#james bond movies

[mjmikaelson]

OH. MY. GODS!!!

NEED THIS TO HAPPEN!!!!

[caribbean1989]

Ben Wishaw as Q in Skyfall (2012)

[thetimetravellercat]

James Bond (Daniel Craig movies) fandom, I need your help!

I've started writing a fanfic for the James Bond (Daniel Craig movies) fandom and I've got a puzzling question for you all if you may:

do people give Q a first and last name in their fanfics?

has the fandom adopted an official first name/last name for Q?

From my research, it doesn't look like Q's got an official name in universe, but what do you guys do within the fandom?

Thank you for helping me with this! 💚

[batmandarkknightuniverse]

Goldfinger(1964 Film)60th Anniversary

[mirriorball]

jane seymour, actress & former bond girl ✩

[silence-burns]

Midnight Snack

Fandom: James Bond movies

Q scratched his cheek and paused—he had oil on his fingers. He sighed, but didn't move to wipe it off. He was alone in the lab, like most days, and the chances of anyone dropping by in the middle of the night were slim.

He should’ve gone home hours ago, but the prospect of being faced with familiar dull walls and a silence broken only by the few meows of his cats wasn’t enticing. The downpour of rain and perpetually gray skies had put his cats into an almost hibernating state these past few days. His habit of playing with them before bed was put on hold, but he didn’t blame the cats—he understood, the past few days had been rough on him too.

Although it may have seemed it, Q wasn't a fanatic at his job. He appreciated the stability and various opportunities it provided him with, but he preferred to leave it behind once his shift was over. 

He noticed midnight passing a few minutes ago, the clock one of the few sounds in his lab. He should've gone home, but his mind would be able to wander there, towards things that would only bring more pain. He’d had enough of sleepless nights leaving him more exhausted than when he’d laid down. 

In the lab, he could at least be productive.

Q pulled the mechanism further apart. Being productive was a great thing while working for MI6, as it divided the few outstanding employees from the masses. It should've been a good thing to have those employees rewarded with new opportunities, right? 

Even when it meant taking them away.

Q tossed the screwdriver onto the desk with a clank. His chest hurt again. He couldn't be free from those thoughts even in his own lab.

He leaned over his desk, forehead resting on his crossed arms. The main principles of working at a place like this had always seemed so simple to him. Do your job. Keep your eyes and ears open. Don't get attached to anyone.

He had failed, rather spectacularly, at the last point.

The elevator doors opened with a ding that echoed sharply in the silent lab. Q wiped his face vigorously, trying to wipe away any sign of what had been bothering him. The last thing he needed was questions he didn't want answered.

Q froze when he noticed it was you who entered. His eyes jumped to the bruises and cuts on your face. Only then did he notice a cake in your hands. 

“You look like shit,” you said, nodding to the grayish smudges on his face.

“Have you looked in a mirror recently?” Q raised his eyebrows. “Did you get run over by a truck?”

“A taxi.”

“Should've called an Uber.”

“I'll be smarter next time. Care to join me?”

Q followed you to a cozy corner behind the shelves where the two of you had hidden a few chairs and a set of colorful lights over the last couple of years. Somehow, it turned into storage for all the things you might need while avoiding responsibilities during your breaks. It was better than going back to the more official part of the building.

Q sat down next to you, wondering how many of those trinkets you'd take with you after your promotion.

The cake looked pretty, although a little beaten down. He wondered where you got it in the middle of the night. Last he checked, bakeries in the area closed during the evening.

He took the offered fork. 

"This place is going to feel emptier without you. When are you leaving?"

"Technically my plane is in a few hours, since we've already crossed midnight."

"A shame. Good choice for breakfast, though." Q made a small salute with the fork.

"I'm a genius, I know. Whatever will you do without me?"

"Probably finish my projects faster, since there won't be anyone breaking the test versions."

You gasped dramatically. "How rude, my dearest Quartermaster! I was only making sure they would adapt to field conditions."

“Just like your face did? Those are going to be some magnificent bruises by the time you get to the airport. You will surely make a grand entrance.”

You shrugged, leaning back in your armchair. It creaked loudly, always one wrong move away from completely breaking down, but you got used to it so much it felt like the most comfortable place in the world. For many years it was, after all.

The cake was half gone, but you barely tasted it. Q seemed too engrossed by whatever thoughts made his brows furrow to notice all the crumbles landing on his vest. He made quick progress on the cheap cake, despite it not being up to his usual tastes. It's a strange thing, how much you can learn about a person throughout a few short years, starting with the way they leave for home and ending in their favorite flavors of cake.

“I'm sure they would've been charmed by my endless grace and wit, but they will have to live the rest of their sorry lives without it.” 

It took Q a while before he turned to face you, almost choking on the fork. “Am I missing something?”

You chuckled, stealing the last bite of cake. Somehow, it tasted better than the rest.

"You'd miss me a lot if I took that position, so I've decided to stay. For someone so intelligent, you really are dumb sometimes, my dear Quartermaster."

Q looked at the empty box and at the fork. For the first time in the last few weeks, his head was positively, completely empty. 

"You're such an asshole," finally came out of his mouth.

"I know."

"I hope another taxi uses your face as a parking lot."

"I'm sure you'd make a video out of—"

Q's hand found the side of your face, wrapping gently around your cheek and smearing oil over it. But it was only a fleeting concern, and was soon gone when he pulled you close and firmly put his lips against yours.

Once he pulled back, Q took in your dazed expression with a satisfied smile. “Glad to have you back, agent.”

[drpsps]

Silva being a like a panther who dyed his fur partially gold to disguise himself as a tiger…

Animal-ing characters is my hobby now guys

[jeandejard3n]

007 Back to the Highlands

[callsign-scully]

𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

𝘫𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘹 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧, 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘯𝘹𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺

𝙖/𝙣: 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳. 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨 𝘰𝘣𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯.

·.·´¯`·.·★·.·´¯`·.·

𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗀𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿. 𝖨𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗆𝗂𝗑𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝖺, 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗆𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝖾.

𝖴𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿. 𝖮𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝖺𝖽𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒. 𝖸𝖾𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄, 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗂𝖺𝗅.

𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗄𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝖾𝖼𝗁𝗈𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗒’𝗌 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝖾: 𝘉𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘥.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝖽. 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗇𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝖺𝗋𝖼𝖺𝗌��𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗎𝗌𝗎𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗉𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝗄𝗅𝖾𝗌.

𝖳𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖼𝖾𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗒’𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌, 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. 𝖨𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗒𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇.

𝖧𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿.

𝖸𝖾𝗍, 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽. 𝖨𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝖺 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗂𝖾𝗐. 𝖠𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌, 𝗈𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋.

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗒𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌. 𝖮𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗇 𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗋𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝖨𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽. 𝖨𝗍 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗌𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗒 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗈𝖺𝗅.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝗂𝖽 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗂𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗋, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗎𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋. 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄, 𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽’𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗇𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖿𝗂𝖾𝗅𝖽𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝖿𝗎𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾.

𝖠𝗅𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽, 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖻𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗋𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖠 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗇𝗎𝗆𝖻 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝖻𝗎𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗅𝗈��𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽, 𝗌𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒. 𝖲𝗎𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝗓𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗁𝗈𝗍, 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍, 𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝖥𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽. 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗋. 𝖠 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖬𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗋. 𝖧𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗀𝗈 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆.

𝖲𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗉𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗑𝗁𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽, 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗄𝖾. 𝖠 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝖻 𝗐𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒, 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗒. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗍𝗁, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌.

𝖠 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝖾, 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾, 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗌𝗁 𝗁𝗎𝗆𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌. 𝖠𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖺𝗉𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽, 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗋𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇.

𝖰 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝖺 𝗉𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌. 𝖧𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾. 𝖥𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌, 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖰, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗈 𝗇𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇— 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗄𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁— 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖰’𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾.

𝖮𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖾𝖾𝗓𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗎𝗍, 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗎𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗋𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖺, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄, 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗓𝗈𝗇, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝗈𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝖾���𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗎𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒.

𝖰 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝖾𝗀𝗌 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍. 𝖧𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾. 𝖧𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖮𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽.

𝖸𝖾𝗍, 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿. 𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽’𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗇𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗍 𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝖨𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾.

𝖨𝗍 𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗂𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗀𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝖾, 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇. 𝖶𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖽𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍, 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗄𝗌.

𝖡𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝖰 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍, 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝖰 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅. 𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾. 𝖨𝗍 𝗄𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗄𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗃𝗈𝖻 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽.

𝖲𝗈, 𝖰 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒. 𝖧𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋��𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗎𝗉𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗇.

𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗋, 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖽𝗀𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝖺𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗀𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝖻���𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖺𝗀𝗈. 𝖨𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗇, 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖻𝗈𝗑𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖺𝗍 𝗎𝗇𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗅𝖺𝖻𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖽 ‘𝟢𝟢𝟫’.

𝖳𝗐𝗈 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝖺𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝖺, 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗑 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗍. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗏𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗄𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗎𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽’𝗌 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺 𝗀𝗅𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗎𝗉 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝗄𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗍𝗈-𝗀𝗈 𝖼𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝖺𝗅 𝖼𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗀𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌. 𝖨𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝖩𝖺𝗇𝗎𝖺𝗋𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗅𝗄 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋. 𝖠𝗅𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁, 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝖺𝖽𝗆𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗂𝗇 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝗋 𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗌. 𝖳𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗍𝗂𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖻 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗐 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 (𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽), 𝖺 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖺𝗋𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗃𝖺𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗀𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎.

𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝖼𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇 𝗎𝗇𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗂𝖺𝗋 𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗆 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾. 𝖨𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗄𝗋𝖺𝖿𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝗈𝗐 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽’𝗌 𝖽𝗎𝖻𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖠𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗎𝗇𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍, 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖺𝖻𝖾𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖺𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝖺 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄.

𝖢𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗋𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗌. 𝖠 𝗌𝗈𝖻 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖿𝗂��𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺𝗂𝗋, 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗋𝗈𝗅, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗀𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽.

𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝖽𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝖾𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖲𝗎𝗇. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗇𝖾.

𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖻𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾, 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽. 𝖭𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄, 𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗈𝗆 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾.

𝖠𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝖼𝗋𝗒 𝖾𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗉𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗑. 𝖶𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝖾𝖽. 𝖲𝗈, 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗂𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗈𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝖺.

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝗐𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖻𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗉𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖰 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗀𝖺𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌. 𝖲𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗑𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗃𝗈𝖻, 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗈𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗉𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗅𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾.

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇. 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗁. 𝖤𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍-𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗅𝖾𝗇. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽. 𝖨𝗍 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗀𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖾𝗑𝗂𝗌𝗍. 𝖭𝗈𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽.

𝖠 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗑 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝗇𝗎𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖺𝗍��𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗂𝗇. 𝖧𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖺𝗀 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗀𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗂 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗋𝖺 (𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾), 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗂𝗍.

𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆, 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖠𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗑, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗎𝗍.

𝖠𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖾𝗅𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗀𝗂𝖿𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗋𝗈��� 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖺 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗈𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗁𝗌 𝗈𝗇. 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽, 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝗈𝗑 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗀𝗈𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽.

𝖨𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝗅𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝖽𝖺𝗒. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖺 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖬𝖨𝟨 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖲𝖼𝗈𝗍𝗅𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗇 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐 𝗎𝗉 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗒. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇’𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾.

𝖲𝗈, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗋𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌. 𝖠𝗇𝗒 𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗅𝗒 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗋 𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖺𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗑𝗂𝖾𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝖻𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽, 𝗅𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋.

𝖠𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝗐 𝖺 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝖻𝗈𝗑. 𝖲𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗍-𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗅𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗉. 𝖳𝗐𝗈 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗍. 𝖮𝗇𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗆𝗂𝗑𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗅𝖺𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗌𝗈 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖠 𝗆𝗎𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 ‘𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾’ 𝗀𝗂𝖿𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖡𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖵𝖾𝗇𝗂𝖼𝖾.

𝖶𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 ��𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾. 𝖲𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗅𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗆𝗌 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖻𝗒 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗑, 𝗋𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾. 𝖲𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 𝗏𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗌, 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗄. 𝖤𝗂𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾.

𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗎𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝖾𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅 𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗑. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖻𝖻𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗏𝖾𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾. 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍, 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖺𝗏𝗒 𝖻𝗈𝗑. 𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗐𝗂𝗇, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝖾𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝖺𝗅𝖾𝖽.

𝖠 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗒 𝖺𝗀𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗁 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖻𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖽𝗂𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌. 𝖥𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗑, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗂𝗍. 𝖳𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝗊𝗎𝗂𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗃𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍 𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗇𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗈𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒.

𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋, 𝖾𝗑𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝗑𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗇𝖾. 𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖽𝗋𝗈𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖼𝖾, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗎𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗀𝗋𝖺𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌.

𝖳𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖿 𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝗆. 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗒 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗍𝖼𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗄 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍, 𝗀𝖺𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝗏𝗂𝗏𝖾. 𝖤𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗇𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗋, 𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗁.

𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺��𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗄𝖾𝗇 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖽, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖩𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖺 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗒.

[cressida-jayoungr]

Poster showing the most iconic "Bond Girl" outfits from Dr. No through Spectre. There's a film-by-film guide with reference photos here.

I question a few of their choices, though: how could they neglect Fiona Volpe's turquoise dress with matching boa, for example?

[caribbean1989]

Ben Wishaw as Q in Skyfall (2012)

[thetimetravellercat]

So, this was supposed to be a 'short' idea, and instead it turned into a fully fledged story I'm quite proud of and that I really loved writing; I can only hope you will like it as much as I did 💚

Tags: Crossover, Fake/Pretend Relationship, oops everybody's got feelings, Eventual Polyamory, Polyamory, Trans Male Character, Trans Israel Hands, Schadenfreude, as a treat, Light Angst, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Banter, Implied/Referenced Sex, Finding your home, Finding Your Family, Fluff, Happy Ending

Summary:

Q has tried short of everything to get Bond to stop running away from his feelings for him.

Desperate, running out of options and not wanting to give up and have regrets for the rest of his life, Q enlists the help of one Izzy Hands, top mechanic of the MI6 and recently divorced from Ed Teach, a 00 spy who cheated on him with a target, the rich Stede Bonnet, and who had the audacity to invite him to his wedding to Bonnet on top of it.

Their goals are simple: Q hopes to make Bond jealous enough that he will face his feelings and confess his love to him, Izzy wants to show his ex he can be more than happy without him and piss him off in the process.

But what happens when it all becomes a little more than they can chew and feelings get involved?

A story about three men finding love together.

No particular knowledge of either show is really necessary to be able to enjoy this.

[batmandarkknightuniverse]

Goldfinger(1964 Film)Andres Pop Culture Guy Retrospective/Reviews

[archerygun]

James Bond movie concept

James Bond. Unsurprisingly, another one of my hate obsessions. I know an absolutely unreal amount of Bond trivia for someone who hates the films. But I’ve formed a sort of Stockholm Syndrome about them, and part of that revolves around my obsession with how I’d make them good (or just personally appealing to me as a piece of cinema).

LET’S GO.

So, back in the 60s-maybe 70s if we’re pushing it (because I know Roger Moore is an icon - HE NAMED GEORGE LAZENBY AS A TOP THREE BOND, LOOK, I GIVE HIM MY RESPECT FOR THAT AT LEAST), James Bond is called to tackle another villain who’s built a mysterious machine believed to be a superweapon MI6 isn’t totally sure about yet. A mixture of recon and destruction.

Bond fights the villain, he’s about to win, but Villain (nameless cos I’m lazy) activates the machine. 007 is officially pronounced missing.

Flash forward to the modern day.

A man turns up at MI6 headquarters, demanding to see M. He says he has important information for him, and claims to be ‘007’ - a sign that definitely doesn’t belong to him. They look the man up, probably to send him home, but they can’t find a single thing about him ANYWHERE.

The documents on Bond, and what he was fighting against, have all been super duper sealed, and everyone in his MI6 died and took the knowledge with them. He’s been wiped from history, pretty much. We’re a good nation at hiding things. So while MI6 work to unseal old documents, they reluctantly assign Bond to the mission of taking down Villain, who has also mysteriously reappeared and is being a massive Pain In The Arse.

(The machine in question somehow freezes the two in stasis; the level of threat posed to the world and villain’s motivation? You decide.)

Cue average time-travel comedy beats (mostly contributed by my friend who I bounced this idea off of).

“Wow, Q! You’ve really outdone yourself! What is this astonishing machine!?”

“Bond, this is an iPhone.”

Can:

Kill anyone within a mile radius

Speak several languages fluently

Fiddle with specialised equipment

Fly a jetpack

Can’t:

Coffee machine

“You’re telling me you disarmed a nuclear rocket and you need help because you changed your phone’s language to Japanese and can’t change it back.”

“THE ROCKET DIDN’T HAVE TOUCH-SCREEN.”

Bond still operates on what was considered ‘inconspicuous’ in 1969 and shows up to an undercover op in full florals and flares. “You said it was a party. I’m just trying to blend in!”

M is going to be losing her mind. Q might die of frustration. It would be glorious. Lean into the weird family dynamic MI6 has in older Bond movies. Hell, no romance. Just 2 hours of “What do you mean, ‘CPR’?”

[justpendule]

I did not expect Moriarty the Patriot to have so many James Bond references, but I'm absolutely delighted by it.

For instance, in the fifth chapter, when William talks with Blitz Enders, he explains that his brother is working for a company called Universal Trade, even though we know that Albert is now the head of a newly-formed hidden government agency called the MI6.

Well, it turns out that, in the James Bond movies, the agent's Secret Intelligence Service known as MI6 is concealed to the public eye and disguised as a company called "Universal Exports".

I don't think it can count as just a nod to James Bond at this point, but it's so funny to notice the little details!!!