Tarn hesitates. If he thought that chronolinguistics was too intimate, letting Galvatron hardline into him, giving him access to his emotions and memories and thoughts, brought it to a whole new level. There was no editing this way. no way to pick and choose what to say, or how to word it. He’s vulnerable.

But, he can’t say no, either. Tarn's fingers shake slightly as he reaches to pop his own panel, connecting Galvatron’s cable to his port.

The presence of another consciousness against his own is jarring; uncomfortable like an itch in his processor that he can’t scratch. He tries to ignore it to get back to to topic at hand.

I was asking how you would like me to thank you.