[OOC] ̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽 𝚃⌖ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴̸/̸̅̅ ̆̅ ̅̅ ̅̅

[TokyoPewPew]

𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚢, 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚢, 𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎—

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗.

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚞𝚎.

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_ _ _ _ _ _ █████████████████████████ .𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 █████████████████████████ .𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗 █████████████████████████ .𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝𝚘 █████████████████████████ .𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛 █████████████████████████ .𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚝𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎 ████████████ 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝙲𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎 ⌖ 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛 ⌖ 𝙽𝚎𝚘-𝙽𝚘𝚒𝚛 ⌖ 𝙼𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚗 (𝟷𝟿𝟽𝟶𝚜) ⌖ 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖 ████████████ 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙴𝚍𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝙲𝚘𝚢𝚕𝚎 ⌖ 𝚃𝚊𝚡𝚒 𝙳𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 ⌖ 𝙽𝚘 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙾𝚕𝚍 𝙼𝚎𝚗 ⌖ 𝙳𝚘𝚐 𝙳𝚊𝚢 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗 ⌖ 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚝

<sup>𝙸𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔 ― 𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚢 ― 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙲𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗

𝚂𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙾𝚗𝚎 (𝟷)
(𝚄𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟷𝟹𝚝𝚑 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟼, 𝟻:𝟸𝟿 𝙴.𝚂.𝚃.)</sup>

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^{𝙽𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛, 𝟷𝟿𝟽█. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚋𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝; 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑; 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚞𝚌𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚝 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚜. 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎—𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚘𝚘—𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚕-𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚞𝚋𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝙰𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊.}

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██████████████████
𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚊, 𝚆𝙸

<sup>███████𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝟷𝟼𝟹𝟹 𝚊𝚜 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚅𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚜 (𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚎𝚐𝚐𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝-𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚘-𝙸𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚗 𝚆𝚊𝚛 𝚍𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎), 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚋-𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜, 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜: 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝. 𝙾𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚍𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎. 𝙴𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙵𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚊; 𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚜𝚊𝚕𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚒. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚙𝚜, 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚠. 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜—𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜, 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚘𝚕—𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚞𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜' 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜. 𝙺𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜, 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚡𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐.

███████𝚃𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 "𝙲𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚕" 𝚜𝚘𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚁𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜, 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏𝚜 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚔𝚛𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗.

███████𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚅𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚊 𝚍𝚘𝚣𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚜 (𝙸𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚑, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙳𝚞𝚝𝚌𝚑...) 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚃𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝙽𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚠𝚎𝚜𝚝, 𝙸𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚊, 𝙸𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚒𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚕 𝚆𝚊𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝟷𝟾𝟷𝟸. 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎; 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚎, 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎-𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜; 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚗𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚍, 𝚞𝚗𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚊 (𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙾𝚓𝚒𝚋𝚠𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 "𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎") 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚛𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚜, 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜.

███████𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚐𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚞𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚊 𝚋𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚕𝚢 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚢. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚙𝚒𝚐-𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙾𝚑𝚒𝚘, 𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙳𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚝, 𝚌𝚘𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝙾𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜—𝚜𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎, 𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚘𝚡 𝚁𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝙱𝚊𝚢, 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚂𝚝. 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎—𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚍. 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍, 𝚛𝚊𝚠 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚖𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜, 𝚟𝚎𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚔. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚢𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗, 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚞𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚢-𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗-𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐-𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚘𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜; 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚕𝚜.

███████"𝙿𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚝-𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚗-𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜," 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝙴.𝙷. 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝟷𝟿𝟶𝟿 𝚝𝚘 𝟷𝟿𝟷𝟸 (𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚞𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚝); "𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚜; 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚠, 𝚢𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚗."

███████𝚃𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚒𝚡𝚝𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚕 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚝-𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚔𝚒𝚗. 𝙰 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎, 𝚗𝚘—𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚙 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚜. 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚛. 𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚊 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝙰𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊 𝚠𝚎𝚝𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚋𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝚂𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚍𝚎𝚛; 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎. 𝟷𝟻𝟿,𝟶𝟶𝟶 𝚓𝚘𝚋𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚊 𝚑𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔. 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚢𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚛𝚢𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚓𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜; 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚗, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚍; 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚠, 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝 𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚕 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝'𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚞𝚐𝚜, 𝚍𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚌𝚎-𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎.</sup>

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𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜 🙵 𝙴𝚝𝚒𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎

█ 𝟷	𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢, 𝚗𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚊 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝟸𝟷+. (𝟸𝟻+ 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚍.)
█ 𝟸	𝙰𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘 𝙰.𝙸. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚏 𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜. (𝙸 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚘𝚙 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎. 𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍. 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚋𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝙸'𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚘𝚗𝚎.)
█ 𝟹	𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 (𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢) 𝚎𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚗-𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘: 𝚎𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚖 (𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚜), 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚒𝚐𝚘𝚝𝚛𝚢, [𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍] 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚞𝚕𝚝, 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐 𝚞𝚜𝚎, 𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝. 𝙰𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚜, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚞𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚎——𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝——𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎, 𝚗𝚘 𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚍. 𝙷𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚎𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝙿, 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚜, 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝, 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚍-𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢.
█ 𝟺	𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙸𝙲-𝙾𝙾𝙲 𝚍𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗, 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍/𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚜, 𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝙸𝙲, 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚝𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎; 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝙾𝙾𝙲.
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█ 𝙰	𝚃𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚒𝚖, 𝚙𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚛𝚊, 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢'𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚌𝚛𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕——𝚘𝚌𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕——𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚢/𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚜𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚍.
█ 𝙱	𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝙰𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜: 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚝 (𝚙𝚕𝚘𝚝, 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚢, 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚝𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎...𝚎𝚝𝚌.) 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚢 𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚎𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢, 𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚖𝚢. 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛, 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚟𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚋𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚢, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚌 𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍——𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚢.
█ 𝙲	𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝙼 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 "𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗." 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚋 𝚚𝚞𝚘𝚝𝚊. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚁𝙿 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚍𝚞𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢——𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜. 𝙳𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚞𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚔𝚎.
█ 𝙳	𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚁𝙿 𝚝𝚘 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗'𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚎, 𝚐𝚘𝚍𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙿𝙲𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛𝚜' 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚍𝚘𝚞𝚋𝚝 (𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜), 𝚍𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎'𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚖, 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍. 𝙶𝚘𝚍𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊 𝚙𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚒𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜.
█ 𝙴	𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚍𝚒𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜' 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜. 𝙰𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑, 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙿𝙲 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜; 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚐𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕; 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐; 𝚎𝚝𝚌. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚡𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎.

[LanaStorm]

Take it far!

[JFK]

you couldn't have timed it better TPP. currently cleaning up the CS. the vet will be up soon :)

[JFK]

The Vet Mk.2

Two punks thought they could skip without paying for treatment. Now Joe needs to go out and uphold his reputation, lest the street thugs start thinking they can use him as a doormat.

Joseph 'Joe' McGabhann | 58 | 5'9 | Male
Business: Joe McGabhann is the owner and head physician at the Waggy Tails Emergency Veterinary clinic. He has multiple employees that manage the legal side of the business. He makes plenty of money off of the vet business. On paper, he's doing most of the managerial work. In reality, his assistant manager Becca runs the business. Joe is present to operate the illicit side of the emergency clinic. Any criminal worth their salt knows that Joe is the guy to go to in order to get a bullet hole stitched up without any questions asked. He's been doing this for a decade now. He is required to prioritise the criminals working for big bosses. The Irish come first, and then the Italians, and then the rabble. He refuses to treat blacks, Hispanics, or known jews unless they can pull the right strings with Joe's higher ups. There are plenty of nights when he'll have five grown men waiting about the back alley with bullet holes, and no animals in the waiting room. Despite their shady dealings, the clinic is still popular among various well-to-do pet owners of Minninoona.
Savvy: Aside from his obvious medical skill, Joe knows his way around a handgun. On the rare occasion he meets up with his buddies, they usually go to the range and shoot the shit. He has a couple pieces he prizes, and a couple pieces he wields. He can legally concealed carry. He also bakes a mean pineapple upside down cake. He drives.
Ruin: Joe grew up in a happy family. He was lucky enough that his dad didn't hit him or his mother; despite the fact that Joe's dad was a Union Teamster. The man was involved in a lot of shady dealings that Joe was never privy to. He excelled in school, mostly because of his mother's encouragement and the relatively positive environment he was raised in. He loved animals, so he decided to become a vet.
Any robber worth their salt knows to visit a vet if they want a bullet hole patched up without questions asked. During his first year of practice some thug named Curt paid him a visit. After pressuring him with his iron, Joe reluctantly agreed to patch her up. He learnt to carry a strap after that. Pretty quickly, word got out within the underworld that the city had a new fixer vet that wouldn't snitch. Joe was unsure about getting involved in the life, but he appreciated the money so he didn't protest too much. After a few years he had enough money to buy out the clinic. He moved himself up and out of regular treatment and began too focus on his new specialisation. By the time he was ready to wrap up the operation he was informed that he was too useful to the syndicates for him too retire from the life. He was locked in now.
Sometime after he bought the place out, the war broke out. He would've been a bad fit for the draft. But Joe's particular skills made him desirable to some bigheads in the army. They fast-tracked him through bootcamp by calling him a PQO or something (he wouldn't have survived bootcamp otherwise, he was already into his 40s). After that, they flew him out to the jungle where he spent nearly half a decade operating on the few thousand attack dogs they had there. It was a pretty cushy position compared to most of the fellas that got stuck in the jungle. But he still saw some nasty shit. Mostly mangled dog remains, but that still sticks with a man.
Cred:
"The doc patches up a bullet hole real good."
"He ain't talkin', we know where he lives. He's got two cute kids."
"I heard he keeps a .38 in his desk. Just pay him dawg, it's not worth it. Especially if you're already beat up."
"No Reg, he can't retire. Who else will fix our boys up after they take a slug? His mouth is sealed shut. Go and have a chat with him. Make sure we're on the same page."
"Don't go in the front door bleeding, the bitch at reception will just tell you to go to hospital. You gotta knock on the back door and know the magic words."
"I swear I saw the doc hanging out with that fairy faggot. You think he's a sick fuck or too dense to know that the chick has a dick?"
Ilk:
Family Man: He realised too late how easy it was to track down his loved ones. Two kids, the oldest is in college. And his wife. It's rare to find someone with the expertise that is willing to turn a blind eye to whatever underhanded wounds they might have. If Joe tries to leave, him and his family are in mortal danger. On occasion, he's had some close calls with his clever wife looking into some of his underhanded dealings. But so far, she doesn't really know what he gets up to.
A Harmless Vice: Over the years Joe has sampled the medication. He's gotten a taste for escaping from reality with substances when he has the chance. He'll do ketamine if he doesn't have anything else, but Cocaine is his favourite. He also has a soft spot for whores of all varieties.

@TokyoPewPew
I haven't posted this to the character tab because: I tried the template you provided by I'm just not savvy enough to edit it without fucking it up royally. How important is the formatting to you? I've also made some minor changes (his name and his presence in 'nam). I'd welcome advice, criticism, or help. I don't possess the fortitude to spend hours wrestling with forum code. Yikes!

[enmuni]

@JFK If you're okay with using google docs, I'm happy to help you put together the formatting like how I did.

[TokyoPewPew]

@JFK Improved readability while technically not "necessary" is always a kindness. Extra aesthetic flourishes are nice. But ultimately, the content itself matters most.

I like your edits across the board so far. The Creds section feels particularly seedy now!

[JFK]

@JFK If you're okay with using google docs, I'm happy to help you put together the formatting like how I did.

@enmuni

Very kind offer. I can't accept though.

@JFK Improved readability while technically not "necessary" is always a kindness. Extra aesthetic flourishes are nice. But ultimately, the content itself matters most.

I like your edits across the board so far. The Creds section feels particularly seedy now!

@TokyoPewPew

Noted. I'll add in some dividers before I post the final in the right tab! It'll be done very shortly.

[enmuni]

@JFK And I love the Sunny mention! Already makes the world feel more interconnected. If they only knew the half of it!

[TokyoPewPew]

Same. Wasn't expecting a Kurt namedrop so soon but I'll be rolling with it.

[Bork]

Post 1 Post-Mortem
- Struggle with enviromental storytelling compared to the past games I've been in.
- The flashback was supposed to be more ambiguous in how it ended but that resulted in 500 words of dialogue that was a gordian's knot in the end.
- I wanted to put the fed hiding in the background like G-man but given that it's not a third person omnipresent perspective I'm writing from, it wouldn't have made sense for Pike to notice someone was parked without a good reason.
- The second half was originally meant to take place in a stashaway apartment where Muskie had hid some boxes and such in a painting after it was robbed by crack thieves and the FN Browning was a heirloom that Pike took.

[TokyoPewPew]

@JJ Doe Putting this here since thou checketh thy Discord half as oft as thou ought

What a wonderful post. Completely worth the wait. You understand so well that a narrative is mainly aimed and focused at what a character notices, and yet despite this character mainly noticing WASP, NIMBY mundanities (what will the Joneses think? Poly tablecloths or sateen?) it's somehow completely gripping. I love the nuance of her characterization also. The way the run-on sentences capture overstimulation and hyper-alertness. And as always, the efficiency of your prose. Great work!

@JFK How's it going Mr. President? You didn't forget about us did you?

[JFK]

@JFK How's it going Mr. President? You didn't forget about us did you?

@TokyoPewPew

Nope! Blown away by the quality of what I've read so far. Working on something that I hope will do your efforts justice. I'm pretty swamped by life but I'm aiming for sometime this week I hope.

[TokyoPewPew]

@JFK That's a great answer. Don't worry, we're absolutely willing to wait for quality. No rush, and we're all hoping for the best for you.

[JFK]

hopefully it isn't too dreary

[MaeB]

@JFK

Thanks for the shoutout, Mr P! Your post was an enjoyable read. A good amount of content to chew on!

If it’s alright with you, I’d like to add a segment to my next post featuring a phone call between Pearly and Joe? She’ll catch wind of where the brothers are and give him a tip-off… In exchange for a favour with no expiration date.

If you’re okay with that, I’d love to run through what that dialogue will look like in the PMs?

Could be a cool little addition to the subplot?

[TokyoPewPew]

The bar man took a moment to respond. Scratching his chin. Joe laid a big bill on the counter. His face lit up. "Yuse always a kind one Joe. Anything for a friend. Not many half-breed brothers. Most broads learn from their first mistake. A funny nose you say? Sounds like it could be the McClusky brothers. Did one have regular hair and the other had kinky hair?" Joe nodded with a wicked grimace as he replied, "Sounds like 'em. You know where they haunt?" The bar man shook his head. "No, but the pawnbroker Aloysius mentioned they sold him some shinies a couple weeks ago. He might know more."

Joe grumbled unintelligibly. He ordered another drink for the road and knocked it back unceremoniously. "Send Pearly my regards, woodya." He stumbled out of the bar and fumbled with his keys. He swerved back home and climbed under the covers next to Ruby, his long suffering wife. He mumbles some excuse about a complicated emergency before he drifted off into oblivion. It had been a long time since Joe had been burdened by dreams.

@JFK

Be careful that you don't make too many massive, momentous plot advancements like this too early, nor too often. The twists, the turns, the complications, the hauntings of other motives (including other PCs'!) encroaching into your own—that's where the fun's waiting. Joe won't be much of a noir protagonist following a simple, linear A→B progression, now will he? 😌 Just a suggestion for maximum enjoyment, not a hard rule I'm enforcing.

Otherwise, good post, and worth the wait. I like details such as the rock-salt and the olfactory notes lending credence to the atmosphere. Ditto Joe's casual racism and offhanded aspersions well-characterizing him from the start.

[JFK]

@JFK

Thanks for the shoutout, Mr P! Your post was an enjoyable read. A good amount of content to chew on!

If it’s alright with you, I’d like to add a segment to my next post featuring a phone call between Pearly and Joe? She’ll catch wind of where the brothers are and give him a tip-off… In exchange for a favour with no expiration date.

If you’re okay with that, I’d love to run through what that dialogue will look like in the PMs?

Could be a cool little addition to the subplot?

@themaybreeze

Sounds like a grand plan!

<Snipped quote by JFK>
Be careful that you don't make too many massive, momentous plot advancements like this too early, nor too often. The twists, the turns, the complications, the hauntings of other motives (including other PCs'!) encroaching into your own—that's where the fun's waiting. Joe won't be much of a noir protagonist following a simple, linear A→B progression, now will he? 😌 Just a suggestion for maximum enjoyment, not a hard rule I'm enforcing.

Otherwise, good post, and worth the wait. I like details such as the rock-salt and the olfactory notes lending credence to the atmosphere. Ditto Joe's casual racism and offhanded aspersions well-characterizing him from the start.

@TokyoPewPew

Good feedback. I'll be keeping it in mind.

[JFK]

@Mole Do you think my character would be a client of yours? If so, how would Joe contact Johnny? If you think they would be business associates, I'd love to DM you about some dialogue for my next post.

[Fiber]

For your consideration:

(Former) Officer Michael Dambrauskas

Title	☞	He was a bully hiding behind a police badge, stacking up illicit cash and enemies he knew wouldn't dare touch him, but now that he's off the force, he has no friends, no steady income, no restraints, and plenty of foes.
Name	☞	Michael “Mikey” Dambrauskas
Age	☞	43
Sex	☞	Male
Business	☞	At this moment, Mikey has no full time employment. He still has some part time work as a security guard at the rougher bars around town, but that isn’t enough to pay his mortgage. When he was a cop, he had some good sources of extra dollars, seizing cash from people that looked like they were up to no good, making drugs go missing from the evidence locker, collecting a “good will donation” from local businesses that either wanted more or less attention from the cops. If you knew him well, then for the right price he’d give you a tip off when police action was on the way or let you peek at some files, for real pals he’d have a conversation with someone who needed a bit of a reminder (no actual violence unless they were dumb enough to take a swing at a cop). A few times, when he spotted something real juicy in a store window, he’d come by at night and do a nice smash and grab followed by fencing the goods. Not much of that money was saved up, because whenever it was good, it was time for sports bets, rounds of beer for the boys, and some gifts to make him look like a bigshot with the ladies.
Savvy	☞	Mikey knows how to fight and how to shoot, those were the only police skills he actually liked to practice. He certainly isn’t beating anyone in a footrace or wowing people with his deductive skills. He also likes to drive his car fast; it’s one of the pleasures of being able to talk his way out of a ticket. He’s gotten good enough at it that if he didn’t know how to handle it he’d probably be dead. He’s also got some skill at making fake paperwork because he has had to make a lot of BS look right over the years, he’s not a master forger that could copy difficult things, but if you need a backdated report, Mikey is your guy. Mikey’s not a skilled analyst, and his eye for when someone is lying is far worse than he thinks it is, but the one talent he does have in the psychological department is knowing how to make a threat in a way that causes people to take it seriously. Lastly, he likes to fish, hasn’t come in handy yet but he wouldn’t give it up for anything.
Ruin	☞	If you ask Michael if there were any positives to growing up with eight siblings, he’d tell you one thing: you learned to protect your stuff. That came in handy on his street on the Southside of Chicago, where business was settled with fistfights, and if you could fight, then there would always been plenty of business that needed settling. Right and wrong were relative things, what Mikey learned quick was to sense an opportunity, whose bike you could steal, which stores you could shoplift from, and who was better off not being messed with. Life was about walking the fine line between being a bitch and being a big enough problem that someone decided to deal with you. On a whim one day after high school, when he was getting tired of waiting for a job with the pipefitters union that his friend swore was coming, Mikey put his application in with the Chicago Police Department. Could he do well on the written test? No. But what they thought about him was that he had the mind of a cop. He had a way of just looking at someone and deciding if they were up to no good. How often was he right? That’s the best part, it didn’t matter for the Chicago PD. Those years taught him skills he’d rely on for the rest of his life, he knew when to beat someone within an inch of his life and when to almost burst into tears about how it was all just self-defense, when to decide someone was the kind of person that belonged on this street and when it’d best to give em a forceful reminder that they didn’t. Some would call him a bully, but that’s what made him so natural at it: in Mikey’s mind, he wasn’t a bully, he just had an eye for who needed fixin’ and the power to do it, and the world would be in shambles without guys like him. In normal times, it would all be smooth sailing, he just had to suck up to the right people and avoid any foul-up that would make the papers, but this was Chicago in the 60s. Even when social unrest had them short-staffed, they were always wary of putting Mikey on a riot detail because deescalation wasn’t a word in his vocabulary. Then came the day when he had to explain why he thought it was a good idea to put a bullet through the back of the head of an unarmed activist. Mikey walked into that meeting all confident, he had spent all night concocting a story, but Mikey’s last 45 minutes as a Chicago Police Officer would be spent having the lieutenant scream at him before ripping the badge straight off his uniform. The next day Mikey took a road trip to hit up every town between Minneapolis and Chicago large enough to have its own force. He gave them all the same pitch: he was a tough Chicago cop, so tough he could just breathe and see the crime rate drop as small-town punks went pale, and he was looking for a place with a slower pace of life and people with their head on straight. It took him hundreds of miles on his Dodge Polara before he hit 𝙼𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚊 and they bought into what he was selling. He quickly learned the rules: Don’t touch anything related to the steel mill, keep the punks out of the nice part of town, and always make be able to make a few quick arrests if people got feeling uneasy. Mikey had a good thing going, he learned which hoes were worth asking for freebies, which hustlers were dumb enough to keep cash on them that he could skim whenever he picked them up, which business owners would be willing to give a few extra dollars to a hardworking officer, and which people were the ones he could arrest whenever they needed someone to stick on a crime and needed someone plausible to arrest. The worst thing about life in Wisconsin was that people would sometimes hassle him for being a Bears fan. When the economy got tough and the layoffs began to mount, Mikey didn’t worry, he noticed that the extra cash he took in was a little lighter, but his gun and badge were just as heavy as ever, and all of the people he ticked off just accepted him as a fact of life. One day the chief called the whole department into one room, and the ones who read the paper already knew what it was about. Mikey didn’t and did his best to hide his bewilderment when they told them how many officers would have to be cut from the force for budgetary reasons. The atmosphere changed that day, because everyone knew whose name was going to be top of the chopping block. No matter how much he intimated that he had dirt on others, it was an empty threat; maybe some others weren’t on the up and up, but there was no doubt who had the most to lose if someone started looking into police affairs. So, Mikey had to start thinking about what he's going to do when he is no longer an officer. Is he gonna actually worry about how he’s gonna pay the bills, keep himself out of jail, and deal with the years of blowback that’s gonna be coming once the crooks realize he can’t back up any of his threats anymore, or is he just gonna go fishing and ignore the storm brewing in his life?
Cred	☞	"What good things can I say about Mikey? He's never gonna rat on me the chief cuz I know he's done worse, he's good for picking up tabs after work when he's in the mood, and I can bet he'll be ready to kick down a door and check my six if I tell him there's police action needed. What bad things can I say about him? Don't get me started." "Mikey's the kind of cop we need. I show him some money as a sign of respect and he makes sure any shoplifters know they'll be on crutches for weeks if they try my store. Only questions he asks is if I got the cash and who needs a lesson." "First lesson for crime reporters around here is to never believe a word Mike Dambrauskas says. If you want be a pulp novelist then go ahead, ask him about Chicago and he'll give you so much bullshit you could make a whole series out of it, but I'm printing the news not some 25 cent paperback. The moment you fact check his stuff you'll see everything he says comes straight from his head where he's some kinda hero who can do no wrong. Don't confront him about nothin' neither, that won't go well for anyone." "There is no such thing as a one time transaction with Mikey, if he figures out someone is good for money once, he’s gonna keep coming back again and again. Best you can do if you've got a racket and need his help is never let him know how good the money actually is, because he'll want more." "Fuck Mikey. Don't matter how much you pay, don't matter what he did in the past, if he's feeling the heat or mad about something he'll lock you up or beat the tar out of you in an instant. Flipping on him won't scare him either, he's lyingest sonuvabitch north of the state line, but when it comes to court they all act like that uniform means something and he'll get damn creative with his story on the stand." "Why ain't nobody ever laid a hand on Mikey? Because no matter how many times he backstabs someone, people know how the pigs are. Go after one of their own while he's still with 'em and they'll bring down hell on you. Nobody wants to throw their life away to because they got wronged by Mikey Fuckin' Drambrauskas, it's like setting your house on fire because you can't get that mouse infestation out."
Ilk	☞	THE ACTION IS THE JUICE, COULD'A HAD CLASS

[Mole]

@Mole Do you think my character would be a client of yours? If so, how would Joe contact Johnny? If you think they would be business associates, I'd love to DM you about some dialogue for my next post.

@JFK

I think Johnny would make a good frustrating dealer for Joe to have as a contact. We can discuss more in DMs.