Hey guys, Nikesilvermoon here! This idea just suddenly occurred to me while I was doing homework. After writing a rough draft, I just knew that I immediately had to publish this on Fanfiction. This is only a one-shot for now. But if you guys think it is good enough, I might as well turn it into a full-fledged so please read and review! On the side note though, I want CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, not flames. Note: I borrowed the name Swiftstrike from another author.

Enjoy!

You Do Not Know Me

I stormed off angrily as Sam threw another insult at me regarding my rather tragic breakup with another cheerleader. Yeah, you heard right, I broke up with another girlfriend. The longest relationship was with a girl called Mikaela Banes, the school's most popular figure. With slender legs, a completely flat stomach, an expert's knowledge of makeup and fashion, and chocolate brown hair and eyes decorating her face, she was undoubtedly the closest thing to a supermodel in real life. So, I did what all popular jocks naturally did, I asked her out.

Being the most popular boy in school, my relationship with Mikaela quickly blossomed into the ultimate gossiping hotspot. It wasn't before long that people started betting on where Mikaela and I would go next for our dates, where we would kiss, when we would do the thing... you get the idea. But, I had a fatal flaw that made anyone who got to know me too well absolutely pissed off at me. I was a total fucking jerk.

In the circle of popular kids, you'd be nice to every other student and beat the losers up. That was especially true to an especially annoying geek at school called Sam Witwicky. It's no secret that he had a crush on Mikaela since like kindergarten. She never exactly noticed him though, as he was one of the losers I berated daily for being inferior. It was all fun and games with that girl until I left her by the side of that lake one day, and Sam offered her a ride home. I kind of regret dumping her now, since it was the only girl I could seemingly have a decent relationship with. I don't exactly know what happened after that, except for the fact that they were both in the same place when the Mission City disaster happened. Now, they are all lovey-dovey. Since surviving that traumatic event, Sam has taken time to insult me every time I try to bully him. Clearly, my remarks and punches are nothing compared to what he has experienced that day.

Walking down the street away from Tranquility High and towards my new red pickup, I couldn't help but wonder for the billionth time on why I chose to pick on the weak. Every action I take now in front of others went against everything I once believed in, what I put my life down for. It was a cause that I was prepared to sacrifice my life for. To protect the weak, to guarantee that freedom is a right of all sentient beings. Such was the wise words of the mighty general that led my faction.

The full moon was already high in the night sky as I stumbled out of a local bar. This is what I do when none of my classmates are around: drinking, gambling, having casual snogs. Anything to distract me from my past, to help me escape from it. There is a side of me that no one has ever known, has ever seen. Nobody truly knows me, even my closest friends. They all see a popular, cocky, and confident jock who would anything to catch the attention of women and win a football game. But this is not the real me.

As I sobered up, I walked into an alleyway, still feeling a little to drunk to drive. Spraying graffiti on the brick walls lining it, my mind was cleared of all distractions, and memories of my pain-filled past hit me with a full force...

Suddenly, I was surrounded by sounds of battle. The once blue sky of my beloved home is now nothing but a haze-filled atmosphere, choking from all the smoke and burns of weapons firing. The landscape, once a gleaming metal paradise filled with prosperous cities, is now a burnt, scarred blackened wasteland. The signs of death were all around me: the empty corpse in silent desperation, a final scream of utter agony as blaster fire ripped through the spark cases of comrades and enemies, the final flickering of our life force.

I was battling my enemies on the front lines, firing my neutron gun left and right, taking down any enemies who dared come in my way. My azure optics burned in pure fury as I watched one of my comrades killed right in front of me. But now is not the time to grief. I unsheathed my energon blades and stabbed the murdering fiend.

To my right and left, battling side by side with me, were my brothers, Sideswipe and Swiftstrike. Each of us were bonded to each other in ways that nobody else can understand. They were my whole world. Being the only recorded triplets in recorded Cybertronian history, no one can comprehend the extend of the emotional damage if we lost each other.

At that point, my flashback only became darker. The scene of the battle field shifted to one in the Decepticon Headquarters. I was an absolute wreck. My armor was scratched and charred, leaking energon in several places. My servos were shackled to the wall of the prison cell, already burning from the pain. In a neighboring cell, Sideswipe, looking no better than me. But neither of us payed attention to our present condition, as Swiftstrike was being tortured for information. His voice box emanated horrendous screams of excruciating pain as an electric rod was struck through his doorwings, a thousand times over. Sideswipe and I can only watched helplessly as he marched towards the open door of death.

The next thing I knew, I stared in shock as Swiftstrike returned to the Well of Allsparks, me kneeling beside his sparkless body. I was oblivious to the fact that Sideswipe had gone off into a murderous rampage, offlining every last Decepticon soldier who was in the base.

I left Cybertron after that, unable to bear all the sadness and sorrow that this war has wrought upon my ravaged spark. Wandering through the vast open void of space, I seeked for a place to settle as a refugee. Having to have silenced my sparked signature and erased my insignia a long time ago, I disguised myself as a neutral. Even then, I was turned away from every planet I could find that was once in alliance with the Cybertronians. They were afraid now, afraid of the horrors that our civil war would bring if it spread to their doorstep.

This inevitably led me to search for a planet that was suitable for me settling on for the rest of my life. My savior was a little, remote organic planet... called Earth. Even though it's sentient species, the humans, was a pre-spaceflight civilization, their technology had progressed enough for me to find a suitable disguise: A red Sierra pickup truck.

Gone are the days where I was a vain, proud, but a fiercely protective and pranking bot. These days, all you see of me is a weak willed human who disguises his cowardice by picking on those who are deemed weak. Who seek the company of young woman and foolishly goes through life like it's all just one big party. I used to be reckless, brave, do anything for the Autobot cause, and prank anytime out of convenience. But now, I am a total arse who relies on others to do his cowardly work. I can't even say that I'm a shadow of my former self.

Trent DeMarco. That's my alias on this planet, though it's more like my name these days. I never refer to myself by my true Cybertronian name anymore. Repeating it only bring agonizing memories and immerse guilt, regret, and sorrow. Whatever I had before, it's all gone now. I am content to just live among the humans, interacting with them through my holoform. I have no purpose in life now, other than to just live through the remains of it on Earth till I offline.

But I can never forget: my creators, all the close friends I made, the happy life I made in my hometown before it was utterly destroyed, Cybertron, the war. But most of all, I can not forget my brothers, who were always by my side, doing every I did. For their sake, I won't let go of my identity, my name. For their sake, I will always be Sunstreaker.