robothell | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Tarn is taken aback as he watches plating heal before his very eyes. He can’t win this. This mech is somehow untouchable.

He has lost.

Swallowing his pride, Tarn suddenly finds himself faced with a terrible decision. Does he keep fighting this fruitless battle, doomed to fail? Or, does he cut his losses and live to fight another day? Surely Helex would never forgive him if he threw his life away so carelessly; for such a ridiculous and insignificant cause...The decision is easily made.

He braces his forearms against Rampage’s chest and pushes, trying to get that snapping mouth away from him and leaver the frame enough to roll from underneath it. He ceases any sort of offense and devotes his entire strategy to defense. It’s a strange feeling, and jarring compared to what he had been doing not five minutes ago.

Not quite untouchable, but certainly a bit indestructible. Luckily for Tarn, even without the Nuke he's still strong, not to mention more experienced with combat. He manages to fend off Rampage's beastly jaws and roll away.

"Why run?" Rampage asks as Tarn pushes away from him. "You're not nearly frightened enough, yet!"

His spark still throbs painfully from Tarn's strange attacks, but after a moment he realizes some of the ache is from First Aid's dwindling spark. It gives him pause. First Aid is dying. Could he try and save him? Or should he just keep on with the fun part: revenge?

Tarn backs away as Rampage's attention seems to be taken by First Aid's shrinking spark. The distance put between them allows him to relax ever so slightly.

"I'm smart enough to know when a battle has been lost. Besides, you seem to have a decision to make. Do you chase after me, or try to save your precious medic? The clock is ticking, after all."

He hopes that perhaps his efforts today won't be in vain. First Aid's spark is so very weak now. Flickering on the precipice off death. If only he could get close enough to send it on it's way... all it would take would be a quiet word.

Rampage isn't even certain that he can save First Aid. He's only dealt with shrinking sparks while killing people. He does know an emerging infusion might buy some time. He'd tried that before just to see how long it would take them to die.

But he doesn't actually want First Aid to die.

He is pretty certain that he can kill Tarn if he keeps at it long enough. But he doesn't have to do that now. Maybe anticipation will make things sweeter.

With a heavy sigh, he takes a step towards First Aid.

"There's nowhere you can hide from me," he says matter-of-factly to Tarn, before drawing his weapon and firing missile in the Decepticon's general direction.

Whether it hits or not, the explosion is bound to draw some attention.

With a curse, Tarn takes cover from the blast as Ramapage’s missile hits a few yards away. He finds himself choking on thick smoke, trying to expel debris from his vents. Using the dust as cover, Tarn begins his his hasty retreat. He stops only to throw his last two cents in.

“I welcome the challenge."

Rampage is really very tempted to continue shooting missiles after Tarn, but time is of the essence. He can shoot at Tarn another time, but First Aid is only likely to die once.

Crouching over First Aid's battered form, he lets out a slight huff. The feel of his aching, shrinking spark is sweet, and for a moment Rampage wonders if this is the right thing to do.

"Do I extend your suffering, or end your pain?" he asks conversationally even though First Aid is far beyond answering now.

He has no moral compass to guide him. He would ask himself what Transmutate would do, but he doesn't really know. So he's left with his own desires, and his desires say he doesn't want First Aid to die. Not now, not like this.

He has no equipment for a proper transfusion, nor does he know how to perform one. So he simply casually tears an energon line from his wrist, ignoring the spray of fluid, then forces it over the torn end of one of First Aid's own dripping lines.

The pool of fluids soaking the ground grows.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Ratchet barely manages to modulate his voice into something that isn't a shriek, hobbling around a broken chunk of building and finding Rampage pressing one of his own torn lines to--he feels the bottom drop from his tanks and fall, endlessly, as he barely recognizes the medic insignia emblazoned on one energon-smeared shoulder of the crumpled mess on the ground. It's First Aid--it has to be, though he's unrecognizable. Ratchet takes a split second to be stunned and sick before he refocuses his attention, drawing himself up on his crutches.

"You want to help?" he snaps at Rampage, his ventilation short and shallow now, calculations for equipment and supplies needed already running through his head, triaging injuries as he sees them, barely taking his optics off First Aid. "Get him back to the medibay, now, let's go!"

Rampage finds himself hunching protectively over First Aid at the sound of Ratchet's shout. His head snaps up to glare at him - the medic red and whites actually make his horns bristle threateningly, never mind that the crumpled form he's feeding energon into shares the same paint job.

There's a soft growl escaping his vocalizer, and he hesitates. He doesn't want to go the medibay. He doesn't want this medic anywhere near him.

But... there's no way First Aid will survive without medical attention. He's not like Rampage. He can't heal himself. So before he lets himself think too much about it, he forces himself to his feet, clutching First Aid's tattered chassis to his chest and follows Ratchet. His spark is so weak next to his own...

"How long has he been leaking there?" Ratchet demands as he moves, all his attention focused on his patient now, barely acknowledging Rampage at all. He shoulders his way into the medibay and holds the door open for Rampage behind him, his optics pale with fright and concentration.

"There, on the operating slab. Grab me that cart, the one in the corner, and the pole stand next to it." He doesn't even question whether Rampage is going to stick around to help, just moves to the slab in question and spreads what's left of First Aid out on it before he starts to work.

"Not long-" Rampage starts. He makes it halfway to the operating slab, then locks up.

His optics fixate on the metal bed and Ratchet's words fading away, not even noticing as First Aid is pulled away and laid out.

On the operating slab, X.

No, he doesn't want to-

Follow the order, or there will be consequences.

Not again, it hurt last time-

Good. The restraints, please- thank you, now we may begin.

No, no, no-!

The only thing he ends up grabbing are his own upper arms, fingers pressing tight against the metal. Most useful assistant.

Ratchet looks to the side to grab his tools only to find them still across the room and Rampage curled in on himself.

"Out of the way," he snaps, moving around Rampage and hooking a crutch around the corner of the cart to drag it over, then turning his back on Rampage again as he starts to work in earnest, patching lines and reconnecting circuits, struggling to get First Aid stable.

"Are you hurt?" he asks over his shoulder, barely looking away--Rampage had moved all right getting there, and he hadn't complained, but Ratchet has no idea why he's just standing there. "What's your name?"

Rampage isn't hurt at all, physically. Even the torn line he'd used to feed energon into First Aid has squirmed its way back into placed and sealed tight.

"Nnh," is his only response at first, backing away from the medical berth.

What's his name? He doesn't have a name. Names are for people, he's not a person, he's an experiment, he's Experiment X-

His hands tighten until his plating dents, grounding him. "...Rampage."

"Rampage," Ratchet says and grits his teeth, wanting four extra hands, wanting both his damn legs, wanting to scream as First Aid's small body leaks itself dry under his hands. "Unless you're about to drop dead, I have to do this first. Can you call any of the other medics? Ambulon, Megatron, anyone? Please."

The next words feel ripped from him as he leans harder into his crutches, his hands never slowing.

"I can't do this by myself."

Rampage gives a shudder, shaking off his past as best he can, though he remains unsettled. He rubs a hand over his face.

"I don't- I don't know anyone..."

He's really been keeping to himself for the most part. He can call First Aid and Sixshot but otherwise... He stares helplessly at First Aid.

"His spark is shrinking," he adds. Helpful, helpful, so very helpful.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only