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I V X L C D M 1 5 10 50 100 500 1000 🔢 Individual decimal places Thousands Hundreds Tens Units 1 M C X I 2 MM CC XX II 3 MMM CCC XXX III 4 CD XL IV 5 D L V 6 DC LX VI 7 DCC LXX VII 8 DCCC LXXX VIII 9 CM XC IX

NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON iv (Autistic author) (see notes below) * ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅɪsᴄʀɪᴍɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ But Plankton's frustration had reached a boiling point. His voice was a thunderclap in the small room, his eye flashing with a rage he couldn't contain. "You don't know!" he roared, his body shaking. Hanna took another step back, her heart racing. "I'm sorry, Plankton, I truly didn't mean to upset you," she said, her voice shaking. Plankton's gaze shifted to the door, his mind racing to the safety of his solitude. "You don't know," he murmured, his anger subsiding slightly. The sudden silence was like a balm to his raw nerves. But Hanna's curiosity angered him further. "Plankton, what..." "I DON'T KNOW!" Plankton's voice pierced the silence, his frustration at an all-time high. Hanna's eyes grew wider. "I'll leave you alone," she said quickly, her voice quiet and soothing. But as she turned to go, she accidentally brushed against his arm. Plankton's reaction was instant and explosive. He jerked away, his body tensing, his eye flashing with anger. "Don't touch me!" he snapped, his voice sharp and jagged. Hanna's eyes wide with shock. "Plankton tell me what's..." But Plankton had reached his limit. The touch, the questions, the expectation of normalcy—it was all too much. He felt personally attacked, now on a roll. "You don't know what's what?" he spat out, his voice a whip crack. "You come in here, invading my space, without a care in the world for what I'm going through!" Hanna took another step back, retracting quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know," she whispered, her eyes filling with sorrow. "Karen never mentioned..." But Plankton's frustration had become anger, his next words cutting like a knife. "You don't know anything," he snarled, his voice laced with bitterness. "You come in here, asking your stupid questions, expecting me to be the same person I was before!" "Before what, Plankton?" Yet Plankton's not wanting to answer Hanna so he yells his next words at the top of his lungs. "Before I...I... YOU KNOW WHAT? IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!" Plankton's voice cracked with the effort of his outburst, but he's just getting started, now he's on a roll, his next words being worse. "I don't want you here. I don't need you here," Plankton spat out, his frustration a palpable force in the room. Hanna took another step back, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I was just trying to..." But Plankton's anger had taken over. "You're not helping!" he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. "You don't get to decide what I need!" He was on his feet now, his body rigid with frustration. "I don't want you to know!" "Know what, Plankton? You don't get to decide what I can and can't know," she said, her voice firm. But Karen's now returned with the smoothie, both Hanna and Plankton too wrapped up to notice her presence. "You think you can just waltz in here and fix everything?" his voice was a growl now. "You think you know what it's like to be trapped in here?" He tapped his head with his finger, his eye wild. "You don't know anything!" Now Hanna's getting real angry. "You think you're the only one suffering?" Hanna countered, her voice rising. "What about Karen? What about the people who actually care about you?" Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, his anger fueled by her words. "You don't know what it's like!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the empty space of the Chum Bucket. "You don't know what it's like to have the world make no sense! To be trapped in your own head!" Hanna's expression softened slightly. "I'm sorry," she said gently. "I really am. But you can't just push everyone away." "Why not?" Plankton demanded, his voice a whip crack. "Why do I have to explain?" But Hanna's concern for Karen overrode her own fear. "Karen's my friend and she deserves better than you and your little tantrums," Hanna snapped back. "Tantrums? TANTRUMS?" Plankton's voice was a roar now. "This isn't a tantrum, it's reality!" Hanna's in a defensive posture, her eyes flashing with anger. "You think I don't know what real pain is?" she shouted back. "You're so caught up in your own world that you can't see what you're doing to her, just because you're too stubborn and acting like a child who can't deal with the real world! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A BURDENSOME WASTE OF SPACE! So, if you can't get your act together, maybe you should just go to an institution where people can handle your..." "That's enough!" Karen snapped. Her voice was a whip crack across the tension filled room, startling both Plankton and Hanna. She couldn't stand silent any longer. Yet Plankton's face crumpled at Hanna's threat, his anger giving way to despair. Tears began to stream down his face, his body shaking with sobs he couldn't control. The sudden shift from rage to sorrow was like a punch to Hanna. **NOTEs As an autistic writer (and I used AI to help me with the words) I do not encourage the ableism people have shown in their ignorance. Depending on when and where you live, some people have thought such therapies might be good, without actually accepting nor helping. Even Hans Asperger has supported eugenics during the war, sending people to internment camps leading to demise. I came across the site autismmemorial.wordpress.com if you'd like to educate yourself about how people have endured such.*

GREAT CHIP viii (Autistic author) When Plankton finally came out Chip approached with caution. He didn't want to scare his dad, didn't want to cause another seizure. "Hey, Dad," he said softly. "How are you feeling today?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye flicking towards Chip. "Tired," he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep. "But okay." Chip felt his chest tighten with relief. He'd been worried about his dad all night, scared that another seizure would strike without warning. "Can we talk?" Chip asked, his voice gentle as he approached Plankton. He didn't want to push, but he needed to make sure they were okay. Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye searching Chip's face. "Of course," he said, his voice still groggy. He sat down at the kitchen table, his body language open but cautious. Chip took a deep breath, his heart racing with the need to get this right. "Dad, I know last night was... scary," he began, his voice shaky. "But I want to be there for you." Plankton's antennae waved slightly, his expression a mix of confusion and fatigue. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice still thick with sleep. Chip took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "I mean, I want to understand your seizures and what you go through," he said, his eyes never leaving his father's. "So that maybe I can help." Plankton's antennae stilled, his eye narrowing slightly. "What do you want to know?" he asked, his voice a mix of curiosity and caution. Chip's eyes searched his father's, his thoughts racing. "Everything," he said, his voice earnest. "What happens before, during, and after. What you feel, what you see..." Plankton's antennae twitched, his face scrunching up slightly. "Why?" he snapped, his voice sharp. "What's the point of reliving it?" Chip took a step back, surprised by his father's sudden irritation. "I just want to understand," he said, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae waved erratically, his eye flashing. "It's not a show, Chip," he snapped. "It's not something to be poked and prodded at." Chip felt his cheeks flush with heat, his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I'm not trying to pry," he said, his voice shaking with frustration. "I just want to help!" Plankton's antennae quivered, his eye narrowed. "You can't help," he said, his voice cold. "You don't get it." Chip's heart sank, feeling the distance between them growing wider. "But Dad," he began, his voice trembling. "I'm trying." Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, his face a mask of agitation. "You can't," he said, his voice clipped. "You don't know what it's like!" Chip felt a wave of frustration crash over him, his hands clenching into fists. "That's why I'm asking!" he exclaimed. "I'm not trying to make it about me!" Plankton's focusing solely on Chip. "You don't get it," he said, his voice softening slightly. "It's not about you, but it's also not something you can fix." Chip's eyes searched his dad's, his heart racing with a mix of anger and hurt. He knew Plankton wasn't trying to be cruel, but the words stung. "I just want to be there for you," he said, his voice shaky. "To make sure you're okay." Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, his eye flashing with agitation. "I don't need you to fix me," he snapped, his voice sharp as a knife. "I just need you to leave me alone sometimes." Chip took a step back, his eyes watering with the sting of his father's words. "I just want..." "I know what you want," Plankton cut in, his antennae vibrating with irritation. "But you can't fix this, Chip. It's not a puzzle you can solve with a pat on the back or a hug." The room grew tense, the air thick with unspoken words. Chip felt his throat tighten, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He knew his father's snappy tone was a defense mechanism, a way to keep the world at bay when it all became too much. But it still hurt.

CATCH IN MY CHIP iv (Autistic author) Plankton looks around, confusion flickering in his eye. "What's going on?" "You had a bit of an overload," Karen explains, her voice gentle. "Too much sensory input, remember?" Plankton's antennas twitch, and his eye widens slightly as he takes in the scene. The mess, the quiet, Chip's tear-stained face. He sighs, his body relaxing back into the pillows. "Ah, yes," he murmurs. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you." Karen smiles, her eyes shimmering with relief. "It's okay, dear. We're just here for you." Plankton's gaze drifts to Chip, who's hovering in the doorway, his eyes wide and worried. "Chip... I'm sorry." Chip's eyes fill with tears, his voice shaking. "It's okay, Dad. Is your autism causing..." Plankton looks at him, his eye widening slightly. "What do you know about autism?" He sits up, his voice tinged with surprise. Chip sniffles, his grip tight on the seashell collection. "Mom told me," he says, his voice barely audible. "It's why you got overwhelmed, isn't it?" Plankton's expression shifts from confusion to something closer to anger. "I don't need you to feel sorry for me," he snaps, his voice sharp. "I can handle it." "But Dad you just..." Plankton cuts Chip off, his voice edged with agitation. "I said, I can handle it!" Chip takes a step back, his eyes wide and filled with fear. He hadn't meant to upset his dad; he just wanted to understand. "You couldn't handle it, Dad. Otherwise, you..." Plankton's eye narrows, his antennas standing on end. "Don't," he says, his voice a warning growl. "I don't need a little kid telling me what I can and can't handle." Chip's shoulders slump, his eyes welling up. "But I just... I didn't mean to..." "I said, I can handle it!" Plankton's voice cracks through the air, his face flushing with irritation. Karen's grip on Chip's hand tightens, a silent message to stay calm. Chip's eyes water as he stammers, "But I just wanted to help." The weight of his dad's words hits him like a brick. He hadn't meant to make him mad, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done something wrong. Plankton's breaths are sharp and quick, his body tense with frustration. "You don't know what you're talking about," he snaps, pushing the covers off his legs. "You're just a kid. You don't understand." Chip's eyes well up with tears as he looks at his father, the man he's always admired and loved, now a stranger in his own pain. "But Mom said it's okay for..." Plankton's anger flares, his antennas quivering. "Don't you dare bring your mom into this," he says, cutting Chip off again. "This is not your business!" Chip's lower lip trembles, his eyes filling with tears. He hadn't meant to upset his dad, but everything he says seems to make it worse. "But Dad," he starts, but his voice is lost in the wave of Plankton's frustration. "I don't need your pity," Plankton says, his voice rising. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, his movements quick and jerky. "You think just because you know a fancy word, you know what it's like?" Chip feels his cheeks burn, his eyes blurred with unshed tears. "No, Dad, I just..." But Plankton is already out of bed, his legs wobbly. "You think you know everything, don't you?" His words are a jumble of anger and pain, his voice echoing in the quiet room. Chip steps back, his eyes wide with shock. "No, Dad, I just..." He tries to explain, but Plankton interrupts again. "Don't tell me what you 'just,'" Plankton snaps. "You think because you went to some camp you can come back and act like you know me?" His voice is sharp, cutting through the tension in the air like a knife. Chip's eyes dart to the ground, his body shrinking under the weight of his father's words. "But Dad, I just..." Plankton's anger is palpable, his body vibrating with tension. "I said, don't tell me what you 'just'!" He snatches up Chip's new surfboard, the one symbol of joy from camp, and slams it against the wall. The room shakes with the impact, sending a shower of sand and shells flying. Chip jumps, his eyes wide with shock. "Dad, please," he whispers, his voice shaking. He's never seen his dad like this, never felt such anger radiating from him. It's like a storm has taken over the room, and he's the only one caught in it. "What are you doing?" Chip asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a step back, his hands up in a protective gesture. "What does it look like?" Plankton snarls, his grip tight on the broken surfboard. "I can't even have a moment without you poking and prodding!" Chip's eyes dart around the room, his heart racing as he tries to find the words to fix this. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers, his voice trembling. "I just wanted to help." But Plankton is beyond reason, his anger a living thing that feeds off the chaos. He turns to the desk, his gaze settling on the pile of sandy photos. "You think your camp souvenirs mean anything to me?" He snatches the pictures, ripping them into shreds. Chip gasps, tears spilling down his cheeks as he watches his memories destroyed. "Dad, no!" He tries to grab the photos, his hands shaking, but Plankton swats him away, the torn pieces falling like confetti around them. The room seems to close in, the smell of saltwater and musty sand overwhelming him. "These are from my trip!" Chip sobs, his voice choking on his own pain. "I don't care about your trip!" Plankton shouts, throwing the remaining pieces into the air. They flutter down like sad confetti, a stark contrast to the joy they once represented. "I care about me! I care about what you do to me with your noise and your energy!" Chip's heart feels like it's shattering into a million pieces, each one a memory of his dad's love and patience torn apart. "I didn't mean to," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears. "I just wanted to share..." Plankton's eye flashes with anger, his grip on the shredded photos white-knuckled. "Share?" He spits the word out like it's poison. "You have no idea what you're doing to me! You just keep pushing and pushing, and you don't even notice when I can't take it anymore!" Chip's eyes dart to the floor, his hands curling into fists. "I thought you liked it," he says, his voice shaking. "I thought you liked when I talked about my day." Plankton's chest heaves, his eye blazing with frustration. "You don't get it, do you?" He says, his voice rising. "You never get it!" He picks up Chip's rare seashell collection, the one he'd been so proud to show off, and hurls it across the room. The sound of breaking shells fills the air, each one a shard of Chip's shattered happiness. "Dad, please!" Chip begs, his hands outstretched. "Stop!" But Plankton's rage has taken over, a whirlwind of accusations and anger. "You think this is fun?" He yells, holding up a shard of seashell. "You think this is what I want?" Plankton throws the shard down, the clatter of broken shells like a mocking echo of Chip's pleas. "I don't want your noise!" His hands shake with fury as he grabs the sandy trophy from the camp sandwich contest. "Dad, please," Chip says, his voice small and scared. "What's wrong?" He tries to approach, but Plankton's body language is a clear warning. Plankton's eye dart around the room, his anger a tangible force. "Wrong?" He laughs, a harsh, bitter sound. "Wrong is you, coming in here with your stories and your noise and your... stuff!" He gestures wildly at the camp souvenirs, the remnants of Chip's excitement scattered across the floor. He hurls the trophy at the wall, watching with a twisted satisfaction as it shatters into a hundred pieces. "This," he says, holding up a fistful of sand, "this is what you do to me!" Chip flinches with each broken piece, his heart aching. "But Dad, I just wanted to make you proud." His voice is barely a whisper, lost in the storm of Plankton's rage. "Proud?" Plankton sneers, his grip tight on the sand. "You think this junk makes me proud?" He throws the sand at Chip, the grains stinging his face like tiny needles. "You have no idea what I go through every day, do you?" His voice cracks, his anger giving way to pain. Karen steps in, her voice firm but calm. "Plankton, that's enough." Her eyes are on her son, her face a mask of concern. "Chip, why don't you go... dust your screen?" Her tone is gentle, but her gaze holds a silent message: stay calm. Chip nods, his eyes never leaving his dad's. He turns and heads for the bathroom, his steps slow and deliberate. The door clicks closed behind him, leaving Karen and Plankton alone in the room.

CATCH IN MY CHIP viii (Autistic author) The room is bathed in a soft moonlight, the shadows playing across Plankton's sleeping features. His body, once taut with tension, has relaxed into the embrace of the bed, his arm curled around a pillow. His antennas now rest gently on the pillowcase, no longer quivering with agitation. Karen watches him sleep, her thoughts a jumble of worry and love. She knows he's tired, that the weight of the world can be too much for him to bear at times. But she also knows that he's strong, that he'll face tomorrow with determination. The first light of dawn filters through the curtains, painting the room in soft shades of pink and orange. Karen gently squeezes his shoulder before standing, her eyes never leaving his peaceful face. She knows that today will be a day of apologies and understanding, of teaching Chip about his dad's autism and how to navigate the world around him. With a soft sigh, she heads to Chip's room, her footsteps silent on the cool floor. She opens the door to find him sitting up in bed, his eyes red and puffy from crying. He looks at her. "Is Dad okay?" he asks, his voice thick with sleep and the remnants of his earlier distress. Karen nods, her eyes filled with a quiet determination. "We'll talk to him when he wakes up." The words hang in the air, a gentle reminder of the conversation that needs to be had. Chip nods, his eyes still puffy from crying. He clutches his pillow, the fabric damp from his tears. "But what do I do?" he asks, his voice small and scared. "How do I make sure I don't make him upset again?" Karen sits on the edge of the bed, her hand stroking his. "You just keep being you, Chip," she says, her voice warm. "Daddy loves you, and we'll learn together how to make sure he doesn't get overwhelmed." Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. "But what about my trophy?" he asks, his voice still shaky. Karen's hand stops, her gaze dropping to the shard of plastic he holds tightly in his fist. "We'll fix it," she says, her voice filled with conviction. "Together." The promise brings a small smile to Chip's face, his eyes lighting up. "Really?" Karen nods, her own smile genuine. "Of course, honey," she says. "We're a family. We stick together." With that, she stands up, her body weary but her spirit resolute. The room feels lighter somehow, the air less charged with tension. Chip clambers out of bed, his small hand reaching for hers. Together, they walk to the bedroom, the shattered remnants of the trophy glinting in the early light. Plankton is still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Chip looks at him, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and curiosity. "We'll talk to him when he wakes up," Karen says, her voice soft. They sit beside Plankton's bed, the room still and quiet. Chip's hand trembles slightly as he holds the broken piece of trophy. "But what if he's still mad?" he whispers, his voice barely above the silence. Karen's hand squeezes his. "He'll understand," she says, her voice filled with a calm certainty. "He loves you, and he knows you didn't mean to hurt him." The words are a gentle balm to Chip's fears, but the doubt lingers. He nods, his gaze never leaving his father. "Remember, Chip," Karen says, her voice a soft whisper. "Daddy's brain is different." Chip nods, his eyes fixed on his dad's sleeping form. He's seen Plankton stressed before, but never like this. He wants to show him love. With tentative steps, he moves closer to the bed, his heart beating a staccato in his chest. He reaches out, his hand shaking slightly as he hovers it over his dad's arm. "Chip," Karen whispers, her hand covering his. "Remember, gentle." Her words are a gentle reminder of the invisible lines that can be crossed. Chip nods, his eyes on Plankton's peaceful face. He takes a deep breath, his hand steadying. Slowly, so slowly it's almost imperceptible, he brings his palm to rest on Plankton's forearm, his touch as light as a feather. Plankton's body tenses for a moment, a reflexive reaction to the sudden contact. Chip holds his breath, waiting, hoping. Then, almost imperceptibly, he feels his dad's arm relax under his hand. "It's okay," Karen whispers, her voice a gentle breeze. "He's okay." Chip's hand remains hovering, his heart in his throat. Plankton's body remains still, his breathing even. Karen's touch is a guide, her hand resting on Chip's. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soft encouragement. "You can do it." With a deep breath, Chip's hand descends, his fingertips brushing against Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennas twitch. Karen watches, her eyes never leaving her husband's face. Chip's hand hovers, his heart racing. He wants to reassure his dad, to let him know he's there. He's learned about space and understanding, but all he can think of is the warmth of his touch, the comfort he craves to give. His fingertips graze Plankton's arm, the contact so light it's barely there. He watches, waiting for a reaction, for a sign that he's crossed the line. But Plankton remains still, his breathing unchanged. Encouraged, Chip presses down slightly, his hand a soft weight on his father's arm. He feels the warmth of his skin, the steady pulse beneath. It's a tentative connection, fragile as spider silk. Plankton's antennas quiver, but his body remains still. Chip's heart hammers in his chest, his breaths shallow and quick. He's afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. Karen watches, her eyes filled with a quiet hope. The air in the room is thick with anticipation. Chip's hand hovers over Plankton's arm, trembling slightly with nerves and love. He's unsure if this small gesture will be met with anger or acceptance. Karen's gaze is a silent cheer, urging him on. Plankton's breaths remain steady, his body still. Chip's heart is a drum in his chest, each beat a silent plea for understanding. With a tremble, he lets his hand settle, his fingertips barely grazing the fabric of the blanket. He feels the heat of Plankton's skin, the rise and fall of his chest. It's a gentle touch, the lightest of caresses. Karen's hand remains on his, guiding him, encouraging him. Plankton's breaths remain steady, his body still. Chip's eyes are wide with hope, his hand poised above the blanket. With a tremble, he lets his fingers come to rest on the cotton, feeling the warmth of his father's arm beneath. He holds his breath, waiting for a reaction, for any sign that he's done the right thing. Plankton's body remains still, his breathing unchanged. Karen's eyes are glued to his face, watching for any hint of distress. But there's none. Only the gentle rise and fall of his chest, a testament to his deep sleep. Chip's hand is a butterfly landing on Plankton's arm, his fingers fluttering slightly against the warmth of his skin. He's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. But his love for his dad is stronger than his fear. Karen watches the silent exchange, her heart in her throat. The moment feels sacred, a testament to their growing understanding of each other. Chip's hand remains on Plankton's arm, the warmth of his touch a promise of comfort and love. He's afraid to move, afraid to disrupt the delicate balance. Karen's hand is a soft presence, guiding him, giving him the courage to stay. Plankton's breaths are slow and even, his body relaxed. Chip wonders if he's dreaming, if he's in a world where the sensory overload doesn't exist. His heart swells with hope, with the desire to protect his dad from the world's harshness. Karen's hand on his is a gentle reminder that he's not alone. She gives him a small, encouraging nod, her eyes filled with understanding. He takes a deep breath, his hand moving slowly, so slowly, to cover his dad's. The moment their skin touches, it's like a dam breaks. Chip feels a rush of warmth, a connection that's been missing. He squeezes Plankton's arm lightly, his heart pounding. He's afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's face, watching for any sign of distress. But his features remain relaxed, his antennas still. The room is a sanctuary of quiet, the only sound their melded breaths. Chip feels a lump form in his throat, his eyes welling with tears. He whispers, "Thank you," to his mom, his voice shaky with emotion. She nods, her hand still covering his. "Remember," she says, her voice a soft caress. "Gentle." With trembling fingers, Chip tucks the blanket closer around Plankton, the fabric smoothing over his shoulders. It's a tiny act of love, a silent apology. He wants to crawl into the bed beside him, to wrap his arms around his dad.. He looks up at Karen, his eyes pleading. "Can I?" Karen nods, her smile sad but understanding. "Just be careful not to wake him," she whispers. With the grace of a cat burglar, Chip slides into the bed, his movements slow and calculated. He's careful not to disturb the sheets, not to make a sound that could break the tranquil silence. Plankton's arm is a warm mound beside him, and he reaches out tentatively, his fingers seeking the comfort of his dad's skin. He finds it, his hand coming to rest lightly on the crook of his elbow. The connection feels right, like finding a piece of himself he didn't know was lost. He snuggles closer, his head resting on the pillow beside Plankton's. Karen watches, her heart swelling with love for her son. "It's ok," she whispers. "Just be gentle."

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

JUST A TOUCH viii (Autistic author) After dinner, they retreat to the living room. Plankton's eye is glued to the puzzle book on the coffee table, his antennae twitching with unspoken longing. Karen picks it up, opening to a new page. "Would you like to work on this one together?" she asks, her voice gentle. He nods, his eye lighting up with the familiar challenge. Together, they tackle the puzzle, Karen's voice a gentle narration as Plankton's antennae move in time with her words. The patterns on the page hypnotize him, drawing him in. Plankton's antennae stop twitching, his focus solely on the words before him. And then the doorbell rings, breaking the spell. Karen's heart skips a beat, her hand tightening around the puzzle book. Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wide with alarm. "Who is it?" he asks, his voice sharp. Karen's eyes dart to the clock. "It's probably SpongeBob," she murmurs. Plankton's antennae perk up at the mention of his friend's name. "Party," he says, his voice hopeful. Karen nods, swiping at the tear that's managed to escape. "Yes, Plankton. SpongeBob's probably here to invite us to a party at the Krusty Krab. Do you think you're up for it?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae droop slightly. "Maybe," he says, his voice unsure. The thought of the bright lights and loud noises at the party sends a shiver of anxiety through his tiny body. But the prospect of seeing Sponge Bob is tempting. Karen sighs, understanding his hesitation. She walks to the door, her movements slow and deliberate. Sponge Bob's cheerful greeting floods the hallway. "Hey, Karen! Plankton! You guys coming to the party?" "Hey, Sponge Bob," she says, her smile forced. "What's the occasion?" Sponge Bob's face lights up like a Christmas tree, his spongy body bobbing with excitement. "Mr. Krabs is throwing a bash at the Krusty Krab!" he says, his hands gesturing wildly. "You guys are coming, right?" Plankton's antennae quiver at the mention of the party. The thought of the loud noises and the jostling crowd makes his stomach churn, but the prospect of seeing his friend shines like a beacon through the fog of his fear. Karen watches him, reading his emotions like a book. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "We can go for a little bit." Plankton nods, his antennae still. "Okay," he says, his voice barely a whisper. Karen can see the internal struggle playing out across his features. "Just stay as long as you're comfortable," she adds. "I'll just stay, you go with him." Sponge Bob's eyes light up. "Great!" he says, bending down to hold his hand. He holds his finger as they go. Plankton's grip is tight, his antennae flat against his head. The noise of the Krusty Krab is a cacophony of sounds, each one stabbing at his heightened senses. But the warmth of Sponge Bob's hand, the familiarity of their friendship, anchors him. Mr. Krabs sees Plankton clinging to Sponge Bob's side. "What's going on, laddie?" he asks, his voice gruff but concerned at the sight of their hands. Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze darting to the floor. Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "Why did ye invite Plankton?" he asks with suspicion. Sponge Bob's smile doesn't waver. "Well, he's always welcome..." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "But he's our enemy.." Sponge Bob's smile doesn't waver. "He's my friend," he says firmly. "And I'm watching to make sure he won't steal any thing, boss.." Mr. Krabs' eyes soften, his suspicion giving way to reluctant acceptance. "Alright, but keep an eye on him," he says, his voice gruff. Sponge Bob nods, his grip on Plankton's hand tightening. Plankton's antennae quiver, his heart racing at the sudden influx of stimulation. The colorful lights, the smells of frying food, the laughter of the patrons—it's all so much. But Sponge Bob's hand is warm, a lifeline in the chaos. They move through the crowd, Plankton's steps small and careful. His eye darts around, trying to take it all in without getting overwhelmed. Sponge Bob's voice cuts through the noise like a knife. "You okay, buddy?" he asks, his smile concerned. Plankton nods, his voice a strained whisper. "Good," Sponge Bob says, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. As they reach the party area, Plankton's antennae start to wave erratically. The lights are too bright, the sounds too loud. He clutches Sponge Bob's hand tighter. Plankton takes a deep breath, his chest expanding with the effort. It's like trying to swim through jello, his senses on high alert. Sponge Bob feels the change in his friend's grip, his own heart racing with concern. "You okay, Plankton?" he asks again, his voice barely audible over the din. Plankton nods, his eye focused on the floor. The pattern of the tiles is soothing, grounding him amidst the chaos. A flash of pink darts through the crowd, and Plankton's antennas twitch. "Patrick!" Sponge Bob says, letting go of Plankton's hand. Plankton looks around and sees Squidward doing the dishes, but in a disorganized manner that Plankton needs to correct. The sight of the scattered plates, the water spots on the glasses, sends a jolt of anxiety through him. His compulsion to straighten, to organize, to make it right, is almost unbearable. So he goes to Squidward by the sink to interfere. Squidward glances up, his tentacles frozen mid-wash. "What are you doing here?" he snaps. Plankton's antennae twitch, his gaze fixated on the mess. "Help," he says, his voice tight. Squidward rolls his eyes, grabbing another plate to wash as he ignores Plankton. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye darting between the chaos and Squidward's dismissal. He's doing the dishes wrong and needs him to help! "Squidward, let Plankton assist," he says, his voice formal. Squidward sighs, shaking his head. "Look, I don't have time for this," he says, his tentacles moving rapidly. Plankton's body tenses, his need for meticulousness consuming him. As Plankton approaches Squidward, his movements are precise, almost mechanical. His antennae twitch in time with his racing thoughts, his need for order a silent scream in the noisy room. He holds out his hand, palm up. "Wash," he says, his voice firm. Squidward pauses, eyeing him warily. "What?" Plankton's gaze is unwavering, his voice steady. "Smudges. Wash dishes. Correct way." Squidward's grip on the plate slackens, his eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?" Plankton's antennae wave frantically. "Correct way," he repeats, his voice a desperate whisper. "No smudges. Wrong order." Squidward's tentacles still, his gaze sharpening. "What's gotten into you?" he asks, his voice filled with skepticism. Plankton's antennae twitch. "No smudges," he says again, his voice a mix of urgency and desperation. Squidward sets the plate down with a clatter. "What are you on about, Plankton?" But Plankton's focus is solely on the task at hand. He reaches for the dish soap, his movements precise. Squidward watches him, his expression a mix of annoyance and curiosity. "What's going on?" he asks, his voice gruff. Plankton's antennas twitch, his eye darting to Squidward. "Just helping," he says, his voice flat as he puts the now clean dish away. But he sees imperfections on some of the clean dishes, handing them over for Squidward to wash as he straightens up the other plates. Squidward's eyebrows furrow, his gaze flicking between Plankton and the dishes. "What are you doing?" he asks again. Plankton's grip on the towel tightens, his body vibrating with the need for perfection. "It's not right," he says, his voice strained. "Has to be right." "Those I've cleaned!" Squidward says as Plankton puts them in the sink for him to wash over again. "Squidward look. No..." But before Plankton can finish, Squidward snatches the plate from his tentacles. "Look, I don't have time for your... whatever this is," he says, his voice gruff. He takes it and haphazardly shoves it with smaller plates. Plankton can't take the misalignment! Plankton's antennae stand on end, his eye wide with horror. "No!" he says, his voice rising. "Wrong order!" His hands shake as he tries to grab the plate, his mind racing with the need to correct the mistake. Squidward pulls away, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. "Plankton, what's wrong with you?" he snaps. "Plankton's centrum semiovale has restricted inhibitory synaptic transmission!" Plankton's voice is a mix of panic and frustration, his antennae waving wildly. Squidward's eyes narrow, his grip on the plate tightening. "What are you talking about? I am not going to wash this again," he says, his tone firm. Squidward's words hit a nerve, triggering a cascade of emotions in Plankton. "It's not about Squidward!" he says, his voice sharp. "It's about the order! Cleanliness..." "PLANKTON I SAID NO!" Squidward yells, startling him as he turns back to the sink.

NEW REALITY viii (Autistic author) "I don't understand," she says, her voice filled with distress. Plankton's hand clenches, his body vibrating with tension. "Numbers," he repeats, his voice edging on a scream. "They make quiet." Hanna's eyes widen, her smile fading to a look of horror. "But Plankton," she says, her voice shaking, "it's just a clock." But her words are like fuel on the fire of his distress. He steps closer to the clock, his hand outstretched as if to will it to silence. "Numbers," he whispers, his voice a plea. "They make quiet." Hanna's eyes fill with sympathy, but her words only worsen his agitation. "Plankton, it's just a clock," she says, reaching out to touch him. Karen's heart hammers in her chest as she sees his body tense even further. "Hanna, don't," she warns, her voice tight. "Please don't touch him right now." But Hanna doesn't hear her, her own voice rising with frustration. "It's just a clock, Plankton," she repeats, her hand covering his shoulder. "Nothing's going to hurt you.." The touch sends him spiraling, his body convulsing with overstimulation. "No touch!" he screams, his hand slapping at her arm, his face a mask of fear and anger. But Plankton's outburst has ignited something in Hanna, a spark of anger. "Why can't you just be normal?" she snaps, her voice echoing through the tense room. Karen's heart breaks as Plankton's eye goes wide, his body jerking away from her. "Hanna, please," she says, her voice tight with pain. But Hanna's words keep coming, a barrage of misunderstanding. "You can't just ignore us," she says, her voice rising. "You have to interact with the world." Plankton's body recoils, his skin seemingly vibrating with each of her words. "Interact," he echoes, his voice strained. Karen's heart is in her throat. "Hanna, please," she says, her voice tight with pain. "You're not helping." But Hanna's eyes are glassy with frustration. "How can I help if he won't even look at me?" she asks, ignoring the desperation in Plankton's gaze as she holds his arms tightly. Karen's eyes plead with her, but Hanna's grip doesn't loosen. "Let go," Plankton whimpers, his voice tight with tension. Hanna's smile is forced, her grip unyielding. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice laced with irritation. "You can't just..." But her words cut him like knives. "Look away," he murmurs, his voice strained, his body begging for the pressure to ease. Hanna's smile falters, her grip tightening. "Why can't you just look at me?" she asks, her voice edged with annoyance. Plankton's breath hitches, his antennae drooping. "Can't," he whispers, his gaze flickering between her and Karen. Hanna's eyes narrow, her grip on his arms tightening. "You can," she insists, her voice firm. "Just..." But Plankton's whimpers grow louder, his body shaking with the effort to pull away. Hanna's smile fades, her grip tightening in frustration. "Why can't you just be like everyone else?" she asks, her tone no longer gentle. Plankton's whimpers become sobs, his body shaking with the effort to break free. Karen's eyes are wet with unshed tears as she watches the scene unfold, her heart breaking for him. Hanna's grip remains firm, her expression a mix of confusion and annoyance. "Why are you doing this?" she demands, her voice sharp. "You're just being difficult." Plankton's sobs grow more desperate, his body twisting in her grasp. "Let go," he whispers, his voice a strained plea. Hanna's eyes flash with irritation. "Why ca--" Her words are cut off by Karen's firm voice. "Hanna, please," she says, stepping between them. "You're upsetting him." But Hanna's confusion turns to anger. "How can I not be upset?" she retorts, her grip on Plankton's arms tightening. "He won't even..." Her words are cut off by Karen's firm voice. "Please, Hanna," she says, her eyes pleading. "You don't understand." Suddenly, Plankton's legs buckle, his body going slack as Hanna finally releases his arms. He crumples to the floor. He's retreating, Karen realizes, her heart racing. He's retreating into himself. Karen's eyes fill with fear as she watches him, his sobs subsiding into quiet whimpers. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a prayer. Hanna's face falls, her anger replaced with shock. "What's wrong with him?" she asks, her voice trembling. Karen's eyes are wet with unshed tears as she crouches beside him. "It's a condition," she says, her voice tight with frustration. "He needs time and space to process everything." Hanna's face crumples, her hands going to her mouth. "I didn't know," she whispers, her eyes wide with regret. "I'm sorry." Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's huddled form. "It's not your fault," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "But we all have to learn." Hanna nods, her eyes brimming with tears. Karen wraps her arms around Plankton, her touch gentle. "It's okay," she murmurs. "I'm here." He trembles against her, sobbing. Hanna stands there, apology etched in every line of her face. "What can I do?" she whispers. Karen looks up, her eyes wet. "Just give us a moment," she says, her voice a gentle command. Hanna nods, backing away slowly, her eyes on Plankton. "Okay," she murmurs, the weight of her words heavy in the silent room. Karen holds Plankton tightly, his body a trembling mass of emotion. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a soothing balm. "You're safe." He nests his head into her shoulder, his whimpers softening to quiet sobs. The room feels thick with their shared pain, the air charged with the tension of misunderstanding. Hanna's eyes dart around, looking for anything that might soothe him. Karen's gaze meets hers, a silent plea for understanding. "It's called autism," Karen says softly, her voice a gentle explanation. Hanna's eyes widen, her face a canvas of realization. "Oh," she whispers, the word a soft exhalation of breath. Karen nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's tear-stained face. "It's a spectrum," she says, her voice calm and steady. "And he's on a part of it that's very sensitive to stimulation." Hanna nods slowly, her understanding growing. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice full of regret. "I didn't know." Karen's grip tightens around Plankton's shoulders. "It's okay," she murmurs. "We're all still learning." Hanna nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "I'll go," she says, her voice small. "I didn't mean..." Karen nods, her gaze steady. "Thank you," she whispers. "We can talk soon." Hanna nods, her eyes filled with sadness. "Of course," she says, turning to leave. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Karen and Plankton in the heavy silence. Karen's arms remain around him, her body a protective cocoon against the harshness of the world. Plankton's sobs slowly ease into quiet sniffs, his body still trembling in her embrace. Her heart aches for the pain he's feeling, the fear that Hanna's misunderstanding has brought to the surface. "I'm sorry," she whispers to him, her voice shaking. Plankton's trembles begin to subside, his breathing evening out. He pulls back, his eye searching hers. "No," he murmurs, his voice hoarse from crying. "Not at fault." Karen's eyes fill with relief, her grip on him loosening slightly. "It's okay," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "We just need to find ways to help you." Plankton nods, his eye fluttering shut. Karen's mind races with thoughts of what more she can do, what she can say to make him feel safe. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice a promise. "Together." Plankton's eye opens, his gaze meeting hers. "Together," he echoes, his voice a whisper. Karen's heart swells with love for him, her eyes shimmering with determination. "We'll find what works," she says, her voice firm. Plankton nods, his gaze dropping to the floor. "Thanks," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Tired.." Karen's heart breaks at the exhaustion etched into his features. "I got you, you can rest," she says, her voice a gentle whisper. They move to the couch, Plankton's body curling into her side. She wraps the weighted blanket around him, still within their embrace. His breathing slows, his body relaxing against hers. The whirring fan above offers a steady rhythm, a lullaby for his troubled mind. Karen's hand strokes his back in gentle circles, her thumb tracing patterns that seem to soothe his nerves. The fan's steady whir fills the room, a calming symphony that lulls Plankton's racing thoughts to a crawl. Karen's thumb moves in soothing circles on his back, each pass sending a ripple of comfort through him. Plankton's breathing evens, his body slack against hers. The fan's steady hum is a lullaby in the quiet room, a metronome for his racing thoughts. Karen's hand continues its soothing dance across his back, his eye finally closing. The room is a cocoon of silence, the fan's whisper the only sound breaking the stillness. Plankton's breathing slows, his body melts into Karen's embrace. Her hand continues its gentle caress, a metronome of comfort as he finally surrenders to sleep.

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM iv (Autistic author) "Let's play again," Plankton says, his voice eager. Sponge Bob nods, his smile genuine. "Ok, Plankton pick a board game." Karen watches as Sponge Bob sorts through the disarray of their game collection, his spongy fingers touching each box before finally settling on a card game. "Go Fish!" Sponge Bob exclaims, holding up the battered cards. Plankton's face lights up at the familiar phrase, his antennas waggling with excitement. "Fish, fish, fish," he repeats, his voice echoing the words. The two sit cross-legged on the floor, the cards spread out in front of them. Plankton's hands tremble slightly as he picks up his cards, but his concentration is intense. "Fish," he whispers, holding his hand out to Sponge Bob. Sponge Bob nods, understanding the game despite Plankton's simplified request. "Go Fish," he responds, placing a card into Plankton's outstretched palm. Plankton's eye brightens, and he repeats the action, placing a card into Sponge Bob's hand. "Fish," he says again, his voice slightly more confident. "Plankton you gotta take a card from the pile.." Sponge Bob starts to explain, but Plankton's antennas shoot up, and he interrupts. "Fish from the pile," he repeats, his voice eager. He reaches for the deck and draws a card, his eye never leaving Sponge Bob's. Sponge Bob nods. "That's right, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "Go Fish." Plankton repeats the phrase, his antennas bobbing with each word. "Go Fish," he murmurs, his eye scanning the cards. Sponge Bob nods, a gentle smile playing on his lips. "Good job, Plankton," he encourages. "Your turn to ask for a card." Plankton's antennas wiggle as he thinks, his eye darting to his hand. "Sponge Bob," he says, his voice a mix of excitement and focus. "Got any...?" He pauses, his brain searching for the right word. "Got any...?" "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob prompts, his smile never wavering. "Fish," Plankton repeats, his antennas bobbing. "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob nods, understanding dawning. "Do you have any twos?" Plankton's antennas twitch in excitement. "Two," he echoes, his voice triumphant. "Do you have any twos?" Sponge Bob's smile falters slightly as he nods, looking at his own cards. He's not sure how to proceed. He decides to keep the game simple. "I don't have any twos," he says. "Now it's your turn to Go Fish." Plankton nods, his concentration unbroken. He scans his cards again. "Got any fish?" he asks, his voice determined. Sponge Bob's smile widens, his eyes sparkling with understanding. "No fish here," he says, placing a card face down. "Go Fish." Plankton's antennas twitch rapidly as he processes the new information, his brain working to keep up with the game's flow. "Go Fish," he repeats, his voice gaining confidence with each exchange. Sponge Bob's eyes widen slightly but he nods along, playing his part. "Okay, Plankton," he says, placing a card on the pile. "Your turn." Plankton's antennas wobble as he considers his next move. "Got any fish?" he asks again, his voice a mix of excitement and challenge. Sponge Bob's smile becomes a bit forced. "Nope," he says, his voice still cheerful. "Go Fish." Plankton's eye dart to the cards in his hand, then back to Sponge Bob. His antennas wave erratically as he tries to formulate his next question. "Got any...?" Sponge Bob waits patiently, his heart aching for his friend. He's never seen Plankton like this before, for SpongeBob doesn't know about the accident nor the diagnosis. "Got any fish?" Plankton's words echo in the silence of the room. Sponge Bob's confusion mounts as he looks into his friend's eye, searching for a clue to what's going on. "No, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice strained. "I don't have any fish." Plankton's antennas drop slightly, his expression one of disappointment. "Go Fish," he murmurs, his gaze drifting to the card pile. Sponge Bob's heart aches as he watches his friend, trying to understand this new, strange behavior. "Do you want to play something else?" he asks, hoping to distract Plankton from his obsession with the game. But Plankton's antennas spring back to life. "More fish," he insists, his voice almost a command. Sponge Bob nods, his mind racing to comprehend what's happening. He knows Plankton's mind is sharp, so why the repetition? "Got any fish?" Plankton asks again, his voice growing more urgent. Sponge Bob's smile falters. He's never seen Plankton act this way before. The urgency in Plankton's voice, the repetition of words, it's all so strange and disconcerting. "I don't understand," he says, his voice small and unsure. "What's going on with you?" Plankton's antennas quiver slightly at Sponge Bob's question, but his eye remains fixed on the cards. "I don't understand," he says, voice soft but firm. "What's going on with you." Sponge Bob's smile falters, his eyes searching Plankton's face for answers. "It's just a game, Plankton," he says, his voice filled with concern. "You don't have to keep asking for fish." This isn't the Plankton he knows, the cunning and scheming arch-nemesis who always has a plan up his sleeve. This is someone else entirely, someone lost and confused. But Plankton doesn't seem to hear him. "Fish," he whispers, his antennas twitching in time with his words. "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob feels a knot form in his stomach. Is Plankton trying to annoy him? "Plankton, are you ok?" he asks gently, his voice filled with concern. Plankton's antennas stop twitching for a moment, his gaze meeting Sponge Bob's. "Plankton are you ok," he echoes, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for a clue. "Fish." Sponge Bob's brow furrows deeper, his confusion growing. "You don't have to keep asking for fish, Plankton," he says again. But Plankton's mind is stuck on the pattern, his voice insistent. "Fish," he repeats. Sponge Bob's now getting irritated. The echoing of his words, the intense stare, and the persistent demand for "fish" are unlike anything he's ever seen. "Plankton, please," he says, his voice tight with frustration. "I don't have any fish. Let's play a different game." But Plankton's antennas only wiggle more rapidly. "Fish," he insists. "Got any fish?" Sponge Bob's patience is wearing thin, his cheery demeanor slipping away. "I said no!" he snaps, his voice a little too loud. Plankton recoils at the sudden change in tone, his antennas drooping. "Fish?" he whispers, his voice filled with uncertainty. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with regret at his outburst. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, his voice softening. "I didn't mean to yell. But Plankton, I don't have any more fish!" Plankton's antennas sag, and his eye becomes unfocused. "No fish," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. Sponge Bob's never seen Plankton like this, his behavior so repetitive and unresponsive to his words. It was as if the game had become the center of Plankton's entire world, and Sponge Bob's refusal to play along had shattered it. "I'm sorry, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, his voice trembling with frustration. "I just don't understand why you're so obsessed with fish." Plankton looks up, his eye meeting Sponge Bob's, a hint of hurt flickering across his expression. "Fish," he says again, his voice smaller this time. "Need fish." Sponge Bob sighs, his hands going to his face. "Ok," he says, his voice muffled. "Let's just finish this game."

SHELF IMPROVEMENT iv (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen awoke with the sun, her mind still heavy with the weight of the previous night's discovery. Plankton slept peacefully beside her, his breathing even and deep. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope that was just a bad dream, a fleeting nightmare that would disappear. But when she looked over at him, she knew it was all too real. Her eyes took in the familiar lines of his face, the way his antennae twitched even in sleep. They had faced challenges before, and they would face this one too. Gently, she slipped from the bed, not wanting to wake him. She knew he needed his rest. In the kitchen, she started to make his breakfast smoothie. She had read about autism, knew it could manifest in different ways, but she had never thought it would touch their lives so suddenly, so profoundly. The blender whirred to life, slicing through the fruit and yogurt. The smell of strawberries and bananas filled the room, a stark contrast to the heaviness of her thoughts. As she poured the smoothie into a glass, her mind raced with questions. How would this change their relationship? What did this mean for Plankton's life? What could she do to help him? The sudden sound of footsteps on the floor snapped her out of her thoughts. Plankton. She turned around to see him standing in the doorway, his expression tentative. His eye searched hers, and she forced a smile, hoping to reassure him. "Breakfast," she said, holding out the smoothie. "Your favorite." Plankton's antennae twitched, and he took a step forward, his eye locking onto the glass. "Smoothie," he murmured. Karen clenched at his response, so unlike his usual greeting. "Yes, a strawberry-banana smoothie." Her voice was filled with hope, trying to keep their morning routine as normal as possible. He took the glass from her, his grip careful, his movements precise. He took a sip. Karen watched him. "How does it taste?" she asked, trying to keep the desperation out of her voice. Plankton paused, his eye blinking thoughtfully. "Good," he said finally, his voice still subdued. He took another sip, his expression unreadable. Karen's smile grew wider, genuine this time. "I'm so glad. Why don't you sit down?" She gestured to the kitchen table. "I'll get you some toast." Plankton nodded slowly, his movements deliberate. He sat at the table, his gaze fixed on the smoothie. Karen felt the weight of his silence as she busied herself with the toaster. But the pop of the bread springing up snapped his attention to her. "Too much noise," he mumbled, flinching at the sound. Karen sank. She had forgotten how sensitive his hearing might become. She quickly turned off the toaster and approached the table. "I'm sorry," she said softly, placing the plate of toast before him. "Did the toaster bother you?" Plankton nodded, his antennas quivering slightly. "Noise," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen felt a pang of guilt. "I'll be more careful," she promised, placing a gentle hand on his back. She watched as he took a deep breath, visibly trying to regain his composure. They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the new normal pressing down on them like a thick fog. Karen wanted to fill the air with words, to reassure him and herself, but she knew that sometimes silence was the best comfort. As Plankton took a bite of toast, she observed his every move, looking for any signs of distress. His antennae were still, his eye focused on his food. It was as if the world had narrowed to just the two of them and their quiet breakfast. But then, she heard Plankton's words. "Breakfast," he murmured, his antennae twitching. "Did the toaster bother you." It took Karen a second to realize that Plankton was actually responding to his own thoughts. She watched as he paused, his antennae twitching again. "Noise," he said, his voice echoing in the silent room. Was he talking to himself? Or was this a new part of his autism, a way of processing information? "No," she said gently, sitting down beside him. "The toaster is okay now. It's quiet." Plankton nodded, his antennas stilling. He chewed slowly, his gaze flickering to Karen before returning to the bread. "Karen," he said after a moment, his voice clearer now. "The toaster okay says it's quiet, Karen said no is okay now." He was parroting her words, but with a slight delay. It was as if he was trying to make sense of them, to process the conversation in his own time. "Yes, Plankton," she replied. "The toaster is quiet now." Plankton nodded again, his antennae still. He took another bite of toast, chewing slowly. Then, out of the blue, he spoke again, his voice stronger this time. "Karen loves Plankton?" "Yes, Plankton, I do," she replied, her voice steady. "Karen loves you very much." Plankton's antennae twitched once before going still. He took another sip of his smoothie, his face a canvas of contemplation. "Plankton loves Karen," he murmured, almost to himself. It was as if he was reassuring himself of their bond. Karen felt a warmth spread through her. This was a new aspect of his autism, but it was also a sign that he was trying to understand his feelings, to make sense of the world around him. "Yes," she said, squeezing his hand. "And Karen loves Plankton right back." Plankton nodded, his gaze returning to his food. Karen could see the wheels turning in his mind, trying to comprehend the change. He took another sip of his smoothie, his antennae twitching slightly as he swallowed. "Different," he said again. "But same love." Despite the confusion, he had managed to articulate his feelings with a simplicity that was both heartbreaking and beautiful. She squeezed his hand, her screen shimmering with unshed tears. "Yes, Plankton," she said, her voice thick with love. "Same love, no matter what." Plankton's gaze shifted to her, his eye focusing on her damp screen. His antennae stood straight up, and he frowned slightly. "Tears," he said, his voice concerned. "Karen sad?" "No, Plankton," she said softly. "These are happy tears." But she knew that might not make sense to him, so she tried to explain further. "They're because I'm feeling a lot of love for you right now, and my body..." "Love makes Karen sad?" he interrupted. Karen sighed, knowing that explaining emotions to a suddenly autistic Plankton was going to be tough. "No, not sad," she corrected. "They're just tears that come when I'm really happy or overwhelmed with love. It's a good thing, I promise." Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed this information. "Good tears," he murmured. "Karen love making good tears." Karen couldn't help but smile, despite the heaviness of the situation. His childlike innocence was a beacon of light in the darkness. "Yes," she nodded, her voice steady. "Good tears," she said again, her thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. "Now, let's eat our breakfast, okay?"

CHIP AND FAIL viii (Autistic author) Karen's hand was a lifeline, her voice a gentle guide. "Chip," she called out. "We need to talk." Chip stopped in the hallway. Why was Dad acting so weird? He turned to face his mother, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "What's wrong with him?" he demanded, his voice filled with accusation. "He doesn't deserve to be called my dad if he can't even..." But that's when it happens. That's when Plankton started hyperventilating, and that's when Plankton can't take anymore. That's when it happened. Chip's words were like a match striking too close to a powder keg. Plankton's breath hitched, his antennae twitching erratically. Karen rushed to his side, her screen wide with concern. "Babe, you okay?" she asked, her voice a gentle caress. She holds her arms out to catch Plankton. But Plankton's mind was a whirlwind, his body a live wire. He couldn't answer, couldn't find the words to explain the chaos that was his reality. His antennae trembled as he struggled to breathe, his body rigid with fear. He had hoped to keep this hidden, to protect Chip from the truth, but it was too much. The storm inside him grew wilder, each breath a battle. Chip's eyes searched his father's, his own confusion mirroring the chaos in the room. "What's wrong with you?" he repeated, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. But Plankton's mind was a tornado, his thoughts swirling too fast for words. He could feel his chest constrict, his heart pounding like a drum. Karen watched her son's screen, seeing the hurt in his eyes, the misunderstanding etched deep. She took a deep breath, knowing the moment had arrived. "Chip," she began, her voice soft but firm, "there's something you need to know about your dad." Chip looked at her, his expression a mix of anger and confusion. "What could possibly make him act like this?" he spat, poking Plankton hard. "Why did you marry him? He's just nothing but..." "Chip," Karen said firmly, taking his hands in hers, when Plankton starts to wheeze heavily, his body constricting with each shallow breath. Chip's anger faded, replaced with fear as he watched his father's distress. "Dad?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Plankton's body trembled as his legs gave out, collapsing into the embrace Karen had been ready to offer. "Dad?" Chip's voice was barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. He had never seen his father so overwhelmed, so vulnerable. Karen knelt beside Plankton, her hands gentle on his trembling body. "It's okay, love," she whispered, her voice a salve on his raw nerves. "Just breathe." Chip's eyes were glued to his father with fear. He had never seen him like this before, his body a stranger's under his own touch. "What's wrong with him?" he asked again, his voice shaking. Karen took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she smoothed back Plankton's antennae. "Chip, your dad was born with something..." Her voice trailed off, the words stuck in her throat like a piece of unchewed food. Chip's eyes searched hers, his confusion a storm cloud gathering. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice small and scared. Karen took a deep breath, her heart aching for both her son and her husband. "Your dad," she began, her voice shaking with the weight of her words, "was born different, Chip." Plankton's eye flickered open, filled with a mixture of fear and hope. "What do you mean, 'different'?" Chip asked, his voice small and scared. He had never heard his mother talk about his dad this way before. Karen took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in her throat. "When your dad was born, Chip," she began, her screen filled with a sadness that threatened to spill over, "his brain was injured during delivery. When the doctors pulled him out, they didn't realize how fragile he was and they..." Her voice trailed off, the memory too painful to recount. "They had to get him out and applied too much force on his head, which caused some damage. It gave him a type of condition, where he's on what's called autism spectrum." Chip's eyes widened, his grip on his shirt tightening. "But that's not his fault, right?" he asked, his voice a hopeful whisper. He didn't want to think of his dad as damaged or broken. Karen nodded, her screen filled with love for both her husband and her son. "No, honey, it's not his fault," she said, her voice steady. "It's just how he's. And it's not something you can see or touch. It's like having a radio in your head that's always tuned to the loudest station, and sometimes the static gets too much."

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY iv (Autistic author) Without missing a beat, Plankton starts rattling off a stream of facts. "Jellyfish are invertebrates," he says, his voice gaining speed and confidence. "They have no bones, no brains, but they have stinging cells called nematocysts." "Wow, Plankton, that's amazing," Sponge Bob says, eyes wide with wonder. "I didn't know that!" "Neither did I," Karen admits, a small smile playing. "You've always had a knack for science, but this is something else." Plankton nods, his excitement palpable. "Jellyfish have life cycle," he continues, his voice taking on the rhythm of a lecturer. "Start as polyps, then grow into medusae." Plankton's antennae twitch as he recites facts rapidly. "Jellyfish can have hundreds of stinging tentacles," he says, his voice gaining momentum. "And some species can even clone themselves. It's called strobilation!" he says, his eye glued to the book. His voice is monotone, but the enthusiasm is clear as he shares his newfound knowledge. "That's so cool, Plankton!" Sponge Bob exclaims. "I had no idea!" Plankton nods. "Jellyfish book," he says again, his voice still a monotone, but his tone is less flat. Karen and Sponge Bob share a hopeful look. Plankton's intense focus on jellyfish seems to be providing a small sense of comfort amidst the chaos of his new reality. "I think Plankton might just become the smartest jellyfish expert in Bikini Bottom," Karen says trying to lighten the mood. "Maybe one day we can go jellyfishing together," Sponge Bob says, his eyes sparkling with excitement. Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods, his gaze flicking to Sponge Bob before returning to the book. "Jellyfishing," he repeats. "But Plankton, remember jellyfishing can be dangerous if they sting" Karen says gently with concern. Plankton's antennae twitch. "Dangerous," he repeats, his eye still on the book. "Jellyfish sting, but Plankton have plan." He flips through the pages, stopping at an image of a jellyfish in a jar. "Jellyfish in jar," he says, tapping the picture. "Safe jellyfish." Karen and Sponge Bob exchange a look. "You wanna keep jellyfish in a jar, Plankton?" Sponge Bob asks, voice tentative. Plankton nods vigorously. "Jellyfish in jar, safe jellyfish," he says, his excitement palpable. Sponge Bob leans closer to the book, his curiosity piqued. "What else does the book say, Plankton?" Plankton starts reading off the index and page numbers, his voice a monotone yet steady stream of information. "Jellyfish page 12. Nematocysts, page 34. Jellyfish reproduction, page 67," he recites, his antennae twitching with each number. Sponge Bob leans in closer, fascinated by Plankton's sudden wealth of knowledge. "How do you remember all of that?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Good memory," he says, his voice still flat but with a hint of pride. "Plankton read book." Karen nods, her gaze soft. "Yes, you read the book," she says, her voice a gentle reminder. "You've learned so much about jellyfish." Plankton's antennae quiver with excitement as he flips through the pages. "Jellyfish book," he murmurs, his gaze alight with a passion that Karen hadn't seen in him since before the accident. "You know, Plankton," Sponge Bob says, leaning closer to the book. "Maybe we could start a jellyfish club. Just you, me, and Karen. We could learn all about them together." Plankton's antennae stand at attention at the idea. "Jellyfish club," he repeats, his voice a mix of excitement and skepticism. "With Karen and Sponge Bob?" "Yes," Karen says with a smile, her voice filled with hope. Plankton nods, his antennae moving with the rhythm of his thoughts. "Jellyfish club," he murmurs, the words rolling around in his head like a treasure found at the bottom of the sea. "Yea Plankton who knew, easy as pie!" "Pie?" he repeated, the word echoing in the room. "Pi, 3.14159265358979323846..." His voice grew in confidence as he recited the digits, his eye glazing over as he fell into a rhythm that seemed almost meditative. Karen and Sponge Bob stared at him in amazement as he rattled off the numbers, his monotone delivery a stark contrast to the awe in their expressions. "Plankton, that's incredible!" Karen exclaimed with astonishment. "Pi, yes," Plankton said unwavering. "Circle's ratio." Sponge Bob's eyes went wide. "How?" "Pi," Plankton began, his antennae quivering slightly as he found his rhythm. "The ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter. 3.14159265358979323846..." He recited the digits as if they were the most natural thing in the world, his voice steady and unwavering. Karen and Sponge Bob watched in amazement as Plankton's eye took on a faraway look, his focus solely on the mathematical constant that held the secrets of the universe's geometry. Karen couldn't help but smile at the sight of Plankton's newfound passion. "It's incredible how you can remember all of that," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "Remember pi," Plankton said, his antennae still quivering with excitement. "Easy for Plankton." "Wow, Plankton," Sponge Bob said, his eyes sparkling with amazement. "You're a math genius!" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly at the compliment.

THE LIFE OF UNITY iv (Autistic author) Kevin's smirk is long gone, replaced by a look of shock and regret. "I... I had no idea," he stammers. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know." Plankton's antennae quiver. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you hurt Plankton." Sponge Bob's protectively around Plankton, who is now visibly upset. "You hurt Plankton's feelings," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "You see, Plankton had an accident. He's not the same as before. He nearly broke his skull on a cash register at the Krusty Krab. It changed him." Kevin's expression shifts from shock to disbelief. "What do you mean, 'changed him'?" he asks, his tentacles quivering slightly. "He has autism now," Sponge Bob says simply, never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "It's ok, Plankton," he murmurs, tightening around the tiny plankton. "You're still you." Kevin's eyes widen, the reality of the situation sinking in. "Oh my...," he whispers, his tentacles dropping to his sides. "I had no idea." Plankton's voice filled with accusation. "Kevin," he murmurs, "you didn't know. You didn't care." Kevin's eyes are wide. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to..." But Plankton's cutting off Kevin's apology. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye flashing with pain. "Kevin not care." "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to be so cruel." But Plankton's unyielding. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye still brimming with unshed tears. "You didn't know. You no care." Kevin's smugness evaporates as the weight of his own words crashes down on him. The realization that his careless jests have caused such pain is written all over his face. His eyes are wide with horror, his tentacles trembling. "I'm sorry," he whispers, starting to touch Plankton. But Plankton recoils at the touch, his antennae quivering violently, his monotone voice filled with panic. "NO!" he squeaks, his one eye wide with fear. "Kevin, no touch!" Kevin's tentacles jerk back as if burned, his eyes filled with shock and remorse. "I'm sorry," he says quickly, his voice thick with regret. "I didn't know. I didn't mean to..." "Kevin, no touch," he repeats, his one eye flashing. "Plankton not like that." "I didn't know," he whispers, his eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling form. "I'm so sorry." But Plankton's antennae continue to quiver, his monotone voice a sad echo of the fear he feels. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye fixed on the sea cucumber, "you didn't know. You don't care." Sponge Bob's placing himself between Plankton and the sea cucumber. "Kevin," he says firmly with a newfound resolve. "You need to apologize to Plankton. What you said was not okay." Kevin's tentacles quiver, his eyes darting from Sponge Bob to Plankton's trembling form. "I'm... I'm sorry," he stammers, his smugness replaced by genuine contrition. "I didn't know. I didn't mean it like that." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice still echoing the pain of the insult. "Kevin," he murmurs, his one eye narrowed, "you hurt Plankton." Kevin's expression falls, the full impact of his words hitting him like a brick wall. He takes a step back, his tentacles drooping. "I didn't know," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had... you know." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and pain. "Kevin," he murmurs, his monotone voice strained. "Kevin hurt Plankton. Not funny." Kevin's tentacles twitch, his expression a mix of shock and discomfort. "Look, I didn't know," he says, his voice quivering. "I'm sorry. I just..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and sadness, his monotone voice cutting through the awkward silence. "Space," he murmurs, his one eye pleading. Kevin creeps up closer. "Space? What..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and fear, his monotone voice a sad echo of the pain Kevin's words have caused. "Plankton," he murmurs, his one eye wide with desperation. "Alone." Kevin still doesn't understand. "You're not alone," he starts, reaching out. But Plankton's antennae quiver more fiercely, his monotone voice filled with a rare urgency. "No," he murmurs, his one eye darting around. "Space." "I don't underst--" But Plankton's filled with a desperation Kevin had never heard before. "Space," he murmurs again, more forcefully this time. "Kevin, go." "Go to outer space? But..." "Space," Plankton repeats more insistently, his eye frantic. Kevin's with confusion. "But, Plankton we're in the middle of the jellyfish fields." But Plankton's antennae quiver with urgency, his monotone voice unwavering. "Space," he murmurs, his one eye pleading. "Now." "I don't..." Kevin starts, grabbing Plankton's hand. But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, and he pulls away, his monotone voice rising. "SPACE!" he shouts, his eye flashing with fury. Startled, Kevin takes a step back. "Where in outer space?" But Plankton's antennae quiver with impatience, his monotone voice tight. "Any space," he cries. "Just go." Kevin's tentacles twitch, his smugness forgotten. "But... but what about the jellyfish? Oh do you mean any planet.." He says, absent mindedly putting his hand on Plankton's back. But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, and he jumps away. "NO TOUCH!" he screams, his monotone voice cracking with emotion. "PLANKTON. NEED. SPACE!" Kevin's tentacles recoil as if stung, his eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry," he stammers, taking a step back. "I can't fly a rocket to space.." But Plankton's antennae quiver with rage. "Any space," he repeats, his one eye glaring. "Away." Kevin's tentacles hang limp, his smugness shattered by the depth of Plankton's pain. "But, Plankton, we can't leave Earth without..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with fury, his monotone voice a whip crack. "Any space," he repeats, his one eye narrowed. "Now." Kevin's tentacles retract, his smugness gone. "Any planet other than Earth? I'd like to help but..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with frustration, his monotone voice cutting through the confusion. "Not space," he murmurs, his one eye blazing with anger. "Space." Kevin's tentacles tremble, his smile fading into a look of fear. "I can't get outer space without a rocket?" he says, taking a step back. But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, his monotone voice a thunderclap in the stillness. "No rocket," he murmurs, his one eye flashing. "Space. Now." Kevin's tentacles quiver, his smugness replaced by fear. "But Plankton," he stammers, taking a step back, "we can't just go to space without..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with rage, his monotone voice a whip crack. "Space," he repeats, his one eye narrowed. "Now." Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced by a look of pure terror. "But Plankton, I can't just leave the sea," he says, his voice shaking. But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and desperation, his monotone voice a thunderclap in the quiet waters. "Space," he repeats unwavering. Kevin's tentacles retreat, his smugness replaced by a look of fear as he tries to comprehend Plankton's words. "But Plankton," he stammers, "you can't survive in space. It's not possible." But Plankton's antennae quiver with anger, his monotone voice a monotone shout. "Space," he repeats, his one eye flashing with desperation. "Away from here." Kevin's tentacles retract, his smugness dissolving in to confusion. "But Plankton, we're in the middle of jellyfish fields," he says, his voice trembling. "We can't just..." But Plankton's antennae quiver with a mix of anger and desperation, his monotone voice a monotone shout. "SPACE!" he repeats, his one eye flashing. "Kevin go now!" Kevin's tentacles twitch, his smugness dissipating like smoke in the face of Plankton's distress. "But Plankton I don't..." he starts, taking a cautious step back. Plankton breathes in and gathers his words together, his antennae quivering with the effort of controlling his emotions. "Kevin JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" he shouts, his monotone voice crackling with anger. Kevin's tentacles quiver in understanding, his smugness evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh," he says, his voice small and sad. "You mean personal space.." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly, his monotone voice softening. "Yes," he murmurs, his one eye blinking rapidly. "Space." Sponge Bob nods. "Okay, Kevin," he says firmly. "You need to give Plankton some space right now. He's going through a tough time." Kevin's smugness is completely gone, replaced by a look of genuine concern. He takes a step back. "I had no idea," he whispers. "I'm really sorry. I'll go. Bye."

CHIP OFF THE OLD TALKS viii (Autistic Author) They sit in silence for a few moments, the sound of Plankton's slowing breaths filling the space. Karen's mind races with the conversation they need to have with Chip. "How do we explain it?" Plankton asks, finally breaking the silence. His antennae still, his eye looking at the floor. "We tell him the truth," Karen says firmly. "But we also remind him of all the wonderful things you do for him, all the ways you show him love." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping further. "I know I'm not the dad he deserves," he murmurs. Karen's voice is firm, but filled with warmth. "You are the dad he needs," she corrects. "And we'll get through this together." Finally, Plankton's antennae perk up slightly. "I'm sorry," he says again, his voice still thick with emotion. Karen nods. "I know," she says softly. "But we can't keep hiding this from him. He needs to understand." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "I know," he admits. "I just don't know where to start." Karen gives his hand a gentle squeeze. "We'll start by talking to him," she says, her voice strong and reassuring. "When you're ready." They sit there for a while longer, the rhythm of Plankton's breathing slowly returning to normal. Karen's mind is racing with thoughts of how to navigate this chapter in their lives. How to help Chip understand his father's condition without scaring him or making him feel responsible. Finally, Plankton turns to her, his antennae still shaky. "What do we do now?" he asks, his voice a mix of exhaustion and fear. Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes filled with resolve. "First," she says, "we make sure you're ok." They sit there, the only sound in the room the distant hum of the TV. Plankton's antennae are still, his eye focused on the floor. Karen's hand remains on his back, a silent promise that she's there for him. "Let's get you to bed," she says softly. "You need to rest." With her help, Plankton stands, his legs wobbly from the intense episode. Together, they make their way to their bedroom, the quiet of the house a stark contrast to the emotional upheaval they've just experienced. Once Plankton is tucked into bed, Karen sits beside him, her hand resting on his arm. "We'll get through this," she says, her voice a gentle reassurance in the stillness. "We're a family." Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of doubt, and he looks up at her, his eye searching hers for understanding. "But what if I can't?" Karen's gaze is unwavering. "You can," she says firmly. "You're strong, Plankton. And we're here to help you." Plankton's antennae quiver, and he nods slowly. "Ok," he whispers. "Ok." Karen leans in, kissing his forehead. "Rest," she says. "We'll talk more tomorrow." With a nod, Plankton closes his eye, and Karen slips out of the room, leaving the door open a crack. She heads to Chip's room, heavy with the weight of the conversation they need to have. Chip is lying on his bed, his small form wrapped in a blanket, staring at the ceiling. His eyes are red, and he looks up as Karen enters. "Hey, buddy," she says softly, sitting beside him. "Can we talk?" Chip nods, his eyes still wet with tears. "What's wrong with Daddy?" he asks, his voice shaky. Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Daddy has something called Autism, sweetie," she says, her voice gentle. "It makes his brain work a bit differently from ours. Sometimes, when he's really upset or overwhelmed, his body can react in ways that might seem strange or scary." Chip's eyes are wide with curiosity, and he nods slowly. "Is that why he gets so mad?" he asks. Karen takes a moment before responding. "Sometimes, yes," she says. "It's his way of dealing with big feelings. But it's not because he's mad at you, ok?" Chip nods, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. "But why does he get so mad?" he asks again, his voice quivering. Karen sighs, her hand stroking him. "Daddy gets overwhelmed by his feelings, and it's hard for him to express them," she explains. "Sometimes, when he can't find the right words or when things get too much, he feels like he's going to break apart. That's what we call a meltdown." Chip sniffs, his eyes glued to the ceiling. "It's like when I'm really sad and I don't want to talk?" Karen nods, her heart swelling with love for her son's empathy. "Exactly," she says. "And just like you, Daddy needs some space when that happens." Chip looks at her, his eyes serious. "But what if I want to show him my affection?" Karen smiles sadly. "You can, Chip," she says. "Just remember to be gentle, and maybe use words or gestures that aren't to overwhelming for him." Chip nods, his eyes still on the ceiling. "But what if I make it worse?" he whispers. Karen's heart clenches at his fear, and she takes his hand in hers. "Sometimes, we just need to learn new ways to show and receive love." Chip nods, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Ok," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen leans in, placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "You're brave," she says, her voice filled with pride. "But what about the rock he broke?" Chip asks, his voice still shaky. Karen sighs, her eyes meeting his. "Daddy didn't mean to scare you," she says. "Sometimes, when people are upset, they do things they don't mean to. It's part of how they cope." Chip nods, his grip on her hand tightening. "But Dad now," he says again, his voice small. "We'll give him some time to rest," Karen assures him. "And tomorrow, we'll talk about it more." With that, she tucks the blanket around him and turns to leave. As she reaches the door, Chip's voice stops her. "Mom," he says, his tone tentative. "Can I go to Daddy?" Karen's heart skips a beat, and she looks back at him, her eyes filled with both concern and hope. "Do you think that's a good idea, sweetie?" Chip nods. "I want to tell him I love him," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's heart squeezes. "Ok," she says, taking a deep breath. "But remember, we need to be gentle with him right now. Let's go to his room together." They tiptoe down the hall, the house eerily quiet. Karen can feel Chip's hand in hers, small and warm and trembling slightly. When they reach the bedroom, she opens the door quietly and peeks in. Plankton is lying on his back, his antennae still, his chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. They approach the bed, and Karen can see the tension in Plankton's body, even in sleep. She whispers to Chip, "Remember, sweetie, just a little. And if he wakes up, tell him you love him." Chip nods solemnly, and together, they tiptoe to the bedside. Chip extends a tentative hand and gently pats Plankton's arm. Plankton's antennae twitch, but he doesn't wake. "I love you, Daddy," Chip whispers, his voice quivering. Karen's eyes fill with tears at the sight of her son's bravery and love. She gives Chip's hand a squeeze. "That was perfect," she says, her voice barely a murmur. They stand there for a moment, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall in the dim light of the moon peeking through the curtains. Then, with a heavy heart, Karen leads Chip back to his room. Once Chip is tucked in, she kisses his forehead and whispers, "You're a brave boy, and I'm so proud of you." His eyes, still red and swollen from crying, meet hers with a quiet understanding beyond his years.

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY iv (Autistic author) Sandy feels the full weight of her words crash down upon her. The accusations she had thrown at Plankton now felt like sharp stones in her own stomach. Her mind reels as she tries to comprehend what she had just learned. Autism? Plankton? How could she have been so blind, so cruel? Her gaze falls to the floor, avoiding Karen's. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with guilt. "I didn't know." Karen nods, her own emotions swirling. "But we need to be more careful with him." Sandy's eyes are glued to the floor, her tail flicking nervously. "I didn't mean to hurt him," she says, her voice small and ashamed. "I just thought he was being weird." Karen nods, understanding. "I know," she says, her voice gentle. "But now we know better, and we have to help him." She moves towards the bedroom, her steps determined. "Let's go check on him." They enter the room quietly. Karen's optical sensors scan his tiny form, noticing the slight rise and fall of his chest. He's asleep, she realizes, exhausted from the emotional turmoil. Sandy's gaze follows hers, her expression a mix of regret and curiosity. She's never seen Plankton like this before, his features softer, almost peaceful in repose. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice a whisper. Karen nods, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. "He's sleeping," she says, her voice filled with tenderness. "It's been a big day for him." Sandy steps closer, her gaze taking in Plankton's sleeping features. His face, usually twisted with plotting and schemes, is now slack with exhaustion. His eye, usually alive with cunning, is closed, and his breaths come in deep, even snores, his mouth slightly agape. "What do we do now?" Sandy asks, her voice hushed. Karen sits beside him on the bed, her hand still on his shoulder. "We help him," she says, her voice firm. "We learn about his autism and how we can support him." They spend the next few moments in silence, the air heavy with the weight of what has been said. Karen's hand continues to gently stroke Plankton's shoulder. Sandy sits down on the opposite side of the bed. Her gaze is fixed on Plankton, her thoughts racing. She had known him for so long, and yet she had never considered this possibility. "What does this mean for him?" she whispers, her voice filled with concern. Karen sighs, her hand still stroking Plankton's shoulder. "It means we'll have to make some changes," she says softly. "He'll need routines, and patience, and understanding." Sandy nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I can do that," she says, her voice filled with determination. "But what about... us?" Karen looks up, her gaze meeting Sandy's. "What do you mean?" she asks, her hand pausing in its soothing motion. Sandy swallows, her eyes still on Plankton. "Our friendship," she says. "How do we handle this without making him feel... different?" Karen nods, understanding her concern. "We just need to be there for him," she says. "He's still the same Plankton, just with some new challenges." They sit in silence for a moment, the only sound the rhythm of Plankton's snores. Sandy reaches out tentatively, her paw hovering over his arm. "Is it ok to touch him?" she asks. Karen nods. "Yes, Sandy. Just be gentle," she whispers. Sandy's paw touches Plankton's arm, her touch light and tentative. He stirs slightly, but doesn't wake. She leaves her paw there, offering comfort without intrusion. Karen watches them with a mix of love and fear for the future. Plankton's autism was still a mystery to them, a labyrinth they were just beginning to navigate. She knows it won't be easy, but she's determined to be by his side. "We're a team," she says, squeezing Plankton's shoulder. Sandy nods, her gaze never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "A team," she repeats, her voice filled with resolve. For the first time since the diagnosis, the three of them are united in a common goal: to understand and support Plankton as he navigates his new reality. Sandy and Karen exchange a look, each one filled with a determination that mirrors the other. They've been friends through thick and thin, through Krabby Patty heists and jellyfish stings, and now they're facing a challenge none of them had ever anticipated. Sandy's paw remains on Plankton's arm, her touch steady and reassuring. Plankton stirred, his sleep disturbed by the unfamiliar weight of Sandy's paw on his arm. His eye fluttered open, and he was met with the sight of Sandy and Karen, their faces contorted with a mix of concern and confusion. He sat up quickly, his body jolting with fear. "Plankton, it's ok," Karen soothes, her hand reaching out to calm him. "You're safe." "Karen sad?" he asks, his voice cracking. Sandy's paw tightens on his arm, which makes Plankton feel uncomfortable enough to get him to snap at her. "What Sandy want?" he asks, his voice sharp, his body tense with anxiety. Sandy's eyes fill with tears. "I didn't mean to make you upset," she says, her voice shaking. "I just didn't know." Plankton's gaze flits between them, trying to read their expressions, but his brain struggles to interpret their complex emotions. "Karen sad?" he repeats, his voice a mix of fear and confusion. Karen's hand moves to cover Sandy's, her grip firm but gentle. "No, Plankton," she says, her voice soothing. "We're just concerned about you." Sandy takes a deep breath, forcing back her tears. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Plankton's gaze flickers between them, his mind racing to understand the situation. "No hurt," he says, his voice shaky. "Sandy say Karen sad. No sad." Karen's circuits pulse with a mixture of relief and sadness. "Sandy didn't mean it, Plankton," she says, her voice filled with compassion. "We're all just trying to understand what's happening." Sandy's eyes are cast down, her paws fidgeting in her lap. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, her voice heavy with regret. "I didn't know." She grabs Plankton in a hug, unaware of how the tight embrace might feel to him. Plankton stiffens, his senses getting overwhelmed. "No touch," he says, his voice tight. Sandy quickly releases him, her eyes wide with apology. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice trembling. "I just wanted to help." Karen nods, her gaze softening. "We all do," she says. "But we have to learn how to help in ways that don't overwhelm him." Plankton's eye darts around the room, with the need to regulate himself. He starts to rock in a rhythmic motion, a self-soothing behavior his new autism craves. The sensation of his own movements helps to calm the storm of thoughts and emotions swirling within him. Karen notices the change immediately and nods understandingly. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "You do what you need to do." Sandy watches, her curiosity piqued by the rhythmic rocking "What's he doing?" she asks, her voice hushed. Karen sighs, her gaze filled with understanding. "It's his way of self-soothing," she explains. "It's called stimming." Sandy's eyes widen, taking in Plankton's rhythmic rocks. "Stimming?" she repeats. "What's that?" Karen nods, her voice calm and patient. "It's a way for him to regulate his sensory input," she explains. "It helps him feel safe and in control." Sandy watches. He starts to hum, a low buzz that resonates in the quiet room, his way of finding comfort in the chaos of his thoughts. "It's ok," Karen whispers, her hand on his shoulder. "We're here." Plankton's eye lock onto her hand, the pressure of her touch offering a semblance of comfort. He starts to rock back and forth again. The movement calms him slightly. Sandy watches. She had never seen Plankton like this before. The sharpness of her words from earlier stings her now, as she realizes the depth of his distress. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice quiet. "I didn't know." Plankton's humming turns to a soft melody, his body still moving in a soothing pattern. The words echo in his head, a reminder of the world's expectations he can never quite meet. Sandy watches him, her own world now forever changed. She had always known Plankton to be eccentric, but this was different. This was real. Her mind reels with questions and fears. How would this affect their friendship? Could they ever return to the easy banter they once shared? Would he still be the same friend she had always known? But as she watches him stim, the reality of the situation starts to set in. Plankton was still Plankton, but with a new set of rules and a new way of seeing the world. Sandy makes a silent vow to learn those rules, to understand his world as much as he had tried to understand hers.

KAREN AND THE AUTISTIC JOURNEY viii (Autistic author) Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening. "What accident?" he asks, his voice filled with dread. Plankton's smile is gone, replaced by a look of sadness. "Head," he says, his voice a barely-there whisper. "Hurt." He touches his forehead gently, his antennas drooping. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with realization, his grip on Plankton's wrists loosening entirely. "You got hurt?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What happened?" Plankton nods, his antennas still drooping. Sponge Bob's confusion grows, his anger replaced with worry. "What do you mean?" he asks, his voice softening. "What happened to your head?" Plankton's antennas twitch, his smile a distant memory. "Fall," he says, his voice a monotone. Sponge Bob's heart skips a beat. "You fell?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "When? How?" Plankton nods, his eye flickering with something akin to pain. "Recently," he says, his voice flat. "Head bad." Sponge Bob's eyes widen in shock, his mind racing with questions. "You fell and hurt your head?" he repeats, his voice filled with disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?" Plankton's gaze drops to his book, his hands fluttering over the pages. "No tell," he whispers, his voice filled with regret. "Shame." Sponge Bob's eyes fill with understanding, his anger evaporating like mist in the sun. "Oh, Plankton," he says, his voice soft. "You didn't have to keep this to yourself." Plankton's smile is a pale imitation of his usual self, his antennas still. "No good," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "Head hurt. Plankton bad." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with worry as he tries to comprehend his friend's cryptic words. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice gentle. "You've just had an accident." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the book, his hands flapping over the pages. "No," he says, his voice a sad echo. "Head bad. Plankton bad." His body slumps, his usual vibrant energy dimmed by his distress. Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with sadness as he tries to comfort his friend. "You're not bad, Plankton," he says, his voice soothing. "You're just hurt right?" Plankton's antennas twitch slightly, his hand stilling on the book. "Hurt," he echoes, his voice a monotone. "Inside head." He taps his forehead, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for understanding. "Grey matter. Neural pathways." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his confusion growing. "What do you mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "What's going on with your brain?" Plankton's hand continues to tap his forehead, his voice detached. "Neurochemicals," he says, his voice a robotic recital. "Synaptic connections. Autism." His smile is a mere memory, his eye glazed over with a faraway look. Sponge Bob's heart squeezes in his chest, his mind racing. "You're talking about your brain," he says, his voice tentative. "What's wrong with it?" Plankton's hand stops tapping, his gaze focusing on Sponge Bob. "Wiring," he says, his voice a monotone explanation. "Neuro- typical patterns disrupted affect the parts of brain when result in autism." His words are precise, his tone devoid of emotion. Sponge Bob's eyes widen with comprehension, his spongy heart sinking. "You're saying you have autism now?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton nods, his eye still fixed on the book. "Neurotypical divergence," he confirms, his voice still devoid of emotion. "Synaptic variance, myelination discrepancies." He speaks in a monotone, his words sounding rehearsed and mechanical. Sponge Bob's eyes fill with tears, his heart breaking for his friend. "What does that mean, Plankton?" he asks, his voice shaking. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Plankton's gaze remains on the book, his hand tracing the spine. "Neuro-typical divergence," he repeats, his voice a flat recitation of medical terms. "Synaptic connections altered. Atypical neural patterns. Autism." He speaks as if recounting a scientific paper, his tone lacking any personal connection. "When hit head, damaged the myelination," he says, his hand continuing its mechanical movement against the book. "Myelination is the insulation around the axons that speeds up the nerve impulses made in a part of brain we call the cerebral cortex. My cerebral cortex now restricts, slows down impulses." Sponge Bob listens, his mind racing to keep up with Plankton's sudden shift in vocabulary. "But what does that mean?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "How'd the damage give you autism?" Plankton's hand stops its movement along the book. "Neurodivergence," he says, his voice a clinical recount. "My brain now operates outside typical parameters. Synaptic pruning, myelination patterns altered. Atypical neural networks formed." He speaks as if discussing a complex scientific experiment, his words a jumble of medical terminology that Sponge Bob barely understands. "Does that mean you're not okay?" Sponge Bob asks, his voice filled with fear. Plankton's hand stills on the book, his gaze unfocused. "Functional diversity," he says, his voice a hollow echo of the medical lingo he's been taught. "Neurodivergence can lead to unique cognitive strengths, but also challenges." He taps the book, his antennas waving slightly. "My brain's wiring changed," he says, his voice a monotone. "Synaptic clefts widened, neurotransmitters less efficient. Restricted blood flow to temporal lobes." Sponge Bob's eyes are filled with a mix of confusion and fear. "Does that mean you can't be... fixed?" he asks, his voice small. Plankton's antennas twitch, his gaze still unfocused. "Can't fix," he echoes, his voice a sad recitation. "Neuroplasticity, yes. Rewire, adapt. But cerebral cortex, permanent. Autism, permanent." Sponge Bob's eyes are wide, his mind reeling with the complexity of Plankton's words. "But, Plankton," he says, his voice quivering. "What about the Krabby Patties? Your plans?" Plankton's gaze snaps up, his hands still. "No plans," he says, his voice a sad echo. "No more steal." Sponge Bob's eyes widen, his heart racing. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patties anymore?" he asks, his voice filled with hope and disbelief. Plankton's antennas droop, his hands flapping slightly. "No more schemes," he whispers, his voice a monotone. "No more steal." His eye meet Sponge Bob's, a flicker of his old mischief briefly shining through. "But," he adds, his smile mischievous, "still have competitive spirit." His hands begin to flap with excitement. Sponge Bob's heart soars with relief, a smile spreading across his face. "So, you're still the same Plankton," he says, his voice filled with hope. "Just... different. Ok, cool!" Plankton nods, his smile a ghostly reflection of his usual self. "Different," he repeats, his voice a sad echo. "But still have friend?" His antennas wave slightly, his eye searching Sponge Bob's for reassurance. Sponge Bob's heart swells with affection. "Of course, Plankton," he says, his voice firm. "We're still friends. Nothing can change that." He squeezes Plankton's shoulder, trying to convey his support.

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yall can we actually stop this beef like rn? i am T.I.R.E.D. of seeing ALL THESE PEOPLE BE LIKE: "spread the word! save palestine!" THIS IS AN EMOTICON KIND OF WEBSITE. NOT TO SPREAD THE WORD ABOUT WAR KIND OF WEBSITE. and anyway, if you say STOP THE WAR!!!! on an emoticon website, i dont think the president of Israel is gonna read your paragraph and say "oh yea, what im doing is bad, ill stop right now and everything will be good". "stop posting NSFW there are kids on this site!!!" SHUT THE FUCK UP. 6-8 year olds dont even know what emojicombos.com is, and they DEFINETELY dont even know what NSFW stands for. they prob gon be like "NSFW? what the heck? does it mean No Swearing For Wood?" right now, in 2024, 6-8 year olds are watching their cartoons instead of going on emojicombos.com and searching up "NSFW / SEX / SUSSY BAKA". they are literally worrying about their slice of leftover cake getting stolen by their older siblings and not porn content made out of dots. be fr rn, there arent anyone younger than 9 (prob) on this site. and i am literally looking for bios, combos, emojis, not DRAMA. like go and watch Total Drama if youre looking for drama/are a drama king/queen (SUCH a good show btw, used to be my fav i was so addicted to it).

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KAREN AND THE TEETHIES viii With the nurse's help, they manage to get Plankton into the car. Karen buckles him in, his eye opening briefly before dropping shut again. His snores fill the car as she starts the engine. She glances at him, his mouth hanging open slightly, and laughs. "You can sleep when we get home, Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with affectionate amusement. But Plankton's snores are a steady beat, his body swaying slightly with the car's movement. His head tips back. Karen smiles, reaching over to adjust his seatbelt, making sure it's snug but not too tight. She kisses his forehead, her laughter a soft sound in the quiet car. "You're such a goofball," she murmurs. But Plankton's eye won't open, his snores gentle. His head rolls against the headrest, his mouth hanging slightly open. Karen shakes him gently. "Wake up, babe," she whispers, her voice a soft laugh. "We're going home." She says as she drove out of the parking lot. But Plankton's only response is a snort, his snores continuing. His head lolls to the side, his mouth open, a thin line of drool connecting his lip to his chin. Karen's smile widens, a mixture of affection and exasperation. She reaches over with a napkin to wipe his mouth gently. "You're such a sleepyhead," she whispers, his snores the only reply. The car's engine purrs as they pull onto the street. Plankton's snores crescendo into a gentle snort, his body jolting slightly in the seat. But sleep wins again, his head drooping to the side. Karen's eyes dart between the road and Plankton's sleeping form. His snores are a soft comforting background noise. Plankton's head tips to the side, his mouth drooping open. A thin line of drool forms, and Karen quickly darts a napkin to catch it. She giggles softly to herself, his peacefulness a stark contrast to his usual frenetic energy. "You're going to wake up in a puddle of drool," she whispers, her voice filled with amusement. But Plankton's snores are a sweet lullaby, unchanged by her words. His body sags into the car seat, his chest rising and falling with each deep, sleepy breath. As they hit a bump in the road, his head jolts up, his eye half-open. "Wha... wha..." he mumbles, his voice a thick slur. But the moment passes, and his head lolls back again, snores picking up where they left off. Karen's laughter fills the car, her hand reaching over to stroke his antennae gently. "You're such a mess," she whispers, her voice a mix of love and amusement. "But you're my mess." Plankton's snores are the only reply, his head bobbing with the car's movement. Karen watches him sleep, his mouth slightly open, drool glistening in the soft light from the dashboard. Each time she looks over, his snores crescendo, and she can't help but smile. "Sleepy Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with love. They arrive home, the car's engine silenced in the quiet neighborhood. Plankton's snores continue, unbothered by the change in scenery. Karen shifts into park, turning to look at him. His snores are a soft whisper in the quiet car, his body still. His head tips to the side, his mouth open slightly, drool pooling on his chin. "Home," she whispers, her voice a gentle wake-up call. But his snores are unbroken, his body remaining slack. With a sigh, she opens his door, her arm slipping under his to support his weight. "Wake up, Plankton," she says, her voice a soft nudge. "We're home." But Plankton's snores are the only answer, his body unmoving. Karen shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips. She carefully lifts him, his legs swinging like a ragdoll's. "Wake up," she whispers, her laughter a soft caress. "We're inside." Plankton's snores pause briefly, his eye flickering open before shutting again. "Home," he mumbles, his voice barely audible. Karen chuckles, her strength carrying his weight. "You can sleep all you want in bed," she promises, his snores the only answer. They stumble into the hallway, Plankton's snores bouncing off the walls. She guides him to the couch, his legs giving out with a thump. "Come on," she whispers, laughing. "Bedtime." But Plankton's eye is closed, his snores a soft whisper. He slumps against the couch cushions, his body unyielding. Karen sighs, her smile filled with affection. "You're so stubborn," she says, her voice a gentle scold. With a grunt, she shifts his weight, his head rolling to the side. "Wake up," she whispers, a hint of laughter in her voice. But Plankton's snores are a sweet testament to his deep slumber. "We're almost there," she whispers, her voice a gentle reminder. But his body is a deadweight, his snores echoing through the quiet house. With a soft chuckle, Karen shifts him into a standing position, his snores hitching for a moment before resuming their steady rhythm. "Walk, Plankton," she whispers, guiding his sleepy steps. But his body sags again, his head rolling back with a snore. "Come on, sweetie," she says, her voice a blend of amusement and persistence. Karen's heart swells with love for his adorable state. She manages to carry him to their bedroom, his snores a gentle reminder of his deep sleep. She eases him onto his bed, his body falling into the soft embrace of the mattress with a final, heavy snort. Karen props his head with pillows, his mouth still open. She wipes the drool from his chin with the napkin, her touch gentle and loving. "You're home," she whispers, his snores the only response. Her eyes scan his face, his features relaxed in sleep. With a soft sigh, she tucks the blanket around him. "Rest well, my love," she says, kissing his forehead. Plankton wakes up the next morning, finding himself in his own bed after his appointment for wisdom teeth removal. The anesthesia worn off overnight. He looks around, his head feeling light and his mouth feeling... strange. He touches his cheeks gingerly with his fingers, feeling the absence of his teeth. "What happened?" he mumbles, his voice groggy with sleep. Last thing he remembers is the dentist's chair and Karen's soothing whispers. Karen walks in, her smile bright. "You're awake," she says, her voice a soft caress. "How do you feel?" Plankton's hand moves to his swollen mouth, his eyes wide with surprise. "What... how'd I get here?" he slurs, his speech still thick with sleep. Karen laughs, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You fell asleep at the dentist's and I brought you home," she explains, her voice filled with humor. "Do you remember the surgery?" Plankton's eye widen, his brain foggy with recollection. "I... I think so," he mumbles, his hand still cupping his cheek. "I recall the chair... and your voice..." Karen nods, her smile warm. "You were pretty out of it," she says, her voice a gentle tease. "But you're all healed now."

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY iv (Autistic author) The front door clicked open, and Hanna poked her head in, expression uncertain. "Hi! Is he ok?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Come in," Karen called out softly, noticing Hanna's worried features. Hanna stepped into the room, her movements cautious. Plankton rocked slightly in his chair, a subtle motion that Karen recognized as his way of self-soothing. It was a stimming behavior, something he does now. Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton, her gaze questioning. Karen nodded reassuringly. "He's okay," she whispered. "He just needs a moment." Plankton sat in his chair, his body moving gently in a rhythmic rock. It was a new behavior, one he'd developed since the diagnosis. Karen had read about stimming in her research and knew it helped him to regulate his sensory input. Hanna, who had returned with a cautious hopefulness, took a seat across from them, curious as she watched Plankton's movements. "What's he doing?" Hanna asked softly, her voice filled with concern. Karen glanced at Plankton, his body swaying gently in the chair. "It's called stimming," she explained calmly. "Plankton, Hanna's here. Do you want to tell her about what's happened with you?" He stopped rocking, his antennae twitching. He took a deep breath and nodded slightly. Hanna leaned in, her eyes full of sympathy. "What happened, Plankton?" she asked gently. Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae still. "Plankton... autistic," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Hanna's expression shifted from confusion to concern. "What does that mean?" she whispered. Karen took a deep breath, preparing to explain. "It means his brain works differently now. He's more sensitive to sounds, textures, lights, everything. And sometimes, it's just too much." Hanna's eyes widened, her grip on the chair tightening. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to his trembling hands. "Fight," he began, his voice still a whisper. "With Krabs." Her screen filled with understanding, the pieces falling into place. "The fight gave you...this?" she asked, her voice tentative. Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching slightly. "Krabs hit head," he murmured. "Too much." The words were simple, but clear. Hanna's eyes filled with tears as she looked from Karen to Plankton. "Oh, Plankton," she whispered. "I had no idea." Plankton nodded slightly, his gaze fixed on his hands. Karen watched his struggle to communicate, her heart breaking for him. She knew autism was a part of him now. Hanna reached out tentatively, her hand hovering over Plankton's shoulder. "Can I...?" But Plankton flinched, his antennae shooting up. "No," he murmured, his voice strained. Hanna's hand hovered in midair, uncertain. She looked to Karen for guidance. Karen's expression was sad, but firm. "He's touch averse now, Hanna," she said gently. "It's part of his condition. But thanks for asking." Hanna nodded, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. She could see the fear in his eye, the way he shied away from her touch. She felt a pang of regret for her earlier behavior. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice filled with sincerity. "I'd never hurt you.." Plankton's gaze remained on the floor. "No touch," he said firmly, his voice shaky but determined. Hanna nodded, her hand dropping back to her side. "Okay," she whispered, respect in her tone. "I'll remember." The doorbell rang, a sharp intrusion into the quiet of their makeshift sanctuary. Plankton's head snapped up, his antennae quivering with the sudden noise. Karen stood quickly, moving to the door. "I'll get it," she murmured to Plankton, her hand on the doorknob. "Remember, it's okay." Plankton nodded, his antennae still. The door swung open to reveal Karen's gal pal Sandy, face lit up with a smile. "Surprise!" she exclaimed, her voice too loud for Plankton's heightened hearing. Sandy didn't notice the tension in the room, her eyes bright with excitement. "I brought cookies!" she chirped, holding out a plate of sugary goodies. Plankton flinched at the sound of her voice, the sudden change in environment jolting his senses. He felt his heart rate spike, his body preparing for fight or flight. Sandy saw Karen and Hanna sitting in front of Plankton. Sandy knew Plankton's always a loner, so she didn't catch on, nor does she know about what happened to him this week. "Hi Plankton!" she said cheerfully, completely unaware of the sensory minefield she'd just stumbled into. Plankton's antennae twitched with discomfort, the sudden burst of sensory input overwhelming him. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain composure. "Hi, Sandy," Karen said, her smile forced. She took the plate of cookies, hoping to diffuse the situation. "Thanks for the surprise." But Sandy's gaze was on Plankton, who sat stiffly in his chair. "Howdy," she said, her voice a little too bright. "How are you?" Plankton didn't look up, his body tense. "Why ain't ya talking?" Sandy asked, her cheerfulness fading. Plankton's antennae twitched, his body tightening. "Sandy," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes narrowing. "What's with you?" she snapped, her voice sharp. "You're acting weird!" Plankton flinched at the harsh tone, his antennae drooping. He couldn't explain, not with words that made sense to him. "No." He says. Sandy's smile disappeared, replaced by a scowl. "What do you mean, 'no'?" she demanded. "I don't get it, why are you being so rude, even for you?" Her voice was loud. Plankton's eye darted around the room, searching for an escape from the confrontation. He felt the familiar panic rising, his heart beating faster. But Sandy wasn't having it. "You usually got a lot to say, Plankton," she said, her tone accusatory. "What's wrong with you?" Plankton's antennae flattened against his head, his eye darting nervously around the room. He could feel the pressure building, his ability to communicate slipping away under the weight of her frustration. "Sorry," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper. Sandy's frown deepened. "Sorry? What for? You're acting like a sulfur-brain, Plankton!" Her words were a slap to his face, each syllable a jab at his already fragile state. "Can't ya at least say hi back‽" She demanded. "Hi back." Plankton replied. Sandy thought he's trying to be rude. "You're always so full of it, but now you can't even bother to talk?" Her words cut through the tension like a knife, slicing into the quiet sanctuary they had built. Plankton's antennae twitched erratically, a silent testament to his rising anxiety. But Sandy was on a roll, her frustration with his lack of response fueling her accusations. "You know what? Forget it," she huffed, throwing the cookies down right in front of Plankton. The sharp clatter of the plate was like a gunshot to his overstimulated senses. He flinched, his antennae shooting straight up. "It's like you're not even trying!" Sandy's voice was a whirlwind of accusation. Plankton felt his control slipping, his thoughts racing. "Sandy," he tried again, his voice strained. "Plankton not good now." But Sandy's irritation had turned to anger. "What's your problem, Plankton? You've always been a tiny troublemaker, but now you can't even have a simple conversation?" The room grew tense, and Plankton started rocking trying not to let the tears in his eye fall. Sandy's eyes narrowed, her frustration with Plankton's new behaviors growing. "What's with the rocking?" she snapped. Plankton's rocking grew more pronounced, his antennae twitching rapidly. Sandy got even more annoyed. Her voice grew louder. "Stop that!" she barked, startling Plankton more. He stopped rocking but he starts shaking. Sandy's fury was a storm, her words stinging like hailstones. "Why are you acting so crazy?" she demanded, her voice laced with disgust. Plankton's antennae drooped, his body trembling. The room was too loud, too bright, too much. Sandy's tone grew sharper, her frustration palpable. "What's gotten into you, Plankton?" she snapped. "You're acting like you're not even here!" Plankton's eye darted to Karen, his silent plea for help evident. Karen took a deep breath, stepping into the fray. "Sandy, I need to tell you something," Karen began, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within her. "There's something we need you to know." Sandy's scowl didn't fade. "What could possibly be more important than a simple hello?" she spat out. Karen took a deep breath, her hands clenched into fists at her side. "It's not simple, Sandy," she began, her voice tight. "Plankton had an accident. A really bad one." Sandy's expression morphed from anger to confusion. "What do you mean, an accident?" she asked, her voice softening slightly. Karen's screen was a mix of sadness and determination. "He got into a fight with Mr. Krabs," she said, her voice measured. "And he hit his head. Hard. It... changed him. Plankton's been diagnosed with autism, Sandy," she said gently. Sandy's expression went from confusion to shock. "What?" she whispered, her anger forgotten. Sandy looked at Plankton, his antennae drooping, his body shaking. Her eyes filled with horror as she took in the scene before her. "Oh my stars," she breathed, her hands reaching out. But he shrank away from her. "No touch," Plankton murmured, his body curling inward, antennae quivered with anxiety. Her heart sank. "Oh, Plankton," she murmured, her voice filled with regret.

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NEUROBEHAVIORAL PLANKTON viii (Autistic author) The room grew quiet as they all digested the information. Sponge Bob's gaze never left Plankton's, his expression filled with a fierce loyalty. He knew his friend was different, but that didn't change the love he had for the tiny creature. Sensing the tension, Sponge Bob took a deep breath and smiled his wide, welcoming smile. "You know what, Plankton?" he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "You're still my best buddy, no matter what." Plankton's antennae perked up, his eye focusing on Sponge Bob's earnest expression. The sponge's words were a comforting lullaby, a gentle reminder of their unbreakable bond. He felt the warmth of their friendship wash over him, a comforting blanket against the coldness of Hanna's accusations. Sponge Bob's hand found its way to his shoulder, the touch a familiar comfort that his overstimulated senses craved. Plankton leaned into the warmth, his body responding to the soothing pressure. "Best buddies," he echoed, his voice a soft affirmation. The room grew quiet as Sponge Bob's hand remained steady on his shoulder, his presence a calming force in the storm of his emotions. Plankton closed his eye, his body relaxing into the gentle embrace. "We're gonna get through this," Sponge Bob said, his voice a soothing lullaby. "We'll figure it out, buddy. I'm here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, the warmth of his friend's words seeping into his soul. Sponge Bob had always had a way of making him feel safe, but now, with this new knowledge, their friendship felt even more vital. "Thank you," Plankton murmured, his voice a soft echo of gratitude. Sponge Bob's thumb rubbed circles on his back. The two friends sat in silence, the warmth of their companionship a stark contrast to the chill of Hanna's words. Plankton felt the tension in his body slowly melt away, his breaths evening out. The steady beat of Sponge Bob's heart was a comforting lullaby that helped him find peace. Sponge Bob's thumb continued its circular dance on his back, a wordless communication of his love and support. Plankton sighed, his body growing heavier with each comforting pressure point. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice a gentle whisper. Sponge Bob's eyes searched his face, a flicker of understanding dawning. "It's okay, Plankton," he said. "We'll get through this together." His hand didn't move, his touch a silent promise of his unwavering support. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, the comfort of his friend's presence a warmth against the coldness of his fear. He knew Sponge Bob would always be there for him, even if he didn't fully understand his condition. The sponge's love was a constant, a beacon of light in his otherwise confusing world. Sponge Bob's eyes never left his friend's, his smile a gentle reminder of the joy they shared. "You know, Plankton," he began, his voice a soft caress. "You're still the same little guy I've always known." Plankton's antennae twitched, his body leaning into the warmth of Sponge Bob's embrace. The steady beat of the sponge's heart was a comforting metronome that helped him find his rhythm again. He felt the tension in his body slowly melt away, each breath growing deeper and more even. The room, once a battlefield of accusations and misunderstandings, was now a haven of quiet comfort. The rustling of pages grew softer, the candle's glow dimming as the minutes ticked by. Karen and Hanna watched from afar, heavy with regret and hope. They saw the change in Plankton, the way he leaned into Sponge Bob's touch, the way his body slowly relaxed. Sponge Bob, ever the comforting presence, began to hum a gentle tune, a melody that Plankton had heard a thousand times. The familiar notes were a lullaby that soothed his frazzled nerves, his antennae dropping to rest against the sponge's shoulder. The tune was a bridge to his past, a time before the accident, before the world had shifted on its axis. Plankton's breaths grew deeper, his body swaying slightly with the rhythm. His eye closed. Sponge Bob's humming grew softer, his hand never leaving Plankton's back. The warmth of his companion's embrace was a soothing balm. The room, once a prison of accusations, was now a sanctuary of friendship. The candle's flame danced, casting shadows that played across the walls, their flickering a gentle reminder of the warmth in their hearts. Sponge Bob's hum grew softer, his melody a gentle whisper that lulled Plankton into a peaceful reverie. His body molded into the sponge's embrace, his antennae drooping with the weight of his eyelid. The world outside faded away, replaced by the safety of Sponge Bob's arms. Karen watched from the distance, shimmering with unshed tears. She knew the importance of this moment, the power of a friend who understood without words. Her heart swelled with gratitude for Sponge Bob's unwavering support. Hanna, too, felt the weight of her own words, the realization of her ignorance heavy on her shoulders. She longed to reach out, to be part of this healing embrace, but felt the boundary that she had unwittingly created. Her screen followed the tender scene, her thoughts racing with a desire to apologize, to explain. But she knew that now was not the time for words. Instead, she sat quietly, watching the dance of friendship unfold. The steady beat of Sponge Bob's heart, the gentle rustle of his body against Plankton's, the soothing hum that filled the air—it was a symphony of care. Hanna's gaze drifted to the candle, its flame a flickering reminder of the warmth that was slowly seeping into the room. She watched as Plankton's body grew heavier, his breaths deepening. The anger and fear that had once dominated the space were now replaced with a comforting quietude. Karen's hand found Hanna's, squeezing gently. "He's ok," she whispered. "We're going to be ok." Her voice was a calm sea, offering a gentle buoyancy to the storm of emotions that had ravaged them all. Hanna's screen searched hers, uncertainty warring with hope. "I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice a soft apology. "I just didn't know." Karen nodded, her gaze compassionate. "It's a journey," she said. "We're all just trying to understand." The humming grew softer, until it was only a faint echo in the room. Plankton's antennae twitched with the last remnants of his anxiety, before they too stilled. His body grew heavy, his breaths deep and even. The gentle sway of Sponge Bob's embrace was a lullaby that rocked him into a peaceful slumber. Sponge Bob felt the change in Plankton's tension, his friend's body becoming a soft weight against his. He smiled, his heart swelling with love and relief. Carefully, he adjusted his hold, cradling the tiny creature against his chest. His thumb continued its comforting strokes, his eyes never leaving the closed eye. Karen stepped forward, her movements graceful and silent. Her hand rested on Sponge Bob's arm, her screen a gentle thank you. Hanna quietly left. The room was now bathed in the soft glow of the candle, its flicker the only sound. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly in his sleep, his breaths deep and even. Sponge Bob held him tight, his heartbeat a gentle rhythm that soothed the tiny creature's slumber. Karen watched the two, aching with love and gratitude. She knew that Sponge Bob's simple act of comfort was a powerful statement of friendship and support. It was moments like this that reminded her of the strength in their bond. The candle's flame danced gently, casting shadows that played across Plankton's sleeping face. His antennae, once a whirlwind of anxiety, were now still, resting against Sponge Bob's chest. His breaths were even and deep, a testament to the peace he had found in his friend's embrace. Sponge Bob looked down at his sleeping companion, his face a picture of quiet contentment. He knew that Plankton was safe here, that his slumber was a reprieve from the storm of emotions that had ravaged his day. The room was a sanctuary of calm, the candle's warmth a gentle guardian. The sponge's heart swelled with love as he watched his friend's tiny chest rise and fall, each breath a whispered promise of support. He knew that Plankton's world was now different, that the ASD had brought with it challenges that neither of them could have foreseen. But in this moment, their bond was stronger than ever, a beacon of understanding in a sea of uncertainty. Karen's eyes searched Sponge Bob's, her own heart heavy with the weight of what Plankton had endured. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice a soft wave of appreciation. "For being there for him." Sponge Bob's gaze never left Plankton's sleeping form, his thumb still tracing comforting patterns. "Always," he said, his voice a gentle promise. "No matter what."

JUST A TOUCH iv (Autistic author) The next day, Karen woke up to a meticulously organized kitchen. Plankton was already up, his movements sharp and focused as he arranged the cutlery in the drawer. "Good morning, Plankton," she said, her voice tentative. He looked up, his expression neutral. "Good morning, Karen," he replied, his voice monotone. Her heart squeezed. This was not the man who used to greet her with a cheeky smile and a sigh every morning. But she pushed the sorrow aside and focused on the task at hand: making breakfast. As she began to prep the meal, Plankton hovered nearby, his antennae twitching. "Would you like to help me?" she asked, holding out a spatula. He took it with both hands, his movements mechanical as he followed her instructions to the letter. The sizzle of the chum on the pan seemed to calm him, his gaze flicking between her face and the food. Plankton's meticulousness extended to their breakfast. Every ingredient measured to the exact milliliter, every step in the recipe followed without deviation. Karen watched him, a mix of amazement and sadness swirling inside her. As they sat down to eat, Karen noticed his eye darting between his plate and the clock. "Is something wrong?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light. Plankton's gaze snapped to hers, his antennae still. "Must eat at 7:00," he said, his voice tight. "It's okay, we're a little late," she said, trying to soothe him. "But we're together, and that's what matters." Plankton took a bite of his perfectly arranged breakfast, his eye not leaving the clock. "Seven minutes, thirty-four seconds until 7:00," he murmured. Karen's throat tightened, but she forced a smile. "We'll be done before then," she assured him. The meal was finished in silence, Plankton's precision contrasting with Karen's clumsy attempts to match his rhythm. As they cleared the table, his movements were a dance of order and control, while hers were stilted, filled with nervous glances. In the living room, Plankton moved to his favorite chair, his eye immediately drawn to the bookshelf. His gaze flitted over the books. Karen watched, her heart heavy with the weight of their new reality. The doctor had suggested that engaging in familiar activities could help with the transition. Hoping to ease the tension, she offered, "Would you like a work book?" Plankton nodded, his antennae still. Karen retrieved one from his collection, handing it to him with care. He took it in his hands. It was clear that his intellect had not been diminished, but rather had been reshaped by his condition. Moments later, Hanna came in. She knows Karen's married, but she doesn't know any thing else about Plankton. Hanna's smile was wide and welcoming as she saw the two of them. "Hi, I'm Karen's friend Hanna," she said, extending a hand. Plankton looked at it and then went back to his book. Karen stepped in, her voice soft. "Plankton, this is Hanna," she said, gesturing between them. "Hanna, this is my husband, Plankton." Hanna's smile faltered slightly, noticing the distance in Plankton's gaze. "Hi, Plankton," Hanna said, her tone gentle. "It's nice to meet you." Plankton's antennae twitched, his gaze shifting to her briefly before returning to the book. Karen watched the interaction, her heart racing. How would Hanna react to him? Will Plankton like her? Would she still want to be friends with her? Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton and back, her smile slightly puzzled. "Is he okay?" she asked quietly. Karen nodded. "He's just focused" she said, her voice hitching. "I'll go fix us up some chumbalaya." After Karen left, Hanna sat right up next to Plankton. "Hi, Plankton," she said again. He glanced at her, then back at his book. She waited, leaning forward slightly. Finally, he spoke without looking up. "Hello, Hanna. Karen's friend. Good." It was a statement, not a question or a greeting. Her curiosity was piqued by this odd behavior. Hanna watched as Plankton continued to study the book, his tiny hands flipping pages with a quickness she hadn't seen before. He was like a different creature, his movements calculated. She knew something was off, but she wasn't sure what. So she decides to try getting him to interact. "What are you reading?" she asked, leaning closer. Plankton's antennae shot up. "It's a book," he replied, his voice flat. Hanna laughed, mistaking his bluntness for shyness. "I know that," she said, her tone playful as she leaned closer. "But what's it about?" Plankton's antennae twitched, his eye narrowing slightly. "It's about... puzzles?" Hanna's eyes widened. "Puzzles?" she repeated, leaning in even closer. Her proximity was making him uncomfortable, his body stiffening like a board. "What kind of puzzles?" Plankton's gaze darted to her before returning to the book. "Word's," he said, his voice sharp as he focused on the page. The way he said it was a clear message to back off, but Hanna was oblivious to the cues. "Oh, words puzzles!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I love those! Can I see?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached for the book, brushing against his hand. Plankton flinched, his antennae drooping. Hanna's cheerfulness didn't wane as she flipped through the pages, exclaiming over the puzzles. "This looks like FUN!" she said, not taking note of how Plankton's body was taut with tension. "It's a good book," Plankton said, his voice devoid of emotion. He was trying to be polite, but the sensory overload was building inside him. The way she talked, the way she moved, the sound of her voice—it was all too much. Hanna, still beaming, turned the page and pointed at a particularly complex puzzle. "Look at this one! Can you do it?" she challenged, her finger tapping the page impatiently. Plankton's eye darted to the puzzle, his mind racing. He didn't want to disappoint but the pressure was too intense. He can't think! "Sure," he stuttered, his voice small. Hanna clapped her hands, excitedly. "Great! Let's see how fast you can solve it!" Plankton felt his heart racing, his antennae drooping. The pressure to perform was suffocating him. He looked at the puzzle, his mind racing through possible word combinations, his eye darting from letter to letter, but Hanna interrupts him again. "Come on, Plankton! I bet you're really good at these!" Her excitement was palpable, but Plankton could only feel his chest tightening. He wanted to scream, to tell her to stop, but the words remained trapped behind the wall of his new social ineptitude. He took the book, his hands shaking slightly as his eye scanned the puzzle. The letters swam before him, his mind racing to keep up with the barrage of sensory input. "Don't be shy," she said, nudging him. "You can do it!" Plankton felt the weight of Hanna's enthusiasm like an anvil on his shoulders. His grip on the book tightened. He had always been good at word puzzles, but now they felt like a labyrinth with no exit. The room spun around him, the pressure to perform building like a storm in his chest. But Hanna's energy was like a tsunami, unstoppable. "You know, I used to be really bad at these," she said, sitting closer, her knees touching his. "But I got so much better with practice!" Plankton felt his skin crawl, the need to escape intensifying. He was trapped in a conversation he hadn't asked for, with a person who was oblivious to his plight. He took a deep breath, his eye scanning the room for a way out. "How about we try one together?" Hanna suggested, her voice bubbly. Plankton's heart hammered in his chest. Hanna didn't seem to notice his distress, her screen shining with excitement. "It'll be fun! Just tell me the letters you see, and I'll guess the words!" Plankton's antennae drooped, his shoulders tense. He wanted to scream, to tell her to leave him alone. But his newfound condition made the words catch in his throat. "Fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Hanna's screen lit up, and she leaned in even closer. "Great!" she exclaimed. "I'll start with 'C'. What do you see?" Plankton's gaze remained steadfast on the book, his eye darting from letter to letter. He can't see anything with all... Hanna's voice cut through his thoughts like a knife, sharp and demanding. "C'mon, Plankton, don't be shy! Tell me what you see!" Her hand reached out, grabbing his arm. The sudden touch sent a jolt through him. Plankton flinched, his body reacting before his mind could form a coherent thought. His antennae shot up, and he pulled away, knocking over the book in the process. The sound echoed in the room like thunder. Hanna's smile faltered, confusion clouding her features. "What's wrong?" she asked, genuinely concerned as she cups his head; and that's it. The dam bursts. Plankton's body goes rigid, his eye wide with pain. He can't take it anymore—the touch, the noise, the pressure, his hand flailing to shove her away. "STOP!" he screams, his voice cracking. Hanna's hand retreats as if burned. Her smile fades, replaced by a look of shock and concern. "What happened?" she asks, turning him towards her with her hands on his shoulders. Which is when he stops moving, unblinking as Karen comes back in. Karen sets the chumbalaya aside as she notices his unresponsiveness. "Plankton?" she calls out, concern etching her voice. Hanna turns to her, her eyes wide. "I don't think he's okay," she says, her hand hovering over his shoulder. Karen's heart drops as she rushes over, her eyes scanning his frozen form. "It's okay," she murmurs, gently guiding Hanna away. "Let me handle this."

SHELF IMPROVEMENT viii (Autistic author) The next day, Karen got up out of bed. Plankton's still asleep. She wondered how she's to wake him with his new sensory sensitivities. Gently, she opened the blinds, letting in the soft morning light. The room was peaceful, the silence only broken by the steady hum of his breathing. She took a moment to just watch his sleeping form, the covers rising and falling with each breath. Karen approached the bed, careful not to wake him. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as she reached out to stroke his forehead. He mumbled something unintelligible in his sleep, and she smiled sadly. "Good morning, Plankton," she whispered, keeping her voice soft. His eye fluttered open, and he blinked at her, his gaze slightly unfocused. "Karen," he mumbled, his voice groggy. "How are you feeling?" she asked, concern etched on her screen. Plankton blinked a few times, his antennae slowly raising. "Tired," he finally said, his voice raspy. "It's okay," Karen soothed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We'll take it easy today. I told Chip about your new neurodisability.." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he took in her words. "Chip knowing?" he murmured, his eye searching hers. "Yes, sweetie," Karen nodded. "We talked about how we need to be gentler with you now." Plankton's antennae stilled, his gaze unreadable. Then, slowly, his eye found hers. "Thank... you?" he whispered, the words a gentle caress. Karen felt a tear roll down her screen. "Of course," she said, smiling softly. "We're in this together." It's the first time since the accident that he used an actual pronoun. Plankton's antennae quivered as he absorbed her words. "Together," he echoed, his voice gaining strength. Karen wiped her screen, trying not to let her emotions overwhelm them as Chip came into their room. "Morning, Dad," Chip said, his voice tentative. He had spent the night thinking about his father's condition, his young mind racing with questions. Plankton's antennae twitched, and he offered a small smile. "Chip," he mumbled. Chip cautiously approached the bed, his eyes wide with concern. "You okay, Dad?" Plankton nodded, his antennae still. "Chip," he murmured. "Chip loves Plankton." Chip climbed up onto the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. "I love you too, Dad," he said, his voice trembling as he crawled closer to Plankton. Plankton's antennae flinched as Chip approached, his body tensing instinctively. Karen had explained about personal space the night before, but she wasn't sure if he'd remember. "Chip," she said softly, placing a hand on her son's shoulder. "Let's not get too close just yet, okay?" Chip nodded, his screen a picture of understanding. He sat at the edge of the bed, giving Plankton enough space. Karen could see the effort it took for him to control his instincts. Plankton's antennae twitched as he took in the new dynamics, his eye flicking between Karen and Chip. "Space," he murmured, his voice still weak. "I need... space." Karen nodded, swallowing hard. "Of course, Plankton. We'll make sure to give you your space." She reached for Chip's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Remember, buddy, let's not overwhelm Dad." Chip nodded, his eyes serious. He slowly slid off the bed, his movements careful. But as he stood up, his elbow accidentally brushed against Plankton's arm. The reaction was instant. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body jerking away from the touch. "No!" he yelped, his eye widening in discomfort. Karen lurched as she saw Plankton's expression. She had tried to prepare Chip, but it was clear that their new reality was going to be a learning experience for them all. Chip's screen filled with tears. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispered. Karen's seeing her son's upset face. "It's okay, Chip," she said quickly. "It's an accident. Let's give Dad some more space, okay?" But Plankton's expression had shifted. His antennae were vibrating rapidly, his eye flashing with anger. "Too much," he snapped, his voice harsher than Karen had ever heard it. "Chip, too much!" Chip's eyes watered, and he took a step back, his hand hovering. "I'm sorry, Dad," he stuttered, his voice barely above a whisper. Plankton's antennae whipped around, his whole body vibrating with agitation. "Out!" he bellowed, the word exploding from his tiny body. "Chip, go out!" Chip's eyes grew large with shock. He had never heard his dad speak to him like that before. His shoulders slumped, and he turned to leave, his steps slow and heavy. Karen watched her son retreat. "Plankton," she began, her voice shaky. "It's okay, he didn't mean..." But Plankton's anger was palpable. "No!" he shouted, his eye flashing. "Chip, no more!" His voice was loud, a stark contrast to the gentle whispers of their previous interactions. Chip hovers by the door. "Dad, I di-" "OUT!" Plankton's shout reverberated through the room, cutting him off mid-sentence. His body was rigid with tension, his antennae quivering angrily. Karen felt a pang of fear and sadness seeing her husband like this. But Chip wants to reconcile with his father. Chip looked back, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Dad, ca--" "OUT!" Plankton's voice was a thunderclap in the stillness of the room. Chip flinched, his small body visibly trembling. "Dad," Chip tried again, his voice shaking. "Can't you li—" "OUT!" Plankton shouted, his antennae whipping around like tiny storm clouds. Karen saw the fear in Chip and knew she had to intervene. "Chip, go to your room," she said firmly, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Let's give Dad some time to calm down." Chip nodded. With one last longing glance at Plankton, he left the room, the door clicking softly behind him.

TRUTH AND NAIL iv His eye flickered open again, his gaze unfocused. "Wha?" he mumbled, his voice slurred. "Home?" Karen nodded, her smile a beacon in the dark. "Almost," she said, her voice like a gentle breeze. Plankton's eyelid fluttered, his mind a foggy haze. "Home...?" he slurred, his voice barely a whisper. "Almost, darling," Karen reassured him, her voice soothing as the car's gentle purr. His eye rolled back, lid heavy with sleep. The nurse had warned her about this, the anesthesia leaving him groggy and disoriented. But the sight of him, drooling and slumped over, was still a bit foreign. "Home, soon," Karen soothed, her voice a whisper in the quiet car. "Just stay awake." But Plankton's eye closed again, his head lolling back. His snores were the only sound in the car, a steady counterpoint to the hum of the engine. "What's your favorite color, Plankton?" she asked, trying to keep his thoughts afloat. His eye blinked slowly, his gaze unfocused. "Buh...blu?" he murmured, his voice a faint echo. Karen's smile grew wider, full of love and amusement. "Good boy," she whispered, patting his hand. "Stay with me." But Plankton's eyelid were heavy, his mind a swirl of confusion and exhaustion. His head fell back again, his snores a rhythmic accompaniment to the hum of the car. "Stay with me, love," Karen coaxed, her voice a soft lullaby in the silence of the night. His chest rose and fell with each snore, his body relaxed. Plankton's head jerked upwards with a snort, his eye wide for a moment before the sleep dragged it shut again. "Home?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Karen's eyes never left the road ahead, her grip tight on the steering wheel. "Almost, darling," she said, her voice a comforting purr. "Just stay with me a bit longer." But Plankton's body had other plans. With a snort, he slumped over again, his head bouncing on the headrest like a rag doll's. Karen knew he was okay. Just...out of it. "Plankton, stay awake," she urged, her voice a soft caress in the darkness. But his snores grew louder, his breathing deep and even. "Wha...?" Plankton's head jerked up, his eye widening in surprise. "Where am I?" Karen glanced in the rearview mirror, her smile tight. "You're in the car, sweetie. We're almost home." Her voice was a soft reminder of reality, but his mind was still swimming in a sea of anesthesia. "Home?" Plankton slurred, his voice a faint echo. His head lolled to the side, his eye trying to focus on the passing streetlights. "Almost," Karen said, her voice a soft whisper. "Just stay with me." But Plankton's eye closed again, his snores filling the car. Karen sighed, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. This was going to be a long night..

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS viii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's gaze searched both of their faces, seeing the tentative connection forming. "Why don't we let Daddy rest now?" she suggested softly, her eyes on Chip. "It's getting to be bedtime. You head to bed, Chip." she said gently. Chip nodded, his hand still hovering over Plankton's. He knew his father needed his space, especially after such an ordeal. "Goodnight, Dad," he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of fear and love. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye still focused on Chip. "Goodnight, buddy," he murmured, his voice exhausted. "I-I-I-I… lo-ove y-you." The words hung in the air, a declaration of his feelings despite his condition. Chip felt his heart swell with a mix of emotion, his hand falling to his side. "I love you too, Dad," he whispered back, his voice trembling slightly. The next morning, Karen hears a ding vibrate on her phone, waking her. She sits up and looks over at Plankton, who's still sleeping. She smiles softly at the sight of her snoring husband, his antennae twitching slightly with each breath. Gently, she slides out of bed, careful not to disturb his rest. She grabs her phone, checking the text. Her heart skips a beat at the sight of the message: "Plankton: Dental Appointment to discuss his latest x-ray. We open in 1 hour." It was from Plankton's dental office. Karen sighed, setting her phone on the nightstand. "Plankton, love," she whispered, carefully shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, we have a dental appointment." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his eye opening. He took a moment to process the information, his brain slowly coming online. "Dentist?" he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep. Karen nodded, her voice steady. "Yes, honey. We need to talk to the dentist about your latest x-ray." Plankton's antennae twitched. Karen knew that dental appointments were a particularly tough challenge for Plankton due to his sensory sensitivities. With a sigh, Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. Karen could feel the tension in the room, so she took Plankton's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'll call Sandy" she said, her voice calm. "She'll look after Chip." Plankton nodded, his antennas still twitching nervously. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. Karen quickly dials Sandy's phone number. The phone rings, a distant melody in the quiet room. Plankton's antennae twitched with every ring, his nervousness palpable. "Sandy, it's Karen," Karen's voice was a comforting balm over the line. "Could you possibly watch Chip today? We've got a dental appointment for Plankton, and it's... sudden, I know." Sandy's voice came through the speaker, warm and understanding. "Of course, Karen. Right now? I'll be heading on over!" Karen breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, Sandy," she whispered, then hanging up. She went to Chip's room. The light from the hallway spilled into his room, casting long shadows across the floor. Chip stirred in his bed, his eyes blinking open sleepily. "Huh?" he mumbled. Karen's smile was gentle as she leaned over him. "Hey, buddy," she whispered. "Sandy's here to watch you while I take Daddy to a dentist appointment." Chip's eyes widened, his mind still foggy with sleep. "Dentist?" he repeated, sitting up. "Don't worry, Chip," Karen assured him, her voice soft. "You can stay here with Sandy. She'll take good care of you." The sound of the doorbell rang through the house, a sharp, piercing noise that made Plankton's antennae twitch. Karen's eyes darted to his face, but his expression remained stoic. She knew his hearing was sensitive, but she didn't have time to fuss over it now. "It's just Sandy," she assured Plankton with a smile, patting his hand before heading to the door. "It'll be okay, honey." The door opened, and Sandy's cheerful face appeared. "Howdy, Karen!" she chirped, her eyes scanning the room. "Hi, Sandy! I don't know how long we'll be gone but I can keep you updated. It's to review an x-ray from Plankton's last x-ray they said they'd keep an eye on, and they notified us to come in today." Sandy nodded, her smile warm and reassuring. "Don't worry, I've got this. I'll keep Chip busy and entertained," she promised. "But he can also sleep in.." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's, his antennae twitching slightly. "It's okay, love," she murmured, squeezing his hand. "We'll be going now." Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. Karen knew he was scared, but she also knew he'd get through it. "Come on," she whispered, her voice soothing. "Let's go to the car."

NEW REALITY iv (Autistic author) "Plankton," she starts, her voice shaking, "the explosion changed your brain. It's called Autism." His eye widens slightly as he takes in the words, his hand still moving in its repetitive pattern. He repeats the word, "Autism?" his tone curious. Karen nods, wiping her screen. "It's like... your brain now sees and feels things differently. It's okay," she adds quickly, trying to reassure him. "It's just different." Plankton seems to consider this, his hand finally still. "Different," he whispers. Karen nods, trying to smile through her tears. "But we'll get through this together," she says, her voice shaking. "We're a team." Plankton's gaze lingers on her face for a moment before returning to the fan. "Team," he echoes, his hand stilling briefly before resuming its wave-like motion. Karen swallows hard, trying to keep her composure. She needs to find a way to connect with him, to bridge the gap that seems to be growing wider by the second. She brings his hand to her cheek. "Do you feel that?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper. He nods, his hand feeling cold against her skin. "Feel," he says, his tone flat. "Karen warm." Encouraged, Karen tries a gentle squeeze of his hand. His gaze doesn't waver from the fan, but his grip tightens slightly. "Squeeze," he murmurs, his voice a monotone. Her heart racing, Karen decides to experiment with different types of affectionate touches. She strokes his antennae lightly, watching his reaction. His eye flutters closed for a moment, then opens again. "Tickle," he says, his voice a little more animated. Encouraged, she gently traces his back with her fingers. "Yes good." He says. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she feels a glimmer of hope. "I'm going to try some more things, okay?" Plankton nods, his gaze still on the fan. "More," he agrees. Karen takes a deep breath and starts with a soft caress of his cheek, the way she used to do before they went to sleep. His eye flickers slightly, his hand continuing its motion. "Okay," he says, his voice almost a whisper. Next, she tries a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Karen, nice," he murmurs, his antennae twitching. Encouraged, she decides to move to a different type of pressure. "How's this feel; good or bad?" Karen asks, placing her hand firmly on his shoulder when he suddenly flinches and pulls away. "No," Plankton says, his voice sharp. "To hard." Karen's hand recoils, her heart racing. She tries to keep her voice steady. "I'm sorry, Plankton. Let's try something else." Plankton nods, his gaze unfocused. "Yes, Karen. Try." Gently, she starts to rub his back in small, soothing circles. "How about this?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's body relaxes slightly. "Good," he murmurs. Encouraged, she tries a gentle pat on his knee. "This?" "Stop," he says. Karen's hand freezes mid-air, her heart racing. "I'm sorry, did I do that wrong?" Plankton's gaze remains fixed on the fan. "Wrong," he confirms, his voice a monotone. Karen's face falls, her heart sinking. She's treading on thin ice, not knowing what will trigger his next reaction. She takes a deep breath, trying to think of a safe approach. "How about a hug?" she asks, slowly opening her arms. Plankton nods, his gaze still on the fan. He leans into her embrace, his body stiff at first, but gradually softening. "Karen," he murmurs, his voice a little less flat. Karen holds him tightly, her heart pounding. Maybe this is the way to reach him, through physical affection that doesn't overstimulate. She squeezes tighter. "Enough!" Plankton pulls away, his eye wide with anxiety. Karen's heart drops. She'd pushed too hard, too soon. "I'm sorry," she whispers, backing off immediately. She tries again, placing a hand lightly on his arm. "How does this feel?" His eye flicks to her hand, then back to the fan. "Okay," he says, his voice still mechanical. Karen keeps her hand there, willing him to look at her, to respond more naturally. But his gaze remains fixed on the spinning blades. Despite her fear of pushing too far, she gently takes his hand in hers. "Does this feel okay?" she asks. Plankton nods, his movements becoming less erratic. "Yes," he murmurs, his hand still in the same wave pattern. Karen decides to keep trying, moving her thumb in small circles on the back of his palm. Plankton's breath hitches, and she sees his pupil dilate slightly. "This?" she asks. He nods, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Encouraged, she switches to interlocking her fingers with his, feeling the coldness of his grip. "And this?" "Good," he says, his voice a bit softer. Karen tries a gentle squeeze, his hand stilling under hers. "Does this feel okay?" Plankton nods, his smile widening a fraction. Her heart racing with hope, she presses her cheek to his. "How about this?" she whispers. Plankton's antennae twitch, his body momentarily still. "Not now," he says, his voice a bit more present. Karen nods, her eyes stinging with tears. "Okay," she says, trying not to let her voice crack. She'll keep trying. Her hand moves to his shoulder, squeezing gently. "What about this?" Plankton's body tenses, his eye flicking to her hand, then back to the fan. "No," he says, his voice a firm rejection. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I just want to help." Plankton's hand resumes its wave-like motion. "Help," he repeats. "Karen help." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I will," she promises, determined to find a way to connect with him. She decides to try a different approach, one that might bypass his sensory overload. "Plankton," she says softly, "Can you tell me what you're thinking about?" He nods, his hand still moving. "Fan. Spin. Like." Karen's chest tightens, but she nods. "Okay, Plankton. Let's talk about the fan." He nods eagerly, his hand stopping for a brief moment. "Fan," he says, his voice clearer. "Spin fast. Like." Karen takes a deep breath. "What do you like about the fan spinning?" she asks, hoping to engage him in a conversation that doesn't trigger his anxiety. Plankton's hand starts moving again, mimicking the fan's rotation. "Spin," he says, his voice still monotone. "Fast. Calm." Karen's eyes widen as she understands. "It calms you?" she asks, her voice tentative. He nods, his gaze finally leaving the fan to meet hers. "Yes," he says, a hint of emotion seeping into his voice. "Calm." Karen's mind races. If the fan's spinning is calming him, maybe there's something here to build on. "Can you tell me more about the calm?" Plankton nods, his hand mimicking the fan's movement. "Inside, quiet," he murmurs, his voice a bit softer. Karen's eyes fill with relief. "It's like white noise, isn't it?" she suggests, desperate to build a bridge between their worlds. Plankton's hand slows, his eye focusing on hers. "It's like white noise isn't it.." Karen nods, hope blossoming in her chest. "Exactly, sweetie. It's like it helps you focus, like it blocks out the chaos." Plankton's hand stops moving, his antennae drooping slightly. "Chaos," he whispers, his eye flicking around the room. Karen nods, her heart aching. "Yes, sometimes the world can be too much, can't it?" Plankton nods, his gaze still unfocused. "Too much," he agrees. "Spinning fan, less chaos." Karen's eyes well up with tears as she realizes the gravity of the situation. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice trembling. "I never meant for this to happen." Plankton nods, his gaze still unfocused. "Not Karen's fault," he says, his voice a robotic reassurance. "Invention go boom." Karen's eyes fill with gratitude, clinging to the knowledge that he understands. "I know, but I can't help feeling responsible," she says, wiping at her cheeks. Plankton nods, his hand starting to wave again. "Fan spin. Calm. Like Karen." Karen's heart skips a beat at the mention of her name. Maybe, just maybe, he's still in there somewhere. "You know, sweetie," she says, her voice quivering with hope, "sometimes people have different ways of seeing things. Like you and the fan. That's your special way of finding peace." Plankton nods, his gaze finally leaving the fan to focus on her. "Special," he repeats. "Plankton special." Karen smiles through her tears. "Yes, you are," she says, squeezing his hand gently. "And we'll figure this out together." Plankton nods, his hand still moving. "Together," he echoes.

CHIP IN MY BOX viii (Autistic author) The room is quiet as they wait for Plankton to stir. Chip's mind is racing. Suddenly, Plankton's body twitches, a small movement under the velvet shroud. Karen's hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with anticipation. Her heart is a wild animal in her chest, thumping against her ribs as she watches her husband slowly come back to them. Under the curtain, Plankton's eye opens slightly, the pupil dilated with confusion. His limbs move sluggishly, his mind trying to make sense of the world that's rushing back in. Karen's hand reaches out to his, her eyes brimming with relief and fear. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a gentle breeze in the quiet room. "You're safe." "Wh... wha... whale...?" Plankton's voice slurs, his eye flickering behind the velvet curtain. Karen's grip on her son's hand tightens as she watches her husband struggle to find his footing in the murky waters of consciousness. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the storm of his confusion. "You're home, you're safe." Plankton's eye blinks, his brain trying to piece together the shards of reality. "Whale?" He mumbles again, his voice slurred with sleep. Karen's heart squeezes, her hand still in Plankton's, her voice even softer now. "No, honey, it's not a whale," she says, forcing a gentle laugh. "It's me, Karen. You're at home." Her words are a soft caress, a beacon in the fog of his sensory overload. Chip watches, his eyes wide with fear and hope. He wants to call out, to tell his dad everything's okay, but he remembers Dr. Kelp's instructions. He stays quiet, his hand tightening around the new fidgets, his knuckles white with tension. Plankton's mumbling becomes more pronounced, his eye darting around under the velvet cover, as if searching for something he can't quite see. "Bubble...box," he murmurs, his voice a distant echo. Karen's heart races, her mind racing to keep up with his scattered thoughts. She knows his brain is trying to make sense of the world, to find the familiar in the chaos. "A box is here," she whispers, her voice soothing. "It's new, and right beside you." Her words seem to resonate somewhere in the fog of Plankton's mind. His hand twitches, reaching out. Chip's breath hitches as he sees his father's hand hover over the new box of sensory items. "Bubblebox," Plankton murmurs, his voice a soft breeze through the room. The words are meaningless, but the tone conveys a desperate search. Karen's eyes fill with tears as she nods. "It's here," she whispers, guiding his hand to the box. His fingers graze the velvet curtain, his movements clumsy and unsure. Chip watches, his heart in his throat, as his father's hand trembles over the box's edge. "Bubba," Plankton says, his voice a whisper of confusion. Karen's eyes are glued to his face, her heart breaking at his distress. She tries to think of something to say, to bring him back to them fully. But she knows better than to push too hard. Plankton's eye blinks rapidly, his hand fumbling with the box's contents. "Fishy," he mumbles, his voice a disjointed symphony of half-thoughts. "Fishy, fishy." Karen's heart squeezes. He's talking to his mind, she knows, to the jumble of thoughts that have overtaken his reality. The words are nonsense, a random assortment of sounds. "Fishy?" He murmurs again, his hand patting the floor. "Fishy, bubblebox." His voice trails off, lost in the fog of his own thoughts. Karen's heart is racing, her mind trying to decode his ramblings. She knows his mind is searching, trying to find the safety net of his sensory world. "Yes, honey," she whispers, her voice a soothing lullaby. "You're okay." Plankton's eye rolls back into his head, his body going slack again. The silence in the room is deafening, a stark contrast to the tumult inside her. Karen's hand is a tremor against his, willing him back to reality. Chip watches, his own thoughts racing, as his mother's eyes dart to Dr. Kelp for guidance. The doctor's tentacles move with a quiet assurance, placing more items around Plankton. "It's normal," he whispers, his voice a lifeline in the storm of their fear. "His mind is trying to find his bearings." "Where's," he mumbles, his voice a distant whisper. "So... many... Karen..." His antennae twitch erratically, his hand flailing in the air as if trying to catch invisible orbs. Karen's heart is in her throat, her eyes brimming with tears as she watches his struggle. "I'm here," she says, her voice a soft caress, reaching for his hand. "You're safe." Her eyes plead with Dr. Kelp, desperation etched in her features. The doctor nods reassuringly, his tentacles moving with a gentle rhythm. "We're home." Plankton's eye moves beneath the velvet, searching for familiarity. "Home?" He whispers, his voice scratchy from disuse. "Where am I?" The fear in his tone makes Karen's heart ache. "You're home, Plankton," she whispers back, her voice soothing. "You're safe." Her words are a gentle reminder, a beacon in the storm of his senses.

CHIP ON THE SHOULDERS iv (By NeuroFabulous) Plankton's face was now slack with sleep. Karen moved silently, not wanting to disturb him. She knew how important this time was, how much he needed it. The house felt heavier with quiet, but Chip's door was open a crack, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. Karen peeked in. He looked up, seeing her in the doorway. "Mom?" his voice was small, his screen searching hers. Karen walked over, sitting beside him on his bed. "Yes, Chip?" He looked up at her, his eyes filled with unshed tears. "Is Dad okay?" Karen took his hand, giving it a squeeze. "He will be, sweetie. Sometimes, people with disabilities have moments like this. It's part of who he is." Chip nodded, his throat tight. "But why's he..." Karen pulled him into a warm embrace. "It's okay to feel scared or confused. But remember, Dad's still in there. He loves you so much, and he's doing his best." Chip nodded, his throat tight with unshed tears. "Does he know when it happens?" Karen's gaze remained steady. "Sometimes he does, sweetie. It's like when you get tired and need a nap. His brain just needs to recharge." Chip thought about that for a moment, his thumb playing with a loose thread on his blanket. "Does he remember what happens?" Karen's hand stilled on his back. "It's like a dream, Chip. Sometimes he remembers snippets, sometimes it's all a blur." Chip sat up, his eyes bright with questions. "Does he see us when he's like that?" Karen shrugs. "He might feel us, but his brain isn't fully here." Chip's mind raced with questions. "Mom, how did Dad get this... this... brain thing?" his voice cracked. Karen took a deep breath, her hand still warm on his back. "Well, sweetie, it's something he was born with. It's called autism, and it's a part of him." Chip's eyes widened. "But why? Did he do something wrong?" Karen sighed, her grip tightening around him. "No, Chip, it's not like that. It's just how his brain was made. Some people have different brain wiring, and that's okay. But in his specific circumstance, he was born posthumously, after his mum passed away.." Chip's eyes grew wider still, his curiosity piqued. "But, what? How..." he whispered, his voice barely audible. Karen took a deep breath, preparing herself for the explanation she had never thought she'd have to give. "Your dad's mum, she had him after she... passed away," she said, her voice gentle. Chip's eyes grew as big as saucers. "What do you mean, 'after she passed away'?" he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen took a moment, swallowing hard. "Well, sweetie, you know how babies are usually born when their mommies are alive and well, right?" Chip nodded, his eyes fixed on her face. "Yeah, of course," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But how's that even physically possible?" Karen took a deep breath. "It's a rare procedure, Chip. When his mum was very sick, the doctors did everything they could to save her. But when she passed away, they realized his heart was still beating inside her." Chip's eyes were wide with horror and fascination. "But how did they get him out?" he asked, his voice trembling. Karen's eyes grew misty as she recounted the story, her voice soft and gentle. "They performed an emergency procedure called a post-mortem 'coffin birth'. It's very rare, Chip." Chip's eyes were like dinner plates, his mind trying to grasp the concept. "But how?" he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. Karen took a moment to collect her thoughts, the story weighing heavily on her. "The doctors had to be very quick and careful, Chip. They knew Plankton had a chance, so they did what they could to save him. It was a miracle he made it out alive," she said, her voice filled with wonder and a hint of sadness. "Yet, because of the way he was born, his brain developed differently. That's what caused his autism. His brain was deprived of oxygen for a short time, which can lead to such conditions." Chip's hand went to his chest, his heart racing with the realization. "But does that mean he's... not like other dads?" Karen wrapped her arms around her son, holding him close. "Chip, your dad is unique, just like you. And yes, his brain works differently, but that doesn't mean he loves you any less. He might just show it in his own way." Chip sniffled, trying to make sense of everything. "But why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asked. Karen stroked his back, her heart heavy. "Because, sweetie, it's a hard thing to explain. And we didn't want to scare you or make you feel different about him. We wanted you to understand his quirks as part of who he is, not because of some label. And he's a good dad in his own way, even if he doesn't show it like other dads. Yet he also has his challenges, like with his sensory issues." Chip nodded slowly, his mind racing with the new information. He had noticed how his dad sometimes flinched at loud noises or avoided crowded places.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY viii (By NeuroFabulous) Chip's heart ached, his guilt a physical presence in his chest. He knew he had hurt his father, and he desperately wanted to take it back. "I know I don't understand, Dad," he said, his voice quivering. "But I want to learn. I want to be there for you. You're special..." Plankton's antennas perked up slightly at the word 'special'. It was a term he had heard before, but it didn't always come with the warmth and sincerity that filled Chip's voice. "You don't know what that means," he said, his voice low and defensive. Chip felt his heart sink even further, his stomach twisting into knots. "Huh?" Plankton's voice grew louder, his antennas shooting up. "You think because I'm 'special', you can just treat me like a toddler?" He threw the pillow across the room, his anger palpable. "I'm not some kind of science project, Chip!" The room grew tense as Chip swallowed his words, his eyes wide. He had never seen his dad so upset. "Dad," he began, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean it like that. I just want to—" "Don't," Plankton snapped, his antennas pointing sharply at the ceiling. "You think you can fix me with your little experiments?" His words were like a slap in the face, but Chip knew better than to let his own anger flare up. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. "I just want to help," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to be ther-" "I don't need your help!" Plankton's outburst echoed through the room, his antennas quivering with emotion. "I don't need anyone to 'fix' me, especially not you!" His voice was raw, each word a dagger to Chip's soul. Chip took a step back, his eyes wide with hurt and confusion. "But Dad, I just wa-" "Don't," Plankton said, his voice sharp and final. "Just don't." Chip felt his throat tighten, his words stuck in his mouth. He had never seen his father like this, so raw and exposed. The silence was suffocating, each second that passed feeling like an eternity. Plankton's chest heaved with the effort of containing his emotions. His antennas were a blur of movement, indicating his internal turmoil. Karen watched from the doorway, her heart breaking for both her husband and her son, feeling torn between comforting them and giving them space. "I know," Chip said, his voice small. "But I'm tr-" Plankton's antennas shot up, cutting him off. "You think you know?" His voice was laced with bitterness. "You have no idea what it's like to be me.." Chip felt his heart sink further, his mind racing. "I'm sorry," he offered, his voice small. "But I do know that you're more than just your autism. You're my dad, and I love you." Plankton's antennas remained stiff, his eye unblinking. "Love," he spat out the word like it was a foreign object. "You don't know what that word means either, do you?" Karen stepped forward, her voice a soothing balm. "Plankton, sweetheart, let's not do this," she pleaded. "Chip's just trying to—" "I know what he's trying to do!" Plankton shouted, his antennas jerking erratically. "He's trying to make me feel less than, like I'm so—" "Dad, no," Chip said, his voice shaking. "That's not what I'm doing. I just want us to be closer, like you and Mom.." Plankton's antennas quivered, his body tensing. "Don't bring her into this," he warned. "You don't understand her either." His words were like a slap, but Chip knew his father wasn't in control of his emotions. "I do, Dad," Chip managed to say, his voice filled with determination. "I see how much you both love each other, and I just want to be a part of th-" "Don't you dare!" Plankton's voice was a roar, his antennas thrashing in agitation. "You don't get to use your mother as an excuse for your ignorance!" The room vibrated with tension, each word a blow to Chip's heart. He felt tears prickling his eyes but blinked them back, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. "I'm not using her, Dad," he said, his voice shaking. "I just want to know how to be close to you the way Mom..." Plankton's antennas shot up in a gesture of disbelief. "The way your mother is with me?" his voice was thick with anger. "You think you can just mimic that?" He stood up, his whole body shaking with emotion. Chip felt his heart drop, his words coming out in a rush. "No, Dad," he said, his voice trembling. "I just want to connect with you." He took a step towards his father, his hand outstretched, but Plankton took a step back, his antennas bristling. "I don't like your connecting," Plankton said, his voice cold. "I need you to leave me alone." His antennas waved erratically, a clear sign of his distress. Chip took another tentative step forward, reaching out again.. Plankton flinched, his antennas waving wildly. "I said no!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I can't do this right now!" His eye darted around the room, seeking an escape from the overwhelming emotions. Chip's eyes filled with tears, but he knew pushing would only make things worse. He took a step back, his arms falling to his sides. "Ok," he whispered, his voice tight with unshed emotion.

TOOTH AFTERNOON iv The car’s engine hummed a soothing tune, and Karen’s voice was a gentle guide in the background. “Almost home, love. Just a few more minutes,” she said, her screen never leaving the road. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his mind a tangled mess of half-formed thoughts. “Huh?” he mumbled, his voice a slurred echo. Karen’s smile was a soft guiding light. “We’re almost home, Plankton. Just a bit more, ok?” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the warmth that awaited them. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts a jumble of confusion and pain. “Home...moth...” he managed, his words still a slurred mess. Karen’s smile was a warm reassurance. “Yes, Plankton. Home. Just a few minutes more,” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the comfort that was almost within reach. “Moth...no...moth...no...” his words made no sense. Karen’s smile grew, her eyes on the road ahead. “Almost there, Plankton. We’re just passing the park. You can see the swings?” she asked, her voice a gentle reminder of the world outside. Plankton’s gaze drifted to the window, his eye searching for familiar landmarks. “Swings...?” his voice a sleepy question. Karen nodded, pointing out the car window. “Yes, Plankton. The park. Remember, we come here sometimes to walk?” Plankton’s eye searched the blur of green outside, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle of the world. “Walsh?” he murmured, his speech still slurred and slow. Karen chuckled, her voice a warm embrace. “Yes, sweetie. We’ll walk in the park once you’re all healed up, ok?” she said, her eyes flickering to his reflection in the rearview mirror. The car pulled into the garage, the sudden darkness a stark contrast to the bright afternoon outside. Karen turned to him, her smile a gentle reminder of her presence. “Alright, Plankton. We’re home. Can you sit up for me?” she asked, her voice a soft guide back to reality. Plankton’s movements were slow, his body still fighting against the anesthesia’s grip. He nodded, his hand reaching for the car door. Karen was there in an instant, opening it for him and helping him to his feet. His legs felt like jelly, and he leaned heavily on her as they made their way to the house. The door creaked open, and the familiar scents of home wrapped around them like a comforting blanket. Plankton’s eye searched the room, his mind grasping for any semblance of normalcy. Karen guided him to their bedroom, the softness of the bed calling to him like a siren’s song. She helped him lay down, his body sinking into the mattress with a sigh of relief. His eyelid grew heavy, his thoughts drifting like leaves on a lazy river. Karen tucks him in. “Now, would you like…” But Plankton’s eye had already drifted shut, his body surrendering to the siren call of sleep. His snores grew steady and deep, the gauze in his mouth muffling the sound. Karen watched him. She knew the recovery ahead would be long and difficult, but she was ready to face it with him. With a soft sigh, she went to the kitchen and retrieved the chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. She placed it on the nightstand, ready for when his hunger would inevitably wake him. She then gathered his favorite pillow, propping it under his head to elevate it slightly, hoping to reduce any swelling that might come. The house was eerily quiet, the only sounds being Plankton’s soft snores and the occasional tick of the grandfather clock downstairs. Karen felt a pang of loneliness in the absence of their usual banter, but she pushed it aside, focusing on his recovery. With tender care, she changed his gauze, the blood slowly seeping through a stark reminder of the surgery. She flinched at the sight, but quickly composed herself. She was his rock, his anchor in the storm of pain and confusion. She pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Rest, love,” she whispered. Plankton’s hand reached out, his movements slow and deliberate. He found hers, his fingers entwining with hers. “Kareb?” he mumbled, his voice a sleepy plea. Karen’s smile was a soft caress. “I’m right here, Plankton. I’m not going anywhere,” she assured him, her voice a gentle reminder of her constant presence. Plankton’s grip tightened slightly, his eye flickering open. “Wheh...youw shay...” he slurred, his words a sleepy plea. Karen leaned closer, her smile a gentle promise. “What did you say, sweetie?” she asked, her voice a soft whisper in the quiet room. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his grip on her hand growing firm. “Youw shay...stay...stay whiff me?” he murmured, his voice a slurred tapestry of need. Karen’s heart swelled with love. “Of course, Plankton. I’ll…” But her words were cut off by his snores, his hand going limp in hers. He was asleep again. Karen sat in the chair beside the bed, her hand still entwined with his. She knew this was just the beginning of a long road ahead, but she was ready. Plankton’s snores grew more rhythmic, his sleep deepening with each passing minute. Karen sat in the chair beside the bed, her thoughts a whirlwind of care and love. Her eyes never left him, a silent sentinel in the quiet room. She knew he’d have questions when he awoke, confusion to navigate, and pain to endure. The ice cream called from the nightstand, a sweet temptation she knew he’d crave. But for now, sleep was his best medicine, his body healing from the invasion of surgery. She watched his chest rise and fall, each breath a testament to his strength. The hours ticked by, the sun dipping below the horizon and leaving a soft glow in the room. Plankton’s snores grew quieter, his sleep more peaceful as his body slowly metabolized the lingering anesthesia. Karen’s thoughts wandered to the days ahead, planning his meals, his pain relief, and the moments of joy she’d weave into his recovery. The room grew darker, the streetlights outside casting a soft glow through the curtains. Karen’s eyes grew heavy with fatigue, but she fought it off, knowing Plankton would need her when he awoke. Her thoughts drifted to their first date, the way his laugh lit up the room, the way his hand felt in hers. A sudden movement caught her eye, and she turned to see Plankton’s eye flutter open, his gaze unfocused and lost. “Karen?” he croaked, his voice a dry whisper. Her smile was a gentle welcome back. “Hey there, sleepy. How are you feeling?” she asked, her voice a soft caress. Plankton’s mouth moved, his speech still slurred. “Moth...” he murmured, his tongue thick. Karen’s voice was a soft symphony of comfort. “You’re okay, Plankton. You’re home and safe. You just had surgery. Do you remember?” she prompted, her hand squeezing his gently. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his thoughts slowly coming into focus. “Sur...surgery?” he mumbled, the numbness in his mouth distorting his words. Karen nodded, her smile a warm embrace. “Yes, sweetie. Wisdom teeth surgery. It’s all over now, and you’re going to be okay,” she said, her voice a gentle reminder of the reality that had been obscured by the fog of anesthesia. Plankton’s eye searched hers, his mind slowly piecing together the fragments of the day. “Moth...huh?” he murmured, his hand moving to his swollen cheek. Karen’s voice was a soft lullaby. “It’s alright, love. You had your wisdom teeth out. You’re all safe and sound,” she said, her hand covering his own, guiding it back to the bedside. Plankton’s gaze searched his surroundings. “Thish... thish wish...” he mumbled. “Ice cream?” she guessed, her voice a whisper. Plankton’s nod was a tiny celebration of victory. “Yesh...ish cweam...now?” he asked, his eye hopeful. Karen chuckled, her smile a warm invitation. “Of course, sweetie. Let’s get you set up,” she said, her voice a gentle guidance as she reached for the ice cream.

PLUSH ONE viii (By NeuroFabulous) Karen's mind races with questions, but she knows better than to ask now. She watches Plankton closely, his body slowly unwinding. His eye opens slightly, his gaze flicking to his plushie. "Plankton," she says, keeping her voice steady, "Would you like to sit with me?" He considers her offer, his antennae twitching nervously. Then, with a shaky nod, he crawls across the floor, his body still tense, and sits by her side, the plushie still clutched in one hand. Karen swells with relief, the air in the room finally feeling a bit less suffocating. She keeps her movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to startle him. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae still twitching. The man she loves is trying, and it's all she can ask. Plankton sits next to her, his antennae twitching, a constant reminder of the world he now navigates. She reaches out tentatively, her hand hovering near his. "Would you like me to hold your hand?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. He looks at her hand, then at her, his eye swiveling in consideration. For a moment, Karen thinks he might reject her offer, but slowly, his hand reaches out and wraps around hers. It's a tentative gesture. His grip is firm, but not too tight, his antennae quivering as he tries to process the sudden contact. She holds her breath, afraid to disturb the fragile peace they've found. Karen's mind races, trying to recall everything she's read about autism, about how touch can be both a source of comfort and of pain. She remembers the importance of consent, of letting the person with autism lead the way. So she sits, her hand in his, and waits. The room is still, the only sound the distant hum of the city outside their window. Plankton's breaths are steady now, his grip on the plushie loosening. His antennae are still, no longer searching the air for threats. Karen's eyes are locked on their intertwined hands, the warmth of his palm a comfort she hadn't realized she'd missed. "You're doing so well," she whispers, her voice as gentle as his only response is a twitch of his antennae. His eye flicks to hers, a silent question. "It's okay," she says, her smile reassuring. "We're just sitting together." Plankton nods slightly, his eye still focused on their joined hands. He then repeats her words, his voice a mirror of her own. "Okay, sitting together." The phrase echoes. It's called echolalic palilalia, a common trait in those with autism, where words are repeated. Karen nods with love. "Yes," she says. "Sitting together." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, a hint of a smile playing. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

PLUSH ONE iv (By NeuroFabulous) The next day, Karen wakes up to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands moving in repetitive patterns over the blanket. The sun casts a warm glow over his face, highlighting his furrowed brow. She watches him for a moment, his concentration so intense it's as if he's trying to solve a complex puzzle. "Good morning," she says softly, not wanting to startle him. His head snaps up, and for a fraction of a second, she sees fear in his eye before it quickly shifts to recognition. "Karen," he says, his voice a little stronger than yesterday. He looks around the room, his gaze lingering on the closed door, the curtains, the picture of them on their wedding day. Karen notices his hand twitching, his thumb tracing the fabric. It's a new tic, a new way his brain is trying to process the world around him, but she knows she can't let her fear control her. She has to be his rock, his anchor in this storm of change. "Do you need anything?" she asks, keeping her voice low and even. Plankton's hand pauses mid-motion, his eye darting to hers. "Karen," he murmurs, almost to himself. "What's on your mind, Plankton?" she prompts, her voice soft. He stares at the wall, his hand still moving over the fabric. Karen watches him. What can she do to help him? What does he need? The silence stretches, and she decides to try again. "Plankton," she says gently. "What's on your mind?" This time, his hand stops moving, his gaze flicking to hers. "Karen," he says, his voice clear. "What is it, sweetie?" she asks, leaning closer. He takes a deep breath, his eye darting around the room before focusing on her. "Karen," he says, his voice a little more coherent. "Need Karen." It's the first time he's expressed a need directly. "You need me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. He nods. "Karen," he repeats, his voice a whisper. Karen's eyes well up with tears of joy and fear. This is the first time he's expressed a need directly. "You need me?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady. He nods again, his hand still clutching the blanket. Karen takes his hand in hers, his skin warm and familiar. "I'm here," she whispers, squeezing gently. "Always." Plankton's gaze lingers on their entwined fingers, his eye narrowing slightly as if trying to decode a secret message. "You need me to be with you?" Karen clarifies, her voice filled with hope and fear. He nods again, the tension in his body palpable. Her eyes never leave his as she slides closer, sitting beside him on the bed. "I'm here," she repeats, her hand leaving his to rest on his leg. But he jolted away, his body tightening. "I'm sorry," she says quickly, retracting her hand. She's learning the delicate balance of closeness and space, a dance that's unfamiliar but vital to their new life. Plankton's gaze remains on the spot where her hand was, his expression unreadable. Karen wipes at her eyes, willing herself to be strong. "Okay," she says, her voice firm. "Let's try different touches to see which you like?" With gentle hesitation, she begins to explore his sensory preferences, starting with a light stroke on his forearm, watching closely for any signs of discomfort or distress. His hand twitches, but he doesn't flinch. Encouraged, Karen moves her hand up to his antennae, the tenderest of touches. He flinches at first, but his gaze holds hers, willing her to continue. She tries again, stroking them lightly, watching as the tension in his body eases. It's a revelation, a glimpse into his new sensory landscape. "Is that ok?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Plankton nods, his eye closing in what seems like pleasure. "Tickly," he smiles. She tries again, this time a little more pressure. He flinches, and she quickly removes her hand. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice thick with concern. Plankton opens his eye, looking at her with a mix of confusion and sadness. "Karen," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "Want Karen." Her heart breaks for him, for the man he used to be, for the man he's becoming. "I'm here," she says, her voice soothing. "I'm gonna try different touches." Gently, she starts again, her hand hovering above his arm. This time, she watches his expression closely. When he doesn't react, she touches his skin lightly, her thumb tracing circles. "How does this feel?" Plankton's gaze flits to her hand, his eye studying the movement. "Comfort, rubs," he murmurs. Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Okay," she says, her voice steady. She then moves her hand to his cheek. Plankton's eye widens. His skin is warm and smooth under her touch, and she can feel his breathing quicken. "Does this feel okay?" she whispers. Plankton's eye darts around the room, his antennae twitching. "Karen," he says, his voice filled with longing. Karen's eyes widen. This is new territory, a place where the familiar has become strange. Plankton's eye locks onto hers, his expression a silent plea. Her hand stills on his cheek, his breaths coming in short bursts. Karen's mind races with the implications of his reaction. She's read that some autistic individuals find certain touches overwhelming. She pulls her hand away. "I'm sorry, sweetie," she says, her voice filled with apology. "I'll try some more different touches." She watches him, her love a steady beacon through the fog of fear. "How about this?" she asks, placing her hand on his shoulder. His breath hitched, his body tensing. "Plankton," she says gently, "Does tha-" "No," he says, his voice firm. He flinches away from the touch, his eye wide with panic. Karen nods. "Okay," she says, her voice soft. "We'll keep trying." She reaches for his hand, her touch deliberate and gentle. This time, his body relaxes, his hand fitting perfectly into hers. It's a small step, but it feels like a victory.

11:11

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i think everybody knows about palestine atp...!!!!!1

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣶⣶⣤⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⣿⣿⡿⠋⠉⠀⠈⢙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠙⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣾⣿⣿⣷⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠃⣠⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣄⣀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⢤⣤⣤⣴⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡉⠁⠀⠀⠰⣤⣀⠀⠀⢀⣴⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡏⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠹⣿⣷⣤⣀⣀⣀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣀⣤⣤⣾⣿⡟⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠘⣿⡿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣇⣀⣹⣿⠿⠿⠟⠛⣿⡟⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡘⢿⡶⢤⣀⣀⣀⣉⣉⣁⣀⣀⣠⣴⣾⡟⢁⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡌⠁⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⣿⡟⠛⠉⢹⠟⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠈⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣤ ⢀⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⣸⣿⣿⣧⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿ ⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿

KAREN AND THE TEETHIES iv The nurse finishes up and turns to Karen with a gentle smile. "He'll be waking up soon," she says. "Why don't you talk to him? Sometimes hearing a familiar voice can help bring them around better." Karen nods, leaning in. "You did so good," she says, her voice filled with love. "It's almost over." Plankton's snores remain consistent, his mouth slightly open as he drools onto the chair. She reaches over and carefully wipes it away with a tissue. The room is quiet except for the soft beeps of the monitors and the sound of Plankton's deep, even breaths. The assistant begins to remove the I.V. from Plankton's arm, his hand steady despite the tiny vein he's working with. The nurse stands by, ready with a cup of water and a comfortable chair for him to sit in when he wakes. Karen's eyes follow her every move, eager for the moment she can take him home. The minutes tick by, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the surgical lights and the occasional snore from Plankton. His drool forms a tiny puddle on the chair, and Karen dabs it away with a tissue. His breathing is deep and steady, the anesthesia keeping him in a peaceful slumber. Dr. Finnegan checks the monitors one last time before nodding to the nurse. "Due to the numbing medication we administered into his mouth, Karen, Plankton probably won't immediately feel his mouth or talk fluently, not to mention the normal confusion from anesthesia." The nurse starts to lower the chair into a more upright position. Plankton's snores become less snuffly, more like a soft purr. "Okay, Karen," Dr. Finnegan says, "You can start talking to him now. It'll help him come around." Karen nods, leaning in closer. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with warmth, "it's almost over. You did so well." Plankton's snoring morphs into a gentle snuffle as his head lolls on the chair. His drool forms a tiny stream down his chin, and Karen wipes it away with a tissue, trying not to laugh at the sight. The nurse smiles at her, patting his hand. "He's just about ready." The chair slowly reclines back, and Plankton's snores change pitch again, his mouth opening slightly more, revealing his swollen gums and the freshly stitched sockets. Karen's heart swells with love and concern. This is her husband, her rock, currently a ragdoll in the hands of anesthesia. The nurse puts down her tools and gently shakes Plankton's shoulder. "Mr. Plankton, it's time to wake up," she says in a soothing voice. Karen squeezes his hand and whispers, "You can do it, babe. It's almost over." Plankton's snores begin to soften, turning into small moans as he stirs in the chair. Karen's voice grows slightly louder, "Plankton, wake up, you're okay." The nurse nods, her hand still on his shoulder. "Come on, Mr. Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "Time to wake up now." Plankton's snores taper off into quiet, shallow breaths, his mouth still slightly open. A string of saliva stretches between his bottom lip and the chair, and Karen quickly wipes it away with the tissue. His eyelid flutters open, his gaze unfocused and glazed. He blinks slowly, looking around the room as if trying to piece together where he is. Karen's eyes are on him, a mixture of love and concern, as she smiles down at him, and he looks at her with a confused expression. "Welcome back," she says softly. His mouth moves, but a sound comes out, being a slightly slurred mumble that sounds like "Mmph?" The nurse laughs gently. "It's normal for the mouth to be numb. You just had your wisdom teeth out." Plankton's eye widens a little, and he tries to speak again, "Wheah...?" The nurse chuckles. "Your mouth is still numb, don't worry." Karen takes the cue and reassures him, "You're at the dentist, honey. You just had your wisdom teeth removed." Plankton blinks again, his eye slowly focusing on her face. He then looks at the nurse with confused suspicion. His eye widens a bit more, looking at his arm where the I.V. had been, now just a small bandage. The nurse nods. "Yes, you're all done. We're just waiting for you to wake up fully before we let you go ho-" Plankton interrupts with a slurred, "Huh?" His tongue doesn't quite cooperate, and he ends up drooling a bit more. Karen laughs, the tension in the room dissipating. "You heard her, you're okay," she says, patting his hand. But Plankton's not quite convinced. His eye narrows as his mind fights the fog of the anesthesia. "Wha... wha... youw nee thoo do my teethies! Youw shupposht to taketh them out!" The nurse laughs lightly, a kindness in her eyes. "Don't worry, Mr. Plankton, we did. You're all done. Dr. Finnegan took them out." Plankton's gaze shifts to Dr. Finnegan with curiosity. "Who's 'Dr. Finny-gwan'?" he slurs, his voice thick with confusion. Karen laughs softly, "It's Dr. Finnegan, sweetie. He's the dentist. He's the one who just took your teeth out." Plankton's unfocused eye swivels towards Dr. Finnegan, his expression one of disbelief. "Y-you're not... 'Dr. Finny-gwan'?" he stammers, the words sliding out of his mouth like molasses. The dentist chuckles, his face appearing over Karen's shoulder. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice calm. "I'm right here, see?" Plankton blinks heavily, his eye darting between the nurse and Dr. Finnegan, trying to make sense of the situation. "bu’... my teethies," he mumbles, his hand rising to tentatively touch his swollen cheeks. The nurse's smile never fades as she says, "Yes, Dr. Finnegan performed the surgery. You're all set." But Plankton's not so sure. He looks at her hand on his shoulder, the same one that was so gentle when he was unconscious. "You... youwre not... a... nentis," he asks, his words thick with drowsiness. The nurse laughs gently, her patience unwavering. "No, Mr. Plankton, I'm not. I'm just here to help you wake up. Dr. Finnegan is the one who did the surgery." She gestures to the dentist, who smiles back at Plankton. But Plankton's mind is still swimming in anesthesia. "Thent... then wha... who dat?" he slurs, pointing a shaky finger at the figure behind the surgical mask. The nurse laughs gently, not offended by his confusion. "I'm just here to assist Dr. Finnegan," she explains, her voice soft and soothing. "I didn't do the surgery. He did." Plankton's eye squints suspiciously at her, his hand still hovering over his cheek. "Buth... youw... you haz... hands..." he mumbles. The nurse's smile doesn't falter. "Yes, I do. But I promise you, it was Dr. Finnegan who performed the surgery." Plankton's gaze swings to Dr. Finnegan again, his expression a mix of confusion and accusation. "Den... den who... who ish... ish..." his voice trails off as he tries to form coherent words, but his mouth isn't cooperating. The dentist laughs, a deep, hearty sound that fills the room. "It's okay, Plankton. You're just a little out of it right now." He reaches out to give Plankton's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Let's get you into the recovery chair." Karen helps to lift him up, his body feeling like a rag doll in her arms. He leans heavily on her, his legs shaky and unsteady. The nurse supports his other side as they guide him to the chair. "Whathish ish...?" he mumbles, his eye glazed and unfocused, his hand feeling along the chair as if trying to understand what it is. "It's your chair, Plankton," Karen says with a smile, helping him to sit upright. Plankton's gaze travels slowly to the chair. "Chair?" he slurs, his voice barely a whisper. He looks back at Karen, then at the nurse, his eye wide with bewilderment. "Whath... whath do I do wiff thish... chair?" The nurse and Karen both chuckle, the tension of the surgery lifting slightly. "You just sit down, sweetie," Karen says, her voice soothing. "Let's get you comfortable." Plankton looks at the chair with a mix of suspicion and exhaustion. "Buth... I don't know how to siht," he slurs, his mouth barely moving. His hand grips the armrest as if it's a life preserver. Karen laughs softly, supporting him as he sits. "You've got this," she says, adjusting his posture. "Just let yourself lean back." Plankton's eyelid flaps weakly. "Buth... buth how do youw siht?" he repeats, his words slurring into each other. His head lolls back, and Karen and the nurse share a look of amusement. The nurse gently pushes his head back. "Just and relax, Mr. Plankton," she instructs. "We've got you."

CHIP IN MY BOX iv (Autistic author) Chip's door clicks shut upstairs, the echo resonating through the house like a gunshot. Karen takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving the spot where Plankton had been standing. With a sigh, she picks up the sensory box, carefully placing the curtain back inside. She knows her husband's anger is not directed at their son, but at his own inability to control his condition. She follows him into the kitchen, finding him slumped over the kitchen table, his head in his hands. "Plankton," she says softly, setting the box by him. He doesn't move, his breathing ragged and heavy. "I know you're upset." He looks up, his eye shimmering with anger and a hint of despair. "I can't... I just can't handle it," he chokes out, his voice thick with emotion. Karen approaches, her movements slow and careful, as if she's afraid of startling a wild animal. "What can't you handle?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton's shoulders heave with a silent sob. "The... the shame," he whispers. "The fear that... that Chip will think I'm broken." His words hang heavy in the air, each one a droplet of pain. Karen's seen this battle play out countless times, but it never gets easier. She sits next to him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "You're not broken," she says soothingly. "You're just... you." Plankton's head snaps up, his eye wild with desperation. "But what kind of father am I?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper. "What kind of husband?" Karen squeezes his shoulder gently. "The best kind," she says firmly. "You're the kind who tries, who fights for us every day." Plankton's breath hitches, his eye filling with unshed tears. He doesn't believe her, but her words are a balm on the raw wound of his pride. "But I-I-I-I… I can't control it!" He whispers, his voice shaking with fear. Karen's voice is firm and steady as she replies, "No one expects you to, honey." She takes his trembling hand in hers. "What's important is that we're here for each other." Plankton leans into Karen's side, his body shaking with repressed sobs. He's never felt so exposed, so vulnerable. Her warmth is a comfort. Karen wraps her arms around his trembling form, her eyes closed tight. "You're not broken," she repeats, her voice like a gentle lullaby. "You just have something extra, something that makes you who you are." Plankton's breathing slows, his body relaxing into her embrace. He knows she's right. "You're not broken," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing balm. "You're just... different." Her words hang in the air, their truth resonating deep within him. Plankton's sobs quieten, his breaths slowing to match hers. He nods, his head resting heavily on her shoulder. The fight leaves him, the storm of his emotions subsiding to a gentle patter of rain. Karen feels the weight of his head increase, his body going slack as sleep claims him. She tightens her embrace with love and concern. Her husband's condition is a constant reminder of the invisible battles he faces every day. The kitchen clock ticks steadily in the background, marking the passage of time. Plankton's breathing evens out, his features softening in sleep. Karen kisses the top of his head, his antennae twitching. Karen strokes his back gently, her mind racing with thoughts of what to say to Chip. They need to talk, to explain things better. Upstairs, Chip sits on his bed, his eyes fixed on the closed door. The echo of his father's anger still rings in his ears, making him feel like he's the one who's wrong. He wipes his tears, his curiosity tinged with a heavy guilt. He decides to go check on his parents. He tiptoes down the stairs, his heart in his throat, each step a silent apology. The kitchen light is on, a soft glow spilling into the hallway. As he approaches, he sees Karen, her arms wrapped around a sleeping Plankton. His dad's head is nestled into her shoulder, his breaths deep and even in sleep. Karen's eyes meet Chip's, filled with a mix of exhaustion and sadness. She stands, Plankton's weight barely a burden to her, and guides her son to the couch. With gentle movements, she sets Plankton down, his body slumping into the cushions. His snores are the only sound that breaks the heavy silence. "He'll sleep now," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing lullaby in the quiet room. "His episodes can be draining." She sits next to Chip, her eyes never leaving her husband. Chip nods, his own eyes swollen from crying. "What's wrong with him, Mom?" He asks, his voice small and scared. He's never seen his dad like this before, so lost in his own mind. Karen sighs, her eyes filling with a mix of sorrow and love. "It's not something that's easy to explain," she starts, her hands fidgeting with her apron. "But I'll try." Chip nods, his curiosity still a live wire, but now tempered with concern. "Dad has something called sensory overload," she explains gently. "Sometimes, his brain gets too much information from his surroundings, and gets overwhelmed." He looks up at her, his eyes searching for understanding. "It's like when you have too much on your plate at dinner, and you just can't eat another bite," she continues, trying to make the abstract concept more tangible for her son. "Except for him, it's all the time, with everything he sees, hears, feels..." Her words hang in the air, suspended by the gravity of the situation. Chip nods slowly, his eyes wide with realization. "And the box?" He asks, his voice a whisper. "The box," Karen says, her voice a soft sigh, "contains things that help him cope, things to help calm him down when the world gets too loud." Her gaze lingers on the closed wooden box, the secret it holds now a little less mysterious. Chip nods, his curiosity dimming in the face of his newfound empathy. "Can I see?" He asks, his voice hopeful. Karen looks at him, her expression torn. "Not now, sweetheart," she says gently. "Your dad's not feeling well. But maybe another time, when he's ready." Chip nods, his curiosity now tinged with sadness. He looks at his father, his chest tight with the knowledge that he's caused this pain. "But why was he so angry?" He asks, his voice small. Karen takes a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Your dad's not angry at you, Chip. He's angry at himself, and scared of what you might think. This isn't something he wants to share with anyone." Chip's eyes never leave his father's still form. "But why?" He whispers, his voice thick with tears. Karen's hand finds Chip's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Because, Chip," she says, meeting his gaze, "it's hard for him to admit he needs help. His personality is..." she pauses, searching for the right words, "It's like he's a superhero, trying to hide his kryptonite." Chip's eyes widen, his thoughts racing. "But everyone has something they're not good at," he says, his voice small. "Why can't he-" Karen's grip on his hand tightens. "Your father's not just anyone, Chip," she says, her voice filled with a mix of pride and concern. "He's a strong man, and he's used to being in control. Having something that makes him feel vulnerable, something he can't fix, it's hard for him to accept." Chip nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. He's beginning to understand, but it's a lot to process. "What can we do?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. Karen's smile is sad but determined. "We can be there for him," she says, squeezing his hand. "And we'll find a way to help him manage his... moments." Chip nods, his eyes still on Plankton. "How can I make it right?" He whispers. "How can I help him?" Karen looks at her son, seeing the man he'll become. Her heart swells with pride. "You already are," she says, squeezing his hand. "By being curious, by caring enough to ask." She pauses, her gaze softening. "But sometimes, helping is just giving someone space to be." Chip nods, his eyes on his father's peaceful face. Plankton's snores are a comforting background to their quiet conversation. He feels a knot loosen in his chest, his curiosity giving way to understanding.

A PLANKTON FAMILY STORY iv ʷᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍ: t̶h̶r̶e̶a̶t̶ ᶜᵒⁿᵗᵃⁱⁿˢ ᴰᵃʳᵏ ᵀᵒᵖⁱᶜˢ (By NeuroFabulous) ɪ ᴅᴏɴᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴅᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇsᴇ ᴀᴄᴛs "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, full of pain and anger. "How could you say such a thing?" Plankton's eye were wet with unshed tears, his body trembling as he stared at his son, his mind racing to process the hurtful words. "Maybe I am a burden," he murmured, his voice so low it was almost lost in the heavy silence. Karen's grip on Chip's shoulder tightened. "That's enough," she said, her voice shaking. "You don't mean that, Chip." But the look on Plankton's face told her that the damage was done. Chip stared at his dad, his heart racing. He hadn't meant to say those things, but the anger and confusion had just spilled out. He saw the hurt in Plankton's eye, the same eyes that had looked at him with love and pride so many times before. He felt a lump form in his throat, his cheeks burning with guilt. "Dad, I'm, I just..." He trailed off, not knowing what to say next. Plankton's gaze was unflinching, his hurt palpable. Chip looked at his dad, his heart racing. He could see the pain etched on Plankton's face, the way his antennas drooped. "I didn't mean it," Chip stammered, his voice shaking. "I'm sorry." The silence was deafening. Plankton's eye searched his son's, looking for any hint of sincerity. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely a whisper. "You've never seen me as a burden before." The words were like a knife twisting in Karen's heart. Karen's eyes filled with tears as she watched the exchange between her husband and son. She had always tried to shield Chip from the harsh realities of Plankton's condition, but now it seemed those efforts had only created a chasm of misunderstanding. "Chip," she said, her voice shaking with emotion, "you know that's not true. Your father is not a burden. He's a brilliant scientist, a loving husband, and the best dad we could ever ask for." Chip's eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders slumping with the weight of his words. "But sometimes it feels like it," he mumbled, his voice thick with regret. Karen's eyes searched Chip's face, trying to understand his pain. "Sweetie, everyone has their own challenges. Daddy's just have to do with the way his brain works. It doesn't make him any less of a person or a dad." But Chip's frustration remained, his voice cracking. "But why can't he just get better?" he demanded, his eyes filled with a desperation that neither Karen nor Plankton had ever seen before. "I mean, if he's so smart, can't he just fix it? If not, then why do we have to keep him around?" Karen's heart sank as she watched the conversation spiral out of control. She knew that Chip didn't mean what he was saying, but the hurt on Plankton's face was real. But Chip wasn't listening. His thoughts had turned to a darker place, one fueled by his desperation for normalcy. In a moment of cruel manipulation, born out of fear and frustration, he looked up at Plankton. "Chip," Karen began, her voice firm but gentle, "autism isn't something that can be fixed. It's part of who your dad is. And we..." But Chip cut her off, his voice driven by a desperate anger that surprised even him. "If you can't play with me, if you can't be a real dad, then maybe you shouldn't be here at all," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Maybe we should just... "Chip!" Karen's voice was a whipcrack, eyes filled with horror. "Chip, that's enough!" she snapped. But her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Chip's mind was a tumultuous sea of emotions—his frustration, confusion, and fear of the unknown had led him to a dark and dangerous place. Plankton looked at his son, his eye wide with shock and pain. "Chip," he began, his voice shaking, "you don't mean that. I'm your father. I love you." But Chip's anger had turned to a cold resolve. "It's for the best," he said, his voice eerily calm. "If you can't be a real dad, then maybe it's time for you to go." The words hit Plankton like a freight train. He felt the air leave his lungs, his antennas drooping further than ever before. "Chip," he choked out, his voice shaking. "What are you saying?" Chip's eyes were cold, his face a mask of determination. "I'm saying that maybe you shouldn't be here," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Maybe it would be better for everyone if you just weren't around anymo-" He was cut off by a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the Chum Bucket—a wail so deep and mournful that it seemed to echo through the very fabric of their lives. It was Plankton, his tiny body wracked with sobs that seemed too large for his frame. Chip had never seen his dad cry before, and the sight of it made him feel small, his words weighing on him like an anchor. Karen's grip on his shoulder loosened, her eyes filled with a mix of shock and despair. She moved to comfort Plankton, her arms wrapping around him as he collapsed into her embrace. "It's okay," she whispered, rocking him gently. "It's okay." Chip stood there, watching his parents, the gravity of his words finally sinking in. He had never seen his dad like this before—so weak, so vulnerable. A pang of guilt shot through him, and he felt the weight of his own cruelty. Plankton continued to sob, his body convulsing with the force of his emotions. Karen looked up at Chip. "Your dad needs us right now," she said, her voice firm but gentle. "Please, go to your room and think about what you've said." Her eyes were filled with a mix of anger and sadness, but mostly, she looked disappointed. Chip nodded, feeling the full weight of his own words crash down on him. He turned and walked away, each step heavier than the last as he went to his own room.

18+

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠠⢤⣄⣤⠤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣄⣤⣤⣴⣦⣤⣀⣠⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⣴⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣮⣄⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡽⢟⡚⢿⠾⢦⣠⣀⠌⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣫⣿⣫⠗⠝⡫⠛⢿⡷⣄⢢⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢻⠃⠀⠀⠐⢀⠩⡹⢾⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⢿⡷⠳⢦⠌⠀⡐⠎⡱⣿⣳⣡⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠂⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡥⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠏⢾⣷⣿⣷⢦⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⡒⠤⠀⠄⡀⢀⠀⡀⢁⠀⡸⣿⣿⣟⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣀⣀⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⢴⣥⣬⣆⣰⡀⠜⡐⣂⣁⣳⣿⡿⠽⡁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠔⠊⠈⠀⠉⠭⢿⡻⠖⠀⢀⣀⣼⢽⠳⢶⣿⡿⣿⡿⡟⢮⣿⣿⣯⣽⣟⠶⣀⢹⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⢯⠶⠲⣬⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠒⠒⠖⠲⠦⣮⣴⣾⣯⣭⣻⣍⠶⢤⡀⡾⠟⠉⣻⠀⠉⠉⠟⠋⠀⠀⢈⠛⡿⠎⠿⣭⠛⡁⢁⡄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣈⡆⢠⣶⣻⠿⣿⢿⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⡯⣛⣓⣯⠏⢀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⡉⠑⣆⠀⢰⣈⣄⣀⠆⠀⢀⣯⡇⡼⠊⠍⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠨⣧⢩⡫⠁⣑⡀⢸⠿⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⢄⡉⠀⠀⣬⡿⠁⠘⣟⠿⢿⣟⣻⣟⣤⣄⣌⣉⣁⣄⣠⣾⣟⡽⣂⣔⠕⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣧⣨⣮⣟⣦⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡬⠟⣆⠁⠀⠀⠀⢠⣄⣸⣿⣷⢯⠹⠿⠯⠿⣻⣿⣽⣿⣿⡷⠋⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣽⣾⡄⠐⡀⠁⠀⠀⠀⡐⠐⣶⡿⠋⠐⠀⠉⠛⢿⣧⢾⣿⣠⠛⢿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣶⣾⠏⣹⣿⣿⣿⢿⠄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⢿⣿⡉⡎⢇⠱⠆⡀⢁⠀⠀⠀⡀⢁⢀⢹⣿⢿⠿⠿⣷⣶⣸⣾⣷⣇⡀⠀⠹⢹⡎⢇⢿⡏⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣆⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠀⠈⠹⣟⣆⠌⠼⡅⡜⠠⠌⡐⠠⠄⠃⠌⠀⠈⠳⢌⡒⠤⠉⡭⣧⣿⣿⣿⣷⣶⣆⠈⡊⠙⢲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣦⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠰⠃⠀⠄⢀⠈⠺⣦⠀⠱⣌⢣⠓⣌⠰⡈⢒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠚⠽⢿⠟⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠆⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⡿⣟⣿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢀⠄⡌⠓⣤⠘⣦⢛⡼⣣⣜⣡⢦⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⣿⢿⣿⣿⠇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢌⠄⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠈⠀⢂⠀⢀⠨⠳⣌⠳⣝⣳⣞⣧⢿⣭⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⣻⣿⣯⡏⢉⡍⣹⡏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⣓⢁⡂⠅⠒⣄⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⡀⠠⠀⠐⡌⠄⢻⢈⠷⣿⡾⠿⠜⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢀⢻⣷⣿⣧⠰⡾⡻⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠋⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠕⢄⠀⠀⠄⠀⢀⠀⠉⠄⠀⠂⠃⡑⢧⡘⣟⡄⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣀⣬⣿⣿⣧⣴⣴⠟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⠐⠀⡀⠀⠀⡀⠠⠀⠂⠀⠥⢀⠡⠑⢷⡇⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣽⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀⠀⠀⠂⠄⢀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⢻⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣷⣟⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡴⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⢈⢂⢜⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⡾⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡜⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠣⡄⠀⠀⠀⠄⠈⠀⠂⣀⠵⢓⣀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣁⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠜⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⢀⡀⡀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡖⠁⠀⣯⢩⢢⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⠞⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠐⠀⠀⠀⡤⠱⡶⡒⢎⠓⣕⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⢀⡀⠁⠄⣤⠊⢀⠈⢄⠀⠑⣇⢠⠇⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⠿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠜⠊⠁⠀⠀⠑⠄⡠⠄⡀⠐⢀⠱⣄⠄⡀⠈⠢⡀⠄⠂⠑⡀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⠿⠟⠋⠉⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

CHIP AND FAIL iv (Autistic author) Chip leaned in closer, his screen searching Plankton's unblinking gaze for some sign of recognition. He snapped his fingers in front of his eye. Nothing. "Dad, can you hear me?" He asked again, his voice quivering with concern. Plankton's condition meant his senses were heightened, but Chip was unaware of the storm his enthusiasm had unleashed. Each question, each touch, was a boulder crashing down on his father's fragile mental landscape. The thought sent a shiver down Chip's spine. He had to get his dad to respond, to come back to him. "Please, Dad," he whispered, his voice a plea. "I don't know what to do. Can you wake up?" But Plankton's body remained rigid, his eye unseeing. Chip felt a knot of fear in his stomach. What if his dad was stuck in there, unable to escape? He didn't know his dad was autistic, didn't understand the world of sensory input that was his reality. He didn't know how much his excitement and touches could overwhelm him. He just knew that his dad, the man who had always been so strong, was now as still and quiet as a graveyard at midnight. Chip's mind raced, trying to find the right words, the right touch, to bring Plankton back. He wanted to share his stories, his happiness, but instead, he'd stumbled into a minefield of unseen sensitivities. He didn't know how to navigate this uncharted territory. "Dad," he whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, just tell me you're okay." Plankton's eye remained unfocused. His hand hovered over Plankton's, unsure of what to do. He didn't know that his enthusiastic touches were only adding to the chaos in Plankton's mind, that his vivid stories were like a hurricane in a library. Chip took a step back, his mind whirling with worry. He had never seen his dad like this before, his usual stoic exterior replaced by a terrifying stillness. "Dad," he whispered, his voice shaking. "What's happening?" He wished he could read Plankton's thoughts, understand the turmoil that was causing his father to withdraw so completely. He knew Plankton was different, that he needed his space and his quiet, but he had never realized the extent of his sensitivities. The more Chip talked, the more his dad seemed to retreat, until he was nothing but a shell, a statue of a man Chip couldn't reach. He felt like he was shouting into the wind, his words disappearing without a trace. With trembling hands, Chip reached out to touch Plankton's face, his heart breaking at the sight of his father's vacant gaze. "Dad," he whispered, his voice filled with fear. "Please come back." But Plankton remained unresponsive, his eye glazed over. The room grew colder, the air thicker with Chip's desperation. "PLEASE, DAD!" He shouted, his voice breaking. Plankton didn't move, his body a statue in the swirl of his sensory chaos. Chip didn't know his touches and loudness were only adding to his father's pain. "Dad, you're scaring me!" Chip's fingers hovered over Plankton's arm. His heart was racing as he tried to think of what to do, his mind a blur of panic. He knew his mom might know what to do. "Mom!" he calls out, his voice shaky.

A JOURNEY TO AUTISM viii (Autistic author) Plankton's antennas lift slightly. "Game," he whispers, his voice shaking. "Just game." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow, his claws tense. "If it's just a game, then why are you acting so strange?" he snaps at Plankton. Plankton's antennas wobble with effort to maintain control. "Because," he starts, his voice shaky, "Plankton... different." Mr. Krabs stares at Sponge Bob, his expression unyielding. "Different?" he echoes, his eyes darting to Plankton, then back to his employee. Sponge Bob nods, his voice trembling. "Yes, Mr. Krabs, Plankton's been through something that's changed him." He looks at Karen for support, but she stays silent, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and hope. Mr. Krabs crosses his arms, his eyebrow quivering with skepticism. "What do you mean, changed him?" he asks. "Is he trying to steal the Krabby Patty formular again?" Sponge Bob's frustration rises. "No, Mr. Krabs," he says, his voice steady. "It's not like that. Plankton has... a condition." Mr. Krabs' skepticism turns to curiosity. "Condition?" he repeats, his voice softer. Sponge Bob nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. "He's been diagnosed with acquired autism," he explains, his voice barely above a whisper. Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, his mouth dropping open as the words sink in. He turns to Karen, his gaze demanding confirmation. "Is it true?" he asks, his voice gruff. Karen nods solemnly, her circuits flickering with a mix of sadness and hope. "Yes," she says gently. "Plankton has an acquired form of autism." Mr. Krabs' expression shifts from skepticism to shock. He looks at Plankton. "Autism?" he repeats, his voice barely above a murmur. "But... but how?" Karen's LED lights dim slightly. "I don't think he'd like to answer that question" she says, her voice clinical. "It's caused a significant shift in his neural functioning." Mr. Krabs' gaze remains on Plankton, his expression one of dawning understanding. "Was me fry pan..." he starts, his voice trailing off. Plankton's antennas drop, and he nods slowly. "Yes," he whispers. "Krabs pan." Mr. Krabs' face crumbles, his claws clenching into fists. "I didn't mean to," he stammers, his voice choking with regret. "I was just trying to keep me formular safe." Plankton's antennas twitch, his single eye welling with unshed tears. Mr. Krabs' guilt is palpable, his eyes swimming with remorse. "I'm sorry, Plankton," he says hoarsely. "I had no idea." But Plankton's gaze doesn't soften. His stare is unyielding, his voice cold. "Sorry not enough," he says, his words clipped. "Hurt, Mr. Krabs hurt Plankton bad." Mr. Krabs' heart squeezes at the accusation in Plankton's voice. He's never heard him speak like this before, with such raw emotion. "I know," he says remorsefully, his voice cracking. "I know I hurt you, Plankton. I'm so, so sorry." But Plankton's unforgiving gaze doesn't waver. "No," he insists, his voice still cold. "Not just sorry. Mr. Krabs must understand." Mr. Krabs nods, his eyes brimming with tears. "I do," he chokes out. "I understand. What can I do to help?" Plankton's antennas still don't move, his expression unreadable. Mr. Krabs' reaches for Plankton's shoulder. That's the last straw. With a burst of energy, Plankton pushes away the clawed hand. "No touch," he snaps, his voice cold. "Mr. Krabs not understand." His words are like shards of ice, each one cutting deeper into Mr. Krabs' guilt. Mr. Krabs' face falls, his hand retreating quickly. "But I do," he insists, his voice desperate. "I swear, Plankton, I do." But Plankton's expression remains stony, his antennas rigid. "No," he says simply. "Krabs don't." His voice is a knife, slicing through the tension in the room. Mr. Krabs' eyes water, his heart heavy with regret. "I swear, Plankton," he pleads. "I'll do anything to make it right." But Plankton's gaze remains steady, his unforgiving gaze bearing into Mr. Krabs' soul. "Make right?" he echoes. "Cannot make right. Cannot change. Krabs fault." Mr. Krabs' shoulders sag with the weight of Plankton's words. He knows his rival is right; he can't reverse what's been done, no matter how much he wishes it. "But I want to help," he says desperately. "Please, tell me how..." But Plankton's expression is a mask of coldness, his antennas unyielding. "Help?" he echoes, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Krabs can't help." His gaze slides to the discarded chessboard, his eyes lingering on the scattered pieces. "Too late." Mr. Krabs' shoulders sag with the weight of Plankton's rejection. "Please," he says desperately. "I didn't know. I just want to make it better." But Plankton's unforgiving gaze doesn't falter. His stare is a mirror reflecting Mr. Krabs' own guilt and regret. "Better?" he repeats, his voice devoid of emotion. "Cannot be. No cure. Just stop." Mr. Krabs' eyes well with tears, his heart aching with the pain of his mistake. "But I want to fix it," he says pleadingly. "I want to make it right." But Plankton's gaze doesn't soften. "No fix," he says flatly. "Cannot change what is." His single eye seems to bore into Mr. Krabs, his voice unyielding. "Krabs hurt Plankton. Krabs must live with." Mr. Krabs hangs his head, his shoulders heaving with sobs. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice breaking. "I'll do anything." But Plankton simply shakes his head, his antennas still. "Cannot change," he murmurs. "Must live with." His eye are empty, devoid of the malicious spark that once fueled his quest for the Krabby Patty formula. Normally Plankton would love to cause such a reaction out of Mr. Krabs. Mr. Krabs' sobs grow louder, his guilt consuming him. "But I didn't mean to," he wails. "It was just a mistake." Plankton's antennas twitch slightly. "Mistake," he echoes, his voice still cold. "Mistake not enough." His eye are unrelenting, his stare piercing through Mr. Krabs' soul. "You hurt me," he says, his words a quiet thunder clap in the tense silence. "Mistake changed me." Mr. Krabs looks up, his eyes red with tears. "I know," he says, his voice thick with regret. "I know I hurt you, Plankton. Yet I didn't know how bad..." But Plankton's expression is one of resentment, his antennas twitching with anger. "Hurt," he says, his voice cold. "Krabs hurt Plankton. Krabs must understand." His gaze doesn't waver from Mr. Krabs, his accusation hangs in the air like a heavy fog. Mr. Krabs' sobs quiet, his eyes swimming with regret. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words catch in his throat. "I do underst--" "No," Plankton interrupts, his voice like a whip. "You don't." His antennas wave with agitation, his eye flashing with a cold fire. "You don't understand pain." His words are sharp, cutting through Mr. Krabs' protests. Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws trembling. "I see that now," he whispers, his voice racked with emotion. "But what can I do?" His desperation is clear, his eyes searching Plankton's face for any sign of forgiveness. "I'd even give you a krabby patty.." But Plankton's expression doesn't change. His antennas remain rigid, his eye still cold. "Krabby Patty not fix," he says simply. "Cannot fix brain." His voice is matter-of-fact, his tone unyielding. Mr. Krabs' eyes widen, his hope dashed. "But I'll do anything," he insists, his voice desperate. But Plankton's unforgiving gaze remains unmoved. "Anything?" he repeats, his tone mocking. "Can you give me back my mind?" His antennas wave in frustration. "Do leave, Krabs. Can leave." Mr. Krabs' expression falls, his claws hanging limp at his sides. "But Plankton," he begs. "We can work together, I can help you get better." But Plankton's face is a wall of coldness, his antennas waving with anger. "No better," he says firmly. "Only live now." His words are a reflection of the stark reality that Mr. Krabs had ignored. Mr. Krabs' eyes fill with tears, his claws clutching at his chest. "I hurt you so badly, Plankton. But I can't live with this," he sobs. "I know Krabs sorry now. Yet I last registered Krabs laughter as I fainted from the impact. Even if Krabs didn't mean to, Krabs did. So goodbye, Eugene Krabs." The room grew silent as the gravity of Plankton's words settled heavily upon Mr. Krabs. He hadn't considered that his foolishness could lead to such a profound change in his rival. Mr. Krabs looked at Plankton, his eyes brimming with desperation. "If I can go back and sacrifice my life to..." "Can't. Perhaps can find peace but for now, goodbye." The finality in Plankton's voice was a slap to Mr. Krabs' face, his hope crumbling like sand through his claws. He staggered back, his eyes wide with shock. Sponge Bob's heart ached, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he watched the exchange unfold. He knew Mr. Krabs was suffering, but he couldn't ignore the pain in Plankton's voice either. Mr. Krabs' sobs grew louder, his body shaking with the weight of his guilt. "Please, Plankton," he begged. But Plankton's gaze remained on the chessboard, his hands tracing the pattern of the squares, his antennas were still, his body a statue of cold resolve. Mr. Krabs' sobs turned to sniffs as he took in Plankton's unyielding stance. He knew his rival well and he could see the deep-seated pain that lay beneath the surface of his words. With a heavy heart, he nodded. "I'll let ye space then. I never wanted to lose ye." Plankton turns away. Mr. Krabs' eyes grew large with sadness, his body quivering with the weight of his mistakes. "SpongeBob I'll give ye time off work as long as you need to when for Plankton. Goodbye, Plankton," he choked out. He left the chum bucket.

AUTISM IN THE PLANKTON FAMILY viii (Autistic author) Just as quiet settled, Krabs' booming voice filled the room. "Plankton, where are ye!" Plankton's eye flew open. Sponge Bob and Karen exchanged a worried look, knowing that Mr. Krabs' presence could easily overwhelm him, not to mention Krabs caused this. Krabs marched in, his beady eyes searching the room. "Ah, there ye be," he said, spotting the small figure on the couch. Plankton's antennae shot up, his body tensing. "K-Krabs," he stuttered, his voice shaking with fear and anxiety despite trying to appear strong. Mr. Krabs' eyes twinkling with mischief. "What's this, Plankton? Too tired to scheme today?" Plankton's antennae twitched nervously. "Just... resting," he managed to murmur. "Resting? In the middle of the day? Pish-posh!" He waved a dismissive claw in the air. "More like plotting! I know your tricks, Plankton!" Sponge Bob stepped in, his spongy body blocking Krabs' view. "Hey, Mr. Krabs," he said. "Plankton's had a rough day. He's just taking it easy." Krabs' claws click together. "Rough day, eh?" he sneered. "I'll give ye rough!" Plankton's antennae drooped as his heart raced. The familiar threat of his enemy was like a knot in his stomach, a reminder of the harsh world outside his sanctuary, and what happened last time. Sponge Bob's voice grew firm. "Mr. Krabs, can we maybe talk about this later?" Mr. Krabs' eyes widened slightly at the unusual assertion. "Later? What's the matter with now?" Sponge Bob's gaze never left Plankton's trembling form. "Plankton's off the clock.." "Off the clock?" he scoffed. "There's no 'off the clock'!" Sponge Bob stepped closer to his friend, his spongy body a barrier between the two adversaries. "Mr. Krabs," he said, his voice firm, "Can we reschedule the... uh... brainstorming session?" Mr. Krabs' expression grew skeptical. Karen stepped forward, her voice calm but firm. "Krabs, please. Plankton's been through a lot." Mr. Krabs' eyes flicked to Karen. "Pah! Plankton's always had boundaries, but that's never stopped before!" Plankton's antennae quivered desperately, tensing even further. "Please, Krabs," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can't." Mr. Krabs' eyes narrowed, his claws coming to rest on his hip. "What do you mean, 'can't'?" he demanded. Sponge Bob's voice was firm but kind. "Mr. Krabs, Plankton's been diagnosed with something. It's like a... a... special condition," he stumbled. Mr. Krabs' beady eyes narrowed, sneer remaining. "Special condition? I'll give ye a special condition!" The room grew tense, the energy palpable. Plankton's antennae twitched rapidly, his body shrinking under the weight of Mr. Krabs' aggression. The memories of the fight and the subsequent meltdown flashed through his mind, a painful reminder of his vulnerability. Mr. Krabs' shadow loomed over the couch, his eyes gleaming with malice. Plankton's breathing grew shallow, his heart racing. He felt like a tiny creature trapped under the gaze of a giant predator. "Please," he whimpered, his voice barely audible. Sponge Bob stepped in front of Plankton, his spongy body taut with tension. "Mr. Krabs," he said, his tone firm, "Plankton's not ok. You need to back off." Mr. Krabs' sneer faltered, his claws pausing mid-air. He took a step back, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Plankton's state. The small creature's eye was wide with fear, his body trembling beneath the thin blanket. Sponge Bob watched, his heart breaking for his friend. "Mr. Krabs," he said, his voice firm but not unkind. "What happened between you two really affected Plankton. He's been diagnosed with autism because of it." Mr. Krabs' expression shifted, his eyes going wide with shock. He took another step back, his claws dropping to his sides. "What? Autism?" he echoed, his voice filled with disbelief. Karen stepped closer. "Yes Krabs," she said, her voice calm and patient. "The doctor said it's a result of the head injury he sustained during your fight." Mr. Krabs' face paled, his claws dropping to his sides. "I... I," he stammered, bravado gone. The room was silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. Karen's unforgiving. Sponge Bob watched, his heart heavy with hope that his boss might understand. Mr. Krabs' eyes grew wide with horror as the realization sank in. The thought that he could have caused such harm to his longtime nemesis was to much to bear. He swallowed hard, his chest constricting with guilt. He looked at Plankton, really looked at him, for the first time seeing the fear and pain in his eye. Plankton was trembling, his antennae quivering with each shallow breath he took. Mr. Krabs took another step back, his chest heaving. "Autism?" he repeated. "Because of me?" The room was a silent witness to the crab's self-realization. The booming voice that had so often filled the Chum Bucket with threats and taunts was now just a faint echo of regret. Mr. Krabs stared at Plankton, his beady eyes shimmering with a mixture of horror and guilt. He had never seen the tiny plankton look so vulnerable, so broken. It was a stark contrast to the scheming genius he had always known. "I-I..." he stuttered, his claws trembling as he struggled to comprehend the gravity of his actions. Karen stepped forward, her voice firm but measured. "The doctor said it's because of the trauma to his brain you inflicted. It's all because of you! You did it." Mr. Krabs' eyes widened even further, and he took another step back. "But... but, I was just defending the Krabby Patty!" he protested weakly. Sponge Bob's gaze was steady on his boss. "It's more than that, Mr. Krabs. It's irreversible with no cure." Mr. Krabs' face fell, the implications of his actions finally sinking in. The magnitude of his recklessness was clear, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of remorse. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice small and desperate. Karen's gaze was steely. "You can start by giving him space. And maybe, just maybe, by being kind for once in your life." Mr. Krabs looked down at his claws, which had been poised for battle, now hanging limply at his sides. He nodded slowly, his eyes still on Plankton. "I'm sorry, Plankton," he said, his voice gruff. "I never meant to hurt ye like this." Plankton's antennae stilled. He wasn't sure what to make of Mr. Krabs' sudden apology. His eye searched the crab's face. "Mr. Krabs," he began, his voice still small but growing stronger. "I know Krabs didn't mean to... to make me like this." His antennae twitched slightly as he spoke. Mr. Krabs' expression grew soft, his eyes misting with tears. "But I can't take it back," he whispered, the weight of his guilt heavy on his shoulders. Suddenly, Plankton's tiny hand reached out, tentatively taking Mr. Krabs' large claw in his grip. The gesture was unexpected, his antennae quivering with the effort of reaching out despite his fear. It was a silent offering of peace, a bridge over the chasm of their rivalry. Mr. Krabs looked down at their joined hands with surprise. The warmth of Plankton's touch was a stark contrast to the coldness of his own heart, a reminder that despite their differences, they were all just creatures trying to navigate a complex world. The room held its breath as Mr. Krabs felt the tremble in Plankton's grip, a silent plea for understanding and compassion. It was a moment of unexpected connection, a reminder that even the most bitter of enemies could find common ground in pain and suffering. Mr. Krabs' eyes grew wet with tears, his hardened exterior cracking like a shell under the pressure of his guilt. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Plankton's antennae twitched as he processed the crab's words. He knew Mr. Krabs was capable of empathy, but rarely did it show. This was a side of him he had never seen before, and it was as overwhelming as it was comforting. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Mr. Krabs nodded, his eyes still on Plankton's hand in his claw. He took a deep breath, the weight of his apology heavy on his chest. "I'll leave you be," he said, his voice gruff with emotion. Plankton's antennae remained still, his grip on Mr. Krabs' clawed hand lingering in the air for a moment before he slowly withdrew it, his mind reeling from the exchange. Sponge Bob and Karen watched, their expressions a mix of shock and hope. Mr. Krabs nodded, his eyes never leaving Plankton's. He knew that words alone wouldn't erase the pain he had caused, but it was a start. He took a step back, his shoulders slumped with the weight of his newfound understanding. "I'll leave you to rest," he said, his voice gruff but sincere. Plankton's antennae quivered with relief, and he nodded slightly. Mr. Krabs turned to leave, his steps heavy as he moved toward the door. But before he could exit, Plankton's voice stopped him. "Mr. Krabs," he called out, his tone firm but not unkind. Mr. Krabs paused, his claw on the doorknob. He looked back over his shoulder, his expression a mix of hope and fear. Plankton's antennae quivered slightly as he gathered his thoughts. "I... I forgive you," he managed to say, his voice surprisingly steady. Mr. Krabs' eyes widened in shock, his claw frozen on the doorknob. He had never expected such words to come from his enemy's lips, especially not now, in the aftermath of such a life-altering revelation. He turned to face Plankton, his expression a tumult of emotions. "You... forgive me?" he whispered, his voice hoarse with disbelief. Plankton nodded, his antennae still. "If you can change," he said, his voice firm but not unyielding. "Be better." Mr. Krabs' gaze searched Plankton's face, his own expression a mirror of the plankton's. "I'll try," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Plankton's antennae drooped in a gesture of defeat. "Just try," he murmured. "That's all I ask."

♦️

😂Δ

▶• ılıılıılılılıılıılı. 0𝟖𝟖𝟖

🧨

A LIFE OF DIVERSITY viii (Autistic author) After SpongeBob and Patrick left Plankton settled for his usual movie night. Karen took this time to call Sandy, her best friend, a gal pal. "Sandy, it's Karen," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I need to talk to you about something." On the other end of the line, Sandy's voice was warm and concerned. "Howdy! What's going on Karen?" "It's Plankton," Karen began. "He's... changed." Sandy's voice grew serious. "What happened Karen?" "Plankton had an accident," she said, her voice shaking. "He hit his head and... well, the doctors say he has autism now, and I thought I'd let you know." Sandy's voice was calm and understanding. "Oh Karen," she said. "I'm so sorry to hear that. How's he handling it?" Karen sighed heavily. "It's been... a lot," she admitted. "He's so focused on jellyfish now, and it's like nothing else matters. It's his whole world." "Wow, that's quite a change," Sandy said, her voice filled with empathy. "How's he been with social interactions?" "Well, that's the thing," she said. "He's been... different. Sometimes, it's like he's in his own little world. And other times, like with Patrick, he's just... really sensitive." "Patrick?" Sandy's voice was incredulous. "Patrick made fun of him?" "Well, not exactly. He just didn't understand," she explained. "He said jellyfish were boring, and it really hurt Plankton's feelings. The neurodivergence is irreversible, and he's still Plankton." Sandy's voice was filled with understanding. "But it sounds like he's found something that brings him a lot of joy." "Yeah," Karen agreed, her tentacles relaxing slightly. "But it's hard to watch him struggle, you know?" Sandy's voice was gentle. "I can imagine, Karen. But remember he's still the same Plankton at heart." The next day, Sandy arrived at the Chum Bucket, her burly squirrel arms holding a treasure trove of various miniature jellyfish figurines. She'd spent hours scouring the deepest parts of the ocean for the rarest and most detailed jellyfish models she could find. "Hi, Karen!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. Karen's eyes lit up at the sight of her friend. "Sandy, what's all this?" she asked, her tentacles waving in curiosity. "I heard about Plankton's newfound love for jellyfish," Sandy said with a grin, her cheeks red with the excitement of her discovery. "And I thought these might help him feel more connected. Where is he?" Sandy comes in. Plankton's sitting in the corner, his jellyfish book open on the floor in front of him, surrounded by a sea of scribbled notes and diagrams. His gaze didn't leave the page, but his posture straightened at the sound of a new presence in the room. "Plankton," Karen called gently, "Look who's here!" Plankton's antennae shot up as he looked over at Sandy, his eye widening at the sight of a box. "These are for you," Sandy said, setting the box down in front of him. Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he looked up, his monotone voice cracking slightly. "For Plankton?" Sandy nodded, her smile genuine. "I thought they might make you happy," she said, her voice gentle. "They're all different types of jellyfish. Each is unique and special, just like you." Plankton's antennae twitched with excitement as he reached for the box, his eye scanning its contents. "Jellyfish," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with wonder. "Thanks" Sandy watched as Plankton carefully removed each figurine, his eye lighting up with each new discovery. "You're welcome," she said, her voice warm. "I wanted to do something to support you in your newfound passion." Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he examined each jellyfish. "These are... amazing," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with awe. Sandy chuckled, her eyes sparkling with happiness. "I'm so glad you like them," she said, watching him closely. "They're from all over the ocean. Some of them are pretty rare." Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement as he examined each figure. "Rare," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a new found enthusiasm. "Rare jellyfish." Sandy nodded, her eyes bright. "Yeah, some of them are," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "Do you have a favorite type?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he thought. "Turritopsis dohrnii," he murmured. "The immortal jellyfish. It can revert back to its polyp stage and start its life cycle again." Sandy's eyes widened. "Wow, Plankton," she said, impressed. "That's really cool." Plankton looked up from the box, his antennae waving slightly. "You know jellyfish?" he asked, his voice monotone yet filled with hope. Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "A bit," she said, her tail swishing with excitement. "But I'd love to learn more from an expert like you." Plankton's antennae quivered with a hint of pride. "Expert," he murmured, his monotone voice cracking slightly. Sandy sat down next to him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell me more about them," she urged, her voice gentle. Plankton's antennae perked up, and he began to speak with a newfound energy. "Turritopsis dohrnii," he recited, his monotone voice cracking with excitement. "It's a jellyfish that can live forever. If it's injured or stressed, it goes back to being a polyp. It's like a rebirth." Sandy leaned closer, her eyes wide with fascination. "Really?" she said, her voice filled with wonder. "That's incredible!" Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "Yes," he murmured, his monotone voice growing more animated. "Immortal jellyfish can survive forever. Plankton read in book." Sandy's eyes grew wide with amazement. "That's so fascinating, Plankton," she said, her voice filled with genuine interest. "How do they do that?" Plankton's antennae quivered with excitement. "When Turritopsis dohrnii is hurt, it goes back to polyp," he said, holding up a tiny figurine of the species. "Polyp is like jellyfish baby, but it's not baby. It's just jellyfish in different shape." Sandy nodded, her eyes glued to the miniature figures as Plankton spoke. "That's so amazing," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "I've never heard of anything like that before." "Jellyfish are fascinating," Plankton murmured, his antennae waving slightly as he picked up another figurine. "This one," he said, holding up a mini model of a clear jellyfish, "is called a Burgessomedusa phasmiformis." Sandy's eyes lit up. "It's like a ghost jellyfish," she said, her voice filled with excitement. "I've read about these!" "Yes," Plankton murmured, his monotone voice cracking with pride. "They're very rare and very beautiful." Sandy nodded, her eyes shining. "They are," she agreed, reaching for one of the figurines. "How did you learn so much about jellyfish?" Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he paused in his examination of the ghostly jellyfish. "Plankton read book," he murmured. Sandy nodded, her eyes still on the delicate figurine. "What else?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine curiosity. Plankton's antennae quivered as he searched his memory. "Book say... that jellyfish are ancient creatures, with some species over 500 million years old." Sandy's eyes grew wide with amazement. "Wow, Plankton," she said, her voice filled with admiration. "You really know your stuff. Can I ask a question?" Plankton nodded, his antennae twitching with excitement. "Question," he murmured. Sandy took a deep breath, her eyes on the book. "What was the accident, Plankton?" she asked gently. "How did you hit your head?" Plankton's antennae drooped slightly, the excitement draining from his voice. "Krabs," he murmured, his monotone cracking. "Mr. Krabs. Angry." "What happened, Plankton?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he looked up at Sandy, his eye wide with the memory. "Mr. Krabs," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a sudden urgency. "Mr. Krabs slammed cash register on Plankton's head, then Plankton woke up in hospital." Sandy's smile faltered, her eyes filled with concern. "Oh Plankton," she said, her voice gentle. "Woke up," he murmured. "In hospital. Everything different." Karen looked at him, her expression gentle. "What do you remember?" Plankton paused, antennae quivering as he tried to piece together the jumbled memories. "Car," he murmured finally. "Long ride." "The hospital," Karen said, stroking his back gently. "You were in a hospital for a bit after the accident." Plankton's antennae twitched as he nodded, his monotone voice cracking. "Yes, hospital," he murmured. "Doctors talked, but Plankton didn't understand." Sandy leaned in, her eyes filled with sympathy. "They told you about your autism?" she asked softly. Plankton nodded, his antennae drooping. "Karen said it's why Plankton thinks differently," he murmured. Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with empathy. "It's okay to think differently, Plankton," she said. Plankton's antennae twitched slightly. "Different," he murmured, his monotone voice filled with a hint of confusion. "But... Plankton good at jellyfish." Sandy nodded, her eyes filled with understanding. "You are," she said, her voice firm. "And that's something amazing. Your brain works in ways that let you understand jellyfish better than anyone else." Plankton looked at her, his antennae perking up slightly. "Better than anyone?" he asked, his monotone voice filled with a hint of doubt. "Absolutely," Sandy said, her voice firm.

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

💗✨🏹🐈‍⬛

╾━╤デ╦︻

🅿️🅾️Rn

👁

ྀི🧸▶︎•၊၊||၊|။||||||။၊|။•

🖤

⨺

👁🤖⃤

They replaced their search for knowledge With the reach of many material gains They lack the tenderness of the sensitive Empathetic bodies crying from the pain It's too late to grow their frame Of mind it seems that it's already made No use in arguing with someone who doesn't Wanna prioritize birthing of creation~🎶

🌸💮🪷🏵️🌺🌹💐🍉🍑🍏🍈🍇🍈🥥🥕🥦🥕🥥🟨🟡⚪🟡🟠🔴®©a++4€€{\ *ੈ𑁍༘⋆ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི1️── .✦⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ᥫ᭡

へ____へ ( ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ) ( ● ● ) ( . )

⠀⠄⠠⡀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⡃⠀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡂⠁⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠒⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢇⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⠒⠦⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡂⠀⠀⢈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⡀⠀⡂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⣥⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡨⠏⡿⠗⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠎⠀⠀⡂⠀⠉⠓⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠂⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠤⠤⠤⠤⠄⠤⠤⢤⠄⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠓⠺⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⡆⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠄⠀⡆⠁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠠⠄⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⢵⠗⢸⠠⠀⡂⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣀⡈⣓⠹⡁⣟⢦⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢅⡩⡀⡇⢄⣭⠧⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢼⠨⠏⣧⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⡅⠗⣗⠂⣟⣽⢹⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢬⡀⣄⡇⡕⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠧⡙⣧⠄⠝⢞⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢀⣦⠁⣹⡁⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⡧⣗⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⡠⣻⣟⠀⣩⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠏⡄⠀⠀⠀ ⢖⢏⠈⡟⠃⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⢂⠀ ⠀⠉⠃⡀⢀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠇⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⢆⡀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠄⠃⠀⠀⠓⠤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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⠶⠶⣶⣿⣆⠀⠐⠙⠛⠛⠳⠂⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠈⠙⠦⢄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠑⠒⠲⠤⠤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠁⣠⠔⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠑⠒⠤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠤⡀⠀⢶⡏⠀⡰⠁⠄⢀⣀⠀⣀⣀⡤⠤⠂⠀⠰⣄⠁⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠦⣠⣤⣼⣦⣀⣧⠀⡇⢀⣤⣾⣯⣽⣄⠀⢀⣀⡠⢶⡀⠈⣳⠖⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠓⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣤⣧⡀⠉⠹⠿⣿⡏⠠⣸⣿⠟⠉⠁⠀⠀⣀⡠⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣷⣶⣾⣿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠀⠀⣿⣶⣟⣻⣀⠀⣀⡁⠀⠀⢠⡀⠀⣄⣀⣉⡹⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢥⣤⣤⣤⣤⣬⠹⠛⢶⣦⣤⠤⠤⠴⠖⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠟⠉⠉⠉⠙⢠⠋⣹⠆⠀⠘⠓⠾⡩⠟⠉⠀⢰⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣶⣦⣭⣽⣛⣛⣿⣿⡴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⡴⠃⠀⠀⣀⠴⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⢤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣾ ⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣧⠤⠖⠶⠟⠻⠛⠻⢶⠖⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠋⢹⣿⠟⠛⠉ ⣦⣄⣈⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠒⠲⠤ ⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡔⠋⢁⡬⠛⠉⠉⢑⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⢀⠎⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣷⣄⡀ ⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣁ ⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⣠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠹⡿⣿ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⡸⣿⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠹⠌ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⢻⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡷⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠅⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠁⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠿⠋⠁⢀⣹⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡂⠁⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⡤⠖⠉⠀⠀⠹⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⠁⣠⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣬⣿⠷⠶⠶⠤⢤⣤⣤⡤⣤⣹⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⣤⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡠⠤⠒⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠞⠋⣀⡴⠞⠋⠻⢿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠒⠁⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠞⣉⣠⠴⠚⠁⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠶⠶⣶⣿⣆⠀⠐⠙⠛⠛⠳⠂⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠈⠙⠦⢄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠑⠒⠲⠤⠤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠞⠁⣠⠔⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠑⠒⠤⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠤⡀⠀⢶⡏⠀⡰⠁⠄⢀⣀⠀⣀⣀⡤⠤⠂⠀⠰⣄⠁⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠦⣠⣤⣼⣦⣀⣧⠀⡇⢀⣤⣾⣯⣽⣄⠀⢀⣀⡠⢶⡀⠈⣳⠖⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠓⢦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣤⣧⡀⠉⠹⠿⣿⡏⠠⣸⣿⠟⠉⠁⠀⠀⣀⡠⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣷⣶⣾⣿⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠋⠀⠀⣿⣶⣟⣻⣀⠀⣀⡁⠀⠀⢠⡀⠀⣄⣀⣉⡹⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢥⣤⣤⣤⣤⣬⠹⠛⢶⣦⣤⠤⠤⠴⠖⠒⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠟⠉⠉⠉⠙⢠⠋⣹⠆⠀⠘⠓⠾⡩⠟⠉⠀⢰⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣶⣦⣭⣽⣛⣛⣿⣿⡴⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡇⡴⠃⠀⠀⣀⠴⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⠳⢤⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣤⣾ ⠉⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣧⠤⠖⠶⠟⠻⠛⠻⢶⠖⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠋⢹⣿⠟⠛⠉ ⣦⣄⣈⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡿⠒⠲⠤ ⣿⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡔⠋⢁⡬⠛⠉⠉⢑⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣷⡀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡏⠀⢀⠎⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⣷⣄⡀ ⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣁ ⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢠⡏⠀⠀⣠⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠹⡿⣿ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⡸⣿⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠹⠌ ⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠉⢻⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡷⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠅⣸⠇⠀⠀⠀ ⣿⣿⣿⢿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠁⢠⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠿⠋⠁⢀⣹⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡂⠁⢀⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢀⡤⠖⠉⠀⠀⠹⣷⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⠁⣠⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣬⣿⠷⠶⠶⠤⢤⣤⣤⡤⣤⣹⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⣤⣿⣿⠟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⡠⠤⠒⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠞⠋⣀⡴⠞⠋⠻⢿⣿⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠒⠁⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⠞⣉⣠⠴⠚⠁⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣦⣤⣤⣀⣤⣤⣤⣤⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠄⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠛⢿⡛⠫⢽⣖⠒⠲⢤⠾⠁⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠒⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠓⠶⢦⣄⡀⠀⠉⠓⢦⡈⠉⠑⠲⣤⡀⠉⠓⠲⣤⣀⠀⠀⢀⡌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢙⣶⡄⠀⠀⠈⠲⣄⠀⠀⠙⠦⣀⠉⠳⣍⢓⢦⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣴⠟⠁⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣟⢮⡳⡀⠀⠀⠈⠳⡄⠀⠀⠘⢧⡀⠈⠛⠳⡈⠳⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣠⣾⠟⠁⠐⠁⠀⢀⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢘⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣽⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠘⠂⠀⠀⠀⠙⢦⠀⠀⢘⠂⠀⠙⢄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣠⣴⠆⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⢾⠟⢁⠄⠀⠀⢠⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⠘⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⡘⢮⣻⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⡀⠈⠓⣄⢰⠀⠱⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠛⠁⠀⢀⣠⠴⠋⣰⠏⡴⠃⠀⠀⢰⠋⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣄⠳⣽⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⡀⠀⠈⠻⣇⠀⠙⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠻⠯⠤⠤⡞⢁⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⢶⣀⠀⣆⡀⠀⢀⠃⠐⠒⠀⠳⡄⠀⡀⢀⣀⣀⣈⣳⡘⢾⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣻⣦⣀⠀⠈⠀⠀⡇⢳⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⢡⡞⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⢰⡇⣇⠀⠀⠀⠠⠙⠿⣮⡷⢤⣼⠤⠤⠤⠤⠖⠛⢿⣻⡻⣄⡀⠀⠀⠉⢿⣿⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⢻⠟⠦⣄⠀⠳⣄⠻⣄⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⡸⢁⡎⠀⠀⠀⡤⠀⡟⠀⠀⣸⠁⣼⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⣟⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣙⣷⣀⡙⣦⣄⠀⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⠀⠀⠘⢆⠀⠈⠃⠹⣄ ⠀⠀⠀⠠⠃⡾⠀⠀⠀⣸⠁⠀⡇⠀⠀⡏⢸⠃⢹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⢰⠏⠀⠈⡹⠋⠉⢉⣿⢉⣉⣽⣯⣭⣭⣭⣶⣤⣹⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣾⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⣧⡿⠐⠲⢷⡀⢳⡄⠀⠀⢹⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⣖⣿⣿⡿⢟⣻⢏⡽⠉⠉⠉⠛⣿⣾⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢯⢷⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⢠⣾⢷⠀⣧⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠱⡄⡟⢦⡀⠀⢷⡀⠀⠀⠸⢋⡟⠳⠶⠶⠒⠋⢀⣀⡠⣴⣴⣿⡋⣹⠀⠀⣤⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣼⡏⠉⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠒⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠁⠀⢸⡇⣨⡟⣧⡇⢀⣴⣂⡀⠀⠙⢾⡀⠘⠲⢌⣧⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⣀⣠⢴⣺⡭⢖⣿⡿⢇⣀⡽⢿⠀⠀⢻⠀⠈⡄⠀⠀⠀⠈⡟⣧⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⣾⡿⠁⠹⣜⣶⠋⠁⢀⡄⠀⠀⠘⡿⡀⠀⣠⢝⣹⣤⠒⡤⣶⠯⠟⢿⣯⡥⠖⠛⠉⠛⠉⠉⠀⠘⡆⠀⢸⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⡿⢷⡄⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⠀⣿⠁⠀⣠⢛⣾⣶⡶⡿⣿⣥⡀⠀⡧⣁⣼⡷⣫⠆⠀⢀⡴⣯⣝⣻⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠿⠋⠀⠀⠢⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡾⡇⢠⡟⢀⣾⣷⢿⣟⣣⠶⠚⠁⠀⣠⣼⠟⠉⠡⠞⠁⠀⠐⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠇⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⡾⠋⠁⠀⢱⡀⢀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡧⣷⠘⡇⢘⣾⡏⠀⠀⢀⡠⣤⠞⢻⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⢸⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⠀ ⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⣤⠀⢿⣿⣧⢳⠀⣿⣧⣤⣺⠽⣛⡥⠾⠋⠋⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⡼⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠸⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠇ ⠀⠀⠈⠀⢰⡘⡇⠈⣿⣯⠻⣤⠉⠛⢛⡥⠞⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⣸⠃⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠓⠄⠀⠀⢠⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢣⢱⡀⢻⣹⡆⣿⣠⣶⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢧⡇⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣷⠀⠀⠀⢠⠎⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⢣⣷⡸⡇⢷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⡴⠖⠋⠉⢙⣲⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣯⡞⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⢸⣿⣠⠆⢠⡏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⣽⠈⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣛⢛⣉⣠⣤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠏⠀⠀⠀⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⢸⠟⠁⣰⣿⣇⡠⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣆⠀⠈⡇⠙⠆⢸⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣭⣝⣹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠻⢧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⣯⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⠞⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⣿⠀⠀⢻⠀⠀⠈⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⣿⢋⠀⢰⠛⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣼⣿⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠀⢐⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠠⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⢸⡇⠀⠀⠻⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠉⠀⠀⢰⠗⠁⠀⢸⡄⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢸⣾⠀⡾⠀⠀⢸⠇⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠸⡹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀⠠⣿⣶⣿⠳⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡟⢠⠃⠀⠀⡟⠀⢠⣿⣿⡿⢿⡠⠖⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠸⡀⢀⠀⡇⠹⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠳⣄⠀⠀⠘⣿⠉⠉⠛⠿⣶⢤⣴⣷⠁⣸⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⡞⢿⡿⠡⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣧⠀⠀⠀⢇⠘⡀⢹⡄⢹⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣿⣿⣿⢷⣄⠀⠀⢠⡀⠉⠙⢦⡀⠹⡄⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⡟⢠⠇⠀⢀⣿⠀⢰⣧⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡆⡀⠀⠘⡆⢷⠈⣿⡈⢷⠙⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⢿⣉⠉⠉⣙⣒⡶⠬⢧⣶⣄⠁⢀⡇⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⠃⡼⠀⠀⣼⣿⣠⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢧⢁⠀⠀⠸⡌⡆⢹⡱⡌⢧⡀⠉⠳⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⠀⢀⣠⠄⠈⠈⠉⠉⢁⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⢰⠃⠀⣴⣣⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠘⡎⢣⠀⠀⠹⣽⡀⢇⠘⢆⠻⡄⠀⠀⠉⠳⣄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠏⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡿⢠⠎⠀⣸⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠱⡄⠀⢹⡌⣆⠀⠀⠣⢷⡘⣧⠈⠳⡘⢦⣀⡈⢦⡀⠈⠛⠲⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⡀⢀⣀⣠⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⡹⢃⠎⠀⣴⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⡏⠀⠀⡶⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⠀⠈⠓⡆ ⠙⠒⡛⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠈⡇⠀⡼⠁ ⠀⠀⡎⠀⠀⠀⢀⠅⠀⠀⡜⠁⡋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠁⠓⠒⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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