The shove knocks Rampage back, but he grabs Tarn's arms as he stumbles and turns, dragging the ex-Con with him. He grips him tight, tight enough to dent, but not enough to break, and tries to push him down to the ground, bearing down with his own considerable weight.

"Such pain," he hisses, his optics bright with delight. The miserable mix of emotion and rage is intoxicating, and he can feel his spark pulsing with it, drinking in the sweet pain. Oh how he missed this, pulling the dark emotions out of others and making them hurt as much as he did.

Why did he ever give it up?

Because of Transmutate, he reminds himself, a cold dose of sobriety to temper his excitement.

But it was alright. He wasn't going to kill Tarn. And as far as he was concerned, Tarn was an acceptable target. Who was going to care if Rampage hurt his feelings?

"How does it feel," he asks, trying to further exploit the sore spot Sixshot seems to be, "Knowing that you'll never touch him again? Never feel his warm plating against yours? Never feel his body moving against yours? How does it feel knowing that you'll never have Sixshot again, while he can have him whenever he wants?"