The robots have gone to sleep now, and I've climbed slowly and grudgingly from their heads. I'll have no more control either, then. The gleaming broad shoulders will tarnish; already the body leans lifeless to it's side. No more my control, no more hands upon the levers, manipulating the buttons to my whims, adventure, triumph. Each night connected. Saga blasted and flattened, wasted and cold; no final wisp of smoke from the concentric center. I work.