Seizurecore Emojis & Text

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new special olympics emotionalcore originally posted on tumblr tumblr

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 7
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

They moved to the floor,
a cushioned area where Plankton
felt more comfortable. Hanna
produced a variety of textures
for him to explore. "Slowly,"
she instructed, "let's introduce
his hands to different fabrics."

Karen watched as Plankton's
fingers danced over the softness
of velvet, his expression
unreadable. Then Hanna presented
a piece of sandpaper. His hand
retracted instantly, his eye
squeezing shut. "No," he murmured,
his voice tight with distress.

"It's ok," Karen said, taking
his hand. "We'll try something
else." She offered him a smooth
piece of silk instead. His eye
widened, his breath catching.
"Nice?" she asked, her voice
gentle.

Slowly, Plankton's hand
unfurled, his fingertips brushing
against the fabric. "Silk," he
whispered, his voice filled with
wonder. He began to stroke it,
his movements rhythmic and
comforting. Hanna nodded,
making a note. "Good," she said.
"That's a positive response. Now
let's try different tactile sensations."
Hanna says, taking the fabrics away.

She presented a tray with a
variety of objects: a cold metal
spoon, a soft feather, a bumpy
rock. Plankton's hand hovered over
each item, his gaze intense. "Choose
one," Karen urged, her voice gentle.

He reached for the feather,
his eye closing in anticipation.
As the soft plumes brushed against
his skin, a shiver of pleasure
went through him. "Good," he murmured,
his hand moving in a soothing
motion. Karen watched.

Hanna offered the cold spoon next.
Plankton's hand jerked back at
first, his eye widening in
fear. But with Karen's gentle
encouragement, he touched it again,
his breath hitching as he
experienced the coolness. "Cold,"
he whispered, his voice filled
with wonder before retreating his
hand again.

They moved to the rock,
its surface a study in contrasts.
Plankton's hand hovered, then
touched the rock tentatively. His
face contorted as he felt the
bumpy, unyielding surface. "Odd,"
he murmured.

Hanna nodded, her gaze
studying him. "It's ok to not
like everything," she said. "But
it's ok to explore." She
sets out a sharpened point to
test his reaction.

Plankton's hand hovered over
the pointed tip, his antennae
twitching. He looked to Karen,
his eye searching for reassurance.
"It's ok," she whispered, taking the
point and pressing it lightly into
her own palm. "It's just a sensation I
vaguely feel," Karen says, barely
pressing onto his skin. Slowly, touching the
point with the pad of his finger...

His body jolted, his breath
screeching. "Pain," he murmured,
his hand retreating quickly. "Too much!"
Hanna nodded, her expression
thoughtful. "It's ok," she said. "This
is all about finding what you
can ha-"

But before she could finish,
Plankton's body stiffened,
his eye rolling back with a cry. Karen
watched another seizure
take hold. "No!" she cried, her voice
a mix of fear and frustration.

Hanna was quick to act,
guiding him back to the couch
and speaking soothingly. "It's
ok," she murmured. "You're safe."
They waited for the seizure
to pass, Karen's hand tightly
clutching Plankton's, offering silent
comfort. When he came to,
his gaze was haunted, his hand
still wrapped around the fidget
toy. Hanna tried the point again,
only for Plankton to cough up his
toast, tears streaming down his face.

"We need to stop," Karen said,
her voice shaking. "This isn't
helping." Hanna nodded, her
expression filled with understanding.
"We've learned a lot today,"
she said. "We know what
to avoid now. Let's stop."

They moved back to the couch,
Karen's arm around Plankton,
his body trembling. She knew
his sensory overload was at its peak.
The room felt too bright,
too loud, too much.

"Let's dim the lights," Hanna
suggested, her voice gentle. "And let's
try some deep pressure."

Karen nodded, rushing to
the dimmer switch and
adjusting the lights to a
comfortable level. She then
wrapped a weighted blanket
around Plankton, his body
relaxing almost immediately
under its embrace. His eye
closed, and his breathing grew
steady as the pressure helped
soothe his overwhelmed senses.

They sat in silence for a
moment, Karen stroking
his arm, avoiding any
sudden movements that might
startle him. "It's ok," she
whispered. "You're safe."

Hanna spoke softly. "It's
important to create a sensory
friendly environment," she
explained. "We'll need to
make some adjustments
around the house."
Karen nodded, her gaze
never leaving Plankton's
face. "I'll do anything," she
said. "Whatever it takes."

Hanna's eyes searched the
room, her mind working.
"Let's start with visual
stimuli," she said.

They moved through the
place, Karen following
Hanna's instructions to
cover the windows with blackout
curtains and remove any
items that might be overstimulating.
The room grew dimmer,
the only light coming
from a single, soft lamp.

Plankton's breathing slowed,
his body visibly relaxing.
Hanna spoke calmly. "Now, let's work
on some verbal exercises."

Karen watched as Hanna
selected a set of cards with
simple pictures and words.
"We'll start with matching,"
she said, holding up a card
with an image of a cat. "What
does this say?"

Plankton's eye focused on
the card, his hand fidgeting
with the blanket's edge.
"Cat," he murmured sleepily.

Hanna nodded, her gaze
meeting Karen's. "Good job,"
she said. "Now, let's try
another one." She held up
a card with a picture of a
tree.

Plankton's eye searched the
card, his mouth moving as if
he was trying to form
the word. "Tree," he managed
after a moment, his voice
slightly more confident, yet he
felt drowsily exhausted.

Hanna nodded, pleased with
his progress. "Very good,
Plankton," she said, placing
the card down. "Let's keep
going." But Plankton's tired.

"Maybe we should take a
break," Karen suggested,
seeing the fatigue in his
posture. "He's had a lot to
process today."

Hanna nodded, her gaze
kind. "It's been a big day
for him. Let's not push it."

They decided to end the
session, Karen helping
Plankton to bed, the weighted
blanket still wrapped around him.
His eye were half-closed,
his movements sluggish as he
sank into the mattress, the
sensory overload leaving him
drained. "Thank you," Karen murmured
to Hanna. "For everything."

Hanna's smile was gentle. "It's
what I'm here for," she said.
"We'll take this one step at a
time. Remember, patience and
understanding are key."

Karen nodded with tears as she
tucked Plankton into bed. His
body was still, his breaths
deep and even under the
soothing weight of the blanket.
The room was now a cocoon
of calm, designed to protect
his sensitive system from the
onslaught of the outside world.

new touchingcore sensoryoverloadcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 10
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Plankton took a deep
breath, his antennae
drooping. "What happened?"
he asked, his voice hoarse as
he looks around.

Chip stared at his father, his
eyes brimming with tears. "You
scared me," he whispered.
"Mom said you had a-"

But Plankton cut him off, his
voice cold. "I wasn't talking
to you," he said, his gaze
sliding away from Chip's. "I was
asking your mother." The
hurt in Chip's eyes was like a
knife to Karen, but
she knew better than to push.

Chip looked at her, his eyes
desperate for answers. "But
Mom, what's going on?" he
whispered. Karen took a
deep breath. "Your dad's been
going through some changes,"
she began, her voice
trembling slightly. "He's not
the same as before, and we're
still trying to figure it all
out. You can ask us questions,
but it's your dad's story to tell."

Chip's curiosity was
piqued, his need for answers
overriding his fear. "What do
you mean by changes?" he
asked, his voice shaky. "Are you
sick? What's wrong, Da-"

"I'm fine," Plankton said, his voice
sharp. "Just leave it, ok?" His
tone was final, his gaze avoiding
his son's. He could feel the
weight of his own emotions, the
fear of being seen as weak, as
different. The anger was a
shield, a way to push Chip away
before the hurt could set in. But
Chip has more questions.

Chip's eyes searched Plankton's,
his voice laced with determination.
"But Dad, you're not fine," he
said, his voice shaking with
emotion. "You're acting all weird
and scary, and you're not talking to
me or playing games like we-"

"I said I'm fine!" Plankton's voice
was a harsh bark, his antennae
snapping with agitation. The room
felt suddenly too small, his anger
a palpable force that made Karen
flinch. "I don't need you poking
around in my business!" His eye
narrowed, his words cutting like
a knife. "What don't you get?"

Chip's eyes filled with tears,
his lower lip quivering. "But I'm
your son," he whispered, his voice
barely audible over the sound of
his own heart breaking. "You're
supposed t---"

But Plankton was already retreating,
his back to them. "I don't need
this," he murmured, still sitting. "I don't 
need any of this."

"But Dad, I just want to help,"
he said, his voice shaky. "I don't 
understand why you're like this," he
adds, reaching out to touch his
dad's shoulder.

But Plankton flinched away,
his antennae quivering with irritation.
"Don't touch me," he murmured,
his voice low and dangerous. But Chip
remains undeterred.

"I don't get it," Chip says, reaching
out again to Plankton's back. "What 
happe—"

But Plankton's voice was like
ice. "Don't," he warned, his body
stiffening. "Just, don't." His antennae
twitched erratically, a silent
testament to his internal storm.
Chip's hand hovered, now setting it
on Plankton's arm...

The sudden contact sent a
shiver down Plankton's spine, his
body jolting as if electrified.
"I said don't!" he snarled,
his voice a whip crack in the
silent room. He yanked his arm
away, his eye wild. "Can't yo-"

But Chip's hand remained firm,
his grip now on Plankton's wrist,
refusing to let go. "Dad, ple–"

"Get OFF!" Plankton's voice
was a snarl, his body writhing
away from the touch. Chip
felt like he was holding onto a
wild animal, desperate to keep
it from running away. "I don't
understand," he choked out, tears
streaming down his screen as he
only held on tighter. "Dad, w---"
But Plankton's anger boiled
over. With a roar, he swung
his arm back, slapping Chip's
hand away. Chip's arm stung,
his eyes wide with shock.
"I said DON'T TOUCH ME!"
Plankton's voice echoed through
the room.

Karen watched both her son and
her husband. She knew this
was hard for Chip, knew he
was just trying to connect, to
understand. But Plankton's
autistic brain was like a delicate
instrument, easily overwhelmed
by the cacophony of emotions
and sensations. She stepped
forward, placing a hand on Chip's
shoulder. "It's ok," she said,
her voice soft. "Dad just needs
his space right now."

Chip looked up at her, his eyes
swimming with tears. "But why?"
he choked out. "Why is he-"

"Chip, please," Karen said, her
voice shaking with emotion. "We
have to respect his boundaries."
Her gaze was pleading, but Chip's
determination didn't waver. "But
he's my dad," he said, his voice
strong despite the tremor.

Plankton's body was a
whirlwind of emotions, his eye
flicking back and forth between
his wife and son. He felt torn,
his desire to push Chip away
warring with his love for him.

Chip's eyes searched Plankton's,
his voice shaky but firm. "Dad,
you can't just ignore me," he said.
But Plankton's too angry to answer.

Karen watched
the scene unfold. Plankton's withdrawal
was palpable, his body language
screaming 'leave me alone'. He curled
up into the armchair, his antennae
pressed against his head. The room
felt suffocating with his emotional
walls.

"Chip, let's go to your room," she
whispered, her voice a gentle guide.
With one last look at his father,
Chip nodded, his eyes red and puffy.

Plankton didn't move, his
breaths coming in ragged
gasps as he curled further into
his chair. The anger was a
wave that had crashed over him,
leaving him drained and
ashamed. He didn't mean to
hurt Chip, but the touch had
been too much. He felt his world
spinning, his senses on high
alert, his thoughts a jumble of
fear and frustration.

Karen led Chip to his
room, her hand firm but gentle
on his shoulder. She knew he
was hurt, knew he had so many
questions.

Once inside, she sat beside him
on the bed, her eyes brimming with
tears she fought to hold back. "Chip,"
she began, her voice soft. "You
know how people are different,
right?" Chip nodded, his eyes still
wet from crying. "Yeah," he
whispered. "Like, some people
like chocolate, and some like
vanilla."

"Exactly," Karen said, taking a
deep breath. "Well, sometimes,
those differences aren't just
about what we like or don't
like." She paused, searching
for the right words. "Sometimes,
things happen to our brains that
make it work differently. Like
when you fall and get a bruise,
your body needs time to heal. But
brain bruises, well, injuries,
can't be seen, and they can change
how we think, feel, and even how
we react to the world."

Chip's eyes searched hers, his
mind racing. "So, Dad's brain
got bruised?"

Karen shrugs, her voice
soft. "No. It's called acquired
autism. It's like a switch
was flipped in his brain,
changing the way he sees
and feels things." She took a
deep breath. "It's not his fault,
and it doesn't make him less of
a person, but it does make him
see the world in a way that's
new and sometimes scary for
all of us."

Chip looked down at his
hands, his thoughts racing. "So
he's not just mad at me?"

"No, sweetie," Karen said,
wiping a tear from her own
screen. "It's not about you. It's
about his brain learning how to
process things differently now."

Chip's brow furrowed, trying
to make sense of it all. "But
why does he get so upset
when I just want to hug him?"

Karen sighed. "Sometimes, when our
brain changes like this, it's
like suddenly the lights are too
bright, or sounds are too loud, or
touch feels like a hundred
needles," she said, her voice
gentle. "It's not that he doesn't
want to hug you, it's just that
his brain can't handle it the
way it used to."

"But I'm not hugging his
brain," Chip asks.

"No," Karen says, her voice
soothing. "You're hugging him,
his body. But it's his brain that
interprets the hug. And right
now, his brain is like a radio
tuned to the wrong station. It's
hearing things differently, feeling
things differently." She pauses,
looking for a way to make it more
real for him. "Imagine if you were
playing a video game and suddenly
the controls changed. You'd get
frustrated, right?" Chip nods.
"That's what it's like for
Dad. Everything he knew,
everything he could do, it's like
the cheat codes don't work
anymore. And when you try to
hug him, it's like someone
turned the volume up really loud
without warning." She takes a
deep breath. "It's not that he doesn't
love you, or that he doesn't want
to play games or tell stories.
It's just that his brain needs
more time to understand the
world again."

Chip nods slowly, his eyes
still full of unshed tears.
"So, what do we do?" he asks,
his voice barely above a whisper.

"We help him," Karen says,
wiping at her own tears. "We learn
about his new 'station', and
we help him adjust to it." She
smiles sadly. "It's like we're
explorers, discovering a new
world together." 

new acquired autism emotionalcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 11
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new toycore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 12
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new familycore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 13
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

new familycore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 14
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As they swung, the tension
slowly began to ease from
Plankton's antennae. The
back-and-forth movement
was soothing, a gentle rocking.

After a while, they got off
the swings.

Plankton's antennae were still
twitching with the residual
energy of the movement, his
body craving the sensory input
that had become so rare. Chip
noticed and searched the park for
a suitable activity. His eyes
lit upon the sandbox. "How
about playing in the sand?"
he suggested, his voice hopeful.
Plankton's antennae quivered
with interest, his eye lighting
up slightly. He had always
enjoyed the feel of sand
between his... well, the
equivalent of fingers. Karen
smiled, seeing the potential
for a positive interaction.

They approached the sandbox,
the fine grains glinting in the
sunlight. Chip took a seat on
the wooden bench beside it,
watching as Plankton tentatively
placed his hand into the cool
sand. His antennae quivered with
pleasure at the sensation, his
body relaxing slightly. Chip
followed suit, his movements
deliberately slow and cautious,
mirroring his father's. He
knew that sudden movements or
touch could send Plankton spiraling,
so he remained still, his eyes
on the sand.

Together, they began to
sculpt the sand, their hands moving
in harmony without any need
for words. The gentle scrape
of the grains against their
hands was a soothing balm, a
silent conversation that
transcended the barriers of
language and injury. Plankton's
fears and anger from the night
before seemed to melt away with
each mound of sand that took shape.
Chip watched his father, his
heart swelling with hope. He had
found a way to connect, a
sensory experience that didn't
overwhelm Plankton. As they
played, he noticed his father's
breathing slow, his antennae
relaxing slightly. It was a
small victory, but it felt like a
huge step in the right direction.

The sun grew higher in the
sky, casting warm rays down
on the sandbox. Karen sat
beside them, her eyes filled with
gratitude for this moment of
peace.

Plankton's antennae twitched
slightly as he focused on the
sand, his movements precise. Chip
watched, mimicking his father's
careful touch. The sand was a
bridge between them, a shared
experience that didn't require
words. They built sandcastles
together, their hands working
in harmony despite the unspoken
fear that hung in the air.

Chip felt a weight lift from
his shoulders as he saw Plankton's
eye light up with each new
creation. The sand was a
therapy in itself, a gentle
reminder that love didn't need
to be loud or physical to be
felt. They built a sandcastle
together, their silent
companionship a balm to the
wounds of the previous night.

After a while, they 
finished. "Want to
try something else?" Chip
asked, his voice soft.
Plankton's antennae quivered,
his eye flicking to the nearby
beach ball. "Maybe a
game of catch?" Plankton 
suggested, his voice tentative.
Chip nods. He knew
his dad's fear of the 
unexpected, so he rolled it
gently to him.

Plankton caught the
ball. He tossed
it back to Chip, his eye
watching the arc of its
flight with a hint of 
excitement.
Chip's throw was
careful, underarm, 
keeping it within
Plankton's visual
comfort zone. He knew
his dad's limits,
his fear of fast
movements.

Plankton's antennae
twitched as he caught
the ball again. The
sensation of the cool,
smooth plastic was a
comfort in his hands.
He threw it back to Chip,
his movements calculated,
his mind focused on the
game. It was a simple
activity, but it was one
where he felt in control.
Chip watched his father, his
movements mirrored. He knew
his dad's fear of the
unexpected, so he
threw the ball with a gentle
underhand toss, keeping it
slow and predictable. Plankton
smiled slightly, his eye
tracking the ball's
trajectory.

Later, Karen told them it's
time to go, to start the drive
back home. She got in the
driver's seat as Plankton and
Chip sat in the back together.

Chip's eyes were on his dad,
his heart racing with
excitement. The car's
movement was a gentle rocking,
akin to the swing. Plankton watched
the world pass by. The
sensation of the car's vibrations
was soothing.

Karen glanced in the rearview
mirror, her eyes searching for any
sign of distress. But Plankton was
calm, his antennae still. The drive
was a quiet reprieve, a chance for
them to process the newness
of their relationship. Chip knew that
his dad's sensory issues made
the world a minefield, but in this
moment, the steady hum of the
car was a comfort.

As Karen drove, Plankton's
eyelid began to droop, his 
antennae slowing.

The gentle vibration of the
car and the predictable rhythm
of the road was a balm. He
leaned back, his head resting
against the seat, his hand 
clutching the fidget toy.
Plankton's antennae
twitched slightly, his eye
half-closed, head dropping.
Chip felt his heart swell
as Plankton's head slowly
dropped onto his shoulder.
And as Plankton starts to
snore gently, Chip realized
his dad had fallen asleep,
his head resting heavily on
his shoulder. He stiffened for a
moment, fearing that any
sudden movement might
wake his father, might
disrupt the fragile peace
they had found. But Plankton's
snores grew deeper, the tension
leaving his body.

Karen glanced in 
the rearview
mirror. "It's ok,"
she murmured. 
"You're doing a
good job."

Chip felt his muscles
relax slightly, the weight of
his father's head a comfort.
He knew that this moment
was precious, a sign that
his efforts were not in vain.
He leaned into the warmth of
his dad's body, his hand
finding its way to the fidget
toy. His thumb traced the
patterns, mimicking the
rhythm that Plankton had
found soothing. Chip then
decides to take a selfie. He
holds up his phone after looking
at his dad, who started to drool
at the corner of his open mouth.
He chuckles quietly, snapping the
photo as Plankton remains asleep.

Chip posts the picture with
adding this caption:
"Went to the park with my
dad @ Sheldon Plankton
today 💙👨‍👦💨 "

Plankton still
snored softly against Chip's
shoulder. Chip noticed more
drool escaping the corner
of his mouth and felt a
surge of affection mixed with
concern. "Mom, he's drooling,"
he whispered to Karen, his voice
barely audible over the car's
hum. Karen chuckled, her eyes
meeting Chip's in the mirror.
"It's ok," she said softly.
"It's a sign of his tiredness.
Let him sleep."

new familycore emotionalcore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 4
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Karen moved to her bed,
her mind racing with thoughts
of what tomorrow would bring.
Her eyes stung with unshed
tears. Plankton's gentle snores
provided a rhythmic backdrop.

The next morning, Karen's 
the first to wake up.

Karen slid out of bed, her eyes
on her sleeping husband. She
wondered if today would bring
any changes, any improvements.
But she didn't dare
disturb him.

The silence was a stark
contrast to the chaos in her
head. What could she do? How
could she help him? Her heart
ached with every step she took
away from him.

In the kitchen, Karen made
herself a cup of tea, her hands
shaking slightly. She knew
she had to stay strong, but fear
was a constant companion. 
Could he ever be the man
she knew again? Would he ever
look at her with the same love
in his eye?

The sun was just beginning
to rise, casting a soft glow
over the kitchen. She sipped
her tea, the warmth spreading
through her body. It was a
comforting routine, one that
offered a semblance of normalcy
in the face of the unknown.

As she set the mug down,
she heard a shuffling sound
coming from the bedroom. Plankton!
He entered the kitchen, his
gait unsteady, his eye unfocused.
"Morning," he murmured, his voice
still detached.

Karen forced a smile. "Good
morning, Plankton," she said, her
voice trembling. "How did you sleep?"

Plankton nodded, his hand
flapping slightly. "Sleep," he murmured.
"Dreams. Morning." His eye searched
the room, looking for something
to anchor him to the present.

Karen took a deep breath.
"Would you like some tea?" she offered,
keeping her voice steady. "Or maybe
some toast?"

Plankton nodded again, his gaze
finally settling on the toaster.
"Toast," he said, his voice a little
more present. "Toast is good."
It was a step, a tiny
glimmer of hope in the fog of their
new reality. She made him toast,
his favorite, with just the right
amount of butter. But then the
toaster went off with it's usual
pop noise as the toast finished.
Plankton flinched at the sudden
sound. Karen's eyes
widened in concern. She'd
forgotten about his heightened
sensitivity to noise. "I'm sorry,"
she murmured, her voice soothing.
"Sound," Plankton whimpered. 
"Loud. Pain." Karen felt
a pang of guilt. She'd have to
be more careful.
"It's ok," she assured him,
her voice low and gentle. "Let's
have your toast in the living
room. It's quieter there." She led
the way, watching as he
followed, his steps slow and
measured.

The living room was bathed in
the soft light of dawn, the TV
flickering with the news. Karen
quickly turned it off, not wanting
the noise to overwhelm him.
She placed the toast on a plate,
cut it into neat triangles, and
handed it to him. He took it with
a nod of thanks, his eye never
leaving hers.

For a moment, there was a
silence between them, filled with
the echoes of their past. 
"Would you like to sit?" she
asked, gesturing to the couch.
Plankton nodded, his movements
precise and calculated.

As they sat together, Karen
noticed the way he avoided her
gaze, his eye darting around
the room. She took his hand,
hoping to offer comfort. He
flinched, his hand twitching in
her grasp. "I'm sorry," she
mumbled, quickly releasing him.
"No touch," he murmured, his
voice a mix of apology and
firmness. 

They sat in silence for a
moment, the only sound the
crunch of toast between Plankton's
teeth. Karen watched him,
his movements so different.

"Do you remember the patty
formula?" she asked, her voice
barely above a whisper. She needed
to know if there was any part
of him that was still there,
anything she could cling to.

Plankton's eye snapped to hers,
his gaze intense. "Formula,"
he murmured. "Yes. Patty."

Karen felt a surge of hope.
The secret Krabby Patty recipe.
"Tell me," she encouraged,
her voice barely a whisper.

Plankton's eye narrowed, his
hands stilling. "Formula," he
repeated, his voice gaining
strength. "The Krabby Patty
formula. A culinary secret
guarded by SpongeBob Square
Pants' employer, Mr. Krabs."
He paused, his gaze drifting
away from her. "Cannot share.
Sensitive information. Top secret.
Eugene Krabs, Krabs full of barnacles!"
Plankton says, with his usual disdain
when it comes to Krabs.

Karen's eyes widened. It was a
tiny piece of the old Plankton, a
memory untouched by his current
condition. "It's ok," she said,
smiling. "It's just us here."

Plankton looked at her, his
expression unreadable. "Formula,"
he murmured, his eye lighting
up with a hint of mischief. "The
combination of ingredients to
create a Krabby Patty. Not to be
shared. Understood?"

Karen nodded, her smile genuine
for the first time in hours.
"Understood," she said. "It's good
to see yo-"

Plankton's head snapped up, his
eye wide. "Karen," he interrupted,
his voice urgent. "Need quiet."

Karen's smile faltered. She nodded,
swallowing the words she had
been about to say. Instead, she
simply sat beside him, her hand
resting lightly on the couch cushion
between them, a silent offering of
support.

The silence stretched, taut
as a bowstring, filled with the
weight of what had been said and
what remained unspoken. Karen
wanted to ask him more questions,
to try and coax out more of his
memories, but she knew she had to
tread carefully. Every interaction
was a delicate dance around his
fragile neural pathways.

So instead, she focused on the
present. "Let's have a quiet
day," she said. "We can just sit
and maybe look at some books.."

Plankton's hands began to flap
again, a little more erratically
than before. "Books," he murmured.
"Words, letters, information." His
voice grew excitedly happy.

Karen nodded, rising from the couch.
"I'll get you some books," she said,
her voice gentle. "You sit here."

The bookshelf was a mess, but
she knew exactly where the science
books were, his favorite. She picked
one out, a thick tome titled "The
Universe in a Nutshell," and brought
it to him, placing it in his lap with
care. "Would you like to read
about the cosmos?" she asked.

Plankton's eye lit up at the
word "read," and he nodded eagerly.
"Cosmos," he murmured, his hand
flattening against the cover.
Karen watched as he traced the
letters with his fingertip, his gaze
intense. He squeals with joy.
"Read," he said, his voice a mix
of excitement and desperation.
"Want to read."

Her screen swelled with love for
the man who, despite his
condition, still found joy in the
things that had always brought
them together. "Ok," she said,
sitting down next to him. "I'll read
to you." 
This was the Plankton she recognized,
his love for knowledge untainted by the
accident's aftermath.

The book was dense, filled with
complex theories and
explanations that she knew Plankton
would devour under normal
circumstances. But now, with his
mind struggling to maintain
focus, she decided to read slowly,
enunciating each word with care.
He leaned into her, his hand
stilling against the book as she
began to speak.

Her voice was soothing, a balm
to his frayed nerves. As she
read about black holes and
expansions, she noticed his breathing
even out, his body relaxing into hers.
"The universe," he murmured,
his eye half-closed.

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
Maybe this was the key, a way
to reach him through the
labyrinth of his altered mind.
Science had always been their
common language, a bridge
over their differences. She
read on, her voice steady and calm.

"The cosmos," she began,
"is vast and ever-expanding, filled
with mysteries waiting to be
unlocked." Plankton nodded, his
breathing syncing with the rhythm
of her words. "Black holes, the
remnants of massive stars,
bend space and time around them."

The words flowed from the
pages, weaving a tapestry of
knowledge that held Plankton's
attention. Karen felt his body
ease more onto her as she continued,
his breathing deep and steady.

new sleepcore plaren brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 5
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Karen felt his body
relax further as she 
read, his hand finally
stilling on the book.

"The fabric
of spacetime," 
she continued, "is
warped by 
gravity, creating
singularities that 
swallow light."
Plankton's eye 
grew heavier,
his head lolling
toward her shoulder
as he starts to drift
off to sleep. This was a
small victory, but it
was something. He had
fallen asleep to her voice.

With a gentle sigh,
she laid the book aside
and wrapped her arm
around him, his head
resting heavily on her
shoulder. Karen felt his
body go slack with sleep
as she softly stroked his
antennae.

The quiet of the room
was broken only by his
soft snores, a sound she
found comforting.

Karen held Plankton close,
his body a warm weight against
hers. In the safety of their
living room, with the
glow of the morning light
filtering in through the windows,
she felt a glimmer of peace.
This was the man she loved.

The book lay forgotten on the
coffee table, a testament to
their shared love of the cosmos.
But now, it was just another
reminder of the gap that
had grown between them.
How could she navigate this
new universe where Plankton
was a star whose light was
fading into the abyss of his own
mind?

Karen held him tighter, her
thoughts racing. "We'll get
through this," she murmured.
She had to be the
constant for him, the
north star that guided him home.

As Plankton slept, Karen
couldn't help but feel a
wave of determination wash
over her. She would research,
she would learn, she would do
everything in her power to
support him. But she also
knew she couldn't do it alone.

With trembling hands, she
picked up her phone and
started texting her friend
Hanna. "Hey, can you come
over? I know you worked with
some autistics, and my husband
is now on the spectrum." She
hit send.

The phone buzzed 
almost immediately.
"Of course, I'll be right 
there. What happened?"
Hanna's response was 
swift, her concern palpable.
"I'll explain when you get here,"
Karen sent back.

The wait for Hanna was
excruciating, each minute
stretching into an eternity.
Plankton remained asleep
against her side. She
carefully extricated herself
from Plankton's embrace,
placing a pillow under his
head and covering him with
a blanket. "Just a few minutes,"
she whispered, kissing his
forehead before rushing to
answer the door.

Hanna's expression was a
mixture of worry and confusion
as she stepped inside. Karen
quickly filled her in on the
bizarre turn of events, her
words tumbling out in a
desperate rush to be heard.
Hanna listened, her gaze
flitting between Karen's
tear-stained face and the
sleeping form of Plankton.
"I've never heard of
someone developing
autism from a fall," she said,
her voice gentle. "But the
brain is an incredible organ.
Let's see."

Together, they approached
the couch, Hanna's movements
slow and deliberate, not wanting
to disturb Plankton. She sat
beside him, her eyes taking in
his still form. "Hey, Plankton,"
she said, her voice low and calm.

Plankton's eye fluttered open, his
gaze darting to Hanna before
settling on Karen. "Karen," he
mumbled, his voice groggy.
"It's ok," Karen said. "This is
Hanna. She's here to visit."

Hanna offered a warm smile.
"Hello, Plankton," she said, her
voice soothing. "I've heard a lot
about you."

Plankton nodded slightly, his
hand flapping once before he
could stop it. "Hanna," he murmured,
his voice sleep-laden. 

"We need your help," Karen
said, her voice shaking. "Can you
tell us what to do?"

Hanna took a deep breath,
her screen assessing Plankton's
reaction. "First," she began,
"we need to understand his
triggers and sensitivities. It's
important to create a routine
that minimizes stress."

With a gentle touch, she
reached for Plankton's hand,
watching his reaction closely.
He flinched slightly, his eye
widening. "Plank..."

Karen interrupted. "It's ok,
Hanna's a friend." She turned to
Hanna. "It's ok," she said, her voice
a soft command. "You can touch
his ha-"

But before she could finish,
Plankton's hand shot up, his
eye widening in panic. "No touch!"
he exclaimed, his voice
sharp and insistent. Karen felt
a stab of pain at the rejection.

Hanna nodded, withdrawing her
hand immediately. "It's ok,"
she murmured. "I understand. We'll
go slow." Karen watched as Hanna
gently picked up her bag.

She pulled out a small,
squishy ball, the kind used
for stress relief. "This is a
fidget toy," she said, holding
it out to Plankton. "Would you
like to try it?"

Plankton's gaze fixated
on the ball, his hand
reaching out tentatively. His
fingers closed around it,
squeezing experimentally. "Ball,"
he murmured, his voice a
little less frantic.

Hanna watched him, her screen
filled with professional
curiosity. "It's called a fidget
toy," she said. "It can help
with stress and focus."

Plankton's hand closed around
the ball, his knuckles
whitening. He began to squeeze
it rhythmically, his gaze
locked on the movement of his
fingers. Karen watched, her heart
in her throat, as Hanna
continued to speak in soft,
soothing tones.

"Good job, Plankton," she
coaxed. "Keep playing with
that. It can help calm your
nervous system." Hanna's screen met
Karen's, filled with a silent
understanding. This was going to
be a long road.

new touchingcore voicecore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 8
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

As she pulled the blankets up
to his chin, Plankton's hand
reached out, grasping for hers. "Stay,"
he murmured, his voice
barely above a whisper. Karen squeezed his
hand gently. "Always," she promised.

They sat in the quiet of
the room, the only sound the
rhythmic squeezing of the fidget
toy. Plankton's eyelid grew
heavy, his breathing deepening.
"It's ok," Karen whispered,
stroking his forehead. "Rest now."
Plankton's hand tightened briefly
around hers before his grip
slackened. His eye fluttered
closed, and she watched him
slip into a deep, much-needed
sleep.

During the week, Plankton got
more comfortable as Karen 
helped make adjustments. She
let him stim safely without any
judgment, even suggesting
different ways to fidget. And
she saw Plankton's old self shine
through, too. As usual, he stayed
up late watching movies. He'd
sigh and lightly tease Karen when
it came to mundane matters. Yet
she knew when it came to sensory
matters and potential triggers, it's
unnegotiable. He did open up to her
more due to his fears which came
from the autism. He didn't try to
steal the krabby patty formula any
more, but that didn't stop him from
spying on the krusty krab.

But their son Chip, whom they
adopted at birth, was going to
come home. Chip had left during
the beginning of the week before
Plankton acquired autism, to a
week long camp with some school 
mates of his. But now it's the
weekend, and Chip will be coming
back from his trip today.

Karen felt a pang of anxiety
as she thought about Chip
seeing Plankton. Would he
understand? Would he be scared?
Would he still love him? "Plankton,
Chip's old enough to underst--"

"No," Plankton said firmly,
his voice clear. "I don't want
anyone to know." Karen knew
his fear of change, of being
different. "But, Plankton,"
she began, her voice gentle.
"Chip is our son, and he might
notice changes..."

Plankton's eye grew stormy.
"No," he repeated. "I don't want
to be..." Plankton trails off as
Chip himself came in excitedly.
"Mom; Dad!"

Plankton's gaze darted to their
son, his hand tightening around
his fidget toy. She watched as
Chip rushed over, his eyes full
of excitement from his camp
adventures. "Hi, I'm home!" Chip
says, hugging Karen before turning
to Plankton.

Plankton's body tensed, his
eye avoiding Chip's gaze. "Hi,
son," he murmured, his voice
forced, But Chip, ever cheerful, 
doesn't seem to notice.
"Dad!" Chip said, launching
himself at Plankton.

"Welcome home," Plankton said,
his voice a monotone. Chip's
expression fell a little, but
his excitement was too great
to be dampened.

"How was camp?" Karen asked,
trying to ease the tension.
Chip's enthusiasm was
infectious. "It was amazing!
We did archery, and I even
made a new friend!"

Plankton's gaze remained
on the fidget toy, his thumb
flicking the switch back and
forth. "That's... nice," he
managed, his voice tight. Karen
could see the effort he was
making to engage.

Chip chattered away, not
noticing the strain in Plankton's
voice. "Her name's Luna, and she's
super cool! We're gonna be
pen pals!"

Plankton's gaze flicks up to
meet Karen's. She gave him an
encouraging smile, willing him to
find his place in the conversation.
"Cool," he murmured, his mind
racing to process the sudden
flood of information. "Pen pals."

Karen watched as Chip's
eyes searched Plankton's face,
his youthful innocence unable to
comprehend the gravity of the
situation. "Why don't you show
us if you've any pictures
you took?" she suggested,
trying to shift the focus.

Chip nodded, eagerly pulling out
his phone. He sat beside
Plankton, scrolling through the
photos, his excitement a stark
contrast to his father's
detached demeanor. Plankton's
eye flicked to the screen, his
heart racing at the thought
of impending touch.

Karen watched as Chip's
fingers hovered over a picture
of himself and Luna. "Look,
Dad," he said, holding out the
phone. Plankton blinked. "Oh
nice," he says.

But as Chip's hand reached
out to hug, Plankton's arm shot
up, his antennae quivering.
"Don't," he murmured, his voice
barely audible. "Don't touch me."
Chip's hand hovered in the
air, confusion clouding his
features. "But, Da-"

Karen stepped in quickly.
"It's ok," she whispered. "We're
all family."

new familycore lunacore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 15
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) 

Eventually, they pulled up
into their driveway, Karen
parking the car.

Plankton stirred slightly,
his antennae twitching as
the car's engine purred to
a stop. Chip's heart raced.
Gently, Karen turned around,
her eyes filled with a mix of
exhaustion and hope.
"Plankton," she whispered,
her hand reaching out to
his arm. "We're home."

Plankton's eyelid fluttered
open, his antennae shooting
up. His eye darted around,
his mind racing to catch up
with reality. 
With dawning horror, he
realized he had fallen
asleep. His cheeks flushed with
embarrassment as he jerked away
from Chip's shoulder. Plankton's hand
flew to his mouth, his antennae
quivering in embarrassment as he
felt wetness.

Chip looked at him, his
expression gentle. "You ok, Dad?"
he asked. Plankton nodded, his
voice gruff. "Fine," he murmured,
his hand still covering his mouth.

The house was quiet as they
entered. Karen led the way,
her steps measured and calm.
Plankton shuffled behind, his
eye cast downward. The
embarrassment of falling asleep
in the car clung to him.

As he went into his bedroom
Plankton decided to check his
social media. He then found
Chip's selfie post:
"Went to the park with my
dad @ Sheldon Plankton
today 💙👨‍👦💨 "

Plankton's antennae
quivered with 
embarrassment.

He sat down, his hand
still clutching the
fidget toy. He scrolled
to the comments on
Chip's post, his heart
pounding in his chest.

The first comment's
from Hanna, which read:
"Aw, so sweet! 😍
Looks like you guys
are bonding! Keep
it up, @ Chip 💪🏻"
Bonding? Was that
what they were
doing? He wasn't
sure.

The next one was from
a user named @LoveforAll.
"Sending all my
❤️✨☮️ to you and
your dad, Chip! @Hanna
told me about Plankton's
case, as I've the same
acquired autistic condition
which is a rare form of
Autism, so she told me.
#acquiredautism"
Great. Not only is his sleepy
features public, but also his
condition.

Plankton felt a knot in
his stomach, his antennae
twitching with discomfort.
He viewed a reply to @LoveforAll's
comment, from @SpongeBob:
"☹️☹️☹️ Plankton, hope
you're ok buddy! 🐠💨
Sensory parks are the best!
Keep fighting the good fight! 💪🏻💨
I'm born with autism, so yea."
Plankton's antennae shot up,
his eye wide with shock. He
read the comment again, his mind
spinning. He had never considered
that his friend SpongeBob of all 
people might understand!

The next comment was from
his rival @Krabs:
"Plankton?! 🦑👀 What's going
on over there? Hope you're
not planning any Krabby Patty
stealing schemes with that fidget
toy, haha! 🤑😂 #KrabsVsPlankton
#Frenemies"

Plankton's antennae drooped,
his heart sinking. Even Mr.
Krabs couldn't resist a joke at
his expense. But then he
saw Karen's comment, her
emoji-laden response to their
day out:
"☮️💨💖 Such a wonderful
day at the sensory park
with my two boys! 👨‍👦💨👨‍👦 Proud
of you both for trying
new things! 💃🏻💨💃🏻 @ Sheldon Plankton
sorry for the picture, love!"

Putting his phone aside
Plankton saw Chip come
in the bedroom doorway.
"Hey, I got some science
homework if you'd like to..."
"I'll help," Plankton interrupts.
"How many pages, Chip?" "It's
ok, Dad. It's just basic
stuff. But if you really
want to, it's only five
pages." Chip sits on his dad's
bed with the homework packet.
Plankton's antennae
quiver with excitement.
He had always loved
helping Chip with homework!
Plankton leaned in close as
Chip hands him the homework.

Plankton's antennae twitched
as he took the homework.
"Alright," he murmured,
his voice steady. "Let's start
wi- Ow!" Plankton screams.
He had sliced his finger on
the corner of the page. The 
pain was intense, a sudden 
shock that sent his senses into
overdrive. He flaps his hands.

Karen rushed into the
room at the sound of his 
distress. "Plankton, what
happened?" she asked. 
"It hurts, it hurts," he cries, 
his voice desperate as he
cradles the injury.

The sight of his dad's
pain hit Chip like a brick.
"It's just a paper cut," he 
mumbled, his voice shaking.
But to Plankton, it was a 
sensory assault, the pain 
sharp and overwhelming.
He hadn't had a paper cut
since before the accident,
and the suddenness of it 
was to much.

Karen's eyes widened.
"Let me see," she said, her
voice calm and soothing.
Plankton shakily extended
his hand.
Her eyes took in the
cut, her mind racing.
They had to find a way to
help him manage this pain,
without causing more
distress.

Gently, she took the
fidget toy from his other
hand. "Look at this," she
instructed, her voice
soothing. "Let's focus
on th-"

But Plankton's agony was
too intense, the pain of
the paper cut like a
siren in his mind.
"Make it stop," he
whispered, his eye
squeezed shut in pain,
his body trembling.

Chip watched,
his own panic rising.
He had never seen his dad
so overwhelmed by such a
small injury. He knew
his father's sensory issues
were severe, but the sight of
his distress was almost too
much to bear. He felt a
wave of guilt wash over him.
If only he had been more
careful with the homework.

Karen took charge,
her eyes focused.
"Plankton, can you hear me?"
she asked, her voice calm
and steady. "Look at the
fidget toy, ok?" She
placed it in his good hand.
"Squeeze it. Squeeze it a-"

But Plankton couldn't
hear her over the roar of
pain in his head. His
entire body was trembling,
his breath coming in
sharp gasps. His antennae
quivered with the effort of
blocking out the sensory
storm.

Karen's mind raced.
They had to get him to a
calm state, to help him
understand that the pain
wasn't going to last. She
quickly grabbed a clean
cloth and gently pressed
it to the cut, applying
just enough pressure to
stem the flow. "Look at me,
Plankton," she said, her voice
soft but firm. "Look at me."

Plankton's antennae
twitched, his eye searching
for hers. "It's ok," she
whispered. "I'm here. It's
just a paper cu-"
But her words were
drowned out by his sobs.

Karen's mind raced. She
needed to find a way to
soothe him, to get through
the chaos of sensory
overload. She remembered
Hanna's advice about using
deep pressure to help with
pain management. Carefully,
she wrapped her arms around
his shoulders, applying firm,
comforting pressure. "It's
ok, Plankton," she murmured,
her voice steady. "I've got
you."

Plankton's antennae stopped
quivering as he felt Karen's
embrace, the pressure grounding
his overstimulated mind.
He took a deep, shaky
breath, the pain starting to
recede slightly. "It h-hurts,"
he managed to say, his voice
still tight with pain.

Chip's eyes were wide
with fear, watching his
dad's reaction to something
so simple. He had never
seen Plankton in such pain,
his usually stoic father
reduced to this trembling
wreck. It was like a
punch to the gut, a stark
reminder of how much had
changed.

Plankton's breaths grew
shallower, his antennae
shaking violently. The pain
was unbearable, the
sensations were too much.
Karen's arms tightened
around him. "It's ok, Plankton. 
It's just a paper cut. I know
it hurts, but it'll be
over soon." He clung to
her, his body shaking with
sobs. Chip watched,
feeling utterly helpless.

Plankton's eye
darted around, searching
for escape from the pain.
He couldn't handle it.
"Look at me," Karen
whispered. "Just lo---"
But Plankton's sobs
overwhelmed her words.
Tears streamed down
his cheeks, his antennae
quivering with the effort
of trying to find calm.

Karen's voice grew
stronger, her grip
on him firmer. "You're
safe, Plankton. It's just
a paper cut. It'll be
better soon." Chip felt his
own eyes well up, the
fear and helplessness
mirrored in his mother's
gaze.

Plankton's sobs
started to slow, his
body calming under the
steady pressure of Karen's
embrace. The pain was
still there, a pulsing
throb in his finger, but
it was more manageable now
as it slowly dwindled. "It's ok,"
she said, her voice gentle.
"We're going to get through
this, together."

Chip watched. He had never
seen his dad like this, so
overwhelmed by something so
small. But he knew now that
for Plankton, the world was
full of sensory landmines. Every
moment had to be
navigated with caution.

Plankton's grip on the
fidget toy tightened, his
breaths evening out as he
focused on the gentle pressure
Karen applied. His antennae
slowed their erratic dance.
"Thank you," he murmured, his voice
still shaky. Karen's eyes
were filled with love and
determination. "It's ok,"
she said, her voice a gentle
caress. "We're all here for
you."

Slowly, Plankton leaned into
her embrace with relief. He
closed his eye. The pain was
dimming. Chip noticed his hand
slacken around the fidget
toy, his grip loosening.

Karen felt his weight shift
against her, and she knew he
was slipping into sleep.
Gently, she eased him onto
his bed, she
covered him with the
weighted blanket,
his body relaxed beneath the
comforting pressure.

Plankton's antennae
twitched once more before
stillness claimed him.
The fidget toy slipped from
his grasp, landing
silently. Karen reached out, her
fingers brushing his
cheek. "Rest now," she whispered.

new touchingcore familycore brain chip

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 𝟥
(𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲)

𝖬𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌. "𝖦𝗈𝗈𝖽," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽,
𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒. "𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋
𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅?"

"𝖠 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝖽 𝗈𝖿 
𝖺 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖤𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗁 
𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖲𝗎𝗇, 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀..."
"𝟤𝟦 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖨 𝗄𝗇-" 𝖻𝗎𝗍
𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. "𝖭𝗈
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇, 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗌 𝟤𝟥 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 
𝟧𝟨 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝟦 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀!"

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈
𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗋𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼
𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗌. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾.
𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌?

"𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍
𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋
𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅?"

𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗉. "𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖥𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖱𝗈𝗈𝖿. 𝖥𝗂𝗑."
𝖧𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.
"𝖱𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋. 𝖥𝗂𝗑𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿. 𝖫𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖺𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾.
𝖦𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗏𝗂𝖺 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅."

𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒
𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌
𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇
𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗌. "𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽,
𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿
𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗒.

"𝖡𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾?" 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽
𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇
𝖺 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋.
"𝖡𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿. 𝖬𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈
𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽. "𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽
𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇?"

𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. "𝖬𝗈𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿𝖿. "𝖶𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉. 𝖱𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗇𝖾."
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁,
𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗉 𝖺𝗍
𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗐𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖼𝗒. "𝖡𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗍, 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆.
"𝖸𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇?"

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, "𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗀
𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗂𝗇.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍
𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌?
𝖧𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗉
𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗒; 𝗒𝖾𝗍, 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇'𝗍
𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇? 𝖠𝗇𝖽
𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀..

𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾
𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌
𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋. 𝖶𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾?
𝖠 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗆𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖺? 𝖭𝗈, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒'𝗌 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖾𝖼𝖼𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗈𝗇
𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖶𝗁𝗒
𝖽𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇?"
𝖧𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖥𝗅𝖺𝗉," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. "𝖥𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗎𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍.
𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝖾? "𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽,
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌.
𝖡𝗎𝗍, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗇
𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗐.
𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁? 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗓𝖾𝖽
𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 
𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆,
𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼..

𝖧𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗅𝖾𝗌
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖳𝖵 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾'𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗈 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇
𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗍, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋𝗌,
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍.
𝖨𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽.
𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾?
𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾
𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆? "𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇, 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋
𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎
𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌? 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗅
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖽𝗎𝗅𝗍.."

𝖧𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅
𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍. "𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖨𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾
𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌."
𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗁𝗂𝗌. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖺 𝗆𝗂𝗑 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗍.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝖽-𝖺𝗂𝗋,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋. "𝖠𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽
𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽.
"𝖢𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗂𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒
𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋
𝗈𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗎𝖾, 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌.
𝖨𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈,
𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾
𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋... 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾
𝗌𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖻𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋. "𝖢𝖺𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅
𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾?"

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼
𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌," 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝖾, "𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽
𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖽𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗉𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅
𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆
𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗋𝖺𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇
𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗑 𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗍
𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍
𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝖺𝖻𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽,
𝗍𝗋𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍
𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌?"

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾.
"𝖨𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖾𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅
𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇
𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖼𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺
𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗂𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌
𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗋.
𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝖾
𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗉𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗈𝗎𝗍𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖺 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗒. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅,
𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾, 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾
𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗎𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗒
𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌.
"𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗒?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾. "𝖶𝗁𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇?"

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾
𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍.
"𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇," 𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾, "𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗑
𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗌.
𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗋
𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽
𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗋𝗎𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗇𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗅 𝖿𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗌
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆
𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗆 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋."

𝖧𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄.
"𝖲𝗒𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾
𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖾𝖼𝗁 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝗌, 𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗒
𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗅
𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝗁
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇'𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒,
𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗐𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁
𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾
𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗎𝗆𝖺."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌.
"𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗍𝖾𝗑𝗍𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄
𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. "𝖴𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽,"
𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽. "𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖽
𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍. 𝖧𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗀𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗎𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾
𝖺𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝖺 𝗅𝗎𝗆𝗉 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗂𝗇
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍. "𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝗑 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌,
𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍?" 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗌𝗄𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾. "𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺..."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. "𝖥𝗂𝗑, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋,
𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍𝗌
𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗇'𝗍 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅
𝗂𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖽𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗁𝗒𝗌𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅
𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗅
𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖭𝗈 '𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖾' 𝖿𝗈𝗋
𝗌𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌. 𝖡𝗎𝗍
𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍, 𝖺𝖽𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀,
𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝖢𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍
𝖿𝗂𝗑 𝖽𝗒𝗌𝗀𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌,
𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌."

𝖲𝗈 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 
𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 
𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆. "𝖸𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾
𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇; 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄.
𝖭𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝖾𝗍'𝗌
𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖽.."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝗌, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽. "𝖡𝖾𝖽," 𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗌.
"𝖲𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉." 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝗂𝗌 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗌
𝗂𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝖽𝗀𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖧𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈
𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗌.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽'𝗌
𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗆, 𝖺𝖼𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽
𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋
𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝖾. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍
𝗐𝖺𝗌, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾. 𝖲𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗎𝗉, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗒 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁
𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. "𝖫𝖾𝗍'𝗌 𝗀𝗈," 𝗌𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖿𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅.
𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗋𝗒,
𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁
𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗑𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌.
𝖠𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋
𝖻𝖾𝖽, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌.
𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇
𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾
𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗉𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌.

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁
𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐, 𝗍𝗁𝖾
𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗍𝗁, 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈
𝖿𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽
𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋. 𝖲𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾
𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝖺𝗉. "𝖲𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅,"
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄
𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗎𝗇𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌.

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁
𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗇. "𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇," 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌. 𝖥𝗈𝗋
𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗐
𝖺 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐,
𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍
𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾, 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝖺 𝗏𝖺𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗍
𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖾. "𝖲𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒," 𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾
𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍
𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝖽𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌. "𝖢𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌
𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾
𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽
𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀. "𝖨𝗍'𝗌 𝗈𝗄," 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽,
𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾. "𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾
𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝖽𝖽𝖾𝖽. "𝖥𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾,"
𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝖽. "𝖮𝗎𝗍. 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗎𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇'𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. "𝖸𝖾𝗌. 𝖶𝖾'𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝖾𝗍
𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗀𝖺𝗓𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌
𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍. "𝖳𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌," 𝗁𝖾
𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗋
𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒. "𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗌."

𝖪𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌
𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋
𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇. "𝖱𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝗈𝗐,"
𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝖽, 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺 𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾
𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖽. "𝖶𝖾'𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐."

𝖯𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗍𝗈𝗇'𝗌 𝗇𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐,
𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗌. 𝖲𝗁𝖾
𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗌𝖾
𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀
𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾,
𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀.

new sciencecore memorycore brain chip

9 Tʜɪɴɢs ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ 
Author's 
𓂀𝕰𝖑𝖎𝖏𝖆𝖍𖣲̸☘♕ :zap:
 01/01/22
┏━━━━•❅•°•❈ - •°•❅•━━━━┓
┗━━━━•❅•°•❈ - •°•❅•━━━━┛

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊    ┊        ┊

┊         ┊       ┊   ┊   ˚✩ ⋆｡˚ ✩

┊         ┊       ┊   ✫

┊         ┊       ☪⋆             𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲, ⒉🄀⒉⒉

┊         ✫                         #hashtag     ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ༄

✯ ⋆      ┊ . ˚                   ☾   ❥                            

           ˚✩.     

‧₊ ❁ཻུ۪۪.;:୭̥.┊ʟᵉᵗ ᵍᵒ ᵒᶠ ʷʰᵃᵗ ⁱˢ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗʳᵒˡ. ʟᵉᵃʳⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵉˢˢᵒⁿ. ғᵒʳᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃˢᵗ. ᴀⁿᵈ ᵐᵒᵛᵉ ᵒⁿ. ꒱

┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄

          ⋆ ☄. ʙᵉ ᵗʳᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ɴᵒᵗ ᵇʸ ˢᵗʳⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵇʸ ˢᵗʳⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗʳᵘᵉ ˢᵉˡᶠ. sᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ˢⁱᵐⁱˡᵃʳ ᵗᵒ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ, ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ. sᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ ᵇᵉ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᵗ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ᶠⁱⁿᵉ ᵗᵒᵒ. ɪᵗ ⁱˢ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵇⁱⁿᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵘⁿⁱᵠᵘᵉ. ·˚ * :telescope:

┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄

⇢˚⋆ ✎ ˎˊ- " ᴅᵉˢᵖⁱᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵘᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ, ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ʰᵉᵃˡⁱⁿᵍ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵒᵘˡ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱᵗ ˢᵗᵒᵖˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵉˡᶠ-ᶜᵉⁿᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵉˡᶠⁱˢʰ. ʙʸ ᵍⁱᵛⁱⁿᵍ, ɪ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ. ʏᵒᵘ ᵐᵃʸ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ, ˡᵒᵛᵉ, ᵃᵗᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿ, ᵗʳᵘˢᵗ... ᴛʰᵉ ᵖᵒⁱⁿᵗ ⁱˢ, ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵒʳᶜᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ʸᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˡᵉᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ. ɴᵘʳᵗᵘʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵇᵉˢᵗ ᵛᵉʳˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ʏᵒᵘ ˡⁱᵛᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ɴᵒᵗ ᵃⁿʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ. "

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           -`, ʏᵒᵘ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ʰᵘʳᵗ? ɢʳᵉᵃᵗ. ᴛʰᵃᵗ ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ. ᴀ ᶠᵒʳᵉˢᵗ ᵍʳᵒʷˢ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵇʳᵘⁿᵗ ᵈᵒʷⁿ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ⁱᵗ ⁿᵘʳᵗᵘʳᵉˢ ⁱᵗˢᵉˡᶠ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ⁱᵗ ʳᵉᵐⁿᵃⁿᵗˢ. ɴᵒ ᵍʳᵒʷᵗʰ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿˢ ʷⁱᵗʰᵒᵘᵗ ˢᵗʳᵘᵍᵍˡᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵃʳᵈˢʰⁱᵖ. ɪᶠ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉⁿ'ᵗ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵃᵗᵗᵉʳᵉᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵒᵘˡ ʸᵉᵗ, ʸᵒᵘ ʷⁱˡˡ. ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵈᵉˡᵃʸ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵇʸ ᵃᵛᵒⁱᵈⁱⁿᵍ ʳⁱˢᵏˢ. ᴛʰᵉ ˢᵒᵒⁿᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ⁱᵗ, ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗʳᵒⁿᵍᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉᶜᵒᵐᵉ. ꒱ ↷🖇🥛

┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄

           ˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :email: :; ʟᵒᵛᵉ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵒⁿᵉ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ. ᴡᵉ ᵃˡˡ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ˡᵒᵛᵉ. ᴛʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉˢ ʷʰᵒ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ ⁱᵗ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵃʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿᵉˢ ʷʰᵒ ᵉˣᵖʳᵉˢˢ ⁱᵗ ˡᵉᵃˢᵗ. sᵒ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵖᵘⁿⁱˢʰ ᵃ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ᵇᵉⁱⁿᵍ ᵘⁿᵏⁱⁿᵈ ᵒʳ ˢᵉˡᶠⁱˢʰ ᵇʸ ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵏⁱⁿᵈⁿᵉˢˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵃʷᵃʸ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉʸ ⁿᵉᵉᵈ. ᴡⁱˡˡ ᵗᵃᵏⁱⁿᵍ ⁱᵗ ᵃʷᵃʸ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵗʰᵉᵐ? ɴᵒ. ɪᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ'ʳᵉ ⁿᵃⁱᵛᵉ. sᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ'ˢ ᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᵒʳ ⁱⁿᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᶜⁱᵖʳᵒᶜᵃᵗᵉ ᵍᵒᵒᵈⁿᵉˢˢ ⁱˢ ᵃ ʳᵉᶠˡᵉᶜᵗⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉᵐ. ɴᵒᵗ ʸᵒᵘ.

┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄

           ༘♡ ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵇᵃᵈ ᶠᵒʳ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳⁱᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵒᵗᵉᶜᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵃˡᵘᵉ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰⁱⁿ. ɴᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵇᵉᵗʳᵃʸ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵗᵒ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ. ɴᵉᵛᵉʳ. ᴛʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ᵃ ᵈⁱᶠᶠᵉʳᵉⁿᶜᵉ ᵇᵉᵗʷᵉᵉⁿ ᶜᵒᵐᵖʳᵒᵐⁱˢᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖᵘᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵈᵒʷⁿ. ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ˢᵃʸ ⁿᵒ ᵗᵒ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵇʸ ˢᵃʸⁱⁿᵍ ʸᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵉˡˢᵉ. ɪᶠ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵍᵉᵗˢ ᵘᵖˢᵉᵗ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿᵍ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳʸ, ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵒᵘⁿᵈᵃʳʸ ⁱˢ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ. ᴛʰᵉʸ'ʳᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳᵒⁿᵍ ᵖᵉʳˢᵒⁿ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ. ⋆｡˚❀

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_ _ ᴏʷⁿ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ. ᴡᵉ ᵉᵃᶜʰ ʰᵃᵛᵉ ᵃ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ. ᴊᵘˢᵗ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵒⁿᵉ ᵇᵉˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵒʳ ˢᵃʸˢ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ⁱˡˡᵉᵍⁱᵗⁱᵐᵃᵗᵉ, ⁱᵗ ᵈᵒᵉˢⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵗʳᵘᵉ. ʙᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵒʷⁿ ʲᵘᵈᵍᵉ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃˡˡᵒʷ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳˢ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵛᵉʳᵈⁱᶜᵗ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ˡⁱᶠᵉ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ. ᴛᵃᵏᵉ ᵒʷⁿᵉʳˢʰⁱᵖ. ᴜⁿᵈᵉʳˢᵗᵃⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ᵃⁿᵈ ʷʰʸ ⁱᵗ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿᵉᵈ ᵒʳ ᶜᵒⁿᵗⁱⁿᵘᵉˢ ᵗᵒ ʰᵃᵖᵖᵉⁿ. ᴛʰᵃᵗ ᵃʷᵃʳᵉⁿᵉˢˢ ᵃˡˡᵒʷˢ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵃˢᵗᵉʳ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ༉‧₊˚✧

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         ꒰ :vhs: ꒱°⁺ ⁀➷ ʟⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ. ᴛᵒ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵃʳᵒᵘⁿᵈ ʸᵒᵘ. ɴᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ʷᵒʳᵈˢ. ɴᵒᵗ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᶠᵃᵐⁱˡʸ. ʟⁱˢᵗᵉⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵒʳˡᵈ. ᴏᵇˢᵉʳᵛᵉ. ᴡᵒⁿᵈᵉʳ. ᴀˡˡᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵐⁱⁿᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵃⁱˡ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒᶜᵉᵃⁿ ᵒᶠ ᶜᵘʳⁱᵒˢⁱᵗʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵐᵃʳᵛᵉˡ ᵃᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ˢⁱᵐᵖˡᵉˢᵗ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ. ᴛʰᵃᵗ ʰᵘᵐᵇˡᵉˢ ʸᵒᵘ.

┄─━ ࿅ ༻ ✣ ༺ ࿅ ━─┄

          ۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪┊ᴅᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵃˢʰᵃᵐᵉᵈ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵉᵐᵒᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ. ᴄʳʸ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ᵗʰᵉ ᵘʳᵍᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶜʳʸ. ʟᵃᵘᵍʰ ᵒᶠᵗᵉⁿ. ᴇᵃᵗ ʷᵉˡˡ. ʀᵉˢᵗ ʷᵉˡˡ. ᴡᵒʳᵏ ʰᵃʳᵈ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵃ ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ ᵇᵉᶠᵒʳᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵘʳⁿ ᵒᵘᵗ. ʙᵉ ⁱⁿᵗᵉⁿᵗⁱᵒⁿᵃˡ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉˢᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ɪᵗ'ˢ ᵒᵏᵃʸ ᵗᵒ ᵍⁱᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ʳᵉᶜʰᵃʳᵍᵉ. ˎˊ˗

๑۞๑,¸¸,ø¤º°`°๑۩ - ๑۩ ,¸¸,ø¤º°`°๑۞๑

new healingcore healcore youcore paincore emotionalcore

BRAIN CHIP pt. 1
(By NEUROFABULOUS)

It was an accident.
Plankton fell on his 
head from the roof
as his head landed
on the sidewalk. Karen
rushed over to the 
now unconscious 
form as she watched the
accident unfold.

"Oh no, Plankton,
what have you done?"
she exclaimed, picking
him up and going back
inside to rest him on
the couch. She laid him down
carefully, his head cradled
in a pillow. He was breathing,
yet his eye remained shut.

She lightly tapped
his cheek, whispering his
name, "Plankton, can you hear
me?" There was no response.
He is out cold.

Should she call for help, or
wake him gently? She chose
the latter.

"Plankton, darling," she said
softer than before, stroking his
hand, "please wake up. Come 
on, Plankton," she murmured.

Karen waited. Then, 
Plankton's eyelid
twitched. A faint groan
escaped him as he
regains consciousness.
His hand reached
for his head.
Karen's eyes widened with
relief as she saw his eye
begin to open, revealing a
slit of confusion.

"It's ok," she soothed,
squeezing his hand 
gently. "You had a fall."

He winced, his hand
moving from his head
to hers, holding it tightly.
"What happened?" he managed.

"You slipped and fell," Karen
explained, trying to keep
the panic from her voice.
"You hit your head."

Plankton's eye widens,
taking in his surroundings. The
familiar living room swam
before him as he attempted
to sit up. Karen helped, her
hands steadying him. He winced
again.

"Easy, love," she cautioned,
hands on his shoulders. "Let's
take this slow."

Plankton nodded as he
repeated her words, "Easy, love."
The echo of his voice was faint
but it grew. "Take this slow," he
whispered to himself.

Karen looked at him with
concern, noticing his strange
behavior. "Plankton, are you ok?"
she asked, her voice tight.
His eye searched hers. "Ok, Karen,"
he said.

This wasn't 
something she'd
heard from him 
before. "You're
just a bit shaken up,
that's all," she assured.

But Plankton 
just nodded,
repeating her words.
"Shaken up. That's all."
The phrase seemed to
soothe him, his grip
on her hand loosening
slightly as he focused
on her voice.

Karen studied his face,
noticing the glazed look in
his eye. He wasn't just echoing
her; he was stuck on her words,
his mind unable to form
his own thoughts.

"Plankton," she said, her voice
quivering, "tell me what you're
thinking. What do you remember?"

"Thinking," he echoed, his gaze
flickering as he searched
his own mind. "Remember," he
managed, his words choppy and
disjointed. "What do you remember,
Plankton?" she pressed.

He took a deep, shuddering
breath, his eye searching hers
for answers she didn't have.
"Fell. Sidewalk. Pain," he said,
his voice trailing off as he tried
to piece together the moments
before the darkness had claimed
him.

"Yes," Karen said, nodding. "You fell.
Do you remember anything else?"

Plankton's eye searched hers,
his brow furrowed. "Fell. Pain. You."
The repetition was unnerving,
but she clung to the fact that he'd
managed to form a coherent response.
"That's right," she said, her voice
steady. "You fell and hurt your
head. But what were you doing before?"

His head tilted slightly, as if
the question was a puzzle piece
he couldn't fit into the jigsaw
of his memory. "Doing," he echoed.
"Doing before?"

"Yes," Karen prompted, her voice
soft but firm. "What were you
doing before you fell?"

Plankton's mind raced,
trying to retrieve the lost
moments. His eye flickered
before finally settling on hers.
"Before. Before," he repeated,
his voice gaining speed. "I was
on the roof. Ok, Plankton. The
Plankton on the roof. Before,
before," he stumbled over the
words, the phrase looping in his
head like a broken record.

Karen felt a cold shiver run down
her spine. "Plankton, honey, can
you tell me more?" she prodded
gently, her voice trembling.
"Tell me more, tell me more,"
he echoed, the words now
a rapid-fire chant.

He started to sit up again,
his movements jerky and uncoordinated.
The pain in his head seemed to
have lessened, replaced by a
desperate need to repeat.
"On the roof," he blurted out,
his voice stronger now, the phrase
taking hold. "Roof. Roof. On the
roof before."

Why is he doing this?
"Plankton, can you tell me
what you were doing on the
roof?" she asked, trying to keep
the conversation flowing.

"Roof. Roof," he murmured,
his eye locking onto hers.
"Doing roof. Doing roof," he
repeated, but she knew
she had to keep him talking.
"Yes, you were doing something 
on the roof," Karen urged, her 
voice gentle but firm. "What was 
it, Plankton?"

His eye searched the room,
as if the answer was hiding 
behind the curtains. "Fixing,"
he finally said, his voice 
clearer. "Fixing the roof."

Her screen lit up with hope.
"Yes, you were fixing the
roof," she confirmed, her voice
steadier now. "Do you remember
why you were up there?"

Plankton's eye searched hers,
his mind racing. "Fixing. Roof,"
he murmured again, the words
like a lifeline. "Fixed the leak."
The revelation came suddenly,
as if a switch had been flipped
in his brain. The leak had been
causing trouble for weeks, and
he'd finally decided to tackle
it today. The memory was faint,
but it grew clearer as he spoke.

Karen's grip on his hand tightened.
"Good, you fixed the leak,"
she encouraged, her voice
steady. "Do you remember
how you got down?"

"Down," he echoed, his mind
spinning as he recalled the
ladder, the shaky descent. "Fall.
Down. Fall down."

"Plankton," Karen said, her voice
barely above a whisper. "What's
wrong?"

He didn't answer her question.
Instead, he looked confused.
"Wrong? Provided adequate
response, yet how wrong?"

Karen's mind raced as she
tried to understand. "Your speech,
Plankton. It's... it's different,"
she managed, her voice trembling.
"It's ok," she assured him,
not wanting to alarm him further.

But Plankton's behavior grew
more erratic. He began to
rock back and forth slightly.

"Plankton, honey, are you ok?"
Karen asked, her voice laced
with worry as she observed
his sudden onset of repetitive
motions. He didn't acknowledge
her question; instead, he
kept rocking back and forth,
his hands fluttering at his sides.

His eye remained focused
on a spot on the wall, unblinking.
"Roof. Fix. Leak," he muttered,
his words staccato, rhythmic.
The tension in the room grew
as Karen watched him.

Karen's mind raced.
The stimming was a sign of
overwhelming stress or anxiety,
but she had never seen him do
this before. She leaned closer. "Plankton,"
she whispered, placing her hand
on his arm to get his attention.

His eye snapped to her, the
rocking stopping abruptly. "Wrong,"
he said, his voice still strange,
his words choppy. "Worry. Not
ok. Karen."

Karen's breath hitched. "Plankton,
yo--"

Her words were cut off by
his sudden jerking movement.
He began to stim, his hands
flapping in front of him.
The sight of her husband,
a man she knew so well,
now lost in a world of his own,
was almost too much to bear.

"It's ok," she murmured, her voice
shaky, trying to keep the situation
under control. But his stimming
intensified, his body now matching
the erratic rhythm of his speech.
"You're ok," she said, touching
his arm, but he snapped.

"No, Karen," Plankton said,
his voice rising in pitch. "Not ok."
The flapping grew faster, his eye
unfocused. 

"Plankton, please," she begged,
her voice thick with tears. "Tell me
what's happening." She says, grabbing
his hands to hold them still.

But her touch seemed to only
fuel his distress. "No," he says.
"Karen, it!"

The sudden sharpness in his
tone made her flinch. She had never
heard him speak that way. It was
as if he was a different person.
"What do you mean, 'no'?" Karen
asked, her voice trembling as she
held on tighter.

Plankton's body grew rigid,
his stimming increasing in intensity.
"No touch," he said firmly, pulling
his hands from her grasp. His words
were still fragmented, but the meaning
was clear. Karen's eyes filled with tears.
"Plankton, please," she pleaded, reaching
for him again.

But he recoiled, his movements
quick and jerky. "Karen. No," he
stammered, his voice laced with fear.
But she grabbed his shoulders. "What's
wrong, Plank..."

Her words were lost as Plankton's
body began to convulse with fear,
his stimming now a full-blown
defense mechanism. "No," he yelled,
his voice piercing the quiet room.
"Karen, pain! Not safe! Karen harm
Plankton scared! No hurt Plankton!"

Karen's eyes widened, her own
fear spiking at his sudden terror.
Her hands hovered in the air,
unsure of what to do. "Plankton,
it's ok," she said, taking a step
back. "I..."

But he was beyond consolation,
his body a whirlwind of chaotic
movements. "Karen bad," he
whispered, his voice trembling
as much as his limbs. "Karen
hurting Plankton. Plankton scared."

This wasn't her Plankton. The love
and trust in his eye had been
replaced by something wild and
uncertain. She took another step
back, her own hands now shaking.
"I'm not hurting you," she said,
desperation seeping into her
words. "I'm trying to he-"

Her sentence was cut short
as Plankton's body tensed further.
His stimming grew erratic, his
legs kicking rapidly.
"No," he yelled, his voice
now unrecognizable. "Karen no
good. Karen stop. Not safe."

Karen's screen filled with horror.
What had happened to her husband?
He looked at her with a fear she
had never seen before, his trust
replaced with a primal instinct
to escape. She took another
step back, her voice shaking.
"Plankton, it's me," she whispered.
But he didn't seem to hear her.
Instead, a strange, low humming
noise began to emanate from
his throat.

The hum grew in volume,
filling the room with a sound
that seemed to resonate with
distress. "No," he murmured. "Karen,
pain, bad."

"Plankton," she called softly,
using his name to anchor him.
He stopped his erratic movements,
his body slowly calming. The
humming grew quieter, the fear
in his eye fading slightly. She took
another step closer, her hand outstretched.
"You're ok," she whispered, her voice
as soft as a lullaby. "You're safe."

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BRAIN CHIP pt. 2
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Plankton blinked, his breathing shallow.
For a moment, she saw the man she knew.
But it was fleeting. His gaze
shifted again, searching for something
that wasn't there. "Karen?" he asked,
his voice unsure. "Safe? Karen."

Karen felt a spark of hope, but it was
quickly extinguished when he began
to echo her words once more, his speech
still broken and erratic. "Safe," she
whispered, her voice barely above a
whisper. "You're safe, Plankton."

He nodded, his eye still not quite
focused on hers. "Safe," he echoed, his
tone softer now. "Safe, Karen." The
humming in his throat had ceased,
but his hands remained in a constant
flurry of movement, as if searching
for something only he could see.

"Yes, you're safe," she assured him,
her voice steady, trying to hold onto
the fragile thread of sanity that
was weaving through his words.
She took another tentative step closer,
hoping that physical proximity
would help ground him. "I'm here."

Plankton's hand reached out,
his movements less frantic now,
his voice still echoing hers, "Here. 
Karen, here. Say Karen."

Karen nodded, her voice a soft
whisper. "I'm here, Plankton."
The repetition seemed to soothe
his nerves somewhat. His breathing
evened out as he mirrored her words.
"Karen here. Here Karen."

Her hand hovered over his,
their fingers almost touching.
"You're ok," she said, willing both of
them to believe it. "You had a fall, but
you're ok now."

Plankton's hand stopped moving
for a moment, his eye focusing
on hers. "Ok," he murmured.
"Fall." The echo was faint,
but it was a start.

Karen took a deep breath,
her heart pounding in her chest.
"You're ok," she said again,
hoping the repetition would
bring him back to her. "You
fell, but you're ok."

Plankton's hand twitched,
his eye flickering with a spark
of something that resembled
understanding. "Ok," he echoed,
his voice softer. "Fell. Ok." He
started to rock again.

Karen watched him, her mind racing.
What was happening to her husband?
The fall had changed him, his speech
reduced to echoes and fragments.
Was it a concussion? Shock?
Or was it something more serious?

Her eyes searched his, looking for
any sign of the man she knew, but
his gaze remained distant, lost in
his own thoughts. "Plankton," she
said, her voice filled with love
and concern. "Look at me."

He blinked, his eye flicking up
to meet hers barely before he
averted her gaze. "Karen,"
he murmured, the word a question
and a statement, disliking eye
contact.

Karen felt a surge of panic,
but she pushed it down, focusing
on keeping her voice calm.
"Look at me, Plankton," she
coaxed. "It's ok. You're safe."

He took another deep, shuddering
breath, his hand still fluttering.
Slowly, his eye met hers again, but
then he squeezed his eye shut to
avoid it.

Karen felt a tear slip down
her screen. "Look at me," she
whispered, her voice cracking.
"Please, Plankton."

Slowly, his eye opened, meeting
hers for a brief moment before
flitting away again, as if shy.

Karen tried to hold his gaze,
desperation clinging to every
word she spoke. "Plankton, I'm
right here. You're safe with me."
His eye darted away again.

Her mind raced. What could be
causing this? Was it the fall?
The impact? Or something
deeper, something she couldn't
see? The silence in the room
was deafening, filled only with
the echoes of their fragmented
conversation. She took another
deep breath, willing herself to
think clearly.

"Plankton," she said, her voice
soft, "can you tell me your full
name?"

His eye searched her face, his
hands still fluttering. "Plankton,"
he murmured. "Karen said Plankton.
Plankton response, full name. Name,
Sheldon Jay Plankton." It was a small victory,
but it was something. He knew
his full name. Perhaps there was hope
yet. "Good," she said, her voice
soft. "Now, can you tell me what
my birthday is?" Plankton nods.
"31 July 1999."

Karen felt a mix of relief and
disbelief. Despite his condition,
his memory was still intact.
It was his speech, his ability
to form coherent thoughts and
maintain eye contact that was the
problem.

"Plankton," she began, her voice
gentle but firm, "I need you to
stay still for me, ok?" His
body stiffened slightly, his eye
flitting towards her before
quickly darting away. "Look at me,
just for a moment."

Karen watched as Plankton's eye
moved back to hers, the fluttering
of his hands momentarily halting.
"Good," she said, her voice filled
with encouragement. "Now, I
want you to tell me, without
echoing, what your favorite color
is."

Plankton took a deep breath,
his eye locked on hers, the
challenge clear. "Color," he murmured,
his voice a whisper. "Favorite."
He paused, his mind working overtime.
"Red," he finally said, the word
escaping his lips like a
sigh of relief.

Karen's eyes widened with
hope. He'd answered without
echoing. "That's right," she said,
smiling softly. "Your favorite
color is red."

The room felt a fraction less
heavy as Plankton's shoulders
slumped in relief, his stimming
subsiding slightly. "Red," he repeated,
his voice stronger this time,
his eye lingering on hers. "Red."

Karen felt a flicker of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, she could
reach him through these
fragments of speech. She had
to try. "What time i---" But then
Plankton interrupts. "Time is 
the continuously indefinite 
progression of existence 
occurring in an apparently 
irreversible succession from 
the past, through the present
and into the future. It is a 
component quantity of various 
measurements used to sequence 
events, to compare the duration of..."

Karen's eyes widen as she tries to 
interrupt his sudden outpouring 
of information.
This isn't just a concussion. 
This is something she's never seen 
before, something that scared her 
to her core. She gently squeezes
his hand. "Plankton," she says, 
trying to get him to focus. "What
I meant was, do you know what 
tim-"

But he cuts her off again, his 
voice a recitation. "Time is 
a dimension in which events can 
be ordered from the past through 
the present into the future, and also 
the measure of duration of events
and the intervals between them."
Karen's eyes fill with tears.
Her simple question had triggered
a deluge of encyclopedic facts.

"Plankton," she whispers, her voice
shaking. "I just need to know if you
know what time i---"

He starts again, his words rapid
fire, each syllable a bullet. "Time,
a nonspatial continuum that allows
for the existence of events in sequence."

Karen's mind spun. This wasn't
the Plankton she knew, the man who'd
always had a way with words but
now they were cold, clinical, not
his own. "Plankton," she interrupted,
firm but gentle. "Please, just tell me
what time you think it is now."

He stared at her for a second, his
eye unblinking. Then, as if a switch
flipped, he said, "Time is the
measurement of moments and
temporal intervals." His voice had
shifted, no longer robotic but
still not quite right.

Karen knew she had to keep trying.
"Plankton," she said, her voice steady,
"what time do you think it is right now?"

His eye darted around the room,
his mind racing. "Time," he murmured,
his voice a mere echo of his former self.
"Now." It was a simple answer, but
the way he spoke it made Karen
churn. There was a detachment
to his tone, as if he was reciting
a line from a play he hadn't quite
memorized.

Karen took a deep breath,
fighting the panic that threatened
to consume her. "Plankton," she said,
enunciating each word carefully, "do
you know what time it is?"

He looked at her, his eye
flicking to the clock on the
mantle. "Time," he murmured. "Clock.
Tick-tock." He wasn't
telling the time; he was just
describing the clock. She tried
again, her voice strained. "Plankton,
please, tell me what the clock
says."

He looked at her, his eye unfocused.
"Clock," he murmured. Then, with
a jerk, he turned his head to look
at the clock. His hand moved to
his forehead as if to ease the
pain of processing the information.
"Five," he finally said, his voice
still flat. "Five o'clock pm, pacific time."

Karen felt a glimmer of hope.
At least he could still read the clock.
But his inability to answer a simple
question without breaking into
a disjointed monologue was odd.

"Plankton," she began again,
choosing her words with care.
"I need you to tell me what you had
for lunch to..." "Chumbalaya!" He
exclaims. "10:43.51 am pacific time."

Karen's eyes widened. His response was
unexpected, jolting her with fear.
This wasn't just a slip in
conversation; it was as if his
brain was rewiring itself in real-time.
"Love," she said, her voice shaking,
"Just tell me what you had for lunch."
"Chumbalaya had for lunch, at 10:43:51
am pacific time."

Karen's mind raced as she
tried to decode his words.
He'd mentioned a time, but
it didn't make sense in the
context of her question. Was
it a memory, a random fact?
Or a clue to what was happening
to him? "Plankton," she said,
forcing calm into her voice, "can
you tell me what you ate?" "Ate
Chumbalaya!" He says.

The sudden clarity of his answer
was a relief, but it didn't
explain his strange behavior.
Karen took another deep breath,
trying to stay composed.

"Okay," she said, her voice
shaking slightly. "But what
was the actual meal?" Plankton
looked confused, his hand
flapping again. "Meal, meal,"
he murmured, his eye searching
the room. "Food. Chumbalaya was
Plankton's consumption for lunch."

Karen's brow furrowed as she
tried to parse his words.
"Food," she echoed. "What else
did you have with your Chumbalaya?"
He paused, his hand stilled for
a moment as he searched his
memories. "Breadsticks," he said,
his voice a little clearer now.
"And soda. Diet soda. Consumed.."

The sudden clarity in his
speech was jarring, but it
gave her a glimmer of hope.

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𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓅𝒶𝓃𝒾𝒸 𝒶𝓉𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓀𝓈

ｆａｃｔｏｒｓ：　胃イ艶

if you have sensory issues, the lighting and the way the store is built can actually trigger panic attacks and sympt0ms.

agoraphobia is a huge factor as well. basically, you don’t want to go to places where you’ve had panic attacks and obviously get prettɥ terrıfıed. 

ｇｅｔｔｉｎｇ　ｔｈｒｏｕｇｈ　ｉｔ：　佳なヺ

it’s not particularly easy to get through these situations. it’s hãrd to go through situations that make you uncomfortable.

【﻿ｔｉｐｓ】

try to bring a fidget spinner, fidget cube, or something of sort. it will help distract you a bit. it may not work a lot, but i find it helpful.

have water with you, where ever you go. .

chew some peppermint gum or suck on some peppermint candies. it may not help a lot, but if you have a dry møuth from your panic attacks, it’ll help that symptom out.

pretend you’re excited. i know, it won’t be that easy, but sometimes faking one emotion, can actually make that emotion happen. try convincing yourself, “i’m fine, i’m excited! it’s okay!” (source: DARE - THE NEW WAY TO END ANXIETY AND STOP PANIC ATTACKS by Barry McDonagh) 

accept your panic attacks and anxıety. don’t say no to anxıety because then you’re pushing it a̛way and gıvıng it more pøwer. accept that you do have this going on, but you’re NOT your anxıety. 

taking deep breaths in and out. try different patterns, it may be hãrd to breathe, but you have to t̢ry. don’t gıve up! 

finally, try EFT. emotiona1 freedom tapping is known to help relax you.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ what you can bring into your regular life ♥

there are so many things you can bring in your life and routines. get ready because i’m gonna list a lot!:

meditation

eft 

michael sealey hypnosis

yoga

exercise

journaling 

bullet journaling 

reading

drinking water

drinking herbal teas such as - chamomile, lemongrass, lavender, and etc..

dancing

drawing and doodling 

singing 

playing some videogames

stretches

melatonin

magnesium 

listening to motivating podcasts, videos, or songs

washing your fash and smiling in the mirror

talking positive to yourself

writing stories

doing thinking exercises in the morning to shift your negative thinking

watch one of your favourite shows on youtube, netflix, hulu, or whatever

write down on paper, something you want to do. don’t mention your fears or think about it. do something you WANT. don’t let the fear get in the way.

practicing some self-care

go outside

eat some delicious food

open your windows and let the sunlight come in

take vitamin d and b12!

smile and don’t let your panic attacks consume you. you’re a beautiful human being.

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