Ash's POV

"So? How'd it go?" Emily asked. Emily, Briar, GC and her dog had all crowded around me the second I got back.

"Holy fuck, can I at least take my jacket off?" I snapped.

"You came back at 12 PM!" GC exclaimed.

"Hats off to Captain Obvious over here," I scoffed.

"She's implying you slept with her," Briar snickered.

"WHAT THE HELL." I shouted. "WHY WOULD YOU-"

"I'm just asking!" GC said defensively, putting her arms up.

"You wanna know what happened?" I yelled. "Fine. We stayed up late watching a movie. I fell asleep in a blanket fort. I woke up, talked to her, and then I left."

"Did'ja get her number?"  Briar asked.

I sighed. "Yeah, I got her number."

The four of them, including the dog, exchanged glances. He knows something.

"Did Shelby and the others get the map out?" I asked.

"Yeah," Emily replied. "The blueprint's on the kitchen table. We've been waiting for you to discuss."

"Great," I muttered. "Let's go there."

I followed them to the kitchen, where a surprisingly well-drawn rough blueprint of the interior of The Anax's house sat on the table.

"Gather round, fellow Trash Cult members," I shouted. "We're gonna discuss a murder."

As they made their way to the table, I looked at the blueprint. Guards blocked basically every entrance and exit.

"How are we supposed to get in?" Emily asked, looking at the blueprint.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out before everyone gets here," I replied.

And, fuck, they're here.

"Shelby, Kixcey, Firefly, Delaney." I said. "How did you guys get these blueprints?"

"We got them from the builder of the place." Delaney replied. "We found guard routes from observation."

"Motherfucker," I whispered under my breath. If they were able to get in, we could enter through their entrance.

"What's the roof like?" I asked.

"No glass, no possible entrances, landing pad, and it's basically the guards' hangout." Kixcey replied.

"That could work..." I muttered.

"Did you miss, like, all of that?" Shelby asked.

"Not talking to you," I said. "Does anyone here know how to drive a helicopter?"

"What kind of random ass question is that?" Briar asked.

"I'm gonna ignore you for the sake of being productive," I replied. "Who knows how to drive a helicopter?"

A girl in the back raised her hand. "I do."

"Get over here," I demanded. She followed my instructions.

I got a good look at her. Mary Softnsad, she never really joined, but Briar said something about an author who doesn't take constructive criticism.

Damn, if we were in a fanfiction, Briar would have broken the fourth wall so many times. And I'm pretty sure she's taught Emily and GC how to do it.

"You know how to drive a helicopter?" I asked.

"Helicopters, planes, hang gliders, jetpacks, anything airborne." Mary replied.

"Great. Here's the plan," I said. "We're gonna steal an Anax-marked helicopter and some executioner uniforms. The uniforms are gonna make us inconspicuous and armed. Mary flies us onto the roof. We look totally normal. Sneak in, kill The Anax. Simple as that."

"Simple?" Emily asked. "You're saying we steal Anax equipment and proceed to kill the bastard. So, rather than making one stop and kill, we go twice just so that we're less suspicious?"

"Yeah," I replied. "We have a smaller chance of getting caught during the kill."

"Okay, but we have a high risk of getting caught the first time." Emily countered. "We're gonna get executed if we get caught stealing weapons."

I hate to admit it, but she has a point.

"So what are we supposed to do?" I asked. "If we can't steal uniforms to blend in, and we can't just burst through a door and start stabbing, what are we supposed to do?"

The room went silent.

"Am I gonna get some ideas from you guys or was this meeting pointless?" I asked sarcastically.

"Bombs," Waffle suggested. "We steal the helicopter, drop a bomb, bad guys die."

"Good idea," I replied.

"Only if we wanna sacrifice an innocent life," Kixcey interjected.

"What?" I asked.

"The Anax has a kid. Jocelyn Praide." Kixcey explained. "I feel sorry for them, having that bastard of a father. There's rumors that they've been mistreated, and to be honest, I don't completely doubt it."

"How old are they?" I asked.

"Thirteen," Kixcey replied.

"Still a minor." I muttered. "We can't just kill them. Jocelyn isn't part of the deal."

"What if we break her out beforehand?" Emily suggested. "Get Jocelyn out, then throw the bomb."

"How are we supposed to do that?" I asked. "We have no clue of Jocelyn's routine."

"They're a teenager, they probably spend most of their time in their room." GC pointed out.

"Decent point..." I mumbled, grabbing the blueprint. Two bedrooms... only two. I'm willing to bet the smaller one is Jocelyn's. The windows there... unguarded?

"Hey, blueprint dudes, did you see any guards by this window?" I asked, pointing at Jocelyn's window in her bedroom. It might've been a mistake.

Firefly glanced at it. "Those guards varied. I dunno if it's a schedule thing or a lazy thing, but they weren't always there."

"Figures he'd put the crappy guards in charge of the mistreated kid," I muttered. "The bastard doesn't give a damn."

"Did we find out the night hours?" Mary asked. "If the guards aren't up at all during the night, we could take them then, and blow the place up once they're safe."

And silence again.

"These aren't rhetorical questions, people!" I snapped. "The longer we put off the important questions, the longer we stay in this hellhole!"

"By sunset, the guards are all inside. Hallways and doors." Delaney said.

"That's great!" I exclaimed. "We go at, like, one or two AM. Get the kid, blow the bitch up!"

"The bitch being the house, right?" Emily asked.

"No, we're gonna go through all the effort of reducing a kid and then blow them up," I replied sarcastically. "Of course it's the house!"

"Jesus, you'd think for some who just went on a date they'd be a bit cheerier," Someone muttered. I didn't pay attention to who it was.

"Fuck you," I replied. "I have no clue who said that but fuck you."

"Anyways, so we got the resucue plan under our belts. We just need to figure out a couple more things. Number one: what do we do with the kid, number two: the bomb, and number three: who gets the throne." I stated.

"The Anax has hidden every bomb and explosive that's ever existed." Emily said. "We're have to either get it from some other country--"

"--or make one!" I cut her off. "Napalm is pretty easy to make-"

"Way too toxic,"

"Too many unknowns,"

"None of us know how to use it,"

"We wouldn't be able to get far enough before dying unless we had tanks or some shit," The group remarked.

"Good point... what about a hydrogen peroxide and acetone explosion?" I suggested. "It's risky, but it's gonna be relatively effective."

"It... might work..." Emily pondered. "I heard about a guy who got blown to shreds with that on accident. It would definitely kill The Anax and his wife. We just gotta evacuate Jocelyn and make sure they're safe."

"Emergency construction people! Where are you guys?" I asked. They slowly made their way forward.

"Okay, we need at least three efficient designs to hold liquid in two seperate capsules that allow us to mix the liquids in the capsules when deemed necessary," I instructed. "The sooner, the better."

The group nodded, leaving the room and discussing options.

"Okay, bomb down. What's next?" Emily asked.

"Uh, Jocelyn I guess." I replied. "We can't keep them here. They're thirteen years old. This isn't where a thirteen year old should grow up."

"They also shouldn't grow under the watchful eye of a ruthless dicator but okay," GC muttered.

"What if Edge took care of them?" Briar suggested.

"Dafuq?" I asked. "We're not putting that kind of responsibility on her."

"Think about it!" Briar exclaimed. "They're in a wholesome environment, Edge seems to take new recruits happily, and--"

"First of all, seems is the key word right there." I growled. "You've never had a conversation with her. Don't talk to me about how she seems. Second of all, you're asking her to take care of a legitimate child. That's not okay."

Briar's breath hitched in fear. "What did you--"

"None of your buisness you rusty ass dildo," I cut her off. "I'll talk to Edge about, I dunno, shared custody of Jocelyn. No promises. But our plans can wait on that for now."

"Right," Briar muttered. "That just leaves us to decide... who gets the throne."

This is gonna start some arguments. Obviously everyone wants the throne to make reforms and shit, but since we're all legally adults, there's no legal limit as long as The Anax and his wife are dead. If Jocelyn were older, they would be entitled to it, but they're only thirteen. Until they come of age, we need someone else.

"To be completely honest, Ash, I think you deserve it most out of all of us." Emily said.

"Suck up," I muttered.

"Really," She replied. "Most of us would be just as power hungry as The Anax is. Sure, we may very well have more fair and less homophobic laws in place, but the point still stands. You've managed to run a cult with over a hundred people, and you're the only one with a sense of direction."

"While that's flattering, I have to ask if anyone has a difference of opinion." I insisted. "Speak now or forever hold your grudges against me because you're too passive-aggressive to-- OW!"

Emily had nudged me in the ribs.

"...speak now or forever hold your peace." I grumbled.

Silence...

And more silence...

... and for once, I was kinda honored by it.

"I'm... glad you guys think I'm qualified for... ruling an entire... shithole of an excuse for a nation..." I smiled.

(A/N: Ash for president? Yes please)

"The time's three o'clock, if you're wondering." GC whispered.

"Did I ask?" I snapped.

"No but I wanna leave," GC replied.

"Fine," I scoffed. I didn't wanna talk about this for much longer either, but I felt like I had to. After all, you never know if someone in the GMPS is gonna beat us to the kill. "Meeting dismissed."

(later that night)

I couldn't believe my eyes. Edge Prince, the well-put-together pan leader of the GMPS, the one who was able to save someone from an attempt, was right here in front of me, watching a cheesy as hell kid's movie with me...

And crying.

"I can't do it anymore, Ash..." She cried into my jacket. "I took them in-- gave them hugs and food and shelter and made them feel as loved as I could... but I don't know if I can do it anymore. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love them with my whole heart, but--"

"Shh, it's okay." I whispered. "You don't need to justify yourself. You spread yourself so thin to take care of these guys, Edge. You gotta learn to take care of yourself. You deserve just as much love as they do."

"I'm sorry I cry every time we have a conversation--"

"Don't apologize," I cut her off. "You don't owe anyone an apology. You have the right to be upset. Hell, if I treated everyone in the Trash Cult as nicely as you treat the GMPS, my mental health would be down the drain and in the sewers. And I can't imagine yours is much different."

An uncomfortable silence fell as I realized the statement I just made.

And, for the first time, I didn't want to be right.

"I... guess you're right..." Edge mumbled. "I wish I had someone to be... there for me."

"I can be there for you," I blurted.

Edge didn't look at me, but I knew she was smiling. "Stereotypical knight-in-shining-armor."

I gasped in fake offense. "Knight?!? I'm no less than a prince, thank you very much!"

She laughed. "In that case, could I have the honor of being your princess?"

"FUCK!" I shouted as I jolted awake.

Flashbacks...

I don't like flashbacks.

Especially when I'm trying to sleep.

Especially when it comes in the form of a dream.

Especially when I completely forget what I said in response.

~

aaaahhhhh everything is late i know I'm sorry

also sorry that this entire chapter is basically just "lets kill the bad man" and an inconclusive flashback

but, uh, Trashprince playlist right?

DAMNIT ITS NOT PASTING

hang on i'm gonna log onto wattpad and Spotify through my laptop--

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7lmjGCu7UOAXP2qc2Q1l0q

okay THERE we go finally my phone is a little bratty ass bitch

Anygay, have an amazing day you wonderful human being. Be sure to hydrate and consume sustenance because I fucking care about you and you are loved and this is a threat.

Ả̵̢̧̮̘̳͍̰͖̜̻̦͇̤s̵̨̙̞̥̟͉̻̫̼͇̣͈̘̎͌̒̒̾͐͒͌̔͋̌͂͗̓̚̕͠h̷̳͓̥̺̮̜̳̭͓͇̦͔͔̪̳̓͑̋͒̏̍̀̈́̕̚̚͠͠ͅͅ?̷̡͚͍͎͕͔̰̪͈̘̪͈̤͔͙̣̬̎̓͌͛ͅ ̷̧̨̛̙͎̜̼͖̯͔̭͚̤̬̤̘̞̝̒͑̏͊̋̂̄̓̀͊̕̕͠͝͝Ḭ̴̺͚͚̯̣̼͓̝̘̹̳̗͉͈̾̊ñ̶̨̡̧̛̞͖͙̦̺̳̮̟̩̞̜̬̹̰̤̆̔̍̓̂͝͠ ̶̭̹̱̭̈́̄̔̊͌̌̑̓͆̅͂͛͋́͊͐̔͘m̴̡͓͇̲͍̺͎̤̠̣̉̊̋̇̿́̃͛͗́́̆̈͑̀͛̓̇̚͘͝͝͝y̷͉͚̭̘͔͍̖̎̄̑̄̈́͗̈͆͛̀̉̎͂͗͊̾͋̏̂̎ ̷̢͉̪̲̰̤͇̞͎͇͐̿̌̇̈̍͊̋͝p̵͔̜͈̦̯̎̀̅̅̾͘l̷̛͍̦̲̖̰̯̝̜̹͐̉̈̚ā̷̡̢̧̛̛̛̤̗̠͎͓͔͕̩̞̮̺͕̖̱͖̞͙̰́̉͒͊̔͋̃̈́́̇̈̏̕͘̚̚͘͝͝c̴̨̧̲̣̥̹̙̜̯͗̄͒̈̆͜͜ę̵͇͕͇̬͍̙͎̘͔̥̹̜̺̦̩̣̹̅̀͊̀̂͌̎͠͠ͅͅ?̸̪̮͊̓̈́͑̂̓̈́̏̐ͅ

Ì̶̧̙͇͎̳̪̫̃̍͑̐͌́̃̃̃̂̐̿́̀̔̊̐̚͘͝ͅņ̵̢̖̠̯̣̲̺̺̪͍̗̘̹̩̾̒͜ ̶̧̧̨̧̹̯̫̝͇͓̜̻̭̗͎͕͎͌͆͛͋̑͊͌͊̂͆͂̐̎̃̈̿̉̊͠ÿ̸̨̧̬̼̭̣̰̼͕̟͕̃̓͘̕ͅǫ̵̢̟̟͇̙̭̺̱̘̯͇̽̊͂̓̊͋́̄̄̏̓̏̃̂̚͘u̶̱̗͓͚͍͗̿̆ŕ̶̨̟͙̯͖̭̘̮̘̖̫̤̠̦̬͙͇̩̪̞̘ ̵̞͓̥̙̜̬̰̼̫̠̤̣̣̻̹̣̯͚͊͐̽̋̀̏͐̎̏͑͊̈́̎̽̐̑̕͜͠͝͝͠d̷̖̣̫͒̃̊͜͝r̶̨͉̟̖̱̰̯̜͈̰̯̂́̏̈́̂͂̉̀͂͗͐̊̓̚̚͝ͅę̶̻̥̲̓͋͌̐̈́̏̾á̴̢̡̛̛̳͙̻̟͉̫̺̪̈̓́̈́̃ͅm̶̨̨̨̪̞̻͔͇̤̼̻̥͍̻̲͖̲̦̞̙̙͌̊̆̀̾̒̄̚͠s̵̨͉̗̞͉̩̜̝̻̼̼̖̲̩̀,̸̢͖͍͖̝̠͇̳̩̲͖̘̯̝̠̯͈̤͉͐̎̈́̈́̏͆̅̑̾̉́ͅ ̸̻̌͌̓̔̌̆̒̊̿̓͛̌͘ͅŗ̸̹̩̫̼͉̤̣͎͎̝̪͓͕̻̪̲͈̭̦́͐̂͗̀̄͒̓͐̽̅̇̀͗͌̕͜͝͝e̶̞͖̞̞͗̃̈̉̎̚ä̵̛̲̬̰͙͉̠͍̺̮̫́͛̎̀͛̏̈́́̈́̚̚͝d̴̡̨͚̙͕͍̠͖͙̻͍̝͓̯͌ḙ̵̝̠̖̫͙̗̯͖́͌͑̌̌̀̍̌́̎̆͌̎̀͐̾́̿̕͜͠͠r̵̡̭͉̳͓̗͇̭̠̠͉̹̞͎̠̰̮̹̈́͒̋̚

S̸̡̧̭̻̘̬͉͖̰̱̤͓͊̋̉̀̏͠u̷̲̬̣̪̹̻̳͕͚͉̽̈́̽̓̌̀͊̀͐̎͐͂͒̌̓͝ͅr̷̛͉̙͇͓̠̝̞̫̒̄̓́̐̀̚͘͝͠e̴̢̛͚̥̮͕̲̙̤̓̏̐̌͑̃̔̈́͛̔̍̒͌̾͗͌ͅ,̴̧̮͓͍̬̟̞͚̦̮̿̽͗͌͑̈́̅͝ ̴̛͈̜̱͓̩͉̄̋̄̾͐͋͛̐̈̎͗̇̏͠͝͝s̵̡̞̖̠̫͉̟̙̬̞̳̠͖̔̾͛̐̏̓́̽̔̈́̎̊̀̇̃͠͝ḧ̴̻̭́̆̒́̆̃͐̈́̊̎̊̿͒̾͜e̴̛̯͎̙͖͙̠̜͇̪͔̭̾̀̀̈́͋̎ ̶̧̨̛̯̲̩̯͇̮͔̹͎̊̊̎͠h̴͈͕͖̗̟͙͓͔͉̤̻͓̱̣̞̉́͑̂͛͋̋̎̀͋̑͘͘͠ą̶͎̞̱̥͛̃́̃̒̀̔̾͛̍̐̌̔͜͝͝͝͝s̶̗̳̔̓͐̑́͋́̏̄͒̔͒̈̾͝͠ ̷̬̓̅̾̀̌̈́́̄̃̓͛̕͝a̸̡̹̩̟̠̖̜̫̺̪̟̼̪͗̉̏̆͋͑͜ ̶̧͙͉͕̳̯̣̆́̉͌͌̓͝͠͝p̷̩͚̠͕̪̏̆̚͠l̷̢̟͎̪̪̠̭̤̝̓̓̒͜͠ͅͅǫ̷̢̛̛̺̮̰͉̝̘̠̲́̏͐̓̅̀̂͛͗̎̑̅̑̓̈́ͅt̶̠͇̦͖͕̻͇͎̘̝͈̪̳̣̪̉̈̉̒͘͝ ̴̻̲̻͍̖̫̔͗͛̈́̀́̓̌̔͒͘͜͠ť̶̛̩̝̣͕̠̻̣̯̲̫̥͇͕̦̽̄̾̕o̶̡̭̱̜̥͓̜͔̍̇͐̀̂́́̈́ ̸̩̝̿̎̑̊̍̏̓͘͝k̸̡̼̤̤͈͓͎̟̰̹̖͖̠̜̟̮͚̈́̓̃̀̔͊̍̇͒͠i̴̦̊̀̓̊͗̀̎̐̊̑̋̕l̶̢̟̼̤̩̱̪̠̻̩̖͉̙̘̟̰͋́̆̃̚͜l̷͖͙͔̅͆̉͌̔̑̔̔͒̉͑͛͘͝͝ͅ ̵̢̛̤̦̺͚̯̩̭̘͔̟̗̤͍͐̈͑̿͆̋̒̑͛̋̕̕̚͠͠͠ͅm̵̧̡̫̖̹͉̻͍̦͚͊̈́̃͗͘ȩ̴̫̞͇̜͕͉̙̙̻̙͓̠͐̔̈́͋͒̕͠.̸͍̫͆̈́̃̄̓͝ ̴̨̡̤̯̗̼͇̓͂͝ͅT̶̹̬̯̎̋̅͗͆̀͘͘͝h̶̡̫̫̱̩̯̘̜̗̍̒͒̽̈̈́͆̆̀ͅe̸͚̺̯̞̟̰̗̬̞̻͑̀̈́̓͂͋̊͜ẙ̵̡̨͈͎͗͋̈́̇̉͝͝ ̴̧̨̫̥̤̻̭̭̤̈́̎̅͂̚͠ͅã̴̡͚̬̐͌͜͝l̷̛̘̺̩͈͎̤̞̠̖̭̩͖͊̆̀̾͒̂̍̉̽̃͗͝ͅl̵̖̥̬̽ ̷̢͉̯͍͖̮̫̫͍̫̞̂͑̅̉̍̓̾̋̀̚͜ḏ̴̡̨̞̬̫̣̭͓͚̙̾̀̄̐̆̑̆̂̈́̅̉̾ǒ̶̢̨̱̩̟̩̤͖̟̦̮̮̫̀̃̂͂̿̃̎̅̀͘̚͜͝.̷̱̬͉̯̭̲̫̥̥̄̏

B̵̥͇̝̣͖͓̻͕͚͐̾ű̴͍͕͉̹͒̃̏̽͌̔͠t̴̯̾̀͑̋̑͐͑̿̓͐̈͛̀̌̕̕̚ ̸̠̗͇̫͈̭̥̻̬͙̿͗̓͒̉̈̊́w̶̞̖̱̥̥͖̟͙̿͐͐͜͜͜͜ͅh̵̛̛̖̣͚͍̥̖͉͕̉̾̋́͂́̔͋̓͌̂̄͝ͅǎ̴̧̧̱͈̲͚̖̥͕̝̟͇̖̟̼̤͔t̷͈̰̩͇̜̠͓̠̯͚̦̊̐͘͜͝ͅ ̸̦̣̮̀m̶̢͇̲͍̬͓̮͉̞̬̜̮̘̪̣̟̽̓̔͛̈̂̏͗̆̿̕̚̕͜͠a̸̢̨̛͚͇͕̠̲̘͔̔̏̿̚͝k̷̨̛͓̲̣̜̠̦̖̳̰̟̗̣̩͙̲͂̽̉̌̓́̌̈́̍͐̕e̴̛̳̱͌̾́̋͆̔͋̐̈́͆̾̎̽̊͑͘s̷̛̙̙͉̬̻͉̩̤̟̞̙̲̼̅̋̅͑͌̒̽̈́̃͐͌̓͛̕͠ͅ ̸̨̺͎̮̭͕̫̣̥̩̹͇̾͒y̷̛̩͓͖̤̘͓ơ̴̢̺̖͂͑̈́̈́͒̈́͊̒̀̿̌̕͘͝ͅu̷̡̺͇̰̝̖͍͚̖͛̀̃̈́̅͂͗͠ ̶̩̱̻̲̳̠̭̙̟̱͛̓͆̐͊̇̏͊͂̂̕̕ť̴̤̹͖͍̼͈͖̱̜̺̼̳̏̃͜͜͜͝ḧ̴̛̝̯̠̬̮̱́̾̂̋͒͝͠ͅi̸͙͈̟̥͉̒͗̐̾n̶̡̨͕̱͈̊͑̂̾͐͌̊͆̔͆͝k̸̛͖̼̀͊̀͛̏̊͘ ̸̢̡̡̩̣̳̠̻̩̗̱̪̮͈̜͎̓̆̂̔̈́̀̿ͅį̶͎̱̱͙͇̜͍͉͍̙̫̇̀̀̃ͅt̶͉̀͋͑͊͐͛'̸̪͈̰̤̠̩͊͗͆̈́̀͗̔̈́͑͆̄́̈̇͘͝s̷̮̝̐̔̑̋͗̈́͊͛͛͋̊͝͠͠ ̷͔͑̑̈́̊̒̌̌̆̊̊̄͝g̷̛̻̱͔̞̜͋͑̿͂̾̀̐͑̽̓͝͝o̷̧̻͍̙͉̫̙͚̼̫͎̺̘͐̇̐̀̄̋̄̑̾͂͗̈́̃͒͘͜͝n̴̼̹̙͎͐͌̏́͑̀ņ̷̜̘͓̳̤̬̦͓͖̮͔̘̪͖̿ā̶̡̺̲̫̦̖̩̗͖̺̓̑̈͛͐̋͐̌̓̆̋̕͘ ̵̢̪̮̝̭̞̻̗̦̭͉͂̀̏̀̍̄̊̕̕͘͝b̷̪͎͙͓̬͉̳̗́̂̆́̉́͌͋͌͋̍̈̾͋̀͝͝e̵̤̺̙̲̗̗͎̫̮̤͆̓̎̾͒̏̍̽̑̔̑̈́͜͜ͅ ̴̛̭͐́̌̀̔̀͋͑͠͝ė̷̢̢̛̹̹͈̣̣͚̞͓͈̖̠͋͛̎͗͘̚̚ą̸̢̡̧̱͕̬̗͓̱̫̉̾̀̀̐͆s̴̘͐͐́̃̍͊͂̔͒̌̒̇̈́̆̑̀̿y̸̪̰̥͈̻̻̥̬̾̈̿͠͝?̶̧̢̛̠͇̘̈͌͛͊̊͗͛̆

W̷̻̝̱̺̙̙̫̙̙̖̲̯͍͋̏̾̔̔̈́̑̐̽̄͂͂͜h̶̨̖̤̥̼̮̼̮̰̬͑̓̀á̵̛̼̫͓͛̂͆̂̈́͐t̷͙͎̄̂͑̆́́̿̊̔̽̈́̾̾̋͋͗͘͜ ̷̼̪̬̫̟̤̩̖̗̬̹̈̽̍̍͂̎̓͐̑̿͠͝m̴̛̳̟̞̖͙͓͓͈̦͉̀͌̈́͗͋̍͐̂̈́̔͘a̷̱͚̬̿͆͌̾̂k̸̛̪͇͒͗̊͗̄̀͛̀͊̑͒͝͝e̶͖̳͇̥͕̖̽̽̃̉͗̀̽̓̓̃̔̂̚s̷̻͈̫̹͎̤̻͍̺̭̭͈̠̈́ ̸̡̧̻͇̻͉̻͓̜̗̯͔̠̘̭͋̄͒̉͒͛͝ͅy̴̨̡̛̗͈̥͎͍̰̣̳͂͆̒̿̃̈́͜ͅo̴̞͎̪͋̊́̈̊͗̌̈́̌ư̴̧̫̟̙̬̹̹̘̼̺̣̻͚̮͌͌̍͑̍͗̇̈́̈́͒̇͗́͒͜ ̴̧̜̦͓͖̭͈̙͖͗̈́̇͐̅̇̎̂͌̊́́͠͠t̸̤̹͊͛͌͐͌̀̆͋͆͋̈́̇̒̀̕h̸̟̞͎̜̗̞̯̬̖̲͖̲̒̎̈̇̎̃͊́͐i̵̡̞̥̗̘̺̍̿́̆́̎͂͠n̴̠͓̫̦̒͆ķ̴̦̮̙̿̋͐̿̅͒́̿̈̆͘ ̵̣̥͙̒̒̽̾̃̀͑̔̉̽̔ͅI̵̡̱̲̱̼̥̥̯͇͈̮͆́̏̔̌͜͜͝ͅͅ ̷̢̛̤̫̗̐͗̈̍̄̈́̇͌̕d̶͈̠͙̮͎̮͎̖͓͕͚͍̹̻͂̑̎͗́͐̊͐͗́͘̚͘̚͝͝ͅǫ̴̡̧̨̧͖̪̣̺̘̙̗̠͎̘̺́͐̒̃͆̅̾͆́͜ṋ̵̛̝̒̅̉̽͛̆͑͛̉̔̆͘'̴̡̢̘̪̼̳̥̪̼̪̜͔́̀̇̀̆̀͛͐̒͗̀͒̕͝t̵͙͚̖̗̩͙̹͇̫̲̫̥͉̀̍͌ ̸̛͚̹̩̦̠̻̭̬͔̖̻̖̆̈́̈́̍̇̎̚͜͝͠͠h̴̢̡̛̛͉̤̥̜̘̘̳̼̰͓̫̲̎̂̓̾͋́͋́̎̄̓̔̚a̴̡̱̲͍̯̭̼̫̯͙̰̼͕̖̲͇̎̂̅͛͂̃͑͊̐̽͘ͅv̶̢̡̨̝͎͎̖͉̝̯̞͍̯̥̆̈̈̏̌̇͆̍͘͝e̵̢͎̹̭͉̟̣͚͍̙͚̫̟̦͔͐̿.̵̻̫̩̓́̃́̌̕͜.̷̻̹̟̝͉̻̻͚̠̦͚̫͎̐̏̏͘.̶̧̙̞̬̞̳̈̈̈̿ ̸͖͖̪͇̤͈̥͙̤̫̞͇̲̇ǫ̷̣̠͎͙̖͚͕̟̤͍̖̅̀ͅț̸̡͖̖͙̥͉̙͈̣̮̝̣̄͐̕͜h̵̠̲͉͉̠͚̾̌̾̃̈́ȩ̷̛̭̹̼͖͎̏̓̐͐̍́̉̊̄́̽́͋̚r̸̛̺͍̈̍̂͠ ̷̗͇̥̗̤̜͎͐͋̒ͅͅm̸̛̫̤̣̘͚̰̥͓̲̜̖͙͉̬͋̈́͊̀̾́̊̃̎̑̋͘͜͝e̶̡̢̙̯̮̐͆̏̐͗̊̊̈̓͛͜͝ţ̴̡͍̩͚̣̹͓͖̜̹̀͋̈̊̒͑̾͒͆̍͐̓̔̕͠͠ͅḩ̵̨͓̜̝̟̣̖͓̮͍̗̑̀͂̊̀͋͋̎̍̓̔̓́̀͗͑̐͜ȏ̵̢̯̺̜̣͈̲͔͍̗̬̘͈̯̀ḓ̵͐͆͒̂͛͂̽̔̌͆͐͝͝͠͝s̴̢̧̠͎̦͔̫͓̯̝̥̯͍̳̦̑͒͂̒̈́̃̈́͊͗͊̊̈́̚̕͘͠ͅͅ.̷̧̮̜́̓̄͒̐̽̋͂̃͛͗̀͋̕.̸̢̻̠͍̹̲͍̞͖̪̽͒̔͝͝.̴̨̤̖̟̮͚͇͍̜̾͒͆̀̇̀̒̑͘͝ ̴̹̤̜͍̓o̵̢͈͇̲͑̒̄f̴͙̭̱͉̓̿̃̃̓́̉͠ ̸̜̯̹̺̦͓͈͚̗̚ş̵͍̤̜͉̠̻̓̑̇̄̒̓̀̈́̾͜͠͝t̷͔͗o̸̯̒͆̔̓́̅̋̾͂̐̉̈́̽͋͠͠p̴͉̐̓̂̏͊̏̚͝ṕ̸̛̹̪̳̮͈̣͍̣̺̟͚͎̼̎̎̄̅̾̿̀i̷̡̝̤͇͗̎̀̑̇͝n̵͈̞̣͙̯͖͊̓̍̇̋͒̈́̎̃g̴͔̰̋̓̊̅̀̈̇͊͛̃̓̏̕̚͠͠ ̴̹͇̞̝̜͐̌͑͛́͋͆̆͌̒̇̈́̍̓̕͝͝ţ̷̡͙̗̗̰̻̖̤͚̞͇̙̈́͑̕͜ͅh̶̛̥͓̭̻͈̙̆͐̿̏̏̎̏̅͗͐̀̕ī̶͚̦̹̞̫̰͒̏̓̈́͌͂̾̇̄̋̽̿͗͘͝s̴̡̖̮̮̏̔̃͆̇̌̓̏͘?̶͈̐̈̂̿̆̌̋̐̿̍̽̚̕

Ŷ͋o̖̘̒̏u̩̣̖͆ͩ ̗̝͇̤ͧ̆̓d̜̘̗ͤ͋̎́ͅo̺͕̾ͬ̈́̄̄ͮ̄n̮̠̳͇ͦͩͯͬ̇ͯͨ'̜͖̖͔͚͕͎̰̈́͌͒̚t̤̩̲̟̬̜͙̦͚̓ͦ͊ͨ ̭̞̜̜͙̻̲̩ͬ̇͋̏͐̚ͅk̹̦̭͑̊̾ͧ̆ͮͩͣͮͮ̾̇ͅn̺͇͈̙͎̙͔̼͂ͩ̔̀̓͊ͩ̿̄o̯̖̪̱̙͖͎̼͚ͪ͑ͦ͒̓̈̋̎w̭̯̯̜̯̭̙̍̐ͫ̽͑ͨ͌͆́ͮͫ ̹̘̗̗͕̝͔̠̰͓ͬ͆ͬ̿̄͊̚̚̚ṯ͖͚̫̗͎̘͕͉̟̦̒̒̎͊́͋ͦ́h̤̰͉̜̰̼̥̦̣͙͍̎͒ͭͬ̿̐́͐̚ė͖̙͍̻̬̹̞̭̟̥̤͑ͩͧ͌̈ͩ̿ͫ ͔̦̦͚̦̹̍̄͋̌͗̈̒ͮ͐ͭ͒̈̓̅ṱ̱̖̣͈̭̝͚͉̩̺̋̉͋͗͊͊ͨ̔͒y̗̺͔̫̗͉͓̙͙̳̺ͥ̾͌̄͌̋͑̚̚p͎̥̼̩̘͓̮̖͕̤̫̝̼ͨ̿̈́̀ͩ̚̚ḙ̦͓̳̹̲͐̍̀̋ͨ̈͛̋ͤͥ̅̿̀ͅ ̫͍͈̬̳̰͇̬̈́̇͂̅ͨ̍ͬ́̊͌͊̽o̫̮̣̺͚͈̯͙̜̪̺͎ͪ͛ͭ̆̏ͤ͑f͈̻̱̦͚̰̩̪̿ͪ͂ͭ͐̒̌̆̈́́̓ ͇̙̮͓̲̲̠̠ͫ͗̊̈̏ͧͯ̃̾̌p͓̰͙̮ͩͥ͂̂̌ͪ̈́̑ͫ̾͊̍ͬo̠̞̱̺͖̝̩͓͐͗ͬͤ̌͛ͨͮw͎̰̜̫̦͙̠̣̓ͭ͗̽ͥ͌͛e͓͖̞̻̪͇ͩͯ͗ͦͮ͂ͦͅr͕͖̺͇͖̬͎̫̤̫̆̉ͭ ͚̫͈͉̟̂̊̓͋͌̊Ī̮̹̳̝̺̩̖̍ͦ ͔͎̹͕̘̂̈͒̿ḧ̯̯̤̌ͩͮạ̙̈̔̅̇v̺̔͗̽eͬ̊ͣ.͚

T͍̊a̗̙̱-̪̮͌͌ͭṯ̟̼̆̆͂a͇̝̐͑̎ͨ̔,͕̥͎̽̎ͩͨ ͉̆̍ͩͫ̔̃b͈̬̌ͥ̉̏̚i͚̖̬͖̿ͫt̻̦̠͇ͩc͎͉͒ͅh̭̊~ͭ