This is the end
My only friend
The end
Of our elaborate plans
The end
Of everything thatrf4x stands
ThE e110d
I'11 nEVer s00 y0ur sm 1101
01100001 01100111 01100001 01101001 01101110
The flowers bloomed so beautifully, so elegantly. Their vibrant blue petals shined as if they were little suns, every single one of them housing and giving life to myriads of circling worlds. He took one of the flowers and he heard a squirm. He felt a sting. Was it a dying breath of thousands of worlds he just destroyed on a whim? He raised the flower and looked at with light-orange sky as the background. He thought about his own universe. If it was similar, a flower on a field, it wasn't in such a serene plane as here. It was tampered, on fire, attacked by parasites and eaten by beasts. The wind blew strong and the flower freed itself from his grip and flew away.
He realized now, someone was with him. Were they here just now or were they here since eternity, he couldn't tell.
"Drift." the other spoke. Hearing this name, this name... it was familiar, it had a facture, a taste, like blood. Then he remembered. He took a form, his body took shape, his thoughts found a singular place to exist and he became small and limited again.
"Drift." the voice repeated. It had a form now too, but not physical. It was warmth, it was fire, it was God. "Drift!" the voice was also fearful, concerned, ugly.
"Please, come back." The voice pleaded.
"But I don't want to. I want to sleep." as he said/thought that, he lost his form and forgot his life again. He was covered in bliss, and he knew in the eternity before him he's going to perish, loose everything. The feeling of cold lingered first, then overtook him.
"Don't you dare!" the voice was now a thunder. "Don't you dare to die on me!" it added after a millennia, but now it was just an echo. The voice was raspy and panicked, so awfully sad and desperate. No, he did not want that. He was just a speck on the blue flower flowing in the wind, nothing else. He was a glimpse of its shine cached in a corner of an eye. Then he perished gladly.
"Open! Open this fragging slag!" someone yelled from the outside. They wanted to find shelter here, where Rodimus took wounded Drift, as if weak, metal garage could save them now. It was Unicron attacking and when a god of death attacks, you can't do anything about it. You truly can't. But hope was mother of all fools, and it loved deluding its spawn. "Open up! Op-" the door opened with a snap, and they ran inside, taking in what they saw. Sprawled on the floor lied Drift, or at least what remained of him – a formless heap of twisted metal, barely resembling bots' helm and torso. His parts were littering the floor, forming a line from the door were to where he lied. He must have been on a ground zero- where Unicron lied his gargantuan hand on the surface of Cybertron and crushed everything and everybody unfortunate to stand under his grab. Above Drift hovered Rodimus, one hand deep in Drift's chestplate. He was gently touching Drift's spark, and small bolts of electricity traveled from his fingers to its grey surface.
The curious bots circled them, taking in the morbid sight.
"I think he's gone, Prime." stated the one standing just behind Rodimus. "You can't revive a dead spark. I'm sorry."
"No… no no no. No, I can." replied Rodimus. His voice was hollow, but his optics shined like mad. He was bleeding plasma heavily, it's droplets so hot they evaporated in the air. A thick smoke started to gather. "It's just not enough."
Suddenly, an electric charge overtook them. The current jumped from one mech to the next, and it found its destiny in one point – Rodimus' hand. The bots shook violently, and then collapsed at the same time, grey and lifeless. Rodimus held a ball of lightning and put it closer to Drift's spark. The charge swirled around it like a bunch of hungry worms, and the spark flickered. For a millisecond, it shone blue, but it was as quick as a trick of a light.
"It's not enough."