robothell | [video]

Entry tags:

megatron | aminerproblem

[video]

[It isn't often Megatron decides to post to the network, but the darkened expression presents quite a different air to initial plea for cooperation he'd posted sometime back.]

I've seen what we can do when we put our efforts together. We've built a home out of ruin, a meager spark of civilization on the graveyard of our predecessors.

But there are still threats to the existence we've carved here. Cybertronians who are stuck in the past and seek to inflict violence where none is needed.

[He steps back to allow a better view of the space around him.]

Tarn is bound on his knees on what could be identified as a slightly elevated platform in front of the Decepticon stronghold. Megatron wanted to be sure whoever was nearby would see what was about to undergo. Even if he didn't particularly plan on broadcasting the entire grisly execution over the network, it was clear enough what was about to occur here.]

[He steps to the ex-Decepticon's side, the red-hot edge of a makeshift (but oddly well-crafted) blade hovering next to his mask.]

I'm sure you're all aware of Tarn. He has taken it upon himself to torture our allies to the point of near death, something he seems particularly fond of doing. He's broken the pact he's made with our faction, and sought to destroy the peace we've built on this planet numerous times.

He has been given many chances to redeem himself, but squandered them in favor of engorging on his own thirst for blood. He will be punished accordingly as fitting of his crime. Let us hope this will not be necessary again.

[And from there the video goes to black, though it doesn't click off completely. He'll be letting Sixshot deal with whatever responses people feel the need to send. He was never one to completely close off all ties.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Tarn doesn’t look up as Megatron begins speaking. He didn’t expect this outcome; not with the Megatron that he has been living with for these past months. This Megatron is angry and cunning and downright murderous. Not all all the passive, peaceful medic who he has become familiar with. To be honest it’s everything that he had hoped for previously. If only it wasn’t directed towards him. Perhaps a slap on the wrist was thinking a bit too optimistically, but execution? Never did he see that being the outcome of his little incident.]

[Seeing Sixshot in his peripheral sends a twist of something through his tanks. Betrayal? Sadness? Anger? Whatever it is, it has Tarn turning his face up, towards the Deceptions. He can feel the heated blade against his plating.]

I hadn’t thought that it would come to this Megatron. You are learning, it seems.

[Sixshot is off to the side in tank mode with his turret pointed at Tarn just in case something went awry. He's got the rest of his sensors on their surroundings.

He can see a glimpse of Tarn's optics and something painful lurches under his spark chamber, but he keeps silent and utterly still.]

[Megatron is cold as he finishes addressing the feed. The initial rage he'd met Tarn with when Sixshot dragged him to the compound seemed to have subsided, at least visibly.]

[He was all business now. And his business was getting rid of a festering problem. He doesn't reply as all to Tarn's taunting, instead taking a step back and raising the blade.]

Are those your last words, Tarn?

[Tarn focuses his attention solely on Megatron as he raises that wicked axe above his helm, ready to strike him down. Something lurches inside him. Not fear-- never fear. He does his best not to flinch away from his executioner.]

Not entirely. But, if I’m to be permitted, I would be happy to provide quite the soliloquy.

[His eyes dart over to Sixshot, standing so vigilantly at his master’s side; watching the proceedings as if Tarn meant nothing. So easily any evidence of his affection is erased. He has to swallow a growl as it gathers in his throat. The betrayal stings, re-opening the festering wound left by Megatron’s older self. ]

[He settles on a poisonous glare for the Phase Sixer. Although, Tarn must confess, he fears that it is rather transparent, allowing us true emotion to shine through.]

When I awoke here all those months ago I was angry. Megatron had betrayed us, I was surrounded by the enemy, and I was plucked unceremoniously from everything that I knew— from the midst of a war in the honor of our cause. Then, suddenly, I’m expected to play nice with the Autobots? Not even the balm of a faux ‘transition’ to ease the blow. That anger festered and grew, feeding off my own insecurity, which your precious medic friend was more than happy to exploit. I did what I needed to do. I do not regret my actions and if given the chance I would do it all over again. But, next time I won’t be as rudely interrupted.

[Tarn’s optics shine brightly from beneath his mask as he turns his attention back to the miner.]

Is that what you wanted to hear from me? Is that the monster you wanted me to become? If you are so desperate to use me to prove a point then so be it, but don’t expect me to be so easily cowed into groveling for forgiveness.

[Sixshot lurches forwards before he could stop himself. The axe above Tarn's helm--

And the words. Tarn's words twists the knot of anxiety harder. He remembers his lover's smell on First Aid during the pollen but didn't think to ask about it from either of them. Primus knows he'd leapt at Optimus during the worst of it, it'd just seemed like decency not to talk about it then, but-

... He re-steadies his shot, quietly, shakily letting air hiss through his vents.]

[Megatron isn't stupid, he notices the barbs Tarn lances at Sixshot as he spews his last venomous words. He was half tempted to shut him up then and there, but if Tarn wanted to use his last moments like this, then so be it.]

You were already a monster long before you arrived here.

[He raises the blade above his own head. One clean cut to the neck, a stab to the spark, and it would be over for good.]

Edited 2015-11-26 04:31 (UTC)

[Ratchet had started walking before the transmission had even ended.]

[It was slow going--he ached everywhere, knowing he probably still had energon in places from the hours upon hours in surgery frantically trying to keep First Aid alive, his spark aching in an entirely non-metaphorical way from the emergency jump he's sure First Aid will shout at him about later. For now, First Aid is unconscious and looked after and healing, and Ratchet has the time to make his way over to Decepticon House, limping mostly steadily on his crutches. He watches Megatron start to raise the weapon over his head and plants his crutches more heavily, louder, though he doesn't speed up. He does pitch his voice to carry as he draws up nearer, sounding deeply tired.]

Kid. [A little exasperated, too.] What the hell are you doing?

[Tarn knows that voice. It cuts through him as his helm jerks to attention, searching for its source. His optics are wide with shock as they settle on Ratchet’s face. His mouth drops open behind his cracked mask.]

[What does he think he’s doing? He has no business here! Tarn shifts wildly between emotions. Between relieved, and enraged, and confused.]

[He can’t even make words. His mouth snaps shut as he grits his teeth, looking back up at Megatron.]

[Ratchet's words snap Sixshot's attention to him. He keeps his turret aimed at Tarn, steady and silent, but his spark was wobbling between wildly in with a sudden influx of emotions, something small and painfully like hope gathering under his chest.]

Ratchet...

[He's not sure if it was a warning or a plea.]

[He lowers the weapon as Ratchet's familiar voice enters his audials. There's hesitation as he gets closer, staring darkly at Tarn rather than facing the Autobot calling to him.]

[No. He didn't want to slaughter someone in front of the old medic. Even if that someone was a monster like Tarn. His voice is thin, with all the previous rage inflicted on the ex-Decepticon carefully controlled.]

Leave. I'm cutting a festering limb off this planet. This has nothing to do with you.

Killing people and broadcasting self-indulgent dramatics. Not good signs.

[Ratchet doesn't leave--he stumps closer, mouth set, his optics cold and flensing. He stops next to Megatron, well within arm's reach, utterly unafraid.]

The hell it doesn't and the hell you are. [His gaze flicks to Tarn for a brief moment before dismissing Tarn from his attention utterly, turning back to Megatron. He searches for words for a moment, struggling to say what he means the way he means it, brow furrowing.] ...this isn't you. Not now and not here. Not anymore. And he isn't worth you becoming what you'd be if you murder him like this today.

[Tarn settles firmly on insulted as he briefly catches Ratchet’s attention, only to lose it in mere seconds as he promptly ignores him. He glares daggers at up at Ratchet in response.]

[He’s angry. Ratchet has no place here; he’s in no position to tell Megatron what to do. He bites his tongue, however. Because as much as he disagrees with the old medic’s presence, in the end he doesn’t particularly want to die.]

[He finds himself struggling to suppress a growl at Ratchet's commentary]

He is dangerous, Ratchet. He is a ranked Decepticon and if anymore of us should arrive, there's no promise that they won't follow him over Megatron. Lord Megatron, the older Megatron, has betrayed us and that's a slight many will have a problem with. Some are following him already.

[Sixshot does particularly want Tarn to die either. The guilt of bringing his lover to his execution was already threatening to swallow him up and it's a struggle to keep his voice steady.]

But... he might be better alive. As an example.

[He lets Ratchet get close, though he doesn't look particularly pleased about it. It had taken a lot of steeling of his own nerves to go through with this, for the good of whoever remained on the planet. Even if taking Tarn's life still felt wrong. And here he was, interrupting it again.]

Taking care of one problematic rogue agent is hardly what you're implying, Ratchet.

[He gestures to Ratchet's missing leg with the blade.]

You, of all people, should know why his life should have been ended a long time ago.

You shut up. [Ratchet rounds on Sixshot, looking furious, optics bright.] Don't you sit there behind your stupid gun and tell me how dangerous Tarn is, I limped here on crutches! And this whole brainless mess might have been avoided if you'd actually sat down and had a conversation like an adult, I don't want to hear it from you. I don't give a half-cup of the dry, barren sand covering most of the planet whether Tarn lives or dies and if he went into spark failure right here in the dirt I wouldn't lift a single finger to prevent it.

[He turns back to Megatron, looking at him hard, reading the miserable hesitation in his face.]

But I do care whether or not you kill someone here today. Helex is a lost cause and anybody else who wants to follow Tarn anywhere is a sadist, a bully, or an idiot, and we'll deal with them if they crop up--but you aren't that person anymore. You promised me you wouldn't be that person, and you still have a choice. [His lips thin and he shifts both crutches under one arm to reach out impatiently for the sword, palm flat and demanding.]

Give me that. [His expression shifts, just slightly, almost softening despite himself.] Don't make me slap it out of your hand again, I'm pretty sure that trick would only work the once.

[He looks from Ratchet, to the axe, to Megatron; staring disbelievingly at the leader of the Decepticons. Is he truly going to listen to this imbecile? Does Tarn actually want him to? Especially if it means losing any headway that he's made with Megatron.]

You’re a fool, Ratchet.

[the quiet hiss is all he can muster as he shakes his head, completely disbelieving.]

[Sixshot was fortunate he was in tank mode because the mask he wore wouldn't have been enough to cover the stricken expression on his face.

He does as he's told however and quickly shuts up, not entirely sure what else he could say. He can't really say much of anything, not with his entanglement with the mech. He wanted Tarn to live, just please, please let Tarn live.

And also shut up because he's not doing himself any favors insulting his savior.]

[There's a few seconds of silence from him as he stares at Tarn sprawled in front of him on the floor. What Ratchet was saying wasn't anything he hadn't told himself. Yet, having him here added a different power to the words.]

[After a sparse glance to the medic and his old injury, his stare only hardens.]

Stand aside.

[Ratchet gets a brush away as he looks over Tarn again, though this time he goes lower - to his legs. He scans over his frame with a well-taught familiarity, following where the energon lines and nervecircuits would lead to with the edge of the blade.]

[Ratchet shifts on his crutches, but he moves forward and not away, planting himself firmly between the two Decepticons with his back to Tarn, utterly unafraid. His jaw is set stubbornly as he stares up at Megatron and he opens his mouth, looking like he's going to argue.]

Please. [Is what he says instead, voice raw and aching, his optics intense. He draws a slow shudder of air into his vents and switches both crutches under one arm to reach up and wrap his free hand around the axe, still watching Megatron's face.] Please, don't do this.

[He feels Megatron's grip slacken in surprise and he tugs firmly before he loses momentum, pulling the weapon out of his hands and tightening his grip near the shoulder of the axe, his fingers steady.]

You don't have to do this. Not like this, not here, not now. You told me you don't want to turn into the kind of person you are as I know you, and I believe you--things like this are the first step. You have to choose to not take it. Me, on the other hand.

[His voice goes cold and hard and he half-turns, his optics finally flicking back to Tarn.]

I've been at war for four million years. [He takes a half-limping, dragging step on one crutch towards Tarn, then another.] I've been a combat medic that whole time--like hell I was going to let Optimus park me behind a desk somewhere. I have good eyes and surgeon-steady hands and knives built into my wrists. [His approach towards Tarn is slow and inexorable, the alternating metallic thunks of his foot and crutches loud against the packed dirt.] In all that time, do you have any idea how many people I've murdered in cold blood to protect those I care about?

[He stops in front of Tarn, optics pale and blazing as he looks down at the crouched figure in the sand. His face is blank and pitiless as he looks down at Tarn's upturned masked face and raises the axe.]

[And brings it down to push one tip against the center of Tarn's breastplate, digging in hard and dragging down to leave a deep gouge right where his Decepticon badge used to be. When he speaks again, his voice is almost a snarl.]

I have no idea how many people you've killed, and you've maimed and attempted to murder two of my closest friends since you showed up here. But I am a medic, and an Autobot, and I want you to walk away from here today knowing your spark still burns because I chose not to kill you. You owe me your life. [His lip curls.] And I don't have time to clean up the mess it would leave if I hacked you open and let you bleed to death in the dust.

[Tarn growls at Ratchet as he steadily approaches with the axe. He isn’t quite sure what the medic has in mind. Does he intend to strike the killing blow? How twisted could this situation get?]

[He tries his best to inch away from the blade as Ratchet comes nearer, glaring daggers from behind his mask.]

[The sharp pain hits him before he can fully comprehend what has happened. As he looks down at the deep gouge in his plating his spark swells with rage. How dare he? It’s clear what Ratchet means with the gesture.]

[He jerks away, trying to get to his feet with a snarl.]

Ratchet.

[Sixshot's warning is accompanied by the his transformation into his root mode. The Autobot CMO was in his shot now and Tarn was still very dangerous, bound up or not.]

[Still, he's not sure who he's trying to protect when he reaches out and pulls Tarn back by his bound arms.]

[He listens to Ratchet speak, feeling his own spark in turmoil. The truth was, he didn't want to go the final step and butcher Tarn on the floor. But leaving him alive meant more bodies. More dead. More horrific torture. Was Ratchet really willing to let that happen to protect him?]

[He finds his face wrinkle with distaste. He was tired of being told what he should and shouldn't do. Tired of having his choice taken from him - even if it's the wrong one. For the first time since they'd first met, he was tired of receiving the same lecture about his terrible future, ignoring what he'd said altogether. He's finding pure words are having far less of an effect the longer he stays here. Well, if words weren't working, then he needed to act.]

[His voice is a dangerously thin calm:]

Sixshot, be quiet.

[He steps in front of Tarn and seizes a grip on the axe, with Ratchet's hand and all. He doesn't pull it away, but he does push it back up above the medic's head with ease.]

I've heard you, Ratchet. I know perfectly well what I'm doing. I know the consequences. And no, I'm not going to allow to you shoulder all the responsibility to protect me from whatever fate happened in your time.

I've listened to you because I trust you, now I need you to trust me to make my own choices.

[Ratchet's grip tightens, his optics flaring fierce for a moment as they meet Megatron's, ready to argue--before he pauses, settling down into his crutches. He looks weirdly calm, his gaze steady on Megatron's face as he shifts a crutch under each arm again and and leans back to look at him, really taking him in.]

All right. [His voice is a little strange, but it's steady.] You're right. And I do. Trust you, I mean. I mean it, when I said I think that this is a very important decision to make. But I would let you in my medibay if I didn't trust your judgment. [His mouth tilts, lopsided and a little sad as he lets his hand slide away from the haft of the axe.]

It's your call.

[Tarn loses his balance as Sixshot pulls back on his bound arms, falling back on his aft with his legs sprawled in front of him.]

[His tanks churn with barely suppressed panic as Ratchets hand falls away from the axe. Of all the ways to die, Tarn would have never guessed that this would be his. He tries to scoot away from Megatron but ends up backing himself against Sixshot's legs.]

[He looks up at his old lover, Searching his optics for a moment before locking onto Megatron. If he is to die, he will do so without cowering.]

[Tarn looks up at him and Sixshot tries to dredge up his rage, his hurt, anything at all, but it's all gone. The expression Tarn sees is is full of fear.]

[Unthinking, Sixshot falls to his knees behind his ex-lover and throws his arms protectively over Tarn's chest- over his spark.]

Please.

[He's never asked Megatron for anything, not his Lord and not this young mech before him, but this...]

[He takes it back out of Ratchet's hands, his grip slipping over onto the shaft as the medic surrenders it. As he turns around, he sees Sixshot sprawled over Tarn's chest, protecting him. Though he knew that the Phase Sixer was clouded by his feelings, he couldn't help but feel a tingle of anger return. Did he care about Tarn more than First Aid? Why was everyone so intent on keeping this waste of a Cybertronian alive? After what he did?]

[His disappointed glare is all he needs to say to Sixshot, but no matter. He did not plan on fighting the Sixer over this. Grip tightening over the weapon, he raises it over his head...]

[And slams the point into Tarn's knee joint, digging the curved edge into the mechanisms like a hook and pulling back to tear off some of the armor and the mechanisms it was attached to. His voice begins to approach a familiar commanding tone, though not quite:]

Get the hell out of my sight, Tarn. If I see you anywhere in this city again, you'll be slaughtered without a moment's hesitation. Do you understand?

[Ratchet doesn't flinch when the axe comes down, but only barely--before he sees it strike point-first into Tarn's knee and his vents shudder to life again, only a little chilled by the familiar steely tone in Megatron's voice. His optics flick back up to Sixshot, then to Tarn, chill and flat as he takes them both in, then settles back into his crutches to wait.]

[It takes all of Tarn willpower not to flinch as the axe comes down, although a much lower than he had expected. The pain is instant as the blade connects with his Knee, ripping at sensitive nerve circuits and wiring. A strangled shout erupts from him, frame jerking, fingers digging into the sand as he rides the agony out.]

[the moment that Megatron lowers the axe and it becomes clear that he is being spared, Tarn collapses back against Sixshot in relief. Very quickly that euphoric emotion begins to warp Into something terrible and ugly and confusing.]

[Tarn thrashes out of Sixshot's embrace, flopping to the ground where his hands finally come to his mangled knee, prodding at it and investigating the extent of the damage.]

I-- You--

[He's indignant and his emotions are wildly out of control, although he can't think of anything to actually say.]

[Sixshot feels his spark skip a beat when Megatron brings the axe down, his optics wide. It's the first time in his life he thinks about raising a hand to Megatron- but the trajectory was off.]

[He holds Tarn as the mech cries out in agony, watching the sight of the DJD commander's knee being shredded with morbid fascination. He holds Tarn when the mech slumps back against, him paradoxically relieved and confused and a little terrified.]

[It's not something he gets to reflect on for too long. Before Sixshot could say anything, Tarn thrashes out of his arms. Suddenly, the full weight of Ratchet's and Megatron's disappointed gazes hit him fully and he watches his ex flop around like an angry fish. Not even a moment of acknowledgement.]

[The Sixer looks down at the ground, bracing his weight on his hands, willing himself to disappear. When he finally finds it in himself to speak, his voice is small and quiet but edged with razor sharp ice.]

Leave.

[Megatron coldly watches as Tarn thrashes and scrambles for his injured leg, at a loss for words. But rather than confront him any further, he addresses Sixshot.]

If he isn't out of the city within the hour, kill him.

[He's made made his decision. He was done. He now ignores Tarn entirely to face Ratchet. Having him there watching wasn't how he wanted this to play out. He knew he'd have to do less than savory things to continue having the Decepticons follow him, to maintain some sort of peace, but he was hoping to strike some sort of balance between the two extremes.]

[It was getting harder and harder to agree with that sentiment.]

[His face softens slightly.]

Can you make it back on your own? You look exhausted.

Yeah, weird how hours and hours in surgery will do that to you. No, I don't need help. [He jerks his chin in the direction of the medibay.] Walk with me anyway.

[Ratchet waits until they're out of earshot to speak again, though he watches Megatron as they walk with an odd expression on his face, calculating and warm all at once.]

You were right, to tell me off, back there. It was your decision to make. And I'm proud of you, for whatever that's worth. [He shrugs into his crutches.] I don't expect it to be earth-shattering or whatever, but it's true.

Why?

[He sounds more tired than anything, but follows Ratchet anyway. He doesn't see anything to be proud of.]

Tarn will most likely die out in the Wastes on his own, you know that? It's a death sentence either way.

[It was all the same in his mind. Slaying Tarn himself was just the quicker way, without miserably slipping away from energon starvation. It was almost the crueler fate of the two. Though perhaps that's more befitting of Tarn. When was the last time he ever offered someone mercy?]

Nah. He's been a dedicated pain for this long, he's not going to give it up to drop dead now. I have every confidence he'll figure something out.

[Ratchet watches him for another moment, considering, and his voice is quiet when he speaks again.]

You scare the hell out of me sometimes, you know that? Not because you could bench-press three of me, or whatever, just-- [His vents heave in a soft sigh.] Its a hell of a thing you're trying to do here, and it's hard, and sometimes it means you're going to have to make decisions like that one where there's no good answer. But it was little things like that that made the worse things easier, necessary decisions that were made that let things get so bad. I know you know all this, but--look. [Ratchet appears to struggle with himself for a moment, trying to say what he really means.] A few months before I got here, if you put me in front of the Megatron I knew with a gun in my hand, I don't know if I would have hesitated to fire. Now, here, if things go wrong again... I honestly don't know if I could.

It scares me. [Frankly.] It scares the hell out of me. I'm getting too damn old to keep shooting at people I care about. But that's why I keep crawling up your tailpipe about it, not... because I don't trust you. And I'm proud of you because I know you're making the best decisions you can, even when I'm not giving you a hard time. They might not all be ones I agree with, but I think you're trying not to lose sight of why you're doing what you're doing. That counts for a lot, with me. It's what keeps me thinking that things might turn out all right.

Edited 2015-12-02 18:18 (UTC)

I appreciate your words, Ratchet, I do. But why do you consider it the good answer? It's arguably the crueler one. Leaving him to die of starvation in an empty wasteland.

[Ratchet might even get a political treatise on the matter if given a day or two. But his question was earnest. He understands its all varying shades of gray... but it doesn't make him feel any better about the ordeal.]

Why does the method matter if they have the same outcome? Is there really a 'better' answer with this?

[Ratchet draws a slow vent of air in and bites hard at the inside of his lip--Megatron is asking a genuine question, and he deserves a genuine answer. It takes a moment for Ratchet to be able to articulate one.]

I'm not a politician, or a scholar, or a lawyer, or a judge. I'm not in a position to debate legal theory, or the nature of punishment, or the efficacy of executions in deterring future crimes. I'm a medic. I was taught to do no harm, and after four million years in a shooting war I still believe in it, except for a few notable exceptions. If I'm not killing someone in a fight where they're trying to kill me, the only other real acceptable excuse I can come up with for ending a life is if there's nothing else I can do for them. If there's no chance for anything but suffering for them unless I help them in this way. I won't sit here and tell you I haven't been betrayed or angry or hateful or grieved enough to have been tempted before, but you came into my medibay a little while before I showed up here, crippled from the waist down, and I fixed you instead of shooting you in the head. Because that's my job, and it's what I believe in.

I don't know if Tarn can be fixed--I sure as hell know I can't fix him, whatever him being 'fixed' would even mean, though not torturing my friends anymore sounds like a really excellent start. But I don't know--I'm not a hundred percent sure--that there's nothing else that can be done for him. And even if I was, I know how hard going through with something like that can be. I didn't want that for you. [He shrugs a little into his crutches.] That's selfish of me, I guess, but there it is. I don't have a better answer for you than that.

[He listens as Ratchet answers, slowing down and eventually coming to a stop as he continues. Megatron is quiet and attentive, as he always is, but there is a soft, compassionate glint in his eye as he fully absorbs what Ratchet said. The old medic was always such a strong pillar to lean on, it was comforting to pick his brain for wisdom.]

...Thank you. Whatever help Tarn needs is well beyond what I can provide him.

[He continues walking. He may not feel entirely comfortable with what he did, but he is glad they could talk about it. He looks at the ground ahead of him.]

Personally, I think you make a stellar debater when you want to be.

Edited 2015-12-03 21:21 (UTC)

Huh. Flatterer.

[Ratchet shakes his head, but he's smiling a little.]

You asked. I just wanted to give you a proper answer.

What? A little flattery doesn't hurt if it's true.

[Ratchet gets a gentle squeeze of the shoulder before he's let go. It's been a while since he's seen the old medic smile. Which makes him grin a little in turn.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[video]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject