Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hmm. Ooh, test. Testing testing, 123. That’s odd, I better show Tim this.”

————————————————————-

“And then I clicked that, just like so, and look.”

“What the.”

“Wait. Uh, is that what we’re saying? Right now?”

“Seems like some type of reverse text-to-speech, right?”

“Why is it adding quotations like that?”

“I don’t know?” Sasha responded.

Tim paused for a moment, before realization dawned on his face.

“What the heck-it knows your name, that’s not right-“ Tim said, mildly spooked. He took a step back from the screen.

“Yours too,” She said, still in awe.

“‘Still in awe?’” He read out loud. “Sash, this bloody website is haunted.”

“That’s why I’m showing it to you, and I am not in awe, I’m just curious about it.”

“What did you have to put into this cursed thing to have it know both of our names??” Tim demanded.

“Nothing, I swear, it’s just a guest account, but this definitely isn’t how it usually works..”

Tim looked at Sasha suspiciously. “Usually?”

“Well, I mean, usually its just normal stuff on here- i’m not into the crazy, like, weird stuff, I swear-“ She stammered.

“Okay..? What exactly is this..er, archive four own?” Tim asked as he looked at the top of the screen.

“It’s actually archive of our own, or just AO3” Sasha automatically said. “But uh, people write, like, stories and stuff, post it here for people to see.”

“Right…stories,” Tim said, still eyeing her. “Why did you pull it up on your work computer then, if it’s just stories?”

“Well, er, you know how Jon has been having us look into those Jurgen Leitner books. Figured I’d do some…research, and there’s two places where you can find oddly specific internet information. Reddit, and this place.”

“You seriously mean to tell me that your found Jurgen Leitner on AO3?”

“Well, sorta. I just clicked on the username, see what’d pop up, and this showed up. Well- it was all blank in this space, now it’s just recording everything we say.”

“I don’t like that,” Tim remarked, looking away from the screen that kept filling with words.

“Should we tell Jon about this?” She asked, looking to him.

Tim laughed. “Oh yeah, tell him you found one of Leitner’s books in a digital archive, that’ll really boost productivity,” He said sarcastically. “Just try clicking out of it, I don’t like seeing all of my words and feelings on some dumb computer screen.”

Sasha nodded.

Click.

Chapter Text

“I don’t think I can delete the account, Tim.”

Sasha stared at the computer, trying to sign out. Again.

“So what, it’s just permanently here? Why don’t we just, like, throw your computer out the window, bash it with a baseball bat, and then poof! Problem solved,” Tim replied with an eager grin.

“Jon would kill me, Elias would murder me, and we’d have no good follow up for Jurgen Leitner, so no can do, Stoker.”

Tim dramatically sighed. “You’re no fun.”

After a moment, he was bored of being defeated. He walked up to the screen, looking at it.

“Ooooh it can see me ooooh I’m a dumb computer that’s haunted by dumb Jurgen Leitner oooOooOo~”

Tim laughed. “Look, it admitted that’s it’s a dumb haunted computer!”

Sasha rolled her eyes playfully. “Doesn’t seem like the main section is haunted. Just those odd comments at the end. And hey-wait, we can see the tags,” she said, scrolling up to the top.

Tim eyed it suspiciously. “So it knows that we’re in the archives, who we are, and..why does it say podcast?”

“Probably because it’s somehow listening to our voices, Tim.”

“Ah, that’s..you know that’s not very comforting, right?”

Sasha nodded. “It can hear us, see us, and apparently guess at how we’re feeling.”

Tim was a little unnerved by this. He watched the words spontaneously appear on screen as he read them, a sea of letters happening in real time, parallel to his own frail existence. One that was being monitered, seen, felt, by something else out there and

“Oohkay, that’s enough, stop trying to monologue my thoughts, Sasha’s computer. Thanks,” he said with a nervous chuckle. Tim then glared at the last sentence.

“I am not nervous, you little-“

Martin walked in.

“What?” Tim said, squinting at the screen, before turning around to see Martin actually entering.

Sasha and Tim both stood in front of the computer, smiling at Martin, who was bearing the greatest gift of all: afternoon tea.

“Hey, how’s it going?” Martin asked.

“Terrible” (Tim)
“Pretty good” (Sasha)

Martin looked a little confused at them. “Oh, uhm..would some tea help?”

They grabbed their cups respectively, thanking Martin. They stood in silence, relishing the flavor of the tea and attempting to ignore the watchful gaze of whatever was haunting the computer behind them.

Martin noticed Tim in particular; fidgeting, a little quieter than normal, and not bouncing around the room and lounging on the couch like normal. Sasha seemed fairly normal, though, happy and relatively calm.

“So..” Martin began. “Is there anything else I can help with..? Jon’s on break and I haven’t found much info on my statement, so I’m happy to help with your guys’ stuff?”

…

“You tell him,” Tim says.

Sasha looks like she’s going to make a comeback, but can’t think of anything good, so she lets out a sigh.

“Tell me what?” Martin asks, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“I uh, may have gotten some type of..computer virus?”

“Oh, that’s not good, did it leak any passwords, or block websites, or-?” Martin asked.

“It’s not a virus, her dumb archiving website is haunted,” Tim said.

This completely threw Martin for a loop. A very confused, skeptical loop. “Uhm, sure? What do you mean haunted? Like, like ghosts or something?”

“Uhm..” Sasha said, moving aside to show Martin the computer screen.

“I don’t understand what I’m- woah what the-can it hear me? Why is it typing all that? Thats me? Sasha, that’s not a ghost,” Martin said, looking at her.

“Not this on it’s own, but, well, it’s been randomly narrating me and Tim, knowing stuff it shouldn’t, commenting on odd things that don’t make any sense, it’s not normal.”

Martin looked back at the screen. “Yeah, doesn’t seem normal. AO3 doesn’t have a speech-to-text feature now, does it?” Without waiting for an answer, he started scrolling to the top. “Hmm…yeah no it’s broken. Look here, it says 2025. That’s what, 9 years away? And in the tags, huh, ‘trapped in AO3 get them out’? We’re not trapped in anything, it’s just narrating us,” Martin said, trying to stay analytical and not freak out at the spooky fanfiction website that he was all-too familiar with.

“Wait, fanfiction? That’s what this is?” Tim said, looking between Sasha and Martin. “You guys like that kind of thing?” He said incredulously. He let out a laugh. “Now that is just about the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. One of you should go to Jon, make a statement about your haunted fanfiction-“

“Oh my gosh Tim-“ Martin said, rubbing a hand over his face.

Sasha tried to comfort him. “Don’t worry Martin, it’s my fault for trying to use it as research on Leitner-“

“You what-“

“It was the only thing that actually had a link to him-“

“We’re doomed,” Martin said, sitting down at the computer. “You said it was aghost making this happen?” He asked.

“Uhm..sorta? We don’t really know. The words just appear, as have the tags and comments? Don’t know who’s behind it,” Sasha said, taking a seat in a nearby chair.

“Right. Well, let’s just hope they like happy stories then.” Martin inspected the page, looking for anything else out of the ordinary. The most he was used to posting was the occasional poem, and even then, he didn’t really look for other works or expect responses from others.

“Season 1, so it’s formatted like we’re a part of a..podcast. Typed out podcast, but same thing?” Martin says to the others.

“We got that far,” Tim said. “Dunno why it’s all happening though.”

“Probably because Leitner liked to write weird haunted books,” Martin said. “I guess this is similar enough to a book? Just digital, and uh, more interactive?”

Tim and Sasha nodded. “Maybe if we don’t mess too much with it, nothing bad will happen? I mean, it seems like Leitner’s other books only acted on people who read a lot of it or stayed with it for a while?” Martin reasoned.

“It already seems pretty attached, given it knows our names,” Sasha countered. “But..yeah. Let’s just ignore it, and I can do my research on something else, maybe. I’ll let Jon know sometime,” she said.

The others nodded. Turning away from the computer, they began to visit and take a small break, eager to leave sooner than later.

Out of the corner of his eye, Martin watched the new lines appear across the screen. He decided against looking too close, as it was probably just recording the way they sat on the couch, or the communal bag or crisps they shared as they began to relax from the creepy moments of today.

Chapter Text

“Jon, Jon? Jon!!” Martin said, bursting into his office. Everyone had only been at the institute for a good 30 minutes, so it was a suprise to see Martin this panicked. Usually he was more quiet, if not clumsily getting in the way of things.

Jon looked up, stopping the recorder. “What?” He asked, startled by his sudden appearance.

“There’s uhm- there’s a bit of a situation happening at Sasha’s computer- uhm- this thing is there, and- well, it’s not normal, you know- and, uhm- do you know what happened exactly with Gertrude-“

“Martin, you’re rambling. Just show me what the issue is, and I’ll fix it,” he said, trying to halfway comprehend what Martin was going on about.

“Al-alright, yeah, just, follow me,” Martin responded with a nervous chuckle as Jon got up.

As they left the room, Martin lead the way through the dingy hallways, only stopping as Tim came right up to Martin.

“Dunno if you saw, but the ghost said that telling Jon anything might make him extremely paranoid, but also that Elias is like, actually bad blah blah blah something something, so let’s make sure not to-“

“What do you mean, ghost? Is this some prank?” Jon said sternly, stepping aside to reveal himself behind Martin.

“Oh, hey boss! Nah, it’s totally, uh, yeah, a prank ol’ joke thing, yep,” he said, giving Jon some finger guns.

Martin (for once) decided to stand his ground. He was still too scared about a possible dead body in the building to let Tim cover this up.

“Tim- c’mon, did you even read it? There’s-“
Martin let out a frustrated sigh. “We can’t just not tell our own boss about the most supernatural thing that’s ever graced the archives-“

“I’m right here,” Jon said.

Martin looked at Jon.

“We need to have a uh, a meeting. An actual, normal, real meeting. With you, and you, and we’ll get Sasha, and figure out all this ghost stuff.”

“Don’t worry Martin, I’ll go call up the ghostbusters to keep you safe,” Tim says jokingly.

Martin rolled his eyes.

——————————————————

Soon enough, they were all gathered. Martin was still nervous and fidgety, while Tim was ready to try a hand at flirting with the ghosts. Sasha, after being told, agreed that a meeting would be good, especially since Jon was bound to find out one way or another.

“Alright, Martin, can you now explain what’s happening?”

“Kinda? Uhm- Sasha’s computer started going a bit haywire after she researched a statement?”

Jon looked to Sasha. “I was trying to find information on Jurgen Leitner, and after clicking a link on a public story archive, it opened a mostly blank page and started recording what I was saying. I showed it to the others, and it seemed to type out everything that happened, at least for short blips of time.

The more uh, concerning part, is the comments. Normally, anyone can comment on written works, like any online forum. On here, though, comments started randomly appearing, and they acted like they knew us, saying some pretty odd things.”

Jon thought about this for a moment. “So, some random internet commenters saw the text the computer wrote down?”

“Yeah? But they also started giving out random pieces of advice, like..that I should get a polaroid camera-“

“They talk a lot about death too,” Tim interrupted. “They seem to like Martin, but want Elias and Jurgen Leitner dead?”

“Sasha, didn’t you say this was all because of a case with Jurgen Leitner?” Jon asked, now thoroughly confused.

“That’s the thing, yeah. The username, everything, pointed to it being him, but the comments, or as some have been saying, the ghosts, don’t seem to be apart of him…” She trailed off, thinking.

Martin took the moment to speak up. “Er, Jon, do you know specifically what uhm, caused Gertrude to, die?”

Jon raised an eyebrow at him. That was off topic. “Well, she was an old lady that couldn’t keep the archives remotely organized. Old age, heart issues, could’ve been anything, I supppose.”

“Right, right, uhm, she wasn’t-wasn’t killed, right?” He asked.

“No?” He said.

“Just-uh, making sure, that’s what one of the ghosts-er, comments, said?”

“Oooh yeah, I saw that on Sasha’s computer earlier, underneath it was all like, ‘Jon’s gonna be a paranoid freak if you tell him that Elias killed her’ or something, which is ridiculous, I mean, Elias, actually do something like that? He’s a bit creepy, sure, but I can’t see him with a pocket knife, much less an actual murder weapon,” Tim said, a lazy grin on his face.

“So these..comments, they’re giving weird advice, as well as blatantly lying?” Jon asked.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, assured by Jon’s practical view of things. “Unless you were in some kind of band in college, two of them were pretty insistent on that,” he joked.

“What?” Jon said. “There’s no possible way for some random public commenters to know about the Mechanisms-“

“So you were in a band?” Tim asked, now thoroughly invested. A wide grin was on his face.

“I didn’t take you for the type to get involved in one,” Sasha said, contemplative but delighted.

“It wasn’t a huge thing, now, I just did some of the singing and helped with the storyline parts,” he responded.

Martin on the other hand looked rather scared.

As the chatter died out, the others noticed his discomfort.

“Guys…if they knew about a band Jon was in during college, do you think they might be right about Gertrude?”

…

They all turned to finally look at the computer. To their dismay, a new screen had been opened and recorded who-knows-how-much information. Sasha made a mental note to record future comments, as previous pages seemed inaccessible, everything stuck on the page with the appearing text.

“How does it know you made a mental note?” Jon asked, looking from the screen to her.

“It’s started doing that. Assuming our thoughts, I guess? I mean, it’s not wrong, but…”

They all sat in silence for a few moments.

Jonathan Sims decided to break the silence. “It might be best to get this moved to Artefact Storage.”

Chapter Text

Things had seemed to calm down considerably after Sasha’s computer had been relocated to artefact storage. And by things, we of course mean Martin.

He was assured by Jon and the others that there was no possible way Gertrude would’ve been murdered, especially with all the cameras and locks around the building. Plus she was like 100 years old by the time she passed, it was just natural.

Sasha was the one who took the computer up to Artefact storage, as it was hers, and she knew Sonja well enough that she’d be able to bypass the security and get it safe and sound inside some type of glass or metal case.

This did not stop her from checking the comments beforehand. She took note of a few things that popped up, either reappearing information or nonsense to tell Tim about. After looking at the vast array of words, whether warnings or threats or anything in-between, she got permission from Sonja to house it in the storage. (“Your own computer? Geez, Sasha, you’re probably haunted,” she joked).

It didn’t need anything super extensive- just a solitary spot in an old box that would stop it from watching and commentating on her every move- her and the others, of course.

She took one last look at the computer.

“Still watching us, eh? Have fun in here, it’s super eventful, basically nobody comes over here,” she says to the screen, watching it generate the text.

Something inside her wonders if it’ll actually work, if it needs to be in the archives to see and watch and know and talk. She doesn’t like it when that nervousness creeps in. The sensation, the feeling that something is observing-

“Alright, that’s enough for you,” She says, closing the computer and leaving.

————————————————————-

“Anything new from your spooky computer?” Tim asked, knowing that she had planned to check it again before sealing it off.

“Nothing too crazy, I guess? They all want Jon to be super nice to Martin, as if he’s, like, constantly bullying him or something. Usually he’s only cranky during his statement recording sessions.”

Tim chuckles at that. “I’m sure they’ll get along soon enough. Martin’s a nice guy, you know, and his tea is bound to soften Jon’s frozen heart.”

Sasha laughs, enjoying the conversation. “Other than that, uhm, just some random oddly specific instruction, hmm…oh, I got that one ghost to stop threatening us,” She says with a smile.

“One of them? That’s a start. Maybe some time in the Artefact Time-Out corner will do them all some good. If you want your computer back eventually, that is.”

“Yeah, I can’t really afford a brand new one, not right now at least. I could ask Elias, but I’d hate to try and explain a haunted computer to him.”

“That’d go so well, I have no idea what you mean. What’s hard to believe about a computer that narrates your every move and talks to you?”

Sasha rolled her eyes playfully, sitting down in a nearby chair.

“So, we’ll see how long we can last with one less computer. You wouldn’t mind me downloading some of the research logs on my phone from your computer, would you?”

“Be my guest, Sash. Not like it’s going to haunt my computer now.”

She did so, thinking about the messages as she did.

“There was one that said you were a diva,” she told him.

“Me? Wow, at least one of them is telling the truth,” Tim said with a grin.

Sasha laughed. “Yeah, they all seem to think independently from eachother. Like, I swear there was one that really liked Martin and would die for him, and then another being vaguely threatening and calling Martin a liar.”

“Sounds like Jon’s stuck in your computer-“

“Tim, you can’t say that!” She jokes, nudging him in the side.

“Hey, I can say whatever about the ghost things-“

Sasha laughed. “If you do that, next thing you know they’re gonna riot and start prophesying about some random person named Danny-“

“What?”

“The one that called Martin a liar? Also mentioned some guy named Danny. I mean, we don’t even know anyone with that name, right?

Uh…Tim?

Tim?”

Tim had ran off in a hurry. That was weird, did something happen? Sasha got up, determined to find Tim. After searching the main rooms, he heard yelling coming from the hall leading to Artefact Storage. She quickly made her way over, concern rising inside of her.

Tim glared at Sonja with an anger and desperation in his face. “I need to get in there! I don’t care what the rules are, I need that laptop NOW!” He yelled.

Sonja was suprised and a little bit intimidated by him. Sasha was equally shocked, as he had never seemed this angry, even on a bad day.

Tim knew he was being intense. He could feel the shake of his hands and his heart beating faster with each minute passing. But he didn’t care. Everything was happening at once and he needed to take the opportunity while he still had the chance.

“Tim? What’s going on?” Sasha asked quietly.

Tim looked at her, his face wide-eyed and intense. “Get me in artefact storage. It’s important.” he said, quieter but no less frantic.

She didn’t want him in there- not like this. Not when accidentally touching one wrong thing could set who-knows-what onto them, not when he was acting so different than himself. But it was also the most urgent she’d ever seen him.

“Sonja?” Sasha asked.

She gave her a hesitant nod, letting them in.

Tim looked around wildly, searching with such an odd look in his face.

“Why do you need the laptop?” Sasha asked.

“Where is it,” he said, more as a statement than a question.

She was nervous at this point, but lead him over to the small box that housed it. He lunged at it and turned it on as fast as he could.

He stayed silent as he saw the fresh screen, text rolling from left to right.

“Tim?” Sasha asked, standing to the side.

He was silent. He waited so urgently, he needed to see and know and understand where he was, if it was real, that somehow this was all connected back to Danny. His breathing began to quicken, his hands still shaking.

His focus began to leave the computer, getting caught in old memories and dreams of a better life with Danny in it. Although those hopes were sweet, it suffocated him.

“Tim, Tim, you need to look at me,” Sasha said.

He continued staring at the computer, all semblance of rational thought gone. It knew Danny. It knows about Danny, and it’s gone now. It’s gone and he’s gone, and everything was cracking and breaking and burning and falling and becoming destroyed by what once was there-

Sasha grabbed Tim’s shoulder, making him tear his gaze away from the screen. “You’re hyperventilating, Tim, just focus on me,” she said softly.

This she could deal with, whether she’d like to admit it or not. An angry Tim? Terrifying. She hated seeing him like that. Panic attacks? Similar, in the way that she wouldn’t wish it upon anyone, but it was in the realm of experience she had gained over the years.

“Last weekend I went to this new restaurant in town,” she told Tim. “Lots of uh, seafood. Fish and chips, lobster, shrimp, that type of thing. So as I go there, I order my food, and they asked if I wanted some fancy Vietnamese sauce with it. I don’t usually try new things, you know, but I figured it would be good to get outside my comfort zone. When I got the food, it looked amazing. Like, the sauce drizzled all fancy, it looked like it was from a cooking show. Yeah, pretty awesome. So I grab a bite, and it was amazing, Tim, really really good. Cooked well, but still full of moisture and flavor and a bit of tangyness, right? And then, the spiciness kicked in. Apparently the fancy Vietnamese sauce was not mild, and my face got all red since I can’t handle a lick of spice, but the fish was so good that I kept eating it,” she said with a chuckle. “Safe to say I drank lots of water to try to undo the spice, but that didn’t work great. Think I’ll omit the sauce if I go again,” she said.

“Yeah?” Tim asked, quietly.

“Definitely. I think you’d like it though, you’re able to handle some spice. We should go there sometime over lunch.”

Tim nodded. He was very quiet, but most of the intensity had worn off of him as he relaxed into the rhythm of listening to Sasha.

“Let’s grab some water, eh?” She offered, grabbing his hand.

“Yeah,” he said softly, a small smile on his face.

They got up, leaving the computer back in the box and heading to the main archive section. Tim was still caught-off-guard from the whole sequence of events- especially how Sasha just magically stopped the alarm bells in his head.

He was still pretty tired out from it all, though, and probably had a lot of explaining to do.

Soon, him and Sasha were sat in the breakroom, a cup of water in Tim’s hands.

“How did you do that?” Tim asked, staring at the water before he took a sip.

“I’ve helped a lot of people before. It’s more common than you think. Usually a good distraction is enough to help someone, though it’s different for everybody,” Sasha said.

Tim sighed. His emotional state went from pure adrenaline to exhaustion in a matter of minutes. He just wanted to sleep now. “Thank you, Sasha,” he said.

“Anytime, Tim. Did you want to go home early? I can let Jon know.”

“No, I don’t want to…well..maybe.”

“I won’t tell him what it was, just that you’re not feeling well. Deal?”

“Deal,” he said with a tired smile, grabbing his things.

———

Soon, Tim was home and sound asleep.

Chapter Text

There were many messages. They whispered and talked and scared him and tried to comfort him and leave gifts.

Tim and the ghosts. He didn’t get along well with them. Not like one could, when half of them rambled on about things that made no sense. Some of them gave him sympathy, digging into his head and pulling out those old memories, repeating that they didn’t want it to happen, that they wanted the best for him.

He begged them to tell him about Danny. This was the closest he’d gotten since he began his work, and there was no way he was letting the one chance run away from him.

They knew as much as he did, it seemed. The ghosts, some mystic eldritch beings, knew as much as a broken man did. He let out a hollow chuckle. Of course. Of course they would act like they wanted to save Tim and Martin and Sasha and Jon, but they couldn’t save Danny.

He took a small bite of the huckleberry ice cream. It was Danny’s favorite. There was enough ice cream for two, as well as another spoon in the bowl now.

He stood up, bringing the ice cream to his brother.

“The ghosts brought our favorite,” he said with a smile.

Danny smiled back. “It’s been a while, huh?”

“Yeah,” Tim replied, looking at him. “Last time we all had it was, what, 6 years back? You bought a whole gallon of the stuff and tried to sneak it at midnight, but you were never the stealthy one.”

Danny laughed. “I’ve gotten better at it. Maybe I should take up some kind of stealth class next time, after the urban exploring wears off.”

Tim smiled. “I think you’ve already got that one down, being gone and all.”

“I think you’re right, Tim,” Danny responded. His smile softened. “You shouldn’t keep coming back to me like this.”

Tim stared at his ice cream. “I’ve gotten better at it. Mostly. At least I know you’re dead this time, right?”

Danny nodded, a small frown on his face. “Even your ghosts can’t change what happened. I’m gone now, and you still have to find yourself. Outside of me, outside of the Institute, outside of everything but who you are, you know?”

“I will,” he responded quietly. “But it wasn’t right what happened to you. I know it’s dumb, and that you aren’t anything but my own head trying to console me, but..seeing you, it makes me want to help again, Danny. You’re still my brother, right?”

“Tim…” he said quietly.

He sighed. “It’s ending soon?”

“Yeah. And I’ll always be your brother, but you can’t save me now. You have to save yourself.”

“You know I can’t just leave you like this, Danny-“

“Goodbye, Tim.”

“Danny-!”

———————————————

He woke up, letting out a breath. That hadn’t happened in a while, but he remembered the dreams enough to find a lonely familiarity in them. They started soon after Danny’s passing, but as the days became months and years, they became rarer, which was probably for the better. He didn’t have to think about it as much that way. Until now, he supposed.

It could’ve gone worse. At least he had ice cream. But the computer being there, that shook him up. He didn’t like the idea of them knowing so much about him. Not that those comments were real, now, they couldn’t get through to his subconscious. Probably. Right?

Shaking the thoughts away from his head, he looked at the clock. Already morning.

He made himself a quick breakfast, and headed back to work.

——

Jon was rather content, now that Sasha’s weird computer had been relocated. This would put a damper on her ability to research, but there were other resources, and with Martin’s lack of competence, she could easily borrow his things and get the job done. He would have to let her know later.

He also recalled Tim leaving early the other day, something about feeling unwell. Hopefully nobody else would get sick. At least Sasha confirmed that she successfully downloaded most of the software onto her phone from Tim’s computer.

Thinking now though, Sasha always kept her rough drafts directly on her computer- the ones that had the most current information before it was written into a full report.

Maybe he could take a look, make sure all the current information was kept in record, then abandon it, severing connections with the more concerning features of the computer. Not that it was real, just some digital virus.

Before he could make any move to go up to artefact storage, Martin knocked on the door.

No, he didn’t memorize the sound of his knock, unless you count knowing the sound of Martin saying “knock knock!” at the same time.

“Come in,” Jon said tiredly.

“I er, brought some tea,” he said with a smile. Setting a cup down on Jon’s desk, he broke eye contact, looking instead at the other cups. “Tim’s also back today. Thought he was ill, but I’m pretty sure he said it was, a uh, a migraine? Either way, thought you’d like to know, with, well, everything weird happening, not like- not like Sasha’s computer could actually make someone sick, but-“

“Yes, yes Martin, thank you for letting me know,” he said with an annoyed sigh.

“Oh- er, yeah, I uh, I better get back, to uh, back to work now? Sorry-“

Jon watched as the stuttering man left. Bringing tea in the middle of a busy day, instead of research. Of course it would be him.

He took a sip. Not like it wasn’t good tea, but there were other things to focus on.

Right, Artefact Storage.

He entered in (Sonja let him in, he was the Head Archivist after all, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to examine the contents within to see if they matched a statement), looking around until he found a small box in the corner.

The computer turned on as normal. He didn’t normally mess with other people’s things, but Sasha wasn’t arriving for another hour or so, and he knew she’d rather not be up here if she could help it.

He emailed some of the half-finished word documents to himself, making a mental note to then text them over to her later.

Another tab was open.

Right, the scrolling text. It moved rather fast across the screen, capturing many moments. He frowned as he saw it had captured moments while still closed, even before he had entered the storage area.

Not wanting to scroll too far up, he went back to this line. All it must do is record and watch. Somehow. Maybe one of Elias’s tricks. Hidden cameras or old search history engines, complex codes and signals sent over.

That’s all it can be.

That is what Jon believed until he saw the scrolling text come to a stop. Underneath, some type of commenting section.

Chapter Text

Sasha arrived at the Magnus Institute, sitting at the rather bare-looking desk that once housed her main research computer. It wasn’t impossible to do research, but things were a lot smaller and clunkier on her phone than it was on a laptop with the last 50 tabs still open.

Not that she was going to try and get it back out of Artefact Storage..after Tim’s reaction and Jon’s insistence on moving it, she quickly agreed that it would be for the best. Aside from that, the only main issue would be her current research files for the case.

*shoot, the only copy of my work is still on there-*

“Sasha, can I have a word?” Jon asked.

Sasha nodded, heading into his office. The door was opened a crack, but he didn’t seem to mind. She took a seat, hoping that there wasn’t any bad news- at best, she’d get some type of replacement laptop, but with the current budget, that was unlikely- unless there were spares in the research department..

“I’ve downloaded the files from your computer. Figured you’d rather not redo a full week’s worth of work,” he said with a small chuckle. “I can email them to your phone if that works best, unless you have another device that’s better?”

*Oh good. That’s one less thing to worry about,* she thought to herself. “Yeah, send it to my normal email, I’ll access it from my phone for now,” she said.

Jon nodded. As he did so, she noticed one of the papers on the desk. Notes were normal, but at further inspection, they appeared to be on cases she didn’t recognize. Not just that, but more than they had even gone through since getting moved to the archives. Was Jon doing full reports on top of everything else?

“Jon, what are these?” She asked, hoping she wasn’t snooping (but given that they were sitting face up on his desk, there was no way people wouldn’t see, realistically).

“Right. Those..” he let out a small sigh. “While I was downloading your research files, more messages came in. A lot of them were the same old things. Predictions of doom, vague words of advice…but one of them had a list of cases, along with these reports on them. A few of them were ones we had looked through already, and all the information matched up, so I figured it would be useful to at least keep note of it.”

Sasha furrowed her eyebrows. “I thought we agreed that we couldn’t trust the ghosts, or whatever they are.”

“Well, for the most part, yes, but there’s still something about it. Some of them, just like the cases, they…feel different. I figured it would be good to at least note down the useful messages, see if it gives some bigger picture all together.”

Sasha nodded, although the whole thing seemed rather iffy. Dangerous, really, as it was impossible to tell the difference between a message in good faith or one with the intent of setting them up for something akin to..well, whatever happened with Tim. At least he seemed fine now.

“I don’t want this to become a big deal around the archive though, this is just a..potential resource, and we’ll have to stay cautious, so don’t worry about getting Martin and Tim all wrapped up in it,” Jon told her. Tim acted weird around the thing and Martin was quick to get spooked, so Sasha seemed like the best choice.

“Will do,” she responded.

After that interesting conversation, Sasha was given a new case to research. With this, she would verify or discredit the previous case information given by the “ghost” (Jon had informed her that apparently they were not dead and preferred the name ‘watcher’). Because she didn’t want to muddle the results, the most she did was skim the general summary and verify the case numbers before heading back to her desk, where she saw Tim and Martin staring at her expectantly.

———————————

Martin was making his morning tea runs when he realized that Jon was in a meeting with Sasha. The door was slightly open, but he would rather not risk interrupting in the middle of their conversation.

“-trust the ghosts, or whatever they are.”

He heard the voices from inside, and against his better judgement, listened in.

“Well, for the most part, yes, but there’s still something about it. Some of them, just like the cases, they…feel different. I figured it would be good to at least note down the useful messages-“

Oh *snap*.

Martin definitely had tea for Tim. Hot and steaming.

“Tim you will not *believe* what I just heard,” Martin said, entering his office with a handful of teacups. “Here,” he said, giving Tim one of them.

Tim smiled, amused. “Oh really? Is this about a certain love interest of yours?”

“What- nO-that’s not- that’s *besides* the point-“ he stuttered. “What I was *going* to say was, I heard Jon and Sasha talking, and-“

Tim smirked.

“*Tim*.”

“Okay, okay, keep going, I’m all ears,” he said, tapping his hearing aid with a grin.

“Right. *So*. Jon and Sasha were talking, and uh, the door was a little bit open, so I just sorta overheard that, well- I think Jon is actually starting to *believe* the uh, ghost things in Sasha’s computer. Like- he said something about noting down what they were saying? I think?”

“What? I thought Jon *hated* anything relatively supernatural,” Tim exclaimed, thoroughly invested, though not happy with his boss’s choice.

“Right? Like, he’s been such a, well, a skeptic with *everything*, and sure, a lot of them are obviously fake, but..”

“But we can both agree that weird computer ghosts are in fact, *dangerous* and we shouldn’t keep messing with them?” Tim said, leaning forward.

“Exactly,” Martin said. “It all rubs me the wrong way, maybe Sasha can explain it better.”

Tim brightens at the mention of her. “She’d be able to knock some sense into him. Maybe destroy the computer altogether, completely get rid of the problem.”

At that moment, Sasha walked in with some files, intending to head to her desk. Martin and Tim both stared at her.

“Uh..hi?” She said, confused by their looks.

“Sasha, what was that whole meeting with Jon about?” Tim asked casually.

“Oh, uhm, just getting my files over to my phone, some new files to look over, all that.”

“Anything else?” Martin asked, looking at her files.

“Er…no?” She tried.

“Oh c’mon, Sash, you can’t seriously think you can get away with lying to your favorite coworkers,” Tim pointed out, standing up. He playfully shook her shoulders. “Tellll usssss,” he half-joked, earning a laugh out of Sasha.

“It’s nothing, really,” she said, still smiling.

“Hmmmm,” Tim thought, hands still on her shoulders. “Alright then. If it is really nothing, you won’t mind if I borrow your ‘nothing’ for a few minutes,” he said with a gleeful expression. Before Sasha could react, her files and papers were in Tim’s hands.

“Wh-Tim-“ she said, trying to grab them back.

“Let’s see what we have here..” he said, looking at the rather odd paper attached to the file. He raised an eyebrow. “This yours?” He asked, staring at the finished (although short) case analysis.

“No, not- it’s uh, I got it from Jon,” she said, still trying to reach the papers that Tim was holding out of her reach.

“Jon? So this is *his* research?” Tim smiled as he looked closer.

“Sort of?”

“Your computer ghosts didn’t have anything to do with any of this, right?” He asked, looking right at Sasha.

“….maybe,” she muttered, fidgeting. She was definitely caught, by Tim of all people.

Tim relaxed at the admission, lowering the documents to his side.

“We already knew that much-“ Martin said to Tim.

“Yeah, yeah, just trying to get her to admit the truth,” he said. Softening his gaze, he looked back at her. “Why didn’t you want to mention it? Usually you’re an open book, you know.”

“Well, I was told to not make a big deal of it,” Sasha started, a little shy. “Jon didn’t want it getting around, and I agreed to keep quiet, but..guess I ruined that much,” she said with a sad laugh.

“No, it’s not your fault,” Martin said. “I er, may have overheard some of your uh, conversation- on accident- and uh, we already figured something was going on with it,” he explained.

“So that’s why you all acted so weird?”

Tim chuckled. “It’s the designated tea time,” he said, still holding his cup of tea. “We gotta know what’s happening if we’re gonna make any progress with the place. With that…what exactly *does* the case analysis have to do with the ghosts? Not like they can just barge in here and do our jobs for us.”

“Funny thing, actually, they uh…one of them, according to Jon, sent a whole bunch of the case analyses, including some we’ve already done, which looked correct, and then a load of new ones we haven’t even seen yet. So, Jon’s hunting down those new statements and wanted me to fact-check them, see if it means anything.”

Tim frowns at that, looking more serious. “I thought we all agreed that they didn’t know what they were doing. And that if they did, it was too much of a risk to try and listen to them.”

Sasha appeared rather torn, so she looked at Martin.

“I think we should try to be careful with it too,” he said slowly. “Jon wanted it moved for a reason. It’s odd for him to just go back on his word like that.”

Sasha nodded. “Yeah…but if they really are right about the statements, couldn’t that help us?”

“I don’t want anything to do with it,” Tim said firmly. “If I was archivist, I’d have destroyed it by now…” Tim looked over. “Speak of the devil, Jon, we were just talking about you,” he said, seeing him enter the room.

“Hopefully nothing bad. Aside from that, I have some new cases for you all to look over,” he started.

“Woah woah woah, hold on,” Tim butted in. “Is it true you went back to the haunted computer and snatched up some statement info from the ghosts?”

Jon scowled, half-glancing at Sasha. “It’s not as simple as that. I’m just holding an experiment. Seeing if *any* of what they claim is true, at least in relation to the statements we have. I don’t believe in the thing, and I’m certainly not taking any cryptic advice from it.”

Martin decided to chime in. “So..are we still, uhm, going to keep it in Artefact Storage then? If we’re using it for the statements?”

They all stood in silence for a few minutes.

Sasha just wanted a real computer to use.

Tim was ready to tear it apart.

Martin was intimidated by it, but curious.

Jon wanted to know more.

“I suppose..if it’s not causing any *real* harm to anyone, we might be able to move it back. Let me think about it.”

—-

After some hours and another round of tea, Martin was tasked with getting the computer back. Probably since Jon thought he was the least capable of doing the actual research work, but…

He easily retrieved it back from Artefact Storage, and while it was closed, it seemed rather normal. Just a laptop with a few stickers Sasha had decorated it with over the years.

He brought it to Sasha’s office with a small smile, seeing her eyes brighten at the sight of an actual keyboard and screen bigger than her hands.

“Thanks, Martin,” she said. “Suppose Jon’s finally cracked. Just have to make sure it’s not doing any more creepy stuff.”

“Good luck with that,” he responded.

“Actually, Martin, could you check and make sure everything’s looking normal on it? I’ll have to email all the word documents and websites I’ve got pulled up on my phone, and that’s gonna take a bit.”

“Oh, sure. Normal as in…like, no ghost stuff? Because I’m pretty sure Jon said-“

“Yeah, just like, nothing super dangerous, I guess? Make sure they aren’t putting some evil curse on us all for locking them in storage for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah I can do that,” he said with a smile.

Martin headed back to his desk, apprehensive but curious to what the ghosts would be saying. Luckily, it was all behind a screen, and they couldn’t actually do anything to him. Hopefully.

Chapter Text

Elias walked inį̶̨͎̙̣̻̋̾͠ ̴̢̢͇̠̩̗̬̝̰̝̲͍̰̂̿̈̇ͅd̶͖̟͑͌o̶̢̟̬̥̤͖͔̣̲͑ ̵̲̬̯̟̰̰̗̜̙͕̦̺̬̞̰̑̋̔̂ͅņ̷̦̳̥̯͚̬̍ͅơ̷͎̬̱̩̞̖̭͎͔͚t̸̢̜͍͎̘͔̭͍͍͗̎̈́̇͆ ̴̼̖̯̟̮̈́s̶̖̲͕̯̅͂͂͊̊̈́ȩ̸̠̹͎̃r̵̜̦͖͙̩͓̻̤̘̲͛͋͛̒͘͝͝v̵̡̗͎̻̫̻̳̙͈̞͇̝̔͌̑̊̐̒̀͑̀͒͠e̴̬̱̫̗͈͎̟̯̹̹͙͕͚͐̐̽͋̄̀̄̾̍̓́̉ͅ ̸̠̺̥̯̦̥̫̩̭̦̺̘̥̯̅͜ͅt̵̨͕̗̺̪̩̗̎̚h̴͔͔̑̔͌ȩ̵̛̪̜̙͈̹̭̪̃͐̀̊̄͊͐͊͑̇͆̕͝ e̷̘͉̱̍̎̄̊͛͌̆͗̽̿͆y̵̟͉̙̟̅̑̾̈́͂̈́͛̌̄̎͘ę̸̧̬͎̫̺̪͓̭̯̌̒̉͜s̷̡̛̎̀̋͊͊̏̈́̋̈͂͠ ̴͍̣͔̿͑̀̒͆̊͆̕͝ã̴̢̩̣̤̝̖̇͆̈́̋͗͛̀͊͘ͅr̴̙̖̭̪͇̰͈̱̬͕̐̾̓̔̋̐̆̂̇̏̚̚ͅẽ̸̛͖̲̇̎̈́̌́̋̓ ̸̰̜̩̗͈̦͕̖̮̬͖̤͆̕ẉ̷̡̛͐͋̽̑͝a̶̬̮͙̽̅͂̈́́̇̉͝t̸̞̗̹̲͎̪́͛̅̆̈́̎͛̒͛͝c̸̩̗͎̮̥̣̬̣̬͇̊̉ḩ̴̳̱̺͚̖̼̰̟͉̓̅̆̀̕i̷̛͇̗̾̆̇̆̍͒̀́̓͒͝n̵̼͓̗̯̿̇̀͒̋̓̓̑́͝͝ḡ̴͉͙͓̣̱͕͍̦̖͉̬ ̶̧̡̪̺̱͓̱͍̞̣̖́́ș̴̢̛͚̪̣̺̈́͌̈́̀̑͑͑͘͝͝͝t̵̢̡̗̖̫̦̥̥̀̂̊ͅâ̴̡̘͍̩͓̭͓̪̩̯̎̀̎͜r̶̨̹͖̓͂͛̇̔i̴͓͔̋̈́̿̾͊̔̾͠͝͝͝ṅ̷̡̝g̸̠̺̳̣̪̙̜̩̥̳̈́̄̂̃͌̕ ̷̨̡̗̦̰̜̃̍c̸̛̤̽̂͊̆̓̋̐̌̒͘͠é̴͚̦̟̻̼̗̜̱͕̗̳ͅą̵͔̖͈̭̫̱̰͉̻̊̋͒͛̓̐̆͜͠s̷̡̗̠̣̪̖̙̔̂̀̌͊̎̓͗̿͛͝ḛ̸͓̪͈͍̪͉͓͈͚̾͋͌̀̐̾̕ͅl̵̢̟̠̻͔̹̥̟̗̤̹̓ȩ̸̪͖̹̠͒́̽̑̈́̌͝͠s̸̡̛̟̹̪͔̲̝͕̟͚̈́̊̽̇̽ͅs̵̢̥̬̩̼̹̠͍̒̍̅͑͋͗͝l̵̦̩̙̹̓͑̀̍̃͆̕͝y̴̢̥͔̱͐̎ ̵͉̈́̌̾͋ȟ̸̡̨̧̗͔͈̠̜̩̦̝̣̃̂̔͘ȇ̶̤̠̦͉̖̪͖̰̙̳̘̅̐͂̍͗̏̃͜͝ ̷͎̗̘̎́̒̿̕m̸̛͎̤̭̱͔̊̌͂̎̃̀̓͜ų̸̩̭̭͇͎̽́̄̓́̇̇̊̊̀̃̿s̶̛͔̣͚̯͇̠͙̳̓͛̇̽̒̇͆̆̀͠t̷̨̛͈̝̭̩̳̤̗̜̦̰̮̉͌͂̾̾̚̚ ̸̧̯͔͉̖̪̣͍̇̉̾̓͋̐̐͋̔̚͜n̵̮͕̲̞̰͇̞̘̮̹̯̼̈́͘o̵̢̝̜͖͉̞͕̥͉̤̿͜ţ̴̜͈͔͙̔͌̋ ̴̭̎̄̿̀̓̈́̈́̂͗̈́̀͝Ḱ̶̭̼͖̍́̈́͗́̇̈́̈́n̸̜̮̰̲̑̀͐̑̽̓͑̎̈́̕ǫ̶͉̃́͐̅̈̀w̷̬̗̠̥͉̮̜͖̃̃̈̏̕ ̴̠̺̀ḧ̴̭̤̭̩̜́͂͂̀̀́́̋̓̃͌̂ͅę̴̛͍̺̘̗͗̈́̅͐̔ ̸̨̡͍̝̳͚͙̥̔̌̎̅́͂̐̅̓̅̚̕m̵̨̪̠̜̞̥̟̼͕͓̄̈́̆͌́̅̾u̴͔̍̅̇̾̍̌͊̿͘s̶̡̧̤̙̻̯̱̖͒̾̀̏̽͆̈̀̀͠͝͠t̶̨̩̹͉͇̯̱͓̱̎̓̀̂͜ ̷̡͙̘̞̠̱͖̓́͗͒͠n̸̛̮̐̈́̉́́͂͂͌̓o̸̼͚̘̠̪͓͉̦̽̅̈͋͜͝t̷̳̝͖̬̠̤̲̝͈̞̮͓͐̆͊̌̒̈́̒̍̄̊̕͝ ̸̨̣̩̮͉̬͉̓͂̽S̸̙̲̭̪̳̜̄̌̿ê̷͙̤̙̋̽͛̒͐͆̂̒e̷̡̱̫̪̥̫̙͇͈̱͚̽̕ ̷͕͎̄͛̓͊̎̓h̷͓̰̃̾̽̀́̆͑̈̈́̉̐̆ẻ̵̱͍̩̣̪ ̴̨͎̣̬̝͔̙̠̞̈́̏͜m̶͕̭̘̒́ų̷̛͉̰̱͇̣̺̻̅̉̃͑̓̓̿͜͝ͅs̷̲̟̃̊́̓́͋̍̒̿̋͂͜͝t̸͎̺͍͚̘̼̲̲͛̈̎̀̒̚ ̴̧̢̧̖̺͎͈̮̳̫̪̓ͅb̵̡̡̧̛͇̹͙̼͙͍͒̒̉͆͊̽ȅ̸̬̐͊͘̕ͅ ̷̡̛̛̼̖̙̺̰̟̣͙̾͌̍̿̏͋͊͠ş̵̧̨̢̛̫͔͇̪͓͕͙̩̔̒͑̎̌̒̑̍̚͠͠ö̵̡͔̼̣̺͔̣̠̻̠̌͆́͑̍̇̔̉͆̊͠ͅm̶̩̩̪̗̲̊̄̉̕e̷͉͂͗͊͜t̵̛̟̺̞͔́ͅẖ̶̡̨̯̮͖̳͖̭̞̦̃̎̏͋̔̏͆͗́̕͠ͅi̸̭͇͓̓n̴̺̩̳̪͍̝̼̭͗͑́̈g̵̯̹̰͊̆̓̿́̚ ̸̠̗͋̿̽̌̅̾̂̉̿̈́͘͜e̸̡̳̣̖͇̹̊̿̕͘l̸͎̩̫͓̯̗̯̘͐͛̈́s̶̺͕͜͠e̴̛͖̜̼̳̍̎̓̈͋͌͊̉̉̇͜͠ ̷̡͙̘̫̯͂́́̀̄̊͜w̴̰͎̗͔̄ǐ̴͙̈͌̿̽͑̐́͘͜͝ṯ̵͎̞̖̬̬͆̈́̕ͅḩ̴̡͚̟̭͎̎̍ ̵̛̲͐̂̔̄͛͆ţ̸͖͉͚̦̗͉̑͜ơ̵̩̙̣̿̆̊̓̌̈́͛͊͗͜ŏ̵̺͎̲̮̰͔͇͌̇ ̸̢̟̼̺̩͎̈́ṁ̴͕̘͓̬̭̙͉̠͚̥͛̒͒̆̈͆̒͝ä̸̧͇͙̈̑͂̎̍͠͠n̸̬̖̣̹͙̙͗̑ÿ̴͙͙̜̲͚̍́́̊̏̈́̅͋͜͝ ̷̡̹͚̼̲̼̥͉͒̈́̋͒̕è̴̟̲̮̰͈̖̇̑̉̕͜ͅy̸̧͓̯͚̗̺̘̼̹̞͑͊̀͐ë̶̢̹̘́͂͑͒͆̑͆͌̇́͘s̸̨͎͉̱̞̗̳͈͓̗̙̻͒̈́͑̕̚ ̶̛̦̭͕̾̋͗͑̎̑̋̌͌͠͠ä̶͇̗́̀r̴̛̺͓̫͓̳̗̗̘̐́̒͛͐̚͜͜͝ͅe̵̖̞̻͇͍̮̬̞̬̼͓͇͂͑̊̋̅́̋̕ ̵̧̹̰̯̬͂́̒͊̈͐͝w̵̥͖͔͉̘̼̱͚͚͓̯͗ä̶̡͎̪͔́̑̋̋̒̄̌̚͘ͅt̷̛̺̘̳͎̊̀̏̊̿̒̄̈́ç̸̟͙͔͍͍̯̞̟͔͌̈́̊̀͗͌͆̕h̸̡̨̠̳̩̙̻̰̲̗̿̍̚ḯ̵͈̜̬͔̣̯̙̌n̷̲̗̱̖̮̭̎͋̄̾͊̎͆̑̉́́͠ģ̵̮͔̞̲͖̦̿̔̑̏ ̴͍̳̭̗̬̥͔̓̐̌̀̀͌̈́͠ͅš̸̡̨̞̻̗̘̫͔͕̹̒͌͑̈́̂͛̚͜͝ͅṱ̵̦̒̐̈́́͐̓͠a̴̡̤̤̱̜̬̿̿̀̋ŗ̶̛̫̱͕̗͉̬̞̼̋͆̓̅̃̂̓̏́͝į̴̡̳̱̺̘͔̟̦̯̓̏̒̐͑͋̎̚͝͝͝n̴̟̼̠̱̥̈́̒͛͛̈́̚͜ͅg̴̢͎̯̰͍̑́ ̶̼̭̭̝̠̝̮͊̽̀͘͠ͅč̵̺e̷̡̨̝͍̲̼̹̞͋̋́a̴̮̪͕͎̰̱̽̋̐̈́́̈͑̓̐s̸̩̥̗̜̠̳̜͖̝͔̠͎͌͗͌̋e̴̢̜̗̤̣̯̘̲̮̐̽̈͌͜l̶̲̖̮̻̭͙̊̈́͜e̷̗̞̱̙̣͊̓̒͒̃̔̎ͅs̵͚͈̅̿̀́̍ş̷̱̬̦̪̯̥̥͍̦̺̈́̓̌̈͜͝l̷̢̡͚͎̝̰̞̤̞̜̹̀̽y̵̻͍͖̻̜͖̪͎̗͛̒̄̓̊͛͆̅̆͠͝͝ ̷̡̮͈̩̟̫̞̻̝͎͓͛͌̈́͂̆͋͋̔͑̀h̶̪̺̖̻̖̾̂̊̓̈́̋ḙ̷̯͚̣͍̰̟̭͖̰͎̲̓̓̌͌̔ ̴̨̭̦̪͙͔͎͐̉̿͒̍̇̓̈͂m̸̧̡̧͍͍̣̙̪̰͇̖͙̉͂̈́͊͗̏̔̍̃̓̄̕u̷̡̢͇̺̯̲̓̊͐̅͗̈́͒̇̓̍̕͝s̶̢̨͉͎͖̯̭͉̱̺̔̇̈̓̓͌̋̽̓̕t̸̡̨̥͚͎̫͚̺̲̬̟͆̾̃̑̚ ̵̫̰̫̗̲͂̍̆̏̚̕ͅn̸̰̏̑͘o̶̢̟̭̳͙͆́̂̓̐͒́t̶͕̔͊̌̾͑̚ ̵̧̛͍̇͊͛͐̓̆̐̋̊͆͆K̴̮̱̩̖̓͐̓̈́̑̾́̏̓́̐̅n̷͉͚̖͛̿̋̐̈́̽͆͐̚͜ô̷̯̠̱w̴̨̙͍͕̹̪͓͇̫̟̝̞̒̑̀͘ ̷̡̥̩͖͉͇̤̪̀͂̄̇̈̈́̆̀͒̕͜ḣ̵̞̮̯̮̜͙̓̀̿̿͋̑͋̄͋̈͜ḙ̷̡̛̖̗̞̹͚̟̹͖̮̺͑̓̿̈̃̆̈͆̆͠ ̷͖͖̮͙̞̄̇̌̆̓͊m̶̛̹̗̌̄͛u̶̧̳̖̩͐͘s̷̡̢̳̹̺̳̲̲̯͕̞͒̄̍́͛̒͊͒͂͘͝ṱ̵̜̼̮͔̮̠̯́̅́̎͗͒͌̆͌ ̷̧̨͔̯̀n̶̛̮̱̱̠̗̮͎̟̼̥͑̋̅́͛̿̂͋̽o̶̦̩̔̈̿̍̎̈̏́͋͝͝͝ẗ̴̛̤̝̝̥͖͉͕̪͔͍̈͑͋̒̕ ̸̨̘̙̬̪̱͆̃͆̄̅̔͗͗ͅŚ̴̡̭̟͚̞̳̠͖̑̈́͂̂è̸̦͇͛̊̎̚ȩ̶̺̪̩̞̺̲̪͈͛͊̐͝ ̴͚̰̄͌̋͋͝h̶̢̫̠̉̊e̵̢̲̬̮͎̯̭͘͜ ̴̨̨͈͈͉̩̗̒̀̅͆̏m̶̨̮̜͍̳̜̮͎͎̠̩̋ṵ̵̡̤̘̤̯̙̘͖̥̱̘̐͗͛̍̈́́̉̚͝ș̶̢̛͕̦̦͓͖͐́̂͐̉̾̓͝t̵̢̬͇͍̤̲͚̑̾̄́̄̓͂͗͌ ̴̨͖͍͕̗̦̼̯͎̩̗̓b̶̧̲̒̄̿̈́̃̑͛͂ͅe̴̝̲͍̰̤͓̬͍̟̐̂̏̈́̇̉̈́̒͊͛͘͝ ̷̩͂̀͋̀͋̔̈̅̌͝Į̸̯̪͕̬̜͖̩̳̫̔̏͋͋͑͝͝͠ͅ ̶̢̧͍̼̪̯̱̬͖͙͊d̵̨̲̖̟̗̦̜̗̟̹͉͐̑̎͐̽̓̑̀́̿̀̕ő̵̧̜̳̮͒̍̔n̵̼̺̮̞̣͖͍͋́̉̐̈́̊͗̇͛̕͜’̴̝̙̝̈t̷̙̘̦̖͍̥͖͕͔͆̑͌ ̸̢̯̬̣͚͈̩̹͈͍͋̅̊͜k̵͎͓̙̥͈̜͉̹͚͇͍͓̊͒̉̿ṇ̸̮̫͓͚̈́̀̋̏̒̀̽͒͘͘ơ̶̢̡̙̠̹̤̓͗͗̏͘w̶͙̭͓̪͍̓͒ ̵̭̬͊̋̐̾̊̔̈́̓̌͝I̵͓̤̳͚̺͋̃̾̈́̈͘͝͝v̴̫͚̰̼͎̠́̇̋̀̿̇͂͛̃̕͜ë̸͇̳́͆̏̃̈̉̾̈̈́͝ ̶̘͇̫͚̈́͑̈́n̶̨̻̖̦̟̹̮͍͕̰̬͚͌̒̏̐̿́̕͘͠͝ę̶̠͊̔́͜͠v̷̧̻̭̈́ḝ̴͇͔̮̙̔̉͆ͅr̴͍̯̀̽͘ ̶̡̗̩̝͎̻̫͙͌̽̓̎͊͗̕͝ͅš̷̡̟̖̱͙͓̏͠ȇ̸̩̫̣͙̏̾ê̶̳̇ͅn̴͔̫̦͓̱͙̮͎͓̈́̍͜ͅ ̸̗̠̝͙̱̼̯͆̈̈́͠t̵̬̱̪͋́̈̃̿̽̈́̀̉̄͝͠h̴̡̲͔̰̠̳͇̼̺́̍̀̈̃̊̉̐̉͜͜͠͝ͅi̵̡̧̛͚̞͈͈̮̇̉̄͗͋́̔̑̈͗̚͜ͅs̷̡͖̪̹̰̲̐͑̑̎͠ ̸̛̅͋̍́͝ͅh̴̫̒̔̆͑̎ǎ̸̝̤̍̄́͐͋̇͆́p̸̤̲̼̲̟̟̳͙͑́͌̄p̴̡̝̮̬͕̲͍͕̭͓̆̒͗̎̑͑̐̀̚ë̸͇̙̜́̾̋̄͋̕͜n̶͚̠̯͗̉̀̈́̈́̋̈͝͠ͅ ̴̢̜̪̘̻̹̹͕̪́͋̋̈́͑b̴̥́̌̑͗̃ẹ̸̦̟͙̳̺̝̾̽̀̍͛͒͗͘f̵̢̥͛̊̈́͋ǫ̵̣͎̜̞̪͙͉̟̽̕͜r̶̤͕̠̻̣̲̮̜̔̊̈́͑́̅̈̽̿̚̚͝e̵̯̠̿̌͌ ̴̡̛͓̟̮̐̒́͐̆̚͠͝ṣ̷̢̧̨̗̭̝̎ơ̶̜̺̥̙̌͑̄̑͂͂̎̀̔͂̕m̷͉̏̓̉̂̋̂͘e̷̢͙̟̱̺̼̥̬̗̓̃̈́͂͝ț̸͖̯̖͔̮̟͂̒͒̿́͂̀̈́̓̈́͗̋h̸̻͔̫̲̹̚į̶̢̦̠̗̦̼͎̈́͒̎̂̇̄̂̎̑̀̚ṅ̸̫̱̟̭̭̜͙̍̏͂̈́̆̈́͋g̴̛͎͔̜̱͊́̏͂̈́͑͛̃̃ ̵̧͍̬͍̠̭͎̤̯͖̒̎͊̚͜è̸̛͓̼̗̇̈̀͂͊̐͘ļ̷͉̬̙̬͇͉̪̱̯͒̿͒̈́̾͊͜͝͝s̴̰̈̃͗̾͆̔͋͝͠ế̸̟͇̼͔̱̃̓͑ ̸̼͙̫̰͙͓̭̿̋͌̌͊̽͜͜͝͝ẅ̸̢͍͔́́͛̒͂̊í̸̺͎̮̙̍̾̾̔̓͘͝ṯ̸̓h̴̥̝̻̥̾̈́̔͛̃̓̉̅̑͋̃̑ͅ ̶͖͓̺̥̹̦̗̩̪͇̼͎̿̓͗̐͘ṭ̵̢̢̝̲̟̦̈́̋̂̀̕o̶̘͈̪͋̂̑͂̀͊̈́͑̈́̈́̀̚ò̸̡̢̨̨̹̟̗͈͉̜͛̓̇̈́̓͝ ̴̜̱̃͋͗̅͆̓̚͘m̶̗͚̭̖̱̙͈͑͑̆͒͜ͅå̴̖̞̃n̶͙͍̫̥̓̍̐͐̃y̶̞͇͕͝ ̶̨̥̗͖̖̔̍͑͌̉ͅě̵̛̛̥̺̾̆͒͗̈y̴̖̦̥̘̳̖̹͑͛̎͝ẻ̶̲͕͇̥͛̉̀̔̾͗̀͑͝s̶͖̖͓̳̑ ̸̨̡̠͈̬̠͌͊̃̐̅͒̃͋͘͘͝ạ̵̲̣̤̥̮̫́̽͜ͅŗ̶̛̯̖̄̀̅̐͑͂ê̷̙ ̶͉̩̊w̴̡̡̜͈̻͔͍͓̰̣̾͝a̵̡̨͈̪͇͎̝͙̟̝͔͊͊̈́͛̾͂̇́͘͝t̷̞̺͉͎̠̲̔͛͊͒̿̅́̇͒͘͘c̵̺͐̉̆̾̀̃̕ḧ̵̡̢̘͍̜̙̭́͜͠ï̸̲̦̹͉̼̹͔n̸̢̢̧̪̖̮͙̜̬̲̎̒ͅg̸̘̱͉͚̹̑͆̿̐͑͠ ̵̤̇̋̔̊͒́͋́̐̏̄̚ṣ̷̨̫̖͇̺͚͎̰̫͑͂̓͋́͌̎͋̀͒t̸̠͇͋̋̓̍̐̚ä̵̢̙̺̼̻̻̮́ř̸̢̫̥̖̱͎͜ì̴͉̣̗͑́̀͗̆̓ͅn̶̯͔̱͔͈̮͍̺̱̑̈́̈́̋̈́̀̓g̴̛̦͚̞͛͋͒̍̓̏̃́̐̉̀ ̴͈̓̐͂͒̂̆̕c̶̢̛̤̣͖̺͉̈́̃͌͒̎͘̕ę̸͙̘̅̔̅̉ả̷̛̘̬̞̞͎̘͚̖̄̔̄̓̈́͆̓͜͝ṡ̵̨͍̱͂̂͑ę̶̲͔̻̺̰̋ͅl̶̗̗̠̩̺̀̇̿̕͜ē̶̛̘̃́̎̑̒͑͊̂̊̃ş̴̓ṡ̷̛̛̗͎̜̪̾ļ̵̮͇̖͛̅̄͑y̴̨̛͔̣͒͑͒̋̚͠͝ ̴̖̰̝̃͌̕͝h̴͕̘̻̄͛͐̔͝e̶̯̘͉̹͖̱̳̒͛̐͆͋̀̏̎̑͠͝͝ ̷̡̱͕̪̱͍̝̼̜̭͌̆̆ͅm̷̞̠̘̘͍̺̮̝͙͕̓̾̀͒̓̈́́̓̅̋̃̉ǘ̴̠͗̇͑̀̄̕͝š̸̢̛̺̗̰͑̽̀͆̚͘͜͝͠ͅt̸̠̼̦̟̦̀̐͗͑̔̌̋ ̴̢̝̣͚̜̻̪̜̎̍͑̇͊̆̀̿̐͐͝ṇ̸̲͗̾̆̈́͘̕o̷̙̜͚̬̰͉̰̬̣͋͑́̏t̸̞̗̮̟̰̦̆͛ ̵̢̩͉̣̈́́̌̉͛̽̌̃̄̈Ķ̸͖̤̮̳́́͐̊̾̑͂͝n̵̰͈̒͗̌o̸̧̘̪̲̙͎̞̖̖̻͂͂ͅw̶̳̫͉̭̖͑͆ ̶̧͉̯͔̠̥̦̘̞̯̦̌͌̑̓͂͂̊h̸̢͙̬̻̺̯̞̹͔͜͝e̸͓̦̞̪̺͉͙̠̦͊ ̸̧̦͈̥̥̰̥̄̓̍͛́̈́̆̉̀̓m̷̤̳̞̳̬̀͛̏͐̈́͛́̒̚͠u̸͓̮̲̦̘̦͎͉̔̿̾́s̷̡̻͇͓̱͙̤̟̮̑͐̈́̃̿̓͐͌͘͜t̴̝͖͖̱̪͇͕̬͕̪̥̄̃́͆̈́̽̏͝ ̶̡̧͚̦͙̫̥͉̱́͌̎̈̆́́͜͝ṅ̸̢͍͓̤͉̪͈͇͉̼̮̖͑͒̆̚o̵̖̙͗̒t̷͓̲͉̘̯̬̲̝̦̙͓͆̔̒̽̓͜͝ ̷̩͈̝̿̐̈͊̕S̸̡̹̲̠̰̳͈͖̠̣͊̃̎͑͂̑͜͝ȇ̵̡̲̖͗́͂͠͠ȩ̸̨̛̜͙͙̭̲̂̀̈́͑̒ ̶͍͇͉̪͕̮̫̟͖̰̥̎̄̒̂͒̏͆ȟ̸̫̾́̊̀̓̄̀͆͘e̴̢̱̬̤̔̔̋̈̅̀̄͗́ ̸̳͚͙̼͍̫̄̽̈́́̽̑͒͆̀́͜m̴͕̮̲̩̹͖̦̲̺͈̤̩͆̽̊̅ű̷̧͉̬̺̌s̵̢̝̥͉̞͔̲̯̬̃̏͊̇̀̉̄͋̓͗t̷̠͆̑̈͋͛͒͆̽͘̕͘ ̴̢̨̼̼͉̩̫̯̫̹̠͐̀̿̎̆̆̈́̋́̍͜͝ḅ̷̳̀̾͝͝ě̸̥̙̣͉͖̮̌̇̒͗̈́̾͑̍͛̿̿ ̴̳̈́͝s̸̨̧̖̜̗̳̮̩̙̟̭̈́̌͆̚͠o̷̡̥̝̝̟̺̩̰̫͆̓̆̈͘m̷͚̩͋̑͠e̵̢̢̫̣̖̟̊͆̓͠t̵̡̧̛̛͚̍̓͑́͝h̷̨̨̟̲̼̥̱̓̎̈́i̸͉͖̪̹̤̋̆͐͑̍̋̃̓̀n̷̡̗̘̮͉̘̈̆͊̀͝g̸̡̧̠͚͕̼̦̼̬̗̩͖͋̽ ̶̫̹̫͍̥͎̪̥̘̯̻͆͘͠e̶̘͔͇̣̱̞̋́̅̐̈́̔͂̕l̴̺̑͗ṡ̴͙̰̣̟̫̹̘͇͂̈́̋̀̊̉͆̃̚̚ͅe̶̬͓̬̳̗̼͇͔̦̓̂̒̃͋́̇̕ ̶̨̧͓͈͈͗̎͛͒̉̆̍̌̈́̏͛͝w̷̧̗̼̠̘̹̩͂͌̅͜͠i̶̤̬̝̭͚͈͉̹̯͙̯͆͂͒́̌̐̀̉̓͘͘͝t̶̢̛̗̜͉̘̫̱͓͍͉̋̈́͝ḩ̸̯̟͓̭͉̜̎̿̕ͅͅ ̸̢̣͓̭̜̬͓̺̓̈́͜͜t̵̹̿̈́̍͂͐͛̀̊͘͝͠ở̵̧̱̜̖̬͍̏̓͛̉͗͘͝͝ö̸̧̡̳̱͖̲̮̬̜́͑͒̋̌͒̿̽̍̚ͅ ̵̡͖̪̝̇͛́͑̈́̈́̚m̵̙̰̙̜͓̝̰͉̱̍͐̾̑̓̀̐͌̚a̸̭̔͜ͅǹ̸̩̗̳̈́̐̑͘͠ŷ̷̛̪̞̠͔͈̬̰̈́̇̋̿͜ͅ ̴̨̻̟̥͖̖̜̳̋̾͜͝ĕ̵̡̛̪̝̩͉̫̟́̈͐͛͊̇̿͑̈́̚ÿ̷̧͓̻̝̝̬̩̬̲̣́̊͐̕e̷̬̙̽̃̊̊̉̊̇̐́̑̊͝s̴̳̟͈̗̪̬̔̚ ̷̧̫͍̹͕̪̘̮͆̒̋͛͌̾͆̌̅́̚̚á̴̦̘̪͚̗̐͋̆̎͆͊͘r̷̢̢̮̺̜͔͍͎͍̹̿̿̀̄̐ḙ̸̞̝̪̣͇͌̒͒̾͑̂̃̉͛͠͠͝ ̸̖̜̼̬͖̲̞͍͌̉̍̈̃̓͜͝w̴̢̧̘̣̳͓̻͔̅̾̓͆̄̃̍̋͂̌͒͆a̷͉͕̼̼̲̤͠t̷̛̤̼͓̗̠̬͛̀́̔͛̅̋̄̌͘ć̸̡͈̝̜̮͙͓̮̗͎͎̦́̉̋̆̆̆͆̇͝ḩ̴̙̥̞̫̟̲̣͂͂̽ì̷̡̡̤̮͈̳̬͔̩͙̆̆ņ̸̤͚͙͈̩͔̮̣̠͐̒͜g̵̱͍͇̱̣͎̙̻̰̗̖̅̾̈͑̋̿̂̓̃͝ ̵̹̲̭͎͉̣͕̭͚̒̊̒͌̋̈́̐̌͐̚̚ͅś̴̞̓̐̽t̵̨̡̠̫͖̤͈̝̓̌͒́̀̋͒̓a̸̳̼̱̰̱̳͙̥̭̫̎̏̄̍́̔̊̿̄̔͊͝ŕ̶͕͈̒̾͂͝͠į̸̢͚̯̫̯͖̬͕̂̓̅̅͝n̶̰̯̥̫̟̲̑g̶̼̣̗͍̥̺̮͔̗͑̔̏͐̅̚̕̕ͅ ̴̧̲̬͕̝̰͇̮͉̀͜ͅç̶͙͙̻̪̦͙̪͛̾́͜ȩ̷̢̢̘̥̳͎͚̠͊̋̔̾͌̑̀̊̒͜͝͝͝a̸̞͑̈́͐̇s̷̜̐̉̃͂̀͛ę̸̛͚̬̬̪̭̲̹̭̦̰̾͂͘̚̕͝͝ͅl̶͎̹̬̱̭̘̟̪͗͌͒͂̇̐̅̾̏̀̽͝ͅę̴̨̻͙͍͋͋̅s̶̡̏̊̐̾s̵̡̨̢̻̘̻͚̣͙̄̆̿̑̕͘͝l̵̛͖̹̳͍̣̲̞̦̈́͆̂̈́̂̃͜ỹ̴̧̡͚̣̝̞̄̽ ̷̳̙͇̤̮̺̟̝͙̲̽ͅḩ̶̧̲͉̘̲̜̣̯̀͌̔̈́̅̏̊̉̀̂e̷̺̠͖̻͇͛́̆̍̓͛̅̄͗̋̓ͅ ̵̯̤͈̪͐̈́̂̈́̈̅́͊͌̃͠m̷̢̛̛͉̮̳͎̥̺̜̩̈́̀͛́͒̽̈́͠ū̵̧̨̥̺͖̭̮͉́͒̽̏̈́͘͘s̸̨̫͓̯̽̈́͋̽͜ţ̴͕̭͒̂̑ ̵̨̟͚̠̲̦͙̪̬̍͜͠n̷̲͖̥̼̰̼̈́̓̎̐́̇͆͂͐̆͆ǫ̷͙̪̝̦̮̒̂̂̋͒̈̓̚͝t̴̳̟͝ ̵̧̮̲͕̬̭͈͊́̋̀̈̋̍̅̎̈́͘͜K̴̛̗̟̹̽̋̇̈̾̉͆̓̑͝ͅn̴̙̘̜̗͎͇̋̋̀̌́̋̐́̌̕͝͠ǫ̸̨͚̹̫̈́̎̀̂̉͆͝w̴̨͔͓͖͉͈̳̥̬̖̼͊̈́ͅ ̸̧̪͓̗̹̯̱̙̒̅̇͊̈́̅̋͝ḩ̴͍̣̭̟͚̻͙͒́̎̀͐̈́̑͂͛̄̉̚e̶̺̭̯̩͖̭̤̯̤̫͓̓̎̍̔́̀͑́ ̸̖̙̞̪̣̥͙̙̖́ͅm̴̛̹̭̠̦̑̃̍͊̃ű̴͙̩̱̬̖͙̝͎s̶̫̗̩̫͍̺̍̈́̈̄̽̌͒͑̓͜͝ṱ̷̢̛̞͔̰̠̖̠̘̞̭̉̓̂͌̉̇͌̓̅̌̕ͅ ̷̘͇͔̾͒̑̿̃̿͘͜͝͝ņ̸̜̬̣̩̘̳̌͌̋͗͒͂͠ͅớ̴̡̗͚̗̙́͐̿̏̒̑̀͜͝͝t̴̢̺̦͕͖̺͈͍͈̉̊̈̉̌̌̄͌͛̕ ̶̥̭̠̅͌́̾̑̄̌̍̓̈́͒͂S̸̤̫͌̄͛̌͊e̸͇̩̘̘̲̞͋̐͜ḙ̶̡̨̡̜̜͕̣̠̼̪̀͋̆͗̓̓ ̸̧̝̫͎̣̽̏̑̊̂͐̈́̊̓̓̚͠ḥ̸̞̈́͋̈́̊́͒́͋è̸̛̤͖̞̬̖̓̈̍́͋̾̈́ ̵̙͇̙̫̯̺̽̽͆͌͂͌͆̇̉͝͝ḿ̸̨̼̼͎̖̘͓̓̀̈́̀̌͠͝͝u̷̗̜̼̞̤̱͙͖̝͊̎̍̋̍s̸̨̛͍̮̲̞̪͛͑̆̅̏ţ̸̛̗̱̺̬̣͋̒͑̈́͌̀͝ ̵̥͈̗̜͎̯̹͕̭̈́̑͠b̶͔̳̟̥̗̘̎̀̀͐̒é̶̟̱̦̰͙̙̯̩̰̽̒̀̄̀́͘ ̵̧̛̛͎̱̹̪͙͙͈̤̰̖́̃̍̉̀̓͒̍͜͠s̵̨̱̤̱̫̻̥̰͕͉͐̎́͒͋̀̃͛̒̒͝ͅọ̵̝̹̘̈́̄̀̉̅͆͌m̵̢͔̝͓͈̻̻̝͒͋͑̕ȩ̷̠̖̞̏̎̕ṭ̴̨̧̲̳͉͓̈ͅh̸̙̠͉͔̺̔͝ͅí̴̹͙̓͋̈́̏n̷͇͓̱̤͈̟͎͕̗̓̄͊̑͠͝ͅg̴̨̐̈͘ ̸̢̰̖̗̼̻̮͔̖͈̲̘̈́̓e̶̗͉̙̅͋̾̿̀̆̈̚͝ľ̸̪̈̎́̑̉͒̓́̉͋͒s̷̲̰̻̜̋̑̃ę̴͓̟̺̲̟͕̯̟͙̼̽͑͌̓̍͋̉̊͐̚͠͝ͅ ̶̢̯̭̺͓̝̳̭̎͒͗̑̋̑́ͅw̴̧̡͍̩̙̥̻͓̩̃̋̀̂͆͑̈̄̽̆i̷̱̪̝̘̯͙͉̓̏͘ͅt̶͔͕̼̞͒̾͋̆͆͛ḩ̴̛̮̘͎̖̮̜̹̭͑̎͊͆̈́͛̊͑̈́͜͠ ̸̮̲̎̌̈́̎̂̄͝ẗ̴̛̗͚̫́͒̎̒͌̇̓͒̒̉͝o̷͓͔̹͙̹̊̾́̔̈́̄ͅǫ̴̦̙̰̈́̆̔͆̌́͒̾̕͠ ̶͇̥̰̞̳̩̯̙̗̳̘͆̿͋͛̋͗̾̿͘͝m̷̢͈̆̈́̈͌̔͂̇̆̑͗͋͘á̶̱̩̤̟̺̣̼̼̖͇̖͎͝n̸̡͓̟̞̬̺͂̅̀̿ỷ̴̤̜̹̃͐͝ͅ ̶̡͓̮̣̯̩̝̾̑̑̏̉̓̓̆̑͂̈́Ý̴̛̱̘̬͙̤̘͊͋̿͛̓̽̊̔̏͒e̵̫̫̼͉̜͎̪͈͐̒́̿͗͠s̶̝̖̭̈́́̍̐̉̓͠ ̸̻̳̤̟̞͙̹̖̫̱̹̾̒̉̈́̊̿̆̐̈́̏Į̶̹͆̈̈̾̑͝l̸͖̹̳̜͆̅̏͐͂̊̉͝͠͝l̶̢̛͚̳̺͉̫̜͍̘͒̈́̐̚ ̷̛̬͈̑̈́̓̅c̴̛͚̀̑̀͒̉̕ͅh̷̙̦̖̹͉̤͇̣̱̭̓̀ȩ̶̢͈̯̪̫̪̟̐̋̈́͐̀̉̈̎͜c̴̡̤̠̩̏̏̂̇̇͆̀͜ͅk̵̰̫͎̽͗̈͑̋͘ ̴̱̃́̈́͒͘͝w̴̨̪͎͚̮̑̈́͛͐̀̃͐̐͗̒͘͝i̸̛̱͇̲̗̬̹̒͒̇͋̿͐͆̐͘ţ̷͖̫͕̥̱͛̊̔̊ḩ̸͚̗͈̲̯͙͓̼͓͕̉̿̓̂̔̆̌̍̕ͅ ̷̢̻̹̠͕̏͋̀̓̽̃͌́̕͘̕͜S̵̡̛̝̮̘̦͚̃̒̀͐̑̈̐͠à̷͈̜̭̖s̴̙̙͇͙͈͇̜̒̄̓̐͝h̷̟̀å̶̡̡̡̧̳͔̝̘̲̞͓̤̀́̉͑̏̔̓͋̐̚̚ ̵̢̨̫̙̙̼̙͇̳͚͙̊́̽̍̀̿͊͝͝ȩ̵̛̝̘͉̯̭̲̪̮̺̖̜̈́̏y̷̡̢͓͍̬̬̠̙̣̓͊̆͂̑̇̐̉͒͘͝e̵̥̟͕̭̪͒̾̇̽͋̊̓̈́̀̿̚͘͜s̶̨̛͚̫͈̰͉̦͖͖͇̃͋̀̉̆͐̌͜͜ ̷̛̲̆́̄͒̆̍͂͂͠ą̶͓͈͎̠̟͍̊̋̅̔͌̌̿̈̽͌́͐ŕ̶̳̾̌͆̀͆͂̓̌́̈́͘e̷̛͎͙͚̥̦͋̄ ̸͙̈̃w̸͈̌̚ā̵̲͍̙̳̍̑̿ẗ̶̹̠̰͇̤͂̊̓̍̆̒͝͠c̶̣̠͉͍̰͖͌h̸̊̃̄͗̑͊̀͗̃̈́ͅį̵̬̫͇̤̞̠̻͍̖̗́͊́͐͋͛̋͝ǹ̵̠͔̠̪̬̄͌̕g̶͇̬̜̖̱̻͓̔͂̽̃̍͘ ̴̡͎̜̗̟̺̜̅͜ͅs̸̢͓̥̘̣͈̖̎̋̆̆͋̀͋̎̀ͅt̶̨͓̥͔͎͕̎a̶̦̹̠̹̹̪̙̟̼͆̒̚͠ͅr̴̫̮̯̜̋͂̓̑̾ī̶̫͙̤̫͓̘͚̐̍̕͘n̵̗̼̞͛͑͗̾̂͠͝ğ̷̡̧̨̗͍̰͚̬̰̟̈̇͜ ̶̡̛̳̠̖͈͈͓̟̋̀̒̈́͋͘c̶̛̭̗̈̃̾̀͗̎͘͝ẹ̴̙͔͕̜͆̂͐͗̽̈́͑͝a̵̖͑̀͐͑̏̕s̸͚̟͔̈̈e̶͈̮̝͙͚̻͓̼͚̿̎̆͑͂͠͝l̸̗͊̉̆͜ê̴̡̡̯̻̜̜͈̈́ś̵̖̭̦̥̟̱̺̰͋̃̎͆̍̐̈́͘͜s̷̤̮͆̅ļ̷͈̻̱̘̤̤̦̣̉̀̔̽̚͠ỳ̶̡̡̛̼̤̲͔͕̮̫̬̈̐͂́ ̷̙̖̲̻̠̜̯̘̀̊̉ḣ̴̛̘̦̭̯̳̯̥͕̱̇̍̓̎͌͝ẽ̴̮͚̺͇̙͙͛̅͗̉ ̴̬̝͓̮͉͍̱̣̃̑͆̔͑̋͆͐ͅm̵̧͙͎̳͕̣̖͊͒̍͑̽̆͝u̸̡̢̢̺̘̹͎̼̥̹͛̍̏̀̓s̷͕̘͈͈͚̤͎͍̰̐̍̕͜͜t̴̛̟͖̩͔̄͋̀͊͗̌ ̸̢̦͙̭͔̺̮̱͖̀͗͌̄̏n̶̘̭̳͉̖̏͛ͅͅờ̸̡̢͓̫̱̬̻̤̼̒̂́̉̔͋̇̓̀́t̸̗̜͝ ̷͚̺̺̮̪̯̇̔̆̚͜͝K̶̡̛͔̞̪̠̱̤̮͂̆́̾̓̃̋͝͝n̸̲̝̫̼̗͉̈́̊͂̒̉̔͐̕ó̶̡̧͔̝̫͈̔̈́̎w̸̨̥̝̠̘͇̤̝̗̞̯̓́ͅ ̸̫̪̘́̄̐̆̽̑̅̈́̄̎̉͝h̸̢̞͕̳͔̭̘̗͌̈́̾́͘͜͜ͅe̴̺̺̰͔͊̐̈́́̌̈́̀͆͘͜ ̴̩̭̱͍͔͕̫͐̾͠m̶̡͍̦̯̮͖̣͉̗̀̎̽͆̐ư̶̛̳̈́́̍̇͗̀̈́̚s̷̳̪̟͖̜͇͍̎̇̀̓̊͛́̈́̇͝t̷̨̨̛̯͓̱̞̓͑̀͝ ̷̧͔͙̬͚̬͚͔̖̣̀̊̑́̆̎̉͜ǹ̷̠̩͔̟̱̼̙̤̑̅̈́́̓͋̐̈͆͝ő̶͈̞̕t̴̢͔̝̫͗͑̎̇̐̍̀͊̿ ̸̡̛̤̯̤͚̀̄͑̈́̈̔S̸̢̹̤͎̳̻͗͋̿́̾̏́̾̌͘̕e̴̹̠̯̣͎̖̤͇̕e̵̢̥͔̺͆̎ ̶̢̮̀͗̿̍̚h̷̡̜͛̋̈́̽͊̈́͝ȩ̷̺̦̯͙̬̞̫̗̣̽̄ͅ ̷̡̛̥͎͔͇̤̫̉̓̽̈́̉̓̚͠m̸̨̢̰͈̼͉̹̟̅̔̏̓͆͌̀̀͒u̵̠̩̘͎͚͍̘͓͔̩̬͐̌̎͐͋̃̊̅͘͘͝s̵̙̣̪̩͙̹̰̮̉̅̾̅́̓̄̌͝͝͝t̶̩̜̣̣̝̲͋̏ ̷̥̞͉̣̤̯̠̯̫͐̍͌̿͌̀̚̚b̴̲̬͇͉̳̼̯̖̘̔̌̄̿̈́͛̆͝ͅͅȩ̷̧̺͎̭̜͇͛̽̏̈́͆̇̏͜ ̷̩̺͂́̎͛͝ș̸̬̺̓̋͆̊̆͐̒̽͌̑͆͘o̷͖̖̳̯̥͎̟͉̽͊͊ͅm̸̺͈̰̅̍̈͊̌̅͐̀̔̾̕ę̸̤̄̿͐͆̎̀̆͗̐͠ṭ̶͓͓̦̗͈̬̘̙̖͂͊͗͒͛̆̃̀́͘͜͝ĥ̴̢̼̫̩͙̪̪̻̍͂́̔̈̊̕í̸̡̫̫̪̯̠̈́͝n̸̢̼͎̫̱̖͍͍̗͆͒g̶̨̛̜̱͈̦͊͊̐͜ ̴̗̙̺́̕ẽ̸̛͓̥̝͎̻̉̀̋̾̓̃͘l̵̻̭̬̥̺̬̟̜̽̎̔̏̍̕ͅͅs̸̡̳̟̖͓̫̹̍͒̔e̷̮͙̹̮̲̜͓̖̥̩̼̒ ̷̛͍͉̥̲̓̐̇̾͌̐w̶̨̨̛͈̞͕̫͇̰̤̫̱̐̋̂̇͒̇͒̅͝ī̸̳̼̺̮͔͉͉͐͝t̶̙̅̇̐͐͒̔̆h̴̼͈͉̝̟̙̹̒͋̋̃̓͆̈́̽ͅͅ ̵̜̗̳̏͗̂̇̉t̵̡̬͔͍͎̳͇͎̥̪̑͛͂͒̈́̋͘͝o̷̦̊̌̀̅́̓̀̃̿ő̵̢̻͚͕̣͙̭̼̠͙̳̲̒̍̓̊͗̀̔̿͛͝ ̵̗̗̫͕̼̯͓̭̑̏m̶͍̄̂̀̾͛̈̈́̽͑̐͝ả̴̧̛̤͇͔̈́̉ņ̴̳̘̠͍͙̣̐̐̄̓̄̚y̷̥̳̘͙̪͌́͠ ̵̯̯͓͒̿͌̾̎͋͊̀̓̕ē̸̛̱̝͖̦̤͑y̶͍̹̺̹̜̯͕̒̇̈̍́̚ę̸̧͍̞̻̆͆̄͂̓͛̔̀̎̈́͠͝s̸̢̛̮̬̣̝͔̪̝̮̼͔͋̾̒̌͋͠͝ ̶̛̰̋́̉̄͋̀̾̚a̸̯͍̟̺̭̯̗̬͓̔̽̍̚r̴̨͈͕̀͒̾́̏̎̈͑̇͜͠ë̴̝̫̥̹̬͎̫̣͖̫́̿͗̈́̏͐̕̕͝ ̴̨͕̥̻̭̗̀͐̽̒̎̀͂̇̚͠͝ẘ̴̱͈͍̤̙̱̫̞̤̖͍̆̈́̽͒̅͑̌̕͜ȧ̴̢̛̛͓͋̿͒̉͐ţ̸͇̝͔͚̪̤̆͒̔͒͊̀̚c̵̛̜̝̥̝͔͉̙̏̕͘͠͠h̷̰͇̠̫͕̲̗͎̫̖̕͜i̴̡̢͚̬̟͔̳̯̩͎̗͛̽̿̑͝n̵̡̛̐̈̐̀̄̾̽̅̚̚g̸̗̺͒̉̽̄̾͐̿͘͝ ̸̡̛̳͉̖͐͌̊́͂̆͜͝s̸̹̙̩̩͈͓͚̀̓̋̐̔́͊t̷͓̦̙̣͌͝͝a̵̛̳̝̲̼̤̔̃̈́̂̕r̴̺̩͔̄͑̇̒̽͘ị̴̢͎̣̱͓̮̹͖͎͔̾̾̂̚n̷͉͙̩̤̹̤̹̣̜̍̚g̶̢̛͎̦̫̜̈͛̔̈́̃̍̆͌ ̷̦̻̔͊̅͐̎̋̄̅́͝c̵̱̺̻̞̜̙͓͓̳͕͊̈̈́̈́̆͂̃͜͝ĕ̸̞͐͑̿ã̵̙̓̓̃̃͂̈́̈͆͠s̶̢̧̧̩͉͛ẽ̶̦̥̌̎͌̎̀͗̉ĺ̴̢̳̲̗͇̻̆͛̅̌́̕̚ḙ̶̢̩̥̣͚̺͓̪̦̳̈́͗͊͌̅̄͒̈̽͜͠͠ṡ̷̛͎̟̞͔̦̟̪̥͍͕͆͆͜s̶͓̭̘̟͊͂̐̒͋̅̀͊͂͑̚͝l̴̲̭̻̓́̐̅́͘͠͝y̸̫̹̭̠̥͍̙̳̘͕̐̽͑̉̍̐̿͆͜ ̵̢̨͍͖͎̘͕̭̬̐̿̉̇̏̎̒h̸̛͔͓̱͔̩̦̤̗̫̄͛̿̆͌̽̚͠ę̷̢̛̛̣̦̘͓͈̩̭̫͂͆̈̃̀ͅͅ ̵̢̲̜̞̙̯̀͆͊m̵̜̺̠̣̘̩̌̈́̆͝ų̵͖̠͚̟̟̥͍̥̓͑̏̀͛͜s̸̡̫̳̄͗̍̍̕͝t̴̰̠͚̐̃̿ ̶̧̛̙̝̜͈̫̜̮͉̀̒̇̐̆̎́̽͘͝n̵̥͗͋̿̋̽̈́̏͛̓̕̕͝ǫ̴̧̮̘͉̖̦̯̣̜̍̂̓͛͑͒̅̚ͅt̶̖̟̗̥̗̺̞̟̗̆͗ͅ ̶̩̺͔̿͂͛͆̏͝͝Ķ̴̢̡̩̯̠͎̹̩̗̯͗͊͘ͅn̷̨̰̹̱͙̠̰̤̿̌̎̂͋͐͗̊̀̔̕ͅǫ̵̢̢̨̧͔̹̗̭̙̋̐͛̆͋̊̔̋ẅ̸̹̯̬͔̜̰́̓̂̊̋̃͑̂͋̏̅̕ ̵̢̛͕̟͔͍̙͎͙̜̠̱̉̊̍͌̚͝͝ͅḧ̷͙͚̹̮̎̃̃͛̈́̀̐͝ê̵̡̧̢̟̭͔̳̹͙͈̰ ̶̬̹̥̙͑̋̒̒̅́̏̊̿̊m̵̢̨͓̗͕̩̭̙̺̼͍̪̽̄̍̿̕û̷̲̤̖̅͗̈́͂͝͠s̴̘̜͍͙̍͌̋̔͗͋̄̽͌̐͠t̸̪̙͋̎̂̃̿̿̀͌̉́̐ ̶͕̱̪͉͌n̸̞̘̤̬͔̞̉̅́͒͂̊̐ȫ̴̜̼̠̟̰̤̬͇̾̀ṫ̶̟̦̭͙̯̪͂͐͗̒̾̄̈̏̕͠͝ ̸̝̝́̉̄͗̈́̽̉̕͘͝S̷͔̞͙̙͙̈́e̶̩̺̅͌̒͘e̶̻͇͉̘̤̰̓̀̾͛́̇̃͜ ̸̢̗̪̭̱̝̖̤̍̑͐̆͗̐͝ĥ̷̛͔̦̘̭̫̟͍̝͎͕̪̋̈́̉͒̀̈́̋̓͘e̸͚̟͎̗̬̅͌̄̏̌̉̇̇́̔̚͜͝ ̷̮̦̗̖͚͗̐̈̉͐͜ͅm̷̛͍̠̗̪̲͈̃̀̾̈́̋͂u̴̼̝̐͐͋̀̀̈́̂̇͠s̴̳̯͕̬̓̾͜͝t̴̡̡̲͍͇͉͉̥̟͍̤̐̈́̈́̂̈̌͜ ̵̡̝́b̴͔̗̬̞̠̔͂̎͋͠ȩ̶̛̯̯̝̜̮̺͇̦̗͊̿̾͛͑̈́̒̀͠ ̶̢̰̳̭̭͔̤͔͕̂̅͌͑̃̓̃̄͂͌̚͘s̷̳͛̌͆͌̔̚ͅọ̵͔͚̪́̈́͛̂͛͆̈́ͅm̵̹̣̹̜͎̭̏è̸͚͕̹͓̦̯́̓̀̓́͛̓͋t̵̢̝̱̻̱͌̈̀̇̐͝h̷̬͗̂̾͜i̴̟̦̪̱̰͓̦̭̟̞̙̔̓̀̉͌̿̚͝n̸̡͊̉̎g̴͎̯͍͈͇̭̃͛̆ ̵̨̳̳͔̞̭͉̘̪̖͚̐̆̑̋́̌̄̏̔͠R̸̢̖͉̞̆͒̽̀̅̅́̓̊̈͜͝ĭ̴̢̗̘̦g̶̛͙̅̒̓̀͐̇͊́h̴̨͙̙̪̮͖̖̟͖͖̏̉̓̿̓̽̍̕̕̚͜t̷͚͇͓̰̯̞͙̣̋̈́͂ ̵̰̈̃͛̎̽͠Ḯ̶͙̻̈̈̐̾͐̑̏̅͘l̴̘̗̤͉͋͗̅̐̍̑͒͘ͅl̵̛̳̠̪̰̹̩̘̮̔͆̈́̔̆̈́͌̒̿ ̶̨̜̣͉̤̼̮̻̠͉̭͍̓̐̔͐̅̀̔̈̓͝͝s̸̨̖̜̣̹̜͚̫̬̺̀͗͂̎̅͆̕ě̵̫̞̬̪̱̮̭̜̝̥̃̏̈́̇͐̉́́̆̊͠ͅͅe̷̟̳̽̿̏́̈́̑̓̈́ ̶̧͓͉̥̟̭͖͖̲̯͈͚̐̀͛͑̚ẅ̶̙̠̯̜͚̠́̅̾̑h̷̢̤̭̹̅̆̄́̕̚̕͘͝͠ͅa̶̛̛͔̲̓̿̒̄̂͊͐̐ͅt̸̡̛̥̭̓ ̴̹̜͇͉̺̼͚̰̣̀͑̚I̴̧̧̘̬͖̲̳̙̫̣̪͍͛̈́̒͌̇͌̈́̾̉̚ ̶͔͎̞͓͙̍̂̋̆̈́͐̇c̵̝̣̝̩̈́à̸͎ǹ̵̩̙̥͓̙̃̐́̄͆̌̚͠ ̴̰͈̔̂̄̃̒͑͑͒͐͋͋̌d̸̠͇̻͓͈͒̍̊̿͛̋̇͑͊ő̵̢̨̡̰̮̞̹̘͚̫̲͗̃͒͜ ̶̡̛̟̝̬̹̩̺͎͖̆̈́̿̌̾̃̅̄͠ͅę̷̛̤̳̠̦̥͕̮̽̇͝l̶̼̮̳̪̈̀̀̈́͛̾̉̄̐͆̀s̶͎͉͋̈́́̏́̓̂̌͝ë̵̛͍͕̣̫̥̝̳̫̱̥͔͖́̓̈́̉̔͋̂ ̷̡̨͇̠̜̝̝̿͆͐̀͜͝w̸̨̛͚̱̖͇͖̲͙͙̺̪̉̑̾̈̄̏͛͘ͅȉ̸͙̾ț̷̛̪̩͕̝̫̖̑̂̀̀͛̆͛͂͑̕͘ḩ̸͎͍̥̲̝̦̹̩̰͚͒̍ͅ ̷̗̃͛ͅt̷̢͖̜͔̝̹̟͎̺̣̔̿̈́̒̇̄͊̿̋͜͜͝o̴̧̧̥͉͕̲̞̟̟͐̌̓̈́͆̈́͆̏ͅǫ̴̢͔̥̱̜̘̹͍̆̀̈́̊̈̒̈́̇̐͋̈́ ̸̢̰̱̪͈͖̖͓͙̃̈͑̆͝͝m̵̨͎̳͙̝͔̲̩͋͑͒͌̎̑͝a̴̛̛̻̫̜͆͑̍̈̏̑̈́͝͝ǹ̷̬̲̜͙̳̓̎̀͗̇̎̂̒͝y̷̜̘͍̻͉̝͚̲̺͖̝̿̐͜ ̴̢̘̗̝̥͎̍̓̇͜ę̸̣͎͍͈̖̲̭̬̓̕͜y̸̪̲̥̗̹̮̖͕̚ͅḙ̶͎͉̗̥͙̪͖͕͙̬̭̂̎ş̴̨̺̺̬̭̪͒̃́̍̈́̍̔̚͜ ̷̖̖̖͍̘̭̳̙͛̔͒ä̷̡̡̢̗̲͇̫͍͇́̋̾͜r̴̡̘͈̜͉̬̼̲̬̙̓̒͜͜e̴̺̪͚͚̮̹̯̩̙̋̀̏͐͜ ̶̧̢̨̦̜̻̦̺̚ͅͅw̷̰͕̫̋̉̿̿̃̓̓̈́̂̕̚̕a̷̳̯̰̰̮͇̮̺̭͂͒̈́ţ̵̞̗͇͎̩̟̉̏͑͛́̌͛̚̚͜c̵͓̀̈́̀̓͌̄͝h̵͉̩̠̣̺͓̘̑͛͆͐̒͂̑̀i̷͖̘͑̇̔́̋́̈́̏͐͝͠ń̷̨͇̖͙̦̗̪̾̏͂̄̂ĝ̸̛̳͍̟̠̞̩̺̱͆̈͛̈́̽͐̉͆̀̀ ̷̢̭͔̓̌̀͘s̴̢͇͖̺͔͇͎̈́̄̓̓̇͛̎̓̚͝ţ̵̨͍̖̳̱̩̹̱̜̫̤̓ả̴̖̙̬͉̗̄͋͛̓̍̈́̎̊r̶̨̳̺̟̀i̸̧̥̘̙͈̣͇̠̱͑͊̾̀̇̔͑̌͜n̶̮̜̜̜̹̯̳̹̜͕̈́̐̈͠ģ̷̧͇̯̦͕͇̘͖͝ ̶̤͈̓́̔̇͂̔͑͋̆̿̾͝c̵̡̲̫̭̟̟̬̼̪̦̹͇̉̉͛̚͘͠ẻ̵̲̣͖̾͛̿̈́͘ͅą̵̥̩̘̣͙̘̰̮̯̪͒̅̏̃͗͆̅͌̓s̷̛͔͍͖͔̟̫͂̏́̓͌̎́̓̀̆e̴̢̹̥͍̭̝͇̘̱͉̐̏̀̊́̂̅̇̿̐͘͜l̵͓̰͍̬̓͑̽́̓̊̌͊̈́̉̆͝ȩ̷̰̼̌̃̉s̴͙̘̙̪̯̟͎͖̘̋̓̐̀̉̇̚͜ͅs̶̢̪̼̣͙̫̖̺͑͑̉̅͂͆̑͑̈́̽l̶̥̠̺̹͎̫̻͚̯̒̀́̎̽̈́̌̍̄̆͜y̵͕̳̣͔̘͕͔̜̯͉͑̅͒͗̒̅ ̴̡̢̝͍̳͙̹̼̋͑̉̈́̂̋̕͝ȟ̸͇̮̤͊͜ͅȩ̸̧͚̼̙̻̠̼̖̽̒̂̿̈́͜ͅ ̵̨̨̪̖͙͉̞̦̰̻̓̉̃̆̚m̸͚̦͔̪̱̘̞̗͉̼̍̐̀̈́̈̕͝u̴̡͕̙͐̈͆͑̕̚ͅś̵̡̢̛̠̤̼͂̋̌̏̆͘͜͝t̵̨̛̖̥͙̦̗̩̘̍͒̽̔̃̈́̾͌͂͋ͅ ̶̧͚̦̞̩͎͉̎̅͋̃̈́̀̈́̕̕̚͝n̷͕̠͉̝̮͔͊̕ǫ̵̬̼̘͈͙̠̘̌̾̇̏͠t̷̰̜̹̊̎͌̉̅̑͋͘̕ ̷̛̞͗̍͊̈́̉̈́̕͠Ḳ̸̨̨̢͓̰͔̳̲̳͖̃̂̈́͊̑̔̚n̶̰̘͉͓̝̜̎͜o̴̬̝̳̊̍̓̎͂̐̎͠͝w̷̡̖̭͚̙̰͈̼̦͕̲̥̋̒̕̚ ̶̠̙̠̖̙̥̃̓̊̒͘͜h̵̝̤̖͇͕̫̥͚̺͖͈̽̒̽̏̀̈́̿̌͘̚ë̸̪́̈̇̍̓̇̈̓͗̈́̋̏ ̵͍̹͔̺̤͐̈́̊͂̿̓̈́̅̍̌̾͌ͅͅm̸̢͍̹͎̾̿̌̍̋̍͐͋̊̀̽̚ų̴̦͎͌s̸̛̙̦̣̣̣̄̎̀͑́̀̕͝t̴̨̘̺͔̽̑̈́́͆̌̈́͝ ̷̥̹͚͊̿̾̈̒̆͗̿̊͋̋n̶̺͇̥̲̣̣̞͐o̶͐̏̏̓̓͂͝ͅṱ̵̨̹͖̰̪̺̬͙̿̌͜ ̴̣̓̅̿͐S̴͎̳̖̎̈́̇̏̓̉̕͠͝e̸̛̻͍͉̙̣͍̒ę̶̛͕̼̩̲͓̗̘̣̩̓̽̀͜ ̶͇͉͎͙̗͕̖̦̻͖͌͐̓̅̿͘͝͝h̷̙͈̍̃͌e̴̛͖̰̥͙̱͖̺͈̥̣̫̾͒͗̕ͅ ̶͈̥̾̑m̸̨̢̺͇̟͉̓̃͜ͅų̵͉̬̭̭̃͌͂͊̔͂̔́̈̿͝͠s̷̛͔̬͕͈̯̘̻͔̿̂̃̒̑̏͌̚͝t̷͇̦͂̀̈́ ̷̫̭̥͂͗͆̂̋͝b̴͔͇͖̱͗̉̿͜e̵̻̐͂͋̍͠ ̴̘̔͑̎̏́s̶̤̹̈́̒͒̍͌̓̈́͝o̶̧̤͖̯̥͂̏́͂̏͊̒̚m̴̢̧̡͖̞̘̲̹̟̯̄̀͊e̸̛̥͖̜̩͍͍̳͇̭̦̼͒̽́̌́̿̿̋ͅt̶̬̭̲̲́̈́̈̇̀̓̿͑͗͝h̸̨̼̮̣̗͈͍̞̹̯̺̑͛̑̀̽̚͝͠͠į̶̖̞̣̑͋͂̾̾͆̃͆̏̈́n̸̨͓̞͍̰͔̭̥͕͌̂̕͜͜g̵͉̺͔͚̩̲̙͎̝̭̀̑̌̅̔́̽̄̈́͛͂̚͜ ̵̧̠̰̳̳̆̋e̷͙͌̈͐͝͠l̵̮̗̜͖̓̈́̐s̴̡̫͕͓̥͕͆̉͗̅̈͆̿̓͒͌͊e̶̟̿́̅͌̿͐̓̎̇͝͝ ̷̨̨̨̨̛̻̖̝̫̲̜̹̬̎́̒̚͝w̶̡̛̻͓̜̗̟̳̜͎̘̠̑̊̿̇̏̅̕͜į̴̛͆̽ț̵͎̭̠̙͉̅̍h̴̗̙͍̠̝̠̠͗͑̑̿͠ ̸̳̭̠͇̯̖̗̈́͋̈́̿͂̾̀̃̐͠͠t̷̡̨̢̩̬̼͉̼͈̯̦͓̑͗̎̀̐̏͝ơ̶̛͖̙̞͎͈̙̎̅͑̾̔̆̒̕͝͠o̸̳̞͔͑̈́̇̈́̓̑̀̕͝ ̵̧̧̢̝͕̜͎̭̺̹͆͒͐͋m̷͔̟͇̾̉͊̅̆̅a̶̧̛̲̤̝͊͛̿̍͌͗́̔̾̈n̵̨̧̨̫̱̦͈̪̘̈̐͘͝y̷̟̫͍̐̾̋̎̓̎̚͘͘͝͝ ̴͍̣̞̜̖̺̗̌̊̀̕̕ͅę̵̨͈̖̞͉̠̀͐̀̾̀y̵̜̒̏̉͆ĕ̸̡̢̝͓͉͓̹͇̯̼͗̎š̵͈̦̰̩̤̬̻̗̗̭ ̸̹̘͙̣̟̒̏̾͘ȧ̵̹͉͔̈r̵̘̼͈͉͛̒̔͒̽͜͜ḛ̴̡̙̙̩͕̮̪́̿̑͐͠͝ ̴͕͂͊̒́̄̌̋w̶̲̗̅̍̀́͐͝á̵̳̯͍̗͘t̷͚̻̯̘̞̳̟̗͙͓͆͑͘c̶̣̻̩̥͂̽́̇̚h̶̡͎̭̫͗ị̷̝̝̪̫͍͎̹̮̊͜͜n̸̡̢̨̛͔̝̻͎̬͔̗̦̐̋͑̒́̽͊ĝ̶̨̩̿̊̽̈́ ̷͇̳̻̜̻̔͐̈́͑̔̌͗ś̶̛̥̰͓̠͖͓̍̐͌̈́ť̴̢̛̪̻̟̙͊̈́̿͗̂̌a̴̛̮̺̙͎̲̺̖̎̋͒̓̏͜͠͝r̶̢̩͎̘̮̤̟̎í̴͕̱̺͕͈͍͍̩̘̫̜̋̽̄͊̅̍̐̈́̚͜͝͠n̴̻̳̒́͆ǵ̵̘̾̍͋͊́ ̶̻̮̜̯͉͙͚̬̞̼̻̌̆͊̒̈̿̋̒͠͝c̷̭̠͖̥̪͔͓̦͓̝͍̯̐ẽ̷̺̙̳͚̳̾̌͋̈́̀̿͘͘a̸͖͉͕̦͒͆́̅̓͝s̸̻͉̜̟̐̋̋̆̈́̍ẽ̴̩̬̭̠͍̫̰̜̭͌́̀l̸̬̲̰͍̎͊͂̈́̃̅̂̃̕̚͜e̸͙̰̜͉̿͂̒̅͑͑͊̃̅͜ś̷̫̬͖̼͍̹̯͚̭͇̏̃̋̓̊͂͒͜͜͠ṣ̷̘̯̯͓͉͓̩͚̄̑̄̾̉̀͌͠͝l̴̹͒̍̒̀̅̈́̈́̈̈ỷ̵͉͍̥̘̮̻͗͜ ̶̫͇̻̜͈͍̞͙̙͋̀̾h̷̗̠̟̻͚̼͇̭̖̆͌̔̔̓͝ȇ̷̡̦̩̗̭̜͎͈̟͎͆́̆͠ ̴̡̬̼̦̗͋̔ͅm̵̢͈͍̪͉͕̅̈́̑̽̅͗͝u̶̟͆̀̿̚s̸̡͉͓̬̬̫͙̫̮̳̈́̅͊̀̇̈́̉̓̈́͜t̶̛̲̬̻̮͇͙̮͕̒͆̓̈͑͌̚ ̵̩͕̏̾̾͝n̵̰̤̟̱̦̹̈́͌̐͘͝o̵̡̙͔̜͓̻͎͙̗̯̟͋̌͜͝t̷̡̫͉͕̹̥̂̓̋̈̈́̂̀̔͘͘͠ ̵̨̡͉̮̩̏̊̆͗̉͂͝͝Ḵ̶̤̬̟̤͕̼̐̅̒̔̅ͅn̸̨̯͔̗̮̮̳̯͍͙̱͔̽́̉͘o̵̱̦̳̍̾̇͌͆̃́̕͘̚̚͝w̵̡̬͙̦͎̹͚̑̀̉̃̊̋ ̵̮͉̟̮̙̝͒͒̏̌̊̑̈́͒̌͐̃h̸̰̭̞̙̠̻͌̉́̽͆͒͘͜e̸͎̘̲̝͕̯̓̀͒̈́̈́͝ ̵̡̞̽̉͗̔m̶̢͖̤̿͌̓͜͝ù̵͖̻͚͕̻̥̱̬̮͑̏̈́ś̷̤͚̃͆̌͐t̷͕̻̜͖͔͎̥̀̍͗͜͝͝͝ ̵̡̨͎̣̞̟̠̤̰͋͛̍̊͆͗͠͝ṇ̷͖̮͚́͊͑̐͋̾͌̀̏̆͠͝ó̴͚̦̥͒̐̀̈́t̴̝͚̙͚̟̑͜ͅ ̴̤͒͌̅̈́́S̴̡̗̖̭̳̹̫̉́̇́̀̏̑ě̷̤͈̜̦̩͔́̊ȩ̷̲̖̜̉͐̉͐̽́̋̚ ̶̡͚̬̳͖̪̫͕͛̓̈́̃ẖ̶̔e̶̡̛̦̦̔̽̒̿͝ ̸̧͚͇̗͇͛̌m̶̖̫̗̭͎͕͗́̇̆͂͜͠u̵̧̧̡̹̩̤̠͔̬͌̽͘͘s̷̡͇̤̬̋̃͊͜t̸̢̻̠̖̩̟͗̃̈́̓̑̚̚͜͝ ̷̱̭͈̲͓̜͖̮̤͓̤̌̈́̈̇̕͜b̸̜͈͖̳̜̹͚̽̋͗̐é̷̻̗̫̲͖̺͛̆̐̂͐̌̍̃͝ͅ ̶̧̻̫̣̋̃̒̒̀͑s̷̛̹̏͒ọ̷̓̓̈́̏̑͗̎̋̎͠m̷̩̼͖̈́͐̋͐́͑̓̔̊̕e̸̙̝͛̀͊̂̉ṱ̵̳͋̆̿͌̅͆̂͠͝h̶̼̓͛̈́͋̈́́͐̾͝͠ȉ̵̡̛̖̪̼͉̟̆̐̕n̴̡̩̠̹͉͔̣͙̺͗̈ͅg̶͔͍͇̱͎͑͂́̃̈́̈́͝ ̴̼͙̀̔̈́̉̎̐̑͜ͅe̵͓̽̽̑l̴̡̛͙̳̭̟̘̲̭̞̘̞̆̃̃̑͊̃̿̉̓͠s̷̒̉̆͒͂̍̃̀̊̚ͅę̷̱̤̙͎̮̼͖̼̙̋̽͑̃͜ ̷̛̺̪͈̦̱̭̮̻̠̓̃͂̏̋̉͒̇͒̕̕w̵̢̬͙̙̻̱̍̕ĭ̵̼̘̘̲͉̲͠ṯ̶̱̜͈͒͑̈́͝h̴̡̧̧̹̟̣̣̭͕͂̑ͅ ̸̡̰̠̼̰̦̪̺̬̩̠̪̍̒͗͂͗͘t̴̥̞̤̩̯̞͎̹̺̍͝ȏ̴̢̝͈͓̌̔̾́͜ō̴̜͚̩̗̱͓̘͈̬͂̈́̂̋͐́̽̚͘ ̴̡̧͎̙̻̯͔͔̫̜̯̂̈̂͋̾͆́͝͝m̴̢̤̗̬͈̱̥̓̋̄͐̋͛̽̊̑͝͝ͅa̴̼̘͓̠̥͎̥͕͐͒̃̍̐͌̕͝ͅn̵̘̜͎̫̬̫͎̮̆̏̄̿͌͌y̴͔̗͌̚̕͝ ̴̦̰̝͓̦̻̬͚̺̥͌̀͋̽͑̓̒̾̅͘ë̴̦́̌̏̿ŷ̴̧̛̙̙̗̮͚͙̜͓͎̻̆̑̾̏̎͐͊̚̕̚e̵̢̖̟̩̟͈̓̈́̉̌̒̊̒̿̍͘s̷̥͈̘̞͑̅̂͐̊͆̒ ̶̲̺͓̍̀̄̄̈̿͛̀͝a̴̧̤͎͖̗̗̠̾̋͜͝ͅr̴̲̣̥̫̪̠͎͉̩̭̗̿̃̋̓ͅe̵̩̍ ̵̧̡̡̪̺̦̪͉̘̻̥̒̐͋̀̑̐̄͐̎̌̕͝w̴̻̫̟̟̝̌͜à̷̜̱̰̫̥̞̝̳͍̖̠͍̉̕ẗ̶͖͉́͊c̷͙̠̹̪̯͍̥͍̲̝̻̮̎̀̉̕h̶̝̙̟̫̭̗͕͋͘͠ḯ̴̮͔͈͌̀̀̔̍̊̈͜ṇ̸̻̘̳̯̲̲̩̇̌̈́ͅg̴̢̧̰̬̞̣͙̼͠ͅ ̷͙̼̟̭̤̙̬̗̳̯̅͌̉̍͛̚s̸̡̠̮̮̞̮͓͈̮̖͍̓̽͜t̵̩̠̦̙̺̝͗̽̈́̍̅͆͘à̷̧̧̛̙͇̞̟̫͈̑̈́r̸̡̛̳̘̫̹̥̣͂̀i̴̛̻̝͈̲̩̐̽͛̅͌̆̆̔̆̚ń̸̻̟̻̘̏͜͜ģ̷̧͉̬̌̓̓̀̂́͘͜ ̴̨̧̧̬̙͇̬͈̯̞͔̅̉c̶̯̘̙͚̳͓̦̍́͘͠e̵̡͍͉͈̱͍̦̎͗̓̈͋̀̈́̀́͘͠ȁ̸̢̛̰̱͖͙͛͊͐͝͝ş̶̧͎̩̗̤̆̂͛͘ͅe̶̫̲̮͉̞̚͝l̷̩̩͎͓͈͙̗̞̹̤̩̓̒̐͘e̸̹͊̑̍͒͋͊͝s̸̨͉̳̲̙̞̳͖͇̩͎̹͗̎̇̌̐͝͠s̸̨̡̝̘͓͍͖̯̊̃̋̔̓͐̚͜͜͜͠ḽ̴̨̮̰̣̠̝̮̗͍̲̜͒̃͗̃y̸̥͎̺͇̥̟̤̝͑̄̿̆ ̶̨̝͉͎̬̥̘̱͎̃̂̉̄̄̂̅́̓͠h̸̡̧̩̠̙̦͍̤̻̤̜͛̎͂̍̀̋́͠ȅ̴̛̦͒́ ̸͇͈̪̩͇͓͕̇́̌̉̿̀͠m̸̪̪̪͚̺̱̜̗͙̅͂̀̍u̸͉͔̾̅̾̿̍̎͗͂͑͝͝s̴̡̫̦͓̫̾̽͂̑̉͂t̴͍̹̰̆̽͝ ̴̧̼͈̾́̐̑̉̕̚n̵̞͐͂̔̿͆̃͝ͅo̵̖̩̟͔̦̹̦͈̬̗̿̋̅͗̍t̸̜̱̱͕͇̲̹̘̖̤̒̂̊̔̂̔̂̏͝ ̶̦̟͍̖͉̖̾̑̃͑̃̊͐̀͊̀K̵͙͍̰͂̐̈́͒̉̔̓̄͜n̷͕̘̆ö̷͙͕̩̩̤́̀͆͌̇̍͂͊̏̑̉͜͜͝w̶̹͖̬̝͕̎̇̂̓͝ ̷̳̠͛̍͑͛̏̔̑̕͝h̷͎̲̓͋̀̓͐͝e̶̢̦͓̦̼̔ ̵̧͔̑͑̓ḿ̶̮͖̝̲̕͜u̵̠̠͚͓͙̝̼͈͆̀̀s̸̢̪͍͈̮̯̗̦̎̽̎̋̍́̈́̇̈̋͘ͅt̶̫͍̤̦́͊̀̈́̉̂̍̒ ̸̣̹͕̖̆͐̄̑ǹ̶̡̧̳̥̠̳͎̩̙̺̣̞ȯ̶̱̟̠͔̹̣̏̚ͅt̷̺̹͎̮͙̼̰̦͇̼̫̑ ̸̧̧̱͇̮̠̬̫̙͔̳̻̐͊̀̃S̴̖̼͈̎̓̿̒͋̈́̅̓̔̕͝ȇ̴̊͜ë̵̡̤̦̤̙̻͍̙́̀͜ͅ ̷̡̢͖̪͖̣̰̻̱̜̈́̀̑̽̍̈́̈́ẖ̸͖̞̩͛̇͌ȇ̵̢̢͖̠̮̤͉͍̭̙͗́ͅ ̵̜̬͊̐m̷̡̼̣̲̼͕̘̔̀̽̃̀̎̒̾̓̈́͝ủ̴̢͖̻͙͇̹̳̬s̴̼͚͙͈̪̪̠̞͈̘̼̓͊̾̆̽̿͘͝t̷̬̮͓̻͕͉͗͐ ̷̧̩͈́b̶̡͈͙̹̩̭̑̀͑̈ͅę̶̮̥͕̱̓̆̄̉̇͒͠ ̸̢̤̝͔̥͎̝̍͂͌͛̆̽̚ͅs̴̛͎͖̫̝̔ȏ̶̡̩̰̮̀͐̈́͒̕ṁ̸̛̥́̉́̎͘̕ȩ̵̤͕̪̱̲̞̘́̈́̓͠t̵̤̅͌̓̏̈́̑́h̸̡̲͙̬͈̗̫̹̲̲͙̥̋̀͠ḯ̷͚̦̯̺͔̯͉̳̟́͗̾̃̚ͅǹ̸̛̰̻͍̌͝ģ̶̲͎̰̙̘̆͆̆͐͋̈́́̾̓̉͗ ̸̖̣̙͍͊̾̈́̾̈̌̾̂̌̈́e̷̪̖͕̿͊́́̊͋͂́͛̓̂͝l̷̨̲̟̪͈̜͈̹̦͚̯͖̑̔s̷̡͉͔̖̼̟̫̯̰͓̐̾͒̒̂e̷̛̦͖̮̲̬̹̗̿ ̷̩͖̒͝w̷̖͛͆̇̽̃͊͐͠i̶̡̢̛̪͚̮̺̜͍̬͐̑̅́̇̔́̕͜͝t̷̨̡͙̼̞͎͙͉̭̗̬̣͆̍͂̓̈̏̑͐̕h̷̛͇̲͈̒̇͂͒̈́̕ ̴̖͉͈͉̞̿͜t̶̢̘̜̗̔̕͠ö̵̗̝̬̻̫̩́̏̅͊̽́ơ̴̬̮̞͍̗̙̦͔̮̝͆͆̉̿̍̍̆̓̔̚ ̴̢̰̭̯̤̃̉͘m̶̠͉͔̻̟̤͎͓̰̭͓̺̐̀̀a̵̢̛͍̱͇̖͊͐͐͗̓̆͝ṋ̶̡̧̆͋̀̄̈͆̈͂ỹ̷̢̛͇͓̬͇̩͓̼̦̻͍͔́̅̇͋̚͝ ̴̰̹̹̺̼̠̥̱̐̎̎̓͜͜ͅē̸͙͚̗̪̃̑̉̓͛̒̕̕y̷̨̪̮̫͖̥̠͓̘̌̄̃̈́̚̚é̵͓̘̞͔̬͍̫̠̈́̒̆̾̃́̀̈́̈͝͝ś̷̤͔͖̳̈́̉̄̈́̄ ̵̳̘̀̒̉́͑̈́̍̾̚͝ä̶̭̱̝̻̫̭̜́͗̓̒̉̋͛̆͘r̷̡͍͈̎̾͠ȇ̴̳̖̜̜̦̬̬̼̩̯̲͊͆̆ ̷̭̼̲̱͍͚̭̳̀͋̉̕ẃ̶̡̛̛̱̰̬̙̖̹̼̭̋̀̓̆̀̀͗̄͜ą̴̡̙̪̹̮̣̗͎͘t̷͉̠̝̼͈͈͑̐̍̑͋͌̌̅͗c̶͓͍̗̖͙̗̫̥̬̤͉̺̊̅ḧ̷̤̤́̓̎͜i̸͙͍͍̥̜̠͗͆n̴̢̢̘̝͖͚̩̮̈́̓̏̉͆̇͌̕͘͘͜ͅg̵̮̘̣̲͖̓̆͘ ̸̢͔̻͎̱́̈́̒̕͝ṣ̸̨̮̥̣̫̯̐ẗ̵̻̪͎̾̋̈́̄̚a̵͔̯̟̓͑́̈̈́͂̊̚͝͝͠r̴̞̠̥͔̬͊̄̿͘͝ͅī̸̧̢͕̻͉̱͚͇͔̹̜̐͑͝ͅn̷̢̯̘͎͕̠͇͕̘̫͚͐̅̀̔̏͊̽͛́̕ͅḡ̷̮͔̪̹͕͈͊̽̊ ̴̡͓̠͍̻͍̺̪̱̯̠̍͆͋͊̿͑̏͊̈̒͆̓͜c̷̩̖͕̜̫̞̭̹̥̭̮͈̽͐̉̈̒̽͠͠e̸̲͐͝͝a̷̛̭̘̰̳͓͙̐̀̿̉̾s̷̛͈̱̠̖̜̞̳̉̀̈̈̐̂̕͠ȩ̷͚̖͍̺͍̱̬̫̘̐͌̽̇̏̊̂͂͊ļ̸̢̛͎̞̘͈̗̜͔̫̑̈́͂̾̾̌̑e̷̛͈̗̓̾̀̈̀̀̾͗̃͝͠s̵̰͉̬͈͕͍̱̙̰̎̀̈́͌̓͂͘s̴̡̢̛͔̰͗͋̾͌̏̂́l̵̬̠͛͌̌̃͗́̔̾̋̚ÿ̷̻̣͇̘̞̲̣͓̳́̅̔̀̈́ ̵̧̨̻̟͓̙͈͕̇̆̔̊̔͐̚͜ḧ̷̨̛̞͈̹͖̮͍͍͔̼͑̏͑̍̌͛̒̚ͅe̵̡̞̯̦̱̝̯̱̮͛͒͗̋͝͝ ̴̧̦̟̪̭͈̠̦̓̽̎̋̽͋͠m̸͚̤̑͌̋̄̏͂ư̷̢̳̮̙̟̭̪͈̪̖͊̃̔̍̄͑̅̊͠ş̴̨̭̲̣͖̟̪͗̍̊̎͊̃̃͌͗͋̈́t̷̼̼̹̐̈́̇͗̄̈́̀̈͝͠ ̷̨̣͛͒̓͌̅͂̐͌͝n̷͈͇̼̿̐̚o̵͎̬͊̈́t̴̛̪͚͆̾͘ ̷̻͓̱̜̩̥͇͂̄̏̇͘K̴̪̟̘̪̯̭̞̪͌̎̈́̈́̈́̐́̓͌̽n̷͔͛̅͐̈́͒̑͛̀ö̸̳͖͜w̶̟̯̞̫̫̰͛̽͛͒̉̉̉́̈́̓̕ ̶̢̘̈́͂̊̿̾͆ḩ̵͖̥̖̟̙͐̎̌͗́̚͝e̷͎͍͕̰̤̮͋̇̉̌͝ ̴͖̺̱̼͓͔̭̕m̶̢̢̬̦̖͚͉̤͍̱̿̓͑̒͛u̶̦̦̣̮̐̍̃̄̀͌̽̇s̸̬͐͗̒̎t̷̟̣̜̦̪͙̟̻͖̥̤̄̀͌̀̂͜ ̴͚͎̆̑͗̎̇̇̃̀͝ņ̶̧̪̠̭̘͓̙͖͙͑ǫ̵̲͇͕̤͇̿́́̌͗̄̕t̴͔͓̻̬̯̬̹͉͉̫̂͊̽͆̐̎̓̈́̌͠͝ ̵̢͕̟̻̳͇̗̭̤͉̬̑̉̈͛̚S̵̞̜̜̋̀̏̅͒̒̃̇͐̀ë̷̡̙̯̭̰́̍̀̇́̓͒̏́͛̓͝ē̵̘̟̣͙͍̝̰̠̜̥̳̏̇̊̓͘͜ ̵̧̫͚͕͖̔h̷͉͔̼͎͙͎͕̝̰͆̆̋̅͠͝ͅḛ̶͎͇̠̬͛̈́̉̚͝͝ ̶̡̩̹̞̟̠͛̒̏̆́̈́̕͜m̶̹̖̘̳̣̣̒͋̃̽̆̀́̽̾̀͗̕u̷͖͈̘̰̯̓́s̴̢̰̗̭̱͖̣͍̋̕ṯ̷͇̟͚̲̝͈̀̄̂̓̈́̅͠͝ ̸̧̮̳̰̬͚̟̱̱̑͆̓̓̓̓͜ḃ̴̡̥̱̙̯̩͎̦̱̫̗̥̅̚e̷̖̗̫̲̗̹̘̓̂̏̆̒̿̓̎͗́̍͠ ̵̙̰̦̖̘͚̤͙͍͙̗̖̇̋͑̓̆̀̋̑͐͘ș̴͍̯̟͚͙̏͗o̸̬̪͈̣͗̽̈́̍͂͗̒͜͝͠m̷͔̯͈͎̼͍͈̎̄̂̉̚e̸͚̩͈̙̳̹̬̟͍̗̅̀̉̐͒̆̒̑͛̈́̈́ẗ̸̨̲̖̖͓̮̬͚͑̿̌͛͂̍͛̈́̏͜͝h̸͇̰͚͍̥̳̭̾̔̊̆̒̇̐i̶̛̦̥̼̮̻̩͎͙̼͗̊͑̅͜͜ͅn̶̼̗̝̐ͅg̴͎̖̔̈̀͝ͅͅ ̴͇̖̘̙̣̑e̵̢̲̬̞̲̣͚̣͗͑ͅl̴̨̙̝̺̙̬͆́̑̾̀̓̽͠š̸̗͋͌̀̓̇è̷̥̮͊̊͠ ̶̫́̉̃̕w̴̛̥͗̽̑̏̓̄̚̚ï̷̢͉̭̙̳̮̜̗t̵̙͍͌̂̌̀̉̅̾̄͐͂̅͠ḧ̵̛̘̫̩̱̞̯̤̫́̆͗̔̐̕͠ ̸̡̛͖͖̠̥̳͓̺̥͓̐̃͐̎ͅt̶̛̛̳̋͐̓̊̾̂̎̕͠ō̶̢̧̪͎̳͖̰̫͔ͅǫ̴̛̥̙̌̽̏̇̓͗͆͐̕ ̶̰̀̆̾̎̕͠ṃ̶̛̐͑͗̀͛̌̈́̒͝a̶̡̰͐̈́̀̈́̄̐̅ṅ̷̢̬͕͂̓y̷̞̠̺̬̌̿ ̴̱̥̞̮͕̯͓͖̣̩̙̻͗̔͆͗͛͂̀̕͘̚͝e̵̥̭͒͑͐͝y̸̼̠̝̜͔̯̑͐͛͑̑͑e̷͈̬͉̾̂͗͆́͛̏͗͝š̸̨̳͉̍̐͘͘ ̶̢͓̏̒͠͠ä̸̧͖͔͔̤̘̿̊̐̈́̀̂̈̕͜r̸̛̛̙̦̣̊͊̅͌̈́̀̎e̵̡̢͖͔͔̖͑͊͌̉̇̿͑̅́͗̂ ̵͔̼̩̠̲̬̥̤͌͐w̸͚̬͕͇̺̫̳͊̓̽̂̐̋̉͋̽͝a̷͇͍̘̖̟͇͚͋̎̋̈́̽́̐̅̎͘̚t̸͍̹̬̣̝̝̖̻̤̏̒̽͑̄̆́̈́̉͘̕͜͝c̴̢̱̻̖̰̒́̽̑͝ͅẖ̶̢̮̞̼̜̯̠̾̐̈̊̈́̂́̏͆͠͝i̵͍͈͖̲̽̐̾̑̈́̍͛̉͋̚n̶̖̳͇͓͍̬̥͚͓͑̐̆̽͒͐͊͊͘͝͝͝ģ̵͋̾͗̽͌͐̎̀̕̕ ̶̧̦̹͆̒s̵͈̰̻̓͌̿̽̈́̍ͅt̸̢̡̞̞̩͇̣̱͖̿ä̴̧̹͓̺̗̥͍͎̻̗́̾̓̋̏̀r̴̛͚̟̖̜͖͕͕̔̊͌̊̀̒̾͌́͝ͅĩ̴̖̝̼̰͖̞̉̌͆̔̇͜͝n̴̡̩̿̃͌̒̐͆̍͝ǵ̵̡͓̳̗̹̂̀̍̏̇͋̐͌͘͘͜ ̴̡̧̦̮̦̘̳̈́c̷͖͇̎͛́̈̅̐̾̃̌͘̕ͅę̴̧̳̻͚̦̫̟̌̏͂͊́̈́͌̒̓̉́a̵͚͚̳̯͐͒̋̉s̶̜͍̗̾̀͛̓͗e̷̡̮̲͎̠͇̓͗͛̋͆̿̆̇̕̕͝͝l̸͖͌͐̋̃ę̸͕͕͔̲͈̼͆̓̆̆̈̀̏̎̽͠ṡ̶͈̪͙͖̾̒͊̃̎͒͘͘͠ş̵̨̫̩̺̘̟͎̫̑͝l̷̢͙̱̺̦̮̑ȳ̸̹̺̼̪̹̖͎̥̬͙͇̻̅̿̑̊̇̇͒͆̚͝ ̶͉̭͙̮́͑͊͋̈̈͜h̴̹͖͍̤̒̋̈́͛̋̏͌̾͜e̴̬̲̖̊̐͂̏̈̑̚ ̵͙̄̒m̴̧̺̼̺̝̘̫̟͓͉̌̚ͅų̴̦̮͕̠̱̼̻̲̭͂̔̓͑̌͛̇̾̒̀̊̕s̸̯̀͛̓̔͋̆̃͂̍̏̂̕t̸̨̜͎̗̭̱͙̻̹͇̩͋̎̈́̾͆̂͌͌ ̷̯͍͉͋̒͂̅̋̑̍ͅn̷̡̛̻̔̽̾̋̑̀͠͝ö̷̻́̈́t̵̰̬̬͆͜ ̷̨̛̤̟͈͓̱̊̂͐̽͝Ķ̴̟̫̹̙̠͍͙̇͆͂̉ņ̷̟̫̯̀͒́͂͑̊̆͘͜͝ͅo̶̳̅̌̆̆͋͋̍̉̚̚w̶̖͙̪̩͖̥͋ ̷̛̺͎̫͉̣̮̺͒̎̋ẖ̶̢̼̭̪̝͖̇͊̀́̅̇̀̐̍̄͝ě̴̤̣̦͖̑ ̶̢͉̲͓̅̏̿̂̄m̶̡͉̰͓͓̜͙̣͚͔̆̔̆̊̒͝u̷͔̔s̸̨̢͍̼͕͓͒̈́̒͜͝t̶̢̨̜̂̚͜ ̶̳̠̳̜̥̺̳͚͔͕̘͔̓̿̉̀̈́̿̓̌͐̚͝n̴̳̤̼̩̐̉̎̒̍͒̕͝ṍ̶̙̏̕͠t̶̨̨̬̺͖̹̘̭͎͑̓̿̔̽͘ ̷̧̛͔̗̰̰͚̹̝̝̈̓̀̊̈̔̔͗͘̚͠ͅͅS̷͖̰̟̩͔͎͐̒̆͝͝͠ė̵̠͇̫͓̖̘͔͔̺͒̋̓̎́͛͛̚͘͜é̷̢̛̳̹̱̩͒͛͊͂̈́̚ ̷̧̛͙͓̮̭͍̟͇̟͈̀̓̃͌̽̓̈͊͊͘͝h̶̬͓̄̐͒͂͌̕e̸̦̞̯̱̜̓̓̌́̐́̌̓̏̇͘͝ ̸̡̧̙̺̻̲̼̦͒̆̎́͆͂̋̾͗͘̚m̵̢̛̺͓͛͊̑͆̔́̒͗̔̊͝u̸̱̣̭̭͑͊̏̽̂͂͂̒̆̃͝ş̵͚̩͚̭͓͉̳̙̩̭̗̋̆̈́͂̈́t̴̡̟̘͍̹́́̀͊̂͐̀̓̒ ̷̗̘͍́͗͊b̷̛̩͍͊̄̈́̽́e̴̛̛͔̪̦̱̹̪̳̳͆͑̉̀̽̒̉͘͘͜ ̵͎̰̺̈́͑͂͒͋̊͐s̴̠̼̬̜̖̤̺͉̳̪̆̐o̴̢̗̭͓̪͍͖̩͎̰̱̥̊͗̎̀̒̈́̍͊͗̇m̴̺͉̙̳͔̰̂̂͘ͅe̴̡̟̥̩̭̜̮͔̟͗ẗ̶̡̧͇̰̼̥́̈́̆͛̓̋͐̈́̚͝ͅẖ̴̛̛̰̦̩̌́̀̈͑̇̅i̷̧̛̻̫̜̼̟̝̺̋̈́̐̈́̈́͆͒̅͘ṉ̸̳̣̜͎̺̻͒͛̏͒̽̓̔̕͘ḡ̸̡̼̰̬͉̮̀̊̇̿͜͠ ̴͙̙̦̠͔̪̈́͋̒͂̎̔̈̒́̎̕͜e̸̡̧͎͙̠̭͚̖̫̱̬̎̊͑̍̈́́͝l̴̲͍̤̱̙̫̦͔̺̝̮̐́̄͂̆̽̅͠͝s̴̙̯̮̰̗͉͚͗̊͗̌̅͋̈́́ȩ̸̧̗̝̖̹̫͛̏̑̇́̀̆͘͘̚͜͝ ̷̝͙̲͕͚̯͙̜̣̩̒̏̍̊̿̅͋̃́̚͠ͅw̵̗̰̙̎̅̿̍̒͛͛̉̓̽̓̚ȋ̷̻̝͙̈́t̴̟̹̦̑́͛͊͌̌̓̌̿͝h̵͔̪̘̦̟̤̼͈̫͓̓̿̇̄̉͋̀̃͒͑̚̚ ̷̰́͌͋͐͗͐͛̿̅̕ẗ̸̲̩́́͌̒̑̽̊͘ơ̶̡̹͇̯̟̜̞̊o̵̹̮̼̮̞̯͕̞̣͍͈̯̊͌̇͑͗́̆͂͑͘̕̚ ̵̩̩͐̌̅̇m̴̗̰̦̳̪͌͛͊̄̃̃͊̽̈͘͠a̷̘͇͖̯̜͆̓̎̕ͅn̶̖͙̳̱͙̆̅͛̈̌͜ỳ̶̧̘̞̜̠̐̕ ̴̠͍̀͐̓͐̒̽̀̈́̓͐̕͠ě̷̡̟̻̟̲̩̦͓̃̑̈́̋̈́̋͝͠y̶͕̝̔̀̉͊͠ė̷̛̛̞̞̠̝͇͚̭̣̻̦̇͜s̸̨̢̟̻̳̦̞̈̋́͋͗̓̕͝ ̷̟͉͓̓͘a̸̬͗͊̐̀̉͗͗̊͌͆r̷̦͇̙̦͙̳̪̯̱̋͗͊̚e̴͙̩̩̫̣̖̙̖̎͆̒̊͘ ̴̹̟̘̦̰̣̔͠ͅw̸̧̻̦̭̞̪͉̘̼̘̘͋́̈̓ä̷̛͈̭̲̫̱̝̞̥̱̾̈́̓͐́̇͆̄͘ͅt̴̮̗͙͚̻͓͚̼͚̙̓c̷̟͚̝͖̬̖͂͋͌̿̂̔͘͝ĥ̶͍̰̰̦̠̝̗̰͖̤͉͘i̷̗̹̰̥̱̲͉̖̠̻̾͆̏̍͜͠n̶̝̭̟̫̽̕g̴̼̣̑̓̃͒̾̑́̕͜ ̵̭̈́ș̸̫̒͊͑t̵̡̪͙̻͙͕̉̀̈́͘a̶̧͔̤̹̅̈͋͊̾̌͐̿̿́͝͠ṙ̶̦͇̤̞͉̹̳̱͙͓̈́̄̒̚i̸̢̛̲̤̓́̚n̶̠̹̗͓̞̬͉̦̄̑͒̉̂͋͊̄̒̕̕̚g̴̛̘̫͖͔̳̺̟̏͗̾͋̈́̾͌̀̒ ̶̭̦̲͈̫̥̉́͋̒̅͗̿̚͜ç̵͓̙͔̙̻͖̼̯͙̂͑̋̉͛͘͘͘͘͠͝ë̵͈̳́̓͐͑͘͘̕̕͜ą̶̪͓̰̮̲̊̔̓́͜͝s̸̨̩͔̹͔̥̓͋̏̕͝͝e̵̘̠̜̪͍̟͔̚l̵̛̪̙̬̖̈͑̓e̶̡̛̙̓͊͐̑͊̓̊͋̂ș̷̛̫̟̪̙͖͎͐̈́̍̈́͒̀͂̌̾s̷͉̠̫͕̖͕̘̘̝̰̤͊̆̑̈́͛̑͘l̷̥̰̱̝̣̳̲̒͒́͂̋̈́͆y̷̛͍͚̦̣̟̳̓̓̀͂̌͋̊̂́͜ ̷̪̫͉͖͈̯̳̞͎͔̑͜ḧ̸̺̠̹̦́̎̆͛͘ě̸͈̤̻̟̰͓̍̉͛̈̃̾̌͂ ̷̨̰̥̗̫̟͎͎̣̳̀͗̇̄͜ͅm̸̧̭͘ư̷̧̳̺̺͓̠̭͎͉͚̣͋̀̀̐͐̓͘͘ş̶͉̰̗̐̾̓̓̎t̸̢̢̪̺͇̫̻͈͍̜͔̓̿̌͋̒̑̃̀͋ ̷̢̯͈̹͖͙̫͙̤̟̈͗̐̊͋̊̓̀̌͋͒͘͜ñ̴̨͕͍̦̜̪͕͖̤͇̆̌̋̎̏̑͆̐́ǫ̵̤̼͗̈́̄̒̈́̈́t̵͙̰͚̜̮̘̐ ̸̨̻̘̝̟̲̊͑̓̓̍̾̽̇̈̿Ǩ̵̢̧̛̺̻̼̗̟͎̦̾̈́̑̆̄͂̾́̈̕n̷̛̗͐̃̂̓̈o̸̧̧̹͂̔́́́w̶̛̲̳͈̩̯͆̐́̚ ̵̬̱̳͝ͅh̶̢̨͓̰̮͚̟̃͑e̸̪̣̪̱̟̭̜͗͌̓̇̇̀̏͘ ̴̡̲͛̂͊̃ṁ̸͚͇͚̥̪͚̘̥̲͓͎̤̽ư̵̬̖̇̑͊̈́͝s̷͖̮̱̳̩͚̣͖͍͎͕̭̈́́̒̅̑̃̊̍́̾̒̔ť̸͈̙̹̬͚̘̤̫ ̷̜̒͋̒̓̄̾͛̍͐̍͝ņ̶̡͇̱̠̻͍̻̭͓̀̈́͑̄ͅo̸̡̖͍̼͙̮͓̫͈̯̙͗̍͒̐̚̚t̶̨̫̯̝͖̥͎͑̈́͋́̄̊̀̑̕ ̴͖̄̄́͠S̶̭̯͚̦̟̗̈́̀̒͊̅̉͛͝ę̷̨̤̬͉̻͎̠̣̱͚́̂̊̓̕ĕ̶̝̖̱͕̹͐͊͐ ̵̢̹̩̝̼͉͌̍̓͑̌̽͌͘h̶̢̨̛͇̗͕̺̳̲̏̉̿͊͑͐̎͑̊ȩ̸̧̻̭̪̱̤͔͚̪̦̈́̈́̊͐̄͗͗́̅̾͝͠ ̷̡͓̞̤͖͕̠͎͓͛̄̐͝m̸̢͉̝̠̳̩̤̝̬̦̞͋̔̽̊̇̑͘͝ų̴͖̤̟̊͊̀̽̂̃s̴͔̩̎͒̌͋̈́͋̅̅̈́̾t̸̩͙̤̤̠̭̞̆̇͑̋̔͌͂̕͘ͅ ̸̣̹̭̉̑̈́͛̋͋͘b̴̥̅̓̒̌ͅe̵͔̬̟͈̝̲͕̳͙̠̹͗ ̷̨̧̨̣̣̘̞͔͒͒̈͛s̷̢̨̟͚͔̦̝̱̼̿̈́͜o̸̡̠͒̍̕ḿ̵̡͎̬̙̣̠̙̖̟̈́̏̔̽̋̍̂ͅe̸̡̢͍͊̽́̇̅̉̌̀̕͘͝ͅt̸̢̗͖̮̖̯̊̃̇̑ͅh̸̨͍̞̦̘̺̦͍̤̫̀̾̈͠ͅi̸̢̨͔͎̬̰͙̯̜̱̩̝̊͑̿n̶̲̮̭̺̭͖̪̻̬͐͒̒͗́g̵͕̼͓̹͚̼̦̦͗͑̂̅ ̶̪̯̲̌̉̀̉̉̏ę̶̨̠̻̣͍̣͉̤͇̙̋̾́͋̋͐̂̉l̶͚̀̈͗̀̈́̔̽͋͘͘͝͝s̸̡͖͎̹̰̮̼̕e̷̡̙̬̯̝̘͂̒͐̐̇̀̕͠ ̸̡̭͓̩̺̦̼̉͊̈̈́͊̐̉̚w̷̗̪̜̬̤̩̳͍͖̗̦͛̾̾̿̍ͅi̸͚̽̎͘t̸̝̗͎̤̰̮͍̳̟͍̾͌͑h̶͙͚̠͈̘͔̥̩̹͇̺̄͛̑͋͐̀́͐͌͗ ̷͎̘̳̪̰̺̼̰̟͓̑̋̅̎̾̋̈́̐́͝ͅt̷͉͉̟̤̥̣̣̱̝̤̿̐͗̍̍̈́̀̕̕o̸̺̥͔͍͆́́̉̃̓̋̌ͅơ̶̠͇̪̯̱͙̮̪̰̯͍̊̇ ̵̖͕̊̚m̷̪͙̯̠͕̝̘̣̜̣̚̚͜ą̸̰̘͉̦̜̰͖̳̞̻̥̐̃̋̍͝n̸̳̖̦̖̳̏̓̈̽̊̾̓̉͆̃͝͝y̵̛̟̻͍͎͕̣̫̺͍͛͆́́́̔̉͘͜ ̸̛̜͋̀͋̓̎̌̅̈́͗̐͘e̵̡̢̯͕̯̣͋͑́͒͂̇̎̋y̷̦̾̓̽̆̀̔͠͝ę̴̧͔̯̖̰͇̭͖̲̰̪̍̈͂́̇̏͊s̵͎̣̳̰͕̬̬̟͗̇͋̓̎̈́̓̈́̚̕͠ ̶͖̻͎͉̔̊͌̾͑a̴̢̩͊͌͛̆͆͂́͛̚͝͝r̶̡̲̱͑͜e̵̡͖͓̖͈͆̂̈́ ̵̢̲̂̀̈́̌̍͛͝͝w̴̨̠̞͆͒̀̒̽̋͂̌̕ą̸̧̛̹͈̬͈̙̟̘͇̟̮̀̀́͂͆͗̂̾̂́͝ẗ̷̨̳͇͚͎̥́̈́͒͊̀̊̍ͅc̵̡̧̢̰̩̪̖͕̠̜̫̗̈͂͐̾̍̄́̅͘͠h̷̡̭̳̲͓̟̎̈́̓͗͛î̶͇̏̾́n̸̡̢̻͓̙̗̝̺̼̫̅͊̿͜͠ǵ̸̨̞̝̦̮͕̀̄͊̕͝ͅ ̴̗̺̹̮̜͇̌̂͋̀̍̈́ṣ̵̨̨̹̹͕̜̣͈̙͇̐̏͗̾̿̅̎̅͂͜ẗ̷̼͈̟̣̗̫̱̦̜̬̑͑̌̎̀̇̚ͅȧ̸̢̜̍̀̒ͅr̷̢̛̛̪̰͇͈̪̭̪̣̘̅́̒͜͠ͅi̵̬͚̫̱̫͎̽͑͌̀̂́͌͋͗͐̚̕n̸̡̡̞̩̰͎̰̎͑͂̌͆͋̋́̀͗̀̑g̸̝͊͛͘ ̴̘̼̩̳̦̌̃͑̄̎͑c̸̤̼̤̈́̑̈́̈́̄̚͝ĕ̶̢̡͎͖͇̮͛̅̈́̕̚͝͠ä̷͈̠́̉́̋͋s̸͇̫̪̤̫̹̗̥̳̘̟̬̀̋̍̽̋̋̈́̿e̸̼̩͋̔̊͂̚͜l̴̨̤̪͈̗̟̠̻̹͋̆̅̑̿̓́̿̏͂̕ͅe̴̠͕͚͓͖̜̹͙̒̅s̸̛͎̼͔͔̳͆̇́̈́̎̿̓̈́s̷̱̞͔̬͇͔͗̃̾͑̽͐͗̚̕l̷̰̬̣͍̲͖̍̂̄͆̕ŷ̴̛͉͕̣̪̳̜̤̫̩̈́͋̄̉̒̀̚͘͜͜͜ ̴͈͔̱̻̫̳͚́͋̏̈́̎̈̎̊̐̑ĥ̸̙̠͙͉̟̫̲͍̤̇͗̕̚͝͠ę̵̧̡̗̘̤̬̪͈͝ͅ ̵̞̩̭̻͔̗̝̗͓͆̉̄̋͊̚m̵͈̮̫͙̹̈́͒͂̍͑́̊̕̚̕͠ú̸͓͂̾̃͋͂͐̃͐͠͝s̷̮̲͓̼̦̣͈̔̋̿̿́͗̏̄̎͝ţ̷̨̛̺̫̗͍͓̼̙̬̩̆ ̸͈̝̳̯̀̕͝n̶̻͔̩͚̅ơ̸̻̬̻̪̞t̷̡̺̗̑̊̈́͑̚͝ͅͅ ̸̘͙̰͔̻̜̽̈̄̾̓́ͅḲ̴̽̔͆͌̒̌͛͝n̴̼̱̳̦͙̜͔̂̂̅̀̔͐ͅò̸̦͚̫͖̙̠͍̘͎̥̎̀͊̈́͝w̸̢̦͛͋̒̇̅̈́̈́̔̚ ̸̧̓̆̓̀̆̊͛̐̏̄̀ḥ̷̢̛͉̫̠̲̪̼͌̍ȅ̸̗̯͉̗̬͍̆̓̇̌͗ ̵̡̢̛̜̯̭͉̙̳̯̙̝͉̋͛̃͆̀̃̽͐̄͗̚ṁ̴̘̋͒́͑̀͑̇͐̅̕͝ŭ̵͓̤͓̱͖̲̖̙͕͐̈́̍́͌͠s̴̛͓̆͝t̸̜̣̹̤̫̪̦̒̓̿̈́̄̕͝ͅ ̷̹͕̰̳̳̈̂n̵͍͈͓̩̺̐̊̈́͒͆̃͗͂o̵̡̨̢̮͙̺̣̗͈͛̈́́͐̒̎̏̀͘̕͝t̷͈̀̆̚ ̸̢͈͔̮͈͚̻̿̈́S̶͖̠̈̿̋̒̆̅̓́́̍̕̚e̵̮̒̈̒͗̈̂͑̅͗̅͝͝ȩ̶̧̘͍̘̹̫̙̒̽̕͜ ̴̢͔͖̬̪̬͈͍͉̳̑̿̒̌͘͜h̷̪̘͇̍̔͛́̀e̴̤̪͙̥͙͚̘̽̄͆͐̓͊͛̒͒͆͒̇ ̴̧̡̪͗̃̀̑̈́̓̌͠͠m̵͙̩̮̦̻̠̙͙̈̉͌͐͛͗̌͒̅͠u̴͕̼̺̠̺͙̳̟̔̾͌ṣ̶̪͈̙͇̝͆̓͆͊̆̆͐̅̽t̴͖̣͎̹̯͔͚͑́̀̓̓̈́̔̀͠͝ ̸̲̝͈̱̔̅̾́͂̑̔̾́̀̕b̴̡̡̬̼̼̖̊͊̃͛̿́̊̕ẽ̶̥̳̻̺̠̝̝̥͗͊̓͜ ̸̢̠̹͙̦̭̻̗̭̀͑ͅͅs̶͔̖̜̣̯̞̅̉̈̀͒̕o̵̺̥̣̹̗̫͆͐͋̃͂̑̇m̶͎̆̄̆͝ě̴͈͚̥̪̼̮͈̽̈́̈́̽̒̏́̑̉t̵̡̛̝̝͇̲̺̤͚͂̄̂́̀̇͑́̄ḩ̶̧̝̪̰͍̹̦͉̝́͌̿͜i̶̮̬͐̍̽͆̌̎̓͝n̸̬̤̫͂̎̆̒̿̄̚̕͝͝͝g̶͖͔̗͓̪̰͈͝ͅ ̵̨̙̻̯͔̎̏̾ͅe̷͕͚͈̥̾̓̽̅̈͆̽̉̇̚ͅl̶̢̘̹͍͉̦̘̬̩͊̀͜͝ͅs̵͉̳̓͂̚e̸͕̳͆̒̓̓̈́̉͠ ̵̢̹̰͈̜͎̹͙̝͗̑͗̈̈́͌̽̃̒͐͆͘w̷̺͇͒̄̓͆̔͆͗į̵̥͉̗̭̪̮͉͉̜̀̿̊͗̾͋̿̓̃̕t̵̹̘͇͈͉͊̽͛̈́̽̃h̴̢̹̻̅́̈́́̀̀̅̈́̏͐̚̚ ̸͙̗̫̲̟͓͛̃̔̅͊t̵͈̟̯͖͗̊͂͛͂̕͝͝͝͝ŏ̶͇̭̖̟̄̋̇͆̈́́̽̽ó̵͖̅́͐͂̆͊͛̃̿͊͑ ̶̛̫͈̈͆̄̈͗͋͛̎̌m̷̨̢̰̻̲͉̱̃͗͌̈͌̄̔͑̆͗a̵̪̜͖͍̫͎̜̓̉̈́̇̈́̋͝ṋ̴̣͎̰̀̌͆̉̿̽y̶̡̻̖̣͂̾͐̀ ̸̫͇̒͑̏͆̃͐̆e̵̢̢̟̭̲̺͍̲̫͒̀́̀́͆̐̓͊̇̽̅͜y̷̟̣̐e̴̡̛͚̤̹̭̥̰̼̼͋š̵̲̝̀̈́́̿͘ ̸̞̣͍̺͌̾͐̈̎̉̓̕͜͠ā̶̗̗̩̮͔̲̻͎̜̻̞̽̾̅͠r̸̗͌́̓̇̈́̈́̇̽͝ë̵̢̨̻͈̞̱̖́͑̍́͌ ̵̞̙̺̳͇̣̮̬̀̾͋̏͋̊̎͌̀̚͜ͅw̴̙̰̽ͅą̷̢̝̯͕̣̺̦͆̾̉̃̋̽̌̔ͅţ̸̯́̈́̆̀̈̚͘͝͝͝c̷̪̫̬̘̥̝̘͇̞̳̄̐́̋̾̋́̄͌͂̚͝ͅḥ̵̢̧̛̞̣̱͇̫̬̳̖̿͒̄̈́̎͑͋i̸̧̡̝͇̭̗̊̾̆̊́͋͊͌̒͒͝n̵̡̟͂̿̕g̸̣̾̈́͌̆̎̾͗̚̕ ̶̡̯̲̳͍̖̩̮̣̼̭͍́s̶̖̲͓͙̒̓̿͆͆̀͗͝͝t̸̩̼͈̀̿́͝ä̶̲̝̤́̔͂͜ȓ̸̢̡̞̮̞̻͙̐̀̈́͒́͘į̸̡̨̧͕͍̙̺̥͉̍̓n̴̢͊͐̉̚̕g̴̡̢̹̳͇̮͍̿̅͂̀̾̽̓̌̏͘͝͠ͅ ̴͎̩̟͉̅̾͋̓̊̿c̵̠̤̫̪͖̤̳̜̞̺͔̣̈́̄̍̈́͘͝e̷̛̲̹͂̓̏͊̕͠a̵̪͛̽̌̅̂̏̚s̵͉̳̘̠͓͖̠̾̄̔̀̈́̊é̵̦̣̬͍̼̭̲͖̪͐͑̂̕ͅļ̴̮̣̬̞͚̳͔͕̼̃̔̉̎e̴̢͎̜̳̟̝̲̣͙̔͆́̈́͒͘s̴̘͍̦̿̆͑̔s̵̡̢̧̯̼̤̓ļ̶̭̦͎̱̟͙̔̏̓͘ÿ̸̢̥̭̱̇̎̌͋͒͆̄́͊̄̀ ̸̜̦̺͙͉͑̾̓͂̐̈͗̊̒̾ȟ̶̢͕̥͚͓̠̮͚̱̬̟̉̂̽̐̈́̒ͅe̸̡̩̜̞̙̥̩̥̜̻͖͌̽͗̆̽͝ ̶̬͈̰̜̺̹̉͌̓̊̈̍͆̊̄̕͝m̵̧̢̡̦̮̬̯̺̳̪͋ụ̸̡̨̨̜̩̩̥̤͖̟͊͘s̶̡̟̯̦͉̯͇̥̥̉͐̊͊͒̊̕̕ẗ̷̹̼̲̩͇̜̭̝̽̏ ̸͙͗́͂̔̈͒͑͑̔̑̓n̸̛̰̙͕̄̊̊̑o̵̞̬͍̤̣͓̠̅̅́̈́̊̽̕͜͝͝͝t̴͉͗̿͌̐̈́͑̀̚͘ ̷̬̜͕͇̲̘̞̈́̅̐̐̀̄̚͜͝ͅK̷̛̲̣̱̦͌n̴̗͓̲͇̞͈͉̫̥̈́͂̃̓̈́͗̑̈͒̕͜ǫ̸̮̹͋̒̎͆w̵̛̜̟̝̦͂͊̈́̈́͑̓͝ ̷̳̌̿̎͝ͅh̶̛͙̣̦̪̲̲͍͂͒͊͌̿̚͝ͅẽ̵̛̪̣̪͙́͂̿́ ̴̛̜̒̀m̷̯̩̣̥̓̃̄͐̕͠u̷͇̲̹͔̫̰̥̬̽ͅs̴̡̼̏̏̌̓̉̍̈́̈t̸͔̝̣̟͈́͂̐̓͒̍̑͌͋ ̵̨̙̹͈̹̮̰̪̿̒͛͆̕̚n̶͕̺͂̂͋͒͛̈́̒͋̕͘͝o̶̧͇̬̯͔͇̾̿̈́̈́͌̆̚͠t̸̩̰̝̳̟̪̪͈͓̝̱̿͆͛̒̕͘͝͠ ̸̧̛̥͓͍͖̬̞̩̘̈́͂̒̀̽S̶̠̠̯̻͍͉̫͈̱̈́͜e̴̝͒̀e̵̡̝̺̥̻̮̠̻̝͑̈̀̀̉͗̾̋ ̷̧̫͇̲̾͒̇h̵̨̦͍̙̼͓̤̝̜̟̟̮̔̿͂͐̈́͂͘e̸̡̞̰̯̘̺̤̪̰̋ ̷̗͍̼̆̈́͗͜͝m̶͕̞͔͔͂̔̍̾̅͐ų̵̛̛̣̦͉̫̦̫̗̱̻̙̦̆͆͊̅͆̄̏͠s̴̮̯͕͗̈̂ṯ̶̙̤̝͎̎̏̾̕̕ ̸̡́̊͋̎̅͘b̶͕̥̮̦̥̲̯̤̘̈́̋͑̀͐̈̈́̚͜e̷̗͎̞̓͊ ̷̘̯̥̂̚͠s̵̢̢̮̘̘̜̮̟̯̻̟͐̏̑̌̈́͝ͅo̶̗̬̟͔̫̺͊̅̒͘͠ḿ̷̱̮̙͙̫̹͗̃̈́͑͛͛͘ę̵̜̠͈̟̟͍͍̾̎͠t̵̗̬̹̹̦̟̪̯̣̐͊̂͂͆̆͜ͅh̴̨͖̣̼̟̯̗͎̓̌́͋̚͝i̷̡̲͖̹͚̙̰̘͔̠̲̓͂̄̃̚n̴͕̺̬̹̗͙̑͒̑͂̋̕͝g̶̮̼̓̑̄̍̕͜ ̴̖͙̃e̷̢̦̦̰̱̬̯͚̘̔̇̍ͅl̷̡̖̜͙̦͎̹̖̥͈̻̐̿̈́̊͋̏ͅs̸̯͖̪̮̝̣̝͑͆̒̇̈́̎͒͋̓̄̈͝e̶̛̮͇͗̏̂̍͒̈ ̶̨̗͚̺͇̪͓͚̩̠͈̂̐ẅ̶̛͖͖̪͙̲̰̟̱͕̮́̈̔͗̀̉̐͜į̴̠̹̒̓̒̓̔͒͋͌͒͌͘t̵͚̻̘̖̱͚̲̯͚̍̃̈́̀̐͋̍̚h̷̨̢̛̛̞̟̠̞̭̫̜̘̋̔͗́̎͊̎͘͝͝ ̵̹̘̻̰͕̟͇̤̌̔̄̉̃͆̐̇͒̓̈́͝t̵̨͚̼̝̆̎̐̂͘o̸͕̠̍o̷̧̦̖̩͙̫̺̣̝̍͐͗̆̓̎ ̶̡͓͔̤̺̘̤̽͑͠͝m̸̡̧̨̨̨̛̱͕̪̠̯̤̏͋̔̇ͅâ̷͔̭̖͖̪̫̤̈́͂͊̓́͂̎͒̋͗ͅņ̷̠̟̣̥̙̻̲̱̊͒́̐̿̿͑ÿ̸̖̮͉͓̖͉̲̪̹̲͇́̒͆͌͋́̿̍̃̔̓̚ͅ ̵̧͖͙̭̝̳̄͊̅̈́͂̌̽̊͘͝͠ȇ̴͎̳̼͓̠̟̲̹̗͋͌̀͋́̇͛̕͘͜y̷̛̱̗͖͙͙̼̜̪͛̽̅̈̽̐͆̆̽̚ę̴̛̦̱̤̒̀̏̔̏̓͆̊̽̋̚s̶̢̫͙̙̟͐̋̎͋͆̈́̆̄̀̿́̌ ̶͔̽̔͂̎̚a̶̠̝̘͓̲̬̞̓r̷̢̯̺̟͎͙͉͈̪̟͈̭̉̇̓̊̒͗̒͊͑͘͘͠e̷̮͐̉́͐͘ ̶̢̱̱̭͔͓̪͉̀͂͋̀͛̓͒̾̈́̋w̶͚̘̌͆̀̾͗͛͌̍̚a̴̜̬̞̰͇̜͎͔̗̱̽͌͠ẗ̵̟̘̟͉̘̰̦͔͎̙͔̮́͑̈́͂̑͝c̷̠͔̦͋̃͗̆̎̑͘h̵̨̧̛͖̭̗̮̭͕̖͗̒̆͊́̓͛̒̓͝i̷͙̩̹͒́̇̀̐̃̂̕͘ń̷̛̛̟̈́̇͆̅̎̽̽͝g̷̞̲̼͍͊̎͒͛͐̈́̈́́͂͝ ̸̡̫̄͒͑͝s̵͚̳̫͊̎̍͗̀͗̄̔̆͘͠ẗ̷̗́ả̴̛͚̠̗͈͖͚̭̹̄͂̈́̀̉́͊̽͑̚r̴̨̜̳̞̮̙̺̺͚̾̒̽͒͋̔̇̔̋͒̃͘i̷̲̇̀̂͆̅́̍́͋̓͒n̸̡̪̪̯͍̣͍̳̐͑͗̌̀ͅģ̷͔͎̘̫̯͖͊̀͜ ̵̣̯͎̖̲͚̦̱͉͇̘͋c̵̹̦̺̗̠͒̒ͅë̵̡̫̰̫̣̤̠̬͔̻́̓̽͗͒̆͑͗̆a̸̡̢̤̙̥͈̯͎͔̍͒̎̒̉̕͠s̵̨͇͕̩̙̟̲̦̝̀̔̄͗̈͗͋̋̂͌̃̄ę̸̪̩͉̱̐̑̉l̵̡̝̺͒͊̑̂̏̄e̷̻̅̉͌͆͛̈́͐̕̚̚͜s̸̛͈̼̘͓͎̰̬̳̝̠̹͕͗̋̊̎̋̽͠ş̵̲̼̜̻̐͝l̵̨͈̺͙͖̩̹͈̈̾͆͛͌̋̀̑͗́̀ͅy̷̢̨̺̻̟̳̹͎̤̖̆̅̆̿̎ ̷͈̟̻͈̹̏̄̋́͑̏ḧ̸̹͖͍̠͎́̓̿͗̚͝e̸̟̫̯̜͕͔͚̘͈͂̈̌͒̇͗͜ ̴̤̘͒̑̏m̵̨̭̻̞̯̰̪͚͉̻̎̇̉̎͌̓̕͘̚͝ṵ̸͚̩̫͙͖͐͋̚ş̷̛̩̱͈̥̻̜͍͎̠́̾̍̑̐̊̈́͗͜͠͝t̸̢̞̼̪̬͇̥̝̩̙̠͆̾͜ ̵̪̰͂̌͒̈̏̆͂̀̾͘̕n̶̻͓̎̄̓̈̐͑̏̽̈́̆̌ŏ̵̤̀̐t̸͙̤̞̥̠̂ ̷͈̭̫̣̱̮͔̖̟͙̀̐́̃͗̚͜K̴̡̳̥̤̳̾͑̋̈́̑̎̉̀͝n̵̛̛̯͇̗̙̪͍̬̹͗̓̍̍͗͝͠o̷̧̨̯̥̠̣̳̪̿́̆͗͜ẁ̶̱̰͙͓̠̣̝̏̓̓̑̃͠ ̴̥͈̜̱̟̩̲̗̩̈́̌͆́̉͆̔͘͘͠͠ͅḩ̵̳̟̝̗̥̬̝̈́̅̒̈́͑͆͆̽̏e̴̞̹͈̖͇̘͆́͑͐́̈̓̎̚͝ ̴̟̄̀̃̓̇̓̽̈́̑̆m̸̨͙̗͓̙̉͒͂̏̐̚͜͠ủ̷̱̍͂́̍̇̑̏̌͝͝s̶̯͍̹̘̼̝̈́̂̂͐̿̄́́̿͘̕͝t̵̢̡̙̹̱̗̖̆̅͂̂̀̔̀ ̷̨̺̲͓̥̥̓̀̑̇ͅn̴̜̩̝̼̚ȏ̷̺͔̰͑t̸̥̲͕͌ ̷͎̦̒̊̀́͘S̸̟͔͆̊̀͛͆̋̕e̵̢̱̟̣̙͔̮͐͛͜e̵̢͎̯̫̮͆̾͛́̈́̔͝͠ ̴͈͖͔̟͓͉̱͈̫̤́̉͗͒̐́̅͗̎̒ͅh̴̪̯̩̙́̀̃̀͜e̶̳͙̥̩̗̰̯͚͐̑̍̃͑̊̐͐̅̿͝ͅ ̵͍̹̣̻͂̆͛̈́̚m̷̞͎̤̟̘̻̝͉̺̈̀͋̌̓̍̀͜ų̶̹̮̞͍̙̰̲̭̳̘͎̂̔̅s̷͕͍͇̥̭̦̲̺̗͉̖̽̌̓͛̎͗̂͋̏̾ẗ̴̢̯͈͈̲͍̰̰͚̖͉̜́͗ ̷̡̫̟̭̝̯͔̉̊̄̒̔͜b̴̩̜̗͈͕̟͗́͋͠è̴͇̓ ̵̱̰̮͎̬̇̿̔ͅs̷͇̠͙͕̮̖̟̩͎̀ͅͅö̴̡̨̜͙͓̠͕͓̈́̈́͌̏͊͌̏̃͆̚͝m̸̧̧̥͇̱̟̳̮̤̖̓̿̿̂͆͠͠ͅe̷̖̟̼̘̰͚̩͔̪͊̈́͛͐̆́͛̈́͝ͅť̷̢̢̧̖̗̹̲̙͈̠͎́͛̏͛͗̂̚͜ẖ̸̢̛̛̠̞͈̫̲̯̞͓̔̋̈̓͗í̴̛̻̭̖̫̯̣̺̭̉̔͒̽n̷̢̖̹͛̍͋͒̈͜͠g̸̨̨̺͚͕̜̺̹̰̔͆́̃̒́̓̂̽̐̚͠ ̵̛̮͚̈́̽͗̊̐̈́̀̅̉̐ȩ̴̢̧̻̯̣̹͕̞̓̽̊̋͗́͆̂͜͜͝l̷̤͈̱̖͙͙̩̦͍̪̲̈̀͜ś̵̡̜̤̻̭̝̣̩̜̙͚̥e̸̫̖̯͎͇̯̦̖͚̹̮͕͛̄̃̾͌̈́̔͛̔̈́̂̚ ̶̞͙̬̮̓̿̌̌̿̓̽̎̚̕͘͘w̴̧̖̮̹͋͒͑́̆̇͋̈́͐̈͋͝í̷̗̟̯̣t̸̢̜͌̅̾̎ĥ̷̢̨̨̢͈̜͕͈͓̰̯̌̏̽̍̃̕ ̶̘̝̖̲̌̐́̌͂̈̄̒̊͊͐͝ṯ̷̢̮͍͎̪̹͐̃̈́͋̊̎ǫ̴̢̟͓̭̦͇̗̞̱̳̔̾̋̅͜o̴̫̯̓̌̍͜ ̷̯̟̩̟̮͙̟̭̭͙̤̺͌̈́̄̄̔̂̌̈́̾͘̕m̸̞̪͕̞̑̄̓̒ā̸̡̫͔͙͓̞̹̱͎̿̒̓͐̐̾̾n̸̯̰͙̖̥̱͓͖̯͚͙͇̎̓̄͂͆͗̊ý̵̧̫͕̯̌͌̚ ̸̨̛̯̣͚͇̦̄̑̃́͑̓͂̂e̸̳͇̘̗͝y̴̟̫͎͂̀́͗̂̏͋̄̕͠͝ͅe̵̡͉̺̘̦̱̰̳͇̱͂̈́s̴͕̾̈́͛̇͛́̒̿̏ ̸̧̢͔̖̞͛̾̉̀͘a̷̢̹̻̺̝̻͈͙̾̉̅̄͒̀͒͆ṙ̶̨̥̮͉̲̜͖̜͍́̇͊e̶̢̼̖̤͓̘̻͕͖̺̰̯̍͒̈́̈ ̵̨̗̩̠̫̱̝̹̰̲͔́̃͜w̸̱̦͈̐̈͂͛͌̎̈́́͌͘͝ȧ̶̛̤͖̙̻̰̘̳̼̹͌͐̈́̏̑̀͆̔̚̚t̶̠̣̖̉̇̄̓͑̋c̴̨̼͖͎̰̭̈̿h̷̡̨̖̖̦̥͕̠̙̻̎̑̋̒ì̵̜̭͉̥̫͈͋̆͒̑̃̋n̵̳̜͎͓̻͛g̴̡̝͎̭̥͔̤̦͔̺̾̎̉͌̽̉̉̏̍͆͐͜͠ ̸̭͓͙͇̹̇̈́̍̑̕͜s̸̨̛̹͖͉̜͈̫̱͔̩̜̈̈́̀͆̐̿͑́͘t̵̨̢̧͓̻̳̲̞͈̮̹̪̎͆͒͒͠ä̶̡̧͖̪̞̗͔́̔̑̌̋̈́̏̈̊͑͝r̷̗̙̹̳͎̬̮̥͚̃̒i̶͕̝͉̞̖̤̫̥͚̋̅͛̏́͝ń̴̢̡̼̰̯̯͍̤̠͂̉g̷̡̝͙͙̫̙͔̱͔̱̣̣͊̑̂̉̏͒̎ ̶̮̍̇̓̉̓̋̏̽̚c̵̦̻͍̃̈́͝ė̶̻̗̪͈̘̮̰̦̞͂͊͑̋̈́͋̇͘̚͝a̶̛̱̜̗̞̻̯͉̣̜ś̶̜̒͆̍̏̓̿̈́̚͝e̷̹͕̬͚̦͛͋̔̐l̸̦͖̟̝͔̯̑͜ͅe̶̯͙̙̞͊̅̑̀͐͊̔s̸̯̩̀̌̃ş̶̭̞̭̰̝́̌͛̊͋͆̒l̶̙̞̭̩͈͇͙̭̥͛̄͊̐y̷̗̼̯̯̼̺̔̒͑ ̷̝̔̄͆̏͗͋̐͑̚̕̕ḧ̶̡̛̻̦̻̬́̎͐̋̕͝è̵̘̬̖̜͉͈͎͉̯̯͑͂͆͒̇̽ ̴̨͇̯̩̙̬͕̲̪̯͋̂m̶͎̍̋̈́̐̔̿̈́̋̔͌̏̓u̷͚̥̙̱͒͒̑̏s̷̡̪̞̰̮̺͔̥͆͌͛̃̌͆̓́̏t̵̘̿̉̾̋̂͑̊͝ ̵̧̪̜͙̱͔͎̳͔̳̿́͜ń̷̨͙̤̣̘͉͔̭̼̓̈́̋͐̎͗͐̇o̵̡͔͙͓̪̱̮̟̹̪̹͋͠t̵͙͑̎ ̶̱͉̘̤͒̃̆͒͠͝K̸͖̫̤̦̏̂̓̓̚̕̕͜͠ͅņ̸̮̳̯͇͆o̷͕̠̅̏̑̑̌̇́̃̃ẁ̴̽̓̈́̇̐͊̒͛̕͜ ̴̧̢̖̻͓̗̟͙͔̊̒̈́͆͌̚ĥ̸̨̤̀͐͆͘e̵̲̤͒̑̆͌̓̈́̑̋́͘̚ ̸̗̑͑̾̇̄̓m̸͉͈͔͚̩̲̂͋͜ǔ̶͎̙͎̱̥͕̣̖̃̈́͂ͅs̵̢̝̹̬͍͑̅̒͊̌͛͒̋̽̚͝ť̵̡̧̛̗̳̗̤͖̖͍͉̒̈́̒̈́̐̓͝ ̴̢̯̥̲̥̹̞̻͗͜n̸̨̢͇̭̯͐͌͌̈́͗̔́͐̀͝ͅő̶̘̾͗̆͂̚͝t̶̢̝̖̣͙͕̖̺̼͍̣̏͗̾̒̓͐̌̑̐̿͝ ̸̭̆S̸̮͇̳͆́̋̾̓͒͊̐̚͝͝è̵̼͚̌ē̵̢̳͈̱͕͝ ̸͇̌̌̈́̊͌̉́̃͐͒͑h̴͈̟̏͊̌́̚ȩ̷̛͙̅̿̆̆̅̅ ̷̈̈́̈͑̐̊̀͐̍̀ͅm̸̟̖̭̌̈́̈̽̍̌̒̀͂̚͝u̴͙͔͉̯̞̟͙͘ͅś̴̛̻̦͕͎̜̻͍͙̣̮̺͖͐̅̒̉̎̈̊͑̊͛t̴̨͋̓̐͑̍̇͘͝ ̸̢̭͔̬̬̝̞͖͕̣͋͝b̵̛̙̜̬̘̘̲̌̂̓͂̽̍̔͊̚͝ę̴̛̺̘͉̺͈̘̉͆́̀̔͂̇͆͠͝͠ͅ ̶̦̋̎̓͘s̸̨̢̰͉̰̥̥̱̞̼̖̑͒̽̐̈́̏͐̿͠͝͠ͅo̵̳̻̝͊̍̈́͌͛̀̓̚̚̕͠m̸̗̤͉͙̝̰͇̹͇͊͒́́̒̒́̈̔̍͝ͅe̵̟̜̦̯̒̐̂t̷̥̮̩͚̪͍̾̑̈́̿́͐̂͆̓ḩ̸̨͍͕̼̹̙͙̞̬̌̓̍̊̓͛̈͛̀̚ͅȉ̵̛̘̯̣̈̾̽̐́̅̋͘ṅ̵̯̲͙̝̗͂ͅg̷̡̭̭͉̺͕͋͂͆̍͛̌͠ ̴̛̪͙̫̹̝̩̏̓̍͒͘͘͝͝é̶͖̠̙̰̞̣̰̫̪͝ͅͅļ̵͔͚̻̮̭͕͓̝̺̦͑̊̒͑̈̾͜͝s̵̡̛̲̯͓̤̞̰̳̓̓̒͜e̴̺̖͍̥̣̮͓͌ ̵̳̰̖͒͝͠w̷̨̡̺̯̤̗̰̝̅̔͒͛̊͊̇̇̽̆̈́̕i̶̢̩͇͕̘̖̭̞̦͈̲͒͋t̸̢̡̟͎͚̬̻̻̃͗͂̈͘͜h̴̘͕͍̱̖̣̓̓̚͜ ̸̢͍̱͙̱͍͍̈́̅ẗ̶͚̭͇̪̪͉ô̵̘̺̥̻̮͉̭̠̣̈̊͛̽͆͌͐͝ơ̷̞̤͑̋̋͋̅̍̓̅͠ ̸̺̭̠̻̥̪͙̇m̵̨͉̮̹͗̀͌̕a̵̳̱̐̑́̎̆͐̊̓̀̾̔ń̴̡̛̲͔̪͍͕̰̭̲̀̔̎̈́̏͠ẏ̵̡̦̖̍̌͗̊̎̽̇̓̚̚ ̷̢̡̡̳̥͍̜̤͎̅͗͌̓́͘͜ͅḛ̵͚̱͍͇̘͙͌̈͐̐̔͐͛̀͘͝y̸̛̩̼̖̽̐͒̉͒̑̈͝͠e̸̼̓͗͌̀̒̀̉̔̿͛̃̕ͅś̸̨̭̺͖̦͕̤̂́̂̾̀͒̚͝͠ ̴̖̉̈́͋͋͑̚a̸̟̙͉̤͍̩͖̍͒̀̕ͅr̶͉̘͗͐̆͐̑͋̾͠͠e̷͓̪̫̣̬͖͒͒͋ ̷̨̢̡̬͇̫̲̠̣͛͊̄̉͘͜w̶̲̰̮̾̃̐̍͂͑͒̏̇a̶͚̲̼̣̟̖̩̺̜͇͗͗̐̊́̚ͅt̵̢̢̫͓̘̣̮̹̰͉̒̈͐̀̃ċ̶̛̲͚̰̲̭̦̖̲̠̈͊̕ḧ̸͍̙̗̬́̍̍͐̊̈̓́̔̕̕͝ͅí̷̲̠̘̱̺͊̿͌n̴̡̠̲̊̋̀́̀͑͂̏̈́̋͘ͅg̶̜̱̭͉̻̜͕͎̼͌̓͆̕͜ ̴̭̰̲̜̦͖̠̩͍̞͆͗͋̋̐̔s̶͔̦͇͉̿̓͛̒̎͛́͆̕͠t̵̨͓̱͎͔̪͂̑͋̇̀̈ą̴̙̱͎̙̤͒̀́̓̎̈́̇͋̕͝r̷̛̮̪̮̼̳͐͌̄į̶̗͖͖̘̋̈́̅̌̇́͂̿ͅn̶̦̳͍̳̪̻̒̎͒͒̒̀ͅğ̸̫̙͍̲͕̽͑͗͛́͘͝ ̸̨̡̝̠̲̗̲̭̿͜c̸̜̥͚̀̌̈́́͒̈̄́͊̎͒̐ė̶̡̛͖̦̬̟͙͓͓̥̙̀̑̎̂͗̓̕a̸͚͙̼̝̿̈́s̸̬͖̈́̇̋̀̏̓̄̍̑̚͘͝e̷̬̣͆̌̂̐͗l̴̡͕͇̩̳̹̻̤̘̗͌̆̍̓͗͋͋̓͆͠ȩ̴̩̪̫̖̓ś̵̨̧̰̫̰̙̥͓̖̐ś̵̡͔̬̭̻̲̝̼͓̑l̵̨̖̖͎̩̲̂̎̍̿͒̎͗̽͆̊̈ÿ̴̨̧̧̥̤̬̯̤́̌̾̃̒̓̊͐̂͠ͅ ̵̡͍͍̩̭͍͍̹̮͇̄̒̄͐̋h̴̨̢̛̪̳̰̯̞̿̏̔̓̃̆̒̕ě̵̡̫̺̣̈́̈̾̌̿̀̐͋̓͝͝ ̷̨̼̥̾̑͆͝͝ͅm̵̱̀́͜u̷͎̞̤̲̝͈̖̔̈́̊̃͗̔̐͝s̷̡͔̞̖̘̠̥̐̓̾̀͑͋͛̄̇̓͠t̴̡͇̣̙͈̫̗̼̦̦́̑̀͊̏̈́́̇̚ͅͅ ̵̢̡̧̢̪͚̲̈́̒ͅn̶̛̙̝̮̬̝̟̊̆̏̊̋̒̈́̿̑ō̷̜̪̻̳͙̽̍̍̅͑̅͌̔̇̃ţ̵̦̮̥̮̜̓̑͐͒̽̎̈́̌͜͝ ̸̡̹̱̪̩̘̱̜̱̤͚̉̏͊ͅK̵̨̛̩̥̔͑̓̀͋̓̂̕͝n̷̹̏̓̏͘o̴̳̣̤̔̈w̷̼̖̤͑̆ ̷̢͇̅͑́̈̊͋̂͝ḩ̴̡͎̘͖̹͑ͅě̸͎̯̜̻̙̇̉̀̽́̑̌̚͜ ̶̨̞͈͈̖͖̳̒̌͆͐͜͝͝m̵̢̨̫̰̘͎͖̙̫͋̄͒̎̇͘u̴̡̼͖͊͜s̸̛̘͊̀̍̔̾̈́̉͊̍t̵͚̯̬͕̺̺̗̼̱͑̈̔͑̃̒͐͆̆͗͐̃͜ ̵̭̤̞̪́̓́͗n̸͙̟̩͎̘̮͛͆̊̄̀̇̀̈́͗͘̕ơ̷̱̞͖̍̆̐̅̊̉̀͂͝͠ṱ̸̛́͗̕ ̸̨̫̺̳̳̩̺̼̯̏̈́͗͒́͗͂͛͝S̶̢̨͉̪̥̗̹̹͌͂̃̑̍̓͜ͅe̷̻̲͈̰̳̽ě̴͈̪̳̲̹̹͓̫̐̈ ̶̨͓̭͉̟̳̣̺͚́́̒̀͜h̶͖̱͗é̶̛̛͍̊̂̈̈́͒̊̚̚͝ ̵̨̜̼̱̲͍̤̎̈́̀̽̅͌̂̑͑̀͘m̵̻̯͈̲̂͛͊̈́̑ͅu̸̱̰̯͕͔̺̅s̵͔̰̱͈̩̫͗ͅt̴̨̛̛͓͓̙͕͙̗͍̦̀̈́̇͠ ̵̧̭͔̮̟̟̽͊̏b̷̖̘͖͖͓̍̔e̴̡͔̱͇̫̮̻̼̚ ̶̭̭̻̥̟̦͖̰̺͎̂͋̐̑̽̉̑̚͝s̴̞̏̉̇̒͝͝͝ǫ̸͈̘͖̫̞̖̩͇̆̇̈́́̍̉͛̔̐ͅm̶̡̥͍̟̜͎̠̪̰̔͜ȩ̸̭̤̼͍̘͔̳̱̇͗͂͒̾͝t̷̰̱̞̳͖̺̃͂͂̉͗͐͋̆͗͋͝h̸̟͖̣͌̿̇̏̓̈̎̚͝ͅͅi̸̡̛̥̱̺̜̼̖̘̮͋̑͌͜n̵̢͚̣̖̠̫͕͖͂̓̉̈́̕g̵̨͈̦̹͙͍͎̗̘̳͗̍̾̈́̐̏͌̏͘͠͝ ̴͖̩̥̲̘̯̻̺̱͈̫̯̊̄̑̐͋̀̃̎̾̂͝ȅ̶̢͙͎̹͕͓̏̐l̸̗͕̞̳̜͕̠̰̻̓̇̂̓͑̓͝ͅs̶̜̳̄̓̾̽̊̋̔e̸̛̲͚̖̬̔̒̆͑͌̐̏ ̸̧̛̱̺̯̣̈́̒́͆͌̄̏̋̕͝͠w̷͈̅̑́̀̇ȋ̷̢͕̪̳͎͚̩̓̐t̵͓͙͚̖̺̟̭̮̥̰͐͐ḥ̴͓̒͐̎͌̾̓̐͗̒̚͜ ̶̧̭̭͔̟̳̰̪̖̌t̷̗͉̰̯̣̻̼̖͖̟͊̽̒͐̚o̶̧͖͔̫̲̱͈̖̱͗̂̑ö̸̡̧̯͍̹̗̪͍͛̊͑̄͠͠ ̶̦̤̳̈́͗͛̾̈́̔͝͝m̵̩͎̥̭͙̎̈́̿̔̃́̈́͌͑̓͘͝a̴̧̛̲̞͉͎̟̖͓͚̦̳̩͗́̊̆̌́̀͊̐n̷͍̪̋̔̒̿̽̎̏͛͊͘͘͜͜ͅy̶̧̲̗̖̝͎̲̬̰̆͐̆̅̍͛͘͘ ̵̢̝́̽̏́͗̕̚͝ͅe̴̬̟͇̳̝̗̦̞̺̰͊͗̃̐̄̀̏͒̈͊ỹ̶̢̼̖̫̦̤͔̦͍̹̳̅̒́͗̑̂̿ë̴̢̩͇͔̖̝̤́̾͊̇̽͂͆̎͛̚̕̚s̷̪̰̬̪̼̓͆̑̋̇͠ ̴̡̛̛͈͈̥̒̃͝ͅa̵̡̻͓̣̝̤̬̭͇̻͓͓̓͠r̷̡͇̼̯̗̰͓̘̺̘̘̂̄̃̓͒͌̃̔ẹ̵̪͚̘̀ ̴̨̙̰͔̼̞̥̽̈́̈͝w̵̯̩͓͈̒̑̿͛͝͝͝á̵̧͈̘͉̎̽̋͌̐̕t̷̡̛̛̠͚͙͕̘͂́̄̇̏̆̕c̶̞͂̃́̀ͅh̷͙͓̙́͗i̶̫͉̻̜̐̐͋̔̊͠ͅn̶̮̩̯̥̲̱̬̬̘̍̄͊̈́̓̈́̚g̸̛̜̮̼̪̀̎͛̆̃̀̓̑ ̴̤̹̳̭̙̖͖͕͕͗̇̒͛̒̊͝s̸͓͎͎̒ț̴͍̦̞̺̞̍̓̈́͐͐ͅà̵̢̖̘̥̩̬̲̼̼͖̟̈̔̔̆̌͐̀̕̚͠͝r̸̢͉͓̼̮̱̞͙̤̥̪͛ĩ̷̧̧̢̤̳̹̮͇̤͐̂́̌̈́̿̀̓̇̾̚n̴͙͍̓ͅg̸͙̱͔̤͇̭̰̺̈̀̉̅͐̒͘ ̶̧̧̛̙̻͇̺͍̞̤̊͗̌̾́̈́͋́̚c̴̛͇̥̱͉͈̦͇̍͑̽̀̔̋͗̀̄̕͜e̴̖̯̘̔̾͆̈́̾̀̐a̶̛̰̬̞̒̃̍͑́͝s̴̺̫͇̼͓̳̤̱̏̾̆e̷̖̱͕̿͆͌̐̒l̷͚̦͖̗̰͉̘̺̜̯̑͋͌ę̵̨̨̟̥͓͈͔̱̦̮͇͂̈̉̓̿͘s̸̘͐̃̏́ş̴̡̻̗̼͎̝̟̠̞͊͐͆͌͐̾̾̄l̵̢͎͉̳̖͎̰̙̜̫̓̈́͂͐͂͛͐̊͑͋̆̍ỳ̷̧̝̱̀̄̀̓̑͐̍ ̴̧̡̧̧͉̞̰̫͕̋̌͌̈̒͊̃͛͜͝͝ͅh̷̛̹̫̤̘͂̒̈̈́̒̚e̶͖͕̯̳̼̥͑̇͋͆̆̕͠͠ ̸̧̨̛̰̬̺͈͔̲̩̺̿̿͋̐̽͜m̴̢̞̠̻̻̲̘̫̳̠̪̅͌͋́̾̚͘ͅȗ̵͚̲̠͈ͅs̵̬̟̪͎͉̩͚̖̗̎̈́͐̏͘͜ẗ̴͍̘͚͂̃̈́̒̿͘͘͠ ̵̢̛̬̦̎̔͆́̕͠n̴̛̩̭̰̽ͅọ̶̲̺̖͙̜̺͈̄̀̔̆͐̋̌̆͑͒t̷̡̧̛͈̣̦͔̖͙̣̩̺͇̊͊̃̽̔ ̵̢̡̙̠̺͚̣̥̀̆̇̀̐̓̅͋͛͘͜͝K̵̡̦̹̬͉̟̙̗̲̋̽͗̀̈́̎̈́͘͠n̵̡̧̪̩̝̜̘̦͔̎̽͛̐͆͋̈́̕o̶̱̘̊̂̀ͅw̵̳͕̪̥̟̺͍͍͙͙̩͛̾̓̓͂̎͊̊̚͜͝ ̸̡̥͉͔͍̼̲̫͛̂̎͌̂͗̈͌̚͠͠h̸̨̧̡̺̩͔̼̹͎̊͛̆̍͆̚ę̵͖͈̜̈̌̏̔̀͝ ̶̰̳̣̣̺̩̣͔̍͊͋̆͑̆͝͝͠͝m̷̨̹̯̣͈̟̰͑̋̒͛̏̂͂̂̉͗͘ͅu̶̺̻̠̩̮̥͛̋̇̈́̆̀̾͑̈́ͅs̵̢̯̤̥̦͎̩̭̗͐͌̾̑̎͝t̸̤͊͛́͑̀̒͘ ̵̡̨̞͙͚̘̩̫̩̘̣̦́̆́̀̽̐̀̒͠s̴̭̲̹̦̝̥̯̪̫̹̝͊̅̅̕͜ḣ̴͉̪͎͚̤̌̓̄̂̇̌ę̶̛̘̲̐̔̎ ̴̛̯̥̬̘̺̜͓̗͈̯̀̓͐̈͝͠͠s̸̜̥̞̼̓́t̵̡̫̹͚̞́̚ͅa̴̧̺͖̬̲͉̤̘͌ȑ̵̜͍̠̖͖̻̩̮̤̐͊̈̌̂̓̑̀̓̄e̴̪̬͕̦͎͇͙̭͖̩͐̓̌̈́̈́̈́͆̏̓́͘͘ͅd̵͉͒́̓͆͋̈̇̆̕͠ ̶̛̻͍̳̈́̀̀̇̏̉̄́̚͘a̵̳̩̔͗̽͒͛̅̾͝t̷͕̱̄̒͒̃̇͗̌̓̿̚͘͠ ̴͉̦̏͂͐̊̎̌ẗ̴̮̫̖̼́́̇̊͛̓̀̍̽̏͊͘ḧ̷̲͚̺̮̣́͑͗̈͂͘ͅȩ̸̨͔̲̖̼̈͆̓͒̑͝ ̵̛̙͔̗̪́̓̎́s̴̢͓̦̮͓̓͛̆̃͒̕͝c̷̢̻͍̜̊͗́́́̆̽͑͑̋̾̄ṛ̴̩̀͊͒͠ͅḙ̵̛̞̿̀̎̇́̓͐̚̚͝ͅȩ̷̛̲̦̗̘͇͉̳̤̩̜͇̃̏̈͗̍̇̈́͒̍͠n̶̮̈̇ ̴͎̲͉̆̌̋̄ì̵̡̨̥̞͍̗͖̩̤̮̺̏̑̒̌̋͐̏̇͋̕n̷̨̙̞͕̣͎̜̆̈́̊͆̂͠ ̶̡̙͕̥͈̒̆͌̃̏͆̂̔ḁ̴͉̣͉͇̜̻̟̜̻̙͕̀̃ñ̷̨̧̛̼̙͇̺̺͚́͆̄͂́̽̏́̔̌ ̷̖͇̠͍͛̂̓̅̿͛͂̚a̴̺̪͑̇̒̒̍͗̓͑͆̍͝t̵̞͑̑͗͘̚ṯ̶̩̫͛e̶̖̒̈́m̷͎̮͙̳̙̜͕̼͓͒̐͗̄̒̀̓̆̈̚̚͝p̴̡̬̳̃͛̃̀́̾̑̒̕͝t̶̡̲̰̪͚̩͐̇̈́̌̽͋̍̀̅̕͠ͅ ̴̢̹̝̇̇̿̆͘͝t̴͙̝̘̪̃͑̋̂͗̊ǫ̶̢̖̯̥̞̗͍͈̼̊͐̈̽̑̆̓͗̐́̆̍ ̶̢̱͈̘̼̥͈̠̂̇̅̉̈́̀͗͜f̴̨̦͚̪̪̺̼͔̜̀̊̑͑̿͂͘͝ͅī̷͖͍͋͜͜ͅg̷̨̨̲̙̮̳̘̦͙͍͂͆̈́̾͊ứ̸̡͇̦͉͈̰̯͖͓͇̾ͅr̷̬̠̣̙͒̓͐͠ȩ̷̳̑͒͛͛̀̅ ̸̺̺̳̗̘̿́̀̆̄̓̈́̅̀͘͜͜ö̸͇́̂̈́͌̓̑͛̕u̵̞̱̟̗̩̙̖̞̺̤̹̐̾̎̉̎͆̈̂̒͘ͅt̸̢̡͎̞̰͓̳̗̩̹́ ̵͈̗̿̈̈́̂w̷̧̞̠͔̥̳̱̲̺͌͑̒̈́̚͜h̶̕͜ͅé̶̡̡̻͔̗͚̝̊̈́̋̏̏̍͜ͅr̴̢͉̣̺̘͕̋̀̋̓̈́͒̉̍͠e̴̘̻̳̖͇̿̽̂̄́̓͐͠ ̸͚̱̰͎̘̇̄̈́ṱ̸̢͉̺̬͍͓̭͐̈̑͌͋̐͛̕͘͜ḫ̷̛̛͍̪̩̹͇̫̳̭̈́͒̈́͗͐̊͆͜e̸̛̱͚̹̣̫͎͓͕̮͉̦͜ ̴̭͓͂̈́̆̽̊ń̷̨͈͚̫͔̞̜̯̬̺̈́̊͌͋ͅo̵̲̒r̵̩͉̀m̵̢̲̠͉̩̺̣̙̱̩͉̔̈́̏͆̑͊́̌̇͝͠ạ̷̱͈̰̙̝͈͚́́̏͜l̴̦̝̀̾̌̓ ̶̘̖̗̤̈́̍̂͆͐̿͊̍͘͜͝w̸̗̭̋̀̿̀̑̕ò̸̡̱̻͔͖̪̬̳̠̩̐̉ͅŗ̷̞̜̰̗͇̮̭͈̿͆̂́̉́̋̈̍ͅḓ̵̡̭͎̹̪̼͈̲̤̙̎̑s̵͙̟̤͓̞̟̟̈́̓͋͐ ̶̨͉̥̜̠͕̍͂̉̿͆̄͘͝h̶̛̲͚̭̜̜͓̅͂́̈͊̊̚á̶̢̡̰̙̹̰̣͉̩͈͊́̆͂̎͛̓͊̕̕͜͝ṽ̷̲̼̼͇̘̑̀̒̂̀͝͝ē̶̘̣̮͍̠͍̲̥̠ ̶̥̎̉̑g̸̦͍̺͐̒͛̓̎͛̀̽̏̒ȯ̷͎̙̳̤̲͚͖͕̼̹̼̭̓͛͐́̋̈́̎͂̌̓ṋ̸̠̫̍̅̒̋̂͗̕ȅ̴͎̪̣̙̘͋̈ ̸̢͎̪̙͙̦͖̦̯͙̤̾̈́̐̿͋͛͛̚ñ̸̢̹̱̬̣͕̓̍̂o̴̧̝̫̾̓̂̌̓t̸̠̳̣̱͖̎̑̂͑͆̂̚̕͠ ̵̝̣͇͇͔͌̎̎̔̐͛͝Ş̵̛͔͓̼̙͔̥͉̭̊͗̄͜è̶̡̗̤̯̟̜̻͑̅̔͛̑͐̃́̅͝e̵̻̩̠̥̙̯̘͈͒͌̂̚ͅ ̴͎̘̱̫͔̈́̏́̎͋̈̍͐͌̕͜͝͝ḩ̴̡̗̘͍̖̹̬̩̻̝̈́̽́ͅe̶̜̼̝͎͉̦͈̗̰̓̈̎͐̓̓̎̏̀̕̚͜ ̵͖̠͉͓͓͌͒̊̔̍̔̆͝m̷̛̱̫̥̥̮̬̣̫̰͋̑͗́̓̓u̶̮͝ş̶̜̰͉̦̣͕̜̙̻̤̟͒̐̓̓̆́̕t̴̼̼͙͉̐͗ ̸͓̲̈́̊̈́̌̊̽́̒b̸̡̧͎̫̩̙͕̙́̄̾́͘̕͝͝ĕ̴̞̞͎͐̄̒́̑̈̓̂̒͆͜ ̸̖͍̤̘̫̍̇̽̎͆̾̒̀͆͠s̸̭̙̺͚͑͛͜ỏ̷̰̫̑̾͒̊͊̍̅̿m̴̨̛̰̖̦̭̣͈̬̈́̈̈́ẽ̷͙̟̲̠̜̓̑̾͘̚͜ṫ̸̢̙͓͉̥̩̼̩͈͇̠̯̇̿̆h̵̦̣͙̬̬̦̊͒͑͊̃̂̀́́̒͑̓i̴̦̪̹͕͍͋̈́̈n̶̹͓̳̙̙̤͍̘̗̥͊͂̐̋͗̅g̷̭̙͍̍͒ ̸̟̳̱͔́̎̀͑̂̌̕ẹ̶̛̜̦̑̾̿̿̽̾̇͝ļ̶̢͇̗̣̝̰̙̬͍͔̘͘s̸̲͉͇̣͎̹͚̺̻̘̓̏͋e̷̗̹̺͙̓ ̶͚̘͕͈̪͔͚̙͔̓̓̃͋̂̅̑̋͌w̷̧̧͎̘͖͎̘̣̯̟̙̏͌̉͐̏̌̅̑̚̚͘i̶͎̟͙͍̰͋̐̅̍̈́͒̏̊͒̚͠ť̸̬̲̑̎͛̿͆̉̆̄̇͑̚ḧ̷͉̖͍́̂̍ ̵͎̟͇̘̠̻̥̔̑̽̇͑̋̏̈́͘͝ͅt̴̢̨̛̳̱̲͉̲̘͍̭̏̀̏̄͐͗̈́̕͠o̸̳͇͇͂̓̓̿́̈ợ̶̝͍̻̈́̐̔̔͛̉̿̈́ ̵̩̍̃̀̓́ḿ̵̩̞͇̳̗̖͠͠ả̴͉̗̟̲͉̺̽̈̾́̏͒͝n̴̨̦̱͔͕̫͎̬͆͜y̴̛̺͗́̆͆̑́̌̅̐̕͜ ̵͚̑̐̈́͊̌̍͐̓̈͘͜͝͝e̶̡̡̦̰̬̮̺͉͙̲̳̓̒́̋̈́̇͜y̶̢̡̧̡̗̩̼̐̆̏̂̽̕͘ͅe̴͖̲͖̫͂͛̊̒͛̌͆̆͆̎͝s̷̰̹̺̓̾͒̑̿̋͐̽̈́̅̄ ̶̺͍̣̝̜̟̮͎̠͚̘̉a̶̢̖̙̪͔̰͊͐͒͘ͅr̵̡̮̫̼͓̮̦̪̩̻̋͐͋̉̂̽̚͜ȇ̶͔͙̍̉̓̂͗̀͝ ̶̭͎͙̈́̔͊̆̈̃͗͗̈́̈͝͝w̵̼̬̼͍̖͋̽͘͝ͅḁ̷̥͙̮͚̣̭̖̖̫̙̳̒̎̐̕t̴̮͚͖̓̏̇̇͋͛̊̽͜͝c̸̨̬̙͚̼̰̓́̎̔͊̍h̵̡̛̺͆̆̇̆̑͂͌̈į̸̼͑̊̓̋͋̅͘͜͝͠n̴̜̩̣̥̼͙̔̎̄̿͑̽̈́̚͜ͅĝ̷̰̲ ̶̡̢͉̫̤͔̜̗͖͎͔̃̓̔̂̾̇͌̇̎̓͘͝s̸̡͔̣̼̻̘̉͐͐͌̑̓̄̑̕̕͠͠ṱ̸̜̋̃̃̕â̷̗͌r̴̹͍̦͍̄͋͆͘ḭ̵̬͚̮̩̤̤̣̞̞̈́͜n̴̢̧̡̤̗̱̰̑̑͌̄͛̒̋̾g̵̨̣̾̀̓͛̏̿́͠ ̷̙͓̍͆̀͊̈́́̔̒̈́̌̿̚c̶̥̐̃͜e̸̥̜͈͍̗̻̰͈̟̓̐͛͒̑̂̾͆̒̄̚͜͝ā̴̛̲͉̰̩̺̆̀̾̿͊̋͝s̴̡̡̙̙̙͐̈͋̐̀̄̆̕e̴̙̱̩̾̋̈̄͑͝l̴͈͎̬̻̱̜͔̽͋͋͐̂̏̎ê̷̱̯͙͙͇̩̹̻̦̞̊̿̍ͅͅš̸̲͍̫̖̥̦͓s̵̲̏́͠ļ̵̙͈̠̜̭̹̇̓͋͊̋͝y̵̖͍̹͚̖̳͕̖̯̣̓͋̂̃́̔̅́͜͠ͅ ̶̩͈̒̐͋̄͂́́̇̏̕͜͠͠ͅh̸̰͛̒ȅ̴̱̥̦͒ ̷̢̡̲̲̜͖̬͎̰̥̫͛̄̓̎̐̇̽̚m̶̜̹͍͔͆̐͊́̌͛͐ư̷̳͔̈͑̈́̕͝s̴͖͖̙͔̫̫̏̈́̒͛̏͑́ͅt̵̛̘͈͐̋̊͝ ̶̮͖̊̽͆̑͒̇͌͒͝͠n̵̨̝̯͔̯̫̣͌͂̊̎̒́̚͜o̴̢̙͉͙͎̮͕̦̳̞̔͗̈̃̽̔̽̀̚͝t̷̢͙̙͙̥̖͗ ̴̛̣̥̫̤̭̓͐̈̓̄̒͌̔͠͝K̶̬͔̝͈͖͈̳̞̚ͅǹ̷̡͉̯͎̤̭̣̫̈́̽͂̋͌̃͠o̵͓̫̅͊̈́̎͐̏̉͆̄͝w̴̤̣͗̅͊̽͑̓͐̕͝͝ ̴̧͖̙͖̙̱͔̖̱̼̟̆̃h̸͍̲̱̪̩̼̹̺̼̽̃e̵̥̤̪͎͕̟̼̭͎͎͐̊ͅ ̴̨͚͖͎͚͒͒̓̑̅͗͘͝m̵̨̢̼͍͇̫͖̻̯̋͒͗͛̌͘͘ṳ̵̲̙̣̬͈̭̙͍͚̥́͂͛̒͛̀̅̿͗̔̕ś̴̖̟͓͖̏͐̕̕ţ̶̢̢͔̠̣̣͈̙̲͋͊͛̓̓̈́͛̕͠ ̷̡͙̖̞́̏͂͛̑̽͘͜͝ņ̵͍̰̩̪̈́͑o̴̱̺͙̎̊̎̇̓̎̀͂̽͒̚̕ͅt̵̡̝͓̦̦̲͆̃͐̇̋̔́̃́̅̿̓ ̸̨̝͇͇̭̣͆̐͜S̸̞̻̞̫̫̦̮̖̗̀ĕ̴͚̘̹̮̑̎͒́̃͘̕e̸̛̤̤̱͍̣̗͖̎̊̽̾͜͝͝͠ ̷̛̛̛̦̽̑̂͌̃̎h̸̰͇̪̥̦̙̩̠̑͗͒͒͗͝͠͝ë̵͕̇ ̵̡̧̨͔̥͔̭̱̮̱͐͆͊̈́͋͋̅̅̎͑̚͝ṃ̴̢̗͙͂͐ǘ̴̧̦̱̞͎̩̜̐̾͒́̑͊͂s̵̥̠͈͊̔͂̓̚͝ͅț̴͉͓̠̗̥͍̙́́̉̅͋̌̾̀̚̕͠ ̸͇̽̒̄b̸̧͚̮̩͎̰͙̭̟̝̯̽̌̈́͂͛̎̈́͝ě̶͚͚̮͓͕̦̩̫͋͊̈͐͋͊͗͌́̈́ ̵̭͚̰̯̦̰̈̀̈͌̑̇͋s̸͇̪̺̻͂̏̄͑͛̏̍́̐̒̈͠ő̷̢̺̫͔͓̔̿̅̿́̍̀̈́̀ḿ̶̝͇̬̜͖̤̣̗̫̆̌̀ͅḗ̸̥̜̩t̷̛͈̩̼̲͖̲͗͆̾̽͋̎̐̈͆͘͝ḧ̶̨̝̺́͗̎̐̿͠͝͝ḭ̴̩̗̗̗͇͙͖̮̱̽͛̐̎̄̔͜͝ͅn̶̠̺̹̉̇͌͝g̷͇̬͔͋̅̐̉ ̷̛̗͎̖̂͛͗̍͝ë̶̙́̈́̀͗͑͝͝ļ̷̝͔̾̏̉͌͂̅̄̎̎͝s̵͈̱͍̹͎͓͉̊ͅé̸̟̬̫̟̪͓͙̍̊̅̊̈͐̕ ̸̥̳̠̮͉̺͍̼́̐̀̀̌̍͜ẁ̶̥̥̖̭̤͕̖̼̗i̵̢͙̼̔t̸̹̀͌̌́͒̋͊̅̓̀͝ḥ̶̢͕̖̜̹̼̜̃̾͌̌ͅ ̵̛̺̝̬̟̤̼͍̲͎̙̟̪̉̐̆̆̀̌̋̈́̑ţ̴̛̛̜̈́̆̇o̷̧͔̝̬̥͔̥͇̠̰̮̩͊̈̇̀͘̕o̸̱͔͕̥̦̾͑͑̕͜ ̴̘̗̼̊̉͗͛̿͗͂̇̂͋͛m̶̝̰̻͚̦̌a̸̛̖̹͔̍̉̑̄̊͂̔̃n̴̻̤̹̑̆̒̋̓̕ẏ̸͉̩̼̼̭̌͌̎̀̈́̀͘͘͝ ̴̛̦͚̉̀͛͘͝ͅȩ̵̨̰̝̜̥͉̦͔̞̜̍̾̉͂̍͋̓͊́̿̉y̵̢̮͚̭̋̅̀e̴̞͎̋ş̷̦̤̩͚̲̙͉͎͉̆͝ ̸̧̙̪̟̫̮̤̻̳̮̪̌̈́͐͐̍͒̐̊̆͐͝ͅą̶̱͍͍̱̘̈͌̽͑͘r̴̨͖̖̟̘̱͔̔̃͂̌e̶̺͉̺͖̠̰̫͇̩͂̈́̚ ̷̡̡̫͓̰̩͕̙͈̲̲̅̈́̒̏́̄̈́́̎̄̽̕w̵̹͉̜̲͈̋̇̎̀͌́́̉̆͌̾̂a̸̛͍̲̥͓̼͍̓̌́̋̚͝͠t̶̖̞̮̆̊̓̄͑̚͝ċ̸̢͙͙̯̠̱̫̀̈͋̕̕͝h̴̲̻̱̤́̒̄̈́̍̔̌̋̈͗̚i̸͉̳̖͎̼̝̝͍̠̋͆͊͒͐̀̐̚ͅń̴̡̲͍̰̙̗̩̦̳̠̳̞̋͐̓͠ǵ̸̢̗̋͊̽̔͆͆̀̚͠ ̸̡̲͎̬͉͕̞̰̞̠̱̀̋̑̔̈̋͘̚͝͠ş̵̘̤͍̘̮̈̂̄̃̔̃̀́̆̈̈́ţ̸̛̬̣̖̭̖͎͉͐́̔͗̌̋̅͊̄̐͘ȧ̸̢̛̳͔̤̹͇̳̭͔̿̈͘͜ͅr̸̨̧̞̯̳̜͙̥̪͙̱͒͋̂̂̄ͅi̸̪̞͖̥̥͇̎̔̅̋̐́͊n̷̨̨̡̲͔̈́͂̾̋̆̓͒̄͂g̷̗̯̟̬̦͕͕̤̎̆̈́̈́͋͌́̌̀͑ ̵̧̤̣͖̺̻̬͚̮̩͉̐̊c̷̛͈̗̖̬̲̗̰͙͕͔̯̅̆̈́͑̓e̷̢̜͔͍̗̔͊̕a̸̡͓̪̖͒͌͂̄̊͠͝s̴̛̼͔̬̰͓͈̳͇̹̞̆̂̾̿́́̕͠ḙ̴͔̮̰̮͙̜͓̱͈̿̐̈́̈̋̆́̎͒l̷̢̜̤̙̞͔̈́ͅe̷̩̠͎̤̳̼̣͉͆̕ͅș̴̛̺̹̯̪̫̈́́̓̿́̋s̸̻͆͛̔̾͑͂͘͠͝ͅl̷͚̪̫͎̩͓̟̬̳͆͜͝y̵̠̩̭̤̜̟̽͑̍̈́̔́ͅ ̷̢̭̱͔̯͉̪̖͓͍̑̇̌͛́͛ḩ̴̳͓̫̯̄͑͘̚ͅͅe̵̻̞̺̝̮̖̙̩̩̞̊̃̐̎̈́͐̇͠ ̸̧̨͕̯̩̺̩̰̀̈̎̂͛͋̒m̴̛͚̹̥͆̆̐̈̒̂̕͝ṵ̵̝̹̮̝̠̮̠͍̿̈́͝s̸͕͚̰̮̪̫͆̆̅̄̑̈̋̐̕̚̚ͅť̵͚̮̱̀͂ ̵̢̮͙̦͈͎̦̈́̒ͅn̶̺̮͎͙͚͌̚o̸͉͉̦̬̾͠t̸͉̜͖̦̦̼͖͇̀̀͌̀̕̚ ̴̢̢̢̜̗̘̜͙͔̞̥͕̓̐̍̀͐̈̔K̶̻͙̒̉̌̈́́̿̒̄̐ṇ̷̨̢̛͎̿̀͐̀̊͘ͅȯ̵̯̾̓̆̀w̵̞̭̺̭̱͔̄͂ ̵̮̟̥͇̺͖̦͙͚͛̈́͐́̚ĥ̵̡̢̗̜̹̣̟̮̍ȩ̵̝̘̤̟̗̠͙̭͌̓̅͌̂̅̈̓̃̏͜͝ͅ ̴̬͛́̊̒͒̇̉̎̈́̏m̴̬̑͗ȕ̷̧̠̺͎̤̺͗̀̈̋̈́̄͋̚s̸̢̛̲̞͖͈͍̑͋̂̉̿̕ț̵̐̓̐͑ ̸̧̛̠͇̀̊̃̊́͘̕n̵̲̜͒̓ö̵̦̳̦̲͉̿̌͆̃̏̄̕̕͝͠t̴̡̲̫̣̹̥͖̘̒̆̄̏̀̈̍̀̍͑͠ ̶͕̙͎͇̟͖̞̜͉͇͌̇̂̃̈́̾̔͝͝S̷̩̏̍̈́͆̃͜ę̷̛͖̞̩̰̳̤̜̅͑̈́̇̔̚ẹ̴̢͊͊̌͗͘ ̷̥͖̼̲̈́͛̎̓́̑ḩ̷̻̗̻̪̰̙̓̍̏̄̔͛̌̔̽̋̂̈́e̵̙̠̙̙̗̳̲̜͑͊͑̓̄ ̷̝͓̉̌̄̀̍̀͌̃̕̚͝͝m̸̢̦̫̫͚̰͓͓͕̝̠̾͑͂̄́͂͜ǔ̷̢͔͚̝͕̝̻͔͋̽͑͌̂̽̈́̾͌͗s̷̨̝̱̬̪̜̞͙̫͊̄t̷͖̟̪̽̅̽͆ ̷̥̣̳͓͔̀b̴̧̹͍̤̜̬̣̪͆̑̌́͂̆̄̊̂̅͝e̵̢̛̙̩̠͚̪͇͉͂̾̂̒͗͗̈́́̚̕ ̷̰͙̻͎̹̲͘ș̷̨̨̰͔͖̦̳̼͠ô̴̞̜̤̮̱̜̹̯͈̟̈́͜m̸̨̲̯̼̯̼̤̱͉͒̄͂͂̃̉̌͠e̶̟̗̋t̵̡̛̼̪̽̅͆́̓̅̑̾͘͘͝h̵̛̬͕̼̹̦̭̬̳̟̄̐̃̏͐́̍i̸͎̤͉̊̒̇͘̕ņ̷͗̍͑͊̎̆̓̕͜͠͝͝ǧ̶̨̤̤̠̝̬̤̲͕̃ ̵̱̻͚̹̲̪̰̦̼̼̇̀́̒̎̂̊̇̓̿̈́ͅë̶̡̥̦͈̫͚͈̫̠̠̞́͗l̵̛̮͉̼̤̪͚̫̖̀̀́͑̒̀̈͌͝s̶̡̛̱̟͍̗̰̥̈́̈́̐̀e̸̥̲̪̞̯͎͇̘͋̒͛̂̋͊͜͜͝ ̸͈̣͚͗̏̈̉͜͝ẘ̴̩̖̰̹̖̖̟̰̱̾́͘͜͠i̶̛̱̹̤̤̠͔͍̰͎̰̲͛̓̒̌̓̿̉͊͋͘̕t̴̡̩̗̼͕͍̤͖̱̯͙͚͛̍́̈́̉̎̈͝h̷̡͍̑̐͆̓̿̓̂̚͝ ̵̢̥̼̫͚͖͎͍͉̹̘͙͂͂̍̕t̵̛̛̞̂̊̾̒̈́̃͘͘o̷̢̻̭͙̳͈͙͌̾̆͌̇̚͝o̷͈̰̜̭̝̭̞̮̍̆̿ͅ ̴̡̱̯͖̖̖̮̼̼͎̻̻̊̋̍̎m̵̨͇͎̼̩̒́̔̄͛ͅǎ̷̼͛͊̀͌̍̂͂͒̔͠n̴̡̥͍̬̔̿̆̆̈͋͘͝ỷ̷͔̮̣̝̰͙͋̔ͅ ̸̪̊̆̍̃̾̀͐̂̋͝͝è̶̪ỳ̸̩̖̣̤̫͍̫͓̔̍̎̒̈̎̈̎̋e̶͚̳̫͍͓̟̦̱͛̓̔̇̐̀̽̀̄̕͝while Martin gave a slight frown, he noticed the remaining text smoothen out back to it’s normal rhythm. Sasha was equally as confused, wondering how in a matter of mimutes, the screen changed from the watcher’s comments to this page. “Martin, you’re sure you have no idea what caused that?”

“Yeah, I was in the middle of looking through the comments- I have some notes on that- but then in the middle of one I hear Elias knock on the door, you know, and next thing you know I look back and see the new page, acting all…spooky. He’d asked what I was doing with your laptop, so I just sorta looked at him and back to the screen. He assumed it was just a technical glitch after looking at the screen, nothing, none of the uh, actual ghost watcher stuff.”

Sasha nodded. “Well, that’s..good? I think Elias would have a field day with it, especially since a lot of the commenters seem to really hate the guy.”

Martin chuckled. “Anywho, I uh, have some questionable information from this last go-around,” he said, opening the tab with his notes.

• spider investigations bad-ask Jon?
• strangely nice? Sometimes
• Jon get kidnapped- fake cant physically harm us
• Worms bad
• Spider’s eyes bad
• Dont go to Hilltop Road
• Jonah Magnus oo fancy
• archive assistants 1985-1990
• -Eric Delano
• g u n ?
• Tunnels
• ^ under building
• watcher apology to Tim ? ->Sasha
• for Sasha
• ‘Your fate lies in a table
• A stranger follows yet seen as a friend.
• The only way to see through its lies
• Is by the polaroids you took
• And the recordings left behind.'
• ^ Super ominous
• Name- Readers
• Allies potentially- Georgie Barker, Melanie King, Basira Hussain, Daisy Tonner
• Carlos Vittery no follow up? Ask Jon
• supplement comment- look in word doc
• CO2 canisters
• weird tables bad

“Thanks. This is..useful, probably. Up to Jon, what he wants us to do with it, I suppose.” Sasha read the document, pausing. “Apology to Tim?”

“Oh, er, yeah, I guess something happened, I think you know more about it, but the gh-watcher said sorry? Or something like that? But I don’t think Tim will take any of it real well at this point.”

Sasha nodded. “I think we’ll have to wait for him to come around. Not like it’s my favorite thing either, but it could help us.”

“Yeah..also, just, maybe ignore the whole poem thing in there. It doesn’t really make much sense other than feeling really off-putting, and i don’t want you to have to worry about all that.” Martin fidgeted with his hands as Sasha glanced at it.

“Yeah. Weird, but not something understandable. I do have a Polaroid camera coming in, but it’ll mainly just be used for fun. I’m not going to get all superstitious about my computer and start following its every word,” she assured Martin.

“If you say so,” he responded jokingly. “Hope you aren’t using company funds for that.”

She laughed.

The door to the office opened. A tall, smiling man stood in the doorway, giving them finger guns as he entered. “Hey, there’s two super buff delivery guys here, say they have a box for you, Martin,” he said, raising his eyebrows cheekily. “Someone have a secret admirer?”

“W-what? I didn’t order anything, and why would it be for me?” Martin asked Tim, half convinced he was bluffing.

Tim shrugged, still teasing. “I dunno, didn’t say who it’s from. I’ll let them know you’ve been waiting for it,” he smiled, jogging out before Martin could tell Tim to stop.

He looked at Sasha. “Any idea?”

“None at all, Martin. None at all.”

——

Soon, Tim came back, smiling as he presented the box to Martin. “I’ve gotta see this,” he said, bouncing on his heels as Martin cautiously opened it.

Inside was what appeared to be some type of toy gun, as well as various teas and a small plush cat. Martin picked up the gun. Nerf or Nothing, it read on the side. “What the heck?? Tim, did you do this?”

The Tim in question laughed, looking closely at it. “Definitely a haunted artefact, Jon’s gonna need a statement from you and your spooky gift. Might have to quarantine the area, get it locked up in a glass case in storage too~”

Martin could help but laugh. The three of them visited as Martin unpacked his new gun, setting in on the desk. Tim noticed Sasha’s laptop, the scrolling text catching his gaze. He chose to ignore it, looking back at the rather odd but nice gift.

It was at that lovely moment that Jon walked in, a confused expression on his face.

“What is that?”

Martin panicked. “Oh-nothing-“

“It’s actually Nerf or nothing,” Tim chimed in. “Marto’s still new to the wonderful world of firearms.”

“Toy firearms-“

“This didn’t happen to come in a mysterious package with no return address, right?” Jon asked suspiciously.

Martin looked at Tim, who nodded enthusiastically, giving a thumbs-up. Sasha watched from the sidelines, curious to see where the boys would take this.

“I mean, none of it seems harmful at least,” Martin pointed out. “Just some tea, toys, nothing suspicious,” he said, looking through the box. Jon nodded. “Something similar happened to me this morning. It had just a plush cat, though the tag on it had the name of a cat I used to have- well, Georgie’s cat,” he said, thinking.

“Georgie? Like..Georgie Barker?” Martin guessed.

“Yes, she’s my ex.” He gave Martin a strange look. “How do you know her?”

“Oh, I don’t- I just, it came up in this list of names I got from one of the watchers.”

It was Tim’s turn to be confused. “What the heck is a bloody watcher?”

“Computer ghost things. Apparently they’re alive, so watchers it is, as they seem to know a lot of things they really shouldn’t.”

Tim nodded, less enthused by the idea of them communicating with the ‘watchers’. Sasha noticed his expression. “So..are we assuming it’s the watchers that have given these to us? I mean, Martin, one of your notes is just ‘g u n ?’ and I can’t think of anything else that would mean? Unless someone at the institute has a real one?”

“Oh, yeah, it was..I think one of them said something about giving me a gun, because it would help. Dunno how well that’s going to work,” he said, setting it back in the box.

“I think it’s best we come up with a course of action,” Jon began. “Some of these things seem harmless, but these watchers could very well become dangerous if we aren’t careful.”

Tim brightened at that. “I vote we ask them to order us very nice metal bat, and then when they aren’t looking, we bash Sasha’s computer to pieces! Boom, problem solved.”

Jon sighed. “I appreciate your…enthusiasm, but I don’t think it’s that simple. They have valuable information about our statements, and if we make the right move, we might have an actual chance of getting through the nightmare storage system that Gertrude had. Speaking of statements, there are a few more I’ve managed to match with the summaries, and I’d like some research and follow-up done on them.”

He handed each of them a file. “Hopefully this will go by faster now that we have the summaries to compare them to.”

Martin took a look at his file, frowning. “Uh, Jon?”

“Yes?” He asked. In Martin’s mind, he looked like he was daring Martin to say something, to try and oppose him. He didn’t want to offend Jon, of course- he would just ask nicely.

“This, uhm, Carlos Vittery? If I remember right, one of the comments specifically said, uhm, to not do any follow-up on it? I think?” He said sheepishly.

“Are you trying to get out of doing more work?” He asked.

“Wh-no, no, I didn’t mean that at all- I’ll just- it’s fine, I can take it, I’m sure it’s fine. Sorry.”

Jon nodded. “The watchers provide valuable information for us. I don’t want them to be used as an excuse to slow down our research. This is what you are being paid to do, after all.”

Martin nodded, utterly embarrassed. “R-right.”

Martin half-glanced at the screen, as if checking to see if the words appearing would oppose this action, but alas, it was only observing for now. Recording the moment as it happened-

“Since everything else seems to be in order, I’ll be back in my office. I expect you all to get the follow-up done promptly,” he said, leaving the room.

Everyone dispersed, Sasha leaving to the library to find sources on the subject, while Martin left to his computer to figure out what he could about the statement.

Tim was left alone with that computer. Against his better judgement, he took a closer look at it. The words scrolled endlessly, taunting him. If they could do this much, if they could know so much and control so much, why didn’t they bother to actually help?

“If Sasha wasn’t coming back in the next ten minutes, I’ll have you know I’d end you right here and now,” he muttered. “I don’t care if you think bringing gifts to the others will make them trust you, it doesn’t mean anything real. You can’t exist here, and no matter how much you seem to know about the past or future, you can’t actually change it.” He sighed. This was dumb, it was just a stupid computer sitting their on Sasha’s desk. He rolled his eyes at the typo. “See, I can tell the difference. It’s supposed to be ‘there’. You don’t even do that with the others, I don’t know what your problem is with my existence.”

—————————————

It was a few days later that Jon decided to take another look at the computer, per Sasha’s request. It had been acting fairly calm, not describing every moment for the span of..yeah, approximately a few days.

That was good. Probably. Tim seemed to enjoy this, but as he entered the room with Jon and Sasha, his face fell as he saw more descriptions of the current happenings being recorded. Sasha and Jon looked over at Tim after reading said description.

“Looks like it’s fixed. Thanks, Jon,” Sasha said, mildly suprised.

“I only walked into the room, I believe it did that on it’s own.”

Tim scoffed. “Fixed is a strong word. Thw whole thing’s all weird and messed up. Next thing you know it’s going to have the ghosts start comme

Chapter Text

Many packages arrived at the Magnus Institute. A small envelope was sent to the Head of the Institute, while the rest were directed towards the archives.

Jon was very suprised to see the tower of boxes, left with no return address or indication of sender. That could only mean one thing, and he let out a sigh, hoping that he didn’t forget about any of the more unhinged order requests.

He took a look at the order details.

AWS ORDER INFORMATION

——————————————

[DRAWINGGIRL]

-cake JONATHAN SIMS

-plush cat JONATHAN SIMS

[CATerpillar]

-metal bat TIMOTHY STOKER

-poetry book MARTIN BLACKWOOD

-highland cow plushie MARTIN BLACKWOOD

[ThetaGalaxy]

-CO2 canisters EVERYONE

-spare phone MARTIN BLACKWOOD

-food supplies MARTIN BLACKWOOD

[BlacKAmbeR]

-handmade Hawaiian shirts TIMOTHY STOKER

-pocket notebook (green cover, owl drawing) SASHA JAMES

-small pillow JONATHAN SIMS

[CatWithPlotArmor]

-brass staples SASHA JAMES

-archival quality folders SASHA JAMES

[fabulousfunkyasexual]

-candy TIMOTHY STOKER

-stuffed shark SASHA JAMES

-crochet kit MARTIN BLACKWOOD

-large knife JONATHAN SIMS

[RainbowWeddings]

-kayak apology present TIMOTHY STOKER

-empty polaroid pictures EVERYONE

[StormsComing]

-Sealant and spray foam EVERYONE

- Fine metal mesh EVERYONE

- Multitool that has a knife (this is intended for removing excess sealant and spray foam, but it can have other uses) EVERYONE

- Non perishable food/assorted snacks EVERYONE

[BellBranches]

-envelope addressed to J̷̨̛̛̛͓̙̤͔͆͐͒̂̓̑̐̃̾̐̈̓̈́̽̔̃̆̀̓͗̄̌̔͗̊̿̇̏͑̆̌̈́̓̕̚͝͝ơ̵̞̬͕̱͚̳̣͉̫͓̝̹̥̗̟̈̈͆̆͛̌́́̽͆̇͌̿̃͝ͅn̸̢̢̧̛̛̮̭̞͔̱̥̦͎͉̫͈̥̫͎̭̹̼̥̗̪͎̅̇̊̽̍́͋̎͆͊̈́̾͗̏̋͒͋́̏̂͌̔͒͑̋͘̚̚͜͝͝ͅͅͅa̴̛̟̘̜̻̹͍̪̥̐́͆̄̾̽͗̋͝h̷̨̢̛̘̯̤̝͖͔̒̔̀̔̆̿̈́̎̉̇̔͌́̃͂̐̇̈́̽̓͆̒͋͒̉̓͊̈̍̈́̈́͋̇͂̈́̚̚̚͠͝͝ ELIAS BOUCHARD       

 ————————————————-

 “No way, the kayak actually showed up,” Tim said with a disbelieving laugh.

“Looks like the cake showed up as well,” Sasha said. Jon was having none of it, rubbing his eyes.

 As they unloaded all the packages, they attempted to store the more suspicious looking ones (kayak, metal bat, large knife, 10 fire extinguishers, etc.) in the lesser-used storage rooms. As they did this rather odd job, Tim found himself actually having fun. The new Hawaiian shirts to annoy Elias with, the candy, the tools that could help them- all of it was quite nice and suprisingly good quality. As long as he ignored how much the watchers freaked him out and the fact that there hasn’t been a word from Martin yet, he was rather happy. He made sure to keep all of Martin’s things in one pile for when he came back.

Unlike Jon, who still put on a grumpy face despite being very glad for the *useful* gifts, Sasha was outwardly excited. She finally had pictures she could put in her new Polaroid camera, and when she found the small notebook addressed to her, she found notes inside the first page. It both included things she had typed up and things she had thought about, but hadn’t gotten around to writing.

——————————

NOTES:

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘔𝘈𝘕𝘠 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘰𝘴

𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳

-𝘪𝘧 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘉𝘈𝘋

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘴

“𝘌𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘴” ?

𝘕𝘰 𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯

(𝘙𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘣𝘰𝘸𝘞𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴) ‘𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘌𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘴. 𝘋𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘑𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴’

0070107

𝘈𝘮𝘺 𝘗𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵- 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘉𝘈𝘋 𝘉𝘈𝘋 𝘉𝘈𝘋

𝘚𝘢𝘺 𝘩𝘪 𝘵𝘰 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭? 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘯?

𝘛𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩:

𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘊𝘳𝘦𝘸 (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘵)

𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘚𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘺 (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯)

𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘛𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 (“𝘥𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘺” 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵)

𝘔𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘢 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘯

𝘖𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘴 (𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥)

𝘎𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘒𝘦𝘢𝘺

𝘎𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘪𝘦- 𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳

𝘊𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘦𝘥:

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘝𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢 𝘎𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘢 𝘏𝘪𝘷𝘦

𝘌𝘺𝘦𝘴

𝘚𝘦𝘦

𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘵

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘞𝘩𝘰 𝘐𝘴 𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘮

𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥

𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

𝘏𝘶𝘯𝘵

𝘌𝘯𝘥

𝘚𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘍𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴

𝘞𝘦𝘣

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘴𝘦

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘗𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘶𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘺

𝘒𝘯𝘰𝘸

𝘜𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥

𝘛𝘢𝘱𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴? 𝘭𝘰𝘭 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦

0020406

—————————————-

It was later in the day, now that they had mostly organized everything. Jon had seemed to lighten up a bit, offering to share the cake with the others since he was supposedly “not a huge cake person.” (He wasn’t, sure, but this was his favorite flavor and yes it tasted amazing).

As they ate, Sasha decided to test out the camera. The photo came out rather overexposed, but for her first time it wasn’t bad. Tim smiled brightly while Jon reluctantly squinted at the camera.

She tried for a selfie, which definitely wasn’t great quality, but still fun. Maybe if she ould just tweak the settings of-

Ding.

A text message ringed on Jon’s phone. He quickly opened it.

————————

Martin Blackwood

Not coming in today have a Bug🐛

————————-

Based on Jon’s rather uncharacteristically panicked look, Tim glanced at his phone, quickly jumping to a plan.

“Uhm, right, let’s grab some extinguishers, pocket tools, uhm, shoot. Try and call him.”

Tim and Sasha quickly loaded a hefty amount of extinguishers into Jon’s car. Thank goodness they arrived in time.

Once Jon got back (“No answer from his phone”), he took a look at Tim and Sasha. “We’ll need to have someone stay here, just in case Elias shows up or if Martin needs to get back here.”

“Sasha’s staying,” Tim immediately said. Looking in her direction, he added “I don’t want you getting hurt. Hold down the fort for us, yeah?”

“But the buddy system-“

“We’ll be back before you know it, right Jon?”

Jon gave a short nod as they quickly drove away.

———————————————-

Soon, she was back inside the building, in the too-quiet archives. Not that it was ever very loud in there, but the stillness was unsettling.

*Great. We all had one plan, and they immediately abandon it.*

“I guess I can continue my research, I just hope Martin’s fine…Maybe I’ll wait, need to be near my phone in case they message me and need me.

Not like they *really* need me anyways. Jon’s the one that gets to do all the initial hunting down of things. He gets to lead everything and tell everyone what to do and what not to do, even if that doesn’t always work out. He’s so stubborn and determined, but because of how he presents it, everyone just listens, it seems.

Tim gets to do all the heavy lifting. I know he didn’t mean anything by volunteering himself to go after Martin, I just…I get the sense that he doesn’t think I’m capable of handling myself sometimes? I wouldn’t say I’m the strongest of the bunch, not by a long shot, but I could definitely beat Jon in a fight if it came to it. Emotionally, I feel pretty confident, at least. I think Tim should really focus more on Martin than me in that way.

Martin... He definitely doesn’t see me as capable. But it’s easier, because with him, he treats everyone like that. Sort of. Maybe not Jon, but he’s always insistent on the tea breaks and trying to keep group morale up, which feels nice initially, but sometimes gets to the point where you wish he’d see you more as an actual person? An adult that has their own life, and can take care of themselves. But right now, all I care is that he’s okay. Bit ironic saying that, I guess, but all of you watchers have made it clear that if he called in sick, he’s probably getting attacked by worms of some kind, so..”

She sat in thought, checking her phone every few minutes.

“And then there’s me. Out of the loop. Until you all showed up on my computer, I suppose. You aren’t much better in the worrying aspect, but I am thankful for the information and gifts. As far as team dynamics go…I mean, I get things done. I love figuring out each case like a puzzle, and I know Jon trusts me somewhat. More than Martin, but that’s not Martin’s fault either.

Tim is definitely capable- maybe I’m just blowing it all out of proportion, I mean, he’s always relaxed enough to make a joke but still concentrated enough to get the work done that he has- mostly. And his outfits- I don’t know if you can ever observe them, but trust me, they’re a right sight to see. Bright hawiian shirts, cartoon character socks hidden under dress pants, that cheeky grin he always gives-heh- I don’t know why I’m rambling about this. Sorry.”

She paused for a few moments. She did not like the silence.

Anywho…when they all come back, I just hope that I’ll get more of a…say, I guess? That Jon won’t try and immediately throw all my research into Artefact storage, or that they won’t just leave me alone in the dusty archives, as if anyone comes around here anyways…maybe I’m just jealous that Jon got the job. That’s probably it. Dumb jealousy when my friend is in danger.

I should probably be talking to my therapist about this, not my haunted computer- geez, I hope they don’t come back and read any of this.”

She waited in that oppressive silence for a few more minutes.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

She furrowed her eyebrows, listening to the quiet sound the computer picked up on. Right, the clock. Nothing weird. Not remotely supernatural, but so quiet that she never noticed the sound when the others were around.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tap.

“What?”

Something else was here.

“That’s not freaky at all,” she muttered, quickly standing up.

She looked all around the archives for what could’ve made the supposed sound, right up the stairs but stopping before she’d hit the research department. Elias wasn’t around. Jon and Tim weren’t back. And if Prentiss…if that was really happening, then it would all be at Martin’s house.

All the rooms here only had files and computers and some old books. She glanced at her computer, as if the watchers could’ve somehow made the sound. Of course, all she saw was the text, narrating her thoughts and actions like subtitles of the Truman Show.

Thinking of the watchers, though, they did mention one other place. Maybe it was something in the tunnels? The *supposed* tunnels that connected through Jon’s office. She wasn’t dumb enough to try and search for those, though. She’d seen enough horror movies to know that going into creepy underground tunnels was not a good idea, especially alone.

If something else was in there, it’d just have to come out if it wanted to see her.

That wasn’t as comforting as she hoped, so she played pop music as she filed some of the documents they’d completed already.

The others would be back soon. Maybe the computer was just referring to her bouncing her leg now, or the way she was obsessively checking her phone, surrounded by half-eaten cake and various weapons.

She glanced back at the screen. If anyone would know what to actually do, it would be them, right?

…

Chapter Text

Sasha was in the breakroom, checking up to see if all the supplies in the first aid kits were still usable. Hopefully this would keep her distracted enough until she heard back from the others. She looked at the clock in the breakroom.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

It was just the clock. It was just the clock, it moved perfectly with the second hand, and there was nothing out to get her right now (If there was, she reasoned it would have already gotten her in the archives by now). All she had to do was deal with the silence.

…

The silence was broken.

Incoming call from Timothy Stoker

She grabbed her phone as fast as she could and answered.

“Tim- are you all okay?” She said, more panicked than she meant to sound.

“We got Martin out, on our way back,” he responded, sounding tired. His words were slightly slurred. “Cop’s’ll have a real treat goin’ through ‘is apartment.”

“What-? Okay, uhm, try and get here fast. Is anyone hurt?”

“Tim, can you put it on speaker?” She heard, a little muffled from the other side. Jon must’ve been driving.

A few seconds later, she hears Jon again. “Sasha, make sure the door to the archive is unlocked, we’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Okay, got it, uhm- was it Prentiss there?”

“Yes,” Jon responded, soundly midly stressed as he was likely speeding a little too fast down the road to try and get back faster. “We’ve managed to get most of the worms out with the miltitool, but frankly I can’t think and talk at the same time right now, just expect us soon.”

Most of the worms? That wasn’t promising..

Sasha left the first aid kits out as they seemed to be needed soon. She rushed to unlock the door, waiting to see them pull in. The fidgeted and felt her heart race as she saw Jon’s car pull in. How he managed to still park in the lines was beyond her, but she rushed over, watching as they all stumbled out.

They looked a mess. Tired and scared and adrenaline pumping through them as all three of them practically sprinted inside.

Jon locked the door behind them all as they checked for worms. Sasha grabbed the first aid kit, seeing the amount of holes that dug their way inside the flesh of her coworkers. They could’ve been worse, she supposed, but still, it’s never a pretty sight.

Martin looked the most afraid, but maybe that was just the way he hadn’t uttered a word since they’d arrived back. His arms were shaking and his eyes were teary.

Tim and Jon weren’t much better, but Jon was more stubborn and Tim looked like he was high off something. Probably the fire extinguisher gas, if she had to make a guess.

After killing a few stray worms, Sasha took them to the breakroom, working on some of the larger wounds. She would start with stopping any blood, then disinfecting the area, and bandaging it up. Having something useful to do- even if it was this- let her stop thinking for a minute, falling into the rhythm of patching things up. “Hold still…you’re doing great…only a few more to go, you’re gonna be just fine…” she would say, both to her coworkers and herself.

If they weren’t all inflicted by supernatural worms, and maybe if she had a little more courage, she would’ve suggested they all go to the hospital.

But she didn’t have that. Someone else would’ve brought it up if that was the best plan, right?

It was okay.

She finally got through all the pockmarks, taking a general look over them all.

“Thank you, Sasha,” Jon responded.

All she could do was nod. With Tim half-asleep and Martin nervously looking out the window every minute, she knew she couldn’t talk about anything yet. She let out a small sigh.

She had to strain her ears to hear the clock now. That was good, she supposed.

She still didn’t know what was in the archives. If there was anything. What was she supposed to get from the ‘tap’ sound her computer said anyways? If there was a monster, it was doing a lousy job at actually getting her.

She glanced back at the others. Some things were too terribly real now, so maybe she shouldn’t question it.

“Are you okay?” Jon said quietly, looking at Sasha.

She laughed sadly. “I think I should be asking you that. I’m not the injured one here.” For some reason, her throat started to burn with that feeling you get when your about to cry. Seeing Jon’s pitiful face only made that sensation worse.

She did not know what she wanted. She did not know what to say or what to do or who to listen to because her friends were hurt but they were okay but everything felt wrong but it also hasn’t felt more right in a long time.

She must’ve sat by Jon for a while, because soon she was being handed a mug of warm tea. She now noticed the wetness on her face.

“Here,” Martin said softly.

Why was he doing this? He was the one hurt- he was the one who needed to be rescued, why was he of all people-

“Making tea helps calm me down, I figured you’d want some,” he said. He sat with her and Jon, while Tim dozed off in a nearby chair. He looked peaceful once you looked past the bandages.

“Thanks,” she said, drinking some. It warmed her soul up. Maybe it was the tea, or maybe it was the fact that everyone was back here, but she eventually began to relax.

———————————————-

“-So then they got through the door, and it was just a wall of the worms, that and fire extinguisher gas, which Tim took control of. Jon called the cops, hoping they’d have any advice, but we finally got out and left before they could really help. We didn’t kill Prentiss, there were too many worms just swarming around and it was hard to know where she even was half the time, but..but we made it,” Martin would tell Sasha.

“Apparently the police told Jon that they didn’t find anything besides some dead worms there, but it freaks me out, thinking of going back. Jon offered to let me stay here, in the archives, but I don’t want to bother anyone too much, you know..”

Sasha nodded, more level-headed now that she had a better idea of what happened. “Yeah..”

Have Martin live in the archives? She couldn’t help but think of the numerous comments from the watchers, telling her that something was there in the building. Something that wasn’t her coworkers.

She didn’t want to scare Martin, though. And if it didn’t directly try to interact with her- if it was an ‘it’, maybe it was nothing at all, just the sounds of the old building. Either way, it was a lot better than the very real thing that used to be Jane Prentiss. So she would stay quiet.

Tim had brightened up, after the hours of napping, which then lead to him chugging an energy drink, he was almost back to normal. He showed Martin to his ‘goody pile’, which had the orders for him the watchers had made.

He was very glad to not have to worry about getting a new phone. The poetry book and crochet kit would come in handy for those late nights spent in the archives, attempting to not overthink the reality of living at his workplace. The highland cow plushie brought him great joy, and he immediately kept it on hand for the day. It would reside on his cot or desk when not with him directly.

They spent the rest of the day in the archives, not working but sitting and sleeping or reading or eating from the extensive collection of food supplies that had been given to them.

Nobody had mentioned it aloud, but it felt wrong to have Martin spend his first night in the archives alone, while Prentiss could be travelling anywhere.

Blankets were draped over people over couches. Jon got to use his new pillow, which was soft but supportive enough to not hurt his neck. He would need it, as the rest of his body would soon flare up from all the sprinting and exertion.

Despite the horrors of the day, sleep came dreamless and peaceful.

——————————————

AWS ORDER INFORMATION

——————————————

[SleepyMoon109- Kat]

-guide on developing film. Attached inside is a small piece of artwork of the crew SASHA

 [Liyuna_Bass]

-4 portable tape recorders with a wrist loop EVERYONE

-deluxe pack of stickers and markers to customize EVERYONE

-1 photorealistic portrait of Jonathan Sims’ grandmother, labelled with her full name. A note is included JONATHAN SIMS

[CalypsoRiverstone]

-envelope containing an extensive amount of glitter ELIAS BOUCHARD

[Ranoutofbraincells]

-“Conveniently timed” falling grand piano SPECIAL ORDER REQUEST

——————————————————

Tim was the first to wake up, and since he had nothing better to do, he checked the order form for the packages that had shown up between the time he fell asleep and the present moment.

He took a look, skipping past the gift for Sasha and peeking at the portable tape recorders.

“That’s odd..” he muttered, seeing the very broken recorders, looking as though they had been crushed to pieces. Looking further, he found that the stickers and markers were in pristine condition.

“What’s odd?” Jon said, materializing right behind Tim, who jumped slightly. Tim would never understand how he did that- he was even using the cane today, how did he not hear that?

“Look,” he said, showing him the very broken recorders. Jon furrowed his eyebrows, but said nothing. He pulled out the box that was labeled to him specifically, tensing up as he saw the contents inside.

The painted portrait of his grandmother. He remembered that one- it was in the hallway between the kitchen and bedroom, something he had seen every day for years before moving and not seeing it again.

He picked up the note attached.

𝙷𝚒 𝙹𝚘𝚗 - 𝙻𝚒𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚊 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚢, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙸'𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚎 - 𝙸 𝚠𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚜 𝚒𝚝, 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚝𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏. 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚒 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 "𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢." 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚢/𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚢'𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚎 *𝚊𝚛𝚎* 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚜.

Right as he finished the end of the note, he yelled in alarm as it spontaneously caught aflame, quickly turning black in the air and disintegrating, leaving only a small hint of smoke in its place.

Tim stared at him with wide eyes.

“You didn’t-“

“No.”

It would soon be found that the same happened with the artwork gifted to Sasha, admired for only a minute or so before it’s combustion. The film developing guide remained unscathed, much to her relief.

Sasha would take a few photos, testing the guide as everyone got ready for the day. Tim and Jon headed home to freshen up for work, and Sasha would leave a little later, picking up a few supplies and buying Martin some breakfast. Afterwards, time to get back to regular work on her computer.

Everything still felt weird, but maybe it would be okay.

Chapter Text

While they finished the last few comments, Jon began to feel the color drain out of his face. It was an odd sensation, like all his energy and movement was being pulled out of him, and all he could do was watch and attempt to remain upright. He gripped his cane tighter, hands shaking slightly.

It took him a few moments to remember that all the others were reading the same words he was, and soon he was being ushered to sit down while everybody prepared to leave. He sat as he tried to remember if this would be classified as being lightheaded or dizzy and what he was supposed to do to stop it.

Someone grabbed the computer. Another was helping him up- no, that wasn’t going to help. The static building in his vision made that very clear. It wasn’t long before they were all in Sasha’s car, heading to the hospital. Jon did not like the hospital, and as a matter of fact, he did not like anyone seeing him like this.

The others were rightly worried, but Tim remembered a few times Jon had gotten like this- usually it was some kind of pain flare, combined with a lack of self preservation and food in his system. He knew Jon owed Martin an actual apology, but in his half-conscious state, Tim knew he wasn’t able to focus enough to make any type of real amends.

The worm injuries felt sharp on his skin, any touch sending a jolt of pain through his system. He hoped that the visit would at least ease that.

They soon arrived, sitting in a waiting room as other people came and went. The lights were just a little too bright for comfort, but hopefully it would be too long before they could get everything checked out.

While Sasha spun a story about a totally not-supernatural encounter with very angry worms, Jon, Martin, and Tim got patched up. Stinging sensations would follow the disinfectant, but it wasn’t long before they were all relatively alright. Tired, yes. Wounded on a metaphysical level? Probably. But they were okay.

Jon took the longest to recover, still quite lightheaded (he had decided it was lightheadedness, as being dizzy would impact his vision more than that general ‘wrongness’ spreading from his head). It didn’t seem to be too much of an issue, as he was given some food and electrolytes to help.

“Yes, yes, I’m feeling alright now,” he would say after a good half hour of resting, much to his dismay.

After that SUPER fun visit (Martin didn’t like Tim’s sarcasm regarding that, arguing that he would take medical attention over infected worm wounds any day) they all headed back to their respective homes. Elias had contacted them, insisting that they take enough time off to not risk ‘contaminating the institution with pests’. How nice.

—————————————————-

Sasha took her laptop out before leaving, curiously checking to see if it had recorded anything outside the walls of the Magnus Institute.

Yep. That was..good? Maybe. Maybe concerning, but she couldn’t figure out what that would mean in the long run. All she was ready for was a good nap. And eventually watching that new show that was premiering in a few weeks. Stranger Things? That’s what her friend had called it.

She went home with relatively little traffic- it’s a wonder how free the world is when it’s not rush hour- and arrived back at her flat. She didn’t remember ordering packages..

AWS.

Ah, right. Whatever that meant. She first noticed the doordash that she definitely didn’t order, but somehow still had her favorite- Loch Fyne, the BEST seafood restaurant. Alongside that was a journal, grippy socks, and a small slice of cake.

Seeing there were other boxes, she took a look at the order form.

————————————————————

AWS ORDER SASHA JAMES

[otaku_lady89]

-Loch Fyne [doordash of comfort food hehe]

-Dessert

-Journal

-Grippy socks

[Sparklelee]

-sparkly red rubber duck withattatched letter

[Ranoutofbraincells]

-hydrochloric acid

-glass water guns

[CatWithPlotArmor]

-purple lighter

-sticker pack NO EYE STICKERS

[fabulousfunkyasexual]

-chocolate

[Liyuna_Bass]

-Gift

——————————

She took the boxes inside, inspecting the contents. Everything seemed to match up- even the acid and somehow glass water guns. She did appreciate the lighter though, as it would probably come in handy in case any more worms attempted to show up. It had a nice webbed design on it, and was small enough to fit in her pocket for work.

She placed a couple stickers on it. Gorgeous.

She curiously opened the note attached to the red duck.

𝘚𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢, 𝘢 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 '𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨' *𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘬* (𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥: 𝘩𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨) 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦! - 𝘚𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬

What a nice note- except that as soon as she read ‘Spark’ it seemed to take a more literal form, promptly destroying the paper. She jumped, dropping the note.

Hesitantly this time, she saw the ‘gift’ package from another watcher. She opened it. It was empty, save for another note:

𝘏𝘪 𝘚𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘢. 𝘓𝘪𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘺𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦! 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸 - 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺𝘸𝘢𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴. 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦.

It promptly disintegrated.

At least it wasn’t a fire hazard this time.

Now it was time to not worry about existential horrors and get some sleep. After her nap, she’d finally be able to start on those old records she’d yanked from the library on previous archive workers and Elias Bouchard. That could wait, though.

————————————————————

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J̶̛͉̒͗́̈́̄͂͌ͅǫ̷͈̤̦̫̰̦̯̲͙̗̒͐͑͑̌́̔̔̓͛̍ṅ̵̨̢̬͖̝͔̻̦̲͙͓͓̬̝͔̭̱͉̭̹͇̇͌͑̎͗͘͜͝ä̸̧̡̢̛̩͇̩̠͓̪̯͔̝̘̗̹͇̥́̄̈́̆͊̀̇̂͊͗̉̂͛̿͜͝ͅţ̷̬̙̻̫͉͎̖͖̣̭̥̫͓͉͕̺̬̈́͗̓͂̾h̷̭̪͎̭́̀̿̿͌̀͋̌͗́à̷̘̠͛̉̏͛̀̈̉̇͘͝n̸̢̨̛̺͈̉̓́̇̏̋̿̍̌̓̅̆ ̶̠̙̐̽̄́̒̋́̈́̇͂̊̅̓͆̕̕̚͝S̷̬͇̙͈̲̰͇̰̣̾̒̉͂̿̄̽̋̆͐͒̈̃͑̄͌̚i̷̟͎̪̺̺̹̎̉͆̎m̶̛̫̻̙̩̼̯̲͕̺̺͔̅̅̃̃̌̿̋̏͂̀͋̐̊͊́͌͋̔̚̕s̵̞̊̎̈́̾̔̎̾͗̾̋̉̑͘ ̸̡͍͓̦̳̳͖͍̹̖̘͕̪̯̱̰̠̟̣̑̇͐͌̈́̔̿̾̽̎̐̉̈́̕̚͝ͅȩ̷̯̭͇͓̳̣̗̖͇̩̗̙̞͓̦̜̈́́̾̍̇̄̆̅͊̒̆͘͘͘̚̚͝x̶̡̨̯̝̙̰̮͚̘͒͛̓͂į̸͕̺̥̙̖̍s̶̡̛̤͇͎̗̱̘̮̾̂͋̒͊̏̈́̊̈́̀́̓̆̅̎́͠t̸̛͇̐͐͂͛͂͋̚̕̚ͅe̶̡̧̢̧̛͕̳̼̪̼͙̔̓̔͗d̷̨̡̧̛̦̮͔̲̙̄͆̀̈́̈́̍̿̋͐̏́͌.̴̢̡̘̫̳͍͔̠̮̲̤̲͒̀̅̽̆̈́͗̅͒ ̷̡̢̛͔͓͍̗̦̗̯͇͋͆̌̄̈̊͐͑͠H̷̡̨̨͚̜̰͇̳̻̟͕̥̦͔̰̤̦̰̐̅̆͑͆̔͂̃͂͆̓̽͂̋̈́̿ḙ̸̡̡̦̩̹͔̪̗̠̝̭̣̞̦̝͎̤̩̑́̌̑́̇̎͆̽̚͝ ̸̨̛̠̫͉̦͔̠̩̩̗̺̹̦̌̋̑̔̋̽̿͆͑̓͋̓̓͜͠͝͝ͅw̴͖͙̭̜͆͂̔͋a̸̧̤̯̘̗̼͖̮̞͔̳͈̟̞͖͚̺̱̍̉͗̈́̓̄͌̀͝ş̶̨̭̳͈͔͓͉͈̺͎̠͈̊͒̾͛͌̾̆̀̌͋̍̐̕̕͘͝͝ͅ ̸̨̥̤̣̖͓͓̞̦͎͍̝̪̠͚͙̰̳̮̲̰̦̌̂̄̌̔͂̒̎̆͒̽̽̽̽̑̓̊a̸̡̢̯̗͖̼̰̩̥̝̯̖̩̯̙̅́̾̃͝s̴̙̭̣̠̘̓̀͂̀͂̾̇̌̓̀̇͗̑̒̂̏̏̂̎̒̉̉l̸̨̤̮̘̣̼̫̜̝̰̬̲̮̯̆͒̃̏̈́͊̒̾̈́͜͠ȇ̵̛̲͍̦̭̗̜͉͍̘̠̫͍̱̬̋͆̆́̔̓̒̿̆͛̏̚͝͝e̷̫͕̻̝̤͍͌͛̒̈́̈̈̏̓̒͜͝p̴̘̥̜̌͊̆̑͑̐̄͊̅̆̎͌͛̓̄̇͌̚͠.̷̧̨̛̭̟͖͖̰͈͕̩̩͎͍͚̱̼͓͓̭͐̌͊̌̔͒͛̂͝͠ ̴̞̜͇̤̬͇̤͇̣̜̀̐̅̿̈̋͒̔̍͋̀̊̅̈́͑̚͠J̴̡͙͚̻̘̪̗̣̩͓͊̓͐̐̈̈́̏̏͒͒̉̚͘͝͝ų̷̡̧̛̛͚͈͙̪̜̜̼̥̪̹̣̿̔̿͛̀̊̉͛̋̽͋͘͘ͅs̷̨̢̛̰̺̯̯̣̺̟̲͎̤͙̱͇̤̞̏̂͗̈͋͌̈̓͋͌̒͂̈́̇͐̀͜͠͠t̴̃̈́͂̂͐͆͒͜ ̵̧̨̡̢̠̼̭̮͕̟̻̪̼̦͔̘̘̼̓͛͒̌͑̒̾̌̿̽̎͗̿̿͗̍̑̾͒̓͝͠ͅs̴̢̨̢͖͉̰̟̫̖̹̺͇̜̠͕̋͐͐͆́̔͘̕ͅl̷̡̢̢̹̼͕̫͙̮̩̖̳̙̖̯̙̤̰̖̥͂̊ȩ̷̛̹͕̞̰̦̭͉̺̟͈͑͌̒̊̈͆̽̋̿̊̒͐͑͘͜͜͝ͅͅe̸̡̛͈̜̤̪̞͇̮̗̖̪̪̝̝̙̠̳̦̝̓͋͒́̈́͒̍̈̀̀̅́̓̇͒̈́̊̀́̚͘p̸̛̘̹͚̻̳̩̳̤͔̝̣̠͚̬̼̩̦̘̦͈̬̊̓̑̍̂̏̆̊̓̀̚͜͠͠i̶̡̧̦̝̺̣͝n̵̤͇͙͖̙̳̺̩̹̼̬̆̋̐̆͛́g̵̨̨͔̼͉͍̞̣͓̝̰̹̱͙̙̪̲͕̝͋͛̒̃̈́͌̃̌̇͛̃̓͊̃̂͋̍͂̕.̶̣̀͛̀

̸̨̡̛͖̯̤̙̦̺̘̫̤̅̽̐̊́̓͆̔̔̅̽̔̂̓̕͠͠ͅ

̷̢̮̟̗̭̘̝̳̝͈̯̱̱̈́͛̓̈͋̈̈́́̂̅̇͋͆̿̑͆́̄͘͠ ̶̘̹̓͆̏

̸̨̫͚̹̗̩̦͉̭͖̬͉̥̠̽́̐͑̒̆̀̀̊́̽͋̈́̊͂́̓͘͘͜͠ͅͅ

̵̢̪̘̗͍̪͇͓̹̭̩̫͍̮̙̝͈̤̉̈́͛́̋̌̽̚͝ ̴̖͔͌̒͆̌͊͊͘

̸̨̨̭̩̰̯̳̮̗̖͚̟͑̄̊͘

̵̧͙̼̠̃̽̃̌́̀̔̃̉͜͠͝ͅ ̵̢̢̧̖̹͎͍͕̘̮͎̞̮̱̺̱̳̱̎̅

̸̡̠͚̱̱̹͍̱̹̤̰́̃̀̈́̄̚͘ͅͅ

̶̨̖̝̩̠̞͔̟̹̻̭̲͉̫̲͉̖̈́̓͆̄̒̉͌͋̃̃͜͠͝ ̸̝̗̞̹̫̪̜͎̬͈̝̙͇̪͚͕͈̠̫͘ͅ

̴͍̘͇̣̭̣̟̬̫̳̹̝̭̹͚̜̀͊̀́̅̈́̅͌̎̔͋̅̈́̈͘

̸̨̡͔̩͎͚͎̝͇̖̞̩̯̺͕̌̈Ǹ̶̨̧̢̤̤̰̫͉̒̂͗̇͘̚͜͝o̷̩̱͕̥̣̓̂̈́͗͠,̵̗͍̀ ̵̧̰̻̹͔̮̰̑̄̑̓̕M̷̧̛̰͖̣͔̘͎̞͕̟̜̯̠̰̱̖̮̤͂͆͜͝a̴̢̪̺̹͙̞͈̥̺̱̞͎̦͎̥̱͔̗̝̘͜͝ͅr̵̡̢̛̺̞͉͔̩̻͖̬̫͖͎̪̤͉̳̈̿́̈́́̑̓͆̄̚͜ͅͅţ̸̛̺̹̺͔̮̟͈͉͔͐͂̓̃͋̇̉̿̊̍͐͌̽͌̎͐̔͐̉͘̚i̴̡̨̞̺̬̳͓̗̻̙͙̱͙͍̰͔͍͚͍̾̏̑̍̊͋͌̇̌̆̕͝ņ̷̘̰͇̞̪̫̫̯̆́̿̋̈́̌̇̊̈̾̈́̎͑̽̀̈́̃͛̕̚͜͝,̶̢͉̱̣̺̤͈͖͈͌̈́͛̉̎̐̌̓͐͗͊͋͋̏̃̌̀̊̚͘̕͜͝ͅ ̵̧̛̩͕̮͍̟͔͚̻̈̾̑̓͌̌͐̿̃́̄͛̆̌̽̋̈̀̍̒͝h̵̡͕̤̺̝͒̿̾̐͐̄̀̍̄̽͐̿̾̚̚͝ë̵͔̫̠̭̜̠̰͕̥́̐͛̚͜͜͜ ̴̧̡͍̰̤̘̼͔͍̙̙̞̣̞͕́̌̌͒͊̆̾͝ͅi̴̧̛̻̖̫͇͚̯̠̗̰̰̻̼̪̠̪͚̲͚̓̈̈́̅͆̋͌̾̋̈́̅͌͗̒͋̀͜͜ͅş̸͈̠̠̮̮̝̖̺̩͉͔͊̋n̵̹͓̱͉̰̻̪̱̔̀̒’̴̡̧̖̱̱͙̠̬͖̳̩̯͚͉̠̦̗͉̮̟͗̎̈̓̈͑̇̇̅͗̈́̃̐̈́̽͗̏̇̒̐̎̚ͅt̸͉̘̽̐̽̈́̀̅͒͒̇̅̀̂́̾͘̕͝ ̵͖̠͗͌̈̿̎̚͝d̸̩̺̝͙̖̱̙͔͍̙̲͂͑̉̀̂ȩ̶̱͔̩̼̭̮̲̮̞̥̺̘̗́̔̾̔̇͊̒̋̈́̈́̽̄́̽̅̀̃̄͘͘͜͜͠ͅa̷̹̠͙͊́͗͊̓͐̎̈́̃͐̃͆̓̈́̌̈́̀̈́̚̚ḑ̶̡͈͔̤̭̩͙̜̲̣͈̜̽́̒͐̈́̌̐̔̓̈̆̀̀͝.̸̨̡̧̪̮̝͍̺̗̺̮̳̼̤̩͖͇̼̺̻͗̄̓́͂̊̐̈́̉͝͝͝͝ ̴̢̜̪̣͓̺̭͎͚̟̩͓͖̹̯͎̮̩͙̮̱͉̓͛̈̇͊̅̽̈́̕͝͠S̵͎̰̳͂̽̂̏́̄̓̐̓̈́̚͠ͅͅę̶̧̹̼͓͖̻̭̪̞̼͍̺͕͖̪̝̻͍̪̇̂̉͛̑̽͝ͅë̷̛̗̠̲̜̥̼̙̳̬͉̰̩͖̬́̋́́͂ ̴̤̹̝̟̮̥͇̣̗̞̣͔̻̹̙̻͖̤̻̀̓̋̎̎̈̆̾͐̂̍h̴̢̢̛̦̺̣̩̫̤͖͔͈͔͍͕͙͓͚̭̗́̍̑̒͗̋̽̿̈͐̒̿̔͑̉̔͘͝i̷̢̧̧̻̗̣͈̼͕̪̹̬͋̂͂̔́̿͋͛͑̽̂̌̿̀̀͘̕s̴̜̯̑͊͑̾̔̎̓̏̉͛̆̊̅̚͠ ̶̧̛̬͖͓͓̳̹̺͚̩̘͙̍́̀̆̅͛̃c̴̛͓̲̪̱͕̠͎̺̟͎͙̄̍̌̽̋̐̈̀͑̉̏̀̈́́̀́̋̀͌̕ͅh̵̫̱̠̰͖̲̣͇̰͕̲̤͖̉̐̅̽ë̷̪̪̝͈̣͓́̏̂̾̈̎̇̐̐͆̄́̈̀̈͑͂̊͋̔ş̸̧̮͕̭̻̝͎̱͙͕͓̭̖̯̄̈́̄̿͊̒̐̅̂̉̈́̍̓͋̑͗̕͜͜͜ͅͅt̵̘̖̥̬̣̺̥̠̳̒̈̑̒̕ ̷̦̫̬̯̹̲̺̞͚͈͈̈́̋̄͂̽̌̎̂̓̄̀̄͝r̸̡̨̥̥͉̰͍̱̩͈̘̻̖̲͍͉͇͕̣̬̜̪͑į̸͕̠̙͇̻̦̺̤͕̖͙̝̫̟̓͛͛͌̾̄̍̓̑̅͒̏̈́́͒s̸̢̡̙̲̬̫͍̩̳̳̠͍͐̌́̄̐͑ͅȩ̶̟̥͎͚̣͈̗͙̯̬̮͍̤̤͚̦̜̦́̈́̃ ̵̢̺̟̫̝̤̪̘̻̰̰͈̖̾̑͂͂̎̑̈̈́̈̒̍̀̈́̾̈́̕͝ą̷͖͙̩̠̼̭̾̏̆̊̿̚͜ñ̴̨̛̬̣̭̹̺͇̤͔͍̥̩͙͇͔̗̞̪̪͇̦͑̄͒̎͐͌́͆̀̚̚̚̚͘͜͝d̷̢͔̩̻͚̟̱̜̗̝̺̟̠̈́̐̍́̈́̑̒̃̊͠͝ ̸̨̢̥̣͚͈̣̦̝͕̻̲̙̳̲̣̜̟̠̆̓ͅͅf̷̛̳̺̱̒̌̍̀͐̀̍̾̾́͒͘̚͜å̴̯͓͙̣̠̮̝͕̺̩͈͙̭̣̭̭̞̲̹̉̏̑̈́͂̆̚̕l̷̻͕͍̺̪̯̱̬̦͍̲̳̫͙̮͕̰̈́ļ̶͈̘͔̹̪̦̐?̸̡̟̩̻̞̱̘͎͈̦͙̤͉̞͙̫͈̰̻̄͒̔̈́̎̂͑̿͛̋͗̽̓͂͋̊̏̃̋͒̚ ̴̛̮̙̭̻̏͂̾̈͊̑͋́̄̍̈̉̋͗͋̚͝Ţ̵̢̧̢̘͖̗̮̼̰̬̪̟͍̙̥̙̭̃͆̍̍̋͑̄̏͊͌̏̈́̓̀̔̄͗̾͛̒h̷̢̢͕͖̟͔̦̼̜̯̟͖̪̺̯͓̝̱̪̲̀̋̐̇́͐͐͌̈́͘͝a̷̡̙̩͎̲͕̠̹̼͚̲̬͊̿̐͊̆̔̀̂́̿̿́̉̈́͘͝͠͠͝t̸͇̪͙̖̤͚̞͔̲̩̼̱̘̬̽̊̓̌́̊̔̆̇̈̔̾̆̐̈́̈́̈̏͝͝͠ ̷̯̂̏̈̔̅̈̅̌i̷̢̛͖̳̭̹̝̒̓́̾͑̈̈́̃͒̈́̓͐̓̑̾́͘͘͠ś̵̨̠̟̜͓̑̓͂̑͊̒̀̋̒̌͋̀̄͆͛̀͆̾̄͘͝ ̷̛̪̠̬̥̰͕̹͚̈́́͆̉̃͆̐̉͛͌̐̅͝͠͠͝t̵͔̫̒̑͒̀̚h̷͔͈̝͇̲͒̄ë̶͈̮͎͍̼̼̰̤̠̈́̅̃̑͗̉̅́͊̀͘̚ͅ ̶̧̛̠͉̻̱͕̥̜̟̥̺͉̠̥̪͔̮̬̪̈́̓̎͋̀͋̉͂̄͋͌̍̕͜͝ş̷̛̗͈͕̯̜̝̇̄̑̏̍̐̅̉̿̋͛̒͒̆͆̚i̵̧̗̼̥̤̠͕̞̻̰̱͚̝̺̔̏̈͗̐͘̕ͅg̷̤̭̭̮̼̙͈̰̘̩̳̻͙̘͖̝͈͚̑̑͛̏̋͆̽͋͋͗̇̀̕̕͠ņ̸̡̡̟̣̼̰͖̬͎͎̰̳̆̎̈́̍̇͐ ̶̧̧̛̛̱͖͇͓͈̰̬͖̜͍͖̻͈̩̜̉̈̂̂̀͗̈́̅͝͠͝õ̸̳̥̖̺̙̉f̵̨̨͈̰̞̳͚̰̭͚̖̻̠͙͔̖͋̂̆̽̽̌̓̇̃̽̽̾̑͠͝ ̷̛͍̈̉͛͐̉l̸̗̞͍̱͚̞̰̘̥͔͐́̾͑̏͆͛̏ḯ̵͉̘̜͚̻̺̠̥̼̖̗̼̩̜͈͕̥̩͔̓̑̽̈ͅͅf̸̜̖̼̪̥̀̍͌̃̇̄͝e̸̲̗̱̲͂̓͐͆́͂̑̀̏͛͘͜͜.̵̧̥̥̞͇̭̟̤̇̒̾̃̀̊̈́̀̐̆́̃̀͑̅̆̕͝ͅ ̸̲̫͕͙͇̞̂̄͊́̓̕S̷̨̮̭̗͍̙̞̻͔̟̩̞̏̈̕͝ô̴͈͉̬̼̬͛̂ ̸̢̧͍̙͔̮̲̗̝͒̆̈̅̇̉́̏̽̈́̓́̏̓̊̅̚̕͝͝d̷̡̨͉͔̥̦̟̞͕̭̲̫͖̭͓̯͓̥͎̥́̿͆̏̓̎̈́̌̌̄̆́͘̕͜͠͝͝ͅŏ̵̜̞͍̳̯̲̣̑̀̈͆̽̓͠ ̵̡̣̣̮̣̻͕͔̻̦̖̩̹͖̗̻̹̫̈́̿̋͊̈́̑̋͒̚͜ͅn̶̮̟̬̼̬̜̩̗̜̩̺̘̱͈̰͉̖̬̞̠̺̂̈́̔̕ọ̸̡̨̗̥̮̙̹̟̩͓̏͛̓͛͒̆͊̓͊̕͘͠͠͝t̷̢̨̩͙͓͙͚̰͈̪̮̲̰̰̪͓͔͂͊̎͝ ̵̛̻̪̰̣̲̗̼̮̹̖̒̇̋̒̐̂̍̐̽̚͜͠s̴̡̺̩̝̠̞̺̰͍̘̫͚̗̼̗͎͍͇̦͈͂̄̚ạ̵̛̦̱̺̩͈̰̲̄̾̆̈́̈́̿̍̋́̆̒̄̕ỳ̸͚͓͗̾̾͘͘͝ ̶̡̧̨̣̠͙̥̼̯͚͍͍͉̹̼͎̗̜̗͖̽̋͗͜ͅh̶̡̛̦̠̰̥̪̳̫̮̥̘̰͇̝͓̹̦͔̜̐̅̈́̈́̀̓͘͘e̶̙̯͎̞̦̬̦̰͇͕̣̹̫̲̬̱̜̓͜ ̴̢̨̛̛͈͕̙̹͔͇̲̣͎͙͎͎̹̩̩̫́̌͒́͌̐̉̿̇̀͗̄̈́͋̋̓͘͝͝͝ͅi̸͖̗̠̮̲͇̹͎̯͒͌́̈́s̸̛̛̛̺̖̬͎͖̠͕̤̰̥̗̭̫͕̩̲̾͋͛́̔͛͛͆̎͌͊͐͂͊͑̚̕͜͝͠ ̷̛̳̗̩̪̑͛͊̀̆̀̾̾̈͘͠d̵̨̛̤̪̘́̒̾̑̍̏͑̓̈́̆͂̾͗̀̍̓̈́͋̊̿́e̵̡̛̛̙̻̝͒͗̃͋́̀̍̊͒̂̏̄͝a̸̢̧̬̭̜͉̟̰̣̱͍̹͎͈̱͍̩̱͊̍͗͗̎͑̑͒͘͝d̴͖͎̼͚̘͖͉̘͙̿̒͂̿̌͋͂̂̿̓̈́̀̄͋́̐̚͝ ̸̛̲̲͖̯̬̪͖͉̘̬̪͕͎͕͖͖̝̞͍̐̾̆̂̇̉̃̇͑͌̂͌͘͜͜ͅa̶̛̳͔̹̘̳̲̳͔̘̠̻̳̟̹̘̺͛̆̅͛̈́̐̔͆͂́̄̎̇͆̂͘͘͝ñ̵̨̛̗̯̗̳͎̯͚̘̰̱̯̜̻̎͒͌͋̇͒̂̂̂̈́̀́̉͐̿̀͘͜͜͝͝ͅȳ̶̡̡͇̣͍̝̞͓̘̝̮͓͙͎̥̈̄̓̀̄̄̈́̉̐͊̏̐̿̌͆͒̂̉͗̕͘͜͜ͅm̶̨̮͉̩̭̟̹̬̪̹̗̮̹͌̐̓̑̉̈́̀̀̈́͂̏̀͐̀̎͜o̷̧̢̠̬̎́́͘ṟ̵̡͉̱̤̥̼̱̬̝̼͙͕̥̪̳̤̤̔͐͆̀͒͗̿̾͌̕e̸̺͍̞̹͖̖̠̫͎͒͝.̶̭̀̑̇́̃̒̓̄̚͘

̴̥̍̃̍͌̓̆̈́̑̀̐̇̅̚͘͜͝

̶̨̡͔̘͆̐͒̓̌̍͂̽̆́͗͐ͅ ̵̡̢͍̟̖͉̺̖̣̗̱̥̮̣̇̆̈̑͛̍̇̌̾̆̐̊̋͛̈́͗̀̆̕͜͝

̴̢̛̗̙̣͚̋͑̔͛̀̓̂͑̽̏̓͊͋̃́̓͘͝

̵̧̨̠͍̩̺̦̲̯͖̠̜̮͛̈́́͌͒̄̌͐͘͘̚͜ͅ ̷̙̻̜̟̬͕̝̱͇͕͋̊̏̃̔͛͌̎̆̎̊̽͘͘

̷̡̰̱͉̹̯̖͕̪̪͕͔̬̣͓͇̺̠̞͛̀̀͛̀̑̓̈̊̈̑̔̾̕͜

̴̧̹͚̳͖͇̺͍̺͓̰̣̲̠̗̞̽̑̀̎́̌͂̓̀͒̌́̃̈́̿͝ ̵̡̜̰̪̙̰̥͙̪̼̪͎̬͔̜͍̩̭̝̣̹̿̀͋̓͛̈͋̊̂̏̓͗̈́͝͝͠

̷̡̡̢͓̜̮͉͙͈̳͚̱̤͓̰̰̣̟̠͂͆̄̆́̅̽̀̃̈́͑̈́̽͗̑

̷̺̜̘̞̰̭̹͚̘̤̹̲̙̘̺͇̤̫̩̝͖̈́̉ͅ ̵̧̹̼͚̰̼̪͓͉͕̲̰͐̓̾̂͗̐̉̏́͌̍̈́͑̑̕

̴̞̯̝͚̟͕̲̂̀̆͑͛͂̃̽͘

̸̛̙͖͈͉͇̳͇̟͗̒͛̈̋̿͠ ̶̡̤̙̪̖̱̝̳̺͉͓̏͛̋̒̾̈́́̋̊̌̈͒́͠͠

̴̝̜̒͋

̶̡̯̝̗̲̙͚̗̣͙͚͛̓̀̽̓͂͛̅̉̌̕ ̵̢̛̻͍̼̱̳̜͙͕͇̭̹̙̤͈͔̈͐̐̉̿̒̒̔̀͑̎̇̈́͗͋͌̃ͅ

̴̡̛͕͈͎̟̹̝̖̠͍̥̞͙̪̣̭́̿̀̈́̓̆̐̂͑̈́͐̾͂̒̄͛̏̚͠

̶̧̞̤͎̺̒̏̌͑̽̿̃͜Y̶̨͓̮̰̟̒̿̓͋̈́̈͘ŏ̴̝̲̟͍̔̐̉̆́̀͊̎́͑̉ư̸̧̨̰͎̥̟̜̭̟̼̗̟̩̟̩̙̘̣̣̈͋̀́͊͐̑̚͜͜ ̶̲̘̳̰͕̠̳̼̳͍̩̮̦̬̗̖̥̖̮̺̥͂́͋̉̄̄̾͜͝s̵͚̼̰̪̮͗͛̈̉̀͂̾͋̿́̍͆̾̌̉̀͘͠͝͠ḧ̵̛͔̬̦̫̣̼̠́̆̓̈́̀̆͆͒̄̆̓̏̉̊̄̕͝o̴̢̨̺̭̙̩̼̪̻̰͍̹͐͋͆̐̐̔͜ͅu̶̗̟̮̦̞̘͋l̷̨̡͈̳̟̗̬̳͍̜̭̙͖̪͍̣͚̝͓̭̦̒̑̇͋̇͂͘͠d̴̨̘̱̹̰͎̺̥̼̬̩̺̘̳͉͖̭̤̩͔͌͂́̈͌̌̆ ̷̧̙̩̤̘̝͎͈̌̌͗̎̐̈́̈́͊̈b̸̘̜̞̺̺̙̩̭̰̟̅͌̇̇͐̊̈́̊͋̈̿̀͒̚͝ͅė̸̠̱̦̠͕̙̪̲̘̹̗̜̖͓̩̗̂̾͜ ̴̪̱̗̣͈͍̍͜g̷̮̞̜̱̩̺̳̣͙͌̈́͊͒̈͑̅̍̈́͐̿͆̒͠o̵̡̗̽͑͂͋̿̃̇̀͐̂̀́͊́͑̍̀͘̕͝í̷̢̛͙͎͎͍̻̘͚͉͖͈̜̺̤̱̗̽̄͋̾̐̓̊̑̎̆̚̚͜͝ͅñ̸̰̔͐̎̈͐̆́̈́̏̽̾̉͝g̵̡̨̣͇͇̗̱̙̬̐͂̅̈́̀͝ ̸̨̛̛̞̙̣̲̖̮̦͓̩̼͇͈͚̜̙̪̦̗̲̭͎͌͐͌̇̑̈̌͛̇́̈́͂́̚̕̚͝n̶̘̮̖̭̖̪̜̻͓̋̅̾̅͠ͅơ̴̢̢̞̺̯̣͈̟͉̰̺̯̱͋͑͊̑́́̓̊͑̄̎͆̕w̵̜͕̜͍̎͛̉́͋͊̀̾͛̐̇̈́̅͊͛͘̚.̸̗́̅̋̅͒̋͊̏ ̷̯̘̯́̉̇̽̐͌̓̑͐̀͛̐͒͛̀͒̍̌̚͝͝Y̵̡͍̮̱̯̙̪̰͖̤̤̣̱̝̯̮͚͙͙͔̿o̴̧̯̪͔͙͔̳̣̻͕̖̝̗͎̦̮̤͈̼͖̝̙̊͐̐͌̃̈̉̽͐̾͐͗̚̚͝ư̶͍͎̼͚͔̤̝̞̝͋̂̋̉̈́̾ ̵̨̨̛͕̥͇̥̻̘̝̟͚̗͇̦̜̈́̀̐̏̒͌̾̍̈̊̕͝ͅm̶̧̛͈̥̠̤͛̽͋͂̍͌̅́̏͐̅̆̒̏͌̎̚͠ų̸͓͛̄̂̏͌̀̎̋̏s̸̡̢͙͎͕̹̦̩͉̺͎͍̥̭̄̿ţ̶̛̹̙̱̻̠̮͓̩̫͖̭̜̙̮̺͎͎̞̃̉̔̇̾͑̑ ̵̦̤̺͔̟͇̝̭̦̱͈̽̈̏̈́̄͐͒͆͆̏̚͝ͅb̴̢̟̳̩̖̠̓͌̆̈́̂̍̋̉̓̅̓̌̕͝ͅḛ̴̡̻̝̗̙̠͕̜̈͛̈́̓̿̿͐̎̐͒̐͛͋͑̚͝ ̸̜̗͓̗̻̙̈̓͆́̀̏͛̀͘v̸̧̢̖͇̪̞̖͇̥̹͎̞̲͓̘̼̲̟̯̖̑͜ͅę̷̺͈̯̓̄̓̓̈́͌͆͐̔̓̋́͝r̴̡̢̡̟̮̥̙̙͚̳͉̙̻̪̰̘͖͈͉̻̯̋͑̈́͆́̾̾͊̀͋̓͆͑̊͘͝͠y̴̨͖̠̲̫̗̬̋̅̐͌̀̄̃̚̕͝ ̵̧̟̩͒̽̀̕̚͜ḩ̵̧̡͙͓̼͍̯͈̞̤͓̝̼͑̕͜ù̶̱͍̯̞̀̐̉͆̐͂̓́̌̍̀̄̄͋̋͑̅̚͘̕͜ň̶̡̢̧͇̦̪̳͇̩̭̘̣͖̦̙̯͇͚̬̄͆̉͋̈͒̉̐͜ͅg̵̡̧̼̦̝̖̣̺̘̙͓͌̿̄̿̔̊̈́̈́͆͊̎̃̇͝͝͠r̵̢̛̻̹̗̬͑̎̂̈̓̒̓͋̌͒͛͌̀͗̈̽̾̂̓͝ͅy̴̢̛̗̼̦̺̱̔̈́͌̈̀͐̐̋̒͒̎̇̔̇͘̚͝͠.̶̺̤̉̽̀̎͛͊̽̉̂̈̓͗͐̿͛̊͒͑̋̍̓̚

̸͎̩͔̅̀

̶̛̳͗̅́̑͑͛̈́͗͒̏̏̕̕͝͝͝ ̶̨̢̡̰̳̮̣͔̬̤͈̳̥̮̠̞̝̙̤͚̊̋̅͛͆̆̇̄̀̓̔͘͝ͅ

̷̧̢̨̢̟̫̫̫̝̙̫̬̪̪͈̭͆͂̔͋͌͒͒̾́̌̓̅̾͠͠͝ͅͅ

̷̨̛̛̛̦͕̲̼̰̦̩͂̈̇̇̌̊̒͌̅̅̀̒̊̉͆͂͋͑͝ ̵̨̢̢̮̜̩̫̘̱̩͙͐͗

̴͎̠̾́́͒͒͑

̵̡̢̡̨̨̨̣̟͓͇̖̝͓͇̜̳̭̩͍̅̏̌͊̊̓ ̵̛̳̲̩̣̈̊͋͐͗̎́̑̉̽̀́̐͂̅̕

̸̧̡̧̫̮̮̭̮̻̺̥͇̗̰̦͕͇̫̄̾̈̀̀̀̽̆̋̈́͌̕̚͠͝

̶̤̖̯͚̪͉͚̓͐̃͌ͅ ̵̢̛͓͑̉̃͋̅̅̿͘̚͜

̷̡̛͇̙̭͆̏͂́̀̑̃̊̔͗̅̄̐̈́͛͘̕͠ͅͅ

̵̧͉̟͖̦͙͈͉͕̲̝̠̟̠̼̺̫͕̯͔͋͆̄͘͜͜ ̴̛̦̓̄̍̒̈́̂͌͛͆́͠͝

̶̢̬̯̝̮͓̮͇̦̮̞̳̝͚̥̟͙̯̳̪̏̈́̌̉̌̀͐̂͐̉͌̚̚͠

̵̡̢̣͕̠͚͈̹͎͕̅͆̔̅̄̑̌͆̚̚̕͝ ̵̫̞̹̉̅̈͐̅̿͐́̾͜ͅ

̷̛̟̞͎̮̻͙̟̲̯̘̳̲̂̿̆́̎̈́̔̏́̇̅͌̈̀̀͘͝͝

̵̢̢͖̜̻͎̰̭̱̰̥̭̖͚̯̪̯͔̆̾̎͊́̀̈́͐̔̊̓̑̀͊͘ͅ ̷̨̧̢̛̗̻̙̗͖̫̦̼̣̦̥͌́̊̂̿̀͆̐͜͝͠

̸̨͓͚͇͉͉̯͖̪͇͙̭͕̼͛̊̅̂̑̅͆͆̀̅͂̈́̄̆̌͐̒̃̓͑

̷̬͓̣͙̠̝̼̣͚̞̰̤͈͎̞̝̌̐͑̉̆̿̄̋̆̇̎̐͒̕͘͝͝͝ ̸̨̨̢̳͎̘̭͉̤̰͖̤̪̬̯̹̮͓̦͓͇̈́̓̓̾̔͋̑̾̄̆̔̾͘͘̚

̴͖̣̘͓͘

̷̢̗̮̫̞̹͔̦̙͙̼̳͎̼̩̙̹͙̜̞͇̙́̌̈ ̴̞̖̘̙̟̦̝̬̰͎̞̦̭͇̥̅͐͗͑̋͒̋̔͗̔ͅ

̴̢̘̙͇̣͍̤̦̞̲̟̆͗͒̊

̸̨̢̛̠̙͇̣̤̪̳̘̥̠̖̗̙̑̃͆̋̓͑̌̀͋̊̔̋̀̔̅̓̀̂͝͠ͅ ̸̫̦͂͋̓̓̃̈́̾̚͝

̴̫̱͉̲̻͚̋̃͜

̵̡̻̱̥̳̰̼̝͙́̉̌́̇͝J̵̡̜̫̗̖̦̪̻͖̲͙̝̦͖̗͙̯̥̟̗̩̋̿̏̏̆͑͌͆̋̕͘ơ̶͉͍͙͎̦̤̖̳͎͇̥̱̫̘̍͑͆̔͑͗̎̒͛͗̔͂͐̅͘ǹ̵̨̨͓͚͈̙̗͎͓͊̎͛̚ͅą̸̹̪͖͙̜͔̮̺̭̥̳̺͖̿͊̀ͅt̷̘͓͈͉̫̺̝̱͚̣͚͈̿̌̊̀̈́̈́̃̔̈͆͑͑̽͘͝h̸̢̻̩͕͙̺̞̠́̈̋͑͂͛́͗̔̎̓̿̃̀̍͗͋̆̚͝͝͝a̴͕̻͉̜̪̬̠̼͈̪̺̭̾̏̋̀̑̋͌͑̽̐͆̾̽̽͂̇͆̚͝͠ͅn̶̨͈͕̪̲̬̝͚̱̦̱̲̩̯͉̞̪͘ ̷̛̮̥̋̐̉̐̄̅̔͑͌̈́́̚̚͜S̵̞͕͍͚̪͉̼̩̣̖̰̙̫̙̯͙͉̒͆̓̌̈́̇̾̑̔̈́̀̂̀̓̅̆̆̊͝i̶̡̢̧̛̠͉͕̺̝̝͙̳̭͍̪̦̦̜͉̗͎͂̒̈́̄̀̀̇̍̈́̐̈̊̉̆̈́̚͜ͅm̴̨̧̬̞̼̘̣̱̗͚̭̣̦̺̰̏̿̂̆͛̂̐͐̓͂͊̀́́̕͠͝͝͝s̴̨͉̩̺̠̩̣͚̦̤͚̣͖̽͝ ̴͍̼̭̥̣̠̱̤̘̪̘͕̱̩̫͙͕̱̭̫̼̺͛́̆́͗́̔͌͝é̴̛̟̯͖̤̥̳͖̦̞̩͙͔͍̙͈̟̞͕͕̩͂̆̾̎͐͌͗̌͒͛̋̈́̒͑̓͘x̶̧̛͙̫͚̯͔͇̠͇̣̺͉̥̬̘͈͚̦͍̆͆̉͌͛͂̀͆̐̽̈́̎̕̕͜͝͠i̴̟̬͕͚̖̠̯͉̜̱̝̯̩̟̜̙̱͂͗̑̈́̽̒̄s̶̀̍̔̃͆̔͂̆͆͝ͅt̷͇̭͙̲̝͓͉̼̰̲̹̲͚͖̆ę̵̢͚̻̐͆͐͊͑͆͝d̶̪̗̺̙̳̆̆͜.̶̧̢̧̛͕̲͖̠̑̈́̔̒̅̀̈́́̉̈̃̄͋̚

̴̛̛̗͕̮͕̭̯̱͍̫͙͓̣̖̄̍͛̈̇͋̏͂͂̇̌͑͘͜͜͝

̸̖̯̭̮̐͊̃́̀͋͊͌̈́̉͗͊ ̶͍̹̗̱̈̽̆̓

—————————————

Martin felt a little out of place as he arrived home with Tim. Sure, he had hung out before, so the apartment wasn’t completely alien, but the idea of actually living with the guy? That was a whole other situation.

At the doorstep, there were packages.

——————————————————-

AWS ORDER

TIM STOKER

[Ranoutofbraincells]

-Hydrochloric acid

-Glass water guns

[fabulousfunkyasexual]

-Chocolate

[CatWithPlotArmor]

-Red lighter

-Sticker pack NO EYE STICKERS

[otaku_lady89]

-Doordash Food

-Dessert

-Journal

-Grippy socks

————————————

MARTIN K BLACKWOOD

[Ranoutofbraincells]

-Hydrochloric acid

-Glass water guns

[fabulousfunkyasexual]

-Chocolate

[CatWithPlotArmor]

-Blue lighter

-Sticker pack NO EYE STICKERS

[otaku_lady89]

-Doordash Food

-Dessert

-Journal

-Grippy socks

[Liyuna_Bass]

-Flannel pajamas

-Toothbrush

———————————————————-

They gathered their items and brought it inside, Tim immediately going for the chocolate and food while Martin poked around at the lighters and more odd orders.

“Do the watchers think we smoke or something?” He asked, testing his blue webbed lighter.

“It’s probably for the monsters. And Jon. Funny though- fire extinguishers work, as well as real fire.”

“Maybe. Looks like they have different brands for them, yours is more boxy and smooth, see?”

Tim glanced over. “You got the creepy spider one. That’s fun.”

Martin rolled his eyes while Tim continued eating happily (spiders were NOT creepy unless you were arachnophobic like Jon.) Martin picked up another object from the box.

“What about hydrochloric acid? Is that also supposed to help us?”

“Maybe,” Tim said, much more relaxed than Martin was feeling.

“You seem tense.”

“Oh-oh I do, now? Yeah, a horrific worm lady storming my house wouldn’t have anything to do with that, now would it-“

“Sorry, didn’t mean it like that. Just want you to feel comfortable here.”

“R-right. Sorry, I do appreciate it all. It’s just. Weird. Everything changing. All this- well, sometimes the statements feel kinda far away. Even the real ones, if you squint at them right they just seem like stories. Not something that could actually happen.”

Tim nodded.

“But now- well, I guess we all had it coming, I mean, who works at the Magnus Institute and doesn’t expect at least something spooky to happen, right? It’s all just..surreal, right now.”

“You didn’t feel that when Sasha’s computer started being haunted?”

“Well- that’s different. It wasn’t actively trying to kill us, firstly-“

“Fair point.”

“-and secondly, well, it’s easier when it’s just words on a screen. Doesn’t seem as wrong or as supernatural? And honestly…some of the uh, the Watchers, some of them seem nice. Not normal, really, but..I mean, they brought us food and all this stuff?”

Tim considered this. He didn’t fully agree with whatever the things were, but the..help? The help was nice.

“I think what we need is a good ol’ movie night, Marto,” he said, standing up and grabbing the remote.

Way to change the subject, Tim.

However, the movie night (complete with chocolate, comfort food and loads of popcorn) seemed to help Martin feel halfway better about the whole situation. Neither of them brought up the pajamas and toothbrush that had arrived, but Martin was put at ease. He hadn’t even thought about that aspect of things, so it wasn’t nice that the Watchers did.

Soon, Martin was asleep in the guest room, shifting around the sore spots where worms had tried burrowing in him.

Tim slept soundly, glad that everyone made it okay (except Elias. How dare he not get evil worm juice in his veins too).

———————————————————

Chapter Text

-̴̹́͐

̷̨̛͖̰̈͋“̵̧̱̑͐͋T̶̛̠͚̪̉i̷̙͈̙̿m̶̻͚̎̏͊ ̴͖̠̹̈́͑n̶̬͓̓͗ͅe̷̬̙̿͛̒e̵̱͓̔̒̂d̸̻͛̂s̵̱̯̋̃ ̶͔̘̋̔i̶̯͒̾͌t̷͓͋.̷͙̄̀ ̵̢̧͗̐̒H̵̤̪̔̓́è̴̺ ̸̙̜́w̸͈͚̹͆̀a̸̡̮͑͘s̸͚̹̰͌̚ ̸̭̎̈́̏f̸̳́r̶͙̅̉ȋ̴͉͍e̶̡̛͕̠̐n̸̼̗̤̉d̶̹̣̄͐ŝ̶̠̯͋͆ ̷͉̪̈͊w̵̡̳̻̅̈ḯ̷͍̏t̸̮̭̕h̶̜̾ ̵̭̭̌̾J̵̦̈́͗o̷͚͋ń̴̹̻͕.̷̥̫͊”̸̮̺̕

̶͚̊̿̍ ̸̺͋

̸̭̺̒͌̉

̵̬̼̹͐

̷̹̊“̷̨̳̇ͅA̴̦̭̰̓n̸̻͎̯̈́͗d̶̩̲͉̏̕ ̶̳͒́̀ả̷̲̊͊s̷̖̮̓͛͊͜ ̴͎̖̖̓͋f̵͓̦̂̆o̸̧̒͝r̸͖̳̂ ̷̛͈̙̈́M̶̩̏á̸̪̚r̷̦͠ͅt̸͍́̌̍i̸͍̒̚͝n̸̻̳̆̽?̵̠͕̖̍̇”̶͍̋̀

̴̮͌

̷̰̫̻̅̌̔

̸̰̒

̶̼̫͑

̶̩̹̦̃̾H̸̱̙̔͜e̵̞̔̾̕ ̴̡̳̅̈͌f̵̪͍̒́̚ř̵͕͕͜ỏ̴̹͚̼͝w̸̼͑͌͒n̷̳͖̝̅͌ḙ̶̋͌̓d̵̨̨̕ ̵̦̬̒̃͘ͅs̸̨̛̖̔̊l̵̻͝ḯ̵̟͔͉͋g̶̺̓̊͛ḧ̶̨̗̗̾̀t̷̺̀͝l̴̢̦̈́̽̇y̶̟̕.̶̹̙̉ ̸̙̽“̸̞͂D̴̥̹͊ȏ̸̩͂͌e̶̅͜͝s̷̢̤̋̓͝n̴̟̺͈̂̓͑’̷̝̘̋͜ṱ̸͇̉̊̃ ̸̧̟͕͆̑͝m̴̡͉͐͜a̵̙̻̹̐ẗ̶̠͖̤̒̋t̴̢̝̔̽è̷͇͐r̷̫͍̃͝.̶̖͖͙͆͝”̶̩̗̗̈́͑͠

̶̯́

̸̡̓̂͂

̶̠̌

̶̝̀

̸̬̌̍I̶͎̓t̷̲̅ ̴͊͋̏͜p̵̧͈̹̀a̷̬̔͛̊ų̵͕̻͒̽̀s̵͎̯̐ę̶̲͑̑͌d̶̟̓́,̴̇̀͜ ̴͙̔l̸̼̩̉̋̓o̸̘͂̈́͑o̷̜̠̪͑k̸͇̿i̶̛̪̋̊n̷̮̺͎̏͂ĝ̵͖ ̶̟̏̈b̴̰̮̗͆e̵̞͍̔̉ț̵̛̾w̷̨͎̞̃͗e̴͔̔ȅ̷͉̤͑̐n̵̢̑͐ ̴̛̥̺͍t̴̪̙͔̓̍͝h̶͍͐̎ẻ̵̛̜̯͑m̸̝̳͊͆.̵͇̰͙̄͘͘

̷̺͛ ̴͍̊

̴̤̫̐

̴̨̙͊̐̓

̵̭̣͉̏

̶̢̍ ̴̠̝̘͗͘͝…̴̞̐͝

̴̖̯̂͜ ̶͈͐͝͝

̸̩̘̭̋̂“̴̥͛̅V̸̥̊̚ẻ̸̳͂̕r̴̭̖̞͊̍ý̷̬̖̱͗͝ ̴̳͚̑͝ẅ̵̤́͌ȩ̷̼̀ĺ̸͙̙l̵̼̬̇̊͘.̵̖̅́”̴̙̖̅̕

 —————————————————

DING

Tim groaned as he heard the doorbell. He threw on a bright shirt and some shorts, sleepily answering the door.

Another package. Cool. Maybe he’d get some lottery tickets this time. Or a job acceptance letter to a place that wasn’t trying to kill them half the time.

The box was small, and no doubt from the AWS.

Inside, it contained a lighter. “Another lighter?” He said to himself. It looked like Martin’s, webbed and that same navy blue metal encasing it. Tim furrowed his eyebrows. “Hold on,” he said to the box, leaving it outside as he closed the door. “Martin, you up?”

The Martin in question was not up. Tim fixed this rather quickly as he loudly knocked on the door.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Tim opened the door, seeing Martin still half asleep. “Martin, where did you put your lighter last night?”

“Uhm, jus’ on the table?” Martin yawned.

“And you didn’t happen to ship it to the door?”

“What? No?” Martin said, sitting up. Maybe it was because he was still adjusting to being awake, but Tim was making absolutely no sense right now.

Tim dragged Martin up, trying to figure out exactly where Martin had set the lighter. “Thought I put it here,” he said, hand on an empty counter.

“You’re positive?”

“Yeah, I think.”

Martin followed Tim to the front door, where he showed him the box that arrived. “That’s weird. And is definitely mine.”

“According to the package details, it says ‘Timothy Stoker-‘“

“I thought you didn’t like my design,” Martin countered, smirking.

“It is a bit creepy, sure. And I think the Watchers said something about the lighters being bad, too.”

They discussed what to do- even though the Watchers weren’t always the most sane, they seemed to be helpful in supernatural situations.

Over the next few days, they tried a variety of ways to get rid of it. Martin joked that it was like a horcrux from Harry Potter. Tim was less enthused, as it seemed to keep showing up in his pocket after he left it in various places away from his house. The metal bat sadly didn’t break it either, but after enough jokes (and a few cigarettes) he seemed to push the lighter from his mind.

Maybe having Martin stay would be good for him. Help get his mind off the things he didn’t want to think about.

———————————————————-

 Jon awoke with a notification from Sasha, asking if he was alright. He sent a short response, confirming that he was, other than having to bring out the old cane again due to the worm injuries exacerbated his chronic pain.

It was nice, knowing they cared.

He slept for a majority of his time off, making sure to replace his bandages and halfway take care of himself. It was a relatively slow and, dare he say it, relaxing time.

 Soon enough, work was back in motion. The first thing everyone found in the archives was the delivery from the AWS. This had become the norm now- receiving packages from Watchers? Just a normal Monday.

AWS

————

[squigglesishere]

-pillows EVERYONE

[space_is_vast]

-comfort rings EVERYONE

[BellBranches]

-ethically sourced, properly licensed canine tooth EVERYONE

———————————————————-

The archives crew enjoyed the items, feeling a little more at peace with things. They couldn’t spend much time admiring this, though, as the workload seemed to be increasing dramatically thanks to Elias.

Soon, it was back to normal. Research, organizing old files, and a person by the name of Oliver Banks coming in to give a statement.

Something about dreams and vines and death. Jon found it concerning that some apparently lead inside the institute.

The day came and went.

Most of the others had left, at least to Sasha’s knowledge, and the rooms were silent, save for the occasional hum of florescent lights or the questionable heating system. Normally she wouldn’t be out past dark, but figured that she’d spend a little extra time researching previous archival assistants. She hoped the watchers were right, that it would mean something.

The Magnus Institute held little more than old employment files, all of which were supposed to be under some type of protective classification. That didn’t deter her, but what did was the lack of general information about any of them. Eric Delano, archival assistant. Started in 1962. Not too much to go off of..

Hard to think after working a full day, right?

Maybe she would try more in the morning. It was getting rather late, after all, and nothing sounded nicer than curling up in a cozy bed. Much more exciting than researching dead people, that’s for sure.

Sasha was about to leave when she realized something looked off. The door in front of her was a pasty yellow instead of the normal cream color.

That wasn’t right. This was one of the things she was told about; one of the things to avoid.

She quickly turned the other direction, running straight into something tall and looming-

Oh, it was just Martin.

“Sasha, are you alright?” He asked, noting the panic in her eyes.

“Y-yeah, just the uhm- the door-?” she said, turning around to..a completely normal door. No sign of anything wrong. “What, the door looked wrong just a second ago-“

“Hm..You look tired. Maybe we should go to the breakroom?” Martin offered. “I can make us some tea?”

Sasha looked at Martin, seeing his slightly concerned expression. Not fear, not caution, but concern. “You don’t believe me?”

“I never said that-“

“I just- yeah, fine, tea sounds..sounds nice. Maybe it was just a trick of the light,” Sasha responded, trying to let go of the paranoid fear that wanted to latch on like a parasite. They headed to the breakroom, Martin opening the door for Sasha as they entered the somewhat calming place.

“So,” she started. “Why are you here so late? Heard Jon and Tim leave, and you are staying with Tim, so..”

“Yeah,” Martin responded a little sheepishly. “I just get the sense that I’m bothering him-not that he’d ever say that, but…I mean, it’s his flat, his money going into living there, and all I can do is just..sit there? Make tea? Not actually help with much. Plus we sorta agreed on an archival buddy system, so I figured I’d stay and make sure you don’t get eaten by monsters or anything,” he said with a chuckle.

“ı ῳơŋ’ɬ ɛąɬ ყơų,” something responded with a laugh.

At the end of the hallway (weren’t they just in the breakroom?) there was something standing there. It stood up to the ceiling, and reminded Martin of the oddly saturated filters on old television screens. Limbs extended far past what should be possible, colors shifted unnaturally, and it’s teeth were sharp and shifting.

It smiled at them, turning to stare Sasha in the eyes.

“ɧɛƖƖơ, ʂąʂɧą ʝąɱɛʂ,” it said fondly.

As Sasha took a step back, it took a step forward.

“Sasha run,” Martin whispered urgently, grabbing her arm and pulling her away.

She quickly caught on, running as the thing watched. “ɖơ ŋơɬ ཞųŋ,” it responded, tilting it’s head.

“Sasha go,” Martin said, letting her run ahead down the seemingly endless hallway.

Sasha kept running, not looking behind her for the thing or Martin. There were so many doors she passed through, all of them looking near-identical and wrong.

The hallway grew and shrank as she tired out. It felt like she was in a hotel, with yellow-tinged lighting and so many rooms.

It had become quiet now.

She looked behind her. More endless hallway, dimly lit by flickering lights.

Ahead of her was the same.

Although she was nervous, she much preferred this than being trapped with that distorted thing. What did the watchers call it…Michael?

Seconds became minutes, which became..longer. Hours, maybe? Everything repeated, with only small details changing. The trim changing design, the wallpaper altering everything so slightly, the color of the walls…

It twisted and turned without end. She needed to get out.

Another step. Then, a sharp burning sensation in her pocket. It made her jump, swiftly taking out whatever it was that was scorching her.

The lighter promptly fell to the floor. In front of the lighter was a door, dark and distinctly different from the others. It has old cobwebs adorning the sides.

…

She took another look around. The hallway lasted forever. Something inside her just knew that. Michael was still somewhere here, as was Martin, but she hadn’t seen them since she ran off, no matter what doors she went through.

Maybe this was her escape.

She reached out her hand, placing it on the cold, metal handle. She opened the door and stepped through.

—————————————-

As Sasha ran off, Martin looked between her and the thing after her. He rushed to the nearest door, but it was locked.

The hallway-there was still the hallway, if he could just gain some distance-

CRASH

A large grand piano cut through the silence, only inches away from shattering Martin’s bones to pieces. He backed up instinctively, letting out a yelp.

Michael looked at Martin, placing a winding, sharp hand on his shoulder.

“ყơų Ɩɛɬ ɱყ ɱɛƖơɖყ ཞųŋ ąῳąყ,” it said, gripping his shoulder harder, forcing Martin to turn and stare at him.

Martin did not respond. His breath hitched as his face went completely pale. The fear was palpable, and Michael drank it’s sweet nectar.

“ῳɧąɬ ƈąŋ ı ɖơ ῳıɬɧ ą ʂơŋŋɛɬ Ɩıƙɛ ყơų? ყơų ɬῳıʂɬ ąŋɖ ɬųཞŋ, ცųɬ ყơų ąཞɛŋ’ɬ ą ʄཞąƈɬąƖ, ŋơ. ɖơ ყơų ƙŋơῳ ῳɧąɬ ყơų ąཞɛ?”

“W-what?” Martin asked, shaking.

“ɖɛąɖ.”

Micheal snapped the sonnet’s neck with one swift motion.

————————————————————-

10:00pm

Tim checked his phone. Still nothing from Martin. He sent a text.

Tim: Staying out late?

He sighed, setting his phone down. Maybe this was his normal routine. Work late, or go out after work? And not answer his phone at all..?

“Come on, Martin, just pick up the phone,” he muttered.

11:30pm

Nothing. Just nothing. He tried calling again. It went to voicemail. Maybe he was just paranoid, but he couldn’t help but worry.

12:00am

He heard someone come in. Finally.

Wait.

Martin didn’t have the keys to his house-

He grabbed the metal bat, adrenaline beginning to rush through him. He slowly crept out, seeing-

-Sasha James?

She looked equally as confused as he did, although he wouldn’t have slammed the door like she did after entering.

Without warning, she rushed to Tim, hugging him like her life depended on it. “Woah, woah, hey, what happened?” He asked. He was confused on how Sasha knew where he lived, apparently had a key, and why she looked like death warmed over.

“The-the thing, uhm, Michael, I think, it found us- I was stuck, and-and I couldn’t get out, Tim, and-and Martin, I don’t know where he went-“ she rambled, tears streaming down her face.

“Just breathe, Sash, you’re safe, I got you,” he said softly, hugging her as she attempted to calm down.

“Y-yeah,” she mumbled, taking shaky breaths.

“You said Michael found you?”

“Martin and I, yeah,” she said. “I don’t know what it did, but..makes my head hurt just thinking about it.”

“Probably explains why he never came home tonight,” Tim said. He paused, mind beginning to go over all the worst-case scenarios. Nope, not doing that. “At least you have your stuff with you,” he said, pointing out her work bag.”

“Yeah..wait, yeah, the laptop- it’ll have tracked everything that happened, we can- we can figure out what happened to him,” she said, quickly pulling out her laptop.

They sat in the living room as she pulled up the text. Ever flowing, ever poetic as she watched it-

She scrolled up back to the top, hoping for some answers. They read in silence.

“it could be wrong”, Sasha whispered. Tim silently shook his head.

Martin would not be coming home.

Chapter Text

The sun rose slowly over the horizon. Birds sang happily as a soft breeze carried leaves through the air. It was perfect.

Jonathan Sims woke up to the not-so-perfect sound of his alarm. He groaned, turning it off. Five more minutes, he reasoned.

That came and went within what felt like  seconds.

He turned off the next alarm, getting up. He’d still have time to stop by the coffee shop on the way to work and-

*7 missed calls from Timothy Stoker

*21 new messages from Timothy Stoker

“What the..” he muttered, still half asleep.

12:15am

Tim: Jon are you awake

Tim: Bad situation happened, Sasha’s shaken up from running in with Michael, Martin might not be okay if the computer isn’t lying

Tim: computer says he didn’t make it away from Michael- watchers think he’s gone too

Tim: Otaku wants you to have her message: Jon, it's going to be tempting to feel like you could have done something to change this. That you could have made a correct choice and the outcome would have been better. This just isn't true, and you must be kind enough to yourself to say it to yourself until you believe it. This did not happen because you rested. This did not happen because you weren't there. An entire group of Watchers with knowledge of the Future couldn't change this outcome. Please, do not allow yourself to house that guilt. It isn't healthy, and it isn't what Martin would want/would've wanted.

12:30am

Tim: can’t really think right now sorry.

Tim: hope you’re alright

1:05am

Tim: please see these jon

Tim: I don’t know what to do

Tim: please

2:01am

Tim: sorry for sending so many messages

Tim: cant think

Tim: sasha’s safe at least

3:00am

Tim: if i call just ignore it and check my messages

1 Missed Call from Timothy Stoker

1 Missed Call from Timothy Stoker

1 Missed Call from Timothy Stoker

1 Missed Call from Timothy Stoker

Tim: nevermind

Tim: did martin make it to your place?

1 Missed Call from Timothy Stoker

Tim: Jon?

1 Missed Call from Timothy Stoker

Tim: JONATHAN SIMS ANSWER YOUR PHONE I DONT CARE IF ITS 3:30AM PLEASE

1 Missed Call from Timothy Stoker

Tim: If i had your address I would break in

Tim: sorry that sounded too illegal I’m just physically shaking and if I talk Sasha will wake up and then that’s too much

Tim: wont be at work tomorrow

Tim: *today technically

Jon did not know what to think. It felt like a different world was unraveling around him- not the so very real one he was in at this moment in time. Was Martin dead? Or maybe just missing? Why was Tim so vague? Why was Sasha with him? How did Michael find her and Martin? What time was it? When would this-

Right. Respond to Tim first, make sure everyone’s safe, then think. He dialed up Tim’s number, letting it ring a few times before the man answered.

“Jon,” he heard Tim say from the other line. His voice was uncharacteristically small and shaky.

“Tim, what happened?”

“It was midnight when I was getting ready to sleep, when I heard my front door open. I went to check it out, and Sasha came running in, like she’d just gotten away from a monster…”

Jon listened intently, capturing every detail in his mind.

—-

“And you’re sure he’s…dead?” Jon said, rather blankly- not that he didn’t care, but trying to find a matching tone for what he felt was rather unimportant at this time.

“He never came home.” Jon heard Tim take a shaky breath.

———————————————————————

“We need to figure out what’s actually happening!”

Sasha sat Tim’s dinner table, pen in hand as she tried to think.

Tim gave her an exasperated look, walking up to her. “No. You almost got yourself killed last night! Do you really think going back there is a good idea?”

Sasha met his eyes with a daring confidence. “Tim, we can’t just leave forever! If we want to know what really, truly happened, we need to go back.” At this, she stood up and began grabbing her things. “At least I do. I have things I need to research-“

“Your laptop stays here-“

“-regarding Elias and the other archival assistants, I mean, do you really think this is the first time something like this has happened?”

“What?” Tim paused.

“You don’t think it’s weird that Elias had to hire a whole new team just to run the archives?”

Tim pondered this. “It was just Gertrude, though, wasn’t it? And she did a pretty terrible job. Jon had requested assistants, aside from-…so promoting a few people to help doesn’t seem too far off.”

“Gertrude had assistants,” Sasha responded. “Haven’t found a whole lot, but it’s strange. None of them from what I’ve found still work there.”

“You think they got, what, killed off by monsters?”

“I wouldn’t be suprised by any means,” she muttered, picking up her laptop.

“You can’t just go back right now-“

“Oh I will, Tim, I am not letting them keep Martin-“

“Your computer said Michael killed him! There’s nothing to get back! Okay? Even if it was somehow lying, or- or wrong in any way, you’re walking into a death sentence if you step foot back in there!”

“I know you’re worried, but-“

“No, I’m- I am worried, Sash, but I don’t see how you can think anything good will happen out of this!”

“I got out of it once. I can do it again.”

“And look what that costed you-“

With no hesitation, Sasha slapped the side of Tim’s face.

“Ow!! What was that for-?”

“Martin’s death was not my fault.”

“I know that- look, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry. It’s..it’s your choice if you want to go and investigate, but…I don’t want to lose you too. I can’t lose you too, Sasha.”

Sasha let out a breath. So that’s what this was all about.

“I’m still going to go back there. But…maybe we can meet up with Jon first. Different location than work, don’t want to have Elias’s eyes all over us.”

Tim nodded at this relatively safe alternative. “You can bring the laptop, still do a little research, and we can pool together our knowledge and make a plan.”

————————————————————-

It was a relatively peaceful coffee shop they landed on going to. Warm lights, expensive drinks, but not too crowded for it being almost lunchtime. Jon agreed to show up- not like he had anything else to do except have a mental breakdown. That could be saved for later.

[woops never had coffee uhhh just imagine Jon ordering a black coffee? Sasha likes hers super sweet and Tim is Tim]

“So…Michael,” Jon began.

“Freak of nature, that thing is,” Sasha said.

“Is he still…around?”

“Probably. Seemed like the lighter helped me escape the hallways, rather than Michael letting me out? I uh, brought it just in case,” She said, pulling out the purple webbed lighter.

“Hey, that looks a lot like the one Martin got mailed. Well- first to him, and then it showed back up outside addressed to me?”

Sasha furrowed her eyebrows. “That’s odd. Do you have it on you?”

“No, left it at my place,” Tim said, still checking his pockets just in case-

“Oh, nevermind,” he pulled out the shiny blue lighter, engraved with an intricate webbed design, identical to Sasha’s besides the color.

Jon let out a laugh.

This was suprising, as Jon never laughed. But he seemed less humorous and more analytical as he looked at the two lighters. Sasha and Tim looked at him for explanation, clearly confused.

“The AWS brought me a lighter as well, but it was just a normal one. However, I’ve had this one with me long as I can remember,” he stated, pulling out a black lighter, engraved with that same pattern.

“That doesn’t make any sense. What could that possibly mean?” Tim asked.

“What it means, is that..something probably knows us three. What it wants, or how this connects to anything that’s happened is still beyond me, but…if Sasha’s right, it seems to be a token of good fortune. Escape.”