dramatic pointing at ripped up furniture

[aminerproblem]

Who: pre-war Megs and Tarn
What: Tarn gets a talk about his garbage actions
When: Shortly after everyone's favorite torturer extraordinaire gets their ass into a medical bed
Where: Camp Decepticon
Warnings: feeling bad for terrible people 

Tarn would find himself getting another visitor in the form of his would-be commander. Not quite the terrifying warlord he should be growing into: still inexperienced in matters of leadership, and less so in matters of killing Autobots. 

Megatron knew what happened not long after it occurred. Having been working the clinic when his older self came with his injuries, it didn't take much to deduce how he got them. Figuring Tarn was the worse off of the two since his older self wasn't mangled like Drift was, he made his preparations. As soon as there was an opening in his shifts, he took what he needed, sent a quiet message to Aftermath, and left. 

With him he was carrying a storage crate from the Autobot medibay and his own solemn conviction. The side of his face that had a blaster bolt shot through it had managed to heal up fairly well with some methodical application of repair nanites, though a deep gouge still ran through it.  His previous concern was noticeably absent as he looked over the Decepticon's wounds before stopping at the silver badge, a thin, well concealed plume of anger and guilt running up his struts. He makes eye contact as he steps through the doorframe.

"Your accomplice doesn't seem to be particularly attentive."

Comments

[aminerproblem]

"You're free to murder as you like, I doubt what anyone says will stop you, but you will not do it in my name."

Megatron stands to his feet, leaving no sympathy for Tarn to find as anguish crashes through the warrior's frame. Despite what Tarn had done, a little part of him did still feel wrong for wrenching his faction from him - it was clear enough that Tarn had been trained to be so fanatical.

But, at the same time, he couldn't turn a blind eye to this. Admittedly, there's a small hope that separating Tarn from his Decepticon identity may help him break out of his own self-fulfilling cycle of violence, as painful as the process would be.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn doesn't even hear Megatron's words. He doesn't know what to do with himself as his spark feels like it begins to tear itself apart. Is this what it feels like when he uses his vocal talents?

He collapses back on his elbows, continuing to stare up disbelievingly. This isn't real.

"Megatron, please, I beg of you... Don't do this. Kill me before you make me leave my faction. Please, if you must do this, end me now."

It would be easy. Tarn has nothing left to live for.

[aminerproblem]

Megatron picks up the crate, the badge itself tentatively in hand, and the memories of both Ratchet and Drift's battered and beaten bodies still fresh in his mind.

He looks at Tarn's damaged frame, the re-opened wound on his abdominal plating, and the pain clear in his eyes. A small part of him considers it. The little nagging feeling that berates him for not slaughtering Sentinel when he had the chance.

He meets the warrior's optics and finally makes up his mind.

"No."

Megatron takes a few steps back towards the door. He was done here.

[sparkwhisperer]

As Megatron goes to leave Tarn tries to ease himself off the berth. He cannot accept this. He cannot let Megatron take his identity. Despite his disorientation and anguish he manages to catch himself before he falls on his face.

Desperately he tries to comm his team. No answer. And again. And again. They wont let this happen. They will help him fight this injustice.

But he's alone; they aren't here. His allies are dwindling and for the first time in millennia Tarn feels a stab of fear. He hates it. He feels himself crumbling. All he has left is his mask and now all it seems to do is mock him.