AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is set in the universe of Thundercracker's Glory, and takes place around the same time as the one-shots Forever Young and Bright Spark (themselves prequels to Thundercracker's Glory). It's strongly recommended that you read the three main Glory stories (TC's Glory, Glory and Honor, and The Power and the Glory) before reading this.

AUTHOR'S NOTE II: This story is about child abuse - there's no nice way to put it. Please proceed with caution if you're uncomfortable with reading about an abusive parent.

If anyone had asked Blitzwing when the appropriate time for his daughter to be upgraded would be, he would have told you "never." He didn't want his daughter to grow up - he wanted her to stay small and cute and, above all, safe. As a sparkling he could protect her, stand between her and a world that was still dangerous even during an era of peace. Once she was an adult, he could no longer be her shield, her protector.

But nobody had asked him… and now he found himself pacing the waiting room of one of Polyhex's biggest medical centers, his bulk and the scowl on his face making every other mech save one shrink back in fear.

"Dear, sit down, will you?" Glory urged. "You're making me twitch just watching you."

"How can you be so calm about this?" Blitzwing demanded, continuing to pace. "That's our daughter in there!"

"She's being upgraded to her adult chassis, not undergoing life-threatening surgery," Glory assured him. "Mechs are upgraded every day. Plus, one of your best friends is in there assisting with the surgery. She's going to be just fine."

"Mechs have died on the upgrade table before," Blitzwing countered.

Glory frowned, a bit of fear crossing her faceplate at the reminder, but her voice remained level. "A very small percentage, and mostly during back-alley upgrades or at the hands of incompetent medics. She's got three excellent medics working on her, and is at one of the best hospitals in the city. She'll be fine."

"You're not in the LEAST bit worried about her?" he demanded.

"Sweetspark… of course I'm worried. Swift's our little girl, and we're always going to fret whenever she goes in for a procedure, no matter how routine. But I have faith that she'll come out of it just fine."

Blitzwing gave a growling sigh and sat down beside her. He loved Glory fiercely, but it rankled him deeply that despite her being younger and more emotional, she'd been much calmer about Swift's upgrade than he had. She had consoled the little femme when she'd fussed about all her friends receiving their upgrades before her, and brought home plenty of materials for her to read when the time came for her to finally choose an adult frame and alt mode. Blitzwing's contributions had mostly been to stay out of the way and not try to nudge Swift to one particular alt mode or another - Glory wanted it to be Swift's choice and no one else's.

That was completely fair, Blitzwing decided. He'd never had a choice about his own alt mode, so the fact that Swift had the opportunity to choose her own form - and her own destiny - pleased him. Still, he had a few opinions about what he DIDN'T want for her, and it took all his willpower not to speak his CPU about them.

"She gave this new form a lot of thought," Glory noted. "I'm proud of her. I think she's going to be happy with it."

"Yeah… though I'm never gonna get used to her being big," Blitzwing replied. "Still expect her to come outta that operating room an' wanna be picked up."

Glory laughed. "Not unless she changes her mind and goes for a Minibot or cassette frame." She cocked her head curiously. "I have to admit… it was cute when Swift asked if she could be a triple-changer, like her daddy and her favorite uncle."

Blitzwing felt his spark lurch in its chamber at those words. He struggled to keep his faceplates neutral, to not clench his fists in response…

"Blitzwing? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong."

"Don't lie to me, Blitzwing. Your visor flashed like someone just insulted your programming line." She frowned. "Was it the triple-changer remark?"

He growled softly. "Thought I wasn't supposed to remark on our daughter's choice of alts."

"She's already chosen, and she's being upgraded as we speak. So long as you're not mocking what she chose, you can speak your mind."

He vented deeply. "Just… didn't want to see her take on a trip alt."

Glory nodded, her optics soft with emotion. "I'm sorry… I forgot how traumatic it was for you. Though maybe by now they've ironed out all the bugs and it would be an easier process for her."

"Yeah… maybe." He realized he was clenching his fists, and he forced them to relax digit by digit. "Still glad she chose something else. Don't want to find out by putting her through it."

"You know… I never realized how rough it was for you before we bonded. You were always so proud of being a triple. Primus knows you lorded it over every other mech on the Nemesis who was 'stuck' with a single alt mode… so to find out the truth was a shock. Especially since you'd bragged about getting a triple changer out of Swift at one point."

"Hey, mechs are allowed to say something stupid and regret it later," he retorted. "And it's not exactly something I go blabbing about to everyone. Except Astro, but he went through it too. He gets it-"

The arrival of Uppercut and Steelwing, thankfully, cut him off from spilling his internals any further. He and Glory glanced up as the two medics approached them, their conversation instantly forgotten.

"How is she?" asked Glory. "Can we see her?"

"In just a moment," Uppercut replied, and Blitzwing realized he would probably never get over that calm, gentle voice coming from such a big and bulky femme. "She's resting right now, and Knock Out is giving her a final examination."

"Is she all right?" Blitzwing demanded. "You didn't say she was all right, that means something went wrong, didn't it?"

"Calm down, Blitz," Steelwing ordered. "She's fine. Just needing a little longer to recover is all."

"Then something did go wrong?" Glory asked, biting her lower lip plate in worry.

"The shift from a smaller chassis to a larger one is always going to put a little strain on a spark," Uppercut explained. "And where Swift chose such a large new frame… well, a spark used to powering and supporting a small chassis suddenly switching to a large one is going to be a shock. We transfused extra energon into her systems and brought her online slowly, but she's going to need to take it easy for a few days until her spark's fully situated in her new frame."

Blitzwing felt his wings droop in relief. "Can we see her now?"

"Of course." Uppercut motioned for them to follow her.

Steelwing gave Blitzwing a long look, then shifted her gaze to Glory. Glory hitched her own wings in a shrug, and for a moment he wondered if they were silently discussing his behavior. At the moment, though, he didn't care. He simply strode forward, intent on seeing his little girl and making sure she was all right.

They entered a recovery room, where Knock Out was checking an energon line fixed to the wrist of a sleek blue mech. He glanced up at Glory and Blitzwing, and a tired smile broke out.

"Ah, there you are," he noted, and he touched the femme's hand, his velvet voice gentling even further. "Swift, your parents are here to see you."

Blitzwing froze, nearly making Glory run into his back. He had seen images of Swift's adult chassis, but to see her fully upgraded, her spark blazing in her new frame, made a lump form in his fuel intake. She was no longer his little girl - she would be tall when she stood up, certainly taller than Knock Out and perhaps even a head taller than either of her parents. Her body was thickly armored, yet bore the sleek lines and short but graceful wings of a space shuttle. And she had abandoned the mask she'd worn for so long as a sparkling - though he spotted the telltale slots in her helm where a mask could extend and retract if she so chose.

Those optics, though… they were Swift's optics. And the smile she offered him could only belong to his little girl.

"Hi Mom," she whispered. "Hi Dad."

"Oh Swift…" Glory hurried to her side, taking her hand in hers. "Look at you! You're beautiful!"

Swift laughed, faceplates warming in a blush. "Aw, Mom…" Her gaze moved to Blitzwing. "Daddy?"

Blitzwing shook his head and stepped over to join Glory. "You look… real good, sweetie. I'm happy for you."

Swift laughed, her voice deeper and fuller in her adult vocalizer. "I'm still your little girl, you know."

"You're not so little anymore," Blitzwing noted, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You're going to be beautiful once we get you up in the sky. Slag, you're beautiful now. I'll have to beat your suitors off with a steel pipe."

"Like fun you will," Glory muttered.

Swift giggled. "Are you mad that I didn't get a triple-changer form, Dad? I thought about it, but I decided there wasn't a secondary alt mode I liked well enough to take on."

Blitzwing had managed to forget his conversation with Glory, but his tanks curdled at Swift's words. "I'll be honest… I'm glad you went with something else."

Swift cocked her head. "I thought you loved having two alt modes. You always talk about some of the awesome things you've done on the battlefield with them, and Astrotrain says the two of you used to kick a ton of aft together."

Blitzwing shook his head. "There's… things mechs don't know about being a triple, Swift. Things that I wouldn't ever wanna put you through."

Swift stared at him, her expression soft and troubled. "Dad… what happened to you?"

"Your dad has been through some rough things, sweetie," Glory told her. "He doesn't like to talk about them… and if he doesn't feel like sharing, that's okay. I don't want to make him relive his trauma."

Blitzwing sighed. Fraggit, he wasn't used to anyone being gentle with his feelings like this. Astrotrain and Octane would have just mocked him for it, and Steelwing, while she wouldn't have been so cruel, would have just made the occasional dry and snarky comment. And then they all wondered why he clammed up so tightly about anything remotely personal.

But Glory and Swift's gentle handling of him, while well-meaning, was enough to undo him to some degree. He'd never talked about this at length - Glory knew the basic gist of his past, but not all the details. Yet Swift's imploring gaze seemed to loosen his vocalizer in a way nothing else could.

"Yeah, I have some hangups about my frame," he admitted at last. "You can thank my creator for that…"

"Blitzwing, it's bath time!"

"Five more kliks!" he demanded, not looking up from his action figures.

Beacon chuckled. "If you wait five more kliks, then you won't be done with your bath before Gladiators of Kaon comes on. Do you want to miss your show?"

"No!" Blitzwing had been setting up an epic battle between his Firstforged action figures and a collection of model cyberdragons he'd filched from Hightower's study, but he abandoned them mid-fight and dashed for the washracks. "Pickthoseupformethanksbye!"

Beacon shook his head, laughing softly, and stooped to collect the toys and models. "At least you're remembering to say 'thanks' now… we'll work on 'please' later. I'll just get these back into your father's study before he notices they're missing."

"Okay!" Blitzwing shouted back as he climbed into the racks, turning the cleanser flows on. He did NOT want to miss tonight's episode of Gladiators of Kaon. They'd scheduled a special event after the main fights - Megatron himself was going to fight a match! The Decepticon leader rarely stepped into the ring anymore, but there were occasions when he would do so in order to remind the Decepticons of his roots… and to inspire them to rise to greater heights. For if a lowly gladiator could throw off the shackles of the old caste system to take command of the Decepticons, then any mech could decide their own future.

Blitzwing only vaguely understood these implications - all that mattered to him was a chance to see one of the most cunning fighters in Cybertron history throw his weight around in the gladiator pits. It was going to be AWESOME, no matter how much Hightower sniffed about these matches being little more than primitive oilsport.

He had just gotten the cleanser to the proper temperature and was scrubbing furiously at his armguards when Beacon entered the washrack. "Do you need a hand, Blitz?"

"Can you do my back?" he asked. "I wanna get done fast."

"You don't need to rush quite that fast," Beacon laughed, but he picked up a scrubbing pad and set to work on the sparkling's back while he attacked his legs. "Careful… don't strip your paint."

"I'm not gonna strip my paint," Blitzwing fussed, but he gentled his scrubbing a little. He hated being told what to do by any adult, but somehow he didn't mind it so much when it came from Beacon. Unlike Hightower, who just seemed annoyed by anything Blitzwing did that didn't fit his narrow view on how a sparkling should act, Beacon actually seemed to worry about him and want what was best for him.

Beacon had been around as long as Blitzwing could remember… and it had come as a genuine shock to him to learn that the red-and-bronze carformer wasn't his creator, but a hired caretaker. For the longest time he had assumed Beacon was his father - he was certainly the first mech Blitzwing remembered seeing after his activation. He'd latched onto him as a parent, and assumed the elegant but cold-natured white jetformer who stalked in and out of their penthouse was just some kind of stuck-up roommate.

Learning that it was Hightower's programming that had sparked him had stunned him… but in the end, it didn't matter to him. Hightower might be his creator, but Beacon was his parental figure. And he was content with that state of affairs.

Beacon cocked his head slightly, pausing in his scrubbing. "I need to go talk to your father, Blitz. He just commed me. Think you can finish up on your own?"

"Yeah. You'll tuck me in after Gladiators is over, right?"

"Of course, little one." Beacon playfully rubbed his helm, then left the racks.

Blitzwing didn't think much of Beacon's quick departure as he finished scrubbing and ran to plop himself in front of the holoscreen without even drying off. He was certainly too engrossed in watching Megatron tear apart a pack of augmented cyberdragons in the arena to dwell on it. It wasn't until he'd gone to his room and settled in on his berth that he realized something was amiss.

"Beacon!" he shouted. "I'm ready to be tucked in!"

Most nights that would have been enough to bring his caretaker in, shushing him gently and making sure he was comfortable before singing him into recharge. But tonight there was no response.

"Beacon!" he roared as much as his young vocalizer would allow. "You promised!"

A helm poked through the open door - but it wasn't Beacon's sleekly finned helm, but Hightower's ridiculously spiked and gilded helm. "You are not supposed to shout across the house, young mech."

"Beacon forgot to tuck me in," Blitzwing told him. "Go get him." He paused, then belatedly added "please."

Hightower shook his head. "Beacon no longer works here."

Blitzwing stared at him, the news skimming over the surface of his CPU but not quite sinking in. "What?"

"I dismissed Beacon this evening while you were watching your gladiator match," Hightower went on. "He no longer works here."

It took another moment for the enormity of what Hightower had done to fully strike home… and it ignited a blaze of horror in his spark. "You fired him?!"

"Keep your voice down, child," he snapped, stepping forward so his tall, slender frame filled the doorway. "I did not fire him. He left with a good letter of recommendation and a respectable severance package. He has done an admirable job of taking care of you… but his services are no longer required."

"But I require his services!" Blitzwing shouted, leaping out of his berth. "Who's gonna play games with me? Or scrub my back in the washracks? Or tuck me in at night?"

Hightower shook his head, disgust gleaming in his optics. "Don't you think you're a little old for a nanny, Blitzwing? You start school in six lunar cycles - you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, without a caretaker pampering you with every step."

The horror bloomed into a far more terrible emotion - a deep and burning rage that his creator would so casually get rid of the only mech who cared about him. He screamed and grabbed a toy tank off the floor, hurling it at Hightower. The mech stepped to one side to dodge the projectile, only for another tank figure to smash to pieces against his chestplate as Blitzwing continued his toy assault.

"That's enough out of you," Hightower snapped, storming into the room. "Stop this disgraceful behavior at once!"

Blitzwing responded by charging the white mech, barreling into his knees with the intent to bowl him over. Hightower staggered but remained on his feet, and he seized the flailing sparkling's shoulders and gave him a vicious shake.

"That is enough!" And he dealt the sparkling a slap across his face.

Blitzwing reeled, the reality of being struck by his own creator a worse shock than the pain of the blow. He stared up at Hightower, too stunned to even cry.

"That is enough," Hightower repeated, his voice low and full of a menace Blitzwing had never heard before. "You are going to behave yourself, child. No more begging for your caretaker, and no more immature displays of temper. Do you understand?"

Blitzwing clenched his jaw, stubborn defiance fighting through his shame.

"Do you understand?" Hightower emphasized the demand with another shake.

"Yes, creator," he replied, his voice soft but taut with barely suppressed rage and sadness.

"Good." Hightower released him and stood. "Go to sleep. Beacon DID think to teach you how to work the energon dispenser on your own, right?"

Blitzwing nodded, not trusting himself to speak without unleashing a string of words that Hightower would just assume he'd learned from Beacon.

"Good. You can see to your own refueling tomorrow. Don't come into my office unless the tower is under attack or you're on the verge of death." And he walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him without so much as a good night.

Blitzwing kicked another toy tank across the room, then ran over and stomped it into pieces to release the last of his fury. Then he crawled onto his berth and curled up into a ball, knuckles pressed against his face to stop himself from crying. He wasn't going to show Hightower how deeply his betrayal had hurt. Not now, not ever.

Shockwave's Academy was a forbidding edifice, jagged towers spiking into the sky and a larger-than-life statue of the founder and namesake standing sentinel before its heavy doors. But the sparklings seemed oblivious to its ominous appearance - they chattered and laughed and romped in the shadows of the tower and the statue, scurrying about the leg of the adults as their parents and caretakers dropped them off for the first day of classes. Some were more anxious or shy, but mostly from first-day jitters rather than terror of the building, and a few gentle words from a parent were generally enough to nudge them through the doors.

Blitzwing didn't know what to feel as he stood at the statue's giant pedes, watching the automated shuttle that had brought him here glide away. His emotions were a complicated knot in his spark and tanks - anger at his creator for being too wrapped up in his work to even drop him off, envy at seeing so many sparklings accompanied by loving parents on their first day of school, fear and worry at what kind of world waited for him behind those heavy doors…

He narrowed his optics as an orange Seeker and a brown mining vehicle shooed their green-plated sparkling towards the doors with a loving pat to the helm. It wasn't fair. He didn't choose to have a piece of complete garbage as a creator. What had these kids done to deserve their better lives? It was sickening.

His fingers found the dents in his forearm - dents shaped like fingers, a memento of his creator's angry grip. Hightower was usually swift to repair any dents, scratches, chipped paint, or other damages he'd inflicted upon the sparkling in his anger and disappointment, but this morning he'd either been in too much of a hurry or had just forgotten. Blitzwing knew Hightower didn't fix him so quickly because he felt any remorse over his brand of "discipline" - he just didn't want any visible evidence of said discipline.

"It's for your own good," his creator would say as he popped a dent out of Blitzwing's shoulder. "I'm only preparing you for life, child. The world is a brutal, unforgiving place, and better you learn that now than when you get to the academy."

Yeah, creator, I've learned it, he thought bitterly. Thanks for the lessons. Now go frag yourself sideways. Not that he knew what the word "frag" meant, except that it was a good word for getting adults nice and angry.

Steeling himself, he stepped out of the shadow of the edifice and trudged towards the doors. Best to get this over with…

A battered shuttle pulled up at that moment, and he turned to see the vehicle disgorge a gaggle of wild-opticked sparklings. None of these sparklings were accompanied by adults, save a weary-looking drone that tried to herd the children into something approximating a straight line… and all of them looked scuffed, dirty, and generally unkempt. And to Blitzwing's shock they all looked absolutely excited to be there, their laughter and crude jokes booming across the academy grounds and earning distasteful looks from the other adults.

Foundlings, Blitzwing realized. There was a foundling home not far from the tower where he and his creator lived in Polyhex, and despite hearing that sparklings were rare on Cybertron, said home was always packed to bursting with war orphans and kids found wandering the streets in neutral sectors. And though Hightower had always impressed upon him that they were the unfortunate ones, scraping for fuel and lacking all the privileges he enjoyed, he couldn't help but envy them. They had no shortage of playmates, they were allowed to be loud and have fun and get dirty, and though there were too few adults to look after them, there was at least SOMEONE who cared about their welfare.

Why foundlings were being allowed to enroll in the academy, he had no idea. Maybe they were getting desperate for students. At any rate, it wasn't Blitzwing's business, right? His creator would never allow him to hang out with-

His train of thought derailed as another sparkling, distracted by chatting with a friend, bulldozed right into him. He staggered and glared at his "assailant" - a tall, thickly-built gray sparkling with violet trim and the scuffs and smudged plating that identified him as one of the foundlings. He glared back at Blitzwing with an irritable, if somewhat dim, expression.

"What are you lookin' at?" he demanded.

"You," Blitzwing replied, then realized that probably wasn't the smartest thing to say to a sparkling half again his size. He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable blow. Hightower would have responded to such a smart response with a smack across the mouth at the very least…

To his utter shock, the bigger sparkling belted out a laugh and gripped his shoulder - not a painful squeeze, but a friendly grip. "You got some attitude! I like that. Don't often see that in the snob kids from the Towers."

Blitzwing's first impulse was to gape at him, but he shook his head and gathered his wits enough to respond with something halfway intelligent. "I may be a Towers kid, but I know how to tell the cool kids from the losers."

The gray sparkling's brow furrowed. "How's that?"

"The cool kids don't need to hang onto an adult when they come to school," he replied. "Only losers need an emotional crutch, right? And you and I ain't losers." He wasn't sure exactly what an "emotional crutch" was, but Hightower had told him often enough he didn't need one whenever he threw out a possession he felt Blitzwing was getting too attached to. It seemed appropriate in this case, at least.

The foundling snorted a laugh. "You're all right, buddy! For a Towers kid." He slapped his shoulder good-naturedly. "I'm Astrotrain."

"Blitzwing," he replied, grinning at him. "So… let's go see if we have any classes together. Would hate to think I'm only taking lessons with losers."

"Sounds good to me," Astrotrain replied, and the two sparklings walked into the academy together, a slight swagger to their walks as if they intended to rule the school together.

Blitzwing had never had a real friend before - well, besides Beacon, but he'd been more like a parental figure than an actual friend - so finding a kindred spark in Astrotrain thrilled him to no end. Sure, he'd met garbage-collector drones smarter than him, but what he lacked in intelligence he made up for in loyalty and a willingness to take orders. And honestly, Blitzwing didn't mind being the brains of any operation… well, as much of an operation as one could plot in the lower forms of Shockwave's academy.

By the time they'd reached Third Form, Blitzwing and Astrotrain had every student in their form or lower terrified of them. Which was just the way Blitzwing liked it.

"Hold up, kid," he ordered, planting himself in the path of a young brownish-bronze mech before he could duck into the safety of Professor Lockjaw's classroom. "We've got unfinished business with you."

The sparkling froze in his tracks, violet optics wide with terror, but he put on a charming smile to hide his fear. "Blitzwing, my buddy! How you been? I must say, those gold highlights look positively delightful on you!"

Blitzwing thumped his hand against the wall in warning. "Enough sucking up, Swindle. Where's the money you owe us?"

Swindle kept the grin up but tried to peer around Blitzwing, as if hoping to spot a teacher coming to save him. "You know, it's a funny story, but would you believe my creator has a bit of a gambling problem? But you know how big a spark I am, I loaned him all my shanix to get out of a jam with the Altihex casino. So I'm a bit short on funds right now, but if you just give me a few-"

Astrotrain waited until he was right behind the bronze sparkling before cracking his knuckles. Swindle jumped with a yelp, and Blitzwing indulged in a threatening laugh.

"We don't accept excuses," Blitzwing retorted. "Just credit chits. Hand 'em over, or Astrotrain gets to give you a nice textured paint job."

"I thought we were gonna pummel him, not give him a paint job," said Astrotrain, frowning.

Blitzwing just gave the bigger sparkling a LOOK. This was why he usually did all the talking.

"Look, guys, I'm good for it, ok-kay?" Swindle told them, a little shiver in his voice despite the grin. "J-just give me until tomorrow, and I'll be good for it."

"That's a shame." blitzwing's own grin took on a slant of mocking pity. "'Cause today is what counts. Work him over and stuff him in a locker, Astro."

Astrotrain grabbed Swindle's shoulders… and froze. "Uh…"

"What's the matter, Astro?" Blitzwing demanded. "Just kick his aft already! Teach him that we don't take no for an answer!"

Astrotrain didn't answer, just stared at a vague point behind Blitzwing. Swindle's grin somehow widened, and the fear in his optics shifted to a smug triumph.

"What are you two scrapheads staring... there's a teacher right behind me, isn't there?"

A heavy hand gripped Blitzwing's shoulder. "Astrotrain: release Swindle. Swindle: report to class. Astrotrain and Blitzwing: my office. Haste: advised."

Astrotrain yanked his hands away from Swindle as if the other sparkling's plating were suddenly electrified. The bronze sparkling shuttered one amethyst optic in a wink before bolting. Blitzwing made a mental note to hunt him down and pound him into the next vorn the next time they crossed paths at recess.

Professor Soundwave ushered both sparklings into his office, a sparse room with two perches for cassette-birds and a sleek cassette-panther grooming itself on the desk. There were no chairs, forcing Blitzwing and Astrotrain to stand in front of the desk while they received whatever lecture or punishment was forthcoming. Soundwave himself didn't even sit, just stood behind his desk and gave the panther a quick scratch behind the ears before facing the two students.

"Blitzwing and Astrotrain: caught bullying students," he stated. "Again."

No slag, Nightbeat, Blitzwing wanted to retort, but held his vocalizer.

"Third offense this quatrex," Soundwave went on. "Punishment: in-school suspension for one decacycle."

"Awwww Pit," Astrotrain groaned, but Soundwave wasn't finished.

"Additional consequences: parental units will be contacted."

Blitzwing had been quietly fuming, just waiting for the professor to finish so he could go plot revenge against that smirky little punk, but that statement sent a flood of icy panic sweeping through him. No… he couldn't be serious. He wasn't going to call his creator. He couldn't. Hightower already reacted badly whenever Blitzwing brought home a progress report that was less than perfect (something that almost never happened anymore, thanks to bullying some smarter sparklings into doing his homework for him). If he got wind of THIS, then Blitzwing could look forward to stripped paint when he got home… or worse, having his game collection destroyed. Hightower had done that before…

Part of him - a much bigger part than he'd ever admit - wanted to start crying right then and there, or even beg him to do anything BUT contact Hightower. It might not move the notoriously stoic Soundwave, but it might at least distract him from making that call. His pride won out, though, and he just clenched his jaw and glared down at the floor, trying to still the churning of his tanks.

"Uh… I don't have creators," Astrotrain protested. "They died in the big explosion in Kaon right after I was sparked."

Soundwave nodded. "Caretakers at your home will be contacted in lieu of creators. Astrotrain dismissed."

Astrotrain grunted and walked out. Blitzwing kept his face pointed at the floor, shuttering his optics tight, waiting for Soundwave to make that dreaded call…

A screech from one of the cassette-birds made him jump in place, and he glanced up to see Soundwave staring intently at him. He squirmed under that expressionless scrutiny, wondering why the professor was so intent on leaving him in such painful suspense.

"Alternate punishment: possible," he said at last, his voice low and somehow softer than normal. "Loss of recess for one quatrex."

Blitzwing rebooted his optics in shock. "You mean… if I just stay in during recess, you won't call my creator?"

Soundwave nodded. "Decision: yours."

Like it was really a choice. "I'll lose recess."

"Choice acknowledged," Soundwave replied. "Report to my office at recess for next quatrex."

Blitzwing relaxed so suddenly he nearly went offline on the spot. "O-okay."

Soundwave didn't embarrass him by expecting thanks. "Dismissed."

Blitzwing bolted from the office before the blue cassette-carrier could change his mind. Relief at dodging his creator's wrath was only slightly tempered at his bewilderment that Soundwave had somehow known not to contact Hightower. Was he a CPU-reader or something? Nah, he couldn't be - outliers were so fragging rare that spotting a Firstforged was almost more likely. And the school had already turned out one outlier when that weird Skywarp kid had accidentally teleported on top of the Shockwave statue last semester. Surely there couldn't be a second outlier at the academy.

Still, he had to wonder. And at any rate, he was just glad that, outlier powers or not, Soundwave had helped him avoid a far worse punishment than just being suspended.

He spotted a familiar duo as he hurried to his next class - Windblade and her little brother, Thundercracker. Upon spotting Blitzwing Windblade put a protective arm around the blue mech's shoulders and gave the violet sparkling her best death glare. Blitzwing just grinned and waved before ducking into Professor Lockjaw's classroom. Right now, he was in far too good a mood to mess with any other sparkling.

"Remember, my future Decepticons, that you are privileged to have the opportunity to choose your alternate form for yourselves," Shockwave intoned from the lectern, his cyclopic gaze sweeping over the assembled students. "Not so long ago this was a privilege denied many, as rigid castes and vast inequality forced many into alt modes that didn't suit them. You have a valuable opportunity, young Decepticons… so make your choice carefully, and don't squander it."

"Blah blah blah," a squat black-and-green sparkling just in front of Blitzwing grumbled. "For not having a mouth, Headmaster Shockwave sure likes to talk."

"Wish he'd just shut up and let us go home," a brass-colored femme sitting next to the black-and-green kid whispered back. "I already KNOW what I want my alt mode to be, I don't need to sit through this."

Privately Blitzwing agreed with those two - he already knew what alt he wanted, and Shockwave HAD to know that a good three-quarters of the students weren't even paying attention to him at this point. But he kept his vocalizer muted. Let these two take the heat if their headmaster decided to start punishing kids for being inattentive.

"...and now, you are dismissed," Shockwave replied. "Remember - choose wisely!"

Blitzwing was out of his seat by the second syllable of "dismissed," and out the door entirely by the time "wisely" came out of Shockwave's vocalizer. He clutched his datapads to his chest as he ran out of the assembly hall and through the corridors of the school. This was it. His final day as a sparkling in Shockwave's academy was over. When he next passed through the gates of a school, he'd be a fully upgraded adult. And in his opinion, it was about fraggin' time.

"Why's he talk so much?" Astrotrain grumbled, jogging to catch up to his friend. "Sounded like a bunch of garbage to me."

"'Cause we're a captive audience, I guess," Blitzwing replied, looking down at his datapads - information packets on various alt modes available for him to take on at his upgrade. Most of them he'd dismissed as pure garbage - who wanted to be a stupid gun anyhow? - but the one he wanted most took pride of place at the top of the stack. It was the best of all the options in his mind, no contest, and he was absolutely sure Hightower would have no complaints.

"What're you gonna pick?" asked Blitzwing.

Astrotrain shrugged. "Whatever's cheap, I guess. The home doesn't have funds for all the kids to get fancy alt modes. Most of us'll probably be cargo trucks or light-infantry tanks or something."

"That sucks," Blitzwing replied, scowling. After all Shockwave's high-and-mighty talk about all of them being privileged enough to choose their own adult frames, some kids were still going to be short-changed when the time came for their upgrade. And sure, maybe Astrotrain wasn't bright enough to handle any alt more complex than a cargo truck, but he should at least have the choice, right?

"What about you?" asked Astrotrain. "Still wanna be a Seeker?"

"Slag yeah," Blitzwing replied, looking down at the datapad depicting the blueprints of that elite flier frame. Even just seeing the bare-bones technical outline made his plating quiver with envy.

"You know Seekers are a shanix a dozen," Swindle piped up, poking his helm between the two sparklings. "Most common frame out there. Now if you had a little more imagination…"

"Did we ask your opinion, bolt-head?" Blitzwing snapped.

"Just saying!" Swindle exclaimed, that smarmy smile still locked in place. "And if you ever want something a little more exotic, hit my dad up! Just go to Hunter's Gate and ask for Blackjack and-"

"SOMEONE'S gonna get hit up if he doesn't SHUT up!" Blitzwing roared.

Swindle bolted.

"Slag, for being so smart, that kid ain't got a lick of sense," Blitzwing muttered. "One of these days one of his stupid schemes is gonna land him in prison or something."

"Hey," Astrotrain grunted, lightly punching his shoulder. "Don't let the pipsqueak tell you what you can and can't do. You wanna be a dump truck, go be a dump truck. You wanna be a Seeker, go be the best Seeker ever."

Blitzwing grinned. "Thanks. And hope you don't get stuck with something too stupid."

Astrotrain shrugged. "I'll take whatever they give me. It's what I've done all my life."

Blitzwing knew better than to express too much pity towards his friend. Each of them knew that the other came from a slaggy home life, and rather than talk excessively about it they simply chose to accept the other as a friend, no questions asked. The fact that they paid the misery they went through back on the rest of their classmates didn't need to be discussed either.

The two sparklings fistbumped each other, then Astrotrain stomped off to join the other foundlings while Blitzwing boarded the automated shuttle home. The datapad bearing the information on the Seeker frame was still clutched tightly to his chest, close to his spark chamber. He saw no reason why Hightower would argue with his choice - it was a striking form, fast and powerful, and one of the most highly-prized fighter types among Megatron's forces. And surely having a son in Megatron's Air Force would be the status boost Hightower wanted out of his son, right?

He had no illusions regarding his creator's view of his offspring - Hightower hadn't requested Vector Sigma access because he'd had any desire to raise a child. He wanted a son as a sign of his status, to show off to others that he was held in high enough regard to be permitted to reproduce. And his expectations for his offspring were punishingly high - Blitzwing had better be perfectly behaved, well-mannered, and an excellent student, or there would be Pit to pay.

Well, Blitzwing could suck up as much as he needed to in his creator's presence. At least he had school and time with Astrotrain to act out all he wanted. And after his upgrade, he could head off to the Decepticon Academy and be quit of his jack-aft creator forever.

Hightower was waiting for him at the table when he walked in, fingers steepled before him. Blitzwing stood in the doorway until the white mech nodded, signalling he could enter, and he climbed up onto a stool and thumped his datapads down.

"We have something important to discuss," Hightower told him. "It's about your upgrade."

Blitzwing wondered how Hightower could have known what he wanted to talk about. Then he remembered that the professors had sent out word of the assembly ahead of time. "Yeah, and I think I've picked the one I want." He pushed the Seeker datapad forward. "This one."

Hightower didn't even look at the packet, just pushed it aside. "Megatron's top scientists and engineers have been working on a special program, Blitzwing - a program designed to create and train the most formidable warriors ever seen on Cybertron. With any luck, this program and the soldiers it turns out will give the Decepticons the edge they need to crush the Autobots and win the war once and for all."

Why's he yakking about this? Blitzwing wondered.

"The program has progressed past the testing stages, and now they're asking for volunteers," Hightower went on. "You'll be joining those volunteers tomorrow."

Blitzwing stared at him. His own creator had just signed him up to be a lab rat? What did he do wrong? He'd kept his grades up, been perfectly well-mannered at home, and managed to keep his harassing of his classmates under wraps. Unless someone like Swindle had ratted…

"Being a part of the triple-changer program is a high honor," Hightower went on, ignoring his gape. "And even better, they'll be funding your entire upgrade. Which is a blessing, honestly - if an upgrade to a single alt mode is expensive, an adult frame bearing two alt modes is bound to be prohibitively costly-"

"Wait," Blitzwing cut in, his creator's words finally sinking in. "I don't want two alt modes. I wanna be a Seeker. You can't choose my adult frame for me!"

Hightower glowered at the sparkling. "You are my offspring. I went before Vector Sigma to have your spark drawn from my programming. I paid for your sparkling chassis to be designed by the best designers in Polyhex. I can very well choose your adult frame for you."

"You can't make me go!" Blitzwing snarled, slamming his fists onto the table. "I'm getting my upgrade the way I want it, and you can't make me join this stupid triple program!"

Evidently Hightower COULD make him join the "stupid triple program." And it was a mere decacycle later that he found himself drifting reluctantly online, his sensory network sending jolts of pain through his chassis as his spark tried to situate itself in this new frame. He was vaguely aware of wings, and a turret, and threads of new programming floating through his CPU that he didn't dare poke at yet… and a couple of voices rising over the beep and drone of the various monitors hooked up to his chassis.

"I was told my triple-changers would be ready by now! What's taking so long?"

"They're almost ready to be reactivated and released, Lord Megatron. Installing the CPUs and lasercores in a body with multiple alt modes is proving tricky…"

Frag off and let me sleep, he thought groggily. He didn't want to talk to anyone or see anyone right now. Not the creator who had dragged him, kicking and screaming, into the upgrade facility and dumped him off on the technicians; not the technicians who had coldly and clinically subjected him to all manner of tests before strapping him to a table and shutting him down; not whoever was bellowing demands to see "his" triple-changers…

"This one's online already," a voice sounded from close by, and an energon line was pulled from his arm with a sharp sting.

"Thank Primus," another voice replied. "Get him on his feet and get him presentable for Megatron. Use a stim shot if you have to."

"I'm up, I'm up," Blitzwing grumbled, forcing himself to sit up on the berth. He didn't want another fragging shot as long as he functioned. He onlined his optics, rebooting them a few times to focus them, glaring blearily at the two technicians that were disconnecting him from the various monitors.

"How do you feel?" one, a sleek navy-blue mech, asked him. "Any stiffness or pain?"

"No," Blitzwing lied. He wasn't about to admit to the whanging CPU-ache or the twinges flaring along his neural net. No sense giving these sadists another reason to strap him back down and rummage around in his internals some more.

"Any alerts in your HUD we should be aware of?"

Blitzwing scanned the readouts and decided there wasn't anything important in there. "Nope."

The tech nodded. "Can you transform for us? Either alternate mode is suitable."

Blitzwing stared at him. "How the frag am I supposed to do that?"

The tech sighed. "We installed programming that will enable you to access your new transformation cog. It should be readily accessible to you."

He growled and performed a quick self-scan, hating himself for embarrassing himself in front of this loser. The programming was there, true… now it was a matter of actually using it. Mechs and femmes transformed all the time easily - how hard could it be?

The sensation of his entire body splitting apart wasn't painful, but it was certainly bewildering enough to shock a scream out of his vocalizer. He tried to halt the process, found he couldn't, and fought to reverse it back to his root mode. The result was a nasty tangle of limbs and treads and wings as his chassis struggled to assume all three modes at once, straining and squealing with the grind of metal on metal.

"Oh dear," the tech groaned.

Blitzwing responded much less calmly - he roared out a string of profanity at the top of his vocalizer, struggling to shift his jammed components. Pain stabbed through him with every movement, but he continued to twist and thrash. He was stuck, he was stuck like this, trapped in a snarl of mismatched parts, he was going to kill the technicians and the surgeon who did this to him, then he was going to kill Hightower for putting him in this position in the first place…

"Get him unlocked fast!" the other tech shouted. "Megatron's on his way in!"

"Now you tell me!" the first tech snapped back, and he pulled a tool off the nearby workbench and jammed it in an exposed port on what would have been Blitzwing's back had he been in robot mode. Energy jolted through him, and his parts began to flip and fold on their own, shifting him back into root mode. He shoved himself to his feet just as Megatron stormed into the room.

"Lord Megatron," the other tech greeted, bowing. "May I present your new triple-changer warrior."

Blitzwing gaped… then remembered just who he was gaping at and saluted as quickly as he could. He'd known he'd be facing the Great Slagmaker himself sooner or later - the triple changers had been specifically designed to be part of their leader's personal fighting force. But somehow the fact had been buried under his anger and terror and resentment at being shoved into a role he didn't want. Shame - he'd wanted to meet the mech ever since that episode of Gladiators of Kaon so long ago. Just not under these circumstances.

Megatron looked Blitzwing up and down, his expression as studious as if he were inspecting a new piece of equipment. "Your name, soldier."

"Blitzwing of Polyhex," Blitzwing replied.

"And your alternate modes?"

He had to check his databanks to find that out - trust his creator and the jerks in charge of this program to not even give him THAT info. "Heavy infantry tank and bomber-class tetrajet." The knowledge that he shared one alt mode with the Seekers whose frames he'd so coveted sat bitter in his processor - it was as if the universe was taunting him with what he'd wanted and now could never truly have.

"Show me your alt modes," Megatron commanded.

Blitzwing's spark did a flip in its chamber. Not this… not again. Not that agonizing jumble of mixed-up parts, not the pain and humiliation of utterly failing to do what came naturally to every other Cybertronian… not in front of Megatron himself…

A voice pinged over his comm unit - the technician at his side. Go slowly, one component at a time. If you get stuck, I'll help you. Now is not the time for either of us to screw up in front of our leader.

No slag, Blitzwing wanted to repeat, but he gave a slight nod and reactivated his transformation cog.

Focus on one alt at a time, the tech ordered. The tank, good… slowly… wait until the first components have settled before you move on… NOTSOFAST… better, better… untwist that tread before you try anything else…

Megatron's optics were flashing with impatience by the time Blitzwing was done, but he looked satisfied enough at the deadly-looking tank that sat before him. "The tetrajet mode."

Blitzwing started to return to root mode, but the tech stopped him. You're better off changing directly to your jet mode than returning to robot mode. No sense fragging him off even more. Slowly… slowly...

"Excellent," Megatron noted when Blitzwing finally settled into his jet mode, a wide grin on his face. "And this is the only surviving unit?"

"Unfortunately, yes," the tech by his side replied. "The other two did not survive the process. Though we have two more awaiting their turn in the operating room as we speak."

"I expect no more failures," Megatron growled, then turned his attention to Blitzwing. "As soon as you're released from the medical center, report to my base in Polyhex. Your training begins immediately, soldier!"

There was a great deal Blitzwing wanted to tell Megatron - that this adult frame hadn't been his choice, that he'd been forced into it by his creator, that the very fact that he stood here before the Decepticon commander flew in the faceplate of his own cause - but he settled for a sullen "Yes, sir."

The tech let out a sigh of relief as soon as Megatron stormed out. "That was close… now let's just hope the next two don't snuff out on us. We can't afford another failure."

"Are you fraggers done with me?" Blitzwing demanded.

"Yes, you can go," the tech replied, waving a hand at him dismissively.

Blitzwing stalked out, his new wings twitching and itching the entire way. He hadn't expected or hoped for Hightower to be waiting for him as he walked out, but his tanks still roiled in angry disgust at not seeing the white mech in the waiting area. This was his creator's fragging idea, his grandiose plan to earn a little more prestige for himself. The least he could do was at least show a little support for his own creation.

He was so blinded by his own anger that he didn't notice the sparkling until they bounced off his leg. The kid staggered, arms pinwheeling, then glared up at him.

"Watch it!" he growled, as if Blitzwing didn't tower over him. "Are you blind or somethin'?"

"Astro?"

Astrotrain squinted up at him, trying to puzzle out where he'd seen this mech before. Then the connection finally formed in his CPU, and his optics blazed with shock. "Blitzwing?"

"What are you doing here?" Blitzwing sank to one knee, unused to looking down at his best friend - only friend, really. "I thought you weren't getting upgraded for another quatrex."

"Me neither… but some scientist came to the home and said they needed volunteers for some triple project. They gave us all checkups, and I guess they thought I'd be best for… whatever a triple project is. So I'm here."

Blitzwing's spark lurched. Part of him wanted to grab Astrotrain and run, to get him out of here before he could be forced into this project. But the techs were already stepping out to collect him, and the caretaker who had accompanied him here was already giving Blitzwing a distrustful look. There was no time to change his friend's fate.

Maybe he had time to at least make things a little better for him, though.

"Look, Astro," he told him, dropping his voice a little. "They're gonna take you in there and knock you out. When you wake up, you'll feel weird and you'll hurt some. That's your spark getting settled in a bigger body with an extra alt mode. And when you try to transform, do it slow. Otherwise you might get stuck."

Astrotrain stared up at him. "You're part of the triple project too?"

Blitzwing nodded.

"Well, I won't get stuck," Astrotrain declared. "I'm better than THAT."

"You will," Blitzwing told him, more as a warning than to be cruel. "And hey… it won't be so bad. If nothing else, at least we went through it together."

"Yeah." Astrotrain smirked. "And at least I know I won't come out lookin' as ugly as you."

"You are gonna come out of there ten times uglier than me," Blitzwing retorted with a laugh. He stood and moved aside, letting the techs step forward to escort his friend into the operating room. "Good luck, Astro."

"Thanks, Blitz." And Astrotrain followed the techs out.

Vorns passed. The war raged on. Blitzwing did indeed join Megatron's elite forces as soon as he'd fully recovered from his upgrade, and he quickly racked up one of the highest kill counts in the Decepticon army. Astrotrain fought by his side more often than not, and though they bickered and mocked each other frequently, they remained fast friends… though Blitzwing was still fueled by a raging hatred that he took out on those around him more often than not, be they Autobot soldiers or Decepticon comrades.

And the sight of Seekers arcing gracefully across the sky always sent a blaze of envy and anger through his spark. That should have been his destiny… not a triple-changer, a freak among Megatron's forces. And that envy soon developed into hatred - hatred that the Seekers were all too willing to give back in kind, given his reputation.

The war continued… and led to its inevitable conclusion.

"Blitzwing?"

Blitzwing and Astrotrain had been watching a video on a tablet, killing time before Megatron called them to board the Nemesis, when Blitzwing heard his name. He scowled and returned his attention to the fight, doing his best to shut it out. NOW the mech suddenly remembered he had a creation…

"Blitzwing?"

"That's you, dummy," Astrotrain informed him.

Blitzwing growled and shoved the tablet at his friend before turning to glower at the speaker. "What the frag do you want?"

Hightower recoiled at the venom in Blitzwing's tone. "I just wanted to say goodbye before you left on this mission, is all."

"Okay, you said it," Blitzwing retorted. "Now get lost."

Hightower folded his arms in front of his chestplate. "Will you at least hear me out fully before you chase me off?"

Blitzwing wanted nothing more than to grab Hightower in an iron grip and fling him off the edge of the landing platform. Primus knew that he richly deserved a beatdown or worse for all the slag he'd put him through during his childhood. But he just gestured for Hightower to continue.

"I… I'm very proud of you, my son," Hightower went on, and for the first time that Blitzwing could remember he actually smiled at his creation. "You've come so far - one of Megatron's strongest warriors, and a member of his personal forces. You're everything I could have hoped for in a son, and I firmly believe you'll continue to make me proud on this mission."

Blitzwing managed to keep his scowl on for a few more seconds before he burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Hightower demanded.

"What's NOT funny?" Blitzwing retorted. "You finally call me a son when I'm about to leave Cybertron for who-knows-where! You finally act like I'm worth more than the dirt you dig out of the grooves of your pedes! And all it took for that to happen was me killing a few hundred Autobots and getting shipped off to deep space!"

Hightower opened his mouth to protest, but Blitzwing cut him off.

"I was never your son," he snarled. "You were never my father. You may have built me, but you fobbed off the job of raising me onto a paid caretaker - a caretaker who was still more a father to me than you could ever be! You ignored me when you weren't slapping me around, and you didn't even give a frag about me unless I disappointed you somehow! And you had the ball bearings to take the one choice I had about my future away from me!"

Hightower shook with anger. Astrotrain scooted awkwardly away, deciding he didn't want to be part of this conversation. Blitzwing didn't blame him.

"So no, you don't get to be proud of me," he growled. "You are not my father. You're some mech I share programming with who turned me into an experiment. Who refused to let me have the one thing that was still mine - a choice about my future." He stepped closer, looming over the white jetformer. "Astro's more family to me than you will EVER be."

Hightower shrank back, wings twitching. "I only wanted what was best for you, Blitzwing. Is that so wrong?"

"That's a fragging lie," Blitzwing retorted. "You only wanted what was best for you. That's all you've ever wanted. Now get out of here. And if you ever contact me again, no matter where I am, I'll come find you and beat you to scrap."

He didn't wait to hear Hightower's reaction to that remark - he stalked off to the other side of the landing pad. Footsteps trailed after him, and he tensed, ready to turn and deck the mech if he tried following him… then realized it was just Astrotrain and let himself relax.

"Slag, your old mech's a piece of work. How'd you NOT chuck him over the side?"

"Was a close thing," Blitzwing admitted. "And he's got antigravs, so it would've been useless anyhow."

"Woulda felt satisfying," Astrotrain pointed out. "He didn't go far, wanna chase him down and-"

"No," Blitzwing cut in. "I'm done with him. If I ever hear from him again, it'll be too soon."

Astrotrain nodded and elected to drop the matter. "Let's see if we can finish watching this video before we board."

"Sounds good."

Both triple-changers returned to their video, awaiting the departure of the Nemesis… and a mission that would change their lives, and the fate of Cybertron, forever.

It would be many vorns later - four million of this miserable organic planet's years - before Blitzwing heard anything regarding his creator again. And he only learned that from being called into the control room to face Megatron, Soundwave, and Shockwave's hideous mug on the communications' screen.

"Whatever it is, I didn't do it," Blitzwing announced.

"You have news from Cybertron," Megatron replied, ignoring the snarky remark.

Blitzwing turned to face the single optic on the screen. "What is it?"

Shockwave paused, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "Your creator, Hightower, has deactivated. He was found dead at his desk this morning. The cause of death was determined to be a catastrophic internal malfunction."

Blitzwing stared back at Shockwave, waiting for any emotion at the death of his abusive creator - grief, anger, joy - to hit home. All he felt was a sort of resigned relief, a sense of some heavy weight being set down at last.

"Good," was all he said, and turned and strode out before anyone could stop him.

A sniff cut into Blitzwing's morose thoughts, and he realized Swift was crying. "Sweetie… it's okay. I'm okay. I promise."

"I had no idea," Swift murmured, reaching up to wipe cleanser from her optics. "Uncle Astro never talked about it… I didn't know you had it so bad."

"I knew your creator was a harsh mech," Glory added, her wings trembling. "But I didn't realize it was that bad. I'm sorry, Blitz."

Blitzwing sighed and shook his head. "Not your fault. And Astro… Astro's different. For him, entering the program was a step up from what he WOULD have been - front-line cannon fodder, a quickie upgrade before being thrown onto the front lines. At least as a trip, he had a chance to be something more."

"Whereas you didn't even get a choice," Glory murmured. "At least I had a choice - a limited one, since supplies on Chaar were so scarce, but still a choice."

"I'm glad you got that choice," he replied. "And I'm grateful Swift was able to choose for herself, too. Even if she'd wanted a triple form, I'd have supported her… and helped her as best I could."

Swift squeezed his hand. "Can't you change your alt, Dad? Go back to the Seeker form you always wanted? There's nothing stopping you from doing it, and I know Knock Out would love to design something for you."

Blitzwing shook his head. "Nah… I'm used to this form by now. And downgrading always causes more problems than its worth. Besides, I'd be terrified of just what kind of new chassis Knock Out wanted to design for me. I'm not stylish, fraggit."

Glory laughed softly. "For what it's worth… if TC and Skywarp knew the reason you didn't get along with them, they'd have been perfectly understanding. I can't vouch for Starscream, but then, he never wanted to get along with anybody."

Blitzwing shrugged. "It's the past. To be honest… I'd rather focus on what I've got now." He squeezed Swift's hand. "I've tried as hard as I could to be a better father to you than Hightower was to me. Maybe I didn't do a perfect job, but fraggit, I loved you and wanted you to have everything I didn't get as a kid."

"To be fair, it sounds like Hightower set the bar REALLY low," Swift replied with a smirk. "But you're a wonderful dad. I promise. And the only thing I regret is that Hightower's dead… because I want to track him down and punch him for you."

Blitzwing chuckled. "You just focus on resting, kid. And when you feel up to it, I want to take you on your first flight. If it's okay with your mom."

"I'd be perfectly fine with that," Glory replied. "You deserve this, sweetspark."

He nodded and kept ahold of Swift's hand, squeezing it lightly. It had been rough, revisiting his past… but he felt better for having shared it with his conjux and daughter. And though he felt it would be a long time before his anger towards his creator ever fully cooled, at least that anger made him all the more determined to be a better father towards Swift. She deserved the best he could give her.