The void of space is not truly silent. It hums with the static of dead stars and the faint, rhythmic clicking of a failing spark.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of a countdown.
Right now, I am useless. I used to be so much more than just floating, scorched metal. I remember the high spires of Iacon, the way the light caught the gold on my wings, and the absolute certainty that I was the pinnacle of Cybertronian evolution. I was Sky Lynx—the magnificent, the peerless. But I am almost out of power, and soon, I won't exist.
The Fall:
It all started because I tried to take the Matrix of Leadership from Alpha Trion. Such a stupid, arrogant idea, but I was blinded by my own legend back then. I didn't see it as theft; I saw it as a homecoming.
Alpha Trion stood his ground. He told me I didn't get chosen by the Matrix; he said I was not worthy to withhold it. I was too proud to listen. I tried to fight him, to tear destiny from his grasp, but he banished me instead. "You have the spark of a conqueror, Sky Lynx," the ancient one had said, his optics dim with pity as he cast me into the Dead Universe. "But the Matrix requires the spark of a servant."
I was trapped for so long. The silence of that dimension was a slow poison, and I felt like I had been forgotten by time itself.
Then, he came. A Prime. And he had been chosen by the Matrix.
WHY! Why him, and not ME! I watched him, fueled by a bitter spark, but something was different. The Matrix was partially rejecting him. We spoke for some time—this soldier who looked like he had forgotten how to sleep. He said his name was Optimus.
Being trapped alone in another dimension can make you think a lot. You begin to see the cracks in your own ego. So, I helped him. I helped Optimus regain control of the Matrix of Leadership. I know it sounds stupid for a Predacon of my stature, but I saw the burden he carried. The Matrix wasn't a prize; it was a tomb of a billion voices, and he was willing to carry them all.
The Final Sacrifice:
I succeeded. Optimus gained control, the blue light of the Matrix finally harmonizing with his spark. But as he was about to escape, another arrived: Megatron.
The Decepticon leader raised his fusion cannon. That hideous, violet light flared—a sun born in a hallway, meant to extinguish the last hope of our race. Something stirred within my circuits. Before I knew it, I was in front of the beam.
My body acted as a living lightning rod, my molecular bonds snapping as I absorbed the hit. Optimus reached out—a hand of weathered steel, desperate to pull me back from the brink.
"Sky Lynx! Stand down! We can both make it!" he roared.
"Go, Prime!" I commanded, my voice a layered boom of electronic agony. "Cybertron is a graveyard of things that were. It needs someone to build what will be! Save our home! Save our people! Don't let my final act be for nothing! GO!"
He turned. He had to. The Matrix flared, a blinding pulse that matched the fading light in my chest, and then he was gone—a streak of light heading back toward the world of the living. I watched him go, and for the first time, I felt no jealousy. Only peace.
The Long Dark:
The next thing I remember was being stranded in outer space. I was pulverized, turned to dust and twisted dross, drifting in the freezing vacuum. I sent emergency signals on every channel, broadcasting into the dark, but no one ever responded.
And now, I have almost wasted all my power. I can feel myself going dark. Even in my last thoughts, I regret not having done more. I used to think Cybertron belonged to me because I was the strongest. I was wrong. Cybertron belongs to those who are willing to bleed for it.
I did more in those ten seconds of fire than I did in ten thousand years of glory.
I wish..... I..... cou...ld .. h... av.... e ...do... ne.... more.....