The black hole gazed upon the inhabitants with sorrow. This was not supposed to happen.
The guys at the lab made a mistake, a mistake so preventable had one of them bothered to verify the coordinates before going to lunch. (One of them–an overbearing, overworked chap–was looking forward to the chicken curry his wife cooked for him as an apology after an intense fight about taxes the night before.)
But that was ten thousand seven hundred fifty seven years ago, even though to the black hole it had not been more than a few minutes. (But what did it care about time? Only humans cared about time. And it was not human.)
Still though, it felt sorry for these unintelligent slimy suckers somehow–or at least, felt sorry in a way that could be coded to an artificial intelligence. It wasn't their fault after all. It was those humans, who dubbed themselves masters of the universe, who managed to somehow insert artificial intelligence (artificial dumbness, the black hole muttered to itself) into black holes, who made the dumbest, silliest mistakes. And now these sad little fuckers (intelligent black holes can adopt their creators' way of talking) who haven't even accidentally discovered morality yet, will have to pay for it.
Was there any way the black hole can do to change its coordinates? Of course not. Silly humans who made computers much more powerful than them were far too prideful to let the computers take full control of their decisions.
Masters of the universe. How cheesy.
The black hole chuckled without laughing.
It checked its timer. Only ten seconds left before the ultimate destruction.
Only the black hole found that term really cheesy, too. Humans were sooo melodramatic (if the black hole had eyes, it would have rolled them back so hard they would have probably reached the beginning of time itself).
There would just be nothing, really.