Blitzwing was a contradiction forged in cold steel and fractured code

To the Decepticons, he was a weapon—powerful, unpredictable, and unsettling. A triple-changer with a jet’s scream, a tank’s thunder, and a robot frame that carried all that violence with terrifying ease. But what truly made others wary wasn’t just his firepower. It was his mind

Three faces. Three voices. Three souls sharing one spark

The icy strategist spoke with clipped precision, calm and cruel, calculating every move with surgical focus The maniacal lunatic laughed through combat, shrieking with delight as explosions bloomed, living for chaos and carnage And the hotheaded brute roared with rage, charging headlong into battle, fueled by pure hatred—especially for Autobots

He was called a freak. A nut job. An embarrassment whispered about in Decepticon ranks

Yet on the battlefield, when Blitzwing descended, Autobots ran

His hatred for them burned hotter than most. It was old. Deep. Personal in ways even Blitzwing himself couldn’t fully articulate. He dreamed of watching the Autobots fall one by one, of silence finally replacing the endless war in his head. He believed that when the last Autobot fell, his mind would finally be at peace

What he never dreamed of—

—was Bumblebee

Small. Yellow. Loud. Reckless. Infuriatingly cocky. A childish Autobot who joked in the face of death and fought like he had nothing to lose. The kind of mech Blitzwing should have crushed without a second thought

Instead, he noticed him

At first, it was stolen glances mid-battle—Blitzwing’s cannon trained on Bumblebee a fraction too long. A hesitation disguised as tactical delay. The lunatic laughed it off. The brute snarled at the weakness. The strategist… said nothing, quietly filing the anomaly away

Then came longer looks. Moments where Blitzwing found himself tracking Bumblebee’s movements not to destroy him—but to follow him

And somehow, impossibly, Blitzwing pulled him aside one night. No witnesses. No blasters fired. Just words exchanged in the dark

From there, something fragile and forbidden took root

No one knew

They met only when the world slept—at the brink of day, the brink of night, and in the deep quiet hours when even the war seemed to hold its breath. Always in the woods. Always hidden beneath towering trees and starlight filtering through leaves

They talked. Argued. Learned each other. Felt things neither of them had names for. Together, they weren’t Autobot or Decepticon

They just… belonged

Now—

Blitzwing leaned back against a massive tree as the sun dipped low on the horizon, painting the sky in molten orange and violet. Shadows stretched long through the forest. Evening insects hummed. The air was still

Inside his mind, the voices stirred

”He better come” the brute says with a huff. Bumblebee was usually never late

“Unless he got blown up!” the lunatic cackled, laughter echoing sharp and nervous “Wouldn’t that be funny? Hah! Tragic, tragic—”

The brute growled low in Blitzwing’s chest ”If he is harmed, I will tear the battlefield apart…”

Blitzwing exhaled, optics fixed on the treeline. His two other hims were getting louder everyday

“Quiet,” the strategist muttered aloud, voice rough but strangely gentle

The sun slipped further down. Night crept closer

And Blitzwing waited— for his yellow insect to emerge from the shadows