There are mechs who say you can't choose your family. They weren't there the day my mother and father dove out of the sky to rescue us.
I suppose I'd been looking for a hero all my life. Someone to swoop in and rescue me from my situation. There had been the drones who had brought me to Shockwave's academy after the attack that killed my creator, and the Autobots who dug us out of the bomb shelter after Unicron wiped out the school… but somehow those never really counted in my CPU. I was almost too young to even remember the explosion, let alone the faceplates of the drones that plucked me from the rubble. And can it really be called a rescue when you're simply switching one form of captivity for another, Shockwave's rigid boot camp of a school for the "rehabilitation" of the Autobots?
The Autobots meant well - they truly did want us to find homes. But they somehow thought we needed to be "re-educated" before we could be trusted to new families. And for all their good intentions, all their "re-education" taught us is that we were somehow flawed, that we weren't good enough as we were to deserve new families and had to be "fixed" to be suitable for an adoptive family. No child should ever be put in that situation.
Those of us who had been entrusted to Digger's academy for "rehabilitation" had spoken in hushed tones of a hero soaring in to snatch us to safety… but we never dreamed it would actually happen. So when a Seeker and a triple-changer swept in over the wall one day to confront our captors and take us away, our first reaction was one of terror. But they were nothing but kind and warm to us… well, the triple-changer I would come to call Dad wasn't at first, but under his gruff and grouchy veneer he hid a caring spark.
Glory and Blitzwing risked their lives and went up against incredible odds to rescue a group of sparklings, putting their own desperate mission on hold to see to our safety. They accepted us without questions or conditions… and when I latched onto Glory, accepting her as a mother figure, she accepted me right back. I started that day an orphan, and ended it with a loving family.
My parents have had their own hardships to face. My mother lost her family at a young age, and fought on the front lines in the last days of the Great War. My father grew up with an abusive creator, was enlisted in the triple-changer program against his will, and spent time as a wanted fugitive before the war came to a close. Yet they didn't let their hardships define them, and they are two of the strongest and bravest beings I know.
My parents may not have drawn my spark from Vector Sigma themselves, but they have done a great deal to forge me into the mechanism I am today. And for that reason I regard them as my heroes, every bit as much as others might see Optimus Prime or Emperor Deszaras as heroes.
"Hmmm."
Swift flinched at that sound, but she drew her wings back and waited for her advisor's judgment. Datastream was a notoriously difficult teacher to please, but Swift appreciated her honesty. And while other students had balked at having the hard-driving teacher assigned to them as a final-term advisor, she felt it would be helpful. A bit painful and humbling, perhaps, but helpful.
"Hmmm." The thin, elegant violet-and-copper femme lowered the datapad and raised the clear visor she wore - her optics had gone out of focus over the vorns, but rather than get them recalibrated she elected to wear a corrective visor instead. "Eloquently put, Swift, but you can do better than this."
Swift's spark sank, but she nodded and folded her hands in her lap. "What changes do you suggest I make, Professor Datastream?"
"My dear, it's not a technical issue in the writing," Datastream replied, setting the datapad face-down and sliding it across the desk to the young spacecraft-former. "It's a decently-written piece. Much like many I've read before."
Swift frowned behind her mask. "Is that the problem then, Professor? It's too much like everyone else's?"
"Exactly." She folded her long-fingered hands atop her desk as she regarded her student. "It never ceases to amaze me how, of all the possible topics one can pick for the university admission essays, students continually pick the most cliche of them to write. And sadly, cliches rarely stand out of the crowd - especially when the students not only pick a cliche topic, but write a sadly cliche essay to match it. You're far from the first applicant to consider your parents your heroes, and you'll by no means be the last."
The words were out before she could stop them: "Is it bad to consider my parents my heroes?"
"That's not at all what I'm saying," Datastream corrected. "I'm sure they're very lovely mechs. But as I said, it's a very tiresome essay topic."
"Sometimes cliches stick around because they're true," Swift replied. "I guess… that question seemed easiest to answer."
"The easiest path is rarely the most rewarding," Datastream replied. "My advice, dear, would be to start over fresh. Pick another topic. One that will help you stand out from the crowd. You'll have a lot of competition for the university you've picked, and anything that will draw the optic of the admissions board will help you."
Swift suppressed a disappointed sigh and nodded, taking the datapad. "Thank you, ma'am."
"You're quite welcome." And unexpectedly, she smiled. "You're a bright young femme, Swift. And your parents DID raise you well. Just try a little harder to stretch your wings, all right? Make a name for yourself outside their shadow."
"Yes, ma'am." She nodded and stood, blushing self-consciously behind her mask. Most of the time she didn't mind her size, but it always felt awkward towering over most of her teachers.
"Come back next decacycle and I'll have a look at your new admissions essay," Datastream told her. "Go ahead and send the next student in while you're at it."
Swift nodded and left the office.
A small antechamber separated Datastream's office from the corridor outside - perhaps it had once been a waiting area, but now the professor seemed to use it mainly as a buffer to prevent hallway noises from filtering inside. Swift leaned back against the wall of the "buffer zone" and let out a deep sigh, collecting her thoughts before she walked out. She hadn't expected her essay to get a glowing review, but she'd hoped for a bit more positive of feedback. Datastream was difficult to please, but Swift hadn't expected her entire essay to be rejected like that.
Just rewrite it, she told herself. It's not the end of the world. There are other topics you liked that might be interesting. Still, it stung to have something so personal and close to her spark criticized.
Though if she disliked your essay on who your hero is, just wait until she reads Ricochet's. The thought of their writing professor having to read Ricochet's lengthy screed about how amazing and misunderstood the Stunticons were was enough to make her giggle. It didn't completely improve her mood, but it helped.
She'd only written the truth, though. She'd looked up to her parents her entire life. How could she not? It wasn't just for their accomplishments during the Great War and its aftermath - though having one of the first triple-changers ever created as a father and a former Air Commander as a mother was pretty impressive. But they'd not only rescued her from the re-education school when she was a tiny sparkling, but had been attentive and loving parents her whole life.
And when she had learned more about their pasts - that Blitzwing had suffered under the hands of an abusive creator and been enlisted in the triple-changer program against his will by said creator, and Glory had lost her entire family at a young age and been forced to grow up fast under the cruel reign of Galvatron - it just amazed her all the more that they had overcome their odds and become the mechs she'd come to love. To call family.
She sighed again and headed for the exit. Well, her essay might not cut it for her university admission, but that didn't mean she had to delete and forget it. Perhaps she'd polish up the rejected essay and make it a gift for her parents, or just stash it with the rest of her writing. It might never see the light of day, but she would rather it languish with the rest of her scribbled ramblings than be wiped out forever.
Two other students waited in the corridor outside Datastream's office, one leaning against the wall and thumbing at a handheld gaming device, the other sitting on the floor and frantically making last-second edits to a datapad. The one on the floor, a sleek yellow carformer with black trim and a jaggedly pointed helm that looked like the hairstyle of a human anime character, started as her shadow fell over him, but relaxed when he saw it was just Swift.
"Hornet, she's ready for you," she told him.
"Oh slag, I'm not ready for HER!" Hornet tapped out a final line and stuffed his datapad under his arm. "Please tell me she's in a good mood today, she's not gonna strip my paint for a bad essay, is she?"
"She's just like she always is," Swift replied. "Tough but fair."
Hornet groaned. "Which means she's gonna strip my paint." He rose to his feet and trudged into their advisor's office. "Tell Dad I'll have them ship my chassis home."
"Drama queen!" the other mech called after him as the office door slid shut. "Slag, if he was so fraggin' stressed about this essay, he should've been working on it last night instead of out clubbing all night. Surprised his dad didn't crack down and force him to stay home to work on it."
"Onslaught probably figures that he's an adult now and can make his own decisions," Swift replied. "Which means having to face the consequences of them too."
"Sounds like an Onslaught thing to say." The other mech, a black Seeker with crimson trim, pulled away from the wall and gestured for Swift to follow him. "How'd it go?"
"Not so good," Swift replied, walking alongside the shorter mech - despite Seekers being among the taller Decepticon frames, the top of his helm barely reached her shoulder. "She wants me to write a new essay on a different topic."
"Oh, come on!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. "It was a great essay! Or did she think you stole it or something?"
"I hate to tell you this, Valiant, but you're the only one of us who buys your essays from Uncle Swindle," Swift informed him. "No, she just thinks it's the same as a bunch of others she's read, and it needs to stand out."
Valiant snorted. "Honestly, the universities get so many applicants that I really doubt they read every single freakin' essay. More likely they just throw them all in a bucket and pull some out at random."
Swift gazed down at the datapad in her hands. "So what topic did YOU pick?"
Valiant snorted again. "I'm entering the Air Corps. They don't want you to spit out five hundred words about how good a student you'd be, they just care if you can fly in a straight line."
"Oh… you might have a problem with that."
"Might have a problem with wha- hey!" Valiant glared up at the taller femme, who just giggled behind her mask. "Slag, you don't get zingers in often, but when you do-"
"Hey Swift!"
Swift glanced up… and felt a smile break out beneath her mask. Five other mechs waited for them at the school doors - a bright red motorcycle-former with twin horns sweeping back from her helm, a bronze-and-green cassette-carrier with an amber visor, a copper-and-orange beastformer with wings folded over his shoulders like a cloak, a navy-blue flier with wing-like headfins, and a chunky violet mech with the cylinder of a road-roller settled on his shoulders.
Firebolt, Echo, Ricochet, Stardust, and Lancer. Her old friends from Shockwave's academy, ones who, along with Valiant and Hornet, had unwillingly joined her at the Autobots' re-education school before their rescue and adoption into Decepticon families. The eight of them had gone through a great deal together, and friendships forged in that kind of fire didn't disintegrate easily.
The cycle-former grinned widely and waved Swift and Valiant over to join them.
"Hi Firebolt," Swift greeted. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Professor Datastream wanted to give some feedback on my essay."
"Oh, ouch." Firebolt winced. "I'm sorry."
"You all act like she's some kind of tyrant," the cassette-carrier noted. "Is she really that bad?"
"She's worse, Echo," Valiant chuckled. "She's probably ripping Hornet's essay to shreds right now."
"Poor Hornet," the beastformer chuckled.
"Don't laugh, Ricochet, you're next on her chopping block," Valiant teased.
Swift shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. She wasn't sure she liked hearing her friends trash-talk one of her favorite teachers like this. Datastream might be tough, but to her there was a difference between delivering fair criticism and being cruel. But she kept quiet, letting her friends continue to exchange jabs and jokes for a bit instead of raising a fuss.
"So once the ol' junker releases Hornet from her clutches, do you guys wanna go hit the Rustbucket?" asked the road-roller. "Have a few drinks, hang out a bit?"
"I've gotta get home," the blue flier replied with a frown. "I promised Dad I'd help him out in his shop tonight. Can I take a rain check?"
"You've taken eight rain checks, Stardust," the roller retorted. "One of these days you need to learn to say no to your parents. You're an adult now, you make your own rules."
"Like you don't jump when Hook tells you to, Lancer," Valiant laughed. "Tomorrow night, Star?"
"Sounds good." Stardust nodded. "Rustbucket? Fleet Fox?"
"We'll figure that out tomorrow," Valiant replied. "Everyone else in?"
The others chimed in their agreement. Swift had just opened her mouth to add her assent when she spotted a familiar figure through the transparisteel doors of the lobby.
"I'll meet you guys tomorrow," she told them. "My dad's here."
"What IS it with dads breaking up the party?" Valiant groaned, throwing his hands into the air.
"Like your mom hasn't thrown us out of your house when a party's run too late," Lancer replied.
"Tell your dad hi for us, Swift," Echo told her, patting her shoulder.
"I will." She said her goodbyes and hurried outside.
Blitzwing stood on the sidewalk just outside the school, his faceplates contorted in his usual grumpy scowl. Even now, vorns after the Great War had come to a close, the triple-changer commanded an intimidating reputation, and his infamously grouchy nature did little to help matters. Passing mechs gave him a wide berth, and a few groups of students pointed and whispered in hushed tones, giving him wary looks as if expecting him to charge them with sword drawn or guns blazing at any moment.
But the moment Swift stepped out of the lobby, Blitzwing's scowl melted into a smile that did wonders to erase the air of menace around him. He strode forward to meet her, arm raised, and she ducked down to let him loop his arm around her shoulders in a half-embrace.
"Hi Dad," she greeted, and let her mask slide aside to smile back at him.
"Hey kid," he replied, thumping her back lightly before releasing her. "Way to keep your old man waiting, huh?"
"I told you I was going to be late," she replied as they set off for home, walking side by side. "You didn't have to wait up for me."
"Your mom and I have taken turns walkin' you home from school since we got you," Blitzwing informed her. "We ain't about to stop now just 'cause you got your upgrade."
"Da-ad," she groaned, laughing. "Just don't keep doing it when I'm in university, okay?"
"Don't tempt me. How'd it go anyhow? That advisor of yours better have given you top marks, you spent days on that essay."
"It's not for a grade, it's for university admissions. And it was good… but she thinks I need to write it on a different topic to help it stand out better."
Blitzwing snorted. "I think you need a second opinion. Let me or your mom read it, give you our feedback."
"No!" she exclaimed, wincing as the protest came out louder than she intended. "I mean… it's okay. I'll just rewrite it. It's no big deal."
Blitzwing snorted but let it go. "Anything else exciting happen? That boyfriend of yours ask you out this weekend?"
"Dad, Valiant and I are just friends," Swift retorted. "Have been since we were kids. It's not like THAT."
"That's how it always starts," Blitzwing replied. "And he better not be askin' you out without asking my permission first."
"Mom says you're not allowed to make that a rule," Swift reminded him.
"Your mom's way too lenient about the dating issue," Blitzwing grumbled. "Though I guess if Swindle'd made that his rule we'd never have bonded, so…"
Swift laughed softly. "Is Mom still at the museum?"
"Yup. Want to go see her? See how her art exhibition's going?"
"I'd love that."
As the two of them made their way to the transport station, Swift let her thoughts drift back to her conversation with Datastream. She loved her parents dearly - they'd always been supportive of her, and had long been her heroes. But she was in her adult frame now, even if she was still attending school, and some part of her wondered if perhaps it wasn't time to find her own place in the world.
"Your parents DID raise you well. Just try a little harder to stretch your wings, all right? Make a name for yourself outside their shadow."
Perhaps she should take her professor's advice. The question was how… and what direction she should take flight in once she had properly stretched her wings.