[Light was sleeping when the shockwave hit. It's deep, childlike, just as it always is: the sleep of the innocent, or the truly psychopathic. Except that as the wave creeps over him with tenuous fingers, remaking and rewiring him, out of the corners of his mind scuttle ... spiders. Some tiny, some the size of a fist, on black, spiny legs. Some are
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[And he sounds it, too - though he's still more than preoccupied.]
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