The wreckage of the Junkions' ship spun in the void, its torn metal gleaming in slivers of light as the molten sun bathed the detritus in hues of gold and orange. Any fires that had smoldered from the battle had died in the cold emptiness, leaving behind black scorch marks that streaked across the hull and throughout the ship's innards. Glass fragments surrounded broken windows, frozen in time, spinning in a slow, elegant dance.
A lone, formless being stared out of one such window, standing upon the metallic floor despite the lack of gravity. Around the black silhouette was strewn the remains of the bridge, clouds of dust swirling in space. Rays of sunlight filtered through, illuminating the scene with a warm, muted tone. The bodies of the Junkion crew floated around the space, their optics no longer glowing, their frames riddled with bullet holes and slashed with a sharp edge.
The silhouette stood taller than the Junkions, its blank surface devoid of any distinguishing feature. Light appeared to disappear within the being, its form darker than the void between stars and absent of all life. The only feature that distinguished it from the lifeless environment were a pair of red optics, glowing within the being's head with a molten intensity that carried a desperation and rage borne of centuries of existence.
Slowly, it turned around, its gaze sweeping over the bodies left in the bridge, passing over the contorted expressions of agony upon the Junkions' faceplates. These were not what it was seeking. They were merely pawns; of no importance within the sum of experiences they called a life.
A small crack of emotion surged within the being's spark, if it could be called that, and it tried to push the sensation away. The living had a name for the feeling, though the being had long moved on from such small manners of thinking. As it brooded in its thoughts, the being's optics finally alighted upon the very mech he had been seeking. The shadow blurred, if for an instant, and it was suddenly hovering in the midst of the bodies, its faceplate matching the dead plea in the cadaver's optics.
Wreck-Gar, in his death throes, had contorted into a fetal position as he drifted, his mouth open in an unending scream. His torso was torn apart, the spark core now an empty cavity, devoid of a glow that would have signified life. Shards of his armor encircled him, creating a ring of detritus.
The being ruefully considered this turn of events, as the being he had sought was now dead. After a moment in thought, it extended an arm towards Wreck-Gar, its fingertips barely brushing the lifeless face. Slowly, the black essence that made up the figure began to run like liquid rivers down the arm, over the fingers, and onto the corpse's face, eventually flowing into the empty optic sockets. Silent moments passed as the shadow manipulated his essence, connecting it to the necessary nerve endings in the processor.
Memories washed over the being as it read the imprints left by experience, feeding them into its mind. Its consciousness was filled with Wreck-Gar's life – the moment he was created by his parents, his childhood in the slums, joining the Autobots in the new Cybertronian civil war, and, of course, befriending Springer, Ultra Magnus, and others. For some time, the Junkion had known the closest thing to what the living called "peace".
Once more, the emotion surged in the intruder, and once more it pushed the thought away.
When his final moments came, the shadow was prepared. Love, friendship, and happiness – they were alien to it, and brushed aside within its psyche. The pain was familiar, however. It could deal with the experience just fine. The deluge ended when it saw an onyx-black Neutral, judging by his green optics, ripping Wreck-Gar's spark out of his core.
So. He was the one to find next. The being pulled the liquid shadows out of the processor and through the optics, running up his digits and arm. Then, with one finger, it pushed the corpse away, sending it drifting into the shadowy corners of the room. It blurred again, and suddenly it was outside the ship. The being turned, glancing at the glowing wreckage one last time, its shattered metal glowing like lost gold. Once again, it extended an arm.
Like a speeding bullet, the arm stretched outwards to impossible lengths as its fist slammed into the ship, sending shards flying in every which direction as the doomed vessel was altered on a trajectory course with the nearby sun. Satisfied that its work was done, it retracted the arm and turned, simply gliding away into the blackness.
As it sifted through new paths in its journey, it remembered the name of the sensation it had experienced as it watched Wreck-Gar's life.
It was envy.