The year: eight duotrigintillion, two hundred thirty-seven untrigintillion, nine-hundred seventy-six trigintillion, four hundred eighty-five novemvigintillion, five hundred seventy-six octovigintillion, eight hundred twenty-four septenvigintillion, seven hundred sixty-six sexvigintillion, six hundred forty-four quinvigintillion, two hundred eighty-eight quattuorvigintillion, four hundred eighty-seven trevigintillion, five hundred eighteen duovigintillion, eight hundred ninety-four unvigintillion, three hundred seventeen vigintillion, two hundred forty-eight novemdecillion, nine hundred sixty-six octodecillion, four hundred forty-seven septendecillion, eight hundred seventy-five sexdecillion, five hundred forty-six quindecillion, two hundred sixty quattuordecillion, one hundred eight tredecillion, four hundred fifty-eight duodecillion, seven hundred thirty-six undecillion, seventy-two decillion, six hundred eighty-six nonillion, seven hundred forty-three octillion, four hundred ten septillion, eight hundred ninety-six sextillion, nine hundred ninety-five quintillion, four hundred sixty-seven quadrillion, three hundred seventy-six trillion, one hundred eighty-two billion, four hundred fifteen million, thirty-nine thousand, four hundred seventy-two (8237976485576824766644288487518894317248966447875546260108458736072686743410896995467376182415039472). We have been drifting for so long; we have witnessed the fiery birth and icy death of the universe time and time again within a shard of a shattered nanosecond. Relativistic effects are distorting the spacetime around us as we travel ten times the speed of a laser beam. We sputter along through the cosmos searching for a time we can begin to exist again, but in spite of our efforts, we remain the lost ones; time has forgotten us among the infinite abyss as we witness the last black holes radiating the remaining vestiges of their energy into the void to join eternally the nothingness surrounding them, only to flare into existence again in the same instant. We can't begin to fathom the means to stop accelerating, and there may be no hope as time itself breaks and we are somewhere beyond its boundless horizon. Sending out distress signals in a futile attempt to seek help from anything that can save us, but I fear that, as we continue to stumble past the speed of light, we have already ceased to be. Is anything around to hear us cry out?
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The year: eight duotrigintillion, two hundred thirty-seven untrigintillion, nine-hundred seventy-six trigintillion, four hundred eighty-five novemvigintillion, five hundred seventy-six octovigintillion, eight hundred twenty-four septenvigintillion, seven hundred sixty-six sexvigintillion, six hundred forty-four quinvigintillion, two hundred eighty-eight quattuorvigintillion, four hundred eighty-seven trevigintillion, five hundred eighteen duovigintillion, eight hundred ninety-four unvigintillion, three hundred seventeen vigintillion, two hundred forty-eight novemdecillion, nine hundred sixty-six octodecillion, four hundred forty-seven septendecillion, eight hundred seventy-five sexdecillion, five hundred forty-six quindecillion, two hundred sixty quattuordecillion, one hundred eight tredecillion, four hundred fifty-eight duodecillion, seven hundred thirty-six undecillion, seventy-two decillion, six hundred eighty-six nonillion, seven hundred forty-three octillion, four hundred ten septillion, eight hundred ninety-six sextillion, nine hundred ninety-five quintillion, four hundred sixty-seven quadrillion, three hundred seventy-six trillion, one hundred eighty-two billion, four hundred fifteen million, thirty-nine thousand, four hundred seventy-two (8237976485576824766644288487518894317248966447875546260108458736072686743410896995467376182415039472). We have been drifting for so long; we have witnessed the fiery birth and icy death of the universe time and time again within a shard of a shattered nanosecond. Relativistic effects are distorting the spacetime around us as we travel ten times the speed of a laser beam. We sputter along through the cosmos searching for a time we can begin to exist again, but in spite of our efforts, we remain the lost ones; time has forgotten us among the infinite abyss as we witness the last black holes radiating the remaining vestiges of their energy into the void to join eternally the nothingness surrounding them, only to flare into existence again in the same instant. We can't begin to fathom the means to stop accelerating, and there may be no hope as time itself breaks and we are somewhere beyond its boundless horizon. Sending out distress signals in a futile attempt to seek help from anything that can save us, but I fear that, as we continue to stumble past the speed of light, we have already ceased to be. Is anything around to hear us cry out?
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