(no subject)

[sparkwhisperer]

Who: Tarn and First Aid with a guest appearance by Rampage, Tarn and Sixshot
What: Tarn has "words" with First Aid
When: a few weeks after pollen
Where: somewhere near the Autobot Medibay
Warnings: gratuitous robot violence. Seriously.

Embarrassment. It’s the only word Tarn can find to describe how he feels upon recollection of his last meeting with First Aid. The tiny Autobot had taken him firmly in hand, taking advantage of every shameful desire that he could muster; drunk with the effects of the pollen that had clogged his systems.

Worse than what the medic had seen was what he probably thinks. After how Tarn had acted, any respect or fear that First Aid had was surely long gone. And what rumors had he been spreading? Who else knew about the incident? His tanks churn at the thought.

Really, Tarn knows what he must do. The only thing keeping him contained, so far, was the thought of Megatron finding out. They had come so far, trust was just beginning to be rebuilt. Was his pride really worth shattering all that work?

Yes. It was.

Which is how Tarn found himself prowling the back alleys near the Autobot Medibay, optics scanning for a certain small red and white Autobot that he was to have words with.

Fortunately it doesn’t take him long.

Comments

[lifepersists]

Normally, it was Sixshot who was hanging out in the alleys around the medibay looking lost and uncertain, but the one unfortunate brush with Pharma had left First Aid feeling cautious about the 'back door' of the medibay. Tarn and Pharma thought similarly in this regard at least, but the current Autobot CMO was more on guard in regards to the possible presence of his former boss than he was expecting the leader of the DJD.

Despite his promotion he didn't see himself above his former tasks. Junk had to be disposed of and recycled, and the bins were kept out back. He was dragging out some hopelessly destroyed scrap that needed to be smelted down into new parts when he turns and startles at Tarn's silhouette. The biolights patterning the mech's frame were a dead give away if it wasn't for the iconic mask.

"Decided to hang out where you belong with the trash? If you're looking for Megatron, he's not here."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn looks down at the Autobot as he startles. Unfortunately he knows its probably more due to the fact that he wasn’t expecting someone rather than it being the leader of the DJD lying in wait in the shadows.

His mouth twists into a severe frown at the offhanded comment. It really solidifies his fears.

“I’m not looking for Megatron. It’s you who I’ve sought out today."

With lightning speed his hand flies forward, grabbing First Aid by the throat and slamming him back against the large garbage bin.

“Let’s have a talk, Autobot.” he spits the word like poison, fingers digging cruelly into neck cabling and denting delicate plating. “I’m afraid a certain degree of damage has been done to my reputation. Disrespect will not be tolerated any longer."

[lifepersists]

First Aid wasn't sure when his feelings about Tarn had morphed from subconscious fear to open contempt, but Tarn does hit it on the nail; after the mech's behavior, he was far more scared of an unexpected presence in the alley than the mech himself. Combined with his good relations with Megatron and the mech keeping Tarn on a tight leash, he feels confident enough around him without concern for his safety.

He didn't even see the hand coming. He doesn't even get the chance to fully process it until his back is slammed hard against the bin and pain shoots through his throat. Damage assessments pop up on his HUD, reporting superficial denting to his throat. First Aid makes a small sound, fingers digging into Tarn's wrist to try and pry it free.

"I'm not the one who turned you into a joke! That was all you."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn's free hand cracks against First Aid's face in a powerful backhand. The steady grip on his throat keeps the medic from going anywhere, forcing him to take the full force of it.

"Listen to me very carefully." The warning comes as a low whisper as Tarn leans in, the sharp edges of his chassis pinning first aid firmly against the unyielding metal of the waste receptacle. "It seems that a bit of reeducation is necessary." Slowly the hand holding him up begins to tighten, the already slightly dented playing crumpling easily beneath the pressure

"I have held off for so long...let myself passively stand by, because For some ludicrous reason Megatron seems to be fond of you. I will not wait by any longer. A reintroduction to fear is necessary."

[lifepersists]

It's not the backhand that was hard enough to dent his mask or the words hissed into his audio, half muffled by the lingering buzz of pain, but the taste of energon in the back of his throat as the crushing grip bursts a small fuel line that really gets the point across he's in deep slag. His visor widens and as the only panic starts to set in, so does his struggling.

"Gk--" he wheezes as his neck makes crunch-pop sounds in Tarn's grip. More damage warnings pop up on his HUD, alerting him to leaking in his intake.

Even though Tarn had him firmly pinned, he still tries to kick, swinging the bottom heavy boots towards the tank's thighs and crotch in earnest attempts to hurt. He feels vulnerable; every fiber of his body screamed to combine but there was no one to combine with.

"You-- you can't--" he starts, but cuts himself off early because his voice was better used for screaming. "Ratchet? Ratchet!"

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarns fingers expertly seek out First Aid’s vocalizer, peeling the protective plating from his protoform with ease to reveal the prize beneath. It doesn’t take much effort to crush it, leaving behind a sparking wreckage.

He leans down, mask pressed against the struggling mech’s audial.

“Ratchet can’t hear you.”

Tarn steps back, letting the stunned frame fall to the dirt before delivering a powerful kick to his chassis, sending him flying into the alley wall.

“No one can hear you.” His voice is low and deadly as he crouches down to look the medic in the face, rage blazing in his optics.

[lifepersists]

"No--" First Aid's plea gets cut short as Tarn's fingers peel into his throat. He chokes on his own energon as his vocalizer spits static, trying to reset a few times before it shuts down, his body diverting the energy away from the broken component.

Silence was truly terrifying.

The hard slam of Tarn's foot makes his stomach plates cave into a distinct 'Tarn toe' shape and his body leaves red paint scrapes against the wall where he hits it hard. For a moment he doesn't move, too stunned from the sudden shock of pain through his whole body. He feels like he might retch; he can't even pay attention to the notifications streaming through his head, too focused on shivering and venting.

Tarn's looming shadow forces him to shift onto his knees and he places a shaky hand on his face, pulling the mask free. It was dented enough to press sharply against his mouth, and once he drops it blood drools from his split lip. It hurts and he can feel his armor grinding as the plates shift with the movement but self preservation urged him to get back on his feet.

"Hkk--" First Aid's vocalizer clicks, sparking at his throat.

On impulse he lashes out, having nothing more than laser scalpels in his fingers to try and take across the mask.

[sparkwhisperer]

One of the laser scalpels finds its mark, even as Tarn ducks away, leaving a deep gouge across the cheek of his mask

"Disappointing." He sighs lowly, shaking his head in disaproval. " Despite what you may think, I had really preferred to not have to do this."

Tarn catches the medic's wrist, large hand easily engulfing it. The kibble in his forearm creaks with warning as he takes a step closer, pushing First Aid back a few steps in the process. Delicately he grasps a red index finger, rotating it slightly as if to inspect the laser scalpel at its tip. After a few seconds, and without warning, he brutally rips the finger from First Aid' hand. It isn't a second later that he follows suit with the remainder of his fingers, leaving behind a bleeding, useless, stump

"Murder of this variety is always so messy and artless."

[lifepersists]

First Aid's hands are his livelihood. He has about a thousand more sensors than the average mech in them, all hard wired to various tools, to measure everything like small deviations in plating to minute differences in temperature. All those sensors light up with overwhelming pain as just the first finger is twisted (more like savaged) off. By the last, his body helpfully turned feeling like retching into actually retching.

He couldn't even scream, though his vocoder clicks with the attempt. Each pulse of his fuel pump causes a fresh spurt of energon to pulse from his fingers and he has to force himself to focus on shutting the useless extremity off so that he doesn't waste his active energon through the twisted mess of his hand. Or tries to at least-- he can't focus enough, his head was swimming, too dizzy.

Sweet Primus.

Somehow he always sort of knew that this would be how he went. His history with the DJD was too deep, even if Tarn's reasons were petty. He's let himself get too comfortable and now his memory was feeding him images of dead mechs with their brains pried free, piles of parts that you could only tell had been a living person once from the bit of an eye or finger.

First Aid does what any sensible mech in his position would try: running. The running didn't turn out as well as he hoped though. His joints were starting to lose stability and the first few steps were more like falling upright. And then he falls downward, his already bent armor clanking loudly as he lands heavily.

It's a shame. He'd really started to see a turn in a direction in his life.

For the dog

[sparkwhisperer]

It’s a mess. A disaster. Tarn’s plan could not have ended more poorly if he had tried. Which is how he ended up in this position; crouched over a shallow puddle of water, trying to hastily scrub First Aid’s energon from his drenched frame.

it’s a futile cause; he knows that. He’ll need to find a deep pool to submerge himself in if he truly wishes to get himself clean. Or, making his way to Spinster’s shower…but he can’t. Not without running into his leader. Megatron can’t see him like this. Although,surely he knows by now. That wretched Beastformer undoubtedly brought First Aid’s brutal beating to light. In fact he’s probably being hunted at this very moment. He desperately needs to think of a way to talk himself out of this. The clock is ticking.

He’s made a mistake. Not in trying to kill First Aid; no that admission will never come. They’ll have to pry it from his cold black spark. The mistake lies in letting it become personal. He let it become a more drawn out production than it really needed to be. It should have been quick and over before he could be caught. Or, perhaps he should have knocked him out and dragged him far outside the city like he did with Drift.

Regardless, it's already been done and now he must face the consequences of his stupidity. He won’t run, and he won’t hide like a coward. Instead, after a deep vent, he simply resumes washing his plating bit by bit. He’ll have to wait this situation out.

It doesn’t take very long before he hears someone’s distant approach. Its quiet and focused, but spark wrenchingly familiar. He doesn’t turn from his work as the footfalls become closer.

“Ah. So he sent you. I can’t say that I’m surprised."

[phase6kindofbot]

"I'd have come even if he hadn't sent me."

There's fresh, suppressed hurt in the soft spoken words. Sixshot's footsteps slow to a stop not too far away, pale armor striped by shadows from the surrounding buildings, eyes gleaming in the dark.

"Never imagined it'd come down to this. No. Wait, that," he laughs, pain laced through the sound. "That's a lie. I should have seen this coming since the beginning, but I've been making myself blind overlooking all your mistakes instead."

His optics flare and he takes a step towards his friend, towards the source of all his present grief. It was like Megatron's defection all over again but a thousand times worse, a betrayal so deep it left his spark hollowed out, the empty spaces replaced with a lead core of numbness.

"You're a short sighted and petty little mech, but I trusted you." The wolf mech takes another step closer and the hurt in his eyes turn into a cold, seething fury. His armor unfolds suddenly and he rears back into his bipedal mode, guns flipping into his hands. "You were dear to me. You still are."

"Which is the only reason you're not going to die today."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn scoffs a bitter laugh, shaking his head. He doesn't turn to face the Phase Sixer, not caring to see the disappointment that surely is written across his face.

"You're a fool Sixshot. Megatron is too if he thinks he can change me."

There's no anger in his voice; just exhaustion. A flat plane devoid of any discernible emotion. After a brief pause, he continues to scrub as if no one was standing behind him, pinning him with that angry stare.

Tarn feels as if he at least owes Sixshot an explanation since he won't be receiving an apology.

"I hold myself to a certain degree of pride. Your pet Autobot was challenging it in a way that I could no longer ignore."

[phase6kindofbot]

"My pet Autobot," Sixshot throws his helm back and laughs, a sharp, bitter sound. "Oh, that's rich coming you. You realize I can smell him on you every time we've talked, right?"

The laughter stops as suddenly as it started and Sixshot's voice turns icy. "I could've flattened Pharma a thousand times over, but I spared that skeevy little cog for your sake." The sound of light footsteps echo out behind Tarn as the Sixer makes his steady, decisive way down towards the other mech.

"Shall I track him down then? I'll cut him apart for you nice and slow. I'm sure Megatron won't mind in the least once he knows the guy's sordid little history."

[sparkwhisperer]

“As you wish. He is of little use to me here. Pharma certainly hasn’t been providing me with Transformation Cogs. That role seems to have fallen to Spinister; intentional or not. ”

Tarn stands from his crouch, turning to finally pin Sixshot with an equally icy stare. Energon is still smeared in a vivid streak across his mask, a sick reminder of what he had just done. Even as the Phase Sixer stalks closer, Tarn doesn’t back away. He remains steadfast, squaring his shoulders in preparation for whatever was to be thrown at him. He's not going to run.

"I hadn’t pegged you as one for petty revenge. Perhaps there is hope for you yet."

[phase6kindofbot]

"You wretched-"

Tarn was a head and more taller than him in root mode, but that doesn't stop Sixshot's free hand from finding his throat. The smell of First Aid's energon envelopes his senses in a sickly miasma and it takes every once of his control not to flex his fingers down and crush that prized, deadly vocalizer despite everything telling him to do exactly that.

"You have changed for Megatron," he uses his grip on Tarn's neck to draw him down to eye level, optics burning livid red despite the sudden, strange softness of his words, face mask inches from the DJD commander's audio. "We have all changed for Megatron. The one you changed for turned his back on us and left our hopes and dreams in ruins. Follow his path if you'd like, but I have a future to protect and someone better to change for."

And then he's rearing back to try and use the the grip on Tarn's throat to throw him through the nearest wall.

He can't kill Tarn and the young Megatron would actually probably disapprove of murdering Pharma, so this will just have to do. Sixshot never pegged himself for petty revenge either, but here they go.

[sparkwhisperer]

He’s wrong. It’s all he can think as Sixshot lays into him. This Megatron could be better than the last. He could fix what became broken. All it would take would be a gentle nudge in the right direction. It doesn’t have to be different, they just need to pick up where they left off.

The next thing Tarn is aware of, he’s lying in a heap of rubble, staring through a large hole in the wall. He quickly rights himself, stepping rather shakily through the crumbling building. He’s suddenly overcome with a sick feeling of deja vu; a reminder of their first meeting upon waking on this wretched planet. The ridiculous fight and his mortifying breakdown….

Much has changed since that day.

“Sixshot…” the name comes with a low warning as he staggers closer, within range to whisper. “Don’t make me hurt you. I would prefer for us both to walk away from this."

[phase6kindofbot]

"We are going to both walk away from this, Tarn," Sixshot says, lethally calm as he strides towards the shaky form staggering towards him, ignoring the way the purple mech's voice made his spark flicker. "Megatron asked me to bring you to him. Alive."

"He didn't oppose the idea of you being a little chewed on, though." Sixshot might have been wearing a mask, but it didn't do much to cover the sadistic smile that'd curled on the edges of his lips.

"You tortured someone I cared about." He draws his hand back, optics blazing. "You broke my trust."

The fist comes up fast enough to break the sound barrier, the shockwave cracking thunderously through their surroundings.

[sparkwhisperer]

He isn’t waiting long in the room that Sixshot had deposited him in before Megatron makes an appearance. Barely enough time to steel himself for the thunderous rage that suddenly fills the room. He doesn’t notice himself backing up several paces. He knows this Megatron.

“I suppose you expect me to apologize."

[aminerproblem]

Tarn's nonchalance as he enters the room does nothing to quell the thunder in his step, or the barely contained violence in his frame. The fact that Tarn was standing virtually untouched in comparison to the wretched mess First Aid had been on the operating table brings a (perhaps familiar) tensed coil to him that threatened to kill him on the spot should he say the wrong thing.

"You think that what you've done can be waved away with an apology?"

[sparkwhisperer]

“Ah-No? Good, then I won’t bother with insincerities.”

He knows that he’s pushing it. Call it morbid curiosity, but he doesn’t see how Megatron can get any more angry than he is at this very moment. Which, in turn, only makes Tarn angry. Why is everyone so enamored with that horrible Autobot medic? His hands clench into fists at his side as his back hits the wall. He concentrates his energy on holding very still, eyes shining brightly beneath his mask, daring Megatron to make his next move.

[aminerproblem]

There was no warning for Tarn as a hand seizes his head to slam him on the ground hard enough to dent the floor. He may lack the finesse of his older self, but his spark was still young and full of the energy that allowed him to rip open Sentinel's Apex Armor.

The gap in his experience had begun to close after some instruction, almost as if the violence was already in him and merely needed to be coaxed out. And Tarn had done plenty of that, in both respects.

"Say that again."

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn has no time to react before he is flipped, helm is slammed to the ground. He jerks as his processor rattles. He tries to right himself, flopping in a mass of weak limbs. Finally he drags himself into a sitting position, back resting against the wall. He looks up at Megatron, glaring hatefully and spitting static before his words find him.

“Hk- You heard me.” He growls, energon dripping from the slit in his mask "The little slagger had it coming."

[aminerproblem]

He looms overhead, his frame a dark mass of murderous anger as he sends Tarn deeper into the ground with a heavy stomp to the gut. He keeps his heel there, digging the boot into the less armored plating just below his chest, bending and warping and cracking what was underneath.

"You're a bigger fool than I ever took you for, Tarn," he snarls back, bending forward on that knee, optics beginning to spark,"You can't even follow the one command I gave you. Do you even remember what it was?"

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn wheezes, thrashing under Megatron’s foot. He claws wildly, trying to shove it off as it pins him to the floor, crushing some of his internals.

“Release me!” he grunts, flailing under him “You’ve given me multiple commands, you may need to be more specific.”

He spits energon up at Megatron, aiming for his face. The irony hits him punch to the face. Megatron has finally done what Tarn wanted from him. The anger, the violence…only it’s aimed at the wrong person.

"This is absurd, Megatron!"

[aminerproblem]

"Allow me to remind you, then ."

Tarn's excuses do nothing to win him back any favors, and he instead get a ruthless squeeze to his internals until something under his boot finally pops.

Megatron lowers down so that the DJD commander can get a good look at his face, energon and all, and how very much he wasn't in the mood to fuck around.

"Don't. Touch. The Autobots."