TrippyNightmare

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷 𝟷𝟶𝟷

𝙸𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 '𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗' 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝, 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚞 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖. 𝙳𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚙, 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕, 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝚑𝚞𝚍𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚙 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝚂𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚗 𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚜, 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 - 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝. 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡'𝚜 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛.

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚕𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚘𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚟𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚎, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚊 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙲𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔-𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚛.

𝙰𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎'𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚞𝚛𝚊 𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚘𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 - 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎.

"𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝, 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜." 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍, 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕.

"𝙷𝚎𝚢! 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝?" 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 - 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗?

"𝙾𝚑 - 𝚞𝚑, 𝚢𝚎𝚑' 𝚍𝚎𝚠𝚍 𝙸 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞." 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍, 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍𝚕𝚢 - 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘.

𝙱𝚊𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍.

Hello thriving ones and those barely breathing

Welcome, hope you find what you are looking for.

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷 𝟷𝟶𝟷

"𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚍?"

𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚁𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛-𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕'𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎. "𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚍 - 𝚞𝚑, 𝚗𝚊-𝚗𝚊𝚑 𝚍𝚎𝚠𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚢 - 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑." 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙.

𝚆𝚑𝚢? 𝙸𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 - 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚐 - 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘, 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚘𝚒𝚍? "𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗.. 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡?" 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎 & 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. "𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚓𝚘𝚋? 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜." 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛.

"𝚄𝚑.. 𝚈𝚎-𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑 𝚍𝚎𝚠𝚍, 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 - 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝-𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚍, 𝚓𝚞𝚜' 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜." 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚊 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚡 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚋 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚐𝚜. 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚍, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 - 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚖𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 "𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎" 𝚝-𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝.

"𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍, 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞." 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚣𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢 & 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕.

𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚘, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜. 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚒𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚊 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 - 𝚂𝚎𝚡 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚊. 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜.

"𝙷𝚎𝚢 𝙳𝚎𝚝-"

"𝙵𝚊𝚊𝚊𝚊𝚊𝚔 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚗, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚝𝚝𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚊𝚊𝚊𝚔 𝚗𝚘!" 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚐 𝚌𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏 𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎.

"𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 '𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 - 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖?" 𝙷𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚍-𝚠𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚡 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌 𝚂𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛. "𝙴𝚛𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚗, 𝚗𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗' 𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚗. 𝙳𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏, 𝚠𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢-𝚋𝚘𝚢!" 𝚆𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚁𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎.

"𝙳𝚒𝚜' 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚔 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚘𝚢, 𝚂𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚗'𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 - 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚊 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛." 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛.

"𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜, 𝚌'𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢."

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷 𝟷𝟶𝟷

Alex Alameda

Hacker - Junkie - Wallflower
"Uh.. Like sup, dewd."

Detrayvious Wrinkle

Rebel - Trigger Happy - Poser
"Eh mun' you ready to di'fo-diz? Meet yur maka!"

April Ducarte

Fixer - Mastermind - Problem Solver
"C'mon pull yourself together, we didn't get this far to chicken out!"

Michael Stryx

Leader - Visionary - Hopeful
"This is the score that's gonna make or break us, can't you see that?"

𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷 𝟷𝟶𝟷

𝙰 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚐𝚊-𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 & 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝.

"Fuck 'em man, it's a corp - we fly the flag of anarchs, free spirit 'n liberty. You can't hold back a movement!"

"𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝?"

𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚊𝚍, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚝-𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚗𝚊𝚣𝚒. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚕𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑, 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜, 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝. 𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚊 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝙴𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚍.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚙, 𝚖𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚢𝚡𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛'𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚠. "𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 - 𝚑𝚊𝚠, 𝚑𝚊𝚠 𝚑𝚊𝚠." 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗-𝚏𝚘𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎-𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍-𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝 - 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚗 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝙴𝚕𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚕𝚎.

"𝙷𝚎𝚢, 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚞𝚔." (𝙰 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚛, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗 - 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎-𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚘𝚡-𝚜𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚖-𝚠𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝. "𝙴𝚑?! 𝚆𝚞𝚝." 𝙷𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚗 𝚗𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚎.

"𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚒𝚐' 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚕?"

𝙲𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔.

𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚂𝚌𝚑𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝'𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

𝚂𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚗 𝚂𝙾𝙿𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕.

𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙳

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛-𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖.

"It's uh... Not supposed to burn like that right?
"...𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝'𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚎."

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚠𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝-𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕. 𝙳𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚙𝚒𝚍 - 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕, 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝! 𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙰𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚊 - 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚘𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗.

"𝙵𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚗, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝?" 𝙷𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢'𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚜 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚎𝚍, 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚜? 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚗'𝚜 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚍, 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚣𝚣𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚒 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝, 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚗𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗.

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚜.

"𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 - 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚞𝚌𝚔, 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔!" 𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚑. "𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚝?" 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚖 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 - 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢.

"𝙽𝚘𝚑𝚜𝚞𝚛, 𝚠𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚑 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚑-.." 𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚛 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔, 𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛.

"𝚂𝚑.. 𝚂𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙, 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔! 𝚂𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 - 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗-𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖. 𝚆𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍.. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 - 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗!"

---

_{I N F O R M A T I O N}

---

𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 - 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝙸 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚘𝚗𝚎-𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚊 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝? 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 '𝚘𝚗-𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕' 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚙 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚊. 𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚓𝚘𝚋𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚞𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚟𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜 - 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚢! 𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢'𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔, 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝙰 𝚝𝚘 𝙱 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙰𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚛𝚊 𝚝𝚘 𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜.

𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚃𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚂𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 '𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢'. 𝚂𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚗? 𝙰𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎.

𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝙿, 𝙸'𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚗𝚘𝚗-𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 (𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛) 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝-𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚜. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚞𝚝.

-𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚢𝙽𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚎