 Plankton's sobs echo through the room, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "Karen," he whispers, his voice hoarse. Karen's eyes are wet, but she holds his gaze, her voice a lifeline. "I'm here," she says, her hand steady on his cheek. "You're safe." Plankton's breath hitches, his eye flickering with recognition. "Safe," he repeats, his voice a mere breath. The therapist nods encouragingly, her eyes on the two of them. "Keep going," she murmurs. "You're getting through to him." Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's. "You're safe," she repeats, her tone soothing. "You're with me, and Chip." Plankton's sobs slow, his body still trembling. "Wi-with me," he whispers, his hand tightening on hers. The therapist nods, smiling slightly. "Good," she says. "Keep it simple." Karen nods, her voice steady. "You're okay, Plankton," she says. "We're right here." Plankton's breathing hitches, his body slowly calming, when Krabs barges in. Krabs hadn't seen his rival Plankton much so he thought perhaps Plankton's up to some thing big. "Alright, funny business; where are ye-" But then he sees the scene before him as Plankton once again slips into a shut-down, his body going limp in Karen's arms. Chip's eyes widen with fear, the room spinning. "Dad!" he cries. "It's okay," Dr. Marla says. Krabs freezes, his eyes taking in Plankton's state. "What in Neptune's name is goin' on here?" his voice gruff, but concerned as he never knew of Plankton's neurodisability. Karen's gaze meets his, her voice steady. "It's a sensory overload," she explains. "When his mother was to give birth, somehow his head got stuck. It was nobody's fault, just a tough delivery. But it caused his brain structure to develop differently. When he got stuck, the lack of oxygen and blood flow, along with pressure, affected the way his neurons connect. And some parts of his brain just couldn't handle the stress, dwindling and pretty much depleted the resources that were allocated for his senses and social skills." Krabs' eyes widen, his usual grumble replaced with a rare moment of sympathy. "So that's why he's always been... Neptune." he says. Karen nods, her expression calm but sorrowful. "It leads to moments like what you're seeing right now," Dr. Marla explains. Krabs looks at Plankton, his eyes filled with a mixture of shock and remorse. "But he always seemed so... I'll leave ye alone." He leaves with a heavy heart. Chip wipes at his own tears, feeling a weight lifting. "Dad," he says, his voice shaking. "You're okay." Plankton's breathing slows, his grip on Karen's hand loosening as he rubs his eye, finally coming back to them. Plankton looks around, his gaze confused. "Huh?" he murmurs. Karen nods, smiling through her tears. "You're okay," she says again. "You had a big moment, but you're safe now." Plankton's eye finds Chip, and his expression relaxes slightly. "Where," he says, his voice still weak. Karen's voice is soft. "You're at home," she explains. "Dr. Marla is gonna get going, but you gotta new box of sensory items!" She says, deliberately leaving Mr. Krabs’s discovery out. They all knew he won't take it lightly. Dr. Marla leaves, and Chip smiles, his eyes shining. "You're all better," he says, his voice filled with relief. Meanwhile, Krabs went to his own home feeling quite conflicted with new found knowledge of Plankton's autism. He'd always seen his rival as a mere annoyance, a pebble in his otherwise smooth existence. But now, he couldn't shake the image of Plankton's desperate sobs and his own lack of understanding. Krabs sat in his dimly lit bedroom, thoughts racing as he stared at the wall. He'd never known Plankton's struggles went so deep, that his brain was wired differently. It made sense now, the way his rival would react to things dramatically. The way he'd just bluntly speak his mind. He'd just thought Plankton was weird, but now, he knew better. The next day, Krabby Patty's sales were booming, but Krabs' mind was elsewhere. He thought of what Karen told him about Plankton's birth and his autism. It was a lot to take in, but he couldn't decide how to interact whenever Plankton next comes around. He knew Plankton has no idea that he found out. As he counted his money, his heart felt heavier than the gold coins. He'd always seen Plankton as a nuisance, a constant thorn in his side. But now, he saw a different side to him. A side that was struggling, a side that was just trying to navigate a world that wasn't made for him. Krabs sighs, his thoughts deep. He knew he couldn't bring himself to mock Plankton anymore, yet he knew Plankton might be suspicious if he suddenly acts any different than their usual competitiveness. He decided to keep his newfound understanding to himself, for now, but his interactions could be more considerate. Moments later Plankton, obviously oblivious to the shift in Krabs' demeanor, attempts to steal the Krabby Patty secret formula. Krabs, still deep in thought, catches him mid-sneak by the cash register as the cashier, Squidward, read some magazine. Plankton's antennae perk up as he's caught. "Mr. Krabs," he stammers, his eye darting around. "Just... just popping in for a... uh...chat?" Plankton lied, his usual bravado apparent. Mr. Krabs looks at his rival, his expression unreadable. "Oh, I see," he says, his voice calm. Plankton didn't notice the subtlety of Krabs’s tone being a bit nicer.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 25 Once home, Plankton collapses onto his bed, unsure of how to process the day's events. His mind spins with the professor's cruel words and Krabs' unexpected defense. He'd never felt so... seen. So understood, even by his sworn enemy. So conflicted? Tears stream down his face as he clutches his favorite pillow. Karen finds him later, her eyes softening at his distress. "What's wrong?" she asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. Plankton takes a deep, shaky breath. "Krabs," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "He... he was nice to me.." Karen nods, her hand reaching out to his. "Okay," she says. "It'll be fine." Plankton's eye widens slightly. "Wait, what?" Plankton asks her. "What do you mean? It's not like he knows I'm autis–" But Karen cuts him off, her voice firm. "I told him," she says. "I thought it was time he knew." Plankton's body goes still, his heart racing. "What?" he repeats, his mind racing. Karen nods. "During Dr. Marla's visit he came in and saw you having a seizure so I explained how your birth was tough and it affected yo-" Plankton pulls away, his body tense. "You told Krabs?" he says, his voice shaking. "Why would you do that?" Karen's expression is calm, but her eyes are filled with sorrow. "Because," she says, "he's seen it and asked me wh-" But Plankton can't hear her anymore, his mind reeling. He sat up in his bed. "Get out," he whispers. "I-I can't... I can't have you in here right now." Karen's eyes widened, her hand hovering in midair. "Wh-" But Plankton's voice is firm. "I need to be alone." Karen nods, her eyes brimming with tears. "Okay," she says softly. "But if you need me-" Plankton turns away, his antennae drooping. "I just... need space." Karen nods, her heart aching. "I don't want you upset with me, Plank-" He cuts her off, his voice shaky. "It's not you," he says. "It's just... a lot. I'm disappointed that you told him, but I understand why. I just need to be by myself." Karen's throat tightens, but she nods. "Okay," she whispers, standing with her palms open. "Can I---" But Plankton's antennae wave frantically. "No, please. Just go." His voice is desperate, his eye pleading. Karen's heart breaks into a million pieces, but she nods, stepping back. "If you need anything," she says, "anything at all---" But Plankton is not in the mood. "I SAID to leave me ALONE!" Karen's eyes widen at his outburst, his voice sharp, a stark contrast to the softness that usually laces his words when with her. But she knew that he's not angry at her, but his own situation. She nods, her throat thick with unshed tears. "Ok," she says, her voice small. "I'll be out here if you need me." She closes the bedroom door. Plankton's sobs fill the room, his body shaking with the force of his emotion. He's never felt so alone, so exposed. He pulls his knees to his chest, his pillow damp with his tears. And it makes Karen's heart ache even more, knowing she's the one who told Krabs. Karen sits outside the door, hand hovering over the wood, wanting to go in, wanting to comfort him, but she knows he needs space. She's seen this before, the way the world can overwhelm him, crushing him under its weight until all he can do is withdraw into his own little bubble. Inside, Plankton talks to himself, his words tumbling out in a rush, his voice a mix of anger and sadness. "Why did you tell him?" he whimpers, his antennae quivering. "Why did you tell him?" He stims, his hands flapping in front of his face, his eye squeezed shut. "It's not your fault," he murmurs. "It's not your fault." The words are a mantra, a desperate attempt to convince his racing mind. He knows Karen meant well, but the knowledge feels like a betrayal. "It's not your fault," he repeats, voice growing soft, eye squeezed shut. "I can't help it." His voice cracks. "It's not my fault," he repeats, antennae twitching. "I just see things differently." He rocks back and forth. "But Krabs... Krabs was nice," he whispers, his voice filled with wonder. "Why?" he asks his reflection in the mirror. "Why now?" His eye is wet, his voice shaky. "Why now?" He whimpers it again, his stims increasing. Outside, Karen can't help but listen, her heart in her throat. Her hand is poised to enter, but she knows better. Plankton needs this moment alone, to process the tumultuous storm of emotions. She closes her eyes, her hand dropping to her side. Inside, Plankton's stims grow more intense, his breaths shallow. "It's not your fault," he whispers. "Krabs is just... confused." He flaps his hands, his body rocking faster. "Why did you tell him?" His voice is a mix of anger and desperation. "Why did you have to tell him?" His stims are a comfort, a way to self-regulate, to make sense of the chaos that's overwhelmed him. He opens his eye, his gaze unfocused as he stares at the wall. "But he was nice," he murmurs. "He said I'm not a mistake." He pauses, his hand stilling. "Maybe he sees me now, maybe it's just pity," he says, his voice harsh. He resumes his stims, his thoughts racing. His antennae twitch, his mind trying to process the kindness from his enemy. "But why?" he whispers. "Why now?" His body rocks back and forth, his hand flapping in rhythm. "It's not your fault," he repeats. "It's not your fault." He grabs a favorite sensory toy, a soft, squishy ball, and squeezes it tightly as he rocks. The pressure is comforting, helping him to think. "He was always mean," he mumbles, his voice a whisper in the quiet room. "But today... today he saw me," he says loudly, his voice cracking. "He saw me." He throws the ball against the wall, watching as it bounces back. "But why?" he asks his reflection again. "Why now?" The ball hits the floor with a soft thud, and he sighs, his hands stilling. "It's not your fault," he whispers. "But he knows now." His eye blinks rapidly, trying to focus on the wall. "He knows and he still... he still talked to me. Maybe he's just confused," he says to himself. "Or maybe he just felt sorry for me." His voice is flat, his movements mechanical. "But why now?" he asks the wall. He leans back, his hand still clutching the pillow. "But he knows," he whispers. "He knows now." His antennae twitch, his mind racing. "What does it mean? What does it mean?" he repeats, his voice a little louder. "What does it mean for me?" More tears roll down his face. "But he saw me at my weakest." His body shakes with sobs. "He saw me at my lowest," he whimpers. "And he didn't laugh. He was... nice." His voice cracks on the last word, his fist tightening around his pillow. "Why?" he cries out. "Why now?" The room is silent except for his ragged breaths and the quiet thump of his pillow against the bed frame. "It's not your fault," he reminds himself, his voice a mere whisper. "It's not your fault," he repeats, his body stilling slightly. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, his antennae drooping. "But why now?" he asks his reflection, his voice cracking. "Why did it take this for him to see me?" He squeezes his eye shut, trying to keep the tears at bay. "Why now?" his voice is barely audible. He's lost in his own thoughts. "It's not your fault! But what if it is? No," he says. "I'm not."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝗉𝗍. 27 Plankton ventured out of the bedroom to find Karen and Chip, but also two guests? He heard the knock on the door and came to see, not yet noticing the heads shared the same body. "Hi, Dad!" Chip called out. "This is JoJo, my new camp friend!" Plankton emerged from the hallway. "I didn't know we're having company.." He saw Chip and... another child? But he was coming from the side, not seeing that they're one kid. Plankton approached, his eye squinting. "Hi," he managed, his voice a little unsure. "And, who's the other one?" He asks, pointing to the other. "They're both JoJo," Chip clarifies, his voice filled with excitement. "Hello!" JoJo says as they turn to face Plankton, now in front of him. He then sees the one body, sharing both heads. Plankton's antennae twitch in surprise, his eye wide. "You're joined," he states, his voice soft and curious. JoJo nods, both heads tilting slightly. "Bicephalous," they explain. "It's a rare condition. We aren't twins, yet we share a body. It's complicated to explain!" One head giggles while the other says, "I'm sure you being a one header won't know what it's like to have both teachers and students see you as the class weirdo despite getting good grades.." Plankton's eye narrows. "What do you mean?" "I mean, Chip says you're so good at science. We bet the other one headers loved you for it!" JoJo says. "We're smart, but some weren't so accepting and had to sometimes get taken out of class just because of how we're born! But you're lucky to be admired for your intelligence without worrying about bullies.." Plankton's gaze falters. Being autistic, he's gone through the same thing! Despite being the best at science, he's been singled out repeatedly. He looks at JoJo, his heart aching. He knows exactly what it's like to be seen as different, to have people whisper about you, to be misunderstood. He takes a deep breath, his antennae drooping. "Actually," he says, "I've a neurodisability, making some stuff easier but others hard." JoJo's heads lean in, their curiosity piqued. "Oh, cool!" one says. "What kin-" But Karen cuts them off. "He's a bit sensitive about it, with his own experiences," she explains gently. JoJo nods. "We all have things," they say. Plankton looks at them, his antennae twitching in thought. "Would you like to play?" Chip asks, his voice hopeful. JoJo nods, their heads bobbing. "Sure, I'd love to," they say. JoJo follows Chip to his bedroom, leaving Karen and Plankton face to face. Karen looks at him, concern etched into every line of her face. "Are you okay?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton nods, his antennae still. "I'm fine," he says, his voice quiet. "It's just..." He pauses, searching for the right words. "It's just that JoJo, they're... different, more than me." He sighs, looking at his son's retreating back. "I know how it feels to be... less than, to be seen as a freak," he whispers. Karen squeezes his hand. "You're not a freak, Plankton." Her voice is firm, her gaze steady. "You're you. And you're incredible." He looks at her, his eye glistening. "But what if Chip... what if he doesn't understand?" Her grip tightens. "Chip understands more than you think. And JoJo, they're different too, in their own way. They'll learn from each other." Their eyes lock, and Plankton sees the love and determination in Karen's gaze. He nods. "Okay," he says, his voice shaky. "Okay." They walk into Chip's room, where the two children are already engrossed in a board game, their heads bent over the colorful pieces. Plankton watches them, his antennae twitching. The sight of Chip laughing with JoJo, his excitement unbridled, makes him feel a swell of pride. His heart aches for the times he couldn't connect with others, but here, his son is, sharing his world with someone who's different too. He watches as Chip explains the rules of his favorite game, his voice earnest and his eyes shining. JoJo's heads nod in understanding, their smiles matching Chip's. "Karen," Plankton says to his wife, "I'm gonna go to the Krusty Krab to see what happens." Karen looks at him, surprise in her eyes. "Again? Even aft-" "Yeah," he cuts her off. "I need to understand." Karen nods. She knows. "Be safe," she whispers, kissing his cheek. Plankton nods, his antennae twitching slightly. "I will," he promises, his voice determined. He heads out the door, the fresh ocean air whipping around him. The Krabby Patty factory looms in the distance, its lights always on. He's been here before, but today is different. He's going alone, not as a thief, but as himself. He opens the door, his heart racing. Krabs looks up, his eyes widening. "What do you want?" he said. Plankton's antennae twitch. "To talk," he says, his voice steady. Krabs frowns, but nods, gesturing to the counter. Plankton slides onto the stool, his body tense. "What about?" Krabs asks, although he's figured out exactly why Plankton came. Plankton takes a deep breath. "I wanted to... talk about what happe—" Krabs interrupts, his claws tapping on the countertop. "You mean the other day?" His eyes narrow slightly. "Why? I kicked out that ableist!" Plankton nods. "I know. Thank you for that." His voice is sincere. "But I wanted to talk about..." He pauses, gathering his thoughts. "About me," he finally says. "What your knowledge of my autism means for us.." Krabs' claws still, his expression unreadable. "Look, Plankton," he says, his voice gruff. "I dunno much about all that brain- stuff. But if it's important to you, I'll try." This is his chance to bridge the gap, to explain his world to someone who's never truly understood. Plankton's antennae quiver. "It's just," he starts, his voice shaky. "When you see me, do you see me?" He looks into Krabs' eyes, his own filled with hope and fear. "Or do you now see autism?" Krabs' face softens, his claws still. He considers the question. "I see you," he says, his voice firm. "And yes, I see the autism. But it's not all of you. Which is why I'll still keep me eyes peeled for any shenanigans!" A small smile plays on his lips, hinting at his understanding. Plankton's antennae quiver. "But it's a part of me," he says. "A big part." Krabs nods. "Aye, it is," he says. "And it's why I'm tryin' to be more... understandin'." He pauses, his eyes searching Plankton's. "I don't always get it, but I'll try. But still, hands off me secret recipes as always, yeah?" Plankton can't help but laugh a little, his antennae lifting slightly. "Always," he promises. "Still, can't say I won't try!" Krabs' smile widens. "Aye, get on outta here before you do!" He waves Plankton off, both their hearts lighter. The conversation lingers in Plankton's mind as he walks back home. The Krusty Krab no longer feels like enemy territory. It's still competitive, but now it's tinged with a new dynamic. One of... camaraderie? Or at least mutual understanding. JoJo is just leaving as Plankton returns back. "It was great meeting you, Mr. Plankton!" JoJo says, their heads nodding in unison. Plankton's always felt so isolated in his differences, and now he sees that Chip is forming bonds with someone who's even more unique. "You too." Plankton replies.

𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔰𝔲𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲; 𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔪𝔦𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔫

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 6 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Hanna pulled out a notepad from her bag. "Let's try some communication exercises," she suggested. "Karen, can you ask Plankton a simple question?" Karen swallowed hard, her voice shaking slightly. "Plankton, what color is the sky?" Plankton's hand paused in its squeezing. His eye searched the room before finally meeting hers. "Sky," he murmured, his voice a little more present. "Blue. The daytime sky appears blue because air molecules scatter shorter wavelengths of sunlight more than longer ones. The blackbody spectrum of sunlight coming into th-" "Thank you," Hanna said, her tone measured. "Now, let's try again. What does the sky look like right now?" Plankton's gaze shifted to the window, the curtains pulled back to reveal the soft blue of the early morning. "Sky," he murmured. "Blue." His hand resumed its rhythmic squeezing of the fidget toy, a silent companion to his thoughts. Hanna nodded, scribbling quick notes on her pad. "Very good, Plankton. Now, can you tell me why you don't like to be touched?" He paused, his hand still. "Touch," he said, his voice tight. "Overwhelming." Karen clenched at his word choice. "Too much," he added. "Sensory overload." Hanna nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "Okay. What about sounds? Are there any sounds that bother you?" Plankton's hand stilled on the fidget toy, his gaze drifting away. "Sounds," he murmured. "Some are too loud." He paused, his brow furrowing. "The toaster," he said, his voice filled with distress. "It hurts." Hanna made another note. "We'll have to be mindful of that," she said. "And what about light?" Plankton's hand resumed its squeezing. "Light," he murmured. "Sometimes too bright, if sudden." Hanna nodded, her expression sympathetic. "It's ok," she said. "We'll make sure the lights aren't too harsh. Now, Plankton, can you tell us what you enjoy doing?" He looked up at them, his eye searching their screens. "Read," he murmured, his voice gaining a tiny bit of animation. "Books, knowledge." "Okay," she said, her voice steady. "I'm going to set a tablet in front of you, to gauge your reactions to different sounds and sights." They sat at the dining table, Plankton's eye flicking to the new device. Hanna had downloaded various apps to help with sensory integration. "Remember, you can tell us if anything makes you uncomfortable. We're just going to start with some simple patterns and sounds." The screen lit up with colorful shapes, moving slowly and predictably. Plankton's hand stilled on the fidget toy. His eye followed the patterns, his expression unreadable. "Good," Hanna murmured, her finger swiping the screen. "Let's try some more different sights now." The patterns on the screen then shifted to a kaleidoscope of flashing lights. Plankton's eye grew wide, his hand frozen on the fidget toy. Karen watched as his gaze locked onto the screen, his body going rigid. "Plankton?" she asked, a hint of alarm in her voice. But he didn't respond. His eye remained unblinking, unmoving. Hanna's hand shot out, her finger pressing the screen to pause the app. "It's ok," she murmured. "Take deep breaths." But Plankton didn't move, his body eerily still. "What's happening?" Karen whispered, her voice trembling. Hanna's eyes darted to her notepad, scribbling furiously. "Absence seizure," she murmured. "It's common with autism. It's like his brain has gone on pause." Karen's chest tightened as she watched Plankton's unblinking eye. "What do we do?" "Stay calm," Hanna said, her voice steady. "Let it run its course. It'll be over soon." Karen's hand hovered over Plankton's shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but she held back, afraid to trigger something worse. The silence in the room was deafening, only punctuated by the soft ticking of the wall clock. Each second felt like an eternity as she waited for Plankton to come back to them. Suddenly, his eye twitched, and the tension in his body began to ease. He blinked, his gaze returning to the present, and took a deep, shaky breath. "Plankton?" Karen asked, her voice a whisper. He looked at her, his expression confused. "Are you ok?" Hanna stepped in, her voice calm and soothing. "It's all right. You just had a little seizure. It happens sometimes." Plankton's hand tightened on the fidget toy, his gaze flitting between Karen and Hanna. "Seizure," he murmured, his voice a little shaky. "Why?" Hanna's hand paused over her notepad, her expression compassionate. "It's part of the autism spectrum," she said, carefully choosing her words. "Sometimes the brain gets overwhelmed and needs a brief rest. It's nothing to be scared of, but we'll keep an eye on it. How did you feel in that moment?" Plankton took a moment to consider, his hand still squeezing the fidget toy. "Went away," he murmured. "Everything went away, yet it was all... too much. Felt like... dizzy in a blender." Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful. "It's like your brain was trying to process too much, and it needed a moment to reset." She made another note. "We'll need to test sounds." They moved to the living room, where Hanna had set up a speaker. "We're going to play some noises," she said. "Tell us if any are too loud or bother you." The first sound was a gentle rainfall. Plankton's antennae twitched but he remained calm. Hanna made a note. "Good," she murmured. Next, she played a recording of people talking fast over one another. Plankton's hand squeezed the fidget toy until his knuckles whitened. "Too much," he whispered, his voice strained as he felt another absence seizure coming on. Karen's eyes grew wide with concern. "Stop," she said, her voice firm. "That's enough." Hanna nodded, her gaze never leaving Plankton's face. She reached over and turned off the speaker. "It's ok," she soothed. "We're going to take this slow." She made a note of the reaction before looking at Karen. "We need to build his tolerance, but not push him past his limits. Let's try tactile whenever his seizure completely stops."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 3 Chip looked up, his eyes reflecting the confusion he felt. "What happened, Mom?" he asked, his voice smaller than usual. Karen took a deep breath, trying to keep her anger in check. "Your dad is upset," she began, her voice tight. "You used a word that hurt his feelings." Chip's eyes widened in shock. "What wor—" "Don't lie to me," Karen snapped, her voice unusually harsh. "I know what you said. That word is not okay." Chip looked at her, his face a picture of innocence and confusion. "But it's just what you said," he protested. "What?" Karen's voice was a mix of anger and despair. "I only talked about your dad's autism, Chip. I never called him that." Chip had only been trying to repeat what he thought she had told him. "But I didn't know it was bad," he whispered, his eyes welling up. "I just didn't know what to call it." Karen sat by him. "Do you understand why Dad was upset?" Chip nodded, his eyes brimming with tears. "But I didn't know it was a bad word," he said, his voice cracking. "What's it mean?" Karen took a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions from overwhelming her. "It's a very hurtful word," she explained gently. "It's used to hurt of people who are different, like those who have neurological conditions like your dad's. It's not right, and it's not even accurate." Chip felt his heart sink. "But Mom," Chip protested, "I didn't mean it like th-" Karen's voice was firm but not without gentleness. "It doesn't matter how you meant it, Chip. That word is not acceptable. It's hurtful and it makes people feel less than who they are. Your dad is not 'that'. He's just your dad, and he loves you more than anything." Chip looked down, his screen blurring with tears. He hadn't meant to cause pain, but the realization of what he'd done made his stomach twist with guilt. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. Karen sighed, her frustration dissipating into sadness. She knew her son wasn't cruel—just confused. "I know you didn't mean it, Chip," she said, her voice softening. "But it's important that you know that words have power. They can build people up or tear them down." Chip nodded, feeling the weight of his mistake. He had never seen his mother so upset, and he hated that he was the cause. "Let's go talk to Dad," Karen said, her voice softening. "We need to tell him that you didn't mean it, and that you understand now." They walked back to the bedroom, Karen's hand in his. Plankton sat on the bed, his back to them. "Daddy?" Chip's voice was tentative. Plankton's body tensed, his antennae twitching with the effort not to turn around. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen said softly, stepping forward. "Chip didn't know that word was hurtful. He's sor-" Plankton's antennae shot up, his eye burning with a mix of sadness and pain. "How could you, Karen?" he spat out, his voice shaking. "You, of all people. How could you let him think that about me?" Karen stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I didn't, Plankton. Chip just heard me mention your autism and he didn't underst--" But Plankton jerked away, his antennae quivering with frustration. "That's not what he said!" Karen's screen filled with puzzlement. "What did he say, then?" "That you said I was..." Plankton paused, his antennae drooping. "That I was... that." Karen's eyes searched his face, her heart breaking. "Plankton, no. I swear, I would never use that word for you. You're not 'that'. You're just you—my love, my partner, Chip's dad. Autism is just a part of yo-" But Plankton was too caught up in his own turmoil to hear her. "It's always been there," he whispered, his antennae drooping. "Everyone else can see it. Why couldn't I?" Chip watched, feeling his own heart break at the sight of his dad's pain. He wanted to fix it, to make everything right again. "Daddy," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I don't think you're that way. You're just... Daddy." Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the sound of his son's voice. He turned to face them, his eye swollen with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," Chip continued, his voice trembling. "I didn't know that word was bad. I just wanted to tell you how much I love y—" "Love?" Plankton choked out, his antennae twitching. "How can you love someone who's... who's like me? After all, you just called me tha-" "Daddy, I didn't know it was bad," Chip said, his voice filled with sincerity. "But I do now. And it doesn't change anything. You're still my dad. You're still the best person I kno—" But Plankton can't bear to hear any more. "Get out!" he roared. Karen and Chip stared at his outburst, shocked by his sudden anger. They could see the pain in his eye, the deep-seated fear of being misunderstood.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 9 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Chip's gaze went to his dad, his confusion morphing into concern. "What's wrong?" Plankton's eye darted to Chip. "Wh-what do you mean?" he stuttered, his defensiveness a clear sign of his internal turmoil. "Why do you think anything's wrong?" He says to Chip. Chip looked at him, his eyes filled with innocence. "You just...you're acting di-" "I'm not!" Plankton snapped, his voice echoing in the quiet room. He felt the weight of his fidget toy in his hand. "I'm fine!" he insisted, his antennae twitching with agitation. Chip took a step back, his eyes wide with surprise. "Dad?" he asked, his voice trembling. Karen's broke at the sight of her son's confusion. "It's ok," she tried to say, but Plankton's anger was palpable. "I'm not acting any way!" Plankton's voice grew louder, his eye darting around the room as if searching for an escape. "Don't patronize me!" His antennae shook with the intensity of his emotions, and Karen could see the fear and frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Chip took another step back, his eyes wide with shock. "But you always give me hugs," he said, his voice small. "What happened?" Plankton's face contorted with frustration. "I don't know," he said, his voice rising. "I just can't... I can't handle it right now, ok?" He threw the fidget toy across the room, the plastic smacking against the wall. "Leave me alone!" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his voice shaking. "But, Dad, I missed yo-" "I said leave me alone!" Plankton's voice boomed, the stress of the past week exploding out of him. His body was a coiled spring, ready to snap. Karen's chest ached as she watched the scene unfold, torn between her love for Plankton and her need to comfort their son. "It's okay," she murmured, stepping towards them. "Let's all just take a moment." Chip's screen searched hers, his expression a mix of hurt and confusion. "But, Dad, I just-" "I said leave me alone!" Plankton's voice was a thunderclap, cutting off Chip's words. His body was rigid, his antennae quivering with agitation. Karen felt his pain, knew his fear of being exposed, of being seen as lesser than before. She took a step towards him, her hand outstretched. "Plankton, please," she whispered. But Chip didn't get it. "Dad?" Chip's voice was trembling, his eyes brimming with tears. "What's happening?" He looked so lost, so small in that moment. Plankton's chest heaved with heavy breaths, his eye avoiding Chip's gaze. "It's...it's nothing," Plankton stuttered, trying to control his voice. He knew his behavior was erratic, but the fear of being discovered was too great. Chip looked at him, his expression a blend of confusion and hurt. "But you're not fine," he said, his voice shaking. "You're acting..." Plankton's anger grew, his eye flashing. "I'm fine!" he insisted, his voice a whisper-shout. "Don't tell me what I'm feeling!" He couldn't bear the thought of his son seeing him as broken, as someone to pity. Chip's lip trembled, his eyes filling with tears. "But you're not acting like yourself," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Karen's ached for both of them. Plankton's face grew tight, his body coiled with tension. "What do you know?" he snapped. "You're just a ki—" "What do you mean I don't know?" Chip's voice grew louder. "I live with you, I know you better than anyone else! And you're just making excuses for acting like this!" His screen flushed with emotion, and his fists were clenched tightly at his sides. "So don't call me a kid when you're the one throwing a fit like one!" Plankton's eye widened, his anger a stark contrast to the calmness he'd been trying to maintain. "How dare you!" he snapped. "Yo--" Chip's voice grew stronger, cutting through Plankton's words. "How dare I? You're the one shouting!" Chip's voice trembled, his own frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. "I don't know what's happening to you, but me and Mom are both pretty much sick of you and your precious little temper tantrums! So you can either decide to tell us what's going on or keep acting like this," Chip's voice broke, as Plankton sat down with ringing in his ears, "but I'm not gonna keep pretending like we care about yo-" But before Chip could finish his sentence, Plankton's body stiffened, his eye glazed over. "Plankton?" Karen asked. But there was no response. Chip felt fear. "Dad?" he whispered, reaching out tentatively. Karen recognized the signs of Plankton's overwhelm. "Chip, step back," she said, her voice calm yet firm. As Plankton's body stiffened, Chip's eyes were wide with terror, his hand hovering in the air, unsure of how to help. "It's ok," Karen whispered, her voice a steady beacon in the storm of Plankton's seizure. "Just wa- Chip, no, it's ok," Karen says, her voice soothing as she tries to keep the situation calm. She knew from the other day's experience that Plankton might not remember this, that he was somewhere else in his mind, disconnected from the world around him. Karen remained composed, ready to catch him if he fell. Chip watched, his own fear mirroring the scene before him. "D-dad?" he stuttered, his voice shaking. Chip's eyes were on his father, his young mind trying to understand. Plankton's body remained rigid, his eye vacant. The room was a tableau of tension, the silence deafening. Karen knew this moment all too well now, the moment when Plankton slipped into dizzy/lightheaded daze, leaving them behind. She took a deep breath, willing her nerves to calm, her hand reaching for Chip's to guide him away from his dad. Chip's eyes were glued to his father, a silent tear tracking down his screen. Karen wrapped her arm around him, pulling him gently to the side. "It's ok," she murmured, her voice a balm. "Dad's just... he's just having a moment." They watched as Plankton's body went slack, his hand dropping the fidget toy. Chip's gaze followed it as it bounced off the floor, the plastic clattering against the wood. "What's happening?" he asked, his voice a whisper. "It's ok," Karen said, squeezing Chip's hand tightly. "Dad's having a moment." She guided Chip to the couch. "Just wait here." With gentle but firm steps, Karen approached Plankton, his body still frozen in the grip of the seizure. She knew not to move him, not to shake him out of it. Instead, she talked to him in a calm, soothing voice, keeping the room's energy low. "You're safe," she murmured. "We're right here." But Chip is to curious. Chip's gaze remained fixed on Plankton, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Is he ok?" he whispered, his voice trembling. Karen's went out to him, knowing this was the first time he'd seen his father like this. "It's called an absence seizure," Karen explained, sitting beside Chip. "It's like his brain takes a little break." Her voice was calm, trying to reassure her son. "It's part of his, h-his life now." Chip stared at his dad, his chest tight with fear. "Is he gonna be ok?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Karen nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "Yes," she said. "But it's important we stay calm." "Mom what's..." "It's because of an accident," she said, her voice gentle. Chip's eyes widened with horror. "An accident? What happened?" he asked, his voice a whisper. Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation she'd been dreading. "Dad had a fall," she said, her gaze firmly on Plankton. "It hurt his brain." Chip's gaze went back to his father, his expression a mix of shock and sadness. "Will he get better?" Karen's eyes filled with tears as she looked at her son, his innocence a stark contrast to the harsh reality they faced. "It's... different," she said, swiping at her screen. "It's not like a bruise that will heal. But we can help him, we can learn to live with it." Chip nodded, his grip on her hand tightening. "How?" he asked, his voice small. "So is he..." "He's still your dad," Karen whispered, her eyes never leaving Plankton's still form. "But now, we just have to love him a little differently. I'll let him tell you more when he's ready." Chip's screen searched hers, his thoughts racing. "Ok," he managed, his voice thick with uncertainty. Plankton's seizure ended nearly abruptly as it had begun. He blinked, his gaze returning to the room gradually. His hand searched for the fidget toy, his hand reaching out instinctively. Karen picked it up from the floor, handing it to him. "You're ok," she said, her voice soothing.

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 13 "You're a ret-" Chip screams. The words hang heavy in the air, each one a knife to Plankton's heart. He's spent his whole life trying to prove he's not, and in one moment, his son has reduced him to a cruel epithet. He feels the sting of tears in his eye, but his body won't let them fall. He's frozen, his mind racing. What did he do wrong? How could his own flesh and blood say something so hurtful? Karen jumps to her feet, her face a mask of fury. "Chip," she says, her voice dangerously calm. "That's enough." Chip turns to his mom, his eyes wide and wet. "But he just doesn't get it," he wails. Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes on her son, her voice steady. "Chip, Dad is not that word. He's autistic, and that means he processes things differently. He's always trying to understand you, just like you're trying to understand him." Chip's anger subsides, now replaced by guilt and confusion. He looks at Plankton, who's still frozen on the bench. "But I just wanted him to be happy for me," Chip says, his voice small. Karen kneels beside him, taking his hand. "And he is," she says firmly. "You just have to learn how to read his emotions differently." Chip frowns. "What do you mean?" He asks her. Karen takes a deep breath, her heart aching for both her son and her husband. "Your dad shows his love and pride in his own way, Chip. Sometimes, it's not the same as everyone else's." She looks at Plankton, who's still sitting on the bench, his antennae drooped low. "But that doesn't mean it's not there," she adds softly. "His autism just makes it harder for him to show it like other people do." Chip looks at Plankton, his chest tightening with regret. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Plankton doesn't move, but his antennae twitch slightly. "Dad, I'm sorry!" Chip repeats, his voice stronger. Plankton blinks, his eye swiveling towards Chip. "I don't get it," he said, his voice flat. "Chip what makes you think I wasn't pro-" But Chip doesn't let him finish. "You never cheer," he says, his voice breaking. "You never clap, you never jump around. You're always so still and quiet. It's like you don't even care. You say you're proud, but you don't show i---" Karen cuts him off with a gentle squeeze of his hand. "That's not true, Chip," she says, her voice calm. "Your dad shows his feelings in his own way. It's just different from what we're used to." She turns to Plankton, her expression softening. "Plankton, can you tell Chip how you felt when you heard he won?" But Plankton's in his own world now. "Chip won, Chip won, Chip won," he repeats, his eye unfocused. "I'm proud but, you don't show it, I'm sorry. I'm proud, I'm proud, Chip won. I'm proud. But you don't show it, I'm sorry," he says to the empty air. "Chip won." His voice is monotone, his body rocking slightly, his stim. "Chip, I'm proud, Chip won. But you don't show it. I'm sorry. I'm proud, I'm proud, I'm proud," he murmurs. The words repeat like a broken record, each one more painful than the last. Karen sighs, her heart breaking for her husband, and also her son. Chip stares at him. Plankton's stim doesn't stop, tears in his eye. "I'm proud, Chip won, I'm sorry. I'm proud," he continues, upset at himself. Karen steps forward, her eyes filling with compassion. "Plankton, you're doing just fine," she says, trying to cut through the repetitive phrase. "We know you're proud. It's okay." But Plankton's stim doesn't stop. "I'm proud. But you don't show it, I'm sorry. Chip won." His voice is mechanical, his thoughts locked in a painful loop. Karen sits beside him. "It's okay," she soothes. "Chip knows you're proud. You don't have to keep saying it." But the words don't stop, the stim a shield against his son's pain. "I'm proud, but you don't show it, I'm sorry. Chip won." His voice cracks, his antennae quivering with each syllable. Karen wraps her arm around his shoulders, pulling him into her embrace. "You're doing great, Plankton. We're all proud of Chip. We just have to remembe---" But Plankton can't stop, the phrase playing like a broken record in his mind. "I'm proud, but you don't show it, I'm sorry," he whispers, his antennae drooping. He can't look at his son, the hurt in Chip's eyes too much to bear. "Chip won." His voice is a whisper now, his body still. Karen's arms tighten around his shoulders. "It's okay, Plankton," she soothes. "You're doing your best." But he can't hear her over the hurt. "I'm proud," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I'm proud." Chip watches, his tears falling freely now. "Dad," he says, his voice thick with sorrow. "I know you're proud of me. I know you love me!" But Plankton's stim continues, his voice a sad refrain. "I'm proud, but you don't show it, I'm sorry. Chip won." Karen's eyes fill with tears. "Chip," she says softly, "Your dad's stim is his way of coping with his emotions right now. He's trying to say he's proud, but his brain's stuck in a loop." Chip wipes at his own tears, his heart aching. "I didn't mean to make him sad," he whispers. "I just wanted him to be happy." Karen nods, her own eyes wet. "I know, sweetheart," she says, her voice soothing. "And yet, it's hard for people with autism to show their feelings the way we do. And right now, your dad's feeling a lot of things. He's sorry he can't be like everyone else, but he's also really proud of you."

𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐗𝐈𝐀 ; 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒔 .

GREAT CHIP iv (Autistic author) In the bedroom, Karen managed to guide Plankton to the bed, her voice soothing. She knew his senses were heightened right now, his body a battleground. Chip hovered in the doorway, his eyes never leaving his dad. He felt like he didn't recognize this man who had always been his hero. The seizure passed, leaving Plankton drained. Karen helped tucked him in, her eyes filled with sadness. In the quiet that followed, she turned to Chip, his own eyes red and puffy. "I'm sorry you had to see that," she said gently. Chip nodded, his gaze still on Plankton's exhausted face. "Is he okay?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "He'll be fine," Karen assured, her voice strained. "Just tired. This happens sometimes." Chip nodded, his gaze never leaving Plankton's face. He felt like he was seeing his dad for the first time, like he'd been looking at him through a fog and suddenly, it had lifted. He didn't know what to do with the mix of feelings swirling inside him: confusion, fear, sadness. Karen took Chip's hand, squeezing it gently. "Let's go talk, okay?" she suggested, leading him out of the room. They sat in the kitchen, the silence heavy between them. "I don't get it," Chip said finally, his voice still shaky. "Why did Dad get so mad?" Karen sighed, her grip on his hand tightening. "It's not that he's mad at you, sweetheart. It's his way of dealing with the fear and confusion. Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed, and it's like he can't control his reactions." Chip looked at her, his eyes searching for understanding. "But why does he have to break my toys?" he asked, his voice still small. Karen's heart ached for him. "It's not about the toys," she explained softly. "It's about the frustration he feels, the inability to communicate what he's going through." Chip sniffled, trying to wrap his head around it all. "But why does he get so...so...mad?" Karen's eyes were filled with understanding. "It's not just you, Chip. Sometimes, his brain needs a way to deal with everything. It's like his own personal tornado, and when it hits, it's hard for him to keep his emotions from spinning out of control." Chip nodded, still not fully understanding but willing to try. He looked down at their joined hands, his thumb tracing small circles on her palm. "What can I do?" Karen squeezed his hand. "Just be patient," she said. "And don't take it personally. Remember, it's not about you, it's about what he's feeling. And when he's ready, we can talk about it together." Chip nodded, feeling a mix of relief and trepidation. He didn't want to upset his dad again, but he needed to know how to help. He didn't want to feel so powerless. "But what if he doesn't want to talk?" he ventured, his voice small. "Then we'll give him space," Karen said, her eyes filled with warmth. "But we'll be here, ready to listen when he does." Chip nodded, wiping away the last of his tears with the back of his hand. "Okay," he murmured, his voice still shaky. "Can I sit with him?" Karen nodded. "Just for a bit, but remember, he might not know you're there right away. Let's go." They tiptoe back into the room, the air still thick with tension. Plankton's eye is closed. Karen knows he's sleeping. Chip sits in the chair beside the bed, watching his dad's chest rise and fall. He reaches out to touch Plankton's hand, but stops. He didn't want to startle him, not after what happened. His mind raced with questions, but he knew now was not the time to ask. Instead, Chip took a deep breath, his hand hovering over Plankton's. He didn't know how to make it right, but he knew he had to try. Karen watched from the doorway, her heart heavy with the weight of her family's pain. She knew this was a moment that could either build a wall or bridge the gap between father and son. Chip's hand hovered, unsure, before finally landing on his dad's. Plankton's antennae twitched, and Chip looked up to see his mother's eyes glistening with proud tears. Karen offered a gentle smile. "You can sit with him," she whispered. "Just don't touch him anywhere else." Chip nodded and pulled the chair closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving his dad's still face. He sat for what felt like hours, his hand resting gently on Plankton's. Every now and then, his dad's antennae would twitch, and he'd hold his breath, afraid that he'd wake him up. But Plankton remained still, lost in a deep slumber. The room was quiet, save for the soft snores escaping his dad's mouth. Chip stared at his hand on Plankton's, his mind racing with everything he'd learned. Autism, seizures, the way his dad's brain worked differently. It was all so new and overwhelming. He felt a pang of guilt for not knowing sooner, for not understanding. But Karen's words echoed in his mind: his dad's reactions weren't personal. It was just how his brain dealt with stress. Chip leaned back in the chair, his eyes heavy with the weight of the day's events. He watched his dad's chest rise and fall, the steady rhythm comforting him. His thoughts swirled with questions and confusion, but he knew one thing for sure: he loved his dad, no matter what. As the minutes ticked by, his fear turned into resolve. He would learn more about his father and try to find a way to support him without setting off the storm of sensory overload.

GREAT CHIP vi (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae twitched, his face etched with lines of fatigue. "It's not that I don't want your affection," he said, his voice hoarse. "I just need it in a way that doesn't make me feel... like I'm in a minefield." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, his mind racing to understand. "How do you mean?" he asked, his curiosity genuine. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae twitching as he searched for the right words. "It's like... sometimes, a simple touch can feel like an electric shock," he began, his voice strained. "Or like I'm being smothered by a heavy blanket of sound." Chip's eyes widened, trying to comprehend. "But you've always hugged mom," he said, his voice filled with confusion. Plankton's antennae drooped slightly. "It's different with your mother," he explained, his voice a little less strained. "She knows me, she knows my limits. And she's... patient." He paused, his eye flickering with something resembling sadness. "But others, it's..." Chip leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "What about others?" he asked gently. Plankton's antennae twitched, his expression tightening. "With others, it's... unpredictable," he said, his voice a mix of frustration and resignation. "Some days I can handle a pat on the back, and others, it's like being stabbed." Chip's eyes widened, his hand instinctively moving to his chest. "It's that intense?" he whispered. Plankton nodded, his antennae waving slightly. "Some days are worse than others," he said, his voice soft. "But when it's bad, it feels like I'm being bombarded from all sides. It's...overwhelming." Chip's brow furrowed as he tried to imagine the intensity his dad described. "What can I do to make sure I don't hurt you?" he asked, his voice earnest. Plankton's antennae perked up slightly, his eye searching Chip's face. "Just be mindful," he said, his voice softer than before. "Watch for my cues. If I look overwhelmed, if I flinch, just...give me space." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving his dad's. "What are the cues?" he asked, eager to learn. "How do I know when you're in that 'minefield'?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching for the right words. "Well, my antennae might twitch a lot, I might get really quiet, or I might get louder. It's different every time." Chip nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "So, if you're in that 'minefield', I should just...?" "You can be there," Plankton finished for him, his antennae still. "But not too close. Make sure to get your mother." Chip nodded, his mind racing with the new information. He'd always known his dad was special, but this was a new kind of understanding. "What about sounds?" he asked, his voice tentative. "What noises set you off?" Plankton sighed, his antennae twitching slightly. "It's not just about the loudness," he began, his eye searching the ceiling as if for an answer. "It's more about the pitch, the suddenness. Like when you scratch or drop something.." Chip's eyes grew wide with realization. "Oh," he murmured. "So, it's like a surprise attack?" Plankton's antennae nodded. "Exactly," he said, his voice sounding a bit less strained. "But it's not just about the sounds themselves. It's about how my brain interprets them." Chip leaned in, his eyes filled with curiosity. "But how did you get it, Dad?" he asked, his voice soft. "Was it from something you caught or something that happened?" Plankton's antennae waved in frustration. "It's not like that," he said, his voice sharp. "I was born with it. It's just the way my brain is developed, and it's not like getting a cold!" His eye was intense, his voice rising. Chip's eyes widened, taking in his father's outburst. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae dropping slightly. "I know you didn't mean it like that," he said, his voice softer. "But it's important to understand that it's not something I can just get over. It's a part of how I am." Chip nodded, feeling the weight of his father's words. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely audible. "I..." Plankton's antennae waved gently, his eye softening. "It's okay," he said. "I know you didn't mean to upset me. It's just...it's a lot to explain." Chip nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. He knew his dad wasn't mad at him, but it was still hard to see him so upset. Plankton's eye searched his son's face, the anger slowly fading into something softer. "Look," he said, his voice low. "I know it's a lot to take in, but I need you to know that I l-love you." Chip felt a tear slide down his cheek. "I love you too, Dad," he managed to say, his voice choking with emotion. "But I don't want you to be in pain." Plankton's antennae waved gently, his expression a mix of love and sorrow. "I know," he said. "And that's why we're talking about this. So you can understand, so you know." Chip sniffled, trying to hold back his tears. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked, his voice small. Plankton's antennae drooped, his face etched with regret. "I was afraid," he admitted. "Afraid that you'd think I was broken. That you'd... not love me the same. And I don't usually like to talk about it to much." Chip felt his heart ache. "Dad," he said, his voice steady despite his emotions. "I could never think of you as broken. You're the smartest person I know. And you're my hero." Plankton's antennae perked up slightly at the words, his eye filling with warmth. "But you don't see me like that when I'm... in that state," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "You stared at me like I'm to be feared." Chip's eyes widened, a look of horror crossing his face. "Dad, no!" he exclaimed. "I didn't mean to!" Plankton's antennae drooped, his expression one of defeat. "It's okay, Chip," he said, his voice resigned. "It's hard to explain. It's not like I can control it." Chip nodded, his mind racing with questions and fears. He knew his dad wasn't broken, but he wished there was something he could do to ease his pain. "What happens when you're in that state?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye closed as he tried to explain. "It's like my brain's in a whirlwind, and I can't get out," he said. "Everything's spinning, and I can't focus on anything." "But why do you get so upset when it happens?" he pressed. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae stilling. "Because I don't know what's happening," he said, his voice strained. "And when it's over, I don't remember." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, his heart breaking for him. "But why don't you remember?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye opening slightly. "It's like waking up from a deep sleep," he murmured. "I know I've been somewhere, but the details are always fuzzy." Chip nodded, trying to imagine his dad's world. "What do you see?" he asked, his voice filled with awe. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye focusing on a spot on the wall. "It's like...colors and shapes," he said, his voice distant. "They're all swirling around, so fast that I can't make sense of them." Chip's eyes grew wide with wonder. "Is it like a kaleidoscope?" he asked, his voice filled with awe. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye opening a bit wider. "In a way," he murmured. "But it's more... dis..." The door to the room creaked open, interrupting his thought. Karen stepped in, her eyes darting between Chip and Plankton. The tension in the air was palpable, but she offered a small smile of encouragement. "Chip, Plankton; how long have you been up?" Chip glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "A while, Mom," he said, his voice thick with the weight of their conversation.

GREAT CHIP v (Autistic author) Eventually, Plankton stirs, his antennae twitching slightly. His eye opens, and for a moment, he's disoriented. He looks at Chip, then at his hand on his own, and a flicker of memory passes through his eye. He then pulls his hand away. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says softly. "I'm here." Plankton's expression shifts. He sighs, his eye dropping to his son's hand. "Chip," he murmurs. "Wh-what happened?" Chip's heart skips a beat. He wasn't sure how much to say, but he knew he couldn't lie. "You had another... moment," he says carefully. Plankton's face falls, the weight of his own reality crashing down on him like a heavy fog. He nods slowly, his eye searching the room as if trying to piece together the puzzle of his lost time. "I'm sorry," Chip says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't know." Plankton's eye meets his, the anger dissipating like the fog. "It's not your fault," he says, his voice weary. "I just... I can't handle much sometimes." Chip nods, feeling a lump in his throat. "Can I hug you?" he asks tentatively, remembering his mother's advice. Plankton's antennae droop, his eye searching Chip's face. After a moment, he nods. "Yes, but just for a second." Chip leans in carefully, wrapping his arms around his dad's shoulders. Plankton tenses, his body a coil of nerves. The hug is brief, but it feels like an eternity to Chip. He pulls back, his eyes searching Plankton's face. "Are you okay?" Plankton's eye blinks slowly. "I will be," he says, his voice weary. "I just need some time to regroup." Chip nods, his mind racing with questions and fears. He didn't know what to say, how to fix this. He just knew he didn't want his dad to feel like this. Karen watches from the doorway, her heart heavy with the weight of the unspoken words between them. She wishes she could take the pain away, but she knows that this moment belonged to her husband and her son. Chip's hand lingers in the space where Plankton's was, feeling the warmth that's no longer there. He swallows hard, trying to push his fears aside. "What can I do?" he asks, his voice trembling. Plankton takes a deep breath, his antennae twitching as he tries to gather his thoughts. "Just maybe try not to touch me... unless I ask." The words hang in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm that's opened between them. Chip nods solemnly, his heart heavy. He doesn't fully understand his dad's condition, but he knows it's real and it's painful. And he knows he played a part in it today. "Dad," he starts tentatively, "Can we talk about your... moments?" Plankton's antennae droop. "What do you want to know?" he asks, his voice sounding more tired than defensive. Chip takes a deep breath, trying to formulate his thoughts. "Well, I just want to understand what you go through. What happens during those moments?" Plankton looks away, his face contorting with the effort of explaining. "It's like my brain goes on a vacation without me," he says finally. "Everything's too much, and I just... zone out." Chip nods, trying to picture it. "What's it like? The zoning out, I mean." Plankton sighs, his antennae waving slightly. "It's like... being in a movie theater, but instead of watching the movie, the lights and sounds are all around me. They're too bright, too loud. And when I come back, it's like the movie's still playing in fast forward. I miss parts of it, and I can't rewind." Chip's eyes widen with understanding. "So, it's like a break, but it's not fun for you?" Plankton nods. "It's more like a reboot. My brain needs it, but it's scary not knowing when it'll happen or how long it'll last." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, seeing the vulnerability behind the usual bravado. "But why do you get so mad sometimes?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his face contorting with the effort of explaining. "It's like... everything's too much, and then I can't stop it," he said. "It's like being stuck in a loop of noises and feelings, and I just need to make it stop. And sometimes, that means getting angry." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, trying to understand. "But why does it make you so mad?" Plankton's antennae drooped. "It's not just from anger," he corrected gently. "It's overstimulation. My brain can't process everything at once, so it shuts down to protect itself." Chip nodded, his eyes wide with realization. He'd never thought of it like that before. "So, it's like you're in a crowded room, and everyone's talking at you at the same time?" Plankton's eye lit up slightly. "Exactly," he said, his voice a mix of relief and exhaustion. "And when you touch me afterward, it's like someone turning the volume up even louder." Chip's hand retreated to his lap, understanding dawning on his face. "So, it's like... sensory overload?" Plankton nodded, his eye closing briefly. "Yes, it's like my brain's circuits are fried, and I just need a reset." Chip sat quietly, absorbing his father's words. He'd never thought about it from that perspective before. He knew his dad was different, but he didn't understand the depth of his struggle. "What about the seizures?" Chip asked, his voice tentative. "Do they feel like that too?" Plankton nodded, his antennae waving slightly. "They're like... a storm in my head," he said, his voice strained. "They come without warning, and I can't do anything to stop them. It's like everything's too much, and my brain has to shut down to protect itself." Chip's eyes grew wide with empathy. "That sounds scary. But I've seen you hug mom.." Plankton sighed, his antennae waving slightly. "It's different with your mom. She knows how to touch me without making it too much." Chip's mind raced, trying to grasp the complexities of his dad's neurodivergence. "But how?" he pressed, eager to learn. Plankton took a moment to gather his thoughts. "It's like...everything is too loud or too bright, and I can't just turn it down. So, when I get overwhelmed, my brain goes to 'sleep' for a bit." Chip nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on his father's antennae which had stopped their erratic twitching. "But what if I want to hug you?" he asked, his voice tentative. Plankton's eye opened, a glimmer of something akin to hope flickering within its depths. "Then you ask," he said simply. "You ask, and if I say yes, you hug me gently. Like this." He demonstrated by placing his own hand on Chip's shoulder, his grip firm but not tight. "But only if I'm okay with it, okay?" Chip nodded, feeling a weight lift slightly from his chest. "Okay," he whispered, his voice shaky with emotion.

🛸 🎠 🐎 | 🎥 🏇 🎥 | 🐎 🎠 🛸

𝖳𝖮 𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖭𝖦𝖤 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖫𝖣 pt. 11 Sequel to Autism And All by NeuroFabulous https://emojicombos.com/autism-and-all Read the Autism And All one first! The room feels like it's shrunk, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip's chest tightens, his eyes stinging. He'd never wanted to make his dad feel like this. Timmy looks at him, his expression full of sympathy. "It's okay," he says, his voice soothing. "He's just scared." They sit in silence for a while, the only sound the steady ticking of the clock on the mantel. Chip's mind is racing, trying to piece together what went wrong. How could something that brought Timmy so much joy cause so much pain for his dad? Timmy breaks the silence, his voice soft. "Sometimes, it's hard for people to accept help," he says. "Especially when it feels like you're trying to change them." He looks at Chip, his eyes understanding. "But you can't make anyone feel something they're not ready to." Chip nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. "But what do we do now?" He asks, desperation lacing his voice. Timmy shrugs. "Let's go apologize.." They find Plankton sitting on his bed in the bedroom. Chip's heart raced as they approached. "Dad," he starts, his voice shaking. "Timmy and I, we just want to say we're sorry." Plankton looks up, his eye twitching slightly. "You can't fix me." Timmy nods as Karen comes in. "But we can still be there for you," he says, his voice earnest. "And maybe, we can learn together." Plankton's gaze meets Timmy's, his expression unreadable. But before anyone can say another word, Plankton's body shifts. Suddenly, his eye glazed over, and he starts to rock back and forth, his hands flapping rapidly. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice filled with fear; but Karen understands. "It's okay," Karen says. "It's one of his seizures." Timmy's eyes widen, his hands stilling in mid-air. "What's happening?" He asks. Karen explains in a calm, steady voice. "It's called a non-motor seizure. Sometimes it's just his brain doing its own thing. We have to be quiet and let it pass. This isn't the first time." Chip watches as Plankton's body rocks back and forth, his eye unfocused. He feels a rush of fear and helplessness. This is his dad, his hero, reduced to this by something he can't control. Timmy nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton. Karen quickly moves to Plankton's side. "Remember, Chip," she whispers, her voice calm. "Just let it run its course. It's like a storm passing through." Chip nods, his eyes glued to his dad's trembling form. Timmy sits silently beside them, his hands still in his lap as Plankton's seizure unfolds. His rocking becomes more pronounced, his breathing shallow and rapid. Karen holds his hand, her expression a mask of concern. "It's okay, sweetie," she murmurs. "You're sa-" But Plankton's body jolts, his eye rolling back in his head. Chip watches his dad's autistic behavior take over in a way he's never seen before. Timmy's eyes are wide with shock. "Is he okay?" He whispers to Karen. She nods. "It'll be over soon," she promises. "It's just part of his autism." The minutes drag on, each second feeling like an eternity. Plankton's seizure subsides, his body finally still. His breathing evens out, and the color starts to return to his cheeks. Chip feels a weight lift from his chest. "It's over," Karen whispers, her hand still gripping Plankton's. Timmy looks at Chip, his eyes full of unspoken questions. Plankton slowly opens his eye. Timmy's eyes are full of concern. "Are you okay, Mr. Plankton?" But Plankton doesn't answer. He's staring at something on the wall, something only he can see. His hand reaches out, flapping slightly, as if trying to grab onto an invisible thought. But Karen's been through this before. She knows what to do. She whispers to Timmy, "It's okay. This is just his brain's way of handling too much input." Timmy nods, his eyes glued to Plankton. As Plankton's body slowly relaxes, his voice starts, a string of words that don't quite make sense. "The... the...the...spoons," Plankton says, his voice distant. Chip and Timmy exchange confused glances. Karen squeezes Plankton's hand. "It's okay, baby," she whispers. "You're okay." Plankton's eye moved around the room, his hands flapping slightly. "The... the...the...spoons," he repeats. Karen's face relaxes into understanding. "Echolalia," she whispers to Chip and Timmy. "It's a way his brain reboots after a seizure." Timmy nods, his gaze still on Plankton. "I know about that," he says. "It's like my brain's playing back a tape of everything that's happened, trying to make sense of it." Plankton's voice gradually gains clarity. "The spoons...they...they're..." Chip watches, his heart in his throat, as his dad's hand still flutters in the air, his eye unfocused. "It's a sensory thing," Karen says, keeping her voice low. "Sometimes, his brain gets overwhelmed." Plankton's voice grows stronger, the words more random. "The...the...did," he says, his hand moving in patterns that seem to have a rhythm only he can understand. "They were...were...were..." Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's, her gaze full of patience and love. "Just breathe, baby," she says, her voice soothing. "Take your time.." Timmy watches, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "What's he saying?" He whispers. "It's okay," Karen reassures both Timmy and Chip. "It's just his brain trying to find it's bearings. Just let him find his way back." Plankton's words become more nonsensical, his hand still moving through the air as his voice cracks. "They...they were...were..." His eye flickers, and he swallows hard. "They were always...always..." Timmy's eyes never leave Plankton's, his gaze filled with understanding and compassion. He's been here before, in his own way. His hands start to move slightly again, as if he's trying to connect with Plankton's thoughts. "It's okay," he whispers. "You don't have to push." But Plankton's voice doesn't listen. "They were always...always... were...were...pats," he says, his hand moving in a pattern that makes no sense to him. Chip feels his heart break for his dad. This isn't the first time he's seen a seizure, but every time, it's like watching a piece of Plankton get taken away, leaving behind a man who's lost in his own world. Timmy, though, seems to understand. He reaches out his own hand, mirroring Plankton's movements. "It's okay," he says again. "We're here for yo-" But Plankton isn't listening. "They were always...were...pats," he repeats, his voice getting louder. "They were always pats!" He starts to chuckle. "Pats, pats, pats!" His hand hits the bed. Karen smiles sadly. "Plankton, I see you," she says, her voice a whisper. "You'll come back to us." Chip watches, his heart racing. Timmy's eyes are wide with understanding. He's seen this before in himself. "It's okay," he says, his voice calm. "You can come back whenever you're ready." Plankton's hand still flaps. "I'm here, Mr. Plankton," Timmy says. "You're not al—" But Plankton's voice rose in pitch. "The...tck...tck..." He's ticcing now, Chip realized. Each syllable punctuated with a sharp, staccato twitch of his face. "Tck...tck...tck..." Karen's grip on Plankton's hand tightens slightly, her eyes full of love and understanding. "You're okay," she murmurs, her voice steady. "Just let it out. It's okay." Karen turns to them. "This helps him," she whispers. "It's like...like releasing pressure." Timmy nods, his own hands still in his lap. "I get tics too," he says, his voice barely audible. "But not like that." He looks at Chip. "Sometimes it's ju—" But then, with a blink, Plankton comes back to himself. He looks around the room, confused. "What...what happened?" He asks, his voice slurred. Karen smiles gently. "You had a seizure, sweetie," she says. "But you're okay now."

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."

r/TwoSentenceHorror 5 yr. ago AlexDalcourt I like to flap my hands and vocalize- sometimes I do it in public. "Reports coming in that an Autistic child was killed by police for suspicious behaviour and resistance of arrest."

https://www.verywellhealth.com/seizure-phases-4797974

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 21 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Plankton's antennae twitch in his sleep. Chip watches him, with love. Then he stirs, his antennae flickering as he wakes. He blinks, his eye focusing on his son's face. Chip's screen illuminates with hope, a soft glow that fills the room. Plankton's antennae quiver as he registers. "Hi, Dad," Chip whispers, his voice shaky. Plankton's hand squeezes Chip's gently. "Hi," he manages, his voice raspy with sleep and unshed tears. The silence between them is still thick, but there's a thread of something else, something new. "Dad," Chip says, his voice a tentative whisper. "Can we go to the science fair at my school?" Plankton's antennae twitch, a sign of contemplation. Chip's eyes are wide, his screen flickering with excitement and fear. He's not sure if it's a good idea, but the hope in his voice is undeniable. Plankton considers the question, his antennae twitching as he processes the sensory onslaught of a school science fair. The noise, the lights, the crowds. It's a minefield for his overactive senses, but his son's hope is a beacon. "Okay," he murmurs, the word barely audible. Chip's screen illuminates with joy. Plankton sits up. "Chip listen, I uhm– I wan-nt t-to s-say, to t-tell y-you..." Plankton shakes his head. He can't get the words out, his mouth a clumsy mess of tongue-tied syllables. His autism, a wall between his thoughts and speech. Chip's smile falters, his heart sinking. "It's okay, Dad," he says, his voice soothing. "You don't have to." But he sees the pain in Plankton's eye, the desperate attempt to communicate. "Chip, about your, about the b-box..." Plankton's antennae wave with frustration, his body a testament to the difficulty of his words. "The box, Dad?" Chip asks, his eyes searching Plankton's face for answers. Plankton nods, his antennae drooping with the effort. "You liked it?" Chip's voice is hopeful. Plankton nods. "I-I'm s-still h-hurt from your earlier taunts, a-and I-I-I-I… I'm t-trying to f-forgive, for— I uh, it-t h-hurts but I d-do like the box. So, s-so thank y-you." The words come out in a jumbled mess, a tapestry of stammers and stops, but the sentiment is clear. Chip's heart swells with warmth. He understands the struggle, the fight for each syllable, the dance of emotion and cognition that's so unique to Plankton. Chip's screen flickers with a smile, his eyes never leaving his dad's. "Dad, thank you for understanding," he says, his voice gentle. Plankton's eye closes in relief, his antennae twitching. "I know it's hard," Chip continues. "But I'm here for you. We'll figure it out." Plankton nods, his antennae rising slightly. Plankton puts the new box from Chip for keeping it in the car. Karen drives them to Chip's school. She parks the car and follows them into the school.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 4 "Plankton, please," Karen pleaded, reaching out to touch his arm. "Let's ta—" But Plankton's eye starts to glaze over, his body trembling on his bed. Karen knew another seizure's coming on now. "Dad?" Chip's voice was filled with fear and confusion. "I'm here," Karen assured. She rushed to his side. "It's okay," she murmured, her voice a gentle whisper. "You're safe, Plankton." She knew this was part of the process, that his mind was trying to recalibrate, yet it never got easier to watch. The room grew dimmer as Plankton's seizure took hold, his body stiffening, his eye rolling back. Karen's eyes filled with tears as she watched his silent struggle. "It's okay, baby," she whispered. Chip stood there, his hands balled into fists at his sides, feeling helpless. He had never seen his dad so vulnerable before. The man he knew was always in control, always the smartest in the room, was now at the mercy of his own brain's whims. It was something that his parents had dealt with for years, something that he had only just become a witness to. Karen's eyes remained on Plankton's contorted face as the seizure's grip began to loosen, his body twitching slightly. As the seizure subsided, he's falling into a semiconscious postictal state. "Dad?" Chip's voice's filled with fear. Karen nodded, her gaze still fixed on her husband. "It's okay." Plankton's antennae twitched erratically, his body moving in jerky motions. It looked like his mind was trying to regain control of his physical form. He began to crawl on the bed. His eye's unfocused. "Hummus," Plankton babbled. Karen's heart ached as she watched his regression. Plankton's autism had always been a part of their lives, but these moments, where he slipped into his own world, were the hardest to bear. She knew he was in there, somewhere, fighting to come back. Plankton's eye darted around the room without really seeing. "Tos, sub." Karen's heart broke a little more as she witnessed her husband's descent into the child-like state that often followed his seizures. She knew it was temporary, yet the sight of this strong man reduced to such vulnerability was always jarring. "Dad," Chip said tentatively, his voice quivering with fear and confusion. He had never seen his dad like this before—so lost, so dependent. Karen's eyes remained glued to Plankton's face, silently willing him to come back to them. "It's ok, sweetheart," she murmured. Plankton's movements were like those of a baby discovering the world anew, his hands playing with the blankets as if they were a toy. "Hamv," he murmured. Karen's heart ached, but she knew from experience that this was a phase that would pass. She talked to him softly, her voice soothing and familiar, like a lullaby. "You're safe, Plankton," she whispered. She got a plush stuffed bear handing it to Chip. "Try to get him to interact by this," she suggests. Chip took the bear tentatively, his hands shaking slightly. He approached the bed, his dad's eyes still unfocused. "Dad?" he whispered, shaking the toy slightly. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flitting towards the bear. "Look, it's a toy," Chip said, his voice quivering. "Do you like it?" Plankton's hand reached out, his movements sluggish as if swatting the bear, his fingers exploring its soft fur. "Tibble," he murmured. Karen watched, her heart swelling with hope. This was the first step back to reality. "Good job," she said to both of them. "Keep it up, Chip. Keep talking, with the bear." Chip nodded, his voice steadier now. "It's a bear, Dad," he said, his tone gentle. "See? It's got a cute little nose. Do you want to hold it?" Plankton's antennae twitched again, and his hand reached out slowly, his fingers wrapping around the plush toy. "Sav," he says, his voice a little stronger. Karen's eyes lit up with hope. "That's it, sweetheart," she said, encouraging Chip. "Keep going." Chip held the bear closer to Plankton's face. "Look, Dad," he whispered, his voice steady despite the fear still lingering in his heart. "It's smiling at you. It's happy to see you. It wants you to be happy too. Do you want to play?" Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye focusing on the toy for a moment. He reached out again, his hand shaking slightly, and touched the bear's snout. "Ivh," he murmured, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips, resulting in drool. Encouraged, Chip continued. "It's smiling because it loves you, Dad," he said, his voice cracking. "See, it's happy because you're holding it. Can you make it dance?" "Da-dance," he managed to say, his smile broadening. Karen watched, her eyes brimming with tears of hope. "That's it," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Keep going." Chip nodded, his fingers gently moving the bear's arms and legs in a makeshift dance. "Look, Dad, the bear is dancing just for you," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. Plankton's eye followed the toy's movements. Plankton's hand twitched, his antennae perking up slightly. "Dibble," he murmured, a spark of understanding in his eye. He reached out to mimic Chip's movements, his hand shaking as he tried to make the bear dance too. Chip's heart swelled with pride and love for his dad. He had never seen this vulnerable side of him before, but in this moment, he knew his father was still there, fighting to reconnect.

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 5 As they pack the last of their things, Plankton can't help but wonder what the science fair will be like. So many people, so many sounds, so much to process. It's a minefield of overstimulation, but for Chip, he's gonna try. Bags in the trunk, Karen gets in the driver's seat as Plankton and Chip sit in the back together. "You okay, Dad?" Chip asks, his voice gentle. Plankton nods, his antennae still as the car starts with a purr. After leaving the driveway Chip notices his dad's humming to himself, a soft, steady rhythm. Plankton's hands are in his lap, fidgeting slightly as he focuses on the hum. "What are you doing?" Chip asks, his curiosity getting the better of him. Plankton jumps in his seat, antennae shooting up. "I'm... uh...just...thinking?" He's flabbergasted that his son has caught him stimming. He's still trying to process the idea that his son now knows his deepest, most personal secret. Chip's eyes widen. "Thinking?" He repeats. "With a so-" "Chip," Karen interrupts. She knows Plankton's stimming, which he never likes to speak of. Yet she also knew Chip's trying to understand, and decided it's time to explain. "Your dad's humming is a stim," she says gently, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. "It's something some autistic folks do to help manage their sensory input or self-soothe." Chip nods, filing away the new information. "Oh," he says, as Plankton freezes. "So Dad, is that why you sometimes do that spinning thing with your fing--" "Chip!" Plankton snaps, his voice harsher than he intends. So Karen jumps in. "Sweetie," she says, turning in the passenger seat to face her son, "Dad's stims are private. They're like his personal way of taking a deep breath when things get too much. He doesn't do it for anyone else, just for himself. And if he's alright with sharing them with us, that's his choice. But it's important we respect his privacy." Plankton's gaze meets hers in the rearview mirror, gratitude in his eye, hands stilling as Karen continued. "And unless he says so, it's not for us to bring up or comment on them," she explains to Chip. "So your dad hums, or flaps his arms, or rocks his body, even muttering to himself. They're all his ways of stimming, and aren't to be interrupted or discussed unless he initiates it. If he seems distressed, you can ask if he needs anything, but otherwise, just be there for him." Chip nods, his face a picture of concentration. "Ok, Mom," he says. "But could, can I tr-" "NO!" Plankton's voice cuts through the car, sharp and sudden. He turns to face his son, his eye blazing. "I don't want you staring at or making fun of me!" Karen's eyes meet Plankton's in the mirror, filled with a mix of love and frustration. She knew this outburst is rooted in fear and vulnerability. "Chip wasn't trying to, Plankton," she says. Chip shrinks back, his face reddening. "I'm so sorry," he stammers. Plankton's face softens, his antennae drooping. "I know," he murmurs. "It's just...it's hard." Karen nods. "So the science fair is gonna be tomorrow, so the hotel we're going to tonight has reserved the contestants and their families rooms! So the three of us are gonna have to share the hotel room." Plankton's antennae twitch. "And, Dad," Chip says, his voice full of excitement. "It's going to be so cool! There'll be so many science lovers like us!" Plankton nods, trying to mirror his son's enthusiasm, but inside he's panicking. So many people, so many potential triggers. But he can't let Chip see his fear. He takes a deep breath, his hand against his own seat in a stim. "Yea." The car ride is quiet for a while, and Plankton finds himself getting drowsy. He fights the urge to close his eye. He knows if he dozes off, he'd be embarrassed, and he can't let that happen now, not with Chip watching him so closely. He focuses on the scenery passing by, the rhythm of the car's tires on the road, anything to keep himself awake. But it's a losing battle. His eyelid keeps drooping, his brain begging for rest. He starts counting the yellow lines on the road, then switches to red cars, but the monotony of it all just makes him sleepier. His head nods, and he jolts awake with a start, his heart racing for a moment. Chip glances at his father. "You okay, Dad?" Plankton nods, his antennae twitching with the effort to stay awake. "Fine, buddy," he says. But his body feels heavy, like he's sinking into the car seat. He decides to try distraction. "So, tell me more about your science fair schedule," he asks, hoping that his son's excitement will keep him alert. Chip's face lights up. "Well, tomorrow we've got the setup in the morning, then the judging starts right after lunch." He rattles off the various categories and his predictions for each, his voice rising and falling with enthusiasm. Plankton nods along, trying to keep up with the flurry of information. But his eyelid starts drooping again. "And then there's the final round!" Chip says, his voice carrying on despite Plankton's fading attention. "I've got my experiment all set up by myse—" Plankton's snore cuts his son off mid-sentence as his head lolls, his mouth slightly open, to Chip's shoulder. Chip looks at Karen in the front seat, her eyes glancing back at them in the mirror with a knowing smile. "It looks like he's really tired," she says, keeping her voice low. "It's okay to let him sleep." Chip nods, feeling a wave of protectiveness over his father. He chuckles, taking a selfie with Plankton's sleeping face on his phone. He forwards the selfie to Karen's phone. She tries not to giggle. "Oh, Chip," she smiles, "Dad's not gonna take that too kindly when he wakes up."

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 19 Chip's hand remains on his father's arm, his touch light. "So what can I do to make sure I don't make you upset?" He asks, his eyes full of concern. Plankton's antennae twitch. "Just... just ask before you touch me," he says, his voice soft. "And if I say no, don't take it personally." Chip nods. "I will, Dad," he says, his hand now slowly retreating. "But what about the seizures?" Plankton sighs. "I don't always know why they happen," he admits. "But when they do, it's important to keep me safe. No loud noises, no bright lights. And if you can, stay calm. I know it's scary, but it's just my brain saying it needs a break. But they can happen if I'm really scared and upset, or if my body feels like it's too much to handle." His antennas droop slightly. Chip nods, his mind racing with questions. "But why do you sometimes just freeze?" He asks, his voice gentle. "Or get really still and don't talk at all?" Plankton's antennae quiver slightly. "That's called shutdown," he explains. "It's like... my brain's had enough. It's like it's in a traffic jam, and all the messy mixed up signals are confusing. So it just... stops. It's my body's way of protecting me from stimulation I guess. They're absence seizures, and I don't always know I'm having them." Chip's eyes widen. "So, it's like you're there, but not really?" He asks, his voice soft with curiosity. Plankton nods. "It's like everything goes on autopilot," he says. "I may see and hear, but it's like my brain's on a break to where I might not recognize what's going on around me. It's like being lost in a dream state, even though I'm not 'dreaming' but, it's like trying to remember a dream after you've woken up. I also might feel like I'm having a headache." Chip listens intently, his mind trying to comprehend the complexity of his father's experience. "So, what can I do to help you when you're in a shutdown?" He asks, his voice laced with concern. "Just be there," Plankton says. "And give me some space. Don't try to shake me out of it. Just wait until I come back. It's not something I can control." He pauses. "And if you can, maybe find a quiet place for me to go to, where there are no bright lights or loud noises. If your ever concerned go get your mother. But my absence seizures can be triggered by stress too. So just keep an eye on me and help me to avoid getting too anxious." Chip nods, his eyes wide with understanding. "What else can trigger them? And how come you don't blink during them?" Plankton's antennae wave thoughtfully. "It's like my brain is trying to reboot," he explains. "And the not blinking is part of it. It's like my body's way of saying, 'I'm processing, hold on.' It's hard to explain, but it's like everything else about me, it's just how my body does. As for what can trigger them, it's often when I'm really scared, or there's too much going on around me. Sensory overload. But déjà vu can trigger one, maybe rapidly flashing lights of bright colors. Sometimes overlapping chatter, if multiple people talk at once. Or if you talk too fast." Chip nods, taking in every word. "What about the times when you steal from the Krabby Patty restaurant?" He asks, his eyes innocently curious. Plankton's antennae wave slightly, his face a mask of resignation. "It's because my brain doesn't always work like everyone else's," he says. "I've had close calls at the Krusty Krab before. None of them are to know about my autism.." Just then, Karen comes in and sees them both openly talking. "Aw-" "Before you ask, if I say yes and admit we're bonding, will you not start with the aww-ing?" Plankton says, rolling his eye at her. Karen laughs, wiping at the corner of her eye. "I just think it's sweet, you two talking like this!" But Chip's mind is still racing with questions. He looks up at Karen. "Mommy, does Dad have doctors to-" Karen cuts him off quickly. "It can't be cured, sweetheart," she says gently. "But a lot of the time, it's just about understanding his needs and making sure he's comfortable. Now if something came up or if he's even got something like a cold, we've a sensory friendly specialist for those times. Like when we travel, such as for your science fair, I'd look up nearest sensory clinics, just in case. It's because a regular medical office setting can be too much for him. A hospital environment can be really overwhelming for anyone, but especially for him. Now his dentist knows about his autism and accommodates him, but otherwise we'd only reach out to the sensory ones if a medic's needed." She turned to Plankton, who's now rocking on the bed, his knees pressed against his chest, his antennae tucked in. Karen looked back at Chip. "He doesn't like that question. If some thing's needed, I know to discuss it with him and look at alternatives. Otherwise, unless he has a scenario in his head or something, even in some emergency, I know it's a bad subject for him. I'm always truthful with him and I know him. I know you meant nothing by it, but unless absolutely necessary or if he brings it up, do not needlessly bring up his healthcare or whatnot. If anything that is up to him. So, if you're ever concerned, you can ask me and we'll tell you what you need to know. The sensory specialist is who we'd call, not any ambulances or whatever, and they're high-tech and skilled with all topics having to do with health. Otherwise, do not bring up anything like that. Do you understand, Chip?" Chip nodded, his eyes wide with understanding. "I'm sorry, Dad," he says, his voice small. "I did not know it was a bad question." But Plankton didn't even respond. Plankton's rocking is even more pronounced. It's his way of stimming, a way to calm himself. "Dad?" Chip says again, but Plankton doesn't react. Chip watches him, his curiosity piqued. He's seen this behavior before, but now he understands it's not because Plankton is mad or upset with him. It's just how he copes. He decides to try something new. "Dad," he says softly, "can you show me how you stim?" Plankton still doesn't seem to hear him. Karen notices the tension in Chip's voice and quickly steps in. "Why don't we all sit down and talk more about this?" She suggests, her tone soothing. "Plankton, can you tell Chip about stimming?" But Plankton doesn't even budge. Chip watches his father's steady rocking, his curiosity growing. He tries again, his voice even softer. "Dad, please?" Yet Karen notices his eye is unfocused, distant. "Plankton," Karen intervenes gently, "Plankton honey, are you okay?" Plankton's rocking slows down as his body stiffened. And Karen knew exactly what was happening. "Chip," she says gently, "Your dad's experiencing a bit of a seizure right now. It's okay, he'll come back to us." Chip nods, his heart racing as he watches his father. He's seen this before, but now he understands. It's not just strange behavior, it's part of his autism.

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 7 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) They moved to the floor, a cushioned area where Plankton felt more comfortable. Hanna produced a variety of textures for him to explore. "Slowly," she instructed, "let's introduce his hands to different fabrics." Karen watched as Plankton's fingers danced over the softness of velvet, his expression unreadable. Then Hanna presented a piece of sandpaper. His hand retracted instantly, his eye squeezing shut. "No," he murmured, his voice tight with distress. "It's ok," Karen said, taking his hand. "We'll try something else." She offered him a smooth piece of silk instead. His eye widened, his breath catching. "Nice?" she asked, her voice gentle. Slowly, Plankton's hand unfurled, his fingertips brushing against the fabric. "Silk," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder. He began to stroke it, his movements rhythmic and comforting. Hanna nodded, making a note. "Good," she said. "That's a positive response. Now let's try different tactile sensations." Hanna says, taking the fabrics away. She presented a tray with a variety of objects: a cold metal spoon, a soft feather, a bumpy rock. Plankton's hand hovered over each item, his gaze intense. "Choose one," Karen urged, her voice gentle. He reached for the feather, his eye closing in anticipation. As the soft plumes brushed against his skin, a shiver of pleasure went through him. "Good," he murmured, his hand moving in a soothing motion. Karen watched. Hanna offered the cold spoon next. Plankton's hand jerked back at first, his eye widening in fear. But with Karen's gentle encouragement, he touched it again, his breath hitching as he experienced the coolness. "Cold," he whispered, his voice filled with wonder before retreating his hand again. They moved to the rock, its surface a study in contrasts. Plankton's hand hovered, then touched the rock tentatively. His face contorted as he felt the bumpy, unyielding surface. "Odd," he murmured. Hanna nodded, her gaze studying him. "It's ok to not like everything," she said. "But it's ok to explore." She sets out a sharpened point to test his reaction. Plankton's hand hovered over the pointed tip, his antennae twitching. He looked to Karen, his eye searching for reassurance. "It's ok," she whispered, taking the point and pressing it lightly into her own palm. "It's just a sensation I vaguely feel," Karen says, barely pressing onto his skin. Slowly, touching the point with the pad of his finger... His body jolted, his breath screeching. "Pain," he murmured, his hand retreating quickly. "Too much!" Hanna nodded, her expression thoughtful. "It's ok," she said. "This is all about finding what you can ha-" But before she could finish, Plankton's body stiffened, his eye rolling back with a cry. Karen watched another seizure take hold. "No!" she cried, her voice a mix of fear and frustration. Hanna was quick to act, guiding him back to the couch and speaking soothingly. "It's ok," she murmured. "You're safe." They waited for the seizure to pass, Karen's hand tightly clutching Plankton's, offering silent comfort. When he came to, his gaze was haunted, his hand still wrapped around the fidget toy. Hanna tried the point again, only for Plankton to cough up his toast, tears streaming down his face. "We need to stop," Karen said, her voice shaking. "This isn't helping." Hanna nodded, her expression filled with understanding. "We've learned a lot today," she said. "We know what to avoid now. Let's stop." They moved back to the couch, Karen's arm around Plankton, his body trembling. She knew his sensory overload was at its peak. The room felt too bright, too loud, too much. "Let's dim the lights," Hanna suggested, her voice gentle. "And let's try some deep pressure." Karen nodded, rushing to the dimmer switch and adjusting the lights to a comfortable level. She then wrapped a weighted blanket around Plankton, his body relaxing almost immediately under its embrace. His eye closed, and his breathing grew steady as the pressure helped soothe his overwhelmed senses. They sat in silence for a moment, Karen stroking his arm, avoiding any sudden movements that might startle him. "It's ok," she whispered. "You're safe." Hanna spoke softly. "It's important to create a sensory friendly environment," she explained. "We'll need to make some adjustments around the house." Karen nodded, her gaze never leaving Plankton's face. "I'll do anything," she said. "Whatever it takes." Hanna's eyes searched the room, her mind working. "Let's start with visual stimuli," she said. They moved through the place, Karen following Hanna's instructions to cover the windows with blackout curtains and remove any items that might be overstimulating. The room grew dimmer, the only light coming from a single, soft lamp. Plankton's breathing slowed, his body visibly relaxing. Hanna spoke calmly. "Now, let's work on some verbal exercises." Karen watched as Hanna selected a set of cards with simple pictures and words. "We'll start with matching," she said, holding up a card with an image of a cat. "What does this say?" Plankton's eye focused on the card, his hand fidgeting with the blanket's edge. "Cat," he murmured sleepily. Hanna nodded, her gaze meeting Karen's. "Good job," she said. "Now, let's try another one." She held up a card with a picture of a tree. Plankton's eye searched the card, his mouth moving as if he was trying to form the word. "Tree," he managed after a moment, his voice slightly more confident, yet he felt drowsily exhausted. Hanna nodded, pleased with his progress. "Very good, Plankton," she said, placing the card down. "Let's keep going." But Plankton's tired. "Maybe we should take a break," Karen suggested, seeing the fatigue in his posture. "He's had a lot to process today." Hanna nodded, her gaze kind. "It's been a big day for him. Let's not push it." They decided to end the session, Karen helping Plankton to bed, the weighted blanket still wrapped around him. His eye were half-closed, his movements sluggish as he sank into the mattress, the sensory overload leaving him drained. "Thank you," Karen murmured to Hanna. "For everything." Hanna's smile was gentle. "It's what I'm here for," she said. "We'll take this one step at a time. Remember, patience and understanding are key." Karen nodded with tears as she tucked Plankton into bed. His body was still, his breaths deep and even under the soothing weight of the blanket. The room was now a cocoon of calm, designed to protect his sensitive system from the onslaught of the outside world.

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 20 With gentle curiosity, Chip moves closer to his dad, his hand outstretched but not touching. "Dad? Can I... can I help with your stimming?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, but his eye remains unblinking as his body sits rigid. "Chip," Karen says, her voice calm. "It's okay, honey. Just wait. He'll come back to us soon." Chip nods, his heart racing as he watches Plankton's stillness. He's seen this before, but this time feels different. This time, he knows. With a deep breath, he sits down beside his father, his hand still hovering. He doesn't want to scare Plankton, doesn't want to do anything wrong. But he also doesn't want him to be alone. Plankton's antennae begin to twitch, ever so slightly, as his breathing slows. Chip whispers, "It's ok, Dad," his voice barely audible. The minutes stretch like hours as Chip watches his father. His mind fills with everything he's learned about autism, about his dad's challenges. He knows Plankton's brain is just trying to find peace amidst the chaos of sensory input. And even though his hand is still, he knows he's there for his dad, ready to help whenever he needs it. Slowly, Plankton blinks. His one eye meets Chip's, and for a moment, Chip sees fear, confusion, and then... recognition? Plankton's body relaxes, his antennae drooping. "Chip," he says, his voice a whisper. "Chip, here. Did here, here.." Chip nods, his heart racing. He knows his dad is trying to communicate, his mind still not clear from the seizure. He gently takes Plankton's hand and starts to stroke it, light and soothing. "It's okay, Dad," he whispers. "I'm right here." Plankton's antennae twitch, and he blinks again. His voice is still weak, but he tries to form words. "Chip... you... you're so... good." The words come out slurred, but the warmth is unmistakable. Chip feels a weight lifting from his chest. His dad's okay. "Thanks, Dad," he says, his voice steady now. "I'm just trying to underst--" Plankton's antennae suddenly shoot up, his eye wide. "Wait," he says, his voice slightly stronger. "Your hand... it's... it's helping me?" Plankton looks at his hand in wonder. Chip nods. "Yeah, Dad. It's like... it's calming you down," he says, his voice filled with a mix of confusion and relief. Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he looks up at Chip, his expression a mix of amazement and gratitude. "Yippee!" Chip's eyes light up at his father's rare outburst of joy. "You see, Dad?" He says, his voice filled with pride. "I can help you just like you help me." Plankton nods, his expression still somewhat dazed but now with a hint of smile. "Oh, did I ever show you our selfie I took of us on the way to my science fair? You fell asleep on me!" He says, pulling out his phone to show Plankton. Plankton, still not quite conscious/aware in his postictal state, claps as he laughs. "Eeeeee! Post it and let it go viral!" He squeals in delight, his eye wide and childlike. Chip smiles. "Can I put in the caption that you have a neurodisability?" Chip asks, to which his dad nods eagerly. Karen watches the interaction with a soft smile. She knows this might be a pivotal moment for both of them. "Remember, Chip," she says, "It's important that we respect your father's boundaries. Even if he's okay with sharing about his autism right now, he might not always feel like that. It's his story to-" "Karen it be good!" Plankton interrupts her as Chip writes this as the caption: '🐠💤💻💨: When your neurodisabled dad falls asleep on the way to your big science fair, you gotta catch those Z's... and the moment! 😂👨‍🔬💤' Chip posts it. "Ok then, we all gotta get to bed," Karen says. The next morning Plankton wakes up oblivious to what's happened during last night, obviously not knowing about Chip having such a picture, let alone the post itself. Chip woke up early, his heart pounding from a mix of excitement and anxiety. He quickly checks his phone to find the post has gone viral, with dozens of likes and comments. His face beams with pride. Karen knew better than to greet her husband with such news. Even though he did unknowingly consent to it, he was not actually have any awareness/explicit memory of it. So she wouldn't bring it up in front of Plankton. "Good morning," Karen greets him as usual, like nothing happened. "How did you sleep?" Plankton rubs his eye. "Fine, I guess," he says, still groggy. Chip looks up from his phone, his heart racing. He's torn between sharing the viral post and keeping the peace. But as Plankton heads towards the kitchen, his antennae perk up. "Is something wrong?" He asks, his voice full of concern. Chip takes a deep breath and decides to hold off on the news. "No, Dad," he says, his voice steady. "Everything's fine." Plankton nods and continues into the kitchen, his mind already racing with thoughts of how he's gonna attempt stealing his rival Krabs formula this morning. Karen gives Chip a knowing look, and he nods. He understood. For now, they'll keep the viral post between them. They see Plankton using his telescope to spy on the Krusty Krab. "What's your plan for today? Perhaps any thing that's successful?" Karen teased. "Hardy haaaaaaahhhhh, Karen," Plankton replied, rolling his eye. "I'll just wing it.."

𝖠𝖣𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖠𝖡𝖫𝖤 𝖥𝖠𝖬𝖨𝖫𝖸 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) Pt. 8 Chip's eyes well up, his body shaking. He doesn't understand why his dad is so angry with him. He thought he was just trying to help. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I just wan–" "NO!" Plankton shouts, pushing his son away. Plankton's sobs turn to heavy breaths. Karen watches them both, her heart breaking. Chip's eyes brim with tears as he retreats, his voice barely a whisper. "But Dad..." Plankton turns to his side, his back facing Chip, his antennae thrashing violently. "I'M TRYING!" He screams into the silent room. Chip then makes the mistake of putting his hand on his dad's shoulder. "Don't touch me!" Plankton shrieks, his body jolting. The room seems to shrink around them, the tension pressing down like a heavy wet blanket. Chip feels a wave of fear wash over him. He's seen his dad upset before, but never like this. He moves his hand away, his throat tight. "I'm so sor—" "I SAID, DON'T TOUCH ME!" Plankton's scream reverberates through the room, echoing off the walls as his sobbing turns to anger, his body stiff as he glares at Chip. Chip jumps back, his heart racing. He's never seen his dad like this, so out of control. He looks to Karen, his eyes wide with fear. "What's happe—" "Chip," she says quickly, her voice sharp with urgency. "Give him some space. Now." She moves closer to Plankton, her hand outstretched but not touching, giving him the option. Chip nods, his face crumpled with hurt and confusion. He retreats to his own bed, his eyes on the floor. The room feels like it's closing in on them, the silence deafening. Plankton's sobs turn to angry grunts as his breaths become more pronounced. Karen sits next to Plankton, her hand hovering near his, but not touching. "It's okay, babe," she whispers. "We're here." Plankton's body tenses further. "I DON'T NEED CHIP'S HELP!" He doesn't wanna lash out, yet Karen knows he needs to let out the storm inside. She can feel the energy building in Plankton, his body a coil ready to snap. With a sudden explosion of rage, Plankton yells, "I'M THE ONE WITH A PROBLEM‽" Plankton's limbs flail erratically, his voice hoarse from screaming. Karen's heart aches for him, for the pain he's in, the pain he can't express in any other way. She needs to redirect his energy. "Plankton," she says firmly, her hand still hovering just out of reach. "Take a deep breath." But Plankton's too far gone. He starts to kick the bed, the mattress shaking as his body thrashes. Karen flinches, but doesn't move as the tantrum intensifies, his tiny fists slamming into the mattress. Karen's eyes are wide, her body tense, but she remains calm, knowing that this is part of his coping mechanism. He kicks the bed harder, his fists clenching the covers. Yet Karen remains steady, her voice calm and firm. "Hey, look at me," she instructs, her hand still hovering. "Take a deep breath with me." He doesn't move, his fists clenched in the sheets. Her voice doesn't waver. "In and out, babe. In and ou-" Suddenly, Plankton's body goes rigid. He inhales deeply, his antennae shaking with the effort. His eye snaps to hers, his breath hitching. For a moment, there's silence. Karen holds her breath, noticing he's gonna have one of his seizures. Then as Chip comes back through the curtain Plankton starts to shake as it finally took over. Karen tucks Plankton in loosely. "Dad?" Chip asks, his voice shaking. Karen's eyes dart to him, filled with the knowledge that he's gonna be fine. "It's ok Chip," she whispers. "Just watch from here." Plankton's body shakes harder, his breaths coming in short bursts. He's lost in a world of sensory overload, his body reacting to the chaos around him. Karen strokes his arm gently. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispers. "We are right here." The seizure lasts for a few moments, and as it now subsides, Plankton's body goes limp with exhaustion. Karen knew his postictal phase can bring on some loopiness. Plankton's antennae twitch erratically, his eye unfocused. He giggles, a sound so unlike his usual self. "Karen? Oh! You're so...shiny." Karen can't help but smile at her husband's post-seizure loopy state. "Yes, I'm right here," she says. Chip's eyes are wide with worry, his voice a tremble. "Is he okay?" Karen nods, her smile tinged with sadness. "He's in his post- seizure phase. It's normal for him to be like this." Plankton giggles again, his voice slurred as he tries to sit up, his body wobbly. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he mutters. He then reaches for Karen, his hand missing by a mile. Chip watches, his heart racing. He's seen his dad act weird before, but never like this.. "It's part of his autism, Chip," Karen explains gently, her hands steady. "After a big meltdown or usually a seizure, he can get disoriented." Plankton's head lolls to the side, his antennae twitching erratically. "You're...so...far away..." He giggles, his body swaying slightly with the effort of speech. Karen takes his hand, her eyes understanding. "You're fine." Plankton's hand shakes in hers, his eye half-closed. "No, no, I wanna... play." He giggles again, his body lurching forward. Karen sighs. "I wanna go on an adventure," he slurs, his body listing to one side. Karen tightens her grip on his hand, keeping him grounded. "We can go on an adventure later, babe," she promises. "For now, let's just get some sleep. It's bedtime for all of us!" Plankton's giggles turn into a snore, his body going limp. Karen gently guides him to lie down, his breathing evening out. She covers him with the blanket, his antennae twitching slightly.

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 14 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ Chip sits beside Karen, watching his dad sleep. He's quiet, his mind racing with questions. How can someone so strong, so in control, be brought to this? The room feels heavy with silence, the air thick with unspoken fears and love. Plankton's snores are a comforting reminder that he's okay, that the storm has passed. Chip's screen flickers with the memory of his dad's favorite pranks, his laughter echoing in the quiet room. But now, his dad looks so small, so fragile. Karen notices Chip's distant gaze. "Remember, Chip, he's still the same person." She pauses, searching for the right words. "His autism doesn't change who he is, just how he experiences the world." Chip nods, but the doubt lingers. How can he understand a world so alien to his own? The silence in the room is broken by Plankton's sudden mumble. "Karen?" His voice is a whisper, his antennae slowly rising. Her screen lights up with relief and love. "You're okay," she says, her hand stroking his. Plankton's eye opens, unfocused and tired. "Chip?" He sees his son, sitting on the bed, his screen filled with uncertainty. "Dad?" Chip whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch as he tries to sit up. "I'm okay," he says, his voice hoarse. Karen's hand on his shoulder steadies him. "Just tired." The weight of sleep lifts from his eyelid. Chip watches, his screen reflecting the hope that his dad is okay. "Do you... Do you remember?" Plankton's eye widens, his antennae quivering. "Chip," he murmurs, his voice filled with regret. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice firm. "You had a meltdown." Plankton's antennae fall, his gaze dropping. "I'm sorry," Plankton whispers, his voice thick with guilt. "It's not your fault," Karen says, squeezing his hand. "We know it's not." But Chip is full of questions. "What can I do?" he asks, his screen eager. "How can I help?" Karen smiles, her eyes filling with pride. "You're already helping," she says. "Just by being here, just by loving him." But Chip wants more. He wants to understand, to help in the way Karen does. "What are his triggers?" he asks. Karen's screens flicker with thought. "Well," she says, "it's different for everyone. For him, it can be sudden noises, changes in routine, or even his belongings being moved without his knowing." Chip nods, his mind racing. "But what about his stims?" he asks. "Those are his way of coping," Karen explains. "When he flaps his arms, spins, or repeats words, he's trying to regulate his sensory input. It's like he's tuning in to the world." Karen says. "And when he repeats words or phrases, it helps him make sense of what's happening. Let him do his thing. Sometimes he'll need help to calm down, like with the squeezy ball or his fidget toy. And sometimes, just being there, quietly, is all he needs. As long as you listen and respect his boundaries, you'll be his best helper." Chip's curiosity is piqued. He looks at his dad, now easing himself onto the pillow. "What types of touch does he like?" Chip's voice is soft. Karen's screens flicker with memories of trial and error, of finding the right balance. "Some autistics like deep pressure," she says. "It can be soothing. But he's different. He usually prefers light touches, like strokes or holding hands." Plankton's antennae twitch at the mention of his name. "What do I do if he has another meltdown?" Chip's voice is earnest. "Just be there," Karen says. "Sometimes, just knowing you're there can make all the difference." She sighs. "But if it's really bad, we'll have to get the medicine again, as a last resort. It's hard," she admits. "But I love him. And I'll always be here for him." Chip nods. "I love him too," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to help him." Karen's screens glow with pride. "You already do," she says. "But I know you want to understand more." Chip nods. "What about when he's really happy?" Karen's screens light up with a smile. "Oh, his laughter is the sweetest sound. But if he reaches for you, if he wants to share that joy, just be there, okay?" Chip nods, eager to learn. "What if he starts repeating things again?" Karen's screen softens. "It's called echolalia," she says. "It's his brain's way of processing. Just let him finish, and then you can talk." She pauses, her thumb tracing a pattern on Plankton's hand. "And if you repeat something with understanding, it can help make him feel heard." Chip nods, his mind racing. He's seen his dad do this before, but never knew what it meant. "What about his rocking?" he asks. Karen's screens flicker with knowledge. "That's his way of self-stimulating," she says. "It helps him regulate his nervous system. Sometimes it's soothing, sometimes it's how he thinks. Remember, his body's his own. If he pulls away, it's not personal. It's just his way of saying he needs a break." "How did you learn all of this?" Karen looks down at their intertwined hands, her screens reflecting the journey. "Trials and errors, love," she says. "And listening to him. Everyone's autism is different. What works for one might not work for another. We just have to keep trying, keep learning." Chip nods, his mind racing with questions. "How do we know if he's about to have a meltdown?" Karen looks at Plankton, his antennae still. "Look for the signs," she says. "Sudden agitation, avoiding eye contact, flapping his arms, or repeating words. That's when you know he's overwhelmed." He nods, trying to picture it. "What about his box?" "That's sensory aids," she explains. "They help him cope with stress. It's important we don't touch it without asking first." "What's in there? Dad, can I see?" But Plankton cuts him off. "Absolutely NOT!" he says. Karen's screen flickers with a smile. "It's his personal space," she tells Chip gently. "Those things are special to him, his tools to stay calm." Chip nods, his curiosity still unquenched. "Can I..." But Plankton's antennae shoot up. "I just said no, Chip!" He's alert, his voice sharp. Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "Remember," she says calmly, "his box is his sanctuary." Plankton's gaze locks with Chip's, his eye wide with agitation. "Okay, okay," Chip says, his hands up in surrender. He can feel the tension in the air, the unspoken words heavy between them. "What if I just peek?" he asks him. Plankton's antennae quiver. "No," he says firmly. "It's not for playing." "Dad, I--" "How about NO?" Plankton says, his voice still a little rough around the edges. Chip nods, his curiosity now mixed with respect. "Okay," he says. "But can you show me?" Karen looks at Plankton, his antennae still. "It's okay," she says softly. "We can show him together." Plankton's eye narrows, but he doesn't resist as Karen opens the box.

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 6 Plankton's sobs grew louder, the sound a physical presence in the room. Karen tightened her grip on Chip, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. She knew this moment was crucial, a chance for them to bridge the gap that had formed. Chip felt the warmth of his mother's embrace, her love grounding him. He took a deep breath, his hand still on his dad's back. "I'm sorry," he said again, his voice steadier this time. "I didn't know that word was bad. I love you, Dad." Plankton's sobs continued, but Chip thought he felt a slight lessening in their intensity. Karen nodded, her eyes swollen with tears. "Keep going," she urged. Chip took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love you, Dad," he said, his hand rubbing slow circles on Plankton's back. "I'm sorry for hurting you." Plankton's sobs grew less intense, his antennae stilling slightly. His body shuddered with the effort of controlling his emotions. He was still lost in his pain, but he could feel the warmth of his son's hand, a silent apology. Karen watched, her heart aching for both of them. She knew that autism could amplify emotions to an unbearable degree, and she could see Plankton's struggle to comprehend the hurt he had just experienced. "Keep talking to him, Chip," she urged, her voice soft. "He needs to know how much you love him." Chip nodded, his throat tight with emotion. He leaned closer to his father, his voice shaking. "You're not slow, Dad," he said, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. "You're just... you. And I love you, just the way you are." Plankton's sobs grew slightly quieter, his body still shaking with the aftermath as Chip's hand moves in soothing circles on Plankton's back, mimicking Karen's own soothing gestures. Chip felt his own tears fall now, his heart breaking for his dad now that he had hurt him. He took a deep breath and continued to speak. "You're so smart," Chip whispered, his voice shaky but earnest. "You're the best chef in Bikini Bottom. You're... you're just you, that's all." Plankton's sobs grew more muffled, his antennae slowly calming. The sound of Chip's voice, the warmth of his touch, it was all familiar and comforting. He knew his son didn't mean it, but the sting of the slur was hard to ignore. Karen watched the interaction, her own heart heavy with the weight of Plankton's pain. But she also saw the love and understanding growing between her husband and their son. Slowly, Plankton's sobs began to subside, his breathing growing more even. His antennae stopped quivering. Karen watched as Chip's hands continued to make soothing circles on his father's back. She knew that touch for Plankton can be either a comfort or a trigger. Plankton's breaths grew even, his sobs fading into a quiet whimper. His antennae finally stilled, and his body seemed to melt into the bed. The exhaustion that always followed a seizure was setting in, compounded by the emotional turmoil. Chip watched his dad, his own eyes red with tears. He didn't know what else to say, so he just sat there, his hand still on Plankton's back, providing the comfort he hoped his father could feel. Karen's eyes were filled with love and pride as she watched her son. Plankton's whimpers grew softer, his body growing heavier with each breath. Karen knew he was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, taken a toll on him. She reached over to stroke his arm, her fingers gentle. "Plankton," Karen said softly. "You're okay. It's okay." Plankton's whimpers gradually subsided as his eyelid drooped. His body grew heavier with each breath, his antennae coming to rest against the pillow. Karen could see the exhaustion in his every movement, the toll his seizure and the intensity of his emotions had taken. Chip watched as his father's breathing grew steadier, his body relaxing under his touch. The room was now silent except for the quiet rustle of sheets and Plankton's soft snores. Karen gently eased Chip's hand away, her own hand lingering for a moment longer. She whispered, "Let him rest now, sweetheart." Chip nodded, his eyes still fixed on his father's peaceful face. He knew Plankton was asleep now, his body finally at ease. The anger had drained from the room, leaving behind a quiet sadness. Karen reached for the plush bear on the nightstand, placing it in Plankton's outstretched hand. His antennae twitched slightly in his sleep, his grip tightening around the toy. She smiled softly as Plankton's snores grew deeper. Chip stared at his father, his own eyes heavy with the weight of the evening's events. He had never seen his dad so vulnerable, so overwhelmed by his own emotions. It was a stark contrast to the Plankton he knew—the clever, resourceful, and often frustratingly stoic man who was his hero. But here he was, a man who needed comfort and reassurance. The next day, Karen woke Chip up. "We're gonna go across town to a big park, okay?" Chip nodded, following her to Plankton's bed. Plankton was still asleep, his antennae twitching slightly as he dreamt. Karen approached the bed, her steps light. She knew he's a light sleeper, yet waking him can be startling, so she knew to be extremely gentle. Her hand hovered over his shoulder. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, a sign that he was coming to. She waited, giving his brain time to catch up with the world. His eye flitted open, his gaze unfocused for a moment. "Hey, sweetie," Karen said, her voice gentle. "We're going to a new playground across town.."

𝖣𝖠𝖱𝖤 𝖳𝖮 𝖡𝖤 𝖣𝖨𝖥𝖥𝖤𝖱𝖤𝖭𝖳 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖥𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) pt. 2 Plankton's cheeks flushed a deep shade of red as he processed her words. Embarrassment flooded him as he realized what must have happened. "It's okay," Karen assured, her tone soothing as ever. She wiped any last remnants of drool from his chin, her movements tender. "I think we outta tell Chi-" "N-no, Karen... we're not gonna tell Chip," Plankton stammered. The thought of his son seeing him in such a vulnerable state was too much to bear. He didn't want Chip to see him as weak, or worse— someone to be pitied. But it was too late. Chip stepped out of the shadows, his eyes wide and full of unanswered questions. "Dad, are you okay?" he asked, his voice quivering with concern. He didn't like the idea of Chip seeing him in such a state of vulnerability. He had always worked hard to mask his neurodisability from his son. The room was suddenly thick with tension as Plankton's eye snapped to Chip, his antennae drooping with embarrassment. He tried to hide his trembling hands, feeling exposed and weak. "Chip," Karen began, turning to her son, her eyes pleading for understanding. "It's just something that happens sometimes. Daddy's okay. Now, how was summer ca--" "What's wrong with him?" Chip interrupted, his voice cracking with emotion. He had seen his dad act different before, but this was on a whole new level. Karen sighed heavily, guiding her son out of the room. "Your dad has a neurodisability, Chip. It's called autism. Sometimes, his brain does things that are hard for him to control." Chip's eyes grew even wider, his heart racing as he tried to process this new information. "But why did he talk like that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's just a part of a condition, sweetheart," she explained. "It's like his brain gets scrambled for a bit after his seizures." They sat down on the couch, Karen's eyes filled with compassion as she saw the fear in her son's eyes. "But he's going to be okay." Chip looked at her with a mixture of confusion and concern. "What do you mean, his brain gets scrambled?" "It's like when you're playing a video game, and the screen glitches for a moment," she tried to explain. "It just takes him a little time to get his thoughts straight after one of these episodes." Chip nodded slowly, his gaze drifting back to the bedroom door. "I'll make us some cookies, ok?" Karen said, giving him a gentle nudge. Chip goes back to his parents bedroom. Plankton was still on his own bed. "What d-did your mother t-tell you?" Chip thought of how to phrase his answer, forgetting what his mom called it. "She told me that you're just re---" Plankton's eye widened, his face flushing with a mix of anger and pain. The slur cut deeper than any physical blow could. "Don't you ever call me that," he said, his voice shaking. "Do you underst--" "It's just what mom said," Chip responded, his voice trembling. But Plankton's expression was one of hurt and anger. He had worked so hard to keep his condition hidden from his son, and now, in his most vulnerable moment, his own wife had supposedly betrayed him? "What did she tell you?" Plankton demanded, his voice harsher than Chip had ever heard before. His father was clearly upset, and Chip was torn between defending his mom and trying to understand what was happening. "It's just what she told me," Chip shrugs, not knowing it's a slur. "I'll go unpack." Moments after Chip left to his own room, Karen comes back, not knowing what Chip said to him. "Plankton," she said softly, "I made some cookies!" Plankton ignored her, turning away. "What's wrong?" Karen asked. Plankton's antennae twitched with agitation. "You told him," he said accusingly, his voice shaky. Karen's smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. "I didn't tell him anything bad," she explained gently. "Just that you ha—" "Don't say it," Plankton interrupted, his voice sharp. "Chip told me what you said. How could you do that?" Karen's eyes widened in surprise. "What do you mean?" she asked. "The... the 'R' word," Plankton cried, tears streaming down. Karen's heart sank, realizing his fear. "Oh, Plankton, no, not that," she said, reaching for his hand. "I never called you that, I pro-" But Plankton was beyond consolation, the damage already done. "You did," he insisted, his voice breaking. "You said it, right there! I thought you were the one person who understood me.." Karen felt a coldness spread through her. "Plankton, I swear, I never said that. I just told him about your autism! You know I'd never call you that. Ever. I would never use that term." Plankton's antennae trembled with anger. "Then why did Chip say it? He said you told him I wa-" Plankton choked back a sob. Karen's eyes searched his face, desperation creeping in. "Chip must have misunderstood," she said. "Let's go talk to him; we'll clear this up." But Plankton's trust was shaken, and his anger was palpable. "No," he snapped. "I don't w-want to see either of you right now." His voice cracked under the weight of his emotions. Karen felt the sting of his rejection, but she knew his pain was deeper. With a heavy heart, she left the room. As she closed the door, she heard Plankton's muffled sobs, and it broke her heart. Making her way to Chip's room, she tried to prepare for the conversation she knew was coming. She wanted to explain everything to her son, to ease his fears and misunderstandings. When she reached Chip's bedroom she took a deep breath, steeling herself for the emotional conversation. "Hey Chip," she said, opening the door softly. Chip sat on his bed, his face etched with worry. "We need to talk."

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𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 6 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The sounds Plankton makes shift again. "Skrink, skrink." Karen's eyes light up with understanding. "It's his brain's new way of saying 'I'm okay'," she whispers. "It's a 'stim'." Chip looks at his dad, his curiosity piqued. Plankton's antennae wriggle, his eye glazed over. "Skrink, skrink, skrink." The sounds are soothing, almost hypnotic. "It's like he's playing a tune," Chip murmurs. Karen nods. "In a way, he is," she says. "It's his brain's symphony." The room is bathed in the glow of Plankton's stims, his autism's unique melody. "Dad?" Chip asks tentatively, his voice a whisper. Plankton's head tilts slightly, his antennae still. "Skrink skrink skrink," he repeats. It's like he's in a trance, lost in a world only he understands. Plankton's eye flickers. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers. "You can keep making your sounds." And then it happens. Plankton's voice shifts, echoing Karen's words. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs. Chip looks at his mom, his eyes wide. "Is he... is he okay?" Karen nods. "It's his way of processing," she says. "It's called 'echolalia'." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his father's. "It's when his brain mimics the words he hears to make sense of them," she explains. "It's like when you repeat something until it feels right." Plankton's antennae twitch in time with his echoes. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice a mirror of Karen's soothing tone. Chip smiles. "It's okay, Plankton," he repeats, trying to enforce his dad's calm. But Plankton thinks Chip's making fun of him. His antennae shoot straight up, his eye wide with hurt anger at Chip. "It's not a game, Chip!" Plankton snaps. "It's not something to tck tck... to mock!" Karen sighs, knowing this conversation needs to be handled with care. "Sorry, Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "I just... I thought it would he-" "It's not for you to think about!" Plankton cuts him off. Karen puts a hand on Chip's shoulder, her gaze on Plankton. "Chip didn't mean anything by it," she says calmly. "He just wants to understand and connect." She turns to Chip, her screen filled with compassion. "I know it's hard to see Dad like this," she says. "But remember, his autism is part of him, and we need to respect it. He doesn't like it when you mimic his sounds like that." Chip nods, feeling a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, but he doesn't look at Chip. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing. "We're all learning here." Plankton's hand starts to move again, tracing patterns on the blanket. Karen watches. "It's his 'stimming', Chip," she says. "It's his way of self-soothing, and these movements and sounds help him to cope." Chip nods, his eyes still wet. "But why did he get so mad when I do it?" he asks. Karen sighs. "Because it's his own personal language, his way of understanding the world," she explains. "When you address it, he feels like you're invading his space, like you're not taking his feelings seriously. It's something his brain does for himself only." Karen smiles gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "Chip's just trying to understand everything. You can keep making your sounds." Chip wants to help, but he doesn't know how. "Just let him be, Chip," Karen says, her voice soothing. Plankton shifts again, his eye teary. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs, echoing Karen's words from earlier. Chip clenches. He didn't mean to upset him, seeing his dad's eye welling up with tears. Karen's hand finds Plankton's, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she says. "You don't have to hide it from us." Plankton's tears spill over, tracing a silent river down his cheek. Karen's eyes never leave his. "You don't have to hide, Plankton," she whispers. "We're here for you." Chip watches. He doesn't know what to do, his mind racing. "Mom," he says, his voice shaking, "What can I do?" Karen turns to him, her expression gentle. "Just be here," she says. "Just listen and learn." Plankton's tears stream down. "It's okay, Plankton," he hears his wife say again. The words echo in his mind, a comforting mantra. "It's okay, Plankton," Plankton murmurs, trying to mimic her tone. But it sounds forced, wrong. He swallows hard. "That's right, Plankton," Karen says, smiling. "You're okay. You're safe, Plankton," she repeats. "You're here with us." Chip watches his dad, his heart breaking. "Mom, why is he...?" Karen's eyes are filled with pain. "It's his way of telling us he's okay," she says. "He's using my words because right now, his brain can't find his own." Chip nods, his eyes on his father. Plankton's hand is still moving, tracing the patterns on the blanket. "It's okay, Dad," Chip whispers. Plankton's crying intensifies, his tics becoming more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs, his antennae flailing. Karen reaches for him, but he flinches away. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "We're here." Chip watches, his own screen wet with tears. He's never seen his dad like this before. He feels like an outsider in a conversation he's always been a part of. "You don't have to hide your tears," Karen whispers to Plankton. "We're a family." Plankton's sobs become louder, his tics more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he says, his body convulsing slightly. Karen's hand is firm but gentle on his back, offering silent support. "It's okay," she murmurs. "Let it out." Chip watches. "Why is he...?" his voice trails off. Karen looks at him, her screen full of love. "It's his way of saying he's overwhelmed, Chip," she whispers. "When he repeats my words, it's his brain trying to find the comfort it needs." Plankton's cries become louder, his tics more erratic. "Tck tck tck," he sobs, his body shaking. Chip feels helpless, his mind racing. He wants to make it stop, but he doesn't know how. "Just be here, buddy," Karen says, her voice calm. "Sometimes, that's all he needs." Plankton's tics morph into full-body shudders, his cries now muffled by the blanket. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand still rubbing his back. "We're with you." Chip watches as his father's sobs echo in the room, each one a heartbreaking testament to the weight he carries. "You're not alone," he whispers, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's distress. The words tumble from Plankton's mouth, a mix of Karen's soothing tones and his own raw pain. "It's o-okay, P-Plankton," he repeats, his voice broken. "It's o-okay." Karen's eyes well up too, but she remains steadfast. She's seen this before. "Tck tck tck," Plankton says, his body convulsing with each sob. "You don't have t-to tck tck hide it-t." Karen nods, her thumb brushing away a tear. "It's okay," she whispers. "We love you just as you are." Plankton's sobs turn into hiccups, his antennae twitching. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice mimicking hers. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on Plankton's back, her eyes never leaving his. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says. "You're safe here." Plankton's sobs subside slightly. Karen nods. "That's right," she whispers. "Your sounds, your tics, they're part of you." Chip watches. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. "But... but why?" he asks. Karen takes a deep breath. "His autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain has its own language, and when he's overwhelmed, it comes out." Plankton's tics become less erratic, his breathing even. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice trembling. "You're not alone." Karen smiles sadly. "He knows that, Chip," she says. "But sometimes, his brain just needs to speak its own words." Plankton's eye meets his wife's, the panic receding slightly as Chip watches.

ღ 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔞 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔴𝔬𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔪, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔞 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔡𝔬𝔫'𝔱 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔱. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔞𝔩𝔩, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔯𝔶, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔲𝔭, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 ! 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔞 𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔣𝔞𝔠𝔢𝔰, 𝔰𝔬 𝔦𝔣 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔫'𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔯, 𝔪𝔢𝔞𝔫, 𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔫, 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔶𝔬𝔲 - 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔰𝔱

✨ Hanging exercises Downward Dog Cobra Pose Cat and Cow Stretch Calves Stretch Neck Stretch Hip Flexor Stretch Lifting up to your toes Skipping Swimming