Tarn stops him at scalpel, naturally; although the scizzors were tempting. He guides it down, digging it against his dented, gore smeared, stomach plating leaving behind a deep gouge.

Tarn presses the scalpel to to First Aid's hip joint, slicing through sensor relays and severing wires and servos. He pauses in his work to peel back the twisted metal, trying to get better access at the rest of the leg. His fingers slip occasionally, too slick with blood to get a proper grip.The process is agonizingly slow as he slices shallowly, occasionally twisting first aid's wrist to widen the wound. Eventually, the leg falls away from his hip, falling with a dull thud Into the growing puddle of energon.

He finds himself so wrapped up in the tedious process that he doesn't hear the approach of a stranger.