When we contemplate the shadow of our local supermassive black hole, we are contemplating our future. That is where our data, our scraps of quantum information, may end up. Look in the direction of Sagittarius as we imperceptibly fall toward our galactic center. Given a near eternity, all of us who have ever lived here on Earth or ever will live, vaporized by our dying Sun into our fundamental elements, will fall into a supermassive black hole at the center of our merged galaxies, as will every other star system, scrap of galactic debris, the entire halo of dark matter. Everything will wash down the central vortex, flashing spectacularly bright, the last desperate blasts of concentrated light in the cosmos, until all vanishes in a darkening silent storm in spacetime.
One day, although it’s quaint to think of that moment in the epic future in terms of days, when the universe is nearing the end of its metabolic life, the cosmos may be empty except for black holes, and those black holes will evaporate, likely surrendering the information hoarded, the current controversy resolvable if only there were somebody left to play witness. Our quantum bits possibly will reside simultaneously inside the black hole and outside the black hole. Linked by wormholes, we will be our own clones in two places at once. When all of our information is finally released from the fading event horizon, it will be miserably disordered. Illegible.
Ultimately, there only ever was information. This story of our beginning, our evolution, our ambitions to know, our presence here, will be strewn in an unreadable form no longer registering time, our history effectively erased.
In the end, there is no surviving black holes.
— Black Hole Survival Guide, Janna Levin