This was born mostly due to frustration with writer's block with the rest of the series. Any mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy.
Wait up! She wanted to scream, scrambling to keep pace with the long strides of her Sire as they strode towards the gather point, bodyguards following with ease. One was Whirlybird (she liked him; he was nice, for a slave), another Lugnut, and another from the Senix Clan. Yet she didn't, didn't even make a noise lest that be seen as a protest of the pace. Nor did she try to transform. Experience told her he'd take it as a sign she could keep up even in the air.
She couldn't, of course. She wasn't that fast.
Mecha cleared a path, many offering salutes or waves, 'fields a riot of respect and admiration, sometimes tinged with fear. Yet it wasn't the same fear she often felt with her Sire.
She was a disappointment, something to be ignored unless it suited him or she messed up. She was such a disappointment she couldn't even tell him about her Words. Words never won fights, Sire said. Words were for the weak.
She wasn't weak. She just... didn't like violence, but that made her unDecepticon.
She was weak and the other Cadets would see it. Her Sire's name would only protect her so much. Decepticons preyed on the weak, and these Cadets would do the same; her Words would fail her (nevermind they'd never failed but that meant nothing).
As they grew closer to them, she hunkered in on herself even though she knew she shouldn't. That she should hold herself with pride. She couldn't; the sight of the sparked of the Command-Cohort milling about, some with bodyguards but many without was daunting in an of itself, and that was saying nothing about the adults on the edges. Many of the Cadets seemed to have formed groups already, and one seemed to stand apart; no doubt friends or those who'd spent the vornling together. There was command-brat, then there was Command-Brat. She was the ultimate, yet that group was near Dinobot, Wildrider, and Forgemaster, and she thought she saw Krok as well. Command-Brats, they had to be.
Command-Brat friends. Not like her, the one who didn't even have a friend. Whirlybird didn't count; he was a slave and everyone knew slaves couldn't be friends.
Yet all she wanted to do was hide behind him when a sea of optics focused on them. On her. Already, the Cadet knew they were assessing her, planning how to befriend her or get into her Cadet Unit, or how to become the Mentors of her Unit. There was little doubt she'd be pushed into leading it, either.
Her Sire was relentless about it; she would become a proper Decepticon no matter her predilection against violence. Had she been anyone else's spawn, she'd be given a choice. She wouldn't be forced into 'following her coding'.
"The Cadet Unit's been forged. Go." Her sire said, and suddenly, the young helio found herself shoved forward with enough force she stumbled. Humiliation burned in her spark as she looked back to her Sire, only to see he was already turning away, headed towards a cluster of mecha she didn't know.
Of course. He couldn't even be bothered to tell her which was to be her Unit, and her failure to know would reflect only on her, because Cadet's were supposed to know-
"Thi' way," Whirlybird said, single optic crinkled in a smile as he nudged her towards the gaggle of friends near Dinobot. It also seemed one of her new Unit was striding to greet her. She ducked her head, unwilling to see the judgement she knew would be in the optics as Whirlybird tugged her towards them.
Her Unitmeber's feet were orange and maybe a bit larger than they needed to be, but. She said nothing, only responding to the brush of EM-Field because it was polite and she didn't want them talking about her on the comms, or complaining to their creators about her manners.
And when they bundled her off to a quiet place, she went willingly, still not looking at anyone and trusting Whirlybird to follow, eternally grateful he did.
"Name's Voltage; Unit Leader."
Her head shot up to stare at the orange-gold tank who looked more than a little like Kaon in places, only his optics were carmine. It wasn't hard to guess who's spawn he was. "W-What?"
"You're a combat-medic, righ'?" a yellow-green tank grumbled, Lucifern accent thick, visor bright with confusion. "Y'really think we'd let ou' com-med lead us? E'en Sire said it's stupid."
Why would anyone say that? She was his creation- she should-
"'s not right," a grey-white race-frame said with a shrug, 'field betraying his disgust at the idea. His accent was impossible to place, but she thought it sounded vaguely upper-class, like he'd spent time around those who'd fled Altihex. Though, he sported deep Destron red instead of the bright purple many had. "I'm Clicker and that was Earthbane."
"Cast Iron. Phase Sixer and I like Law. It's fun to read," a dark-coloured flight-bomber grunted in perfect Standard Kaonite. The helio stared. A Phase Sixer?!
"Kill Switch," a dark pink and grey tank said, voice as deep as the Charon Mines and optics a rare deep dark blue. Stalker, she thought. That or Stalker-descended.
"I-" she started, rotors pressed against her back and 'field pulled in tight enough she could have been unreadable. "It's nice to m-meet you all. I... Do you know who's be our Mentors?"
"That'd be me. I'm Clearshock; I'll be your Commander."
As one, the group turned in the direction of the voice, instinctually straightening themselves as the mecha and his unit approached. Clearshock was huge, some sort of surface-to-air missile truck at the very least. Greens and greys adorned him yet the purple of the brand worn with pride on his shoulders seemed to enhance the colours, not clash or distract. Though, he had the weirdest optics anyone of them had ever seen: icy-silver that didn't fit the warmth he seemed to give off. Optics flicked over the group, before settling on the helio of the group.
Out of habit, she made herself smaller, refusing the temptation to take a step back or two.
"Cease Fire, isn't it?" When she mutely nodded, Clearshock continued. "Combat-medics don't lead Units. Whatever Lord Megatron said, get it out of your head."
"Y-Yes Sir!" It was more of a squeak than she wanted, but the Commander seemed satisfied, optics moving onto Whirlybird. Cease Fire did step back then, alarm flashing her 'field. She didn't want to say goodbye to her slave, never mind he -it- was technically her Sire's. Whirlybird had been with her since she'd been twenty orn and fresh from needing either Creator's 'field. Whirlybird didn't even have a visible collar like most Autobot's did.
Come to think of it, she didn't even have the codes for it. Not even a single one, meaning Clearshock had them.
"You'll be doing some training with them, slave. No good as a bodyguard if you can't keep her safe."
"Sweet," Whirlybird crowed, even as relief flooded Megatron's heir despite knowing what he'd ask next. "Do I get weapons?"
"No," was Clareshock's flat reply. "Slaves don't have weapons."
Cease Fire couldn't find it in her to point out Whirlybird really didn't need a weapon. He was really, really good at making his own.