Tarn lets out an unhappy puff of air through his vents as Spinister confirms his thoughts. Besides, he is right, anything would be better than old corpse fuel. He shudders slightly at the thought.

As Spinister finishes up the repair job, setting armor plates back into place, Tarn straightens back up.

"Perhaps if you would..." His hand comes up to touch the gunshot wound on his flank, optics growing cold as he remembers the circumstance that caused the injury.