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Nights are the worst. Those cloudless nights when a thousand eyes look down, mocking me. Because I know that Man, in some form other than my own, quietly has taken over the universe. I know because I've lived and died and lived again. Worse yet is when the whisper comes. It comes from beyond the blaze of lights, from beyond the gulf of darkness which separates the burning suns. "We are here," the whisper says. "We arc here."