At this point, First Aid doesn't quite feel the removal of his jaw beyond a sharp pinch that makes him twitch, and he notes its absence only by the odd loss of weight. He was still fading in and out of consciousness, his awareness coming in like small snapshots, and he was more than happy to just let the fuzzy blankness consume him. Distantly he can feel Tarn's mask pressed against his helm, mockingly gentle compared to the violence of the beating.
God, he really was pathetic. Fort Max withstood three years of torture at Overlord's hand, but he can't even handle less than an hour of it before his spark starts to shrink and sputter. Tarn's words caress it, bringing First Aid back to wakefulness with a wet gasp. Energon was leaking from the vents in his chest, his cooling systems caked in his own blood. It spills down, mixing with the gore and vomit already slicking his plating.
He wasn't sure if he could do what Tarn prompted even if he wanted to. He felt like the world was spinning and if he hadn't felt Tarn's voice in his spark he probably would have never heard him over the fizz of static and buzzing in his audio. He gasps again, his fans sputtering, and his head lolls on his shoulders.
Don't trust Tarn. He doesn't. There wouldn't be anything quick about it. His tools? Something about his tools. His hand twitches, his transformation flicking between flashlight, diagnostic monitor, scissors, and scalpel.
no subject
At this point, First Aid doesn't quite feel the removal of his jaw beyond a sharp pinch that makes him twitch, and he notes its absence only by the odd loss of weight. He was still fading in and out of consciousness, his awareness coming in like small snapshots, and he was more than happy to just let the fuzzy blankness consume him. Distantly he can feel Tarn's mask pressed against his helm, mockingly gentle compared to the violence of the beating.
God, he really was pathetic. Fort Max withstood three years of torture at Overlord's hand, but he can't even handle less than an hour of it before his spark starts to shrink and sputter. Tarn's words caress it, bringing First Aid back to wakefulness with a wet gasp. Energon was leaking from the vents in his chest, his cooling systems caked in his own blood. It spills down, mixing with the gore and vomit already slicking his plating.
He wasn't sure if he could do what Tarn prompted even if he wanted to. He felt like the world was spinning and if he hadn't felt Tarn's voice in his spark he probably would have never heard him over the fizz of static and buzzing in his audio. He gasps again, his fans sputtering, and his head lolls on his shoulders.
Don't trust Tarn. He doesn't. There wouldn't be anything quick about it. His tools? Something about his tools. His hand twitches, his transformation flicking between flashlight, diagnostic monitor, scissors, and scalpel.