Psychic's Dream (Peregrine x TragicTrees)

[Peregrine]

Jae had wrapped himself in two layers of thick coats, heavy pants, winter gloves and hat, and had a blanket wrapped pack between him and the cold metal of the freight train, but the wind still managed to chill him right to the bone. He'd tucked himself into the back of an open-top coal car, under the overhang, near where it connected to the next car in the train. Yet, despite the seeming protection of the metal around him, the wind still managed to eddie into the recessed area, buffeting him around in time to the rhythmic clacking of the train wheels.

Jae had freighthopped is way from Portland to Denver to Kansas City, and the train he was currently on was now drawing close to Chicago. His departure from Portland had been far from planned, as it had been driven almost entirely by a need to simply get away, as far and as quickly as possible. He wasn't even sure how far he was going, but the fact that he'd eaten his last granola bar yesterday meant he was going to have to stop moving whenever this train did, and start begging in front of the nearest grocery store.

Jae's milky eyes roamed vaguely in front of him, while his fingers tapped out a slow beat on his own leg and he tried to ignore the scattered pieces of conversations that floated about him.

...мү ∂αυgнтεя нαs sυcн α sωεεт тσσтн. αη∂ ι ωσяяү ιғ sнε кεερs gσιηg тнιs ωαү, sнε's gσιηg тσ εη∂ υρ sσ нεαvү. ι'vε αsкε∂ нεя ∂α∂ тσ…

… $ѳѫё gаягїc апд fяч їт; тнёп адд gїпgёя. Йѳщ чѳц cцт $ѳѫё ѫїпт гёаѵё$ щнїcн аcтцаггч gїѵё$ чѳц тнё fгаѵѳя…​

...ᗰᗩᑎ Ꭵ 丅ᗴᒪᒪ Ƴᗩ, Ǥᗝ ᖴᗝᖇ ᗰᑌ丅ᑌᗩᒪ ᖴᑌᑎᗪᔕ. 丅ᕼᗴᖇᗴ ᗩᖇᗴ 丅ᗯᗝ 丅Ƴᑭᗴᔕ, ᗴɊᑌᎥ丅Ƴ ᗩᑎᗪ ᗪᗴᗷ丅 ᖴᑌᑎᗪᔕ. ᑎᗝ ᖇᎥᔕᛕ ᗩ丅 ᗩᒪᒪ, Ꭵ 丅ᗴᒪᒪ Ƴᗩ….​

...ƈօʍɛ օռ, ֆɦɛ ɨֆ ɮɛɛռ աօʀᏦɨռɢ ɦɛʀɛ ʄօʀ ʄօʊʀ ʏɛǟʀֆ, ֆɦɛ ƈǟռ ǟʄʄօʀɖ Ꮖօ քǟʏ ʄօʀ ǟ ʍǟɨɖ…

ᕼEY! YOᑌ ᑕᗩᑎ'T ᗷE Iᑎ ᕼEᖇE!

Jae flinched at the last voice, which echoed so loudly he was tempted to press his gloved hands to his ears. Practice, stubbornness, and fear kept him from doing more than twitching, but a wrinkle marred his brow all the same.

He'd been told growing up, more times than he could count, that the voices were only in his head. That he had to ignore them, unless he could see the person speaking. That the things he saw were nothing but delusions, even when they came true hours, days, weeks, months, or even years later. But Jae knew he wasn't insane. He knew the things he saw and heard were real, even if no one else did. He saw the past, or the future, carried in the ephemeral memories of the world and conveyed to him whenever he touched bare skin. The conversations, heard by the wind and then scattered with the breeze, to brush up against his face.

That's how he knew, he just knew, that when this train slowed to a halt at the rail hub on the outskirts of Chicago, there was going to be a railway detective to spot him when the train slowed enough for him to disembark. It seemed like the kind of thing he should have been able to avoid, given that he knew it was coming, but Jae had already long since found that he'd never be able to avoid something he heard or saw. The memories of the future were immutable, having already taken into account whatever actions he decided to take after hearing them. It was far easier for him to not try and fight it.

Instead, he tugged at the sleeve of his coats, exposing the bare skin of his forearm to the cold air. The voices got louder, more demanding, but he narrowed his half-blind eyes and focused on what he wanted to know. Gradually, images began to form before his eyes.

No, Jae wouldn't run. Instead, he'd prepare.

 

[TragicTrees]

Thomas Harrow was a completely average man.

Really. If you were to ask anyone who knew him to describe who, exactly, he was, their exact words would most likely be close to 'Oh, you know, he's just a guy. I can't really think of a discernible trait'. This was because he wasn't particularly athletic or handsome, yet he also didn't have a nerdy look about him or look ugly. He was the type of person who was just sort of there.

He really didn't notice it when he was younger, mostly because it didn't effect him heavily. He did just fine, which was right above failing and right below just perfect. He was alright at sports, he knew a thing or two about art, and he could act just fine if he was a background character rather than one with a lot of lines. He was even a middle child- not oldest, not youngest, just the middle-est -and his younger sibling, Alice, was great at sports, and his older sibling, Robert, was intelligent. His mother had dubbed Thomas 'the creative one', but that hadn't gotten him far after he set his heart on being part of the police force.

So, yes. He was extremely average. Which, of course, would be fine, if he didn't feel that his inability to be more than perfectly average was keeping him from a better job description.

It wasn't that he looked down upon people who had the title 'railway detective', he just didn't like it for himself, personally. He had bigger dreams, wanting to take on more than graffiti artists and train hoppers for once in his life. But, when push came to shove, he just wasn't the sort of material for anything but a railway detective in Chicago. He wouldn't be surprised if he continued to be in this sort of job limbo until he retired, doing the exact thing he was doing now, with almost no results.

Like almost every other day, he was stalking the railways in the area- and stalking was the only word that could describe the stiff manner in which the action was carried out -hoping that something would happen, though it was unlikely. He never truly found anything. There was one point he had caught a group of teen delinquents spray-painting dicks on the side of a wall, but that was quite frankly the furthest he'd gotten. Nothing happened in the area. He was just hired as a precaution, if not out of pity.

He eyed one of the trains coming in, arms wrapped around himself in a pitiful attempt to shield himself somewhat from the cold air. It didn't matter what they said- the hub was in no way warm this time of the year. In his head, he was counting down the hours until his break, and then, after that, the hours until he was free to go back to his apartment. His warm apartment, with his bed and decent food, as well as access to Netflix. He was so focused on thinking about what he would do when he was off the clock that he didn't notice that there was a train hopper, which was definitely something in his domain of law, currently in front of him while he was ON the clock.

Almost, of course, was the key word. He managed to snap to attention when he spotted the person, and only froze a moment before beginning to jog over, as fast as he was willing to push himself in the current temperature. "Hey! Hey! You can't be here!" He called out, trying to get the man's attention.

 

[Peregrine]

"Hey! Hey! You can't be here!"

This time, the words weren't carried to Jae's mind by the brush of the wind, but by the actual sound of a disgruntled voice. He landed heavily as he jumped out of the train, staggering slightly at the impact of sudden deceleration and the weight of his pack as it shifted him heavily to the side. Jae lifted his head in the direction of the voice, cloudy eyes focused in the general direction of a blurry silhouette. Jae couldn't actually make out the appearance of the officer who now stood in his way, but his mind's eye gave him a general impression of the man anyways.

Average height, a vaguely athletic build that could just as easily have been accidental as intentional, covered by a heavy dark blue officer's coat designed to cut down on the bite of the cold wind. Before Jae had shown up, the young man had been pacing back and forth, clearly wanting nothing more than to just go home. It was nothing but ill fortune that Jae had ended up destined to meet him, and he wan't so lazy that he'd blatantly disregard someone breaking the law in front of him.

Jae quickly dropped his gaze again, mumbling a "Sorry," under his breath.

There were very few people who train hopped who weren't among the desperate and homeless, and Jae certainly looked the part. A long, heavy coat and worn sweater and jeans, his hair an untidy black mop on his head, a scraggly, untended beard covering his face along with a healthy coating of black dust from the train. It was obvious at a glance that he had no more to his name than whatever was in the pack on his back, so taking him down to the precinct to book him would be far more effort than it was worth.

"Sorry, sorry," he repeated a couple of extra times, for good measure. "I'm leaving. Sorry." He turned, shuffling away in the direction of the lot's edge.

 

[TragicTrees]

It was obvious the man in front of him was homeless, or at least not in a great spot. Thomas had seen plenty of people in that sort of situation; around cities, it was hard not to see at least 1 person sitting near a building with a sign that mentioned something about God and money and food. Of course, he felt bad. People having trouble getting where they wanted to be, which was probably simply just somewhere with warmth and food, was difficult to watch, especially during the colder months. So, Thomas could be sympathetic. Really. If it were at any other point, and if he himself were anyone else, he would be more than happy to let it go and move on.

He wasn't somebody else, though, and it wasn't any other point. He was a sorry excuse for a police officer, stuck in the current moment.

He did have a quota to meet, technically. They really never said that not meeting it would get him fired, but if he didn't call anything in, or bring anyone to the precinct in this case, then his presence would be viewed as more of annoyance than anything. And if he was more of a hindrance than a help? Then he's probably be fired, and he really wouldn't be able to handle that. Due to that, he had to place his sympathy aside. For the sake of his job. It wasn't exactly the justice-seeking future he had envisioned when he was younger and planning out what he wanted to be, but he had to deal with the reality: he wasn't a TV cop.

'Whoa, okay, buddy, wait a second." He said, grabbing the man's arm, though doing it gently. He had no intent to hurt the other in any way, and he still felt bad "Can't just let you go like that. Train hopping is still illegal, yea? 'Fraid I'm gonna have to take you to the precinct quick. It's....you know. Protocol. I gotta do my job." He offered up a smile, but it looked forced, he was sure.

 

[Peregrine]

Jae's had flashed out in response when the detective grabbed him, his gloved hands scraping against the man's hand, before rubbing up against his face hard enough to leave behind a red mark. The pain of his overly forceful contact didn't even register to him through the sudden rush of voices and information that filled his head. He tried to filter through the unimportant things, the information that wasn't relevant. The name of the person who'd stocked the breakfast he'd eaten that morning. The feel of the fabric of the couch in his living room. The location where he'd forget he left his keys a week from now. None of it mattered, and he let it wash over him like the caress of wind. Instead, he focused in on the important things.

Things like the voice of the detective's superior.

Wₑ'ᵣₑ ₛₜᵢₗₗ ₐ bᵤₛᵢₙₑₛₛ, ₜₕₒₘₐₛ. Wₑ ₕₐᵥₑ ₒₚₑᵣₐₜᵢₙg cₒₛₜₛ, ⱼᵤₛₜ ₗᵢₖₑ ₐₙy ₒₜₕₑᵣ ₒᵣgₐₙᵢzₐₜᵢₒₙ. ₒₙₗy dᵢffₑᵣₑₙcₑ ᵢₛ, ₒᵤᵣ ₘₒₙₑy cₒₘₑₛ fᵣₒₘ wₕₑₙ wₑ cₐₜcₕ ₚₑₒₚₗₑ bᵣₑₐₖᵢₙg ₜₕₑ ₗₐw. Dₒₙ'ₜ fₒᵣgₑₜ ₜₕₐₜ.

That, at least, explained why he was desperate enough to detain Jae, even though there shouldn't have been any benefit for him. But it didn't help Jae figure out how to get out of this situation. His fingers trembled slightly, as he realized he was going to have to dig deeper if he wanted to target more important information than the meaningless drivel that was filling his mind. Still shaking slightly, he tugged the glove off his right hand, reaching out towards the officer's shoulder, even as he did his best to stare eye-to-cloudy-eye with the detective.

"Please, man." He didn't even know fully what he was saying. All that mattered was he needed to stall. "Please. I can't go to jail. I can't get locked up. I can't."

A flood of information was coming from his hand, a rush of information that caused his body to start shaking. He gagged unconsciously, spittle leaking out of the corners of his lips before he managed to swallow down the bile. All the same, his mind unconsciously sorted, discarding everything useless. Useless. Useless. He needed... he needed...

𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖋𝖋𝖎𝖙𝖎 𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙? 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖆𝖞𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖔𝖓 𝖚𝖘 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘. 𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖊. 𝖂𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖆 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖔𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖘, 𝕳𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖊 𝖓𝖊𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 𝖞𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖉𝖆𝖞.

He needed that.

"I'll help you, okay? Thomas? I'll help you. That political vandal? The one your bosses want. I'll help you find him, and you let me go. Please."

Jae was still shaking, but the rush of information slowed back to its usual trickle as he stopped focusing on the way his hand was pressing against Thomas. He wanted to put his glove back on, cut it down further, but he had to make sure Thomas took his deal first. Because his words hadn't been a lie. If he got locked up again, Jae was sure he'd go mad, and he might still need the information to get out of this.

 

[TragicTrees]

Thomas would admit, he was usually unsure of a lot of things. For example, if he left the oven on without realizing, or whether or not he closed the door as he left the apartment. Sometimes, it was easy to forget or misremember things; he was sure that was a common problem for many people, because it seemed to be a common plot in the many sitcoms he aimlessly watched in his free time. However, he was very sure that he didn't inform the train hopper of his name, and he was certain he didn't talk about the case that was destroying all his free time, because that was a private matter that hadn't been spread around, and wasn't supposed to be. He might've been a bit of a ditz at point, but he wasn't that bad, and he hoped he never would be.

He didn't speak or move a moment, surprised and not sure what to say. Once he collected himself, though, he shook his head, taking a step back, a frown on his face. The only logical explanation was that this man was involved with the vandalism. It didn't explain how he knew Thomas' name, but the theory was the most likely one he could think of. It was entirely possible that the vandals found out who was looking into them, and that was how the train hopper was able to figure it out.

"I'm not sure how you know about that, but the fact you do doesn't look good for you." He said, eyeing the other. On one hand, this could be good. A break in the case. A vandal in jail was more than what they had before, which was nothing. However, this man didn't seem like a vandal. Something was off, and he wasn't sure what it was. It bothered him. "So I'd like an explanation about where you got that information, or I'm going to still have to take you in, but for questioning this time. It won't be pleasant." He hoped the warning, which was a bit halfhearted since he had never had to do this, would push the man to admit something, anything that would make the situation more logical.

 

[Peregrine]

Jae felt a shiver run up his body at Thomas' words. He didn't know if he'd forgotten it, didn't know if he'd willfully disregarded it, but no one ever believed his words. As a child, his parents had tried to teach him to ignore the voices, until they began to realize how futile of an effort it was, and all but discarded him in favor of his younger siblings. The chaos and noise of his gift had only grown louder as he'd gotten older, but no one had ever believed the words were anything more than the chaos of his brain. The few times he'd tried to prove it, his parents and siblings had gotten mad at him for spying, eavesdropping, stealing, being a troublemaker. When had he stopped even trying? Long before they'd sent him away to be locked up.

And now… now it was happening all over again. He'd said something he shouldn't have, dared to speak about the things he'd heard, and now he was going to get locked up again because of it. Thomas was going to put him back in that hell.

Jae tried to open his mouth, tried to say something, anything that might get him out of this situation, but no words left his mouth. Instead, his shaking only grew worse, and as he began to panic, the control over his power slipped away as well. The voices and images he was normally able to ignore rushed to fill his head, histories and memories and futures from the clothes that constantly pressed against his skin, from the wind that brushed against his face and exposed hand. The noise pounded inside his head, and Jae crumpled unconsciously, dropping down into a small ball near the ground. Unconsciously his hands lifted to press against his ears, but that did nothing to help him.

Ṡ̼͓͔̕̚ḧ̡͔̺̍̚ṍ̹͉͕̃u̪̮̤͑̌̅l͔͕̼̓͛̚d̤̩͊̕͠ͅ ̛̱͖̾̋ͅw̧̛̯̳͂͝ê͇̦̩͑̕ ̯̠̫̑̍̒ş̠͕͛̀́ṯ͚̟͊̈́͝ä̘͈͈́̈̓r͔̦̟̆͌͝t͖͍͈̎́͝ ͙̯̲͛͘͝c̹̬͈͒́̏l̡͖̳̐̓͠á̠͈͓͒͘s͉̭͚̓͒͐s̺̜̈́̄̀͜ ̮̹̣̿́͆n̜̬̿̽̈͜ó͚̓̅͜ͅw̫̠̓̅̀ͅ,̠͇͙̈́̈͘ ̞̥̺̍̌̊õ̜̫͎̇͝r̙̯̹̈́͛̓ ̬̮͂̀̌͜s̼̱̝̔̿̾h̜̠͓̓̎̋o͇̟̺̽͌̆ȕ̝̥͚̂͠l̝̳͍̀͗̄d̼̖͖̐̎͑ ̯̰͍̾̔̎w̖̜̱̉̄͑e̗̱̊̔̚͜ ̺̺̙͌̐́w̛̱͇͔̓̕ǎ͉̖̄̔͜ĩ̢̘̬͐͘t̢͖̪͊̈́̈ ̡̨̬̿͠͠f̘̖͛̌̇ͅö̢̰̟́̉̄r͔̣̣̆̇̀ ̣͎͖̋͌͠e͈̣͎̅͛͝v̲̗͆͂̿ͅė̯͓̊͜͝r̹̲̞̾̽̔y̬̜̙̑̑̉ơ̰̱̘̏̍n̞̳̲̄́̕e̟̳̱͂̽͌ ̨͍̞̿͑̽t̹͎̦̀̾̈́ơ̟̺̘͒̐ ̫̲̇̉͠ͅg̣̺̬̓̋͗e̞̲̭͂̎̉ţ̠̯̉͋͘ ͙̱́́̚ͅh̢̬̣̎͝͝ė̼̙̣̀̋ŕ͖͖̣͂̌e̡̥͓͌̐͘?͓̖͔̐͌͘
Ŷ̵̨̨͓̠̼̺̗̐̽̀͐̕͝ȩ̶͕͓͓̻̠͑̓̃̎̽͋̈́ͅa̴̢̮̝̯̪̟͂͌͋̍͐̋͝ͅḫ̴̡̪̫̯̱̪̂̉̑̒̒͌͝,̵͕̗̫͚̼͇̟͊͆̑̒̊̆̕ ̷̛̠̤̱̼̭̝̝̽̈́͛͒̔̿I̵̞͉̗̙̗̖͈̓̐̌̈́̇̎͠ ̸̢̛̦͚̣̖̝͒̈́̋̔̈́̚ͅt̵̨͍͚̹͔̼͙̃̉͌̈́͑̀͝ḩ̶͉̪̩̬͙̩͊̿́͊̈́̿͝í̴̡̼̱̳͈̻̻̊̅̀̉̑͝n̶̼͙̭͕̱̣̞͒̀̽̀̄͒̆k̴̢̺̤̱̦̲̇̌̐͒̎͌̆ͅ ̶̧̼͉̻̫̭̂̒̎͒̎́̚ͅĩ̸̢̝̮͔̭͔͙͗̋́͌̇̐t̸̡̩̤̞̣̥̟͑̀͌̏̀̉͘'̶̠͕̗̳̭̲̌̿̈̉̇͠͝ͅś̶̢̮̰̟͉̺̋̂̿̿͘͘ͅ ̸̧̻̹̠̼̽̾̃̈́͒͘͘͜͜ą̸̥̥͍̩̱̳̾̀͌̀̌̿͘ ̴͙͚̩͍̼̳̬͂̂͆̈̀̀͠g̶̡̹̦̘͍͎͚͐͑̈̅̕̚͝ō̴̱̻̩̗̭̜̰͊̐̇̕͝͠ơ̷̧̥̗͉̹̫̟̊̿̐͘͘͝d̷͙͕͚̺̮͚̋͛̽̎̈́͒͘͜ ̸̧͎͎̗̞̻́̓͋͋͋̀̓ͅe̵͈̖͎̹̳̩̗͂̾̑͒̈́̂͘ņ̴̨̮͚̙̑̿̏͐̀̏̇ͅͅv̷͙̣̳̣̳̼̤̀͋͊̌́̏͠i̶͖̼̳̭̮̟̬̽̉̃̎͆̑͠r̸̨̝̮͎̺͚̔̈́̏͐̒̈́͂͜o̴̬̱͕̼͉͔̥͗̊̈̽̈̑̄n̷̛̗̻͓͎͖͋͋̿̔͒͛͜ͅm̸̮̦͇̟̘̲̗̎̓͗̽̂́̍è̷̼̬͔̳̠̟̟̑̋̒͒́͋ň̶̢̮̞͓̱̼̮́̈̊̓͘͝t̸̨̝͍͚̟̼͈͊̔̈́̋̋͋̒ ̴̡͇̳͚̺̹͋͋͂̂̌͑͂ͅf̵̨̛̫̦̝͈͉͖̓́̎͘͝͠ö̵̧̡̥͓͙͎̣́͛̈́́̀̀̅ř̷̢̝͇̱̫̮̥͗̈́̅̋͗͛ ̷̡̜̺͚̟̻͚͊͋͑̉̆͌̍l̸̛̲̞̼̲̖̺̓̈́̈͑͜͝͝ẽ̵̫̣̺̘̫̤͋͒̾͌͋͜͠a̸̡̢̛̲̠̙̯̻͐͗͛͆̒͝r̵̳͈̬͔͎̭͉̈́͆͊͐͊̕͝ņ̸̧̥̺̺̣̤̔̊̌͗͊̿͆i̵̲͇̼̜̦̫̘̐͐̅̉̀́͠n̶͕͈͚̲̭͓̉̇̔̓͘͠͠ͅg̸̢̬̺̥̮̣̍̓̏̍̅́̕͜ ̵̩͓͉͇̤͚̬̿̔́̾̈͑͝È̵̞̻̤̯̩̦͉̒̾̐̃̓͝ń̴̨̙̯̺͕̰̈̏͑̾͂͝ͅg̴̡̧̳̦̩̩̩̈̒̂͐͛̑̈́l̸͉̟̲͔̻̤̦͛̈́͊̈́͛̀̒i̵̪̘̰͇̟̣̻̇͂̆͒̐̆͝s̵͚̜̟̮͕̱͐̓́̓̓̃͒͜h̷̨̡͔͖͙̙̙̾̂͐̇͐͝͠.̴̘̣̹͓̥͍͗͑̀͗̇̋̅ͅ
S̵̢͓̺̠̝̬̺͍̘̜͍̊͊͌͗͐̓̋̇́̆̕h̵̢̛̥̣̫̠̳͍͎̠̮͍́͛̓̓̃̈́̏͗̽̆e̸̡̨̛̝͇̙͍̙̝̹͔̮͂̎̽̈́͋̉̕͘͝ ̶̡̡̤̺̮͓̪͉̲͎͚̈̔́̈́́́̂̂̃̔̂w̵̢̹̱̮̭̙͎̝͙̮̘͛̈́̂̿̀̄̌̆͌͑͗ŏ̷͔͎̫̲̭̠̩̹̞̠̮̑̎̈́͗̔͆̋͒͂̚r̷̨̯̳͚͓̱͔͎̼͓͈̾̆̓̋́͆̊̆͌̿͝k̶̫̩̤̖̳͖͎͓̦͙̳͑͆̈̓̀̇̽͛̾̔̑ș̷̺̣̣̰̞̹̠̼̜͓̐̾̒̄͗̓͆͝͝͝͝ ̴̻̝̗̭̣̮̤̟̝̭̲͒͂̏̀͆͋͌̽̽͑̓t̸̡̨̟͚̫̙͈̝̺̜͉̿̈́̏̓̔́͛̌̄̕͠w̵̨̧̳͖̳̭̭̙̪͐͑̄̑̾̋̉̍͗̚͜͝ͅő̵̧̯̲͉̪̰͇̫̹̱̎́̉͋̈́̓̅́̉͝ͅ ̴̛̰̭̘̻͈̯̺̟̻͓͉͌̊̈̅̍̃̑̑̈́͠j̷̡̰̫̩̤̘͙͇̘̑͗̾̎͗̎̃́̂͜͝͝ͅo̵̧̥̲͎̠̩̳̬̯̯̽̄̆̆͌̅̐͑̕͜͠͝b̷̥͔͙̞̤̠̖̯͈͖̬͂̈́̂̄͗̈́͑̽̕̕̚s̸̘̫̯̱̫͙̪̠̬͙͕͂͛̅̽̓̅̿̍͗͘͘ ̵͓̪̠͈͈̖̝̗̪̦̻̎͌͗̽͗̑͛̓̑͝͝t̶̢̞̙̖͖͖͍̦̭̮̜̽̾͗̍̌̅͆͊̕͘̚o̸̡͔̭͚̬̰̻͔͈̯̐̓̓̆̋̊̔̿̃͘͘ͅ ̸̮̯̲̩͔͚̬̫̯͕̭̓̓̀̒̈͐̑͑͘͝͝m̸̧̨̨̧̱̲͚̩̙̠͈̾͑̿̆͌͌͑͛͌͊̚a̸͕̻̹͕̫̼̦̞̦͙̓̋͂̒́͑̎̇͊̀̚ͅk̶̨̫̠̪͓͚͔̳̖̝̃̌̔̔̂̄̓̔͆̊͜͠è̷̘̲̘̼̬͓̼̻̦̗̒̌̔̀͛͛̾̋͘͝ͅ ̸̡̢̯̠͎̘͕͎͉͈̋̽͆͗͒̐͋̆̅͜͠͝ȩ̸̣̻̝͎̟͔̪̬̲̯̾̆̆̌͐͂̈́̈́̆̆̄n̴̢̡̧̖̝̦͕͇̖͐̉̑̑́̓́̍̉͘͜͝ͅd̶̨̨̛͓͇̱̞͈̗̞͎̋͛̿̃͗͗̐͂͝͝ͅs̷̨̨̛̮͚̬̪̼͈͔̫̉͊̋͂̽̅̃̈́̋͜͝ ̵͉̪̜̰͖̠͇͓̺͙̝̾͑͆͐̈́̈́͒̽̚̚͠m̶̡̛̦̦͍͔̠̖̤͉̾̃͗̌̈́͆̅̒͑͜͜͝e̸̡̢̧̲̗̗̰͎̳̝͚͑̀̎̌̃̋̓̍̈́̓̍ȩ̵̢̰͍̲̟̰͓̗̭̊̃̀̾͗̅͐̓̋͌̊͜t̸͍͖̖͈͇͉͓̭̖̰̻̎̈̐̍̔̇̈́̕͘͝.̶̧̨̛̳̮̼̰̯̫̮͔̾̓̔̈́̊͒̓͛͘̕͜ ̴̺̥̞̺̝̣͙̰̼͎̿͋́͛̾͗͆̇̓̈́̔͜ ̸̱̠̥̝̰̟̮͉͇̜̮̍̂͒̅͌̅͊͗͊̚̕Ḁ̵̝̜̠̼̦̱̺̮͕̖͌̽̏̇̊͆̉̈́̇̔͗t̵̥̳̳̗̞̣͕̲̞̝͗̋̐̂͌͛̄̆̄͊̕͜ ̴͚̦̼͚̭̯̲̤̯̮̫̃̈́͂͑͆̓͌̌̄͒͝l̶̨͇̫͖̰̗͔̥͖̊̀͌̋͒̌̓͌̄͘͜͝ͅë̴̥̳͕͍̭̼̦̝͓̲́̀̔͋́͗̈́̓̈́̓̀ͅḁ̶̢̡̨͍͈̥̝̯̗̝̂̀̓͛͊̄́̍̐͛̒s̵̨̛̠̱̼̱̮̗̭͉̭̑̇̌͌̈́̀͐͌̈͠ͅt̶̡͖̙̥̜̖̗͎̙̭̻̾̐̍͆͋̿̈̈͑̇͘,̵̧̧̢̜̝̝̠͇͕̝̼̆̃̾̇̒̐̂̅̌̈́͠ ̷̨̧͇͓͍̠̬͕̳̺̰̃̂̑́̿̇̏́͌̾̕t̶̗͔̫͙͙̼̩̖͈̪̃̐͑̏̾̀̀͒̃͌͘ͅh̴͙͇̘̘̯͚̳̬͍̯̬̃̄̔̽͛͑̽̔̓͝͝ä̸̧̛̛̝̘͖̭̤̤͉̮̫́̔̊̈́͑͊̊͊͝ͅt̸̨̳̪͈͎̺̠̻̘͓̙̏͒̈́͒̾̑͌̌̋͝͝ ̴̧̛̺̞̰̱̳͍̝͔̹̋̍͂̏̈́͂͒̀͆͂ͅẃ̸̢̦̦̻̯̹͙͎̜͈͓͂̓̅̋̉́͆͛̚̚ą̶̧͍̠̗̰̗̺̘̫͕̈́͐͂̑̆̊̉́͝͝͝ş̸̢̛͕̤̥̤̼͚̬̜̭͑̐̔̎̊͑͊̓̓̅ ̴̡̢͔̫̥̗̩̮̥̭̻̃̌̈̒̊̅̆́̀̀̄ḩ̷͖̬̜͉̖̺̻̫̟̍͆́̈́̋̍͗̌́̕͜͝e̸̢̺̲̬̠̱͙̪̥͔̭͊͑̉͋͌͐͛̃͋̀͝r̵̢̛̠̱̣̖̹̭̝̰͌̅̈́͆̊̿͊̃͆̇͜ͅ ̴̹̯̣̮̜̙̳̙͈͕͒̅̆̈̆̊̌͗̍̈͜͝r̴̢̨͇̺̖̳̙̟͎͔̓̈̇͐̾͑̐̐͗̏̕͜ę̵̨͇̤͕͎͚͉̺̳̆̽̿͑͊̔̆̀́̋͜͝a̴̛̼͎͕̻̰͚͚̗̬̦̳͑̋͗̾̅̒́̚̕͠s̸̢̨̢̛̭̳̭͈̮̫͋̽̈́͗͛̓̓̇͊̓͜͜ơ̴̛̟̖̭̮͚̣͇͕͈͚̄͊̀̑̍͊̍̅͜͠ṇ̷̡͚̝̯̤̝̞̖̝͍̽̑͛̂̀͌͆̆͝͠͝ ̶̢̡̨̧̻̣̖̮͎̬̘͆̉̏̓̀̿͊͆̋͑̽f̸̢̮͍̤͙͈̝͙͙͈̳̈́̍̒̑́͆̂̐̒̓͝ȯ̵̢͓̗̤͈͓͉̯̖̖̆̄͊̈́̓̾̓̀̕͠ͅr̶̨̢̬̜̺͔̬͕̯̣̜̽͆͂̄̿͗͑̈̓̍͝ ̴̢̧̯͓̦͔̘̯̗̭͉̐͋̿̈͒̾͑̈́̕͘͝ņ̸̢̡͙̩̣̜̖̼͔̼͂̈́̍̀̽̏͂̍̔̂̿ờ̴̗̭̰͙͕͚̫̳̩͕̓͌̿̐̑̄͝͝͠ͅṫ̷̡͍̰̝̰̣̝̹̟̺͓͌̏͆̈́͋̈́̅̋̿͘ ̶̰̬̞̲̫̥͖͇̠̻̟̉͒́̑̏͆͐̎̕͝͝h̶̢̗̜̬̮͉̜̻̥͍̀̋̉͐͗̐̒̾̊̌̈́͜å̶̢̡̳̤͇̯͈̻̪̤͉̀̉̐́̈̽̃̉̚̕v̸̨̢̛̖̺͙͇̘̜͓̻͆̆̊́͋͆̑̎͂̇͜į̸̧̛̛̼̰͉̤̝͇͚̤̝̉̒̈́͊̑̋̒͂̀n̶̛̹̬͔̘̗̯̜̪̜̔͒́̊̿̓̀̃̿̑͜ͅg̵̨̺̪̗̭̣̩̙͙͈͓͆͊̒̿͊̈́̇̀̚͠͝ ̴̨̙͔͇͉̠̪̰̰̹̤̽͒̄̌̈́̌̂̓̎̂̓ţ̸̻̘̣̭͎̣̝̝͍̼͑̉̂̋͌̅̏̽̕̚͝i̸̦͖̲͇͇̠̣̺͇͆͂͋́̉̿̎̀̕̕͜͜͠m̴̡̨͉̝̝̘̫͙͓̹̔͗̔̿͆́̆̌̐̂̚͜ę̸̡̗̟̬̳̲̼̜̜̫̾̍̉͊͋̀͒̐̔̽̈́ ̶̨̛̱̭̬̰͓̰͍̜͍̙͐̇̾͂͛̚͘̕͝͝t̴̨̛̲͍̻̬̥̭͍͙͉̥̏̆̆̄͑͐͊͝͝͝o̷̦̩̤̘̞̹̦̗̙̩̘̔̂̄͑̑̉̅̍̏̎͘ ̵̨̨̠͍̙̠̣̺͈͖̝̃̍͂͆̿̉̔̿̀̍̀j̵̢̢̨̳̤͙͎̮̥̹̯͛̿́̀͆͐̅͂̑̇͠ö̷̢̠̥͓͕̣̥̹̭̣̲̈́̐̀͑̋͊͛͑̇͝i̶̢͎̦͙͈͇̪͉͇̓͛̀̐̀̾́͌͂͜͝͠ͅn̵̡̛̬̘͎̭̟̳̮͍̤̱̎̀̋̋̀̅̃̐̃̑ ̴̙̮̺͈͎͖̫̬̬̭͌̂̓͑̌̈̓̋̈́̿͘ͅu̴̧̩͈̲͎̣̻̞̩̘͌̈͋̉̇̈̄̊̀͜͝͝s̸̡̧̫̥̗̼̮̘̰̞̈́͐̓̈́͋̂͒̀̌̚̕ͅ.̵̨̛̘̟̗͔͇̯̹̟͔̜̀̀͊̊̅͊͑̑͘͝
Ṡ̼͓͔̕̚ḧ̡͔̺̍̚ṍ̹͉͕̃u̪̮̤͑̌̅l͔͕̼̓͛̚d̤̩͊̕͠ͅ ̛̱͖̾̋ͅw̧̛̯̳͂͝ê͇̦̩͑̕ ̯̠̫̑̍̒ş̠͕͛̀́ṯ͚̟͊̈́͝ä̘͈͈́̈̓r͔̦̟̆͌͝t͖͍͈̎́͝ ͙̯̲͛͘͝c̹̬͈͒́̏l̡͖̳̐̓͠á̠͈͓͒͘s͉̭͚̓͒͐s̺̜̈́̄̀͜ ̮̹̣̿́͆n̜̬̿̽̈͜ó͚̓̅͜ͅw̫̠̓̅̀ͅ,̠͇͙̈́̈͘ ̞̥̺̍̌̊õ̜̫͎̇͝r̙̯̹̈́͛̓ ̬̮͂̀̌͜s̼̱̝̔̿̾h̜̠͓̓̎̋o͇̟̺̽͌̆ȕ̝̥͚̂͠l̝̳͍̀͗̄d̼̖͖̐̎͑ ̯̰͍̾̔̎w̖̜̱̉̄͑e̗̱̊̔̚͜ ̺̺̙͌̐́w̛̱͇͔̓̕ǎ͉̖̄̔͜ĩ̢̘̬͐͘t̢͖̪͊̈́̈ ̡̨̬̿͠͠f̘̖͛̌̇ͅö̢̰̟́̉̄r͔̣̣̆̇̀ ̣͎͖̋͌͠e͈̣͎̅͛͝v̲̗͆͂̿ͅė̯͓̊͜͝r̹̲̞̾̽̔y̬̜̙̑̑̉ơ̰̱̘̏̍n̞̳̲̄́̕e̟̳̱͂̽͌ ̨͍̞̿͑̽t̹͎̦̀̾̈́ơ̟̺̘͒̐ ̫̲̇̉͠ͅg̣̺̬̓̋͗e̞̲̭͂̎̉ţ̠̯̉͋͘ ͙̱́́̚ͅh̢̬̣̎͝͝ė̼̙̣̀̋ŕ͖͖̣͂̌e̡̥͓͌̐͘?͓̖͔̐͌͘
Ŷ̵̨̨͓̠̼̺̗̐̽̀͐̕͝ȩ̶͕͓͓̻̠͑̓̃̎̽͋̈́ͅa̴̢̮̝̯̪̟͂͌͋̍͐̋͝ͅḫ̴̡̪̫̯̱̪̂̉̑̒̒͌͝,̵͕̗̫͚̼͇̟͊͆̑̒̊̆̕ ̷̛̠̤̱̼̭̝̝̽̈́͛͒̔̿I̵̞͉̗̙̗̖͈̓̐̌̈́̇̎͠ ̸̢̛̦͚̣̖̝͒̈́̋̔̈́̚ͅt̵̨͍͚̹͔̼͙̃̉͌̈́͑̀͝ḩ̶͉̪̩̬͙̩͊̿́͊̈́̿͝í̴̡̼̱̳͈̻̻̊̅̀̉̑͝n̶̼͙̭͕̱̣̞͒̀̽̀̄͒̆k̴̢̺̤̱̦̲̇̌̐͒̎͌̆ͅ ̶̧̼͉̻̫̭̂̒̎͒̎́̚ͅĩ̸̢̝̮͔̭͔͙͗̋́͌̇̐t̸̡̩̤̞̣̥̟͑̀͌̏̀̉͘'̶̠͕̗̳̭̲̌̿̈̉̇͠͝ͅś̶̢̮̰̟͉̺̋̂̿̿͘͘ͅ ̸̧̻̹̠̼̽̾̃̈́͒͘͘͜͜ą̸̥̥͍̩̱̳̾̀͌̀̌̿͘ ̴͙͚̩͍̼̳̬͂̂͆̈̀̀͠g̶̡̹̦̘͍͎͚͐͑̈̅̕̚͝ō̴̱̻̩̗̭̜̰͊̐̇̕͝͠ơ̷̧̥̗͉̹̫̟̊̿̐͘͘͝d̷͙͕͚̺̮͚̋͛̽̎̈́͒͘͜ ̸̧͎͎̗̞̻́̓͋͋͋̀̓ͅe̵͈̖͎̹̳̩̗͂̾̑͒̈́̂͘ņ̴̨̮͚̙̑̿̏͐̀̏̇ͅͅv̷͙̣̳̣̳̼̤̀͋͊̌́̏͠i̶͖̼̳̭̮̟̬̽̉̃̎͆̑͠r̸̨̝̮͎̺͚̔̈́̏͐̒̈́͂͜o̴̬̱͕̼͉͔̥͗̊̈̽̈̑̄n̷̛̗̻͓͎͖͋͋̿̔͒͛͜ͅm̸̮̦͇̟̘̲̗̎̓͗̽̂́̍è̷̼̬͔̳̠̟̟̑̋̒͒́͋ň̶̢̮̞͓̱̼̮́̈̊̓͘͝t̸̨̝͍͚̟̼͈͊̔̈́̋̋͋̒ ̴̡͇̳͚̺̹͋͋͂̂̌͑͂ͅf̵̨̛̫̦̝͈͉͖̓́̎͘͝͠ö̵̧̡̥͓͙͎̣́͛̈́́̀̀̅ř̷̢̝͇̱̫̮̥͗̈́̅̋͗͛ ̷̡̜̺͚̟̻͚͊͋͑̉̆͌̍l̸̛̲̞̼̲̖̺̓̈́̈͑͜͝͝ẽ̵̫̣̺̘̫̤͋͒̾͌͋͜͠a̸̡̢̛̲̠̙̯̻͐͗͛͆̒͝r̵̳͈̬͔͎̭͉̈́͆͊͐͊̕͝ņ̸̧̥̺̺̣̤̔̊̌͗͊̿͆i̵̲͇̼̜̦̫̘̐͐̅̉̀́͠n̶͕͈͚̲̭͓̉̇̔̓͘͠͠ͅg̸̢̬̺̥̮̣̍̓̏̍̅́̕͜ ̵̩͓͉͇̤͚̬̿̔́̾̈͑͝È̵̞̻̤̯̩̦͉̒̾̐̃̓͝ń̴̨̙̯̺͕̰̈̏͑̾͂͝ͅg̴̡̧̳̦̩̩̩̈̒̂͐͛̑̈́l̸͉̟̲͔̻̤̦͛̈́͊̈́͛̀̒i̵̪̘̰͇̟̣̻̇͂̆͒̐̆͝s̵͚̜̟̮͕̱͐̓́̓̓̃͒͜h̷̨̡͔͖͙̙̙̾̂͐̇͐͝͠.̴̘̣̹͓̥͍͗͑̀͗̇̋̅ͅ










Ẏ̸̵̴̷̶̷̷̸̷̴̷̷̷̸̸̵̶̨̢̨̧̡̢̢̢̡̨̨̡̢̛͍̗̦̱̰͉̮̥̘̣̱̞̞͕͇̩̠̞͔̬̟̳̱̫͚̳̼̺̦͍̻͖̹̖͚̮̱̪͕̪̞͓͚̘̯̘̱̼͓̞̺̟̠̱̠̱̜̼̘͉̼̪͎͇̺͚̺̞̜̝̱̻̻͕͚̻̜͔̜͇͍̱̗͔͚̹̠̲́̿́͒͒̅̈́̈̐̽̂̉̾̋̄̎̽̐̀̈́͗̑͌͐̽̊̆͒̀̓̊̀͗̀̾̅͑́̃͗͊͐͛̓̀̃̇̈́̉̋͐̈̆̿̓̈̌̊͊̿̋͋̒́͐̊̉̇̃́̔̏̑̂̒̐̐̓̏̍́̇́̊̎̃̏̋̎͘͘̕͘͘̕̕͘͜͝͝͝͝ͅȩ̶̶̵̴̷̵̴̷̶̷̸̴̸̵̸̸̶̨̧̨̧̨̛̦̪̰̝̺̩͕̣͖͙̜̬͚̬̩̪̰̥͎̞̳̻̫̻̜̘̣̗̣̥͖̦̫̗͕̱̺̝̫̭͚̰͓̲͕̭͕͙̮̭͕̭͓̪͈̘̟̗̟͓̰̱͖͉͕̺͕̮͎̣̱̤̻͈͎͉̯̯̞͖͙̦̥̠̭͍̞̲̥̙̏͐̄̒̐̒̒̏̓̽͑͐̒̄͛͂̓͆͐̀̅̂̃̄̎̐̄̎̋̎͒̇͂͋̈́̽͒͆́͐̇́͋̾̓̓̒̃̌̈́̔̅͗̈̏̀̈̈́̈́̿́̆̈́̓̀̋̈́̐̅̋̅̇̈́̇̾̓̽͒̿͒̒̐̈́̇͒͐̅̃͋͗̈͒̚̚̚̚͘̚͘͜͜͜͜͝͠͝ͅͅͅa̷̴̴̷̶̴̶̷̶̷̵̶̷̵̴̸̴̧̧̡̡̢̡̢̧̛̛̻͉̼̣̘͇͎̲̲̝͉͙̦̹̝̪̦̤̝̲͎̺̣̰̞̤̙̳͕͇͕͉̝͕̱̲̠̫̭̯̙̹͖̰̬͉̮̤̮̞̻̬̣̫͈̖̜̥̝̩̻̞̤̺̜̯͚̲̙̼̣̖͓̹̱̪͙̫͕͉̜̯̟͎͓̠̰͈͕̔̽̀̓̃͆̒͆͊̆͆̍͂̇̇͑͌͆̋͋͊́̇̆̂͋̓̓͐̏̍̓̊̌̽͐̆̍̓̈̒͗̋̾́̈́͊́͗̀̔́̔̀̉̓́́̐͗͐̌͑͂̊̈́̓̀̌̆͛̽̉̉͋̒͊̽͂̉̀̉̈̉͑̂́̕̕͘̕̕̕̕͘͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅḩ̵̴̴̶̷̴̴̶̶̴̴̵̶̷̴̵̶̡̢̡̧̡̡̢̧̛̛̛̞̰͔̝̼̤͙͕̤̣͉̗̘̘͙̝͉͉͎̤̲̘̮͉͖̳͎̫̤̤̙̜̝̣͓͔̘̬̩̭̩͇̰͉̹͚̺̮̟̖͇͓͙̭̯̦̼̯̪̥̦̭̞͖͍̫̖̪̟̥̜͍̯͇̖̩͈̱̳̟̮̞̤̱̪̱̗̮̻̩̞̽͊͆̅̂͑͋͑̍̂̒̓̔̂̍̉̄͊̇̑̑̂͌̈́͐̿̑̒͗̀̀̽̌̒͗̋͌́͑̒̃̍͌̒͒̆̈́͊̍̈̽̉̌̍͂̉͑̌̑̀̽͐̓͛̈̇͑̑̔̈̄̉̿̓̓͛̄̇̾͌̍̔̌̕̕̕̚̚̚͘̚͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅ,̶̵̵̴̸̶̶̷̴̴̵̴̶̸̴̵̷̨̨̡̨̨̨̛̛̛̯̼͇̩̩͚̠̳̙̟̘̟̙̯̘̯̠͖͉͎̺̺͈̬̯͚̞̺̙͍̖̲͉͈̼̻̩̬̞̣̺͎̘͕̯̳̖̖̱̙̜͕̣̬̱̺̼̗̝̹̯͍̲̞̫̱̰͓̰͚̞̩̹̠̱̼̮̦͍͉̤̝͇̝͍͈͔̪͉̟͖̥̳͔̯̑͒̌̎̋̎̔̈́̆̒͊̾͗̈͆̓̎̓̄̓̑̉͆̿̅́̒͂̈́̀̐͒̊͑̔̀̀̉̀͛͗͗̆̿̈́͊͌̐͆̇̓̿̆̂̀̈́̓͌͗̅̽̈́̓͋̾͛̓́̐͊̏̊͑́̏͌̓͆͒̽̎̑̇̆͘̕̚̕̚̕̕̕͘̕̕͠͠͝͠͝ͅͅ ̴̷̸̷̴̵̸̴̵̷̷̸̴̵̶̴̵̨̡̨̡̧̧̡̧̛̛̰̟̻̟̥̭̱̭̰̜̼̣̠̳̙̳̳̺̹͇̰̗͔̝͓̣̹̬̠̟̠̯̱̭̠̼̱͙̮͓͙̣͖͍̳̲̭̯̞͈͉̫̠̗̗̜̥͙̺̤̯͕͙̣̲̱̣͇̝̬̞̱̼̯̘̪̖̠̭͎͉̫̖͉̝͉̪̞̝̠̠̫̥̗͒̉̆̈́̂̓̇͑̔̋̽̆̾̉́̉̈́́̔̽̂͊͛͌́̿̾͂̈͋̔̈́̾͌͌͒̋̽̒̔̓̽̔́́̿̿͌̿͐̐͑̄́͋͊̍̓͌̔́̈́́̃̓̑͐́̈́͛͌̈́̍̒͌̒̇̀͒̃̊̃̂͊̓͂̾̈́̆͘̕͘̕̚̕̚͠͝͝͠͝ͅI̸̵̵̵̵̸̴̷̵̸̵̷̷̵̴̴̴̢̨̨̨̧̧̡̛̛͎͓̠̱̪͕͇̗̲͔̣̱̥̹̣̠̗̬̪̭͇͓̫͎̱̤͚̣͎̟̹͓͇̩͈͈̘̜͇̟͔̖͉̣̳̼̭̜̙̪̞̻͓̫̩͉̣̮̺̱̩̘̗̳̩̫͉̥̞̙̯̟͚̫̰̲̗͕͔͙̯̠̖̗͕̗̜͇͈̻̪̱͕̤̪͂̿̂͆̎̀͐̀̉̂͛̏͂͐̓̌̂̇͒̐̈́̈́̃̄̑̌̅͑͒̈̇̈́̿̽̔͛̇̀̏͂̏̀̎̇̿̄̑͛͂̾͋̐̽͐͂̌͊̃̏̐͊͆̈́̈́̀̃̿̒̈́̈́͒̀͐͌͆̊̓̓̕̕̕͘̕͘̕͘͠͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅ ̷̸̷̴̶̷̴̸̷̶̴̵̶̵̸̵̶̨̧̢̨̨̧̨̢̧̡̡̛̛̛̞̙̩̞̭͉͔̺͉̻̟̺͔̱̗̖̰̻̜̭̝̘̙͍̯̤̜̰̝̖̭̲̺̹͙̲͍̥̫̖̮̲̮͎͔̦̹̦̖̱̗̜̩̖̬̥̙͚̠̭͔̗̺̮̪̫̰̮̣̭̝̩͓͎̖̥̙͙̫̝͚̬͚̻̭͒͌̄̑͊̄̈́͌̿͒̔͐͆̓̈́̒̈́͛̀̐̄̋̍̀͑̑̽̐̈́͐̔̒͛̊̽̀͑̈́̈́̓̾̊̃͋̐̆̋͌͑̔͌̈́͋́̽͛̓͌͒̒̊͆́̃̀̀̊́̀͐͋́͊̔̎̀̄͊̿̒̄͑̈́́͛͐͘̕͘̚̕̕̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͝͠͝ͅͅt̴̵̸̵̶̵̷̴̷̷̶̵̵̸̵̶̴̢̧̨̨̨̨̨̛̛̛̛͍͈̼̭͓̱̣̻̩̘͔̳̲͈͈̻͓͇̯̪̜̰͙͕̩̱͙̖̹̭͚̖̳̱̠̞̝͎̮̱̲̣̦̭̹̱̬̱͎̥̰͈̞͍̜̗̟̙͇̦͚̜̺̻̩͉̩̹̝͉̲̥̝͉͔̗̥̤̥͇̪̼̲͈͎̺̼͕͙̥̞̩͇͍̅͛́̉̓̆̋͆̿̑̂̃͂̈́͆̾͒̉̍̃̉̏͌̃͑̋̊͌̈́̈́̈͛̋̀̍́̐͐̿̏͑̆͑̈̅̉̀̀̇̇̊͛̋͗̽̓̑̈́́͋̿̽̅͐͋́̄̂̌̐̽͂̄̈̓̐̌̆̌̇͐̆́̍͆́͘͘̚̚͘͘͜͝͠͠͝͝͠͠ͅh̴̶̵̵̴̴̶̵̵̴̶̵̶̴̶̶̶̢̧̡̡̡̢̧̨̢̛̛̛͙͓̘͚̭͕͎͈͓̻̝̤͕͙̯̗̫̭̩͉̥̬̗͚̭̟̻͕̪̰̣͈̭̟̙̼̝̪͙̦̪͈̲̫͕̳͈͎͉͍͚̪̙̰̣̪̱͍̥͚̣̩͙̻͙̙̺̟̩̹̪̙̮̻̬̝̠̫̜̖͎͙̫͖̭͍̮̩̜͉̹͕̏̍̈́̆͒͐̈́͊͂̈́́̓̉̒̿̽̎̋̾̃̑́́̎̊̌͌̎͊͛͆̂̒͒̈́̊̾̊̈́̅̈́̿̑̃̄͊̂͊͂͊̈̏̋̓͛̎͆͊̽̏͂̅̂͌̓́̓̏̈́̉̒̉͒́͊͆̉̑̒̏̒̉̏͋̋̂̈͘̕̕̚̕̚͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅi̷̴̴̸̶̴̸̷̷̷̸̸̷̷̵̴̷̡̡̡̡̨̡̡̢̡̛̛̛̲̜͔͔̹̞̜̻̦̩̠͕͖̬̖͚̯̤̰̳͖͈̩͇̦̩͈̟͚̼͈̫͖̤̞̫͔̝̳̱͎̬͖̲̼̞̤̘̣̬̱̝͎̦̲͖͉̳̗͕͖̯̺͖͈̯͖̦̠̩͍̻̘̙̭͇̻͕̮̠͖͙̰͚̪͖͐̈́̀͛̑̇͌̍̋̾̓̑͛́̑̈́̓̏̿̾̊̽̈̏̔̅͊̃͊̂̀̀̾̍̈̉̈́͆̏̀͂̑͑̓̽̓̓͗̃̊͑̈́͋̇̄̀̆̔̃̋́̒̅̉̈́͊̄̈̅̈́̐͌̊̈̏̉̍̚͘͘̚͘̚͘̚̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅn̸̶̸̸̷̸̸̸̸̴̶̷̷̵̷̶̶̡̢̧̢̛̛͉̥̪͓͖͉̳̯͚͚͍̘͔̖͔̭̪̰̩͓͚̯̱̹̱̰͖̣̮̱͇͎̭̻̼̥̱̙͍͚̫̼͍̻̘͉̥̼̣̫̘̠͙͙̼͉̗̥͖͎̭̲̙͈͖̦͔͕̭͎̫̜̱͔͕͉̼̼̥̣̼͉̥͔͚̗̞̦̬͚̠̩͔̄̈́̑̓́͌͆̒͋̐͒͌̍̒͗̀̀̇̓͆̿̓̆̽͐̈́̍̀͛̌̏͒̑͌̄̈̽̾͂͒̋̄̽́̏̆͑͌̉̊͂̈͆͗̑̈̔̇̽͆̅́̀̊̈́̈́̃̓̈́͂̉͐͑̎̽̎̊̿̐̋̔́́̐͆̚̕̕̚̚̕͘̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅk̸̴̴̷̶̷̷̶̵̷̸̵̸̸̸̵̷̡̢̧̢̢̛̛̛͇͓̯͖̬͈̫͔̝͕̘̹̼̗̗͈̣̲̙̘̬͓̠̖̺̦͍̳͙̯̱̘͖͙̻̹̼͕̘̱̖͎̣̗̪̣̫̯͎͎͍͉͈̖̣̺̰̫̘̭̯̠̤͉̳̲̪̬̤̱̟̼͚̞̮̤͔̦̲̥̦̭̻̹̖͙̳̲͖͉̜̺̰̭̉̉͑̂̈́́̇̈́̑̅̀̇͛͌̇̂̒͒̌̓͑͆̃̿̐̅̀͗̂̃̓͒̔͒̎̐̎̈́̃͒̄͌͛͋͒̆̆̈́̔̂̉̒͋͛̑̋̍̐͐̐̏̀̒̆̋͂̊̓͛̈́̍̃̅̄̎̄̊͗̎͛͋̓͒̍̇̏̈̈̚̕̕̕͘̚͜͠͝͝͠͝͠ͅͅͅ ̵̶̴̷̵̴̸̴̶̸̵̷̸̷̷̸̸̨̢̧̢̧̡̛̛͈͈̲̠̘̰̼̺͎̩̠̺͔̣̝̪̠̬̝͉̫̭͙̼̱͈̳̤̹̲̯͉̫̺͇̝̙̹̙͓̗̲̻̳͙̤̪̝̜̲̼͉͎̩̙̘͉̣̳̲̖̥̻͇͓͙̠͍̱͔͍̱͖̼̫̺̖̜̣̣̭̭̯͍͈̘͎͖̭̣͈̙̓̄̎̂̐͊͌͋͌̊̉̾̾̍͌̂̋̀̈̽̒̌̑͒̈́̉̌̎̈́̅͛͌̾͑͒̎͗͂̎̎̄̍̏͒̄́̋̉̆͒̀͌̋̄̍̆̋̿̂̎͑̔̌̽̌̽̈͆̅̓̇͛͂͂́͐͂̀͂͛͌͒́̏͑̈̽̂̀̚͘͘̚̕̕̚͘̚͜͜͠͝͝ͅͅͅi̴̸̷̷̶̷̴̸̸̴̸̶̷̵̴̷̸̡̧̢̧̨̧̧̢̛̛̭̳̭̝̥̦̟̤̻͔̗̯̳̹̩̥̻̗̭̫͍͉̞̞̹̼̝̦̳̰̫̥̭̼̙̜̲̲̣̬͙͉͈̳̭̬̹̟̝͕̪̣͔̖̮͇̪̠̝̳̝͔͖̹̻͉͎̭͚̭̯̜͉̖͔̖͓̳̥̙͙͓̣̜̹̖͓̺̦̗̬̠͂̃̋͊̈́̀̇̀͐̋́͋̃̂͊͌̑̾̓͗̒͒͂̌̿͐̋̾̅̋̀͑̌́̂̿̅͊͌͒͌̊̔̇̏̂̊́̉̂̐̾̾̈́̈́̇̏́́́̓̂̇́̇̀̈̒̂͊̐́̄̆̏́͑̇̽͑́̓̇̎̋̔͌͘͘̕̕͘͜͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅt̷̸̸̴̷̸̵̷̴̶̸̶̵̵̷̴̶̢̨̢̡̧̛̙͍̘̙̳̤̘̣̜̝͇̫̼͖̤͚͕̺̩̮͈̹̣͎̫̮̤̮̬͎̝͖̣͕͎̺̫̪͍͔͚̝̪̮̻̻̯̻̱̙̗͍̮̜͇̞̩̳̩̜̦̝͕̤̫͓͎̱̘̤̞͚̦̩͇͓̣̹̭͙͉̤̰̥̥͎̰͍̫̖̟̰̞̺͚͓͈͌́͗̾͛̒͑̇̔͑͑̉͊͗̾̈͒̀̎̈̐̍́̔͌̅͒̃̈́́̉̏̊̊̐͊̏̀͑̌͋͛̌̋́́͐̏̃̉̂̌̈́̒̋̐̄́̐̏̊̈̏̈̒̔̈̿͆̔̈́̿̊̔͂́͗̎͗̑̓̈̾̀̀̓̆̊̎̋͘̕̕͘̚͘͜͝͝͝͠͝͝'̵̶̶̵̵̵̴̶̵̵̵̶̸̷̵̵̵̨̡̢̡̢̛̛̛͕̱͓͚̺̲͇͙̻̭͙̹̹̮̗͚̺̯̱̣̩̬̮̤͖͔̤̘͓̘̞͔̰͍̘͚͖͔̟̼͇̻̬̻̥̲͎͙͈̠͉̳̫̬̺̰͕͕̠̣͙̠̗̳̝̭̭̦̩̱͙̥̞̻͍̳̠̺͖͓̝̳̭͚͈̯̹͈̫̲̺̳̻̤͔̯̽́́̈́̌̄͆̆̀̎̾͗̑̀̌͆̆̓̀͌͐̅́͒͆̇̿̈̇̈̃͐̇͐̉̽̓̎̒̒͆̇̀͊̎͊͂̈́̓͆͐̃̾́͗̒̉̋́͗́́̀̉̈́͂̃͗͆̑͌̊͒͑̐͌̈́̌̅͋͑͒̕̚̚̚͘̚͘͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅş̸̶̸̴̷̶̵̶̴̶̷̴̸̴̵̷̵̡̡̧̧̢̢̛̠̥̥̤̗͔̹̦̦̠̻̤͚̻̞̮̭͎̯̤̲͚̤͙͍̯̮̖̜̱̘̺̼͇͇͇̖̙̖͉̭̻̗̰͈͉̥̪͓̟̮͇͙̦̲̬̰̞̘̺̣̗̟͓̫͉̝̼̜͕̥̜̗͇̰̖͓͉͉͎̳͚̮̦̺͔͔̭͍̱̯͒̽͛̇̽̂̀̌̍̎́̋̈́͗̓̋̉̋͒̇̇̈́̎̂͋͆̓̀̿̆̓̉͂̇̃́͗͋̄̽̿̄͌̾͗͊̂͐̑̉͋̈́̔̔̈́͒͋̿͊̽̍̑̆̅͂͋̀̍́̽͋́́̅̑̈͌̔̃̓̅͛̇̌͐̒̑̾͊̇̈̏̆͘̕̚̕͘͘̚͜͠͝ͅͅͅͅ ̷̸̵̷̴̷̸̶̴̶̷̴̷̶̶̵̴̧̡̧̢̧̧̡̡̨̨̧̧̛̛͖̳̱̯͎̭̫̥̙͙̹̪̼̺̘͔̬̬̘̪̖͕͓̦̹͍̳͙̝̳̱͙̗̖̙̰̱̯̪̳̖͔̦̤̮̻̯̰̣̖̥̹̤̖̪̠̳̣̹̣̩̦͚̘̱̼̟̪̳͍̬̘̻̯̦̺̤̫̼̦̰̎̈́͌̏̃̾͆̔̓̎͌͌̽̔̓̆̂̈́́̾͛͐̓̂̀̔̇̅̄̈́̍̃̓̅̄̄͑̈́̈́̋͌̎͆̀͌̍̉̈̈́͋͒̄̈́̾̓̎̌̇̀̔̾̽̂̽͑͆̽̏̂͋̊̋̀͌̾̀̀̍͆̉͐͋̆̒̿̓̍͆̇͌͆̈́̏͘͘̚͘̚͜͜͜͜͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅą̸̸̴̶̵̸̴̴̷̸̵̵̷̵̵̵̵̨̡̨̧̧̧̨̡̢̡̨̨̛̛̜͔̠̘̹̥̤͈̬͉̼̼̜̜̤̞͚̻̤͖̺̰̭̥̣̩͖͓̻̭̳͍̲͉̭̘̙̥̘̮̞̞̹̞̥̱̣̤̼̘̥̼̳̝͚̹̱̪̣̹̤͙͍͍͇͙͕͍̩̣̼͇͉̱̫͈̳͕͎̳̺̙̪͚̙͐̋́́̏̽̏̓́̑̀̅̔̄̏̒̾́̐̎̎́͆̀̿̊͋́̀͌̒̔̍͛̀̐̿̾͆̈́̌̅̈́͆̒͊͋̿̊̉̈͐͂́͂͂̍́̓̀̾͒̂͂̅͐̀͗̈̈́̿̈̽̈́̋̇̀̇́̆͛̍̐̂͐̊͑̓̚͘̚̚͘̚̚̚̚͜͜͜͝͠͝͠ͅͅ ̸̴̴̴̷̸̷̴̴̴̸̵̷̶̴̶̶̡̧̧̨̡̧̛̛͇̭̹͚̟͍̖̠̱͙̞̗̜̱̭̞̮̞̥͉͚͓̘̖̻͓̼̭̜̺͙͓̭͎̱̭̜͚̭̜̗͖̟̜̮̫̗̳̟͙̬̱̙̘͚̻̳̪̙͈̮̩͙̠͉̳̫̮͍͈̖̦̼͍̼̪̩͈̯̩̮̳̞̭̦̜̦̬͖̪̜̜̩̿̋̊͂͂͒͋͒͐́͑͂̾̾̈́̈́̂͆̽̌̈́͋͆͆̋̂̿́̍͗̄̑́̈̉́̓̒̇͗̀̊̃̑͌̽͛̀̂̏̂̓̋̆͌̆͊̈́̌̑̔̊̋̆̑̅̉́̑͋̽̀̏̄̈́͑̏̑̽̏̓͛̏̈͐̓͑̅̐͊̕̚̚͘͘͜͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅg̴̶̵̷̶̴̶̵̴̷̴̴̷̷̶̵̵̡̢̨̨̡̡̡̛̛̛͉̩̼̼̳̻̻͈̲̻̩̰̰̩̩͕͚̜̳͇͖͙̲̫͇̗͖̠̦̺̻͇̖̺͍̻͖̭̖͇̬͍͓̯̰͙̦̹̜̹͈͍̺̣͎̙̦̯̺̲̥͙̘̫̭̞͍͍͍̬͓̩͇̣̤͎̣̖̱̖̥̩̘͍̮̬͓͚̻̳͖͉̙͖̉͊̋͌͐͒̍̋̏͐̾̄̏̎̿́̇̏̇́͑̿̉̀͒̾̆̈̀̉͆́̅͗̌͋̓̓̔͂̑̆̓̊͑̓̑̐̌̈̏̀̾̽́̍̽̾̑͊̐͗̀̈́̓͑̆̋̽͋̓͆̓̔̌̑͑́̎͋͒͊͆̿̑̚̕̚̚͘̕̕͘̚͜͜͠͝͠͝͝͠ơ̵̴̵̴̶̴̷̸̷̶̸̴̴̴̶̴̶̧̧̢̡̛̪̥̣͓͕͙͉̦͚̙̝̜̬̫̙̦̯̰̤̜̞͙̯̯͉̫̗̲̜̗̺͓͓̩̮̫̱͕̗͈͚̙̙̫̙̦͔̣̤̫̱͚̤̦̞̩̗̻̝̰̱͙̻̩͈̹̬̦̩͈̗̖͕̞̮͖̭̭̼̥̦̪̟̜̼̗̲̝̤̪̰̣̗̟̣̭̯͗̾̍̄͊̄́͑̌̊̒̔̄͊̾̂͐̀̈̃̆̆̍̂̋̇̅͆̓̇̽͊̋̓̏̃̐̋̃̊͂͋̇̔̍̂̌͗͆̍̃̑͛͊̋̈́̀͗̈́̿̆̈́̌̑̓̀̌̔͒̐̑̀̃̑̍͊̆̆̚͘̕̕͘̕̚͘̚̕̕͜͜͠͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͝ơ̸̷̶̶̸̸̷̶̵̴̷̶̶̵̴̸̷̢̧̢̧̢̧̡̢̢̧̛̛̫͙͓̩͈̦̟̯̙̤̳̲̺̝̝͍͖͎͚̰̞̘̭̖̖̺̪͔̱̻̗͓͓̙̣͙͇̘̙͎̤͙̥̲̼̗̞̬̲̗̣̭̥̘͉̝̪̥͚͔̼̹̞̰̤̠̟̫͎͙̫͖̹̠̻̰̰̯̙̟̬̳̻̝̦͉̆͛͆̑̓̇̎̾̑͐̊̉̊̍̍̌͗̏̿͛͊̉͊̀͆̃͋̍̈́̾̓̒́̋̍̂̿̆̇́̃͋̌͆̅̐̍̾͛̒̌̂̀̽̃̆̋̃̔̂̄̆̓̈́̏̽̑̐͌̇̒̔͋̓̉́̆̈́͛̊̽̌̌̿͋͘͘͘̕͘̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅd̶̷̷̵̸̴̷̵̴̸̶̶̴̷̸̸̶̢̨̨̨̧̧̡̧̡̛̝̬̯̭̟̭͖̖̟̣̦̱͎̣̺̲̲̯͍̟͇̥͖̯̥͓̯͚͈̲̟͖͉̬͈̣͙̮̖̰̮͖̖͕͙̪͓͙̜͕̻͕͉̼̤̜̬̳̠̬͔͔̹͚̻̙͖̭̺͖̭̟͓̪̹̮̜̦̜̱̰͚͚͔̦̯̼̭̩̈́̌͑̈́̊̂̒̿̂̋̅̋͆̈́͂̋͒̉͋̃́̐͛̏̓̄̐̍́̽̐́́̎̒̈̄̉̃̈́̒͛̓̾͂̿͒̓͆̿̓̓̅͑̄͒͌̄̆̿̽͆͒͗̄̊̄̀̾̈́̑́̈̐̇͊̈̒́̾̈̌̌̈̿̆̀͘͘͘͘̚̚̚̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅ ̵̸̷̷̵̸̵̶̵̸̶̸̶̴̷̴̵̢̧̧̨̧̧̫̻͎̥̭̹̥͍̙͚͓̗̝̪͕̥̠̜̳̘̻͈̲̰̯̝͉͍̟̠͓̥̱̮̻̤͇̯̰̮̫͖͚͔̭͔̗̤̳͎͔͈̤̖̯̹̺̫̭̞͎̗̦͍̟̩̗̤̻̘͚̠̹̞̬̤͕͍͎̰̜͙̹͍̝̻̪̰̭̫͓̂̆̉̈́̀͋̀̽͌͌́̓̃͌̐̓͌̾̾̈͂͋͆̂̑͂͋͒̎͑́̒̅͋̃̏͛͒̔̀̑̄͋̏̀̓͊͌̂̊̒̈́́̑̌̓̅̇͛̆̎̄́̆͒̌̄̌̒̇̓̈́͌́̍̀͆́̑̋́̅͒͗͂͌̎̓̚̚̚̚̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅę̷̵̶̶̴̵̷̴̸̷̴̸̶̴̷̴̸̧̨̢̨̧̢̧̧̨̛̛̛̛͍̘̖̙̝͚͔͚̭̬̱̪̩̝̭̹̞̠͎̭͈̞̞̗̳̩̰̹̫͇̻̝̰̜͍̣̮̘̥̳̬̤̣̪͉̼̣͈̳̫̖̭̖͖̤̤̪͕͎͎̻̹̝̹̠̘̜̞̯̰̳̜̼̖̺̩̹̲̼̘͉͓̗̱̘̻̪͖̊̀̈́̇̈́͑̂̊͑̓͂̑̈́͆̃̔̾̑͒̌͊̌̑͛̃̉̅͊̎͒̑͛̂͆̓̎̀̄̈́͌́̊̐̂̏́̊͛͐͋̔͛̎͆̃͛̾͆̅̋̍͗̄̈̈́͂͐̀̉̍͒̉͆̂̒̈́̉̏͌̊͘̚̕͘̕͘̕͘̚̚͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅņ̴̴̸̵̵̵̸̶̵̸̴̷̷̷̶̸̶̡̡̢̨̨̧̡̨̡̢̛̛̛̘̞͇̦̜͍͓̹̱̟̟͙̖͎̯̦͈̦̬͓̺̝̭̠̩̼̣̦͔̣̮̼̰̤̭̠̙̺͔͕̗͔̖̲̳̼̺̳̲͙̮̳̞̬̤̝̜͎̰͇̺͕͔̤̤̻͉͔̰̫̮͚͎̗͉͉̜̙̗̞̰̥͔́́͋̉̂̇͆̑̑͆͗̈́̓͗̿͋̓̾̅͗̏̂̏̽̈́̃͐̎̅̐͊̀͋̇̽̃͊̏̾̀́͑̓̉̇́̿̈́̔͐̐̐̀̊̏̔̀̀̽͒̐̈́̔̏̿̈̃̋̈́͊̀͗̋͆̐͒͂͋̍͌͛̉̇͒̒̒͐̃͆̾̌͘̕̕͘̕̚͜͜͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅv̸̷̶̷̷̵̷̵̴̵̵̴̵̷̶̸̷̢̡̢̧̡̡̧̡̧̛̛͓͓̺̜̮̞̣̫̼̰̻͓̘̹̮͔̣̙͙̳̠̱̞̪̦͎̱̱̦͓͇̗̻͈̖̝͔̠͚̲̥̥͕̲̳̭̪͙̞̜̖̯̞̞̣͎̞̜͓̙̻̳̤̯͎̟̭̣͈͚̯̻̳͇̟͙̮͕̼͈̥͈͉͙̤̤̘̰̠̬͖̈́͆̋̈́͑̂̓͛̇̈́̾̀͋̽͂̍͐͋͐̽̋̀͊͛̈́̔̈́̈́̓̌̾̇͗̓͂͐̀͐́̐̆́̋̇̔̈́̏̑̉̍̉̾̌̈́̿̾̋̈́͗́͗͗̃̓̊̒̌̓̏̋́͒̿̓́̇͌̀̈́̎̔̋͌̓͐̆̋͘͘̕̕̕͜͜͜͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝i̶̶̷̸̸̵̷̸̷̷̴̷̵̷̶̶̴̧̡̢̢̛̱͓͖̮̤̖̻͔͕̣͈̟͖̘̰̠̲͍̟̣̖̳̠̼̱͚̭͕͖̤̪̠̗̮̺̗̞͓̫̘̱͖͕̳͈̰͖͙̪̟̠̺̭̼̜̪̘̼̲̳̬̺̣̠̦̟̭̳̪͇̠͖͓̮̻͈̝͍͇̩̟̫͍͍̼͙̫̬̥̲̙͈̰͈̓̄̉̒́̔̈́̇͆̽͑̓͑̏͐̄̉̿̃̄͋̃͑̄͆̎̃̓́͗̄͆̎͛͋̓̽͋͆̍̓̄̾̈͛̑̾̇̌̓͆̽̌̒̋̀̍̆̏̔̈́̋́́́̒̈́̎͛͛́̃̇̈̏̾̈̊̅̉͒̂̇̉̓̎̑͋̿͘̚͘̕͜͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅr̶̸̸̴̷̶̵̴̴̶̴̸̷̷̸̸̶̡̡̧̢̨̡̧̛̮͔̯̻̤̲͓͙͍̠̟̲̮͖͎͎͖̭͚̣͓̙̮̮̭͍̻̯̹̫̦̦̬̺̖͉̝̠͈͚̞̰̰̼̠͚̺͕͓̬̜͍̞͖̫̝̪̜̫͈̺̮̮̳̮̞̤͚͎̘̜͖͕͙̻͇̻̜͚̘̺͚͖̻͓̺̩͚͓̩̻̻͉͙̎̾̇̈́̌̎̒͛̈̔̈́̅̎̀̋̈́̎͌̆̽̃̂̏̈́̿̄̉̈́͐̐́̓͑̒̐͂̉̌̿̇̈́̅͋̀͆̈́̈́͂͌̓̂͂̈̆̆͊͛̏̃̂͑̓̎̏̑͗̏̃̇͑͋̆̓̽̎̄͂͑̈́̀͊̇̐͊̀̀͆̋̓͘͘͘̕̕̕͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͠ͅơ̶̴̵̶̶̵̷̸̵̶̴̶̷̸̴̶̴̧̨̢̡̢̡̧̧̢̧̨̨̛̬̬̬͎̻̝̯̹͉̜͈͎̦͈̫͚͓͚̠̺̫͖͉̦͚̗̝̤̩̦̫̝̤͈͔̘̥̲͕̹̥̖̬̥̗͕̠̻̩̱̳̣͚͕̠͕͕̼̞̬̟͈͔̼͖̣̦̳̫͉͕͉̦͎͔̣̲̠̩̗̮̥̱̻͔̫͋̌͛̇̔͌̏͑̔̏͗̈́̾̂͌͛̊̽́̄̅̍̈́̈́́̏͗̓̽̇̈́͆̑̉̾̈̈́̽͛̂̂̑̐̀̈́̈̍̄̒̉͂̈́͑́́͋̍̀̈́́̿͆͂̏̃͐̔́̄̊̑̉̇̆͑͋̋̐͗̈́̒͌̇̀̃̀̅̑̀̄̽̃̓͐̚͜͠͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅn̶̷̴̶̸̸̴̵̶̵̷̶̵̷̸̴̷̢̢̢̧̢̢̢̛̛̛̛̛̗̺̣͇̹̥̹͕̰̯̮̮̤͍̺̻̱̼̲̟̩̖͔̮̜͙̞͎̻͙̫̩̜̮̜̩͔̬̞͚͖͙̩̠͉̳̗̱̗̟̳̬̝̖̻͉̤̝̮̻̰͓̬͈̠̼̱͖͈͓̟̝̖͎̺̘̜͙̣͖͉̣͔̰̝͎͍̰̲̬̮̄͋͋͂̎̏̀̆̈́͋̇͊̈́̾͌̓̀̅̉̐̑͋͐̓̑̃̾̈́̿̆̀͊͒̔̽̓͐͛͒͑͌͐̃͛͑͌̏̇͆͌̈̃͑́͂̽͗̑̏͐̏̓͂̓͒̑̔̿̌̎̐̀͋̎͒̎̿̂̈́̈̀̅͆̄̈́̏̆̒̚̕͘̕͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͝ͅm̵̸̴̸̴̸̷̵̵̷̴̴̸̴̴̸̴̧̡̨̢̡̧̢̛̛̛̛͇͚̯̹̥͙͉͓̯̲̲̰̳̳̼̱̮̟̦̬̺̪̝͖͎̜̥̣͖͉̲̖̫̦̭̱̱̱̙̙͎̝̱͉̱̮͍̙͖̭̺͍̦̖̣͖̗͉̮͇̩̝̱͖̞̟̼̥͖͈̥̞̘̦̠͎̼͓̙̲̟̮̱̟̗̭̣̝̞̮̯̽̈́̿͐͆͑͊͗̆͆̎͌͑͐̽̿́̓̌͌̓̊̒͗́́̿̇̃̍̽̃͆̾̅́̂̋̄̍̅́̄̀̈́̍͊͌̉̇̋͊͐̅̌̎̄̍̔̉̓̅́̅̊̀̑͋͆̓̏͗̈́̎̊̇̑̈́͛̉̿̕̚͘̕͘͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͠͠ͅȩ̸̷̶̴̴̶̶̶̸̶̵̴̶̸̷̸̷̡̨̡̢̢̧̢̧̢̛̛̛͈͕͔̦̘͕͙̥͕̙͔̥̩͍̘̪̰̺͍̪̯̩̦͔̯̰͍̭̦̜̺̤̦͈̙̟͚̘̙̱̦͈͙̣̠̤̼̘̘̳̳̠̙̬̩̝͚̖͙͔̤͓̗̬͍̳͚͇͈̘̟̠̞̙̗̱̥͔̟͙͇̖̯̮̟̞͔̻̱́̓͂̈́̅̏̎̀̍͛̾̊̐̑̍̍̃̽̋͗̔͐̒̒͋̂̏͆͊͒̂͐̅͐̏̉́͊͆̈́̒͊̅͋̇̈́͊͂͗͛̈̌͛̐̊͊̌͆͐̑̌́̄̉̅͑̂̏̉͑͑͒̅͂͛̏̀͛́̔̽͑͑̃̀̕̕̚͘̕̕͘̕͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠n̷̶̶̴̷̴̶̴̴̴̴̵̷̶̶̸̴̢̢̢̨̡̡̨̢̧̛͓̱̘̣͚̼͓̤̣͙̱͙̗͚̝̼͚͉̤͈͔̠̘̼͔̪̰̭̻̝͕̥̞̱̰̮̹̮̹͉̰̬͚͖̤̬̹̹̮͓̖͇͙̹̹̞̱̺̞̙̺͎͓̗͚̼̬̘̮̱̩̯̖̼̱͓̼̫̟̯͖̮̣̘͔̦͚͈͈̘̾̌̇̈́͊͒͋̈͆͌̃̍̓̔͂̌̌́̍̊́́͆͛͊̈́͆́̆̐̐͛̈̀̃́̉̊̽͊͛̾̾̓̾͋͂̂͒̊͐͋̆̎̏̍̄̍͂̓̅̈̿̋̎͒̓̇̾̎͐̓͆̾̈́̓̎͛̇̾͋̀̅͒͑̍͘͘̚͘̕͘͘͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅẗ̴̸̶̵̸̵̷̶̶̸̸̸̷̸̶̷̸̡̡̡̨̢̢̨̧̨̢̧̧̛̛̛̛̛͍̼͖̦̳̪̻̯̱̫̮͉̟̩͓͇̦̲̣̝̤̪̘̠̝̳̻͉̳̞̟͇̤͕͎̩͔̹̪̝̹̣̝͎̼̤̰̺͇̘̺̝͉͉̳̱̪͍̬̺͍͚̼̳͚̞̹͙͙̟͚̲͙̲̲̖̼͍̥̯͚̹͈͕͚̥̙͚̜̂̿̒̓̾̾̂̇̏͐͊̒̍̾̋̔̃̾́̓̆̈́͋̂̆̓̋͒͋̆̅̋̈́̃̂̔͋͒̿̋̈̅͆̒̈́͐͋͗̓̃͌̂̌́́̎͒̃̊̾͂̂̄̈͑̏́͌́̃̃̈́̎͛̇̐́̆̓̎͆̚̕̕͘̕̚͜͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅ ̵̴̶̸̴̸̴̷̵̴̸̸̸̸̵̶̴̧̧̢̧̡̨̧̨̨̨̛̛̛͉̞͉̼͈̻̻̯̱̪̙̩̗̦͓͕̻̮͔̘̬͕͖̩̘̻͈͖̤̰͔̙̰̖̠͎̩̩̬̘̤͙̙̣̳̪͍̤̰͚͇̞̪̻̘͙͎̞̫̮̰͈̭̬̲͚̳͖̲͇͉͚̹̯͓̫̰̹̺̰͕̣̮̹͉̫̫͉͎̏́̇͆̀̾̈̓̋͋̽̈́̅͂͋͌̏͑̅͂͂̈́̄͗̏̀̂̓͋̇́̌̆̐͂̀̑̇͑̉͂͆̉̈̑͂͋̎̈́̈̃̽͛̐̾́͌́̓̀̆̈́́́̋̈́̏͐̏͊͌̇͂̋̇̃͂̀̏̃̀͗͋̌̍̾̀͐̈̕͘̚̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅf̴̵̶̷̵̴̶̸̶̵̷̴̶̴̸̴̵̢̨̢̧̡̧̨̧̨̡̨̡̨̛̛̛̛̞̩̟̠̫̮̞̝̪͓̲͙̠̟̱̹͔͕̰̥͙͈̬͕͙̖̜̩̫̥͉̤̟̪̰̬̳͈̞̠̻͇͓̯̰̖̮̭̭̫͕̮̪͎̦̭͉̖͖̙̬̲̠̩͎̝͍̗͓͚̙͚͈̩͈͍̬͉̪͕̺̠̥͖̬̲͕̘̂̿̿̓͗͆́̒̉͆̀̅̍̈́̃̓̓͒̈́͋̈́́̒̓̋̌̈́̿̃̊͊͒̎̾͌̀͐̓̆͒͑̐̋̃̑̌̋̍͊́͌̇͒͛͌̐̈́̍̓͗̔́̇̈̓͊̾͛̿̆̎͗̈́́͆̄͋͋̍͗͐͘̕̕͘̚͘̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͠ǫ̴̵̷̴̶̷̷̶̴̵̵̷̸̵̵̵̶̡̡̨̧̢̡̡̢̧̡̢̧̢̛̛̛̫̪̮̘̰̻̘̜͇͓̼͙̠̫͚͈̞͔̖̯̳̼̦̳̘͕͙̤͖̭̝̫̞̗̥̥͍̜͚̼̥̦͎̜̦̥̘͇̲̼̜̪͓̥͈̞̬̭̫͙̙͇̠͙̲͎̮̗̘̠̼̺̭̤͇̮̻̭̰͈̣̟̦̥̲̅͂͌́́͌̿̑̇̓̓̈́̔̄̔̈̓͛̇͐̂̈́̊̿̈́͊̀͂́̑̎͐͒̅́̀͑̊̀̿̀̈́̈́̈́̒̀̔̅̐̓̓̅̐͌̀̌̐͑̃̃̑͂̈́̍̐̈́͗͆̌̋̊́͋͒͑̆͒̂̔̈́͛̊̓̐̒̍̽̀̌̕̚̚͘̕̕̕͜͜͝͠͠͝ͅͅr̵̷̴̴̵̵̴̴̸̴̷̶̶̸̶̶̷̡̨̡̢̧̧̢̨̢̡̛̛̛̭̟͈̝̭̯͇̼͙͚̖̝͎͖̟̳̝̟̠̞̱̝̯̣͍͔͕͈͈͎͙͓̣̺͍̠̠̳̜̣̟͈̳̙͚̬̞̝̳̞̼̲̺͇̰̹͕͎͇̭̱̫̪̟̱̯̗̫͈͈̫͈̰͇̮̰͉͇̦̱̦̥͖̩̼̳͍̫̝̣̯̝͊͒̿̓̈̈̑̔̂̄͊̌͑͗̈͌͗͌̈́̊̏̈́͛̅̐̒͆̅̐̓̋͗̅̉̂͛̒͗̑̈́̈̆̇͛̈́͛͗̈́̿̅́̂̓͐̄̃͒̌͑͊́̏̀̃̔́͆̈́́̔̾̃͌͐͋̈̈́̓̉̅̅́͒̾̃̈́͊͛̈́̈́͘̚̕͘̚͘͝͝͝͝ͅ ̷̷̸̷̴̸̶̷̸̷̸̶̷̸̷̷̷̢̡̡̨̨̡̨͚̩͖̱̩̜͍͕̹̝̺̭̰̳̠̜̮̦̬̪͖̬̭̳̖̺̣̞̳͎͔̘͈͉͉̟̣͈̯̪͙̭̼̼̱͈̜͍̯̪͓͕̘̺̫̲͓̺͉͚̬̳̗̮͇̟̳̰̥̳̞̥͔̟̦̝̲̭̻͍͉͚̞͎͍͚̰̻̮͓͉́͌́̔̈̏̓̄͌͊̆̿̆̐͒͋̂͐͑͑̀̓͋̃̉̐́͐̽̄̆̂̂͑̄͌͊̎̋̾͑̍͌̋̿͒͋̋̿̈́̊̅̏̿̀͊̀̐́̄̀̽̔͌͑̅̾̒́̄́̒͐̔̽̍̈̂̏͋̐̈́̽͘̚̚̕̚̕̕̚͜͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅḽ̷̸̸̸̶̷̴̴̴̶̴̷̵̷̸̶̴̨̢̧̡̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̬̪͚̜̯̼̱͕̳͕̲͕͉̭̬͎͇̥̳̯͚͍̣͎̰̲̺̳̪̞̼͙͙̝̠͚̣͈̤̣̱̱̼͍͎̲̥̲͓̥̫̫̞̣̺̰̮͖̜̼̺̲̫͍̼̰̲̖̩̩̣͔̘̖̞̝͙̖̦̱̺̻̜̱̮͓͎̤͙̺̻̤̀̆͂̍̉̉̈̃͊̈͒̐̅̍͗̓͗̏̎̇̉͗̈́̽̋̽̒͂̈̅͗̄̀̃͐͗̈̀͛́͆̓̄͑͂̒̀̋̋͆́̍͒̔͗̅̉͒̈̎̅͋͒͂̅̊́̒̂̔̀̀̈̃̈́́̈́̃̽̈́̅̈́͋̅̍̏̂͊̚͘̕̕͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅe̸̵̷̸̸̷̴̵̶̶̸̸̵̶̷̴̴̡̧̢̢̢̛͙͈̮̜̮͈̹͓͓̗̜̦̜̩̖̝̱̼̹͉͚̮̩̩̺̪̖͉͓̫̖͈̦̼̜̯͓̖̮̝̤͕̞̳̗̗̯̞̞̖̫̹̩̥̰͕̣̩̘̙̹̳̹̣͚̙̲͈̺̠̦̭͓͎̘͉̩̪̯̝̯̫͕͕̻̞̟̙̤͔͓̰̬̣̿̾͛́̾̊̀̊̀̎̑̃̀͆̀̏̒͋͊̔͂́̌̑͒͑͑̎͊̏̈͋͒͑̉̎̾̽̇̑̎͗͌́̊̉̔̅̊͋̌̑̈̽̎͑̃̌̇̄̄͂̽͑͐̌͂̿͊͆͋̇̑͛̓̃̈́̑̃͗̓́̀̈́͛̇͆̇̕̚͘̚̕̕͘̕͜͜͝͝͠͝͠͠ͅͅa̷̸̶̷̴̸̶̴̴̴̴̷̷̷̶̸̴̢̡̧̧̧̢̡̨̢̡̛̛̛̮͔͇̟̩̹̥̪̗͓͎̼͙͎͈͚̦̮͉̼̝̰̠͔͖͉̼̖̖̞̳͙͉̜͙͉͙̳̻̮͇̰̰̠̱̪͖͔̩̜̩̲̠̣͕̪̬̪̠̗͉̯̻̺̠̝̮̤͓̩̙̳̞͉̼̖̯͍͈̫̜̟̻̹̻͔̼̙̦̐̆̐̃͆̃̏͗̈́̈́͌͐̐̏̈́͌͌̄͗̓́̓̆͛̈́̀͊̉͆̇́̂͆̀̒̀̾̈́͒̎͗̅̽̐̈͑̑̄͋̒̏̂͂̈́̈͑͛͛̈̿̈̓͑̉̎͛̌̒̏́̃͒͗͋̊̈́̈́̇́̒͆̓̾̐̍̕͘̚̕̕͘̚̕̚͜͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅr̶̵̴̸̵̷̸̸̵̶̸̷̵̵̴̵̸̢̢̢̨̢̨̧̨̧̨̧̛͍͇̮̪̪̫̥͈̬̪̯͚͉̻̻̩͙̣̱͉͎̰̖̬̳͕̤͖̺͍͚͇̝̼͖̯͉̱̖̼̬̖̦̖̙̳̥͎̩͙̹͈̲̯̪̥̝̬̬͎̦̻̱̦͔͓͈̭͓̙͎̫̖̜̹̭̜̮͔͕̼͉̝̱̠̲̩̭̎̔͊̒̆̈́̊͛̂̈́͐͋̄͐́͒̈́̋̌̀͋͑̋͆̌̀̈͐̿̿͊͋̔̏͛͐̍̆̍̃͊̀̀͆͆͗́͊́̓̌̐̅̄͆͊̇̀̋͒́͌̉̒́̃̄͐̈̏́̍͛͆̽̓̽̃͒̅̔͗͘̕̚̚̚̕͘̕̚͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅn̸̸̸̶̸̸̵̴̷̶̶̵̵̴̸̵̸̢̧̡̢̨̢̧̢̧̢̧̙̺̣̣̤̲͕͔̱͔̹̝̗̥͓͕̜̹̖͈̜̦̘̫̲͙̥̣̞̳͚̱̯̲̣̜̱̲̙͕̥̻͇͓̰̪̱̼̞̦̘̖̺̥̼͇͉̦̗̺͓̮̹̯̗͈̣̬̮̫̰̠̩̗̼̬̗͕̤̭̖̖̩͚̔̄̏͑̒̂̿̍́̓̔̃͗͋́̊̇̄̾̅̽̌͆̋͒̀̏̂͗͊̄̓͋̍͊͌͑̓̀̿̓̉͌́̿̐͆̒̌̄̎́͛̉̏̑̍̇̌͊̂̀͒̔̐̅͗̓̍͑̎̿͐̉͂͌̂́̓̔͋̓̑̇͛̅̎́͂̿̉̐̕̚͘̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅḭ̷̵̶̶̴̶̵̷̶̷̶̴̴̴̴̶̴̢̨̨̢̡̨̧̢̢̡̡̛̦̮͕͍̳͚̤̯̠͓̫̣̠͕͖̝̱͖̯̠̰͈͈̮̲̱̺͓͔̮̥̦͚͉͚̯͇͇̞̰̩̱̣̲͕͖̘̹̜͇͚̘̠̰̱̳̼̗̗̮͔̜̪̝̱͖̫̤̦̠̘̲̜̫̫̟̠̮̟̝̺̘͈̞̺̱̉̅̋̑̐́̂̅̈́̐́̋̔̈́̍͐͋̈́̔̀̆̐̅̎́̓̄̓̋̉͂̇̊͌͗̈́̓̀͛̀̓̀̅̓̓̀͑̀́̎͊̀̑͂͗̓̏͆̿̇͒͛͑͛͗͌̆͋͗͂͂̋̆͐̏̏̐͋̑̔̅̈̎́̓̄̀͌͊̕̚̚̕͘͘͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅn̶̶̵̶̵̴̶̶̸̸̵̵̷̷̸̶̶̨̢̨̧̢̢̧̢̡̡̡̛̛̗̖͎͍͖͚̜̗͙̭̘̝̲̣͎̟͉̻̲̣̖̻̘̥̘͎̟̬̼̼̰̜̘̬̲̱̝̥͕̩̪̗̫͈͍͕̤͙͕̦̗͈͎̲̬̩͖͈͚̺̳̺͈͚̪̠̥͇̲̠̫̞͓̭̪̻̲̼͉̜͓̰̟̻̙̗̯̑̈̉͐̃̇͗̀͒̔͋̃̀̊͛̈̉̿̅̃̃̏͂̈́͌͂̇̄̈̂̽̏́̔̋̾́͛̊̓͑͒̄͂̓͒̽̈́͗̀̀̂̈́̋̀͂͗́͋̓̃̀̋̑̅́͌̈̅̑͒̈́̂̂̋̎̓̌̓̾͊̾̄͂̕̕͘͘̕̚̕͜͝͠͠͠͠͝͠͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅğ̵̸̷̷̸̸̶̶̸̷̵̵̷̶̴̷̸̨̧̨̡̧̧̧̨̢̨̨̨̡̨̛̝͎͈̼̭͔͍͙̠̼̠̜̫͈̻̩͓̬̘̟̹̠̩̪͕̭̣̮͇̮̲͔͚̳͓̝͖̥͕͔̟̦͉͙͙̞̱̬͖̭̰̱͔̟͈̘̪̯̺̺̬̼̱̩̥̦̹̩̭̳̮̦͙̹̱̯̹̣̞̲̞͛̎̀́̐̾̊̈́̍̄̇̑͆̓̓͆̆̈́́̅̏̊̋́̀̋̍́̈́́̅̅̐̅͑̋͛́́͒͑̈́̃͆̊͒̈́̓̋̃̋́̄̂̌̿͊̈́̂̓̀͛̑̆̑̓̀͌̉̀͐̓̊͋̓̾̃́̍̌̏̔̈̄̈͊͊̚͘̚̕͘̕̚̕̚͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ ̷̵̶̶̴̷̷̷̶̸̴̵̶̴̸̵̷̢̧̢̨̡̨̢̨̢̧̛̛̛̥̰̺̳͓͉̲͈͖̭̫̯̗̤̠͇̼̞̭̼͕̟͎̼̟̜̹̻̟̞̫̮̪̠̫̹̺̯̻͕̜̟̹̮͍̖̣̫̖̩͍̫͖͓̣͔͎̗̤͉̮͎̻̟̖͇̣̪̱͚̻̤̗̩̫̖̥̳͚̮̫͇̺͙̬̥̭̦̞̈̃̎́̏̾̀̇̿͐͆̑̓̔̔̍̋͐̌̒̎́̽͆̊̿͐̒̾̀͛̿̄̈̀̆̇̏̎̿̇͌̽̔͑́̊͋͌̉̊͌̏̈́͊̃͌̓̇̇̆́̋́͌̊̈́̉̿̓̇́͐̈́̈́̑̓̐̐̍̔̂̿͗̀̐͛̕͘̚̕̚̚͘͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅĘ̵̵̶̶̸̴̶̷̶̷̶̸̶̸̸̶̵̧̢̨̨̢͍̲̪͎͖͕̣͉͓͙̹̺̯̣͖̤̮̙͖̭̙͖̠̬͍̯̬̝̩͙̻̗̰͈̠͈͚̙̦͈̳͚͙̰͉̙̞̬͖̟̗̻̥̪͚̮̻͍̤̬̟̰͔̮̯̳̠̺̦͔̩̙͎͍̱̲͖̦̗̪̫͕̖̳͉̼͙̻̜̿̈́̈́̅̒́̀̔̿̀̽̓̊́̌̎̇̐́̀̾̒͑̀̌̓͌̾̇̂̍͂̈́̋̐̏͊̈́͗̓̃̒͗͆̓̈̐̓̿͂̉̍͐̐͆̄͋̆̇͐̒̎̐̾̓͒̈̆̃͑̿̎̾̑́͊̉̏̌̀͂̈́̌̇̈͘͘̕̚̕̚̚̚̚͘̚̚̚͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅͅņ̴̴̸̵̸̸̷̷̷̶̶̵̸̷̶̸̸̡̧̨̧̢̧̨̛̛̮̜̤̤̜̲̬̳̱͉͚͓̘̪͍̺͇̥͈̠̟̘̤͚͕̼̞̮̮̜̰̘̜̖̪̗̦̳̥̫̹̮̼̮̫̯̼̙̣̦̞͇͎̭̯̺̟͈̻̘͎̙̼̣̥̫̺̩͈̪͈͕̜̭͕̲̺̮̫͖̜͍̗̱̰̮͈̠̟̾͐̂̉͌̈́̇̓̒́̊̒̾̽̀̎́̀̃́̃̈́́̀̊̏͋̔̋͒̅̔͑̈͂̂̋̾͛̾̅͐͒̊̔̋͂̃̈͆̉́̔̅̓͐̇́̃̇̐̌̿͌̋͒̏̒̇͋̿̍̎͐͋̂̍̊̐̐̎͑̇͛̔̔̄̇͗͘͘̚͘̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅģ̶̴̵̶̸̶̶̵̷̶̵̴̴̶̷̸̷̨̧̢̡̢̧̛̛̫̯̙̲̝͚̳̭̮͖͎̻͕̳̬̩̺̱͚͎̭̗̘̯͕̖͚̙̣͚̺̯̗͈̪̠̪̼̗̱̺̗̖̭̙̺̩̥̯̫͙̳̪̹̫̬͎̦̭̬̻̼̪̥̩̞̬̦̲̝̩̬̟̻͇̙͉̩̠̪̗̤̯̟͔̟͚̰̭̮̃̒̈́͊̊̅͛̑̍̀̓̔̈͋̀̓́̒̂͋̽̏́̂͌͌̉̂͛͐͛̓͒̍̇͛̆̈́͐͗̑̈͗̅͌͐̓̈́̐̐̐̊̆͌̓͗̍͛̔̑̊́̎́̃̓̂̇̓̎̆̈́̾̅͐̎̏̈́̂́̂̀͂̒̏̅͊̓̕̕͘̚͘̚͜͜͝͝͠͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅļ̶̸̸̸̵̸̷̸̸̸̸̸̸̷̴̶̸̢̡̧̢̨̛̛̛̱̝͙͕̖̼̗̬̮̬̲̘͓̙͉̯̳̠̯͍̟̣̟̪͍̠̬̳͕̭̪̜͙̦̘̳̳͙̣̤̱̟͍̯̗̠̜̳̹͉͉̫̬̳̠̟̥̼̼̰̗̦̲̻̺̟̖̙͔̗͖͇̪͎̻̜̹̬̩̳̤̗̫̥͇͇̳̦̟̖̜̘̞̻̓͑̽̓́́̐̂̔̄͛̑̇͛̽̀̔̈́̓̍͗̊͊̂̋̈́̐͌̈́̎͌̂͛͂̀͛̈́͂̑̑̃͛̀͐͑͊̽̈̒̉̊̅̇̐̎̈́̀̔́̍͊̀͐́̐̅̎̑̆̌͋͊̒̃̅̆͌̏̈́͋͗̋͛̔̀̄͗̎̉̕͘̚͘̕̚͘̕͜͜͝͠͝ͅĭ̵̵̵̸̴̷̶̴̶̴̶̵̷̴̸̴̵̢̧̡̡̧̨̡̨̨̢̨̨̧̛̛̞̬̪̣͕̠̥͍͚̖̤̯͉̳̖̯͉̘͚̻̳͚͔̪̗̠̦̖̖͇̘͔͍̠͙͎̙̣̝͖̭̬̯̪̠͇̭̝̟̘̩̻̼͉̰̖̰̝̭͕̰̮͇͇̹͍̟͉̙̼͉̯̣̺͖̭͖̱̻̠͈̘̘̗̓̃͗̿̏̅́̀͑̇̀̀̐͐͂̎͆͗͋̆͂̓͗̆̂̉̿̌́̓͌͒̀̈͊̀͂̐̅͛̿̀̆̊̇̊͒̄̿̆̈̒̿̔̍͗̊̽͂̄̌͗̽̌̐̐̓̌̊́̓̓̎̅̅̈́̾̈́̅̓̊̈́̊̓͋̂̚̕̚̕͘͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅs̵̵̵̶̷̵̸̷̷̵̴̴̸̷̵̷̶̢̡̢̢̢̢̡̡̻̝̘̲̳̲͕̝̮̥̯͍̰̮͖̻͇͚̪̳͍͇͖̠͈̺̰̝̠̺͚̙̼̦͈̱͎̯̗͇̠̞̠͚̹̲̞̗͖͚̞͎̠͖̜̬̜̱̩̗͚̝̟̞̪͚͉̙̮̙̺͎͚̗̜͇͙̬̺͕̜̭̺͍͓̱͈̥̫̗̲̙͌͑͒̿̓̉̔̑̾͐́̌͊̋̊̈́̓̌̍́̋͐̐́͒̄̍̓̓̑̍͛̽͗̌̓̏̎̀͐̾̃͋̒̇̆͒͌͆͗̆̆͗͐̇̋́̌̅͛̀̉̈́̿̅̎͑̈̊̂̂́͑͑̃̈́͆͊̈́͌́́͑̆͘̚̕͘͘̚̕̚͘͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅḧ̵̷̵̵̶̸̷̶̶̴̸̸̵̶̵̶̴̡̧̧̡̧̧̡̨̧̡̨̛̛͓̼̩̹̭̘͓̣̳̼̤̞͙̥̲̟̙̲̥̟̱̖̱̜͓͔̳̙͙͚͔̼̖̝̩̘̙̖͓̟̤͉̣̫̖̩̳̳̪̦̠͔͖̣̩̝̭͖̘̬̭̼̣͙͙͙͇͉̙͙̝͎͈̹̺̺̙̳̬̭̙͉͖̲̻͖̺͕̫̩́̌̏̓̊̄͌̓̈́̊̏̾͆̔̿̓̋͗̾͊̐̌̃̋̂̈̊̍̊̊͐̀͌̐͊̉̇̇̅̊͋͛͒̏̀̾́͐́̒̇͑͛̀̃̓͒͋̌̑̉̇̋̄͋͌̐̈̉̈́̀̍͐͛̋̈́͂͛͐̔̒̎́́̆͑̈́̔̉͘̕͘̕͜͜͝͝͠͝͠͝͠͠.̸̴̵̶̵̵̷̸̸̷̷̴̴̶̸̶̶̨̡̨̢̨̨̧̡̛̛̛̛͉̟̗͚̥͇̜̻͙͖̱̱̦͎͙̝̯̭̻̘̥̱̮̖̤̤̩̪̰͈͇̝̖̱̗̲͎̬͓̖͔̲̳̤͍̞̪̜̖̘̪͉͙͇͈͓͖̹͙̣͙͇̠͉͕̹̥͕̲̲̲͓͙͚̼̘͖̦̥̺̳͍̬͓͍̯͚͇̭̖̯̇͐͌̈́͗̐͆̀͐̀͗͂̀̓́͑͋̈̏̀͋̈̊͛͊̔͗̏̑͗̐͐̇̅̇͊̈́̋͋̎̓̉͗̅̎͋́̌́͋͊͂̿̀̐͐͑̃̋̅̒̋͂̇͒̈̀̑͋̍̀̊͗́̾́͊́̍͛̉̆̌͗̚̚̕̚͘͘͘͝͠͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅ

















On and on the noise crashed into him, until he was no longer even entirely sure where he was. It was like he was adrift in an ocean of chaos, with no shore in sight. Desperate to regain some measure of control over his rampaging ability, Jae began to focus on a single conversation, a particularly loud one that might give him some measure of grounding in the storm.

Unconsciously, his lips began to shape the words as he focused on them, one word at a time, each carefully and delicately articulated as though he was trying to taste their shape. It was a strategy that had worked well for him in the past.

"So this is why you've been sneaking out? Robert? What… what are you doing here? Did you really think I wouldn't notice you sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night? You're lucky mom and dad haven't noticed yet."

It was helping. The sound of the single conversation was getting louder, more focused, washing out the other chatter until it was nothing but a mild background static. He could feel things again, the weight of his pack on his back, the pressure on the soles of his feet from how he was crouched on the ground. It was getting better.

"...Are you going to tell them? I don't know. Do I have to? If you keep this up, someone's going to catch you, and I'm not going to watch my little brother get sent to jail."

He could breathe normally again, and the shaking had all but stopped. Gradually, even this loud conversation he'd focused on faded into the background noise that always filled his head. Slowly, carefully, Jae opened his eyes again, wishing that the cop would somehow have just disappeared.

Of course, he hadn't.

 

[TragicTrees]

Thomas stared.

He wasn't sure how to react. How did people usually react to things like this, to being told something they had never told anyone else? There was no logical way this man could've known about that interaction, especially considering it had happened years ago. Robert had never shared it, and neither had Thomas, out of fear of another flaw being added to his character. If his parents had found out, he wouldn't have been able to look them in the eyes again. He was already the average sibling, and he didn't want to change that title if it meant downgrading to worst.

So, the incident was never shared, and even if it had been, the exact wording wouldn't have been given. Thomas could barely remember it himself, and he was involved in the situation. This person couldn't possible know about it, logically, and if he were to even think of an illogical explanation, he might as well quit his job, because believing in that sort of thing wasn't for police officers. That was what got you fired and berated for believing crazy people.

But, this had still happened, and he didn't have an answer. That in itself was a little anxiety inducing. He pushed that to the side, though; he could panic later. There was always time to panic later.

"Okay." He breathed out, running both hands through his hair "Okay, alright. Uh....shit." He'd never been the best with words, and yet, he felt more at a loss at that moment than he ever had before "....Let's not do this here." He finally decided, tacking on "Or at the police station. Um...shit, fuck. You're probably cold, right?" In times of crisis, he always fell back to trying to at least be polite, because maybe offering warmth or tea or something would give him the time he needed to process this. "Look, how about we just...head to my apartment and you tell me how the hell you're doin' that, alright? No other authorities."

He was going to get so much shit for this if anyone found out. Letting a random person into where he lived after they told him private information, some of which was extremely personal? Oh, and they were also a minor criminal. That made it so much better. He'd get hit over the head and told he was an idiot, which, while he accepted, didn't make it easier to hear. But he wanted answers, and he wanted the truth, and him speculating on it wasn't going to get him anyway. He knew if he didn't figure it out and get the answer, it was going to bug him. He wouldn't be surprised if he lost sleep over it. So, even if it was a stupid move, he was going to invite this man back to his house and get some answers.

God knew that he needed a cup of coffee now.

 

[Peregrine]

Jae was still on the ground, knees stinging against the sharp rocks that made up the gravel field around the railroad tracks. It was an undoubtedly unpleasant sensation, but Jae didn't try and move. For one, the sensation helped remind himself that he was conscious, aware of the outside world, and not trapped in a haze of past and future memories. For another, he wasn't entirely sure his legs could support him yet.

The cop was staring at him, and Jae could feel the chaos in his eyes. How many times had his parents looked at him like that, eyes disappointed and judging, wondering what crime they had committed against God for him to give them a madman of a son. An unnatural creature, a freak, something strange and incomprehensible that it was far better to ignore than to try and understand.

Jae could feel the panic and the pressure building up inside of him again. The pressing drone of the background noises, the voices and chaos, overwhelmed the officer's words, but he was still able to pick out a few words. Important words.

"No police?" Jae repeated, voice somewhat vague. "You aren't going to l-lock me up again?"

 

[TragicTrees]

Again? Was this guy locked up before? Now, Thomas didn't want to make any ill assumptions- the voice of his mother chided at him in his head, 'assumptions make an 'ass' out of 'u' and 'me' -but the first thing that came to mind was murder. That was, of course, ridiculous; if the man was a murderer, then he would probably have done something other than panic before. Maybe panic wasn't the right word....mental break down might of fit better.

Besides, even if he had killed someone, Thomas had a gun. He wasn't a good shot, but he could get the job done, and this was too weird to let go.

He had to know how this guy knew that information about him, about that conversation. No one was supposed to know about that, which was why he'd shoved it into the back of his head, to forget about it. The only way to get an answer was to talk to the guy, and at the moment, he seemed too out of it to give a decent answer. Thomas suspected that he wouldn't get any information until he was sure no other cops were coming, and he was out of the cold.

But he didn't like the idea of letting a criminal into his apartment, no matter what.

"Yea, no cops." He promised honestly, doing the boy scout salute briefly, if only to brighten the mood. He'd never been a scout, but the man didn't know that. Or maybe he did. Thomas didn't want to over think that possibility at the moment. "Scouts honor. Well, uh, other than me, but....that's a given." At this rate, he was going to embarrass himself in front of a homeless man, which was probably the most pathetic thing he could do in the moment.

He hesitated, before offering a hand, not going close enough to touch him. He was pretty sure you weren't supposed to touch people having a mental break down, and he was sort of worried of setting the other off again "....Need a hand? It's a bit of a walk to my car. Which, uh, again, isn't going to go to the police station. Just somewhere warmer."

 

[Peregrine]

Fingers trembling, Jae finally managed to shove his hand back into its glove. It helped, hiding his skin from the randomness of the wind. A familiar static filled his mind, the sound of looms and heavy machinery. He liked synthetic materials. They didn't have as long of a history as things like cotton or wool, and pure noise was far better than the voices.

Jae took a few careful, calming breaths, before finally looking at the man once again. Thomas. He didn't entirely understand what had just happened, why the man was suddenly looking at him so differently compared to how he'd been behaving only a few moments before. But Jae couldn't help but wonder if, for once in his life, he'd actually gotten lucky. Hesitantly, he reached out one gloved hand to take the officer's proffered hand, before allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

A small voice in his head urged him to check where they were going. Jae had ended up in a few police stations in his time, although rarely for longer than a single night. He was certain if he tried, he'd be able to check the sounds where he was going. A part of him thought, if he was just being deceived, if he was destined to be tricked, wouldn't it be better to know in advance?

The pain in his chest kept him from acting. How long had it been since he'd had someone he could even consider trusting. How long had it been since someone had been nice to him. The psychiatrist had done his best to convince Jae he was crazy, the nurses had never wanted to deal with his madness. His family had abandoned him, the few friends he'd thought he'd made had left him. The thought that someone might actually believe him felt like someone was pouring boiling syrup down his throat, sweet but painful.

"Okay," Jae mumbled, burying his face further into his scarf. He wouldn't check. It wasn't like it would matter if he did. He'd find out soon enough.

"Let's go..."