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Hallowed Desolation

The year is 5XXX. There is no death, because there is no longer any life. Commemorative plaques in the form of old stones rest atop plateaus on a desolate, silent earth, their inscriptions long ago worn away. The moon watches, a glowing satellite, and the wind whispers paranoid abuse to the barren hills as it sweeps through them. Only the stars hold a hint of mischief, as they glimmer and twinkle, glowing and winking incomprehensibly far away.
In a world full of nothing, suddenly there is something. An old machine, atop a hill with commemorative headstones, sparks and spasms and comes to life. Materializing from Distances too great to fathom, appears an ancient symbol of life and achievement. It bears four wheels and many jets, and its’ modus operandi is speed. Wasting no time, it charges through the ancient gates and down through the valley of the shadow of the decay of time, its’ goal to reach an ancient spectral mainframe in the hopes of retrieving something precious and immaterial from the core. Some piece of precious long-forgotten information …