I inherited three things from my creators, before my home city was sieged, and my creators offlined; each one of equal importance.
My carrier's alt-mode. (she said it tickled when she was scanned.)
A data drive with my sire's private research on synthetic energon.
And deuel swords with engravings in ancient cybertronian. Thin, flat, double-edged blades polished to a perfect silver, they were were hid in scabbards along my shins, and the hilts were hidden neatly behind my knee plating. It was an unbreakable work of art that was especially useful to someone with my... well, it's not a defect, exactly, but there's no other accurate word for it.
When I was born, civilization was still standing, but political unrest had been brewing for years. My parents had told me, whenever I asked as to why almost everyone I met was older than me, or if I could have a little sister or brother, that it was 'not the right time'. Spinpoint had told me that I was one of the last sparklings to be born, because soon after, the revolution started. When I was the cybertronian equivalent of seven, Orion Pax had been renamed as Optimus Prime and been handed the power to destroy his brother-in-arms.
I now realize that by the time I was eleven, my creators had already prepared for our eventual separation. I had been given an alt-mode, a copy of some valuable scientific research, and was being trained by both in basic sword fighting and aerial techniques.
Then, a few days before I turned thirteen, half of the entire decepticon army -including Megatron himself- raided our city.
Dad went to work, but not before taking five minutes to say goodbye to Mom, and then to me.
"Eclipse, I want you to listen to me." his voice had a waver to it that I'd never heard before. His pale blue optics had met mine, looking more fragile then I'd ever seen them before. Mine, flecked with the same blue, took in the sight of him, because I had heard about the raid, and didn't know if I could ever see him again. Without a doubt he was going to join the Autobots.
Once he had my undivided attention, he continued.
"My research that I've given you is not to be shown to anyone. Ever. Especially Decepticons. I've seen their tactics, and they use fear to get what they want. I don't want you helping people like that win a war. Understand?"
I was going to say, "okay," but the word stuck in my vocalizer, refusing to come out. So I nodded.
"If I call you, for any reason, at all, I want you to go hide in the safehouse."
The safe house was the small room that we had below our real house, hidden and padlocked. No one even knew about it, because by the time I was old enough to go to school, they were unsafe. I was homeschooled instead, learning science and basic medicine from my sire, combat from my carrier.
"Love you." he kissed me on the cheek and left. I held onto the spot with my hand, savoring the lingering feeling.
"I love you too." He kissed my carrier deeply, holding her close to him. Their plating seemed to melt together until I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.
That's the last good memory I have of my creators.
One hour later, I heard him over the comm.
"Go." he had whispered. My carrier and I had gone.
Minutes later, she had left to go find my sire.
In those few hours of my life, I can say, I have never been more alone.