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English
Series:
Part 1 of The Analog Starlight
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Published:
2020-05-02
Completed:
2020-07-17
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136,672
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67/67
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Plasticine Soul

Chapter 64: The Obsidian Spire

Chapter Text

After all this was done, Mituna never wanted to put the wetware on again. He couldn’t understand the Felt junkies – the ones who found themselves addicted to the information overload you got when you clocked in. Sometimes he’d thought that Aranea was headed down that path – or maybe she’d already been there. They didn’t talk enough about it for him to know for sure, and now they never would. Another regret on the pile.

He’d gone back to the ship with the others. Terezi was restrained and put into a jump seat while the rest started to prepare the ship for launch. If his theory was correct, they would need to leave shortly after executing it.

The Green Moon was a kind of giant amplifier for the connection to the Deep Felt – something that Mituna was beginning to understand existed not as an extension of the Felt, but as something wholly separate that bled through from time to time. The interfacing might be similar, but the experience was completely different.

A kinetic acceleration cannon orbiting the moon – that wasn’t a coincidence. Mituna was even willing to bet a whole sweep’s stipend that there would be a very specific targeting protocol that would aim at a very specific part of the Green Moon. Hopefully not a path that intersected with the launch pad. That would be a treacherous bridge to cross when they arrived at it.

For now… he was back in the same chair he’d been in countless times in several different ships. The navigator’s seat was what it was traditionally called – although there was usually more than one of them and it wasn’t just used for navigating. The Deep Felt access point.

“You ready, Captor?” Meenah sounded confident, but she looked worried. “You really think this shit’ll work?”

“I don’t know.” It was an honest answer, even if he didn’t like having to say it. “I have no idea how powerful he really is, okay?”

Meenah sighed, and it sounded like there was an incredible weight on her. “I know. Look… don’t fuckin’ die, okay?”

Mituna smiled at her and winked. “You got it, boss.”

One last check of all the indicators – everything was as normal as it could be. Using that word to describe such a profoundly othering experience seemed odd, but it was all relative. Mituna put the headset on and s̝͙͝w͙̤̱͉͔i̡͕̩̤͙͎͔̯t̡̥̫̹c̵͎͓̝̞hed̴͚ ̷̹͎̰̻͔̣̘it̤ ̮̣͉͔o̶̞̳̯̬̟̞n̦͉͇̝̼̹

T̵̵̛he̶ ̷ac͝t̢̛͡ ̶̕of̴͘ ͜d̡̢e̡̡sc͏͟ri͝b̸̸in͡g͟ ͢͏n̡̕o̶̢̢t̡h҉ing̢n͘͡e͘͢s͠s ̨i̴̕͠s̵ ̡a̢͘͘ ki̡͏͠n̷d͠ ̴̨o̸͢f͢ ͠e̸x̢i͠s̶͘t̸̡͟e͜nt̵i̴̶͏a͢͠l͜͠ ͢҉e̕x͢e҉҉r̕c̡̕is̵ę. ̵̵H̷҉̴o̧͞͝w̧̢͜ d͡oe̡͞s̨͠ ͜o͜n̸̸̨e̛͟ ̡de͏͏s̢̕c̕͏r̴ib̸̨͜e̢͡ ͠s̷̶om̢e͟͠thi͘ng̴ ţh̸̨͞at̷̶̡ i̸n̢͜h͟͡e̶r҉e͟n̡͘t̛͝͏l͡y̡ ha͘͞͡s ̶no̶ ̷͘͠f͠͡o̸r͟҉m ̛o͏̢r̢͟ ̢͜͢s̴̨u̶b̢s̵͢t̵̨͜a҉n͝͏cę̴?

MC > WH47 15 7H15?! WH47'5 H4PP3N1NG?!
MC > W̴ͥH̔̏ͬ̔͂̓ͧY̛̌̓ ̔͂ͮ͐̈̄̓D̷͑̂͊͌0ͫͦͩ҉3̂̽͆̊ͣ̈̿͘5̢̆̇̎̓̎ͮ ̃̋́͑̐͞1͗͛ͬ̏7̎̀͡ ̢̉͂̾̓̃̅͗Fͨͬͩ3͒̎̋̀ͪ3Lͦͥ̑̐̿ͨ͘ L̇̍͐͗͞1̌̅̎͒͊Kͪ͋͐̓͊ͭͨ3ͪ͆̈́͋͊͗ ̡͂̾̚7H̒́̀ͯ̆̄̊1̓̏̚5ͥͪ?̢̔̊͊͋ͤ̍͒!͜

Mituna’s mind reeled as the world spun around him and all traces of the normal dropped out. This was unlike any time he’d experienced the Deep Felt in the past. It had always been a strange, profoundly alienating experience. It always hurt.

T̈͐ͫh̎͑ͭͤ̇ͦ́iͮ̃ͧͤsͤ̾̊̎ͨ̚ ͊̀̑͑̒ͦ͌t̽͑́̚i̽mͩͬͣͭ̓͊ẻ̌̿ͣ̄̑͐ ͐̒ͥ̃̓ͯiͪ̐ͬ͛t͂͒̎ͪ̄̔ͯ ̾͊͐̆͊hͨ̾͊͊ͣû͆̈̋ͯ̋rͪͨ̎̈́̇̊̊ͤt̓ͦ ̈́͊̏͌m͂͐o͆̋̒̆͊ͣ͛̚r̾̎ͬ́̄ͥ̾e̍̈́̾ͩͤ͋̀̎̊ ̐ͤt̾͒̇̇̊͑̎̋̈́ȟͫͮ͋ͬaͩ̈́̾̚n̿͋̊̅̂̉̏ ͐̂͋ͧͧ͆e̿̍ͯv̍̌̚ȅͯ͛ͮͫ̔̚ȓͫͪͥͥ͆̿͑.̾ͨ

MC > 4R3 Y0U 0U7 7H3R3 Y0U 51CK 84574RD?

Ţ̧̭̖̞̜̼̠͕ͬͭ̀̎ͨ͆ͥh̦͕̙̳̪̩͚̥͗̒ͣ̚͜é̆ͤ͑͏͎̲̠̦͕̝͇̕͢ͅr͙̺̮͔͓͚̗̪ͩ͗̐̏̀͘͠e̸͇̖̲͈̠̩̬͓̭͐ͪ̆́̂͂̚͘͠ ̻̠͉͙ͩ̇̔ͅw̵̸̺̟̣͔͕̲̥̱̦̋͋ͪa̶̢̱ͩ̃ͩ̀̈́s̭͐ͥ̽̎͂͒ͬ ̠̯͓͂̍̓ͮ̅͒͘͝n̷̨͉̗̮̤̺ͩ͆͛̆ͦ̈́̈́̏̏o̓̈́͂ͤ̀̈̚͏͖̭̤ ̡̭̹̮͓̝̿̒̈̉ͥ̆̋r̞͇̄ͯͤͤe͛̆͝͏͔ş́͐̉̅̇҉͓̭̻͓̬̳̖͍̕ͅp̷͈̳̮̭̲̂ͤ̇͊̈́̔o̸̫̠̼̤͖͙͌̌͂̉͑n̒ͬ͞҉̟̲s̷̯̳̐́̀̒ę̤͈͓͒̿͛̋.͈̭̖̬̪̳̓̍̓ͧ͟

Mituna tried to steady himself – to bring his mind back into line. Everything about this was wrong. He’d been trained in how to navigate the deepest regions of the Deep Felt. To plunge into that ever-black abyss and return unharmed.

Ț͕̩͚̮̠̩̓ͬ͌̎̐h̠̫̲̠͚̺͂̒ͅa̯̣̰͖̳̞̺ͭ̌ͮ̈ͦ̐̓̃t͚̰͎̤ͩ̑̽͑ ̞̝̠̳ͯͩh̜͎͖̳͕̝ͤ̄̿ͤ̏̉a͚̼͙̦̜̣̠͗̑ͪ̃̽ͤd̪͍͕̟̞͊̉͛̏̚ ̰̮̻̖͚͆̽̓ͣ̊̄̅b̞͐̂̊e̙̹͍̼̦̝ͥȇ͇̟̟̜̗̼͉͛̈n͚͍͈̼͎̰̈ͦ͊̍ͮ ̫̹̘̗̯͚ͣ̅͆̃ͬ͗ͨä͓̞̣̖̲͓͚́̐͗͂ ̙̘̙͍͕͎ͮ̓̏̿ͮͩ́̓ḽ̹͚͍̲̪ͧͦ̓̋ͧî̭̺͕͍̬͍̼̬̝ͧ͆̌̅ͤ̓̚e̳̹̩̞͉ͣ̓̉̇͌̎ͦͩͯ ̙͚̪̺͚̣͂͑̆͛̈́ͣ̎t̻̱̭͕̟̻̦͙̄̏̓ͤ͂o͍̞̺̝̥̻͇̯̼̐̈̒̒̆ͫͦ̅ö̘̫̞͔̌͛̀̚.̣̥͉̋̑ͤ

Everywhere around him, the roaring black of the void pushed on him. The sensations didn’t even make sense – the ideas of sound and pressure rather than any actual, physical sensation. It didn’t matter – the effect was still almost unbearable.

I want to tear this shit off my head!

But he wasn’t sure if he could, even if he wanted to. The deeper he fell, the more he was losing his sense of who he was. He simply existed inside of the Deep Felt – a traveler but also a permanent resident, unable to leave even if he wanted to.

MC > 15 4NY0N3 0U7 7H3R3?

Was that it? D̶͓̱̰i̪̬͈̰̺̩̳d̺̲̬ ͓̙̫̳h̺̫̯̫̫e̠̯ ̕w҉̬͚a͟n͎͖͚͍͈̝̱t ̼͖̩͈͓͉ͅt͚̯̟̫͘o ҉͚̥s͚̣͞t̡̪̭̠̝͚a͖ỵ̗͙̱̼̺ ̰͓̭̬͈̝̮͠h̲͇̦͕̤e҉̜͔̥̲͕̠̯r̷̙͍͎̺ḛ̠̜?̳͎̣͙͙͝

MC > KURL0Z?!
MC > M3UL1N?!

MC > L̹̤̩̹͍̣͙̻̩̭͎̱͈̗̖4̮̜͙̣̙̹̦̲̝͉̪̘̦7͈͙͉̺U̳͍͙͇̮̗̖̻͇̻̗͔͇̱̫ͅL͉̺̬̞͉̫̥̝͇͍͚̹ͅ4̬̤̳̱̯̩͖̠͈̲̱͎̦̗ͅͅ.͙̬̜̖̣̠̬̖ͅ.̖̮̰͇̗̬͉̘̺̲̤͕̗̝̯̤̱̤.͙͖̼͔̼̖̥̩͕̖̰͔


You know how badly you hurt her.

Of course he knew that! How much she hated him! How much she wanted him dead for what he did!

No… wait… that wasn’t right…

Of course he knew that! How much he hated her! H͉̰̜̦̤̒̕o̝̘̮͉͒̎ͪͮ͒w̠ͭ͗͛ͤ ̲͔̟̘̫̈̐̈̕ͅm̭͚͈ͩ̉̐̓͊͗ù̸̳̻̩c͚̺̼̯ͤͣh͖̯̞̘̟̔̐ ̗̭̓͋ͅĥ̦̠̞̬͖̃̈̍̕ě̼͔̹̤̲̐̃̆ͬ͂ ̤͈ͫ̇͊w̶͈͙̹ͅa͖̙͊̐͑ͮ̏ͩ̈́nt̻̼͙̤̪̉͑ͥ̀̆e̢̱̼̻͍̲ͣ͐ͪ͌d̙̜̳̖̩͒̄̄͛ͅ ̥͇̱͓̤͇̩ͤh̼̟͞e͌͏̳̮̥̰̹͔̳ř̛̦̰̟ͦ̀̽̉ͫ͊ ̙̬̘̖̥̔̈́̈͛ͪ̓͝d̈҉͉̪̯̞̻ͅe̞͔̜̺͕̅̾̅a̙͈̓͗ḍ̤̻̘̍̀̀ͯͥ͢ ̠̤̉f̗͈̆ͬ̀ͥ̽͐͘o͐́r̩̼̻ͨ͒͘ ̘̺̤̮̻͇̓ͪ̌͂̽w̼̎͐ͣ͑͌̅͡hͭ̐͆ͯ́ͪa̖̣͉̦͋ͫ̒̈́̄͛t̛͙͓̣͙̘̙̺ͮ͂̓̊ͯ̒̌ ̟̙ͦ̓ͬͣ̚̕s͂̔h̰̱͇ͩ̉̊̿̚e͍̤͖̼ͮ̓͢ ̘̭̐͂̏͋̓ď̖̞̖̩̝͕̓i̵̲ď̡͉̘!̯͙̩ͬ̚ͅ

MC > 1'M 50 50RRY 3V3RY7H1NG 3ND3D 7H3 W4Y 17 D1D
MC > 1 GU355 WH47 1'M 54Y1NG 15…
MC > 3V3N 7H0UGH 17 D1DN'7 W0RK, 1 571LL M155 Y0U

How much of that was even true anymore?

M̒̇͐͂͘C̮̟͎̞͍͈̋̿͋ͨ͒͑̾ ̟̬̟̭͑̑≯̑ͫ̅̚ ̳͓̘̼͑̇ͧͨ̈̑͑ͅW̤̟̳͓̏͂͆ͅ3̱͙̖͙̉̿͊ ̑ͧ͋ͯͩͫ͑҉̣̱̠͉̟͔D̡̜̾̂͂̾1͙̘͎͎D͖̞̈́͑̌ͮ̊̌͜ ̻̺͙ͪ3͖̳ͩ̾ͮͩ̈͂̍V̶3̬͕̯͕͍͓͂ͫͧͩ͡R̴̜̭Y̹͔̞̗̘ͤͧ7̡̣̪̈́͊Ḥ̘͖̼̻͎͂͗̉͐͊̈̚͝ͅ1͎̞͔ͮ͐ͨ̈ͫ̔ͣŇ̲̰̰ͫͨ̕Ĝ́̐̇̓ ̞̰̱̟̖̥͉̓ͮ͂Y̧͙̰̥̥͚͑ͫ̌0̛̣̭̙͎̫͔͌͛ͭ̓͗ͯ͑U̼̹̟͍̣̼̗ ̵͇͕͉̤̗ͭͦͫͬ4̲̹̣5̠̻͉̼͍̹ͮͨͮ̔ͣͤ̚Kͨ̍͌́̂̋3̲̖̘̬͔̼̈́Dͬ͆͒̍!͒ͅ
M̤̪͍͂̾̐̐ͤͫC̞͛̍̋͒ͦ ̝̮͓̣̪̬̈͌ͤ͢ͅ>͚̰̜̯̩ͪ̍̀̌͊̏ͣ ̵̘̬͚̩͛ͥͬ̏̈́ͮW͎͍͓̯͉̗͈̃̈ͥ̏̏ͦ3̺͉̘̺̐̋ͭͮ'̛̠̣̍̏ͨR̸͇͕̱͕̟ͦ3̴̘̮̹͍̣͚̓ ̷̞̭͖̼͋ͅ0̣̘͙̟̭̀͂̔̓̚͘Ṉ̩̹̬͍͇͖ ͕̲̏ͤ̾̈ͨ̐̂0̬́ͭ̏͠U̫̩̙͖͖̞ͤR͕̣ͦͯͮ ̷͍̔ͬ̋͛ͭW̲̦̥̠̌ͯͨͧ̅ͅ4̸̝̻̘̪̤̜̍ͨ̈Y̢̻̜͚̦̍̋̄ͮ̈͑̽ ̖̪̬̘͔̣̪͠N̢̑ͮͫ̈̐0̷̼̙̬̝̉̏̃ͪW̮̝̝̫̓̊…̥͕͍̀͛͛̚
MC ͡> ͡83͞77͟3͏R H̴0LD҉ U͡P ̸Y0҉U͜R͘ 3̵ND 0F̵ 7H͠3̸ F̡U̴C͝K͡1̷N̵G ̶D̸34L͢!

That part already happened… sweeps ago…

No, not sweeps. A few day-cycles. A half a sweep. Cycles that re̷pe͡a̛t̸ th͡r͠oųgh ti̴m̡e̸ ̢an͘d͞ ech͡o͟ a̰̥͇̙̹̮͂͗͐͂̿́n̦͟d̲̼̄ͧ̒́̎ e͙̳͔̳̓̏̆̄̍c̳̹͔̰͎ͨͫ̅h͕̳̟͉̺̩͛̈́̅o͆ͥ̚̚͏̞̬ ̡͍̺̞̰ͥ̃̈͆̇̆ą̵̪̰͓͖̩̞̳͖̜͊n̒ͣ͜҉̜̤ͅd̐ͪ͑͐͘҉̩̘̝̲̮̦͎̺ ̡͈̟̐̊ͬ͗̽́é͖̭̤͎̯͙͍̉ͫͩc̷̢̯̻͈̣̯̖̲͇͑̊̋̾̾̂ͅh̯̗̜̯͓͉̮̙̙̋́̈́̾ͫỏ̧̢̨͈̯͙̞͓̾ͨͨ̎́̃͂ ̬̞͓͙̖̊́ͅã̟̜̼̥̟͔͚̩͔͕͔͇̝͈̺͖͈̄̊ͫ͟͝͠n̺͓̫͈͍̲̜̆ͣ͆ͥ͒ͭ̇̑̐̅d̢̖͍̺͇̪̣̺̽̍͗̍͊͒͗ͧ͋̄ͬ̾ͬ͗̑͗̕ ̵̡̡̲̟̭͍͎̖̟̲̭͔̥͆͊̓ͥͫ͞͝e̮̩͇̝̥̫̱̤͉̖̙̩̜̼̬̙͉̔̑̆̾̿̈̓͊̓̌̉̄ͭ̈́̂ͣ͜͝͡͠c͈̞̬̖͙̳͈͇͕ͬ̇ͧͯ̔͐̾ͯ͡͠hͮ̐͑̓ͧ̋͏̨̧͎̝͈̥͈̖͢͠ͅo̢̺̙̼͇̬̠̞̭̩͖̼̟̹̺̼̦ͩͪ̔ͩ͌̌͑͂̂̌͜ ̵̴̳͍̠̘͍̗̘̱̹̈͐ͫ̀̃͟͝â̷̷͙̲̗͓̘̙̖̫̝̺̺̦̲̺̇̅ͫͭ̅̑̄͐̅̆̚̕͘͠n̓̓̀̽҉̥͕̦͍̖̥̠͍̱͈̕͢͞d̷̛͈͍̣̣̂̆͛͆̓̌ͫͣͩ͗͢ ̡̎̾ͯ̒͟͟͡҉̝̺͍͓̙͉̖̦͚e̢̧͔̦͈̲̣̹̲͍̱͚̹̯̼ͤ̾̇͂̉̅ͯ͌̄̆̽͝ͅc̽͂̅̂ͦ̆̍̒̎͑̈́ͭ͐͋͆̓ͬ̾͗҉̢͉̲̥̟͔̤̯̱̻̱͕̭ḩ͚̪͕̥̉̌ͥͤͪͨͭ̍̒ͧͪͨ͌͐̀̒̚͝o̲̦̬̖̱̥͓̰̰̰͖̩̼̝͉̬͕͕̻ͨ͒ͩ̽̋͐̂͗͋̒̑̽̈́ͨ̾͆̾͘͢ ̨̪͇̗̳̼̮̀̎ͦ̊ͨ̅ͦ̂̌̚͘ä̶̹͙̳̦̯͍͈̦̲͇̭̯̙̩̟ͯ͆ͦ͛͘͜͡n̷̔͐͂̀̈ͤ̔ͩ͆҉̻̺͈̖̖̗͇͇͙̹̫̰͝d̴͓͓̖̻̙̜̫̟̝̤̤̠̩̪̣̳̩̿̏͒̈́́̎ͪ͐ͫ͊̇͝ͅ ̎ͬͤͯͨͬ̿̀ͨ͏̷̵̶͉̯͕̥̻̺̜̰͖̥̩̳͓̲e̵̵̺̩̗̪͓̟͇̣̣̫̺̲͎͍̟͊ͧ̓͂ͭ͌͒ͨ͌ͯͨ͜cͣ̂̅͗ͮͨ̉̚̕҉̶͍̹̭̲̺̣͜͡h̡̝̩̥̰͙̟͚̳̯͓͕̼̘͈̯̳͖ͪ̋ͭ́̚͜͜͝ͅo̶̢̩̹̻̬̱ͬ͊̍̏̾̅̿̃ͩ͂̌̃ͮͩͤ̽̐̏͟͞ ̶̧̲̘͈͉͇̬͎̠͙͎͙͍̜̪̜͈̊̏ͨ͆͘͞ḁ̸̶̡̮͙̲̩̗͈͇͉͙̫̻̖͕̞̭͓̽̾̾͛ͯ͐̔̂ͨͩ͗͆͡n̶̶̴̢͔͈̹̰͉̣̗͖͕̞̳̩̦̍̈́͌ͭ̈́̊͌̇͟ḑ̸̡̜͔̠̩̮̙̿̆ͭͯ͐̈̑̂̌̋̍̑̈

How long have I been here?

O͔͇͓̺̲͔r̻͙̻͈̙̳̭,̹̝̘̜͎̳ ͅpe̹r̘̬̺̖ha̲̲ͅͅps̬,̙͖ ̯͇t͍̪͇̮̘̤h͓͈̳e uḻ͔t͙iͅm̫̳͈̩͇̦a̱t̘͕̬̱̝͚e̗̝̠͍ͅ ̮̬͔͇d̤͚͕̬e͓͙șc̮͕̮̬̥ͅr͕̠̬̝̱̬i͔p̳̩̙͉t̞͇̥̼̖͓i̺̪̥̗o͖͈͕n͈̣ ̲ͅo̫̭͈͇̜̪̜f̤ ̭̫͚̭̺̫͖n̰o̻̰̟t̮̝͚͔̻͇h̲̻̦̹̟̪͙i̟̭n̲g̩n̥es̯s͕ ̫i̪̥s͓͙̙͉̲̹ ̬̪͍͎̞ͅth̰̗̭e̮̯̟͎̫ ͎̮̯͔̺͓l̞̲̫̪̻a̙̱ck̹͈͎͉̦̟ ͖̯̠̱̖̱̦o̭̮͚̮f̬̭̲̜͈̦ͅ ̩̰͔ͅs̖̳͕͓̼͈el̳f̙ͅ.̥̜͎ ̗̠T̗̣̘̠̞̱h̠̭͍͓e͓̘͇ l̤̩a͕̯c̗̣͚k̲̤̻̬̭ ̰̩̭̰o̯͚͙f̣ ͙̰̬̯̙̦̖e̞̞̹͖̥̠̘ve͙͚͕n͍̝͍̘ͅ ̣͓t͎h͍̝͇͖͇̠e̙ ̯͕͚̤͖̙̰m͕̜̹͉̥̜̹os̩t͓ ̳͉͙̜ͅba͚̮͓͖s͙̹͔̪̝ic͖̹̟͔̝̘͙ ̫̗̱̞̗̺o̦̳̠͓f͙͕ ͚̝̬ṯh͖̹o͇̱ug͇h̖t͔s̯̖̹ ̮̬ͅo͚r̩̲ ̱͔͚̫̙s͓e͕̫̥͍̞̳̣n͈s͈͎͓̪̳̯e ̹̠͔͙͚ͅo̺̫͕̫f̻͙̲͓̣ ̖̗c̣̣̦ͅo͖̫̥͈̮̪nș̣͓͖̜͈c͔͍̬̜͓i͎̠̥̹̲̹ous͇̙̘n̤̝͈e̜̦͖͕͇̲̺s̺̣͖s͉͉.̭̩͍̺̫ ̮̰͉̱̰T̜̰̬̞̱̼ͅh͓̥̦͔̻͇e͖͔̖̗̝ͅ ͈l̲̗̹̼͎͎ͅa̤̙̦̼̭̣c̲̜̟̬̱k̞͕ ͓͓̪͎o̺f̱̗̝̬ ̳a͚̞̥n͍͎͓̺y̹̦̦t̘hi͙̮̝͈̦̪ͅn͕̖̻͖͓g̥̪̼̮̝̦ ̖t̯̻͍͙̗h̟͙̙̲̥͇ḁț̠̼̮ ̟̲̜̳c̥̖̜̱̙̱o̲̪͎̞̣͚u̳̝ͅl̻̲̟̙̬̹̫d̝̥̲̤ ̫̘̲̙̺g̝iv̮̳̲̺̞̦eͅ me̪̭̰̳ͅa̩̭͓n̜i̙̺n̼̩g ͕̯̻̰͎o̯̱̯͇r̮ ̣̗̬͚c͇̲͖o̤̘͎͍͕̗̼ṉt͈͎̲̘͖̭e̱͍͇̜̠ͅxt̼͇̖͍̼ ͖t̲͎̗̹͙o̱ ̝͙̬̮̫a͚n͖̠̞̩̦͙͖y͖̬̞ ͚̦̺̜̘͈o̯t̝͓̹h͓̪̺̲͔er̮̦͇̟ t̝̹̩͕ẖ̱̟͓̱̲i̲͖̦̘̰ͅn̬͔̤g̬̺͈͖̞.̯̰̤̥̭

That didn’t seem right either. Mituna reached out to try to sense what was around him. The Deep Felt had never been like this before. It was raw in a way that was difficult to describe. Somehow both more and less substantial than it normally was. Somehow both more and less real.

He could not avoid it. It was right in front of his eyes.

T͍͍̭͔͈̉̀̌h̡̟̲̳̩͂̈̏̚e̻̠͉̥̜̲͊ͭ́ͥͬ͛͊ ͓̳̥̩͂̓Ǫ̰̳͔͖͕̝͉ͬb̮̜̖̭͍͙͒s̮̗͡i̛d̼i͍̲̝͛̐̒͗ͣ̊̋ậ̵̥̝̮͎͗n̥̖ͨͬ ͇͉͕͈̻̺̃ͣ͂ͭ̓͒̌ͅS͊̌̾͑͗̑p̦̻̥̓ͪ͂͑ͅi̳̤͓͉͈r͚̣͙͖̳̫̼͢é͕̋ͤͯ̉͆̚

Pr̷͉͚̬a̞͉͉̟͘i̻̭̮̱s̜e͠ ̣̰̪͓͙͙͡b̙̩͔̮e͓͎̼̫̻͉͇ ͈͓̩̪͢t̺̯͇̪͎̯̖͠o̸͎̠ h̯̰̭̞̗̰͜ͅe̥̯̰ ̛̰͕w̶̤̟ḫ̫͕̙̙͔o̝̼̲̥ͅ ̦͓͚̞͔̜w̵̘e̷̬̰̘̺̞a͙̟r͈̰̮̩̭̜̠s̴̜͓ ̙̝̤t͏̰̲̺̜̬h͔̮̲e̳̟̲͔ ̷͍m͈̝͚a͎̤͈s̤͙͠k̙̮͞!̭ ̟̠͉͎̩̦̝͝W̮h͇̦͉o̕ ̹̯s̶i̖̙͈̲̰t̸̙̺̗̲͍̖̜s̴͚͙̦̠ u̡p̤͍͈͎̱̭̩͡o̡͕̮̠͍̹̙̫n҉͈͔̖͙ͅ ̳̤͕̞͝t͍̝̻̮̦ḫ̖̣e̺ ͍̹̫͈͚͎̮͜t̷͔͚͕̻̦̳̮h̰r̢͚͕o҉̘̝̲ͅn̯̼̫̤̬͚̹̕e͎͎̜̺͞!̟̭͇̣͢ ҉̱̮̯̮̟̗W̛̫̰̥̰̣h̘̺̠̦o̟ ͕͓̜̳͇̪͘w̮e͈̭̝̭̟a̵̦̫̩̲̰͔ͅr͔͙̜̱̪̘ͅs̪̳͉̹̭̟̟ ̺̦̝̠t̙̗̰͙h̖̙̜̙͍͇̱̕e͍͙͈ ̲̙͉̣t͈̝͙͇͢a͜t̳̳̰̲̞t̯͕̥̲̞̙͡e̶̟͈͇̻r̦e̘͎͍̬͘ͅd͉̟̣̰̭̭̝ ̳͍̝̮͓̜͟r̞̮a̰̜̺̘̜̠͘i̭͖̹̠̰̪̝mͅe̮͓n͍̱̺̗t̼s̭͍̹͎͍ ̦o̰̟̗̳̤f ̙̹̬t̨h̨̩͔̺e͈͇͔̲̙͙͢ ͉͚̹̥̜͜s͎̗͎̝̠̱t̜̺̦ͅa̸͇̯̟͉t͖̠̼i̮̝͕̰̻o̮̙̼̞͘n̬͉̦͖̰͝ ̤͚̹̤̩hi̻̺̠̲̬̗g̻̱̜̝̲h̹e̛̗͓͔̳͉ͅs̬t̪͔̘̮ ̵̼i̤̹̥̜͢n̪͎̼̙̞̖ t̡͉h̥̣̠̩͖̠e͕̗ ̛͎͎͕ḽ̫͖̺̪̠̻a҉n̠̬̦̣̭͎͚d͟! ̢̺Ẉh̯̣͈̬͝o̙͈̬̻̹ͅ ̹͍̜s̬̦̲͚i̸t̸̪͉͉͇s͖ ͚͇̫̥̯̠͓a͇͎͈͕̹͎̕b̗o̺̤v̱͉̙e͓̘̞̬ͅ ̟̩͙̗̤͖͚t̢͉h͇͔e̷̲ ̪̘̱l̮̗͓̮̣͡ą͍̱̣k҉͓e̺̮͔̼̺̪̜͟ a̞̺̜̖̪̝ͅn̖͈͖̭͚d̴̬̻͔ ͉w̝̞̥͡a̝̣͇̭̖̘̪t̨͚̳͕̮̙͔ch̜e̛͎̗͖̘͓s̡͉͓̜͚ ̗̩̲͚̘̳o̧̝͔̰v̙̩̣̲̖͈er̩ ̷̮̣a̼̬̯̞̱l̶̥̣l͙̣̜͡!̷͇͙̯̦̤̟̻

Pr̳̮̠̦̥̲ͅa̧̯̝̯̰̣i͎̼͓s̠͖̠e̴͓ ͙̰͔͍͕ͅt͕̘͞ơ t̮̰̤h͙̗̭ͅe ͙̪͕͉̼ͅK͇͉̫̩̻̹ͅi͍̗̣͍̫̝͝ṉ̲͉͖̖͢ͅg̥͖̼!͝ ̖͞T͎̳̥͢ẖ̨̠̜̼̥̟̥e͏̜͎͔̣̩̲ͅ ͓͍̦͕̠̪̫K͈̱̜͙i̸͇͉͍n̢̞̩̯̰͙̲g̗̮̘ ̴̲̩͔̭͈i͕̹̺͍n̪ ̪̥͚̰͓ͅY̜̺͔̗͕͝e͎̺̗͖ḻ̻̼̼̮͟l̹ơw҉̦͎͎̮̯̺!͏͈͎̞͎͚̙̙ ̧Ţ̜͔̺͚he̯̤̟̦͉͠ ̢̰̘̼͚̺f̫į̥̜̟r͕̝̙̫s̺̩͈̬t͓͇͖ ͡t͎̤̲̻̬̝ͅo̵͈ ̬̫̳w̶͔e̦͕̼̼͚ͅa̝͇r ̞͖̳t̴̠͙h͈̲̞ͅe̦͖̞̜͎͔̤ p͈͈͖͍a͇͎̜̝l͍̙͎͉̟̯̠l̨̺̫̝i̶̟͙̖d̤̺͇͉̙ͅ ̴̣̬m̞̗̻a͓s̱̺̙͚̞k!̝̞̣͙͓̳̲

This isn’t right!

Impossibly vast, yet impossible to even perceive inside the eye of his mind. A thing that existed beyond comprehension – that made his head hurt to try to conceptualize.

The name wasn’t a coincidence. Spire.

They had seen this place. They had come here once, and they had gazed upon the tower made of a black stone that no Alternian eyes had ever seen before. Something that existed only in the spaces in between spaces.


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Mituna struggled to keep his mind centered. Everything was blurred and his sense of time was completely lost. That was dangerous inside the Deep Felt. Y̖̪̲̬̤̲͇o͚ͅu҉̹̖ ̠bḙ̼̬͙̠̱͡c̸a̵m̼̜e͠ͅ ̟̼͕͚͙̺̺l̖̣̟͔o̖̹͉͍͡s͍t̜͙ ̤̺̪i̢̤̤͖̭n̯͙̹̩͎̬ ̯i̶͎͈̟̘t͎̰͠ ̲̤̣͕̜͡ͅͅ–̺̙͈̜̹̳ ̬̹y̜̳̮̻o̘̞̪̼ͅu̘͈̠͚͇̗̯ ̤͟b͙̹e̖g͈a͇̯͕̦͚̝͇ṉ̱̞͈̲ ͠t̥̝̫̟̯o͕̪̘̼͜ ͖̦u̖̺̟̭͕̥͝n̯̥l̴̙̬͈͉̳̫̜o͎a͈͍̠̫̜͓̫ḓ̡̪̣ ̲͔̺̯͝y̥̹o̡̤̤̝̘̖u̱͍͚̺̘ͅr͚̫̩͕̪̕ ̯̝͎͚e̵͕͍͙ṉͅt̴̮̺̣̪̯i̮̪͖̪̙r̶̝̳̳̭ͅe͚͖̦ ̻̞̦s͖̟̹̹̼̥̗͡e̤̟̬l̢̮̦̱̲͎̩̦f̥͚͍͡ ̲̱̳a̛n͔͡d̠͇͉ ̜̯̳t̪̰͉̭̣̫h͔͉̺̲̜͝e̢̩̳͍̥̹̰n̵̘̯̯͓͎̳ ͏b̻̼͙̝̬͍a̹̬d̥͍͖̱̠ͅ ͖͕̣t̬̭̥ͅh̛̦i͓͓̳̮͕̞n̟̘g̬͎̰̮̼s͓̠̤ h̶̪̪̮̲̖̪̯a̸p̵̲̩p̜͇͇̫̘̖̲̕e̱͕͉ͅn͇̼̦̩̬̙̳͡e̜͕͉̹̥ͅd̘ ̮͖ͅt̡o̪̣ ͏y̩̝͕̟̱͖o̪̘̬̣͉̪͔u̝͉

MC > WH03V3R'5 0U7 7H3R3... 1'M 50RRY
MC > 1 D0N'7 KN0W H0W L0NG 1'V3 833N H3R3

He pressed himself forward – the closest to forward he could figure – and spread his concentration. Somewhere nearby, the kinetic defense platform was orbiting the moon.

S̿̅̈̐ͫ̈́͒o̎ͥ͂̓́̚m̵̈͊ͦ̿̉ͯe̊͋͂͟w̡̓͒̋̇̂̚h͆̋̆̂̄̏eͯ̋̆̆͋҉rͬẽ̛̊͒̌ ͮ͗͊̿̑ͥįn̔̉ͩͤͩ̊̇s̛ͤ̎͒̉ͣi̴ͤͣͯ̇̓ͦdͨ̉ͤ͗͑ͫë̐̏,́̊ͥ ͒́tͪͥ̏h̨͋̽̎ͩͤ̇͂e̊͂ͨ̿̏̐ ͣ̀ͤ͗ͨ̇͂͠Ob͒͑ͫͮ̑͒ṡ̄͗ͩͫ̈́i̿̏̆͋͐̾ͬ̕diͯaͫ͢n̅́ͪ̿̿ͪ ̷̔̾Sͫ̈̀̽ͯ͝p̔̍i̢ͧ̌ͯͮ̎̔ͥr͢e̓ ̓͌̔̅͘c̔̉ͫ͛͏aͨ̐ͭ̂ͣ͛ͣl̒̿̚l̸̐ͫ̂ê̴̈́̌̒̓d̈҉ ͧͮ͠t̓̎̎̚̚o̾̓ͯͪ͂̈́ͭ͞ ̡ͥh̆ͪ͒ͬiͣ̊̓m̾ͥͨ.̀ͯͥͫ

Scratch was waiting. He was busy right now – fighting on so many different fronts and tracking the progress of those who had professed loyalty to him. But it wouldn’t be long – if Mituna made a wrong step, then Scratch would see him.

I’ll be one with the Spire someday…

The moon was a dark spot in his mind that he couldn’t turn away from. Everything flowed toward its center, and at its center there was Scratch. But it wasn’t Scratch – the thing had a name but no one knew what it was. Mituna was afraid of the name.


The name was Ąͩͫ̔̎͂̃̆̄͌͗̇̈́ͮͨ̎ͦ͑͂̎̕͏̢̬̤̲̠+̴̣̰̙͍͔̲̗̠̮̜͎̹̯͙̙̮̘̳̎̒͌ͦ̿̽̉̉̌̂ͮ͊͘͢͡)̨͙̻͈̞͕̝̝̺̭̲̘͙̏ͫͤ́͂ͭͪͨͬ͑̉̉̎̽̚7̨̢͖̜͕̗̮̆̀̐̀̔̄ͫ̂͒̍̿ͫ̚͢͢rͮͥ̍̐̍͆͞͏͚͓̩̣̭͕͔̣̻̬̙̬̖̠͕̰̤J͆̽͛ͤͤ͂͋͑͐̂ͭ͂͏̵̧̛̰̝̣͚̬̳G̫̟͍̬̲͕ͦ͌͂̂̽̑̈́ͧ̑́̑̓͗͛̂͌̍̈͜͠ͅ.̡̨̦̜̯͕̥̗ͥ́̒̾ͫͫ̔͋̔̀͊͊͂̉ͫ̚͢͟ͅyͣͤ͋̍͛̿͟͏̧̜̻̮̲̮͙̩̩̙͔̹̫/̀ͭ͛͂̒ͮ҉̛̛͉͚͇͇͇̮̹̗͍͓̳̻?̵̷̿͊͐̒̅̐̅͗͛ͦ̔̃͆͡͏̫̣͕̠̰͚̲͈̭̘̰_̑ͭ̌̀͗̑ͤͥ̔̉̃ͦͭͤ̅̚͟͠͝͏̨͇̙͓̙̯̻̪y̷͈̺̺̜͖̥͎̣̣̪̗̤̙͓̭͙ͨ̇̓̏̓ͤ̋͞ͅ6̧̨̛͉̙̥̪̲̙̔̔̉̋̐͆ͬ͛͂́͊ͫ͞`̴̾͆ͮ̏̊̇͑ͫ̓͋͒̋ͬ̎̍ͧͩ̚͏͏̳͖̫̬͕̪

His head hurt more and more

H̬̣͔̫̙͑̍ͭ͋i̲̬̞̣͎̯͂͆ͪ̽̔ͅs̺̏͊ ̴͕̏́eͥ͝ý̘̮ͬe̪̜̗̣͖͂s̯̥̻̯̬ͪ̂͝ ͕̜͉̗̦̌͗ͭ̅ͥb͐ͯ̏ͭ̏̀̏҉̘͚u͈̙̟̹̤͕̹͐̇̒ͮ̈́͡r̤ͣn̟̼͐̌̑̏ͯ͑̚ȇ̗͓͍̮̖̓̒̓d̲͖̖̙̺̪̜ͩ͒͌ͬ̈́̀ ̑̿͐̋͡i͞n̘͈͚͍̘̒ͥ ̶͉̗̅̆͛ͯ̅̂͒ţ̗̩̈ḧ̥́̽̄ͭ̅͠ė̜̖ͬ͌̊̋ͤ͠i͗r̮̼̤̬͇̺̺͛ͣ̿̇ͬ͊ ̦͌͒́ͧ̚s̹ͮ͒ͩ̎̌ͦŏ̼̪̳̔ͯc̟̠ͬ͌̃̏͑k̥͖̬̤̝̝̦ͦ̑̐ͣ͐̚͘e̦ͬͯ̓͜t̼̩̗̮͊͋̃s͎̠̗̩̗̘̣̀͛̐ͫ̄̎͗

He found himself drawn in two directions at once. One part of him wanted to flow away from the Obsidian at the center of it all. There was a small shining beacon of light and hope floating around the B̴̭̈́ͭ͒lͯ̚҉͈ȧ̢̬̞̱̏̏ͮc̫̓ͅḵͪ̚͘ ͓̜̫̲̱̤̝̎ͪ͌̚M̖̮͈̱̠̬ͫȏ̞ͮ̈͘o͍͔̰ͬ̋ͫͨ̋́̌ṋ͚͖̠̗͔͛͌. The kinetic cannon was out there. Scratch had overlooked it – maybe not realizing its potential or maybe he was trying to do too much at once. He wasn’t a god.

The other part wanted to flow down into the center of the moon. To face Scratch and finally see what he really was. To experience the pure joy of complete and utter destruction. Ḫ̗̒ͅe̜̱̥͆̅͢ ̦̟͖̻̣ͫ͡w͍̙̄͐͆͐ăͩͯ͠s͋͆̽̓͊ ̷̝̱̺̩̓̑̂̅ͅā͓̭̽̄ ͦ̑ͤg̡̱͍̥͂͗̓ͥo͚̥̮͇d̲̙̙̱̪.̬

MC > 1F Y0U'R3 5331NG 7H15
MC > 1'M G01NG 70 7RY 70 C0NN3C7 70 7H3 5473LL173
MC > D͕̦̭̲͖0͏͈͙̺̝̭͍ͅN̨'̵͈͚7̜ ̫͙̖K̭̤̼̱̗̬̘N͔̝͝0̬̙͞W̞̬͉̬͉̪ ̸H͙͖̼͕̺̫̤͘0͟W̛͇͉̻̮̘͖ ̯̦̤̟̥͝MU͖̠͢C͝H͔̤̮̗̣̕ ͈͔L̥͇̝̣͈̰̱͟0N̩̰͠G̛̰͚͖̟ͅ3R͎͕͕̭ ̢̬̬̪͉̤̯̦1̺̳̭͕̹̻͚ ̱̯͎Cͅ4͈͎͖͓͍̻̫N͔̘͡ H͚͇̱̙̟̠̞͠0̦L͖̙D͍ ̫̬̻͇͕̳0N7̣̣̥0̣͍̠ ҉̯͇̘7͈͓̺͔H̨̞̣̯͓͇1̷̗̼̦̭̺5͇̯̝̼͔͇̝
| CONNECT
IN THE DEPTHS WE ALL KNOW
CONNECTING TO BLACK MOON FAILSAFE

T̰͚̞̜̤̥͚͖͍͙̳̰̘̱͉̦̝h̭̥̘̥̣̗̺̣e̱̲̞̩̞̭̯ ̮̥̝͔̠̼͇͓̻ẉ̥̹̮͈͖̜̙̰̞o̠͖̲̥͖̦̪͙̤r̳͖̙͚̙̻l̲̯̝̞̫̯͍͕̹͓͈̝̖͖̫ͅd̤̺͇͕̼͚̜͍̝͚̞̬̖̮̩̫ͅ ͙̣͖̦͍͓̟̙͚̻͇̟̤a͔̺̬̬r͖̩͍o͓̱̲͔̲͕̜̥͖u͚̮̼̟͇̫͚̠̟͍̼̦̯̦ͅn̦̺͙̬̟͕d̻̣̮̙͚̠͙͇̖̹̦̮̗͕̘̘̗̹ͅ ̣̪̩̼̱̞̝͔̩̠͙͎̻h̖̳̩̼̮̣͍͓̱i̪̰̻m͔͓̱̤̲̪̝̲̩̲̟̻͔̠̹͉ͅͅ ̦͍̯̦̩̤̹̤̮̹̲̝̲̘̻̘ͅb̗͚͙̻̠e̖̘͈͍̤̝̩͎̘̙c̪͍̳͔͎̤̫̠̟̮̝͙̗͔͙͙̟a̦͚̯̙͍̺̙͍̤̹͔͚̝̹͕̯͕m̲͓̹̪̯̤̩̖͔͓̱̪̩̬̱e̫̺͙̜͙ͅ ̟͉̝̼͔̦͈͕͍̦̱̞͈͉̹̰d͉̬̻̦̰͚̝̙͔͉̜͔̤̜̫͕͍i̖͖̭͚͎̣̤̭m̻͍̰̟̭̺̮͔̪̠̜ ͎̜̠͍͔̫̣͙͎͎̗͍̠a͚̟̮̱͔͍͚̙̙̭̜͈̭͎͎̰̞ṇ̖̘̭̮̪̭͇̹̠̼̲͎̬d̪̱͓̱̳̳̺͕̲̫̪̱̥͖̪̬͇̲ͅ ̗͔̟̭̹̰e͖̖̯͔̝̦̙͉̠͇̻͔̝̣̣͔̱ͅv̙͓͔̹̻̱e͕̭̘͓͈̬̙̤ṛ͉̩͖̜͍̣͙̖̜̤͔͇͕̣̙ͅy͖̜͈̼͔͚̮̘̣̮̰̯̘͎t̗̻̯̣ͅh̗̺̯̞̺̤͍̳̠͕̝̘̤̰̘̩̗͇i̯̗̺̲̖̮̤͍͕͓͈n̬̥͇̼̱̖̤̩͎̹g̩̯̫̮̭̺̪̼̣̲̳̜͇͓̠̙ ̩̹̬̖͕̝̟͕͈͕w͙̜̭͈͚̲͚͍͚̹͓̣ͅa͙̠͙̥̺s̗͙͈̳̖͕̙̞̭̟ ̤̲̣̤̮͚̩̰͙̺̦̗̣͉̬f̭͕͓̯̩̣̞̖̮̹̮̙͖͔̯̘ị̭͙͕͍̗̣͕̙̲̬͕̮͇̱̲͎n̦͖̮̞̼͔e͙̠̳͚̠̥̝̰̬̝̻̜͍͚



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INT – HOUSEHOLD KITCHEN

The kitchen is themed in 1950s styling with typical retro kitsch decor. A long island counter is in the middle. At the counter stands LATULA PYROPE who is in the process of making breakfast. KURLOZ MAKARA and MEULIN LEIJON are sitting at the counter as well, eating from bowls of cereal.

[MITUNA CAPTOR enters from stage left.]

[Audience applause]

MITUNA: Honey, I can’t decide which tie I want to wear!
[he holds up two ties, one red and one blue]

LATULA: Why not just wear both?
[she winks toward the audience]
[Audience laughter]

MITUNA: Fine, I’ll just ask these two goofs instead.
[Turns to address Kurloz and Meulin]

MITUNA: I have this big interview today and you two need to help me out!

KURLOZ: I don’t think we do.
[Sulks]

MEULIN: Help me out more like help MEOW-t, am I right?
[She winks towards the audience]
[͝E̴xag̶gerate͘d̕ ̛aưdie͟nc͞e ̕l̸a͝u͟ght̢er͡,̵ ͞ri͜s̡in̸g in̛ vo̕lu͘m̨e̴]͢

MITUNA: Forget it, I knew you two would be any help.
MITUNA: Now I’ll never get the big job at Ms. Aranea’s legal firm.

LATULA: Oh, honey, d̙͖͎̹̫ơ̖͓̣n̞̜’̼͙͇ͅt̘̪͕̻ ͉̰͈͈̯y̢̲̰̫̘͇ͅͅo̢͉̯̹̩̗̬ų̝̦̮̩̰̩ ͎k̞̙̰͙͙͕͟n̰͉͔o̖͓w̯̲̭̙ ̰͚A̠̥̪̻̜r̛̭͉͔̳̖a͔̫̳͎n̵̻̙̮͉̤̤̦e͍͓͟a̷̻̦͎̺̭̮͇’̜͇̮͎͚̝s̨ ̛͔̞̺̺d̖͇̮̦͙͈͜e̷̲͉̼̹̺a͉͙̼̰̮̜͚d̠̜͠?
[She winks to the audience]
[̨A̷̺̖̣ų̝͈̤̦̘͉d̩̲̙̙͕̥i͓̦̺͉̹e̦̩̺ṋ̰͉͕̲̹̜c̹̯̰̰̺̜e̦̘͈͙̹͉̠ ͚̻͕̣̻̮͠l̜̣a̼͟u̷g̱̙̫̲̹̬h̳͔͞s̺̜̟̖͠]̥͕

MEULIN: Dead? Just purrfect!
[She frowns]

KURLOZ: What is it now?

MEULIN: She said she’d get me an interview with Old Man S̙̜͙̹͓̗̘͓̗̣̘͓̤̞̼̫̋̃͊̾͆ͬ͐͗̂̍̍͒̽͊ͫ̕͡c̷̘̼̥͙̲̬̻͍͉͎̺̥̞͓̈́̇̈̔̔ͤ́ͭ̑ͥͩ̌̐̓̽͒ͩͅr̽̿̾̉ͣͥ̔̑́͋͛͐͌̏ͪ͏̶̧̨̮̳̫̫̫̲͕̦̪͓̦̲̘̲̘͞a̵̵̸͕̼̱̲͓͇̫͉̻̹̬̜̲͔͉͖̹̟̹̅͆ͤ͢ť̴̢̡̺̬̱̞͖̩̟͛ͥ̏̐̽̄͆̄̎ͅc̵̈́ͥͧ̈̂ͤ̔ͫͬ͊̂̔ͫͧ̅̍͠͝҉̥̩̙̦͕̟̩̪̳͈͚̞̠̱̳̝̤ͅh̵̝̩̤̜͈͚̳̮͓̦ͨ̽̊̄̐̇͗͛̔̍ͧ̾̓͛́
[She frowns and pokes at her cereal with the spoon]

LATULA: Oh, kitty, you’ll be fine. Old Man S̢̛̹̥̟̞̯̤͙̩͑̑͒̿̀ͬ͜c̵̡͖̲̬͈͚̟͉̳̺̬̻͔͉̰̞ͧ̾̏ͨ̌̋̏̈́̿ͤ̋́̈͟͡r̛ͭ̑̊̄͆̋̐ͯ̓̑́̓͟͞҉̩̙̙̪̩͎͔͈ā̶̵͎̣̯̦̝̤̼̪̪̙̱̫̤͓̗̆ͩ͗̉̉̕ͅţ̴̖̰̻̬̿ͥ̌ͭ̈́̌̏̀ͬ̎̃ç̨̪̤̪̺̱̦̦̰͓̗̖̺͉̫͇͔̪ͪ͐̈̂̔̾̈́ͩ́̕͡h̶͙̪̲̖̺͇͉̫͉̦͔̠̝̰̲͍̅̏͌͗ͬ̇͋͗ͫ̒̾̽ͦ͝͠ is always hiring
[She smiles at Meulin]

[Meulin smiles back]
MEULIN: You know what? You’re right!

KURLOZ: As if anyone would hire a ä̠̘͉̗͓̘̖̽ͥʾ̻̙̟̔̾ͫ͌ͩ̃͒̾̂Ҫ̣͚͕ͭ̅͠ж̶͉͇̫̪͕̾̆ͪ̀͑̋؞͖̙͉͓̓͌͝܂̾̍͊ͩ̓̓ͥ̔͠͏͔ͅ΅̷̖͖̳͈̘̲̟̣̤̯̜̣̬͛̈́̏ͦ͌ͩͬ֟̂̓ͮ̀̂ͦͦ̚̕ like you in the first place!

[Audience boos]

LATULA: Kurloz Phillip Makara you take that back right now!

MITUNA: It’s not nice to call people unknowable names like that.
[Mituna blinks and looks around, as if confused by what is happening]

[Kurloz stands up]

KURLOZ: Most uncool, my brother. I’m done with this.
[He storms off and exits stage right]

MITUNA: What was that about?
[Mituna is still confused]

LATULA: You know how he is – always up to something silly!
[She laughs]
[͚̮̖̪̂͢A̶̫͔̬ͦu̲͉͚͓͔̪̕d̻̟̰͓̟͍͒̀ͅĭ͓̩̖̰̌ḛͥ̋͗ͪn̸̾ͫ̓̋c̨̗͓ͦ̌e̙͈̘̯̟̫ͯ̓̌̊ ̗͇͈̻̰͐̑̏lͣ̔̇a͇̱̼̯͎̐̓̆͒͐ͭ͠ụ̼͔̦̜̼̤͋̽̐ͥ̚ǵ͙̀̅͂̑hs͋ͤ͘]̰̥̜̖̣̐

[DAMARA MEGIDO enters from stage right, turning back to look at something off to stage right as she does so]

[Damara is dressed in a leather jacket and jeans. Her hair is slicked back and she has an unlit cigarette in her mouth.]

DAMARA: What’s his deal?

LATULA: Oh my god! Damara!
[She runs over to Damara and they embrace]

MITUNA: Hey, I told you about having those cancer sticks in my house!
[Why would I care about that? What’s happening?]

[Damara takes the cigarette from her mouth and flicks it onto the counter. She then kisses Latula.]
[Audience Ooooooo’s]

DAMARA: That better, Mr. Captor?

[What the fuck?]

[Mituna glares]
MITUNA: Still the same as ever, huh?

[Meulin finishes her cereal and pushes the bowl back]
MEULIN: Well I’m meow-t.

MITUNA: You already used that pun.

MEULIN: uWu
[Meulin winks at the audience]
[Audience laughs]
[Meulin exits stage right]

LATULA: Look, Mituna, we need to talk about something.
[She takes a step toward Mituna.]

[̪̫̰͔͈ͅW̫͚̫̕e͏̲̝̮̠̝ ̠̲̬̲aḷ͎͙͜r͚e̗a̸̰̳̱̹͔̦̳d͈͎͙͓͙͈͟y̛̝͕͍̤ ͖̗͈̝̮̼d̸̥̬̻̟̲i̹͓̳̠̼ḑ͖̩̩͚͙̝ ̛t͚͕̯̫h͏͔̙i̸͇͈s̘͖̻]

LATULA: I should’ve told you earlier

MITUNA: Told me what?

[She reaches back and grabs Damara’s hand]

LATULA: Damara and I we’re… we’ve been seeing each other.
[Audience gasps]

MITUNA: You… what?!

DAMARA: It’s true, daddy-o! W̻̣̦̥̣̲͉ę̲̖’̝̝̱̠̩͡ͅv̯̹̩e̼̠͖̖͞ ̴̙̘͖̟̻̱b̧͍e͙͕̮e̯̩̦̬̲͇͈n͕͉̣̟͡ ̵̱͇͖̹̦̙̥d͏̳o̢̹i̯̜n̵͈̹͖̩̠̺̪g̻͓̬̕ ̫t̲̙h̬ḛ ̝̹̯͉̜͟h͚̜o͓r̸̩̹̲̮̱̩̗i̯̩z͓o͔̤̖̭̖͔̭n̟̬͈t̘̜̼̼̱͢ͅa͠l̵ ̹̭̜̹͙̣̕h͍̺͖͙o͖̬͉̥̦̱̘k͍̬̮͓e̡̘͔̩̘̼y̺͕̩̩̰ p̬o͕̫k̺̦̤̠e̘y̥̹͡ ̼̞͙̤͉w̛͍̟i̬̦͓ͅt̢̘͙h̺̬̳̼o̼u̮̫͕͕̯t̫͇͢ ̢̲̦e̛̥̭̫̺̮v̙͈͚̫̞̗̖ęn ̗͈̥̗ţ̭̱͍̯e̮̙̳̜l̳l͉̟̠̬̘͖i̘͕ͅn͕̯͝g ̳̫ỵ̛̜̩̬ͅͅo̱̱̹u̗̫̜̱ ͍̯̟͘ͅf̢̫̖̠͕ͅor̜ ̘̣̺̝̲̘͟th͔̝̫̭͍e͏͚̙͈̠̖ ̗̙̣̤̻ͅp̮̬̝̞͜ͅa͙̜̣͇̳͢ͅs̘̘̳̹̝t̩͎̝ ̱̬͈͈͢ye̻͢ąr҉̙̰̣.͖

[What the fuck is a year?]

MITUNA: Ooo! I knew something was up!
[He shakes his fist in the air]

DAMARA & LATULA: We’re sorry!

[Damara turns to the audience]
(Stage whisper) DAMARA: I’m not!
[She winks at the audience]

LATULA: We need to go find Kurloz and Meulin now.
LATULA: They’re in a lot of trouble.

LATULA: ҭ̳̻̪̜ͭޙ͚̹͚̀̐̊̉͛ͣş̬̦͉̄̆ͩͤͣ͟Ѣ̣̥͛͛ͤ̎ͣ̎ͤʞׁ̖̲̮̞̤͓̗͈ͩ́͐ͨ͢ͅћ̹̥̂̂͜ٻ̶̬̫͙̆̅̋́Ɯ̩̦̟͕͙̀͋̾Ȗ͖̻̰̱͇̖̘̫̏͛͒̓ͪ̓͆̚޸̷̙̠̮̪̞̈́̾͂̇ͯ̃́Ʀ̷̺Ѻ̻̮̲̙̯̇ͯͮ̋̿ͪͭ is going to hurt them.

[Latula and Damara exit stage right]

[What’s happening here?]
M̷̱̣̪̼͝I̻͕͓̯̪͉̥͇͢͞T̵͎̙ͅṶ̝̤̬͔̺̰̣̬̕N̸̰̣̙̳̯͝A͙͎:̭̝̮̹͘ ̲͕̳͔̮͟͜W̧̨̛̘̻̦̬ḩ̙̙̳͎̖ͅa҉̜̜̬̹͓͔t͈̞͇͙̜͙͙͟’̴̝̞̫̖s̬̗͕ ̬̼̺͈h̶̷̦̼̺̙͟a͚̞͈͈̙̣̙p͔̹̦͖̳͖͖̦p̜̯̦̬̰̳̣̝ͅe̹̝͔̱͎̩̲͟͞n̢̨̟̭̮̳̱i̗̘̖̼͍͟n͇͞g͓̦͔̟͇͔͟͝ ̰̳̗̘͡͝h͏͓̜e̴̮̳̟̺̖̖r̢̢̢͓͉̜̪̰̤̖̼e̺̗͕?͇̞̯͙ͅ

Enter כٰ̞̹̦̞̠̫̯̘̹̝̉ͫͤ̂͛ˮ͓̮͈͋͑ͩʎ͖͈̈́͊̇̌ϛ͚͙̥ͬ͋ͨ̒۲̵̴̻̘͉͗ͦͩ̊̌̊ͅյ͍̹̹̏̔̾ɻ̵̜̹̑͛ʯ̨̩̹̣̩̦̣̿̈́̑͛̀͠ޞ̳̳̲̜̭̺͋ͯ̐̈́ͧ̋ϕ̋ͭ́͗ͣ͏͓͚̰̳̘͍̩ͅŮ̢̼͈͑̑͋̍̾̋Ӣ̧̡̭̱̗̯͉̬̒Ƶ̛̬͎͕̭͎̱̟̿͐ͣ̿ͦ͘ƚ̢̠̩̭̦̘̒͗̓̇̚͝ͅ from stage right]

Ѿ̷̻̩̬̳͙̽̍͊̓ͮ͢Š̶̙͚̝͍͈̞̠͓̓̑̀̂́̉̅ܓ͂ͬ̍̅ͤ̈ͨ҉̲̱̘̹͜ݽ͎̙͎̜̆̅͐̉̾͊̋͆ͅʊ̵̬̗͍̥̥͈̠̒ͪͩ͋͂̐͑͞ˡ̵̨͖͚̟͈̙͉֢̇̍ͭͪ̅ͬ̊̽҉̤͇̣̥̫̲͚͓͓Ә͇̮̫̪͙͓̯̤̹͋ͤ̈́͜͝͡æ̧̨̭̑͌͊̂̆ƈ̈́͂҉̵̵͔̟͖͖̜̒͌̎͞ؼ̽̉͗͞҉̻̪̺͙̳̼ͅϬ̭̭̞̉͒ͤ̕͟ͅ΄̢͇̦̪̫ͩͩͦͭ̋͢͝: My dear sweet child. How I’ve missed you.
ę̴̨̲̮̯̠͎͙ͩ̚ԏ̢̝̲ͣ͆̈͂͊ס͓̣̬̜̳ͣ̌̾ͭ͟Μ̶̌͊̾ͯ͏̫͎̣̦ͅՇ̴̛̛̼̻̤̋̈̔ͤƉ̹̭̙̟͓̩̬̟̰ͥ̉͜э̮̯̣͈̰̩̼̩͗̿ũ̷̘̼͕̳̩̦̫͕̈́̔͗͗̇̓̏̚̕ʳ̪ͦͦ̍͑͌ͥ̚͘ٯ̜͙̫̳̐͒͗̎̃̄ͭ: I have to admit that you were always my favorite.



―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――


Mituna was in two places.

Floating inside of the B̧̾ͦ͋ͯ̚҉̹͔͇̼̣͇̠͍l̴̩̣̣͚̝͇̠̽̒̉͟a̢͔̤ͬ̆ͮ̋c̨̯̉̃ͥ̑͞͠k̸̩̗̐̾́͐͑ͧ̈̽̎ ̴ͩ̏̈́ͬ̀̄ͥ͏̱̳̯̩͔͙͖̤̟͠M̛͍̹ͮ̌͑̆͊ͤ͋̚o̤̳̰͖͊͒͂̔̂̒ͧ͠o̯̝̼̍̎͝ͅn̨̢̥̰͓͔̤͉͓̼̈́͐͗̋̃̔͟.



Looking him directly in the face.

As much as he could be said to have a face, anyway.

He smiled. As much as he could be said to smile, anway.

? < My dear boy, it is good to see you again.
? < I had thought perhaps you were gone from my sight
Though none are truly gone from my sight.

Mituna’s mind burned. The thing was seeing inside him – into his soul. Everything was laid bare and he wanted to scream.

He couldn’t scream.

I’m sorry, were you trying to say something?

Who are you?

You couldn’t say the name, but you know it already. You’ve heard the sound in your mind.

I’ll just call you Scratch.

That is acceptable, I suppose.

Why do any of this?

Do you suppose that because I am unknown to you that I am completely alien? That I do not have wants and needs the same as any of you?

I guess… I did think that, yeah.

It’s not important. Perhaps inhabiting these corruptible bodies for so long has affected my thought process. Perhaps not. Perhaps… it doesn’t matter.

What do you want from us?

From you? Nothing. You’ve all served your purposes already.

So why haven’t you just killed us?

To what end? You are all so amusing. I wanted to keep you alive, if only for the joy of seeing you all rip each other apart.

So we’re just toys to you?

I suppose you could see it that way.
It doesn’t matter to me. Frame it however makes you most comfortable.

You’re a bulge-sucking piece of shit.

Sticks and stones will break my bones…

What?

Never mind. It’s an expression from another place. Your experience is so painfully limiting sometimes. Did you know there’s so many versions of you out there?

What the fuck?

Yes! Of you… and your friends. I’ve seen so many distinct possibilities. Yours is only one of so many. It’s actually quite fascinating.

You know what… it doesn’t matter?

And why doesn’t it matter?
Wait… what did you just say to me?!





Mituna was in two places.

Floating inside the Kinetic Defense Cannon – the small bright spot on the horizon.

Up above the O̴̼̗ͩ̐͢͢bͦ́ͤ͏̹̗̱̹̭̖͔̗s̃́̌̊̄̾ͮ͏͚̝͈ȉ̳̝̉̓ͯ͐̃̎̃ͅd̪̺͈̞͖̪̖̓͡i̹̹͎̦̺͈̫͒ͪ͟a̮͓̭̥͚̙̞ͨ͋̅ͭ̈n̜̝̝̝͖̫͓̾ͯ͌ ̹͓͙̘̥̤͊ͧ̃ͩ̍ͥ̐̏͠S̷̬̣̘͙̦̹̾̉̓ͬ̏ͦͅp̞͇͚̠̬͎̠̲̀̒̄̊i̫̗͗̏͢rͭ́͆ͧ́͝͝͏̭̳̥̣͖͔̞̪̟ę̠̫̰͔͊̾͌ͥ̔̏̽̊̔͠

Mituna reached out, looking for the switches that would light up the darkness. But carefully. There was still the matter of the other thing.

He didn’t let himself dwell too much on it – for some reason, the idea of thinking it… of thinking its name… that would draw too much attention. What he was doing here was secret. What he was doing here would anger that thing.

Mituna put it out of his mind and concentrated on what he was doing. Slowly, he powered up each individual relay. Everything was still working – it had been designed for long-term storage.

Bits and pieces were missing. Blank spots inside of the Deep Felt that came through only as blurred images.

They’d used something that concealed parts of the platform from the Felt itself. Not the ability to interface with it, but maybe the ability to see exactly what it was doing. Because he was watching – it was watching. The unnamable thing.

He wasn’t going to get a second shot at this. The act of being in two places at once like this – of trying to concentrate on two such disparate tasks – it was draining him completely. Even through the haze of the wetware interface, Mituna could tell he wasn’t going to last much longer. Even if he physically could – and he wasn’t sure about that – he was being mentally drained too.

In the back of his mind, there was a swarm of bees buzzing around, and every so often the number decreased. There were fewer and fewer bees moving around. What did that mean?

Mituna smiled to himself – it was such a clever way to do it. Whoever had designed this system had thought ahead. They’d known what it would be up against. It was a simple abstraction, but it worked well enough.

Half the number of bees. That was about how many remained. It wasn’t a perfect analog – he would’ve preferred a number – but the abstract symbolism drew less attention from outside.

There wasn’t much else he could do except concentrate on being in both places at once. Keep his mind on the conversation he was having.


He didn’t like how everything had gone down.


In the end, it hadn’t mattered as much as he’d thought.


Most of the bees were gone now.

He could feel his mind starting to fray – losing grip on what was even real anymore. He’d come unglued for a minute back there. Hopefully it wasn’t too late for everyone else. For all he knew, he could be seconds away from having a slug in the think-pan and then all his problems would just disappear.

He didn’t want to say it was an appealing thought, but…

The bees were gone.

There was a blinking light next to him. That was it. There was only one possible target to select.

At least someone had thought ahead. Mituna smiled.

From hell’s heart, I stab at thee…
You piece of fucking shit.



M͓̯͈̱̯ͅi̗̭̙t͠u̢̥̰͍̣͖n̜͇͝a͕̰̗̼̻ ̥p̛͓̟͖͙u̬͚̭͖̯̱l̜l͍̮̘͇̠e͉̤̘̦͎̺d̛ ͓͚̠̬̖̪͘th̩̩̳͍̲͉̙e̶̮̗ ͔̩t͔̘̪̝͎̥̘r̭̜̯̻̤i̥͙̬̖̟̹g͚̱͚g͟e̸̲̳͔r͙͔̭͝.͢

A̴̱̻͉͇̱̺̩ň͇̦̈́ͩ̀̑̌̚d̥̺̾͋̀̑


Eͯ̇͌̎͠҉҉̼̬̲͇̝̪̣̪̬v͇̉ͯ͋e̜̥̟ͦͅr̢̬̺͖͌̅͌̓̍ͧy͌̄̓̋ͤͫ͑҉̩t̳͔̪̬͖̠̞̭̣ͨ̌͋ḥ̴̨̩̤̟̅̇̅̿͆ͩͭͮͨ͟i̷̢͚̟̦͖̠͖̲̝͕ͯ̾͑͒̊ͫ͛ņ̥̯̆ͬ͋ͤ̓ͪ̓̕g̸̳̭͕̦̭̮̯̖ͨ̊̒̈́̂̂̕͞



W̴̸̯͈̮̎͊̓̀e͇͛͌̒̃ͬͪͦ͠n̹̩̘̄ͯͩ̇͌̊̾̊̕t̶̢̺ͤ




B̶͍̺̟͇̥͇̦͙̮̥̮̗͈̲̦̠̠ͬ̓̃̃̂̑̋ͯͥ͒͊͛͂̂ͩ̅̾̚̚͡͠ľ̠̘͈̫͓̜͙͎̖̹̤̱͓̼͎ͩ̓̋ͮ͘͞͡͞ͅa̛̠̦̰͍͍͎̞͎͎̓̓ͤ̈́̂͗̈́̈̊͢͝c̵̦̲͙̝͚͈̣̪͙̬̹͚̱̹̯͛̍ͦ̌̊̒̔͢ͅk̶͇͉̻̥͍̱̮̞̔̔͑̚͢͟




̷͚͙͍̮̥̥̦̫͕͑̍ͩ͛͂̄ͩ̍ͪͬͮ̓̽ͨ͢͠ ̶ͥͮ̌͊̾ͣ̈ͣ͏̧̬̟͉͍̙̘̯̠̪̲̪̤̭̭̘̩̻͟͠ͅ ̢̤̬̣̬̙͉̼̬͇̰ͮ̽̆͗ͦ̔͌̿̀̂̓̑ͬ͗̎ͥ̾͟͞͡ ̶̯̪̝̻͕͚̲̮̻̟͙̮ͭ̃̽ͭͮ͘ͅ ̸̨̘͖̗̯̰̦͉͈̻̩͚̭̌̐̓ͩͯͣ̌̆͂̀̓̽̐ͬͧ͛ͯ̚͠ͅ ̟̰͇̩̿ͣͨ͑̾̀̽̑͡͝͝ ̵̧̞̳̰̩̙͖̍̒ͥͪ̂͛̇͝͡ ̛͇̙̪̤̩̜̦͎͍͚͇̬̲̳̩̘͉̈̄̌̑̓͛̀ͩ́̌ͦ̑ͨ̈͋ͬ͗̈́͘̕ͅ ̵̵̨̬̹͙̜̹͍̓ͦͨ̑̐̌ͧ̎̑ͮ͌̈́̌ͮ͢͜ͅ ̡̨̆ͧ̂̋͆ͣ͛͊͝͏̬̪͕͖̹̪ ̸̢̲̭͍͔̣̝̳̽̃͗ͭ̅͞ ̛͉̰̭̣̙̤̞͍͉̼̲̭͚̞̭̭̆̍͋͑ͮ̅ͫ̓́̽̾̂̓ͭ͘͝ ̴ͥ̌̊̇̆͐ͫ̓͆͏̪̱̞̘̼͖͉͖͉̰͉͘͡ ̵́͊̽̐ͪͧ̀ͭͤ̐ͤͫͥͦͫ͛̉̏͆҉͙͚͔̙̱̮͉̯ ̉ͤͬ̎ͤͣ̍̍̐̌̄ͯ̒͗ͥ́̑͐͡҉̣̣̫͔̩̦̝̲͇̬͈̫ ͉͍͍̰͉̤̙̝̥̦͂̄͆̑ͅ ̵̫̘̙̥͖̬̬̙̾̌ͭ̀̓̆ͫ̉ͬ̐͟ ̢̛͚̺̙́ͥ̂̐ͫ̎ͬͪͥ̍̎͌̈́͘͜ͅ ̸̷̧͇̩̤̹͂ͦ͋̌ͦ̆̿ͫͫ̅ͤ ̢͇̜͇͍ͦͪͪ̾̌̿̆̽̽ͤͯ͠͞ ̈͛ͫͩ̉͑͑̊ͧ͆̎ͣ͞͞҉̡̧̠̱̫̪̬̻̺̩̳͈͓̪̙̜̲ͅͅ ̦͕͓̺̦̣̹̳̞̲̪̹̬̃ͯ͆ͦ͞ ̭̥̳̞̯͙̻̤̼̹͋ͫͯ̉̅ͣͦ͐ͤ̚͘̕͟͡ͅ ̸̢̨̛̩̖̱͎̪̪̱͔̹̻̖͉̳̥͒̿́̄ͨ̌͊ͪͭͬ̇̄ͧͬ͑̏̚͟ͅͅ ̵̢̢̤̘͖̥ͫ̈̔ͩ͒ͯ̌̉̓̄͟ͅ ̷̷̸͉̤̼̲͈͙̮̗̭͎̫̻͖͍̳̠͚̳͆̈͆̀͐ͣ͊̾ͪͧ͒̈̄̐ͩ̊̑ ̃͛̈́̆ͭͬ͐̅ͭ͏̴̢̡̣̖̜͙̘͍͖͍̭̣̝͚̺̤̝̟̤̜ ̷̀͗̾̄ͨ͗̕͡҉̝̖̩̱͎͓̹̘̯̩̤͈ ̊̍ͪ͒͆ͮ̔̔̿̒̑ͮ͒̊҉̗̫͇̤̣͎̹̯̲̝̱͉͖̫͟͠ ̵̡̗̘̻̥̖̣͖̫̜͚͉̒͋̽ͫ̔̃ͩ͐̈́̉́̈́͆ͮͪ́ͫͣ͜ ̸̢͎͚̮̺̱̘̳̖͍͕̳͍̱̤̺͛͋̓̽͐͗͆̒̽ͪ̍̉̐̒̿͘͜ ̡̤͖̹̲̭̹͓̫̩̫̺̭̠͈̍̎̇̄͂̀̾ͬ̇̿̈́̋͂͂͑̔͗̕ͅ ̠͇̫̲̳̞̳̙̪ͧͦ͑̎ͣ̍̍̉̍̏ͮ͌̆ͬ̚̚͟͢͝ ̶̘̱̭͎̳̦̒̔̓̐ͨ̿ͣͯ̾ͦͧ̒ͅ ̸̵̢̘̜̪̰̳̗̜̥̤͇̠̜̮̮͕̫̙̤͎ͤ̉͂̎̊ͬͣ ͕̻̭̼̹͚̙̉̎̂̓̏̽͌ͨ̕͟͠ ͇̠͕̘̫͎͖̤̫̰͖̩̻͚̭͈̫̙ͨ̊̑̿ͤ̄̐ͤ͛͆͂͘ͅ ̸̝̱͙͖̞̲̟̝̱̭͚͇̹̺͐ͪͯ͗ͣ̃͆̇̃̔ͤ͌ͭͧ͟͠͠ͅ ̢̙̘͎̙̻̥̏ͬͭ̔̈ͭ͛ͫ̿ͦ͞ ̨̢̨͉͍̬͈̲̦̘̹͔̻̎ͤͯͭ̾̊͒̒̔̇̽̒̉̚ ̧͈̗̼̞̼̼̗̗͚͇̘̞̈́̈̾͐ͫ̅ͩ͂̉͗ͩ͘͝ ̐ͫ̔ͤ̓̆̌̇͆̑͆ͩ҉̶̮̰͖̩̜̫͍̲̪̲͜ ̸̢̡̛͎͔̞͉͙̩̔̋͌̌̊̀ͅ ̵̡̨͉̤̘̤̺ͤ̀̓ͥ̈ͧ͒̔ͧ̒̄͊̒̍ͤͨ̒ ̨̰͈͙̪̻̂ͣ̒͡ ̢̡̼̥͖̟̄͗ͪ͋ͮ̓͌ͮ̀ͭ̐̈̆̄͂͋ͮ̕ ̵̢̙̱̺͎̮̲̫̩̝̙̙̍͑̽̈ͧͥ́͊ͥ͗͗̔ͩ͑̾́̉ ̴̍́ͨ͆̀̀̃͝҉̶͙̰̰̮̱͔͈̼̗͚̹̱̤͎̥̭̙̫̕ͅ ͙̠͉̞̳͎͉̪͋̓͂̓͗ͨ͝ͅ ̶̹̦̫͖͖̰͍̖̰̣̎͌͂̒̌͌ͦ̾ͩ͋͛͌͐ͨͥ̂̎̑͘ ̧̹̠̘͉̟͖͉͕̮͖͇̠̙̱̦͆̀̽͆̽̀̾ͯ͛̚͠ ̷̸̴̗̫̫͉̻̦͙̪ͬͤ͌ͭ̈ͨ͛ͪ̈̅ͩ̏ͤ̆͜͢ ̀ͦ͒̒͛͂ͥ̍̎ͧ̀̅̂̀̔̄̕͘҉҉͓̯̗̱̖̱̙ ̶̝̜͉̿̓ͣͬ̂̈̒̾̉̓ͭ̔͋ͪ̾̚͝ ̥̲̥͉̭̖͎̹̞͔̖̰ͣ̏ͭ̊̏͆̅ͯ͂͋͒̍̍̄͞ ̵ͩͦͨͣ́̓̈̅͊̅̋̆̐̎̕҉̲̟̺̯̟͍̗͕͉̱̻̪͈̖̬͉̲ͅ ̶͓̱̙͇̮̌̇͒͋ ̢̛͊̋̍̋͆̏̃̓ͧͭͮ̽ͨ̌͌͒͏̙͕̯̖̭̭͔͜͡ͅͅ ̮̣̘͂̏̏̓͘͢ ͨ̐ͮ̓͊ͥ̄͌̋ͨ͂ͦ́̾҉͏̙̮̜̯͉̟ͅ ̨̖͎̬̯͉̮̟̤͓͍͚̬̤ͦ̾̉̋ͥ͒̄̅̚͝͝ ͓̞̺͓̝̗̫̜̠̰̖͉̤̮͕ͣͣ͂̓͗͐͌ͫ̋̌͘͘ ̢͕̞̹̱́ͫ̊̈ͩͭ̅̚͢ ̸̢̢̠̲͓͚̼̪̓̒̔̐̚ ͓̹̣̺͌̏̎̍̓̌̔̌́ͪ͛̏͐͒́̕͞͡ ̡̧͓͔͙͓̼̥̪̝̪̪̝͈͔̟͎ͫ̄ͧ̐͊͊̑ͦͦ̽͑͊͌̓̀̎̍̕͡ ̷̵͔̺͇͎̰̱̰ͮ̌̔̑̃͋̇̇͑͂̋̈́͗͒̈ͅ ̸̧͓͍̝̜̱͇̮̓ͭ́̀̊̃̓̄̓ͦ̇̊̑̎ͮͧ̂̕ͅ ̳͍͚̰̰͖̫͇̠͙̮̙̫̪̂́̋̎̎͊̆̆̃͟͟͡ͅ ̶ͥͮ̌͊̾ͣ̈ͣ͏̧̬̟͉͍̙̘̯̠̪̲̪̤̭̭̘̩̻͟͠ͅ ̢̤̬̣̬̙͉̼̬͇̰ͮ̽̆͗ͦ̔͌̿̀̂̓̑ͬ͗̎ͥ̾͟͞͡ ̶̯̪̝̻͕͚̲̮̻̟͙̮ͭ̃̽ͭͮ͘ͅ ̸̨̘͖̗̯̰̦͉͈̻̩͚̭̌̐̓ͩͯͣ̌̆͂̀̓̽̐ͬͧ͛ͯ̚͠ͅ ̟̰͇̩̿ͣͨ͑̾̀̽̑͡͝͝ ̵̧̞̳̰̩̙͖̍̒ͥͪ̂͛̇͝͡ ̛͇̙̪̤̩̜̦͎͍͚͇̬̲̳̩̘͉̈̄̌̑̓͛̀ͩ́̌ͦ̑ͨ̈͋ͬ͗̈́͘̕ͅ ̵̵̨̬̹͙̜̹͍̓ͦͨ̑̐̌ͧ̎̑ͮ͌̈́̌ͮ͢͜ͅ ̡̨̆ͧ̂̋͆ͣ͛͊͝͏̬̪͕͖̹̪ ̸̢̲̭͍͔̣̝̳̽̃͗ͭ̅͞ ̛͉̰̭̣̙̤̞͍͉̼̲̭͚̞̭̭̆̍͋͑ͮ̅ͫ̓́̽̾̂̓ͭ͘͝ ̴ͥ̌̊̇̆͐ͫ̓͆͏̪̱̞̘̼͖͉͖͉̰͉͘͡ ̵́͊̽̐ͪͧ̀ͭͤ̐ͤͫͥͦͫ͛̉̏͆҉͙͚͔̙̱̮͉̯ ̉ͤͬ̎ͤͣ̍̍̐̌̄ͯ̒͗ͥ́̑͐͡҉̣̣̫͔̩̦̝̲͇̬͈̫ ͉͍͍̰͉̤̙̝̥̦͂̄͆̑ͅ ̵̫̘̙̥͖̬̬̙̾̌ͭ̀̓̆ͫ̉ͬ̐͟ ̢̛͚̺̙́ͥ̂̐ͫ̎ͬͪͥ̍̎͌̈́͘͜ͅ ̸̷̧͇̩̤̹͂ͦ͋̌ͦ̆̿ͫͫ̅ͤ ̢͇̜͇͍ͦͪͪ̾̌̿̆̽̽ͤͯ͠͞ ̈͛ͫͩ̉͑͑̊ͧ͆̎ͣ͞͞҉̡̧̠̱̫̪̬̻̺̩̳͈͓̪̙̜̲ͅͅ ̦͕͓̺̦̣̹̳̞̲̪̹̬̃ͯ͆ͦ͞ ̭̥̳̞̯͙̻̤̼̹͋ͫͯ̉̅ͣͦ͐ͤ̚͘̕͟͡ͅ ̸̢̨̛̩̖̱͎̪̪̱͔̹̻̖͉̳̥͒̿́̄ͨ̌͊ͪͭͬ̇̄ͧͬ͑̏̚͟ͅͅ ̵̢̢̤̘͖̥ͫ̈̔ͩ͒ͯ̌̉̓̄͟ͅ ̷̷̸͉̤̼̲͈͙̮̗̭͎̫̻͖͍̳̠͚̳͆̈͆̀͐ͣ͊̾ͪͧ͒̈̄̐ͩ̊̑ ̃͛̈́̆ͭͬ͐̅ͭ͏̴̢̡̣̖̜͙̘͍͖͍̭̣̝͚̺̤̝̟̤̜ ̷̀͗̾̄ͨ͗̕͡҉̝̖̩̱͎͓̹̘̯̩̤͈ ̊̍ͪ͒͆ͮ̔̔̿̒̑ͮ͒̊҉̗̫͇̤̣͎̹̯̲̝̱͉͖̫͟͠ ̵̡̗̘̻̥̖̣͖̫̜͚͉̒͋̽ͫ̔̃ͩ͐̈́̉́̈́͆ͮͪ́ͫͣ͜ ̸̢͎͚̮̺̱̘̳̖͍͕̳͍̱̤̺͛͋̓̽͐͗͆̒̽ͪ̍̉̐̒̿͘͜ ̡̤͖̹̲̭̹͓̫̩̫̺̭̠͈̍̎̇̄͂̀̾ͬ̇̿̈́̋͂͂͑̔͗̕ͅ ̠͇̫̲̳̞̳̙̪ͧͦ͑̎ͣ̍̍̉̍̏ͮ͌̆ͬ̚̚͟͢͝ ̶̘̱̭͎̳̦̒̔̓̐ͨ̿ͣͯ̾ͦͧ̒ͅ ̸̵̢̘̜̪̰̳̗̜̥̤͇̠̜̮̮͕̫̙̤͎ͤ̉͂̎̊ͬͣ ͕̻̭̼̹͚̙̉̎̂̓̏̽͌ͨ̕͟͠ ͇̠͕̘̫͎͖̤̫̰͖̩̻͚̭͈̫̙ͨ̊̑̿ͤ̄̐ͤ͛͆͂͘ͅ ̸̝̱͙͖̞̲̟̝̱̭͚͇̹̺͐ͪͯ͗ͣ̃͆̇̃̔ͤ͌ͭͧ͟͠͠ͅ ̢̙̘͎̙̻̥̏ͬͭ̔̈ͭ͛ͫ̿ͦ͞ ̨̢̨͉͍̬͈̲̦̘̹͔̻̎ͤͯͭ̾̊͒̒̔̇̽̒̉̚ ̧͈̗̼̞̼̼̗̗͚͇̘̞̈́̈̾͐ͫ̅ͩ͂̉͗ͩ͘͝ ̐ͫ̔ͤ̓̆̌̇͆̑͆ͩ҉̶̮̰͖̩̜̫͍̲̪̲͜ ̸̢̡̛͎͔̞͉͙̩̔̋͌̌̊̀ͅ ̵̡̨͉̤̘̤̺ͤ̀̓ͥ̈ͧ͒̔ͧ̒̄͊̒̍ͤͨ̒ ̨̰͈͙̪̻̂ͣ̒͡ ̢̡̼̥͖̟̄͗ͪ͋ͮ̓͌ͮ̀ͭ̐̈̆̄͂͋ͮ̕ ̵̢̙̱̺͎̮̲̫̩̝̙̙̍͑̽̈ͧͥ́͊ͥ͗͗̔ͩ͑̾́̉ ̴̍́ͨ͆̀̀̃͝҉̶͙̰̰̮̱͔͈̼̗͚̹̱̤͎̥̭̙̫̕ͅ ͙̠͉̞̳͎͉̪͋̓͂̓͗ͨ͝ͅ ̶̹̦̫͖͖̰͍̖̰̣̎͌͂̒̌͌ͦ̾ͩ͋͛͌͐ͨͥ̂̎̑͘ ̧̹̠̘͉̟͖͉͕̮͖͇̠̙̱̦͆̀̽͆̽̀̾ͯ͛̚͠ ̷̸̴̗̫̫͉̻̦͙̪ͬͤ͌ͭ̈ͨ͛ͪ̈̅ͩ̏ͤ̆͜͢ ̀ͦ͒̒͛͂ͥ̍̎ͧ̀̅̂̀̔̄̕͘҉҉͓̯̗̱̖̱̙ ̶̝̜͉̿̓ͣͬ̂̈̒̾̉̓ͭ̔͋ͪ̾̚͝ ̥̲̥͉̭̖͎̹̞͔̖̰ͣ̏ͭ̊̏͆̅ͯ͂͋͒̍̍̄͞ ̵ͩͦͨͣ́̓̈̅͊̅̋̆̐̎̕҉̲̟̺̯̟͍̗͕͉̱̻̪͈̖̬͉̲ͅ ̶͓̱̙͇̮̌̇͒͋ ̢̛͊̋̍̋͆̏̃̓ͧͭͮ̽ͨ̌͌͒͏̙͕̯̖̭̭͔͜͡ͅͅ ̮̣̘͂̏̏̓͘͢ ͨ̐ͮ̓͊ͥ̄͌̋ͨ͂ͦ́̾҉͏̙̮̜̯͉̟ͅ ̨̖͎̬̯͉̮̟̤͓͍͚̬̤ͦ̾̉̋ͥ͒̄̅̚͝͝ ͓̞̺͓̝̗̫̜̠̰̖͉̤̮͕ͣͣ͂̓͗͐͌ͫ̋̌͘͘ ̢͕̞̹̱́ͫ̊̈ͩͭ̅̚͢ ̸̢̢̠̲͓͚̼̪̓̒̔̐̚ ͓̹̣̺͌̏̎̍̓̌̔̌́ͪ͛̏͐͒́̕͞͡ ̡̧͓͔͙͓̼̥̪̝̪̪̝͈͔̟͎ͫ̄ͧ̐͊͊̑ͦͦ̽͑͊͌̓̀̎̍̕͡ ̷̵͔̺͇͎̰̱̰ͮ̌̔̑̃͋̇̇͑͂̋̈́͗͒̈ͅ ̸̧͓͍̝̜̱͇̮̓ͭ́̀̊̃̓̄̓ͦ̇̊̑̎ͮͧ̂̕ͅ ̳͍͚̰̰͖̫͇̠͙̮̙̫̪̂́̋̎̎͊̆̆̃͟͟͡ͅ





̶ͥ̆̃͒͐ͨ̏͌̐ͨ̑̅̒ͮ̈́̂̂͏҉̣̣̬̼͕̩͉͠ ̢ͬͫ̒ͩͣ҉̭̝̦̻̦ ̢̞̦̜̦̠͎̙͖͍͉̰̘ͪͣ̃̏̐̿ͩ̕͟ ̧̳͈̖̜̗ͥ̈́̌͆̄ͯ͛ͤ̽̓̿͗ͣͨ͜ ̵̷̡̩͙͍̪̬̥̐͆ͦ̊̀ͧͮ̋ͭ̔̈́ͤͨ͒̕͞ ̴̟̼̹̮̪̪̘̳͍̞̜ͨ̈́̽͐̾̅̓͊ͩ̇̑ͧ͠ ̷̵̨̣͇̹͚̺̹̠̼̹͓̖̤̫̠̺ͮ͐̎̅̽ͦ̑ ̢̭͇̰͈͓̜̳̫̲̖͎̟̪̭͍̼̱̰̼̍̃ͬ̑ͣ͒͒̓ͣ͌͆͆͂̕͟͞ ̪͉̙̞͈̯͈̇ͥ̎̔ͪ̽̊͜͝͞ ͚̝̥͙̹̦̠͕̝̘̳͓͚̖̯̥̞͐ͣͦ̀̃̐̂̀̇̒͛ͪ̿͗ͧͬͬͭ͢͡ ̸̷̛͈̩̳̘̩̠ͮ̊͆ͨ͂ͫ̑ͯͥ̏ͧ̚̚͝ͅͅ ͋̽̇̈ͭͭ̊̾̉͒҉̸̥͓̠͉͍͉̼̫̘̥̬̻̖͓̭̰͚͓͟ ̵̶̽͂́̎͒̂̐͌̊̉̅̃͂̍ͪ̈́̉͝҉͓̯̬̙͔̻̳͙̦͖̼͈̦̬͝ ̶̩̭̝͙̍̓͐̂͢ ̵̨̊͂ͤ̔́̽ͩ̐̂ͤ̽ͥ̈͏̡͇̥̰̞̞̦̜̺͎̘͉ ̻͙͙̙̳̙̣̹̜͉̜̳̳ͪͣ̍̎̾̅ͦͮ͠ͅ ̴̏̾̔ͨ́ͣ̓ͫͩͯ͆̓͟͏̫͙͕͔̰͙̫̩̫̟̺͕ͅ ̡̦̰̹̪͍̥̮͖̗̳̺͕̐ͣ̿ͭ͒́͆ͪ̽ͥ̍̅̆͂ͅ ̶̞̜̖̣̗̜̪̦̘͕̩̠̖͓̤̰̠͎̄͐̂̈́̈́̍̔ͯ̅̀̆̓̂̍ͮ͡͞ ̵̳̥̤̘͍̠̺͕̩͈ͣ̄̉͂̓͌͋ͮ̚͝͝ͅ ͐͌ͨͪ͌҉̡͞҉͚͈͓̝̗̦̩̭͚ ̛͕̜͔͙̞͋̇ͧ͑̌͌ͥ̏̂͜͜͢ ̸̧͚͍̠̻̭̳̊ͩͬ̽̾͗͆͌ͫͯ̾͟͟͞ ͩͯ͆̒̔̽̚̕҉̛̯̱͖̳̰͔̫͖̘͉͢ ̷̧̓̿̃̌̆̓̉̋ͭͬ̉̄̉̇͛̈͐̏̚̕҉̩̯̩̻̭͍̙̭͚͎̘ ͔͈̗͖̪͇̗̖̦̰̰̜̤̇́̔̇̐͗ͭ̊̐̈́͟͡ ̷̋ͨ͑̉̎̎ͩ͐͗͒ͬ͒ͧͥ̈ͦͣ̚͘͜͏̙̭͈̞̹̱̙̼͕̜͇̝̞͚̩̲͉͟ ̧͚͉̝̳̖͉͇͙̥͔̰͉̤̘̍̒̐̌̈́͗̉̓͗̃ͤ͂̑ͣ̉̏̐ͧ̎ ̵̷͎̺͎͚̙͈̤̠͙͖̩̯̣̜̜͕̺̜͇̾͌̽̓̊̏ͧ͞ ̽̔̾̽͆ͣ̍͑̿̇̈ͧ̈́ͨͪ̌ͩ̿̚҉̡͉̝̭̩̹̮̫̖̥͙͉͉̩͢ͅ ̛̃̇̄͑̀͏̳̼̦͖ ̵̧̧͉̦̪͍͈̣̠̹̠̹͐͐̃̀̋̋̈̀͌͑͞ ̡̪̼͇̳̳̥̞͓̱̯͇͍̭̖̍͒̄̐̃ͅ ̴̮̝̳̪͇͙̐ͣ̌̈́̚ ̷̶̙͈̰͍̲͔̭̱̯͓̠̗̲̣͎̹̤͐̇͂ͪͪ̇̿͢͢͞ ̨̤͈̺̲͙̼̒͗ͪ͗̄̀͟͡ ̶̵̟̪͓͓͍̩̲̹̰̲͓̻̖͔̪̝̜̦̱ͫ̇̏ͬ́͒̔̐ͬ̄̋̓̚͟͞ ̵̴̧̟̦͍͍͍̮̮̥͈̗̙̗̗̳̩̉̎͐̐͢ͅ ̡̞̥͙͕̯̰̺͉̻͈͙͕͎̬͕͍̾ͬͭ̽̍͒̇̽̃̐̀̔͌̅͛̌̏̽͜͞ ͎̗͍͉̹̅̅͌̌̋͋͑ͣͬ̈ͭ͊̚͟͞͝ ̡̬̮͎̤̬͎̫̤͎͕̮̤̈͐͂͐̑̍͊ͣ̆̍͗̇͂͋ͧ̉̄͗͑ ̶ͥͮ̌͊̾ͣ̈ͣ͏̧̬̟͉͍̙̘̯̠̪̲̪̤̭̭̘̩̻͟͠ͅ ̢̤̬̣̬̙͉̼̬͇̰ͮ̽̆͗ͦ̔͌̿̀̂̓̑ͬ͗̎ͥ̾͟͞͡ ̶̯̪̝̻͕͚̲̮̻̟͙̮ͭ̃̽ͭͮ͘ͅ ̸̨̘͖̗̯̰̦͉͈̻̩͚̭̌̐̓ͩͯͣ̌̆͂̀̓̽̐ͬͧ͛ͯ̚͠ͅ ̟̰͇̩̿ͣͨ͑̾̀̽̑͡͝͝ ̵̧̞̳̰̩̙͖̍̒ͥͪ̂͛̇͝͡ ̛͇̙̪̤̩̜̦͎͍͚͇̬̲̳̩̘͉̈̄̌̑̓͛̀ͩ́̌ͦ̑ͨ̈͋ͬ͗̈́͘̕ͅ ̵̵̨̬̹͙̜̹͍̓ͦͨ̑̐̌ͧ̎̑ͮ͌̈́̌ͮ͢͜ͅ ̡̨̆ͧ̂̋͆ͣ͛͊͝͏̬̪͕͖̹̪ ̸̢̲̭͍͔̣̝̳̽̃͗ͭ̅͞ ̛͉̰̭̣̙̤̞͍͉̼̲̭͚̞̭̭̆̍͋͑ͮ̅ͫ̓́̽̾̂̓ͭ͘͝ ̴ͥ̌̊̇̆͐ͫ̓͆͏̪̱̞̘̼͖͉͖͉̰͉͘͡ ̵́͊̽̐ͪͧ̀ͭͤ̐ͤͫͥͦͫ͛̉̏͆҉͙͚͔̙̱̮͉̯ ̉ͤͬ̎ͤͣ̍̍̐̌̄ͯ̒͗ͥ́̑͐͡҉̣̣̫͔̩̦̝̲͇̬͈̫ ͉͍͍̰͉̤̙̝̥̦͂̄͆̑ͅ ̵̫̘̙̥͖̬̬̙̾̌ͭ̀̓̆ͫ̉ͬ̐͟ ̢̛͚̺̙́ͥ̂̐ͫ̎ͬͪͥ̍̎͌̈́͘͜ͅ ̸̷̧͇̩̤̹͂ͦ͋̌ͦ̆̿ͫͫ̅ͤ ̢͇̜͇͍ͦͪͪ̾̌̿̆̽̽ͤͯ͠͞ ̈͛ͫͩ̉͑͑̊ͧ͆̎ͣ͞͞҉̡̧̠̱̫̪̬̻̺̩̳͈͓̪̙̜̲ͅͅ ̦͕͓̺̦̣̹̳̞̲̪̹̬̃ͯ͆ͦ͞ ̭̥̳̞̯͙̻̤̼̹͋ͫͯ̉̅ͣͦ͐ͤ̚͘̕͟͡ͅ ̸̢̨̛̩̖̱͎̪̪̱͔̹̻̖͉̳̥͒̿́̄ͨ̌͊ͪͭͬ̇̄ͧͬ͑̏̚͟ͅͅ ̵̢̢̤̘͖̥ͫ̈̔ͩ͒ͯ̌̉̓̄͟ͅ ̷̷̸͉̤̼̲͈͙̮̗̭͎̫̻͖͍̳̠͚̳͆̈͆̀͐ͣ͊̾ͪͧ͒̈̄̐ͩ̊̑ ̃͛̈́̆ͭͬ͐̅ͭ͏̴̢̡̣̖̜͙̘͍͖͍̭̣̝͚̺̤̝̟̤̜ ̷̀͗̾̄ͨ͗̕͡҉̝̖̩̱͎͓̹̘̯̩̤͈ ̊̍ͪ͒͆ͮ̔̔̿̒̑ͮ͒̊҉̗̫͇̤̣͎̹̯̲̝̱͉͖̫͟͠ ̵̡̗̘̻̥̖̣͖̫̜͚͉̒͋̽ͫ̔̃ͩ͐̈́̉́̈́͆ͮͪ́ͫͣ͜ ̸̢͎͚̮̺̱̘̳̖͍͕̳͍̱̤̺͛͋̓̽͐͗͆̒̽ͪ̍̉̐̒̿͘͜ ̡̤͖̹̲̭̹͓̫̩̫̺̭̠͈̍̎̇̄͂̀̾ͬ̇̿̈́̋͂͂͑̔͗̕ͅ ̠͇̫̲̳̞̳̙̪ͧͦ͑̎ͣ̍̍̉̍̏ͮ͌̆ͬ̚̚͟͢͝ ̶̘̱̭͎̳̦̒̔̓̐ͨ̿ͣͯ̾ͦͧ̒ͅ ̸̵̢̘̜̪̰̳̗̜̥̤͇̠̜̮̮͕̫̙̤͎ͤ̉͂̎̊ͬͣ ͕̻̭̼̹͚̙̉̎̂̓̏̽͌ͨ̕͟͠ ͇̠͕̘̫͎͖̤̫̰͖̩̻͚̭͈̫̙ͨ̊̑̿ͤ̄̐ͤ͛͆͂͘ͅ ̸̝̱͙͖̞̲̟̝̱̭͚͇̹̺͐ͪͯ͗ͣ̃͆̇̃̔ͤ͌ͭͧ͟͠͠ͅ ̢̙̘͎̙̻̥̏ͬͭ̔̈ͭ͛ͫ̿ͦ͞ ̨̢̨͉͍̬͈̲̦̘̹͔̻̎ͤͯͭ̾̊͒̒̔̇̽̒̉̚ ̧͈̗̼̞̼̼̗̗͚͇̘̞̈́̈̾͐ͫ̅ͩ͂̉͗ͩ͘͝ ̐ͫ̔ͤ̓̆̌̇͆̑͆ͩ҉̶̮̰͖̩̜̫͍̲̪̲͜ ̸̢̡̛͎͔̞͉͙̩̔̋͌̌̊̀ͅ ̵̡̨͉̤̘̤̺ͤ̀̓ͥ̈ͧ͒̔ͧ̒̄͊̒̍ͤͨ̒ ̨̰͈͙̪̻̂ͣ̒͡ ̢̡̼̥͖̟̄͗ͪ͋ͮ̓͌ͮ̀ͭ̐̈̆̄͂͋ͮ̕ ̵̢̙̱̺͎̮̲̫̩̝̙̙̍͑̽̈ͧͥ́͊ͥ͗͗̔ͩ͑̾́̉ ̴̍́ͨ͆̀̀̃͝҉̶͙̰̰̮̱͔͈̼̗͚̹̱̤͎̥̭̙̫̕ͅ ͙̠͉̞̳͎͉̪͋̓͂̓͗ͨ͝ͅ ̶̹̦̫͖͖̰͍̖̰̣̎͌͂̒̌͌ͦ̾ͩ͋͛͌͐ͨͥ̂̎̑͘ ̧̹̠̘͉̟͖͉͕̮͖͇̠̙̱̦͆̀̽͆̽̀̾ͯ͛̚͠ ̷̸̴̗̫̫͉̻̦͙̪ͬͤ͌ͭ̈ͨ͛ͪ̈̅ͩ̏ͤ̆͜͢ ̀ͦ͒̒͛͂ͥ̍̎ͧ̀̅̂̀̔̄̕͘҉҉͓̯̗̱̖̱̙ ̶̝̜͉̿̓ͣͬ̂̈̒̾̉̓ͭ̔͋ͪ̾̚͝ ̥̲̥͉̭̖͎̹̞͔̖̰ͣ̏ͭ̊̏͆̅ͯ͂͋͒̍̍̄͞ ̵ͩͦͨͣ́̓̈̅͊̅̋̆̐̎̕҉̲̟̺̯̟͍̗͕͉̱̻̪͈̖̬͉̲ͅ ̶͓̱̙͇̮̌̇͒͋ ̢̛͊̋̍̋͆̏̃̓ͧͭͮ̽ͨ̌͌͒͏̙͕̯̖̭̭͔͜͡ͅͅ ̮̣̘͂̏̏̓͘͢ ͨ̐ͮ̓͊ͥ̄͌̋ͨ͂ͦ́̾҉͏̙̮̜̯͉̟ͅ ̨̖͎̬̯͉̮̟̤͓͍͚̬̤ͦ̾̉̋ͥ͒̄̅̚͝͝ ͓̞̺͓̝̗̫̜̠̰̖͉̤̮͕ͣͣ͂̓͗͐͌ͫ̋̌͘͘ ̢͕̞̹̱́ͫ̊̈ͩͭ̅̚͢ ̸̢̢̠̲͓͚̼̪̓̒̔̐̚ ͓̹̣̺͌̏̎̍̓̌̔̌́ͪ͛̏͐͒́̕͞͡ ̡̧͓͔͙͓̼̥̪̝̪̪̝͈͔̟͎ͫ̄ͧ̐͊͊̑ͦͦ̽͑͊͌̓̀̎̍̕͡ ̷̵͔̺͇͎̰̱̰ͮ̌̔̑̃͋̇̇͑͂̋̈́͗͒̈ͅ ̸̧͓͍̝̜̱͇̮̓ͭ́̀̊̃̓̄̓ͦ̇̊̑̎ͮͧ̂̕ͅ ̳͍͚̰̰͖̫͇̠͙̮̙̫̪̂́̋̎̎͊̆̆̃͟͟͡ͅ ̵̧̗̖̼̯̱͕͗ͩͤͥͬͧ͊͋̆ͫͬ͑͌ͬ̒ͧͫ͢ ̷̆̇ͯ̓̊ͬ̀́̈͑͒ͯ̉̚̚͞͏̭̺̟͍͍͎̣͈̮̠͖͉̝̙̗͘ ͓͖̖̬̻͎̗͉̗͖͉͎̼͇̲̳̏͌͋ͦͣ̽ͧ̂̃̐̅͊ͯͮ͛ͯ̾̾͡ͅ ̜̖̩̠̤̠̅̄̈ͯ̔̍́̅ͫ̃̚̕͢͡ ̸̵̘̱̱͈͓͓̗̬̣͍͖͙͔͙̘̜͆̅̒̾ͯ̐̾̚ ̧̰̞̝̥̰̘̙̳̝̻͇̘̳̫͖̪̮̓ͥ̓̑̑̍̑͌ͫ͝ͅ ̸̛͓̳̞͇̱͈̳̻̘͎̗̤̣̞̩͕̳̟̇̇ͭ̏̅ͦ̊͘͞ ̧̛̪̼͍̬̪͍̘̦̦͕̯͓̱̓̇̈͊ͨ̿̃̒͗̏ͨ̓ͪ͜ͅ ͗̍̅̋̓҉̸̧͔̮̗̟͍̯̹̠͓̝ ̶̵̙͕̪̝̥̏́̆ͧͬͬ̓͌͒̌̇̓̊ͧ̊͢ ̧̡̹̗̣̰͈͓̜̜̖̭͉̼̳͓ͮ͂̊̊ͯ̀̌̽̅ͭ̎̈͆́̽̐̌ͯ̕͢ͅͅ ̧͍̭͙͈͖̺̭̜̥̗̺̹̞̹͓̦̳͆̈ͤ̑̂ͭ͋̂̀͛̄̈ͣͦ̀̐̕͢ͅ ̴̟͇͕̪̱ͦ̌̑͒ͪ͊ͬ͋ͤ̋͋ͦ̐͟͟͞ ̴̱͚̗̮̪̖̘̖͙̬̬̝͉̍ͬ͗̀̅͐̋̾̐̍̌̽̚ ̵̶̛̮̰͖̺̫̟̞̪̍ͨ̉̒͒̒̆̌ͥ͋̚ ̑̅̅ͩ̇̈̾́́̇͛͒̾͌ͯ̃͊ͥ͏͚̞͔̰̦̼̲͈͖͓̦̩̞ ͗ͦ̑̋ͨ̉͋̈̉̈̿ͩ͏̕͟͏͈̟͚͖͓͓͕̹̙͇ ́̿̀̿̄͂̐ͣ͐̌ͩ̑͏̘̣̩̺̦̝̝̗̖̮͇̺̰̖̺̲̻͔͘ ̸̵͕͈̬̩̖͖͙̰̬̤͙͔̖̳̗̻͉ͣ̒̍͌ͩ̋ͩ̊ͥ͆͊ͮ̄ ̛̥̳͈̻̣̠͉̩̥̳͓͉͎̫̙͈̖͈͛ͨ̍̊̾̎ ̸͎͉̼̣͚̯̊̾̾̊͌ͮ̿̏̚͟͜͡ ̡̢̙͎͕̮̘̖͍̠͚̖̭͎̳̮̻̼̊̓̋͌͊̉̈̍ͬͯ̎͛̌͊͌ͮ͜͟ͅ ̸̟͈̫͔̎ͮ͌ͩ̓͢͠ ̷̸̡̫̳̭̥͓̱̠̫͓͇̓̉̄̅̓ͬ̌͗͆̋͗́͂ ̛͉̫̖̞̼̳̻̖̹͓̩͇̭̹̭̞͉̭͓͆͊ͦ̄ͤ̏̿̒ͮ͜ ̷̡͖̞̺̳̐ͦ̄͒͒ͥ͆͌̉̈ͦ͑͋ͧͨ͆̓͘͢ ̔ͯ̓ͮ͋̿ͮ̆̕͏̷̯̭̖̦̩̠̩͖̳̕