⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀   ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀   ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

024.
THAT WAS THE WORST.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀   ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
   The darkness was...

Welcoming? Terrifying? Unnerving?

   ...dark?

   Kennedy clung to Thomas' hand. It made her feel a tad like an infant, but she could care less. They were smothered in darkness; a thick, black smog that blinded them. She couldn't see him, but the feeling of his finger entangled with hers reassured her he was there and hadn't left her alone.

   She had never trembled in the dark, until now. Kennedy wasn't known to be afraid of it, but right now, the girl was totally terrified.

   Kennedy supposed it was more a fear of the unknown.

   That was normal when you couldn't see anyone, right? If not for the chorus of heavy breaths and chattering teeth, perhaps she was likely to think everyone was gone. It was so dark, she couldn't see a wiggle of her own fingers in front of her face, let alone another few dozen of gladers stood around her. Kennedy could only imagine it was as scary for them as it was for her, and she was certain she had heard Chuck whimper from somewhere, before Teresa hushed the noises, gently. Was it reassuring that she was as scared as a child? He was young, and fear was natural for him. Kennedy couldn't help it when she thought that fear was natural for her, too. Sure, Kennedy was older than Chuck, but she was still a kid. They were all kids, as scared as kids could get, and she wouldn't have blamed any of their group for crying.

   Her cheeks were soaked.

   Tears fell freely, streaming, and she made no effort to stop. They had just lost more boys, she had lost Jeff, and Kennedy wasn't sure how to handle all of that. Not now. Maybe not ever. She couldn't.

   Could a person cry forever? Perhaps not, but it sure felt like it in that moment. Kennedy could only tell she was crying because the droplets trailed down her neck, and her chest felt heavy with grief; was it worth it? They had lost so many boys there, and why?

To linger in a dark room? She could feel herself getting fidgety, and she was positive that the darkness had started to close in when there was a metallic groan and a sharp squeak. Kennedy flinched at the sound, and covered her eyes as a sudden stream of light was directed towards them, streaming through a crack in the door they had been unable to previously open, leaving Kennedy squinting at it and blinking away the odd colours that blurred her vision. There was a hiss! and Teresa pushed the door further open, blue eyes now glowing under the UV light that leaked in.

Lights?

Not the sun, or fire torches, but lights.

Kennedy watched in awe as the teenagers started to step out of the room and under the lights.

She had never seen such a thing to her memory, but she knew it was light — artificial light. Bulbs were created by Thomas Edison, in 1869. Well, they weren't created by him, but he created the first incandescent light. Kennedy's nose scrunched, how did she even know that? She couldn't remember her mother's face or who she was, but knew who was credited for the light bulb? Maybe she was smart in her past life, or something along those lines. Scientist?

"Ken?"

Thomas had stepped out, and held a hand for her to grab, face concerned that she wasn't going to. Everyone was waiting for her, watching intently.

At first, she was hesitant.

A small part of her wanted to turn back. That was ridiculous; it had been a tough time getting there; but she suddenly craved their comfort of the glade. She wanted to go to her room and sleep that whole experience away. Kennedy wanted to wake up to Newt's yell for her to get out of bed, and to spot Alby on her way to breakfast.

She wanted to work with Clint and Jeff, and to gossip with Newt instead of doing work, and to have Minho piggyback her through the glade because he lost a bet and couldn't eat ten of Frypan's best burgers in five minutes. Kennedy wanted to sit and giggle with her little Chuck in the gardens, and to laugh with Gally like they did as kids. She wanted nothing more than for Alby to bicker with her for her disruption of his rules, and she wanted to tell him he was right about it all — his rules were good, they were great. That was where Kennedy wanted to be; fixing gladers and greeting greenie's. But it wasn't possible. All of that was gone, now. And Kennedy knew that, no matter how scared she was, she had to do this. They had lost far too many boys. If she didn't do this, it wouldn't be worth it. Afraid or not, Kennedy owed it to them: Jeff, Alby.

So, with a breath, Kennedy grabbed his hand again.

Here goes nothin'.

Kennedy stepped over the ledge and into the hallway, staring at the long stretch ahead of them. Her eyes followed the lights as the bulbs flickered on, lighting up the hall until it was as far as the kids were yet to see. It was a long hall.

"Are we dead?" Kennedy murmured.

"Heaven this aint," Thomas said, repeating the words she said on his first day. It felt so long ago, when it had only been one week.

   Kennedy nodded.

    "Good that."

    "Totally."

    "Good that, yeah."

    "Mhm."

   All the gladers mumbled agreements, waiting idly.

   They weren't sure what they were waiting for. Perhaps another griever to surprise them, or for someone to take the lead, perhaps an explanation as to where the hell they were.

   Waiting proved futile. Nothing happened. Thomas gulped, and took a step forward, squeezing Kennedy's hand and letting it go in the movement. Someone had to take the front, be brave enough to take the plunge, and he supposed that would be him. He had been the one to convince them to leave.

   It was the least he could do.

   Kennedy watched him take a deep breath. He faltered for only a second, then squared his shoulders and started down the hall with one last look at the gladers. They weren't sure at first, so Kennedy, Newt and Minho shared a look and went ahead of them. Teresa's hand grabbed Chuck's and they went next, and then everyone else followed, traipsing down the hallway in the direction the lights had gone. They didn't know where they were going, but it was okay. As risky as it was, it was their only option.

   The light was no better than the dark, she decided. They could see each other, but it was no less creepy and haunting. Everything was so quiet; you could hear a pin drop, each pant of the gladers.

   Faint drips of water echoed from behind, fading the further the teens walked, and a light hiss! of pressurised air leaked from rogue pipes attached to the walls and the ceiling. The lights flickered, on occasion, and every time Kennedy would flinch into Newt. There was nothing better about the light than the darkness. Nothing was less frightening, and intimidating. Absolutely nothing,

   She wasn't sure how far they walked in palpable silence.

   No glader said a word. The hallway eerily reminded her of the maze, an endless track.

   That thought alone sent a chill down her spine, and she felt an urge to start running, fearing that they would be trapped and left for griever food if they didn't make it back by sundown. Perhaps it had conditioned them to run. For survival, that is. Thomas' instinct to run when he made it into the glade suddenly made sense to her, because right now, Kennedy's legs itched to break into a sprint. As welcoming as that feeling was, she reminded herself that she didn't needed to run. They were out of the maze. No more running. Her hips couldn't take it, anyway. Maybe they were safe. Safe enough to walk, to catch their breath, to take a break. But, nonetheless, there was that feeling still — the need to run, to get to safety. Kennedy's pace started to increase and she hadn't realised until Minho pulled her back, situating her between him and Newt. She could tell that he felt restless, too. The feeling must have been shared because, on every step, Minho bounced on his feet.

    "Seriously?"

   Kennedy frowned.

   She pulled away from her thoughts and looked at Frypan, then to what he was staring at. There was a steal door, a green light on the left of it, but that wasn't what he was criticising. Rather, the boy was criticising the sign above it, in bright green letters, capitalised.

EXIT

   Ken snorted at the irony, lamely.

   Really?

   Tension filled the air as Thomas reached forward, gripping the handle. Another moment passed and he pushed it down, making them flinch at the loud click that had echoed.

   Slowly, Thomas pushed the door open. He waited until it made it to the wall, slightly bouncing off of it, and then stepped in. His movements were slower than Kennedy had ever seen, and they all mirrored him as they followed his lead. The first thing she noticed was yellow, flashing lights.

   They eased into the room, filing through the tiny hall. Kennedy grimaced at the lights, finding them offensive to her eyes, but what was worse than the flashing lights were all of the bodies. She stifled a gasp as they passed a shattered glass window, bullet holes denting the surface, and spotted two bodies covered with white cloth. They laid upon medical tables and the sight made her woozy. Kennedy's lower lip trembled and she pushed herself further to Minho's back while Newt ushered them both onwards. She tried to ignore it. But ignoring it seemed impossible, because there were more bodies. The place was covered.

   Bodies were everywhere.

   It was inescapable. Everywhere she looked there was shattered glass, and blood, and bodied strewn across the floor. They were all wearing white lab coats, or military gear and breastplates. Minho kicked a gun away from one man's hand.

   They continued on to find a circular room with big glass screens. Each of them were still illuminated with script and code, and there faces were on monitors around the edge. The gladers split up from that point, heading in different directions to investigate everything. Teresa and Thomas headed for a walkway of screens, while Newts feet took him toward the monitors, Minho in tow. Other teenagers were dispersed throughout, avoiding bodies, but Kennedy couldn't figure out where to go. She didn't want to look at anything. All of it felt wrong, tainted, and her heart still thrummed in her chest. These weren't things to marvel at— these were the things they had feared knowing, for as long as they could remember. These were those sat on the outside while they were stuck inside. Everything was dirty. She suddenly felt unclean, filthy.

    "So, they were watching us." Newt said.

   Kennedy inched to the monitor, giving into mild curiosity. She felt wrong doing it, but when she saw the name on the screen, her brows shot up.

TOT JONES
SUBJECT B6
↳ ERROR! (CORRECTED) A6
ALIVE

   Tot Jones?

   Her hand twitched, shaky fingers reaching for the mouse.

   Just as she was about to scroll, the speaker beside her crackled, and she jumped away from it.

    "Hello. My name is Doctor Ava Paige."

   Kennedy turned, frowning up at the screen that had flickered to life. She let herself wander over to it, standing besides Teresa and Thomas while the rest of the group huddled around. On it was a blonde woman with mousy features, her hair pinned back, a blank expression upon her face. For a second, Kennedy debated whether she seemed familiar. Something felt like it was.

    "You probably won't know me: I am Director of Operations of the World Catastrophe Killzone Department. If you're watching this now, that means you have successfully completed the Maze Trials. Congratulations."

    "WICKED," Thomas said.

    "I wish I could be there in person to congratulate you but the circumstances seem to have prevented it. I'm sure by now, you must all be very confused, and angry, and frightened. I can only assure you, that everything that's happened to you... everything we have done to you... it was all done for a very good reason."

   They watched as the screen flickered to an image.

    "You won't remember., but the sun has scorched our world. Billions of lives lost to fire, famine; suffering on a global scale. The fallout was unimaginable. What came after was worse." She said, the screen flipping between an image of the sun, then of burning cities, then to a neuroscan. The photo was zoomed in, showing the cells being attacked by darkness that wriggled and squirmed. "We call it the Flare — a deadly virus that attacks the brain. It is violent, unpredictable, incurable." Kennedy cringed at the images and watched the woman reappear on screen; "Or, so we thought."

    "In time, a new generation emerged that could survive the virus. Suddenly, there was a reason to hope for a cure. But finding the cure would not be easy."

   People wearing lab coats in the background picked up the paces and rushed around, and Kennedy wondered what they were doing and why this message was even being recorded. But, looking about the room and at all the bodies in white lab coats, she knew where it was going. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together, thus getting four as a result. Her gaze returned to the blonde woman as she explained it further.

    "The young would have to be tested," she said.

   The maze.

    "Even sacrificed inside harsh environments where their brain activity could be studied. All in effort to understand what makes them different, what makes you different." The woman told them, and it was like her stare went through the screen. "You may not realise it, but you're very important to us. To the world, even. Unfortunately, your trials have only just begun."

   Men in suits burst into the background; Kennedy winced.

    "As you will no doubt soon discover, not everyone agrees with these methods. Progress is slow, people are scared. It may be too late for us... for me... but not for you." She recited, and Kennedy wasn't sure she seemed sincere as she did so. "The outside world awaits. Remember..." her hand was off screen for a moment; it came back into frame but holding a gun in her grasp, smoothly turning it around. Glass started to smash from behind her, and she sucked in a deep breath. The gun pulled up to aim at her head, and her finger tapped the trigger. She gave just a nod to the camera, one single nod, and then pulled on the trigger; one final farewell: "WICKED is good."

   Kennedy cried out and buried her head in Minho's shoulder, no graphics witnessed as the camera cut out but the gunshot making it all the same. Awful.

   His hand knotted in her hair as the rest went to observe, finding the blonde woman's body behind her desk. They pulled apart with the ringing of a siren, and the churn of metal doors. Everyone was confused, bewildered, surprised as they watched two door split, the metal parting directly down the middle and showing a long tunnel. It was much like the maze doors; Kennedy had a bad feeling it was intentional. Coincidences like that just didn't exist.

   They stared.

    "Is it over?" Chuck asked.

    "She said we were important," Newt said.

    "Yeah," Ken sighed.

    "What the bloody hell are we supposed to do, now?"

    "I don't know."

   Thomas had no answers. He had no idea what they were meant to do, now. He was as lost as they were. So, he did the only possible thing he could think of doing; "Let's get out of here."

   It was a good enough idea.

   With a nod from Kennedy, they timidly made their way over to the doors. They were so close. She could feel the breeze brush her cheeks, and she could see the crack of light at the very end, and it all seemed too good to be true — it was.

    "No."

   Gally?

   Kennedy knew his voice well enough.

   She turned with the group, frowning when she spotted him: his eyes were dark and misty, and he held a gun in his left hand. A gun.

   The other hand held the key and Kennedy wondered when they had dropped it. A naive thought crossed her mind that maybe he'd changed his mind, maybe he wanted to join them, and find a safer home, but she then got a closer look at him. There was a sheen on his forehead, and his whole body quivered, and Kennedy had only ever seen someone look like that when they had found a griever. It stopped her, dead.

    "Gally?" Thomas moved.

    "Don't," Teresa stopped him. "He's been stung."

    "You can't leave," Gally said, gun wavering at his side. They all tensed with every motion.

    "We did it." Thomas told him, gently moving closer. "We're out of there." He gestured around to show him, "We're free, Gally." It made the boy angrier, however. "Gal—"

    "Free?"

   Silence.

    "You think we're free, out there?" His voice was thick, unshed emotion blocking his throat. Gally cried out suddenly; Kennedy's heart broke in her chest, and sank to her stomach. "No. No— we aren't free. There's no escape from this place," he raised the gun; it pointed right at Thomas, and they all flinched.

    "Gally, listen to me."

    "Thomas—" Ken.

    "You're not thinking straight."

   Kennedy felt Minho shift beside her, and she glanced down at his hand. He was clutching his spear, and she felt herself go pale.

    "You're not." Thomas gulped, trembling. He was no longer the brave, bold Thomas. He was the scared, little greenie that came in that box. "We can help you." He said, nodding his head. "Ju— just put down the gun."

    "I belong to the maze."

    "Put it down," Kennedy tried. "Please."

    "We all do!"

    "Gally, no—!"

   It was all so fast, it was too damn fast.

   Minho thrust the spear towards Gally, and it impaled him right in the chest. The gun flew out of his hand and he hit the ground, a loud thump! echoing against the walls. Kennedy clamped a hand on Chuck's shoulder, who had somehow ended up in front of her.

   She whimpered when Gally went still, unmoving.

   Then, it was worse.

    "Kennedy?"

   Her eyes went back to the little boy in front of her, his own eyes floating between her and Thomas, on his right. She frowned when she noticed his pale face, and the way he started to sway. Kennedy gripped his shoulder tighter and went to ask him what was wrong, why he was holding his torso, but then she saw it: blood. There was so much blood, she had never seen so much blood in her life. That was what she realised, first. Then, she realised it was Chuck. All of that blood was coming from Chuck.

   Kennedy wailed, "Chuck? Chuck!"

   Thomas helped her grab him as he fell, lowering him down to the ground.

    "No, no—" she mumbled, shaking her head. Kennedy pushed her hands onto his wound while Thomas leaned close, holding his head in his hands. "Chuck!"

    "Look at me—"

    "Thomas..."

    "Look at me!" He urged.

    "Thomas," Chuck grunted. He raised a little figure, one made out of wood, and passed it to him drowsily. "Thomas— here, I—"

    "No!"

    "Give it to—"

    "No! No!" Thomas shook him, "No, you will."

    Kennedy let out a sob, feeling the blood coat her hands. They weren't doing enough to stop it, she couldn't stop it. She had seen a lot of injuries in the glade. She had patched up knife wounds, and cuts and scrapes, and ridden splinters. But, this... this wasn't what a kid could fix. This required a doctor. Kennedy wasn't a doctor; she was just a med-jack.

    "Kennedy?"

    "In— in a minute, Chuckie."

    "Kennedy."

    "I'm trying to help you!" Her voice raised.

   Her hand shook, and she suddenly couldn't see her skin against the crimson liquid. Kennedy let out a broken sob. She couldn't; it was too much. She couldn't fix this, no matter how hard she tried.

    "I— I can't," she wept.

    "Kennedy," Chuck repeated, voice whispery. Something about it made her stop and she drifted toward his face. She leant down and carefully brushed a curl from his forehead, drops of blood over his skin, but he didn't care. He smiled, "Kennedy..."

    "I'm here," Kennedy nodded. "I'm here."

    "I love you," he said.

    "I love you too, Chuckie." She shook her head, "You can't say it like that, okay? No— no, you can't."

    "It's okay."

    "It's not!" Kennedy cried out, "It's not okay! Just— just, you can hold on, alright? Just hold on, you gotta hold on! We— we can, this is fine! Okay? It's fine! We can fix this," tears streamed, and made it hard to see, but she kept her gaze on him. "Don't, Chuck! Don't, please, I— I need you, Chuck! I need you!" She shook him when it looked like he was closing his eyes, "No! Chuck! Please! Hey— it's okay, you're okay! You're okay! Chuck? Chuck? Chuck—!"

   His head lulled.

    "Keep it."

    "What?" Her voice cracked.

    "Keep it."

   Her eyes flickered to the bracelet on her wrist. It was now red, stained and splattered, but something about it was still as great as the day he gave it to her.

    "I will," she promised. "It's my favourite, remember?"

    "Thanks, Ken."

    "Chuck?" Kennedy squeaked, watching his body still. His eyes became distant, unfocussed. Ken let out a breathy sob, "Chuck!"

    "Chuck?"

    "Chuck!"

    "Hey, no— c'mon!" Thomas cried.

    "Chuck!" Kennedy shrieked, "No! No! No— Chuck!"

    "Wake up!" Thomas begged him, sobbing brokenly. "Chuck! We made it, we're out! Dammit!" He yelled. "Chuck! C'mon, you made it! We can get out! We— we did it! Ya hear me? Chuck, we can't— no!"

    "Chuck!" Kennedy pulled his head onto her lap, holding onto his face while Thomas cried into his chest. She wheezed out sobs, and hiccuped cries, and shook her head over and over. This wasn't real, how could this be real? There was no world without Chuck; it was impossible. "Chuckie, please!"

   Kennedy rocked him back and forth, like a baby. She stroked at his curls and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that when she opened them he would be smiling up at her. But, he didn't. Chuck was just as lifeless as when she had shut them, and she felt her entire body give up on her. Tears turns into hysteria, and suddenly guttural yells clawed out from her throat. Wheezes, screams, sobs. Kennedy had no way of breathing; she couldn't breathe. She cried so hard it had her wretching, and gagging, and she realised that it was possible to cry forever — there was no way she could stop. Chuck was gone. It sent her into cold chills, trembling and jerking. She felt like she had left her body, and she was watching from above as light flooded the room and armed men came rushing in. They ushered the kids into the tunnel, through the doors.

    "C'mon!"

    "Let's go!"

    "No!" Thomas sounded far away.

   She felt hands grab her shoulders, but she struggled out of the grip. Kennedy screamed when they tried to pull her again, "No! Get off me! No— Chuck!"

   Hands picked her up by her armpits and forced her to let him go, his body getting smaller and smaller. Kennedy clawed at those men, cursing them and kicking them, wishing horrible things that she would regret, but she didn't care. They were taking her away; she didn't want to leave him, she couldn't leave him. Not her Chuck, her greenie. They couldn't leave him behind.

    "Chuck! Chuckie!"

   Soon, he was so far that she couldn't see him.

   Light flooded her senses and she shielded her eyes, though she made no effort to look around.

    "Chuck!"

   Sand whipped her face as they carried her, running well away, a distant memory becoming of that room. Kennedy had no idea of where she was going, but she didn't seem to care. She might have been taken away from her friends, for all she knew. She didn't care.

    "Chuckie!" She cried. "Let me go!"

    "Kennedy!"

   Her hair thwipped around as the wind picked up and it started to grow difficult to hear her own cried and pleads. But, she could just about hear one single voice over the madness, Thomas.

    "Ken!"

    "Get her in!"

   Kennedy felt herself be lifted higher, then her bottom hit down on a firm surface. New hands grabbed her, familiar hands, and he placed her between his legs and pulled her into his chest. She gave in and fell slack, a numbness washing over her, a high pitched ring in her ears. The dulcet tone blocked out everything around her, as if there were no noise at all, and she found herself staring down at her hands. They were sticky and red, and despite how sick it made her feel, she couldn't pull her eyes away. Her sleeve moved when it was bumped by Thomas as he tugged her closer, and her gaze was snapped over to her wrist. The bracelet stuck out from beneath the fabric and Kennedy sniffled.

That was the worst.

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀