Qas
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Server you were banned from?: SCP
Roleplay-Name?: Rick Lee
STEAMID?: STEAM_0:1:240356511
Admin's STEAMID?: STEAM_1:1:432557277
Admin's Name & Rank?: Azazel, Senior Admin at the time.
Evidence of Ban: Discord Invite.
Explanation of why you should be unbanned?: The reasoning of this ban was a follow up of multiple scenarios occuring in a single sitting, the case of this was after being warned for third person abuse, killing someone in a sit and using a discord invite to rage quit the server for good. It has been a good 2 years ever since the events occured and I believe I had learned from said mistakes, the discord link was an invite to a discord server which is pretty harmless to say the least.Anything else you would like to say on-to your case?: I will probably not be able to even play the server due to my scholarship, however if I'm able to, I would like to be able to join when the server comes out.
- Dr coomer, Nathan Dixon, Kinqu Kyle and 1 other
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4
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3 hours ago, Xunt said:
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Job shouldn't be it's own job but should be a secondary role people have alongside their actual character job (E.G: Researcher is also a member of ISD and is responsible for that department) This way it actually polices people with WL jobs and doesn't consist of power tripping children tac cuffing new players for making a mistake.
If it's a separate job it's actually an RP role instead of a combat job. Giving "Passive" disguises but also giving the job a weapon isn't going to lead to people not joining combat, it's going to lead to people disguising as non combat jobs and shooting raiders in the back because raiders won't shoot non com jobs. It's also going to lead to headaches for Security and MTF because these jobs attract the biggest grebs on the server who are going to start reeing about a Level 15 Security Guard (rightfully) arresting the Engineer with a gun, and ISD is meant to be super sekrit but also assumes everyone should immediately go along with arrests despite them not supposed to know what ISD really is IC.
Will also lead to CI just gunning non com jobs down because they don't want get detained or shot by one mid raid.
This guy said it better than I could.
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Á𝔡𝔞𝔢𝔳𝔞𝔳𝔞𝔬𝔫 𝔡𝔢á𝔤 𝔱𝔞𝔦. Ṭ𝔢𝔲𝔨𝔪𝔰𝔞𝔢 𝔱𝔞𝔦. 𝔇𝔲𝔳𝔱𝔞𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔞𝔦. Á𝔭á𝔡𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔲𝔱 𝔩𝔢𝔲𝔵 𝔵𝔦𝔭𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔞𝔦.
𝔗𝔦á𝔩ḳ 𝔢á 𝔱𝔞𝔦 𝔰𝔞𝔤𝔬𝔰á 𝔭á𝔡𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔲𝔱. 𝔗𝔢á𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔦𝔥𝔞𝔷𝔲. 𝔎𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔦ḳá𝔣á.
𝔗𝔦á𝔩ḳ ṭá 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔲 𝔱𝔞𝔦. 𝔐𝔞𝔦𝔵𝔢 ṭ𝔞𝔲𝔩𝔬𝔣𝔞𝔦 𝔰á𝔨𝔢𝔣𝔢 𝔡𝔢á𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔣𝔞𝔦. 𝔇𝔞𝔬š𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔞ṭá𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔢 á𝔭á𝔡𝔫𝔣𝔢𝔲𝔱 𝔟𝔞.
ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡. 𝔚𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔪𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔷𝔢𝔫 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔡. 𝔖𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔰𝔥 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔪𝔦𝔵𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔲𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔰. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰. ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔪, 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔡𝔬𝔤𝔰 𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔷𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔬𝔡𝔶 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯’𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔥.𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔢𝔤𝔤𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯, 𝔫𝔲𝔡𝔢. 𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔨𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔭𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔷𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔯 𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔬𝔣𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔱𝔲𝔡𝔦𝔬.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔲𝔭𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔠𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔥, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔠 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔬𝔣 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔯𝔱. ℌ𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔪𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔢𝔡, 𝔡𝔢𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰, 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔰, 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔢𝔰. ℑ𝔫𝔨 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔲𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔡 𝔱𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔟𝔶 𝔧𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔯𝔬𝔫 𝔩𝔢𝔤𝔰. ℑ𝔫𝔨 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔫.
𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢, 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡, 𝔤𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔬, 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔱.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔭𝔬𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔫 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫, 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨, 𝔭𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔬𝔡𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔦𝔣𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔦𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔰 𝔪𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔶.
𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔠𝔨𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱, 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔣𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔲𝔪, 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔧𝔬𝔶. 𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔨𝔦𝔫, 𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔢𝔰, 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔨 𝔬𝔣𝔣 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔫.
𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔢, 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩, 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔯𝔰, 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱’𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔯𝔡. ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤’𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱, 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱, 𝔱𝔥𝔲𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱-𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔡.
𝔄𝔠𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔡𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔲𝔪𝔟𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔠𝔞𝔩 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨.
𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔲𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨, 𝔭𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢, 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩, 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔯𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔷𝔢𝔫 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔲𝔱𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢. ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢, 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔶 𝔰𝔪𝔬𝔤-𝔰𝔪𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔡𝔞𝔴𝔫 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡, 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔲𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔴 𝔲𝔭 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔶.
𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔐𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔥, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔪𝔢.
“𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔲𝔰, 𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪𝔭𝔥,” 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢-𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡 𝔞𝔰 𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔫𝔬𝔴𝔶 𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔞𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔶, 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔤𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡. “𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔡 𝔤𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔡.”
ℌ𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥. 𝔗𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔰, 𝔣𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔤𝔬𝔩𝔡, 𝔰𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔯𝔬𝔫, 𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔷𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔢 𝔦𝔪𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔲𝔪𝔭𝔥 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔤𝔢.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢-𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔰. 𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢, 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶, 𝔣𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔰𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔰. 𝔈𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔰𝔬 𝔞𝔰 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔡 𝔞 𝔰𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔯 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔴𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶, 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔫.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢-𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯’𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔣𝔱 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔣𝔞𝔯 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔩 𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔰𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔠𝔲𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔞𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔲𝔭 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰, 𝔠𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔬𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔪𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔰. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩, 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔪𝔞𝔫, 𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔤𝔶. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔥 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔩𝔰𝔬 𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔪 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔣𝔣𝔢𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔍𝔞𝔡-𝔨𝔞𝔯 𝔇𝔞𝔯𝔨-𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔢𝔲𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔠, 𝔴𝔦𝔡𝔢-𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔅𝔢𝔯𝔤𝔬𝔫 𝔖𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔯, 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔣𝔲𝔩 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔒𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔥𝔫 𝔎𝔞𝔥𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔎𝔢𝔶𝔰, 𝔓𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔞𝔫 𝔇𝔞𝔦 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔯𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔰 ℌ𝔯𝔞𝔡𝔲𝔫, 𝔙𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔎𝔥𝔞𝔷𝔢𝔰, ℭ𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔵 𝔑𝔬𝔞𝔫, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔫𝔨, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔷𝔢𝔫𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔤𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩𝔰, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔱.
𝔖𝔲𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔞𝔯 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔰, 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔰: 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤-ℑ𝔫-𝔖𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔢𝔱, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤-ℑ𝔫-𝔄𝔩𝔩, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔈𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔗𝔢𝔵𝔱𝔰, 𝔐𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔪𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯-𝔐𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔯, 𝔊𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔶, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔄𝔩𝔩, 𝔐𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔉𝔦𝔰𝔱, ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔠 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔐𝔞𝔫𝔶-𝔉𝔞𝔠𝔢𝔡 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰.
𝔄 𝔤𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔡, 𝔣𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔶-𝔣𝔬𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔰. 𝔅𝔬𝔫𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔰 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔰, 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔢 𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔦𝔯 𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔤𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔴, 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔪𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔰. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔶 𝔲𝔭, 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔰𝔱, 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔦𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔤𝔬𝔡 𝔦𝔱𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔣. ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔩 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔲𝔫𝔰𝔢𝔱, 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔲𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔯𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢-𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔡, 𝔫𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔯𝔤𝔶 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔢𝔯. ℌ𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔩-𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔫, 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔫, 𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔞 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔶𝔬𝔫𝔡. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔴𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔞 𝔭𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔩𝔶 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔣𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔟𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔰.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢-𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔢, 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔤𝔞𝔷𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔲𝔩𝔩-𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔡𝔬𝔩 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢, 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 ℭ𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔵 𝔑𝔬𝔞𝔫 𝔰𝔪𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔰𝔥𝔲𝔣𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔶𝔞𝔯𝔡. 𝔉𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔟𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩’𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔲𝔭 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔰 𝔟𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔡, 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔢𝔤𝔰 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔩𝔢𝔡, 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔣𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔨𝔰. ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫, 𝔟𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰.
“𝔗𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢𝔰, 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔶 𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢, 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔶 𝔣𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢, 𝔞𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡,” 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔣 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔬𝔞𝔱 𝔣𝔩𝔲𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔠𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔷𝔢.
“𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔨𝔰, 𝔖𝔢𝔯 𝔈𝔲𝔱𝔪𝔲𝔫.” 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢-𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔠𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔰.
“𝔐𝔶 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔥𝔲𝔪𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔰,” ℌ𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔡, 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔭𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢. “𝔅𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔰𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔩𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢, 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰.” ℌ𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔞 𝔭𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰, 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔟𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱. “ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔞 𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩 𝔤𝔦𝔣𝔱.”
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔤𝔞𝔲𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔟𝔬𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢-𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯, 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔤𝔤𝔩𝔶 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯, 𝔡𝔦𝔯𝔱𝔶, 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔰𝔨𝔦𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔣𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔞𝔩, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔶 𝔲𝔭 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔴. 𝔖𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔞 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔣 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔱𝔬𝔭𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔭 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔷𝔢? ℜ𝔦𝔡𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰.
“ℑ𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔪𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔠𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔢, 𝔖𝔦𝔯 𝔈𝔲𝔱𝔪𝔲𝔫.”
“𝔑𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔩. 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔟𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡. ℌ𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔶 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔩 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔯. ℌ𝔢 𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔶𝔰 𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔩𝔶. 𝔄𝔰 𝔞 𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔭𝔞𝔶 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔣𝔱 𝔰𝔴𝔦𝔣𝔱𝔩𝔶.”
“𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔥𝔢?”
“𝔄 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱, 𝔬𝔯 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔪𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔳𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔰,” 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢-𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡, 𝔠𝔦𝔯𝔠𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢. “ℌ𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔙𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔶, 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔷𝔢 𝔤𝔬𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞 𝔯𝔬𝔠𝔨. 𝔄 𝔯𝔬𝔠𝔨! 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩 𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔨 𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔣𝔣 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰.”
“ℑ 𝔰𝔢𝔢. 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔡?”
“𝔅𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡’𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔡.”
𝔖𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔩 𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔩𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔬𝔲𝔱? 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔳𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔦𝔱 𝔣𝔦𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡’𝔰 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔢𝔩𝔱 𝔫𝔬 𝔫𝔢𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬. 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔡 𝔞 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔷𝔢.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨𝔢𝔡, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔫 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔡. ℑ𝔫 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢, 𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔨 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔡.
𝔖𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔲𝔦𝔩𝔱 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔢, 𝔞 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔯𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔞𝔯𝔟𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔲𝔩𝔣𝔲𝔯, 𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔥𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔶 𝔣𝔯𝔲𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔦𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔰, 𝔱𝔴𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔯𝔲𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔢𝔡, 𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔩𝔢, 𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯, 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔲𝔠𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔦𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔦𝔩𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔲𝔩𝔣𝔲𝔯 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔬𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔲𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔪𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡.
𝔄𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬 𝔐𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔥, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔪𝔢.
𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡. 𝔖𝔪𝔬𝔨𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔞 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔲𝔫𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔲𝔫 𝔞𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔩𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔤𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔰 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔷𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔰. 𝔉𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔯𝔞𝔫 𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫. 𝔓𝔦𝔩𝔩𝔞𝔯𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔥 𝔠𝔬𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔨𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔰, 𝔟𝔢𝔩𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔪𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔦𝔯. 𝔒𝔠𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔶, 𝔠𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔱 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔪𝔭𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔪𝔞𝔪𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔢𝔠𝔥𝔬 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔤𝔬 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔱.
ℑ𝔱 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔰 𝔦𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔩𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔡 ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔫 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔭 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶, 𝔴𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔱 𝔡𝔦𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥. 𝔖𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔢𝔣𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔞𝔩𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔶 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔩𝔡, 𝔰𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔰.
ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔫𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔫𝔬𝔴: 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔱𝔬𝔭 𝔞 𝔰𝔦𝔩𝔨 𝔟𝔢𝔡 𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢-𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔯, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔟𝔬𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡. 𝔄 𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔲𝔱𝔢 𝔦𝔫 𝔲𝔫𝔡𝔶𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔪𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔢𝔱 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔬𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔞 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔣 𝔯𝔢𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤.
ℌ𝔢 𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔞𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔬𝔩𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔯𝔬𝔫 𝔡𝔬𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔬𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔱. 𝔗𝔥𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔡𝔬𝔬𝔯𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔢𝔱𝔞𝔩 𝔠𝔯𝔲𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔰𝔲𝔢.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔦𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔳𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔢𝔯𝔞, 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔢𝔴𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔭𝔬𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔭𝔰𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔡𝔬𝔩𝔰. 𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔤𝔲𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰, 𝔞𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔶𝔱𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔦𝔱𝔢, 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰, 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰 𝔦𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔯𝔬𝔟𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔦𝔫 𝔭𝔦𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔰, 𝔥𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱.
“𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯,” 𝔞 𝔳𝔬𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔞𝔯. “ℑ 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔤𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔫𝔢𝔴 𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔰.”
“𝔜𝔢𝔰,” ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔫 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡. “𝔄𝔫𝔡 ℑ 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔢𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔴 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰.” 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞 𝔣𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔱, 𝔰𝔞𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔤𝔦𝔞 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔤𝔲𝔢 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫. ℌ𝔢 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔰𝔭𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔦𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔰𝔬 𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔤…
𝔄 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔲𝔯𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔡 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔢, 𝔴𝔞𝔩𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔭𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔞𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔤𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔪. 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔫 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢: 𝔢𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔴𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯-𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔢, 𝔰𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔢𝔡. 𝔚𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔬𝔬 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔶 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔰, 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔤 𝔧𝔞𝔴, 𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔥, 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯, 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔣𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔶 ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔫 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔦𝔳𝔢𝔯’𝔰 𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔨.
“ℑ 𝔡𝔦𝔡 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔢𝔵𝔭𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔰 𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔶.”
“𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔪𝔢 𝔞 𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔨𝔢𝔱. 𝔄 𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔰𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔡.” ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔫 𝔟𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔦𝔯, 𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔬𝔫 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡: 𝔨𝔥𝔲𝔨, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞 𝔰𝔩𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢. “𝔄𝔭𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔩𝔶 ℑ 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔞𝔫 𝔢𝔵𝔠𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔱 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔰𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔭𝔦𝔢𝔠𝔢.”
“ℑ𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔢𝔡.” 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩 𝔭𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔞 𝔪𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔶 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱. “𝔚𝔥𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢, 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯?”
“𝔗𝔬 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢.”
𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩 𝔰𝔥𝔬𝔬𝔨 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡.
“ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤’𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔰𝔭𝔢𝔩 𝔦𝔫 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔞𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯𝔶 𝔩𝔦𝔣𝔢 ℑ 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔴 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔡𝔰 𝔥𝔦𝔪 𝔣𝔲𝔯𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯. ℑ 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔪𝔶 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔬 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔟𝔶𝔰𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔢 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔩𝔢𝔣𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔳𝔞𝔤𝔢, 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔩. ℑ 𝔞𝔪 𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔢𝔡, 𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯. 𝔅𝔲𝔱 ℑ 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔡𝔬 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔢𝔣𝔱. ℑ 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔦𝔯𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔤𝔬𝔡𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔲𝔷𝔷𝔦𝔫𝔤, 𝔡𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔩 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔪𝔢.”
“𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔱𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔥𝔬𝔭𝔢.”
“𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 ℑ 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔢𝔯𝔳𝔢. 𝔐𝔦𝔫𝔡𝔩𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫. ℑ 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔬𝔪𝔢, 𝔡𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔶𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔙𝔬𝔦𝔠𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔏𝔦𝔣𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔡. 𝔑𝔬. 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫, 𝔱𝔬 𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔭𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢. 𝔗𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢. 𝔐𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢. 𝔗𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢𝔨 𝔞𝔫 𝔞𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱 ℑ 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔦𝔢𝔳𝔢.”
𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩 𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔢𝔡.
“𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔖𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔡. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔠𝔯𝔦𝔟𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔗𝔢𝔵𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔡 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔡. 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯-𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 ℭ𝔥𝔬𝔲-𝔡𝔞𝔥-𝔠𝔩𝔢𝔭𝔥 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔥𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔣𝔩𝔢𝔡. 𝔒𝔫𝔩𝔶 𝔐𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔫𝔰. ℌ𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔩𝔢𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫𝔰, 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔪𝔢…𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔨 𝔲𝔭𝔬𝔫 𝔪𝔢.” 𝔄 𝔭𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢. “ℑ𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔫𝔬𝔴. 𝔅𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔦𝔳𝔢.”
ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔫 𝔫𝔬𝔡𝔡𝔢𝔡. 𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔞𝔤𝔞𝔦𝔫, 𝔥𝔢 𝔨𝔫𝔢𝔴, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔣𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔪𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤. 𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔞𝔠𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔡, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥 𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫.
ℌ𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔴𝔞𝔶 𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔱𝔶 𝔡𝔬𝔬𝔯𝔴𝔞𝔶, 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔱 𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔠 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔯.
“𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯.”
ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔫 𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔨𝔢𝔡 𝔟𝔢𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔪.
“𝔊𝔬𝔡 𝔤𝔲𝔦𝔡𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥,” 𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔡.
“𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰.”
ℭ𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔫, 𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔄𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔙𝔬𝔦𝔠𝔢, ℭ𝔥𝔦𝔢𝔣 𝔓𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔓𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔙𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔶, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔐𝔲𝔯𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔯, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔲𝔯𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔚𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯𝔢𝔯, 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔡 𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱, 𝔪𝔬𝔳𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔢𝔰𝔱.
𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩, 𝔰𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔄𝔡𝔞𝔪𝔞𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔙𝔬𝔦𝔠𝔢, 𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔬𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔖𝔥𝔦𝔢𝔩𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔓𝔢𝔬𝔭𝔩𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔙𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔢𝔶, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔊𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱 𝔗𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔱𝔬𝔯, 𝔅𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔷𝔢 𝔊𝔬𝔡, 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔖𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔇𝔞𝔢𝔳𝔬𝔫, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔅𝔲𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔚𝔢𝔰𝔱, 𝔯𝔢𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰𝔱, 𝔰𝔞𝔱 𝔡𝔬𝔴𝔫, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰.
𝔖𝔲𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔲𝔫 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢.
𝔖𝔲𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔲𝔫 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢.
𝔖𝔲𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔲𝔫 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢.
𝔖𝔲𝔫 𝔰𝔢𝔱, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔲𝔫 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢.
𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔥𝔞𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔢. 𝔐𝔢𝔫 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔰𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔲𝔰𝔨𝔢𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔴𝔞𝔯-𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔰 𝔣𝔩𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔦𝔤𝔥 𝔱𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔠𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔫, 𝔞 𝔤𝔬𝔡.
𝔄𝔟-𝔏𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰, 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬𝔬𝔨 𝔲𝔭 𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔰𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡.
𝔐𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔥, 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℌ𝔬𝔯𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤 ℭ𝔯𝔬𝔴𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔦𝔫 𝔖𝔥𝔞𝔪𝔢, 𝔴𝔞𝔰 𝔭𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢𝔡.
Father,
After searching for months or perhaps years, I have found dozens of them. Lost among the Nälkän pigs, they cowered fearfully before their slave-god, unaware of the glory of their birthright. I have no doubt that these acolytes will serve our purposes well. Promises of knowledge and wisdom excite and enthrall them. How many of our people has time erased? How many more are shackled in the darkness of the jailers' vaults? How long have we labored under the yokes of lesser men whose greatest achievement is the mere division of motes of dust in the furnace of being?
I do my best to remember patience, but I hunger for the days to come. The Tome may be lost to us, but there are copies which are bound to it. If one can be found, it may yet be possible to bring about the future we were promised.
Father,
Rome was ever an enemy of us. Their stolen gods mocked our legacy. And by their ascension was our final fall ensured. Curse their names eternally. I shall yet paint red the pages of history and cleanse them of the Roman perversion. Pity that the good work before mine must be discarded in darkness eternal. There must be a way to open that rift again. Those former Nälkä who reside with me now may know something, but the hatred of their slave-god is more likely by half to have twisted the truth above preserving it. But there are other adherents of the ancient rites in this world which remain…
Father,
My instincts have been confirmed and my faith grows yet stronger. I have found a copy of the Sacred Tome in the hands of the Broken. Seven of their rank joined our number today and delivered it as an offering to their Priest. These Broken are suspicious of the Nälkä; an old hatred stirs in their hearts. But they can be directed. From the fires of that hatred I will reforge that which was lost.
Of the Tome: it ends with Rome's ascent, as I had feared. But it hints at a place where the wheel of fate may be tipped. The man Hannibal and his armies held the nascent Romans over their knee and nearly destroyed that bastard republic. If he can be reached - strengthened, brought into the fold - then we may ride the tide of history to the present; our influence will be as absolute as the stepchildren of the Latin tongue. I am certain of it.
Father,
The Broken know the sacred bronze. Not merely how to craft it but how to forge it and mold it into whatever shape they desire. Of this the Nälkä are cautious; so used to flesh and bone are they that they have forgotten. I have instructed them to sleep with an ingot each beneath their pillows that they might come to understand it as I have. Those which do not? Well… our temple will need a foundation…
Father,
Groundbreaking today. I have my foundation. Five souls ought to do it, one in the center and one at each cardinal point. I hope Daevon will look upon this blood offering with favor in the time ahead. The heat which rises from our little pits assures me that he does.
The Broken continue their work on the divine machine their ancestors forbade them from building, and the remaining Nälkä are working with them on the arts of flesh. I wish you could see it, Father. The things they are creating. It's everything you've ever told to me and better. I can hear the spheres singing in the presence of their handiwork. Colors I had but imagined in dreams and visions before now dance in our workshops daily as the children ready themselves for the rite ahead.
For I have done it, Father. I've divined the secret of the Tome. Our solution is less elegant, perhaps, but draws from the same rhythmic music of the sacred bronze, powered by creation, and struck in concert to actualize the prayer. A suitable offering, however, and setting… This may perhaps be more difficult to obtain.
Father,
The genius of the ancients was boundless.
I had suspected the answer lay somewhere in the collected memories of ourselves and our bastard children, and fate has proven me correct. It is an ancient prayer, in a language lost to time. But squirreled away in the minds of the flesh-crafters and the machinists, its purpose has been found. The Harvest of Bone, that ancient year end rite, is a vehicle of manifestation. Those offerings of flesh and blood did no such paltry thing as win us favor with the gods, but manifested our Empire's destiny in spite of them. With proper alignment, my life's work will be completed, and my glory shall surpass even yours.
Father,
It is done. The offering has been plucked from the herd of man. She exceeds perfection. And with the flesh-crafters' eye to anatomy and the machinists' divine artifice, we cannot lose.
Papa,
Blackness. Rot. Our triumph dashed to rubble. All is ash. The sky is broken, I was sure it would herald our victory. Instead, we have been defiled.
I saw it so clearly… Why? Why hast Daevon left me?
Father,Daevon hast heard my cries, the great suffering is no more, we're once more victorious. My glory has granted me Immortality. My acolytes, whispers of the old gods, shall begin the holy reclamation, a new era for the great empire. Daevon lives!
RP-Name: Bataar Al-Qaher
Job-Name: Acolyte of The Chosen
Model: Trench Coat - Cultist
Equipment: Knife - Avem Syringe
Abilities: Whispers Of Daevon - Great Shifting
Purpose:
A never done before character [I hope] of the Daevite empire, High Priest Khazaard Bin Alarath has been chosen to be the next Immortal of the god Daevon after the events of SCP-5711 have been reverted by a copy of SCP-140 that allowed their fate to change rather than get ultimately killed, the first page shows the tale of the old Daevite empire before it's collapse, in this happening the ritual of Khazaard has been ruined, but revived by the copy of SCP-140.
Khazaard would continue his duties by sending his acolytes to multiple regions of the world from the Middle East, Asia and America to fulfil the duties, revert the world to a new Daevite Empire, enslave the Sarkics, free the high lords of Alagadaa and more.
This character will interact with every single player on the server, whether it's a normal Security Guard to SCP-076, SCP-682 and more. With coordination with Event Planners, Daevite events might occur to bring interesting concepts to the server.To make the abilities fair and not random (Avem Syringe) The Great Shifting will require 2 Sacrifices/Offerings to Daevon for a single use.
While Whispers Of Daevon will require 4 Sacrifices/Offerings to Daevon to fully affect a person and let them be under the control until dismissed.
If these requirements are not fulfilled, after a certain amount of time the magic will no longer work and the affected victim will return back to their normal state.
Meaning if 3 Sacrifices are given and Whispers are attempted, they're only for a certain amount of time and not fully/till dismissed.
Same thing with the Shifting, if only 1 Sacrifice is given then after a certain amount of time they'll return back to their original form.
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3 hours ago, Kaneki Frost said:
Mate this is going to help so many new players.
Very useful, cheers.
Make it Official as in server popup like ad's so it's actually useful yes yes thanks
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Internal Security Department
“A Foundation within the Foundation”ISD is a concealed "foundation within the Foundation", a secret police force responsible for filtering traitors as well as operational and information security risks among the Foundation's ranks. The department is strictly hierarchical, adhering to stringently defined multi-stage investigative protocol. Potential ISD agents must have a perfect service record and a length of Foundation service of more than a year. Usually, every ISD agent keeps his "official" position in order to provide his command a first-hand account of everything happening in a given department. The very existence of ISD is usually presented as a myth. The "official" responsibility of ISD is investigation and interrogation of captured GOI agents, although that part of ISD officially belongs to the Security Department for the purpose of secrecy.
Equipment
Loadout:
Tactical Restraint - Police Handcuffs - Elastic Restraints - MP9 - Various Pistols - CSI Swep - Face Scanner - Weapon Checker - Disguise Vendor
-OOC Section -Explanation:
This character will work closely with the Central Security Bureau - Foundation Administration - O5 Council - E-11 Senior Commanders.
Filtering traitors as well as operational and information security risks among the Foundation's ranks, mainly assisting the CSB as the undercover force of the Security Department, while also helping Foundation Administration and E-11 in their objectives in ensuring the Site's Security and Personnel's Safety.This will also serve the O5 Council in tasks only the ISD would be able to perform eg. Intelligence and Covert Operations.
Steam Name: Qas
RP Name: Yahya Qasem [Rick Lee]
SteamID: STEAM_0:1240356511
In game level: 50
Playtime(At least one week): 5W - 7D -
Server you got banned from: SCP-RP
Your name in-game: Rick Lee
Your SteamID: STEAM_0:1:240356511
Admins' name that banned you: Viktor (Requested by Norra)
Admin's steamID: no
Why did you get banned?:
Evidence(Un-necessary): N/A
Why do you deserve to be unbanned?:
Well I'm not sure how I'm gonna put it but uhh, after sitting on my ass for about a month I've realized how a bit of an ass that response was and the action of joining back after getting kicked.
Therefore I'd like to apologize, mainly to Norra since he got the reply, for making that little shitpost as I feel it didn't do any harm other than making Norra and Xunt despise me even more before doing it. (Which I feel it will get this denied but oh well)
Anyways, hopefully this's enough to be considered an apology as I'm unsure of what else to add to it, so uh yeah.
I'd also like to go back to updating the Player Guide I made as Nell took over it and I'm unsure if he still wishes to continue.
Response to the last denied reason, imagine this:
You, a player who got banned from one of the most servers you play on, just heard that for whatever reason the ban cache got wiped, so like any curious person you wanna see if that was the case. And it was, you get on to play either normally or just to minge, but you get on to play normally and then leave on good terms.
Now if you think about it, yes it is an attempt to bypass the ban, but seeing as no intent to fuck with anything on the server like attempting to crash it, MRDM or exploiting in anyway. Maybe a second chance could be given? The ban reason was because of pure mockery and didn't really hurt anyone expect me. Making me look like a dipshit like stated above even after getting warned of it by Norra in discord.
So I ask for a second chance to prove my self that this kind of behavior won't happen again, any kind of offense from me will be met with whatever punishment staff consider it necessary until I become trusted again I guess?
Good day.
- Rick Lee- Joe Conner, Nathan Kennedy, Nell and 3 others
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18 minutes ago, Jason Haze said:
I don’t see why an explanation is necessary here. Literally can’t do anything with a pistol. Even if you do have the element of surprise and shoot someone in the back of the head and don’t miss at all they have time to move and pull their weapons out and shoot back. Not to mention if you don’t surprise someone and you unwillingly engage in combat, you’re fucked.
and don’t use the excuse “but ci are too op”. No, we’re not, we play better than you. Foundation outnumbers us 10-1, has better equipment and weapons and can completely nullify the effects of gas grenades with gas masks which requires one job to do. Not to mention the riot shields, m203 and others, but WE are too op...
please change this, it wasn’t necessary.
The point of CI Infil is to basically gather info, be a double agent and be useful for the Delta, Shocks and Operatives before they decide to attack the Foundation, you're given shit weapons for that reason, not to mention MC&D exists so you can buy some nice guns to make you better at combat. Each Infil has their own raid timer from what I remember, so they can basically plan and do whatever the hell they want without the main strike force interrupting them.
How about making your objective meaningful rather than wasting by basically doing a fuck all shoot em up scenario, make your own RP, try something new rather than doing the same thing over and over and over. Disguises exist for a reason, and a nice one is Researcher and Field Agent (If you're not retarded with the disguise that is).
Yes getting into the site is already a nightmare, but if you do get in, don't ruin the chance.
The amount of RP you can do with Researcher and Field Agent is fucking amazing but no ones really taking advantage of it. Take for example when this mofo "Richgun" or the CI Main that called himself "The Archivist" don't really remember his fucking name, we did stuff that basically was the purpose of CI by creating chaos and scare the living fuck out of Foundation, an example of this is basically making a fake ORIA threat in the city and combining the use of grenades and other nice cheeky shit.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1id9G12LhM5ruj1ddkqbXaA1i--UTIHksFeXZoDCu6oI/edit?usp=sharing
The point is, you're a not entirely a combat unit, think of it as GOC Assessment Team, you gather info, do your own thing that won't compromise you, help your mates when they need you, make your own RP and have fun.
Don't give yourself brain damage. -
/setjob
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Server you got banned from: SCP-RP
Your name in-game: Rick Lee
Your SteamID: STEAM_0:1:240356511
Admins' name that banned you: Viktor (Requested by Norra)
Admin's steamID: no
Why did you get banned?:
Evidence(Un-necessary): N/A
Why do you deserve to be unbanned?:
Well I'm not sure how I'm gonna put it but uhh, after sitting on my ass for about a month I've realized how a bit of an ass that response was and the action of joining back after getting kicked.
Therefore I'd like to apologize, mainly to Norra since he got the reply, for making that little shitpost as I feel it didn't do any harm other than making Norra and Xunt despise me even more before doing it. (Which I feel it will get this denied but oh well)
Anyways, hopefully this's enough to be considered an apology as I'm unsure of what else to add to it, so uh yeah, thanks for reading and have a good day! -
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Hello peeps, haven't posted here for a while.
Been having this weird glitch where it says I've been "permabanned" and discord invites don't work!!!! That's pretty weiiiiiiiiiiiird!
Now I need a nice candidate to be useful and start updating this on my behalf till I find fix for glitch!!!!!
If you're interested, do pm me.
- Qas#2557 (Discord)- kenopsia, Gary, Windows XP and 1 other
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36 minutes ago, Avery Winters said:
-OOC Section -
Steam Name: DLEtna
RPname: Avery Winters
SteamID: STEAM_0:0:87998391
In game level: 50
Playtime(At least one week): 1 Week + (Evidence: https://www.gametracker.com/player/DLEtna/208.103.169.212:27015/)Amount of Warns and the reason of why they were given: 1 Warn for FailRP. Given in 21st Nov of 2019? (Unsure due to AWarn Window)
- IC Section -
(CV's on next three pages.)
Opening.... File: Alex Benson's CV.pdf
Comment: Applicant Rejected. ISD already holds a presence within the Engineering Department. As well as a lack of interpersonal skills.Opening.... File: MY FIRST DRAFT(fu this shit).pdf
Comment: No. "Empathy: Expert"Opening.... File: Vincent Gaumond Curriculum vitae.pdf
Comment: Flagged for suspicious behaviour. Duplicate Entry.
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1 hour ago, Fayne™ said:
Mate wtf is this threat lol
-1 but that goes without saying
Imagine acting like a Karen on a SCP-RP server
Pathetic -
Hello, all O5 slots are full.
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30 replies, 2 pages and hot in an hour
good sirs I congratulate both of you. -
6 minutes ago, Jason Ray said:
anomaly cloak, gen1 or gen2?
Anomaly, Gen 1 would be nice too
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Someone suggested same ting and got accepted, it's happening but not on their high priority list.
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Welcome back gamer, here have this, stay updated: Player Guide.
- Asteria Silver and popbob
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Major Update
- Added new rule set.
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Qas Unban Request
in Unban Requests
Posted
ban list getting wiped, close this.