The end of it all.

The Bookkeeper stepped out of his portal, down onto a giant, burnt lump of ash and rock, floating around the vicinity of a dwarf star, glowing faintly in the distance. Harold stepped through after him, looking around. "Uh, Booky? Where the hell are we?" He asked, rather confused. The monkey then attempted to light a cigarette, but failed for obvious reasons. Grumbling, he walked over to stand next to the Bookkeeper, who was looking out at the star. "A memorial, Harold. One that all of the universe would forget, if it weren't for us." The man replied, crouching down and placing a hand on the ground, covering it in the ash. The monkey looked around once more. "Eh, doesn't seem too familiar. And I think I'd remember if we visited a rock floating through space, Booky." He said, causing the man to chuckle a bit. "Harold, when was the last time we had a visitor at the library?" He asked. The Monkey placed a finger on his chin and thought for a moment. "It's been a while, yeah. Couple years, maybe?" "Twelve and a half billion, Harold." The monkey whistled at the number. "Wow. That long, huh?" He looked around one final time, then blinked. "Hold on a fucking second here, Booky." He pointed down at the ground. "Is... is this shitty little rock [i]Earth[/i]?" The monkey asked. Booky sighed, standing back up. "It is. It was, from our point of view, not so long ago that the Sun reached the end of its life, and left the planet nothing more than a floating cinder in space. And humans perished billions upon billions of years ago." The man spoke with a notable hint of sadness. Harold placed a hand on his sleeve. "Boss?" "Have you ever questioned our work, Harold? Do you ever feel like what we do is... futile, in a way? We collect all this information, all the knowledge of every world, but who do we save it for?" Bookkeeper asked. Harold thought for a moment. "I guess it does seem pretty pointless in the long run, doesn't it? The humans went away, and the mark they thought they had left on the world went along with them. Even their fucking probes all ended up hitting stars." He responded. Booky nodded, and turned to the monkey, smiling. "It may be pointless, and the greater universe might not care for the work of man, or the life of any one individual. But that doesn't devalue their lives." He looked back out into the sun. "I intend to keep my form, as you will keep yours. The world might tic on, with all the knowledge collecting in our books, but it is at times rather nice, and even quite necessary, to reflect on the past. To know where we come from. To simply admire in awe how grand the universe is, and how grand a single soul can be in it." Harold looked at Booky, then back at the Sun. For once, he didn't have a comment to make. He just stayed as silent as the emptiness of space around them.