There is dust covering the walls, floor, ceiling and everything in between. Small particles of it are illuminated by the dull glow of one hundred stuttering lamps. A door opens and two hooded acolytes enter, shuffling their feet in small cloth slippers. They pass between rows and rows of artefacts, all categorised and stored for safekeeping. Suddenly one stops, holding up a hand for the other to do so too.
“What is it?” whispers the younger of the two.
“The greatest achievement of our past,” the elder replies. ”A work of a true artist.”
Reverently he lifts a small rectangular item from its place amidst burning incense and candles. As its details come into view, the younger acolyte gasps.
“Who designed such beauty?”
The elder, tears wet in his eyes, sets the copy of Half-Life 3 back in its place.
“His name was Gabe Newell.”