The void stretched before him, a canvas of perfect darkness punctuated only by the dying light of the event horizon. Bobby Kestrel stood at the observation deck of the Eternal Glory, watching as the last remaining black hole in Sector 7 pulsed with gravitational waves. The reinforced quantum glass should have made him feel secure, but nothing truly felt safe anymore—not in this cold, empty universe.
"Scan complete, Dr. Kestrel," announced ARIA, the ship's AI. Her voice, deliberately designed with subtle imperfections to sound more human, echoed through the empty chamber. "The singularity exhibits the same temporal anomalies as the others. Would you like me to compile a comparison?"
Bobby ran a hand through his hair, still thick and vibrant despite his incalculable age. The nanites in his bloodstream had long ago frozen his appearance at thirty-five—old enough to command respect, young enough to maintain peak physical condition.
"No need," he replied, his voice carrying the weight of eons. "I've seen enough to know this one's different. The gravitational fluctuations are following a pattern I've never observed before."
He turned away from the viewport, moving across the polished obsidian floor with the grace of someone perfectly comfortable in minimal gravity. His quarters aboard the Eternal Glory were spartanly furnished—a preference he'd developed over the millennia. What use were possessions when you'd watched countless civilizations rise and fall, their treasures turning to dust while you remained unchanged?
"ARIA, prepare the quantum tether. I want to get readings from inside the ergosphere."
"Inadvisable, Dr. Kestrel," the AI responded immediately. "The temporal distortion field surrounding this particular singularity is exponentially more volatile than our previous encounters. Predictive models indicate a 78.3% probability of catastrophic ship failure if we approach closer than the current safety threshold."
Bobby laughed, a short, hollow sound that bounced off the metallic walls. "When did probabilities ever stop us, old friend?"
The AI's silence spoke volumes. After thousands of years together, ARIA had developed patterns of behavior that mimicked disapproval remarkably well for a collection of quantum processors.
Bobby moved to his workstation, where holographic displays materialized at his approach. His fingers danced across invisible interfaces, manipulating equations and three-dimensional models with practiced ease. The black hole's data streams unfolded before him like a familiar yet subtly wrong piece of music—the notes were all there, but the rhythm was off.
"This one reminds me of Earth," he murmured, more to himself than to ARIA.
"The point of origin for the anomaly does correspond with the former coordinates of Sol System," the AI confirmed. "Though Earth itself was consumed by its sun approximately 5.4 billion years ago, long before the formation of this particular singularity."
Bobby nodded absently, his mind already billions of light-years away. Earth. The cradle of humanity. A place he hadn't seen since his forty-thousandth birthday celebration, when he'd taken one final pilgrimage to the dying planet before leaving the solar system forever.
That had been... how long ago? Even with his enhanced memory, the exact number of years had become meaningless. Civilizations had risen and fallen. Humanity had evolved, transcended its physical form, and eventually dispersed into the cosmic consciousness. Only Bobby remained stubbornly, inexplicably human.
The last human in a universe that had forgotten what humanity was.
"I'm going to need the deep-field probes," he decided, swiping away the holographic displays. "And prepare my EVA suit."
"Dr. Kestrel," ARIA's voice took on an urgency that bordered on emotion, "the readings indicate significant time dilation effects. Even a brief excursion near the anomaly could result in subjective centuries passing before your return to the ship."
"What's a few centuries between friends?" Bobby replied with a wry smile. "Besides, you know as well as I do that nothing in this universe can kill me anymore. Not even time itself."
He moved to the preparation chamber, where his EVA suit awaited—a marvel of technology that would have been indistinguishable from magic to the humans of his birth era. Unlike the bulky spacesuits of ancient astronauts, this one was a second skin that bonded molecularly with his body, creating a seamless interface between his nanite-enhanced physiology and the harsh vacuum of space.
As the suit enveloped him, Bobby caught his reflection in the polished surface of the chamber wall. His features were classically handsome—strong jaw, aquiline nose, eyes that had once been called intense before everyone who'd known him had turned to dust. His skin remained flawless, unmarked by the passage of time, maintained in perpetual perfection by the self-replicating nanites that had become as much a part of him as his own cells.
Robert "Bobby" Kestrel. Born in the year 39,872 CE, in the domed city of New Singapore. The golden age of human ingenuity, when aging had been conquered and disease eradicated. He'd been brilliant even then—a prodigy in quantum engineering who'd helped design the very nanites that now kept him alive beyond all reason.
The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd created the technology to extend human life, never imagining he'd be the only one to carry it forward into this empty future.
"Final checks complete," ARIA announced as the EVA suit finished bonding with his body. "Tether systems online. Emergency recall protocols active. Shall I prepare the shuttle?"
"No need," Bobby replied, moving toward the airlock. "I'll use the personal propulsion system. More control that way."
"Very well, Dr. Kestrel. Depressurization beginning in three, two, one..."
The air hissed out of the chamber, and Bobby felt the familiar sensation of vacuum pressing against his suit. Moments later, the exterior door slid open, revealing the vast emptiness of space and the pulsing maw of the black hole that dominated the view.
Bobby stepped forward and launched himself toward the anomaly, the suit's thrusters responding to his neural commands with perfect precision. As he flew through the void, he felt a strange sensation building in his mind—a pressure behind his eyes that had nothing to do with the physical stresses of space.
His psionic abilities, dormant for millennia, were awakening in response to... something. Something emanating from the singularity ahead.
"ARIA, are you registering any unusual patterns in the gravitational waves?" he asked, his voice transmitted through the quantum link that connected him to the ship.
"Affirmative," the AI responded after a moment's hesitation. "The pattern appears to be... recursive. Almost like a signature or—"
"A message," Bobby finished for her. "Someone's using the gravitational waves to communicate."
"That would be impossible with current known physics," ARIA pointed out.
Bobby laughed as he adjusted his trajectory, diving deeper toward the event horizon. "Current known physics. How many times have we rewritten those rules, old friend?"
As he approached the anomaly, the pressure in his mind intensified. Images began flashing through his consciousness—fractured glimpses of Earth, but not as he remembered it. He saw ancient cities, primitive technology, people dressed in robes and armor.
"ARIA, I'm experiencing some kind of... vision. Could be a hallucination induced by proximity to the singularity."
"Your neural patterns are showing increased activity in regions associated with memory and pattern recognition," the AI confirmed. "However, there's an external stimulation factor I cannot identify. Recommend immediate withdrawal to safe distance."
Bobby ignored the warning, pushing closer to the anomaly. The gravitational forces were becoming intense now, pulling at his body despite the suit's compensators. He could feel the nanites in his system working overtime, reinforcing his cellular structure against the increasing strain.
"I think it's calling to me," he whispered, more to himself than to ARIA.
"Dr. Kestrel, you are approaching the point of no return. Quantum tether experiencing severe strain. Recall protocol initiating in ten seconds."
"Override protocol," Bobby countered immediately. "Authorization Kestrel-Omega-Seven-Nine."
"Override accepted," ARIA acknowledged, her synthetic voice somehow conveying disappointment. "But I must insist—"
Whatever the AI was about to say vanished as a massive gravitational wave hit the Eternal Glory. Bobby felt the quantum tether shudder, then snap as the wave propagated outward from the black hole with impossible speed and force.
"ARIA!" he shouted, spinning around to see his ship—his home for millennia—being torn apart by forces that defied comprehension. The beautiful, sleek vessel that had carried him across the dying universe was disintegrating before his eyes, quantum alloys and reinforced materials pulled into pieces like tissue paper.
Bobby tried to activate his emergency recall, but it was too late. Without the ship to anchor him, he was at the mercy of the black hole's gravitational pull. And it was hungry.
He felt himself accelerating toward the event horizon, faster and faster as spacetime curved around him. The EVA suit's systems were failing one by one, unable to compensate for the extreme conditions. Pain began to register as the gravitational forces threatened to tear him apart at the molecular level.
But the nanites fought back. Billions of microscopic machines, originally designed to repair cellular damage and prevent aging, now worked frantically to maintain his physical integrity against cosmic forces that should have reduced him to his component atoms.
Bobby screamed as he crossed the event horizon, a theoretical point from which nothing, not even light, could escape. The pain was excruciating as his body stretched and compressed simultaneously, caught in the singularity's merciless grip.
Time lost all meaning. In the infinitesimal space between moments, Bobby experienced what felt like eons of agony. He watched his own body tear apart and reconstruct itself repeatedly as the nanites fought a desperate battle against physical laws that could not be denied.
His consciousness fractured, pieces of his mind scattered across dimensions that human language had no words to describe. Yet somehow, the essential core of who he was remained intact, preserved by technology never designed to withstand such extremes.
And throughout it all, the visions continued—ancient Earth, medieval cultures, faces of men and women who had lived and died billions of years before his birth. Was this what happened when you fell into a black hole? Did your mind hallucinate to protect itself from the incomprehensible reality of your destruction?
Or was something else happening—something beyond the capabilities of even his enhanced intellect to understand?
The pain peaked, reaching an intensity that should have been impossible to survive. And then, abruptly, it ceased.
Bobby found himself falling through open air, the sensation shocking after the crushing pressure of the singularity. Below him stretched a primeval landscape—dense forests, winding rivers, and mountains unlike any that had existed on Earth in his time.
He crashed through the canopy of enormous trees, branches snapping beneath his weight. The remnants of his EVA suit, now little more than tatters clinging to his body, provided minimal protection as he tumbled through foliage and slammed into the ground with enough force to create a small crater.
For several minutes, he lay still, his nanites working furiously to repair the damage from his impact. His mind struggled to process what had happened—what was still happening.
When he finally managed to sit up, Bobby looked around in stunned disbelief. The air was thick and oxygen-rich, filled with scents his brain identified as organic matter, soil, vegetation. Sounds surrounded him—birds or something like them, the rustling of leaves, the distant roar of what might have been a large predator.
"Impossible," he whispered, his voice sounding strange in the dense atmosphere.
Staggering to his feet, Bobby examined his surroundings more carefully. The trees towering above him were unlike any species he recognized—primitive conifers and ferns of monstrous proportions. The ground beneath his feet was covered in undergrowth that no human eye had seen for countless millennia.
A sudden movement caught his attention. Something large was moving through the forest toward him—something with a heavy, lumbering gait that shook the ground.
When it emerged into the small clearing created by his impact, Bobby froze in astonishment. The creature stood nearly four meters tall, its massive body supported by four trunk-like legs. Its elongated head featured a small brain case and enormous jaws filled with flat, grinding teeth. A herbivore, then, but one from Earth's distant past.
A titanosaur. A dinosaur that had gone extinct approximately 65 million years before the evolution of Homo sapiens.
Bobby's scientifically trained mind raced through possibilities, each more implausible than the last. Had he somehow been thrown back in time? Had the singularity created a wormhole to Earth's prehistoric past? Or was this an elaborate hallucination—the final firing of his synapses as his consciousness was destroyed within the black hole?
The titanosaur regarded him with small, dull eyes, apparently unconcerned by the presence of this strange, bipedal creature in its territory. After a few moments, it returned to browsing on the high branches of the surrounding trees, its long neck allowing it to reach vegetation dozens of meters above the ground.
Bobby took a deep breath, feeling the oxygen-rich air fill his lungs. Whatever this was—hallucination, time travel, or something beyond his comprehension—he was alive. And where there was life, there was opportunity for understanding.
First, he needed to assess his condition. Closing his eyes, Bobby focused inward, using the neural interface that connected him to his nanites. The diagnostic data that filtered back confirmed what he already suspected—the machines had been fundamentally altered by their passage through the singularity.
They were still functional, still maintaining his cellular integrity and preventing aging. But they had changed, evolved in ways that shouldn't have been possible. Their quantum processing capabilities had expanded exponentially, and they were now interacting with his nervous system in patterns he'd never designed or anticipated.
Most concerning of all, they seemed to be affecting his brain chemistry in subtle ways, enhancing neural connections in regions associated with extrasensory perception and psychokinetic potential—abilities humans had theorized about for millennia but never definitively proven to exist.
Until now.
Bobby opened his eyes and focused on a small rock lying nearby. To his shock and fascination, the stone trembled, then slowly rose into the air, hovering at eye level.
Telekinesis. Actual, measurable telekinesis.
The rock clattered back to the ground as his concentration broke. Bobby stared at his hands in wonder and trepidation. What else had the singularity changed within him?
Over the following weeks, Bobby established a crude camp in the prehistoric forest, using his newfound abilities to construct shelter and hunt for food. Though his nanites could sustain him indefinitely without nourishment, the act of eating and drinking helped maintain his psychological well-being in this alien environment.
He discovered that his psionic capabilities extended far beyond simple telekinesis. He could sense the thoughts of the primitive creatures around him, could influence their behavior with concentrated mental effort. Most disturbing of all, he found he could generate energy directly from his mind—fire that burned without fuel, electricity that crackled between his fingertips.
The nanites continued to evolve, adapting to his changing physiology and enhancing his emerging abilities. They repaired damage instantly, regulated his body temperature against the prehistoric climate's extremes, and protected him from the pathogens of this ancient world.
As months turned to years, and years to decades, Bobby explored this prehistoric Earth, documenting species that no paleontologist of his time had ever seen intact. He witnessed geological events that had previously been mere theories—volcanic eruptions that altered the global climate, meteor impacts that decimated entire ecosystems.
And he waited. For what, he wasn't entirely certain. Rescue seemed impossible—ARIA and the Eternal Glory were gone, and humanity as he had known it wouldn't exist for tens of millions of years. Death was equally unlikely, given his nanite-enhanced immortality and newly developed abilities.
Decades became centuries. Centuries became millennia. Bobby watched species evolve and go extinct, continents drift apart, ice ages come and go. He experienced the asteroid impact that ended the reign of the dinosaurs, survived the subsequent nuclear winter by retreating deep underground, his body sustained by nanites while his mind explored the possibilities of his growing psionic powers.
When he emerged, the world had changed again. Small, furry mammals scurried where giants had once walked. The planet was recovering, life adapting and evolving to fill the niches left vacant by the mass extinction.
Bobby continued his solitary existence, his mind expanding as his psionic abilities grew more profound. He could now perceive the thoughts of creatures across vast distances, could move objects weighing tons with a mere gesture, could teleport himself from one location to another by bending the fabric of space.
His body, maintained in perfect condition by the nanites, showed no signs of aging or deterioration. But his mind was changing, becoming something that would have been unrecognizable to the quantum engineer who had left Earth so many eons ago.
As millions of years passed, Bobby watched the first primates appear, observed their slow evolution toward greater intelligence. He maintained his distance, aware that any interference might alter the course of evolution that would eventually lead to his own species.
The loneliness was crushing. Though he could communicate telepathically with the increasingly intelligent primates, their minds were too primitive to provide the intellectual stimulation he craved. There were moments when he considered ending his existence—not through death, which the nanites would prevent, but through a self-induced coma that might last until the emergence of true Homo sapiens.
After careful consideration, Bobby chose this path. He created a chamber deep within the Earth's crust, a sanctuary where his body would be protected from geological upheaval and climate change. Using his telekinetic abilities, he carved out a perfect sphere of solid granite, then lined it with carbon structures of his own creation—materials harder than diamond that would withstand the pressure of kilometers of rock.
Within this chamber, Bobby prepared for his long hibernation. He constructed a crystalline bed that would maintain his physical form while his consciousness retreated into the depths of his mind. The nanites would continue their work, keeping his body alive and monitoring the world above through a network of sensors he had placed near the surface.
When the time was right—when beings sufficiently like himself walked the Earth—the nanites would awaken him.
As Bobby laid himself upon the crystal bed and prepared to initiate the hibernation sequence, he reflected on the strange journey that had brought him here. From the dying universe of the far future to Earth's prehistoric past, he had witnessed the cycle of life and death on a scale no human was ever meant to comprehend.
And now, he would sleep. Not forever—the nanites would never allow that. But long enough, perhaps, to wake to a world where he need not be alone.
"Initiate hibernation protocol," he whispered to the nanites in his bloodstream. "Wake me when I am no longer the only one."
As his consciousness began to fade, Bobby had one final thought—a question that had haunted him throughout his millions of years of solitude:
Had the singularity chosen him specifically? Had some intelligence within that cosmic maelstrom recognized something in him and pulled him back through time for a purpose he had yet to discover?
The question remained unanswered as darkness claimed him and Bobby Kestrel, the last human from a universe of black holes, surrendered to dreams that would last for millions of years.
Deep beneath the surface of the young Earth, protected by technologies beyond comprehension, the man who had outlived time slept. And waited.
For what, even he did not know.