You weren't just an ally of the Autobots. You were the daughter of a wealthy, influential family, whose name was known in every newspaper. A family of whom they said, "These people are closer to power than power itself." From childhood, your life was structured like a chess match: luxurious mansions, strict teachers, cold corridors where laughter never rang.

Your father was never around. You remembered him not as a caring figure, but as a stone wall. He was always somewhere far away: at meetings, on business trips, behind closed doors. You grew up among maids, whom he mercilessly fired if he noticed even the slightest intimacy between them and you. No attachments. No real connections. You were surrounded by rules, silence, and expectations.

And then came the day you turned seventeen. A day that should have been bright. But that was when your illusions collapsed. The truth brought to you by one of the maids, who showed you the video with trembling hands. The video of your father... shooting your mother. The cold shot, and his words, spoken so calmly, as if it were a business contract:

"The rise of a king, and the fall of a queen."

These words were forever imprinted in your memory. They became your inner brand.

...

Today.

Your footsteps echoed in the base's hangar as the heavy wheels of the car stopped at the entrance. He stepped out of the black car — your father. Majestic, reserved, in a seamless suit, with the driver at his side, hanging back like a shadow.

"You're here again," — he began immediately, without even a greeting. His voice cut through the air, as firm as ever.

"These mechanical creatures are not friends, but weapons. They are a threat. Sooner or later, they will destroy this world. And you... you hide behind them like a shield. Stupid. Dangerous."

At first, you were silent. You sat and listened. Your face was stony, your gaze fixed on the floor. But inside, it was growing, seething.

And through the wall, they could already hear his loud voice. Optimus was the first to sense the tension and stepped out into the corridor. Arcee followed, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Bumblebee peered over her shoulder, his sensors twitching. Even Ratchet, usually preoccupied with his instruments, turned at the shouts.

They came closer and found themselves standing in front of your father, who continued to pour out his accusations.

"You don't understand," — he said.

"They're not your family. They have no heart, no soul. You're just a plaything in their alien war!"

And then something snapped inside you.

"You know nothing about me!" — you shouted, your voice drowning out his own.

He paused for a second, stunned by the fact that for the first time he heard not silence, not submission, but a scream in response.

You stepped closer and jabbed your index finger into his chest.

"I'll never be able to tell you what happened the day I turned seventeen!"

The words rang out, echoing throughout the hangar. The Autobots exchanged glances. Arcee's frown deepened. Optimus's shoulders tensed. Bumblebee froze, looking at you.

You exhaled sharply, clenched your fists, and continued, metaphors clear as day to him.

"The rise of a king... And the fall of a queen!"

Your eyes flashed with anger. And you saw his face twitch. He realized you knew.

"Shut up," — He hissed, trying to drown out your voice.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Seventeen!" — You screamed again, drowning him out.

"I know! I saw everything!"

These words tore through the air. Everything around froze.