robothell | (no subject)

Tarn has bided his time with great patience. Since discovering Spinister’s tryst with Brainstorm, his head has been buzzing with possibilities and ideas. Dangerous ideas, perhaps, but ideas none the less. Brainstorm has most notably been known for his work as a weapons manufacturer, and if there is anything that Tarn craves, it’s a weapon.

His run in with Rampage has left Tarn on edge, constantly on alert for possible danger. With his vocalizer ruined, taking with it his last line of defense, Tarn needs a physical weapon more than ever. He fears that it may be useless against his most recent threat, but it certainly gives him a peace of mind at the very least.

With his mind set, he begins his search, scanning for Brainstorm’s particular spark signature. Giving Spinister a vague excuse for leaving camp, he begins tracking the double agent to a building close enough to the outskirts of the city that he is willing to risk venturing in. It’s the furthest into the city he’s been since his exile and he’s apprehensive, moving as quietly as possible and taking time to listen for the sound of engines around each corner.

Eventually, he makes it to what he assumes is Brainstorm’s workshop. Without hesitating, he enters, pulling himself together into something resembling his old self. Chin up, shoulder’s back, back straight, he strides into the lab with confidence.

“Brainstorm. I’d like to ask a favor.” He manages to keep most of the static from his voice, but it is noticeably rough.

Typically, when someone enters without knocking, it's Spinister. Brainstorm doesn't even look up when the door opens, finding his work to be far more important than greeting his visitor with any sort of eye contact.

"Spinister, you should--" he starts, then stops at the deep rumbling voice.

Brainstorm feels the energon in his lines run cold and his spark clenches in his chest. Freezing for a moment, he panics, trying to remember the proper procedure for this situation since he hadn't practiced it in some time. Forgotten was the fact Tarn was exiled and not 'technically' part of the Decepticons any longer. That was something easy to forget when the famed traitor torturer was in his workshop.

"T-Tarn..." he fumbles, looking up with wide optics. He remembers after a moment, hands finding his mask and removing it, fingers on the pressure plate so it transforms to show the purple Decepticon insignia.

"Aren't you-- Didn't you..." He clears his vocalizer, steeling himself. He still had authority as a double agent.

This was a lot harder when Tarn was face to face with him.

"A favor? And what exactly can you offer me in return?"

Tarn smirks slighly behind his mask. How he missed that reaction. That stammer and skip of the spark that used to be so common-place before he began to be treated like a joke or common pest.

He strolls into the heart of the workshop, making a show of looking around; picking up half-finished prototypes and turning them in his hands. Brainstorm has been busy, it seems, which suits Tarn just fine.

The demand for a trade doesn’t throw Tarn in the slightest. In fact he expected it.

“Name your price."

Brainstorm starts to reach out to stop Tarn from touching that prototype, but he stops himself once he thinks better of it. He'd rather not get close to the tank mech and well-- if something terrible happened to Tarn it was no metal off his back.

"You don't actually have anything to offer me," he huffs, arms crossing. Tarn had been exiled and he knew well enough from Spinister that he had nothing to his name. He even gave the mech cleanser to drag back to Tarn, so he's been giving enough already.

"And didn't you technically kill me? Don't think I don't know about that." Well, certain details. He'd sort of skimmed the report in panic before deciding now was probably time to put his plan in action.

Tarn scoffs waving off Brainstorm’s concern.

“I never laid a finger on you.” Though, to be honest, the entire incident on the Lost Light was kind of a blur thanks to the Nuke coursing through his lines. However, he’s fairly certain it was either Tesarus or Kaon that dispatched Brainstorm in that particular moment in time.

Tarn's survey of the workshop has left him with only one thing to offer. On the bench was a rather paltry store of nucleon; no more than 3 shards left in its storage container. Of course, it would be an essential material for any weapons manufacturer.

“How much Nucleon will you require in exchange for a fully functional firearm?"

Tarn's got him there. He was just thinking about how he needed more nucleon, but he didn't think that making a deal with Tarn would be one of his greatest of decisions. In fact, he was fairly certain that would rank up as one of his worst. Still, he itches to have supplies. Tarn might see him visibly hesitating.

"A lot. If you go around waving a gun or cannon around Megatron's certain to know where it came from."

Brainstorm's also quite fond of his comfort. If he was thrown out of his lab, then anything Tarn could offer would be worthless anyway.

That pause as Brainstorm considers is all Tarn needs before he’s certain that he has the deal in the bag.

“Then make it discreet.” Something compact that packs a punch would be ideal; barely noticeable amongst Tarn’s own armor. Custom made, for certain.

“If you can do this, then I will provide any amount of Nucleon that you require, and your dalliances with my associate may continue uninterrupted." He steps close enough to clap a friendly hand on Brainstorm's shoulder.

"Discreet?" Brainstorm sounds outraged, but then Tarn decides to cross that precious bit of spacing between them.

The hand on his shoulder gives him chills and he fights to keep all his wings from rising up and quivering. This was bad. This was very, very bad and he wanted to escape but he didn't see any opening to do so.

It takes him a moment to really absorb what Tarn said and it doesn't do much to ease his panic. Dalliances? Does he know? There's no possible way.

"I'm... I'm not sure what you're talking about. I haven't spoken to Helex at all," he feigns, but then again, he knows he's just asking to have his worst fears thrown in his face.

Tarn's laugh is hoarse and cold as his hand squeezes Brainstorm's shoulder in a quiet warning. The feigned ignorance is almost charming, however, the evidence against him is downright damning.

He slowly drags Brainstorm close enough that their armor almost brushes, leaning down to whisper into the jet's audio.

"Of course not. But, perhaps you and Spinister ought to be more careful with your post-coital cleanup. You do have a rather eye-catching paint color; especially against magenta."

As quickly as Brainstorm is pulled forward, Tarn shoves him back against his cluttered workbench.

"Really Brainstorm, I'm disappointed that you think me an idiot."

Even with the mask, Brainstorm is expressive. Without it, he can't hide the open mouthed, wide eyed look of terror as Tarn pulls him close, the hand on his shoulder squeezing enough to ache slightly. His armor is thicker than it was before his run in with Chief Justice Tyrest, but Tarn's strength wasn't something to scoff at.

"I-- I--" he starts to stammer, trying to find the words of denial and coming up blank, and he stumbles as Tarn pushes him away, barely catching himself against the bench and knocking a few things over.

There was that rattle that he had been trying hard to hold back.

"Of course not, Tarn, I just..." Just what? He just tried lying to his face. "It's just that, we're not lovers. I-In fact, I was a virgin. So, you see..."

Brilliant. Nailed it.

Brainstorm makes a staticy sound as he resets his vocalizer, his hand settling on the briefcase on his table. He tries focusing on his venting.

Tarn just stares at Brainstorm as he stumbles over his own words. Arms crossed, he waits for him to finish making a fool of himself.

"Are you quite done?"

The terror written so plainly across Brainstorm's face bolsters Tarn's confidence ever so slightly. At least his reputation is still at least somewhat intact. But, as amusing as his fear is in theory, it is quite in the way at the moment. Tarn wants that gun, and the sooner he can get Brainstorm to agree and begin, the better.

"Regardless of what you were, you still had carnal relations with him. It isn't much of an excuse." He clears the creeping static from his voice before continuing. "Now, do we have an agreement?"

Remember Grindcore. Remember Quark. He can't make this deal with Tarn. It would be one of the worst mistake of his life.

Brainstorm's shoulder still hurt from where Tarn squeezed it and his spark was pounding in its casing. What would Tarn do if he refused? He could refuse. He can get nucleon himself. He had his ways. What would Tarn do to Spinister if he refused? Surely he wouldn't hurt the only lifeline he had in exile.

Tarn had nothing to lose by hurting him, though. Would anyone even notice?

He wants to curl into himself. He can't make a decision under this pressure.

"What..." he starts, his voice sounding defeated. "What are your specifications?"

Defeat is written plainly across Brainstorm’s features and a smug smile tugs at Tarn’s lips behind his impassive mask. Perfect. Exactly the outcome he had been wishing for without having to lift a finger, or make any grand threats.

“Very wise.”

He slings a heavy arm across Brainstorm’s shoulders, as he leans in to speak softly; partially to give his voice a bit of reprieve.

"I need a firearm, discreet as I said before, with enough power to rival that of a fusion cannon. It needs to be all but unnoticeable against my own armor.”

He doesn’t want to think of the repercussions that he would be faced with if he ever ran into Megatron with a full sized fusion cannon hanging from his arm. Surely he would be displeased, to say the very least. And this time, Tarn wouldn’t go down as meekly as he did before. But, with Rampage seemingly determined to continue after him, He needs to at least make an attempt to protect himself.

Besides, what use to Galvatron is a Lieutenant with no weapon...

Brainstorm is very sullen over this deal. Usually he's fairly excited over new projects, but when it's Tarn he's doing business with, he has every reason not to be happy about it. He squawks when the tank throws his arm around him and he looks up wide eyed, arms hovering protectively over his chest.

It takes him a few moments to relax and actually get into the role of a designer.

"If you want something as powerful as a fusion cannon without the size, that's going to be a lot harder." Nothing he can't do. Usually he'd charge and ask for more, but at this point he was too scared to even bring that up. "I'm probably going to need to replace some of your armor and internals to fit it. Are you looking for the traditional arm or are fine with other body parts?"

“…If you must.” The thought of Brainstorm rooting around in Tarn’s internals is not a soothing one. He’ll have to have Spinister overlook the operation to ensure that no… unsavory business is occurring. The hell is familiar, at the very least, and he’s had plenty go opportunity to dispatch Tarn in a variety of innovative ways. Yet Spinister remains loyal in a twisted sort of way.

“I would prefer the arm,” It’s what he’s used to, after all, “ but I am open to other options. You’ll have to draw up a few designs and schematics and really sell me."

"I must if you want it to look halfway decent or hidden," Brainstorm snipes back. Who did Tarn think he was? An amateur? He's a designer as well as manufacturer. This was common sense!

Now, If Tarn would just stop touching him. It was difficult to keep that bratty spirit when with one good flex the tank could crush his head.

"I'm going to need your measurements too. You've been fitted for weapons before you should know how this goes. Arms out."

Please. The physical contact was giving him a complex.

“Of course I'm familiar. I've been through this song and dance many times before.” There is a split second of retained physical contact, before Tarn steps back to give Brainstorm room to breathe. He spreads his arms out to the side and waits with an air of smug satisfaction. The jet's frame relaxes visibly upon being granted a few feet of distance, as if that could possibly stop Tarn if he became displeased by a turn of events.

Tarn graciously allows Brainstorm to have that thread of relief.

"Go on then, I’m looking forward to hearing your preliminary thoughts.” He’s been vulnerable for far too long. This weapon is going to give him the extra confidence that he so desperately needs at the moment. Galvatron will be pleased.

If Tarn is thinking that he could sass back to Brainstorm, then he needs to think again. Terrify him into emptying his tank, that was something he could do. Out sass Brainstorm? Probably not. His personality was just that unpleasant. That little bit of retained physical contact was really unwelcome, though. He's going to need like 3 showers to be sure he's rid of Tarn's body smell.

"If you want it hidden, I'll probably do something that folds into your body and is hidden against your exoskeleton."

He'd much rather get back to his more abstract ideas, but he imagined Tarn's thought of a weapon comparable to a fusion cannon isn't something that makes people believe they're already dead or induces uncontrollable dancing.

Brainstorm pulls out the measuring tape from his wrist, standing on his toes as he magnetizes one end of it to Tarn's wrist and starts to measure from wrist to elbow.

"You're certain you just want something that kills people and nothing.... else?"

"Perfect.” It’s as close to his normally silky purr as he can manage, but it still sounds like someone tossed his vocalizer into a wood-chipper. Tarn remains completely still as Brainstorm sets to work on his measurements. He wants this to be flawless.

“It needs to be able to kill the deathless. I seem to have made enemies with an adversary who is self-healing. This weapon should ideally be able to at least provide lasting damage.”

Tarn realizes that this may be an impossible order, but he needs to at least try. Besides, Brainstorm has made quite the reputation for himself, and if anyone can make this weapon, Brainstorm is the one.

He decides to keep the flattery to himself.

"Kill the deathless?" Brainstorm pauses for a moment to frown at Tarn.

He hadn't heard anything about that. Self-repair was normal, but enough to avoid death was... something.

"You're going to have to elaborate more. One of our experiments? If it's something Autobot, then it was obvious too top secret for even me to know about it. I'm going to need samples."

“Any damage that I inclicted on him healed instantly, and his spark seemed...immune to my vocal talents. I have never seen anything like it before." Tarn's voice is almost wistful as he recalls those frankly amazing and utterly infuriating abilities.

"I haven’t bothered to ask his name. A large Beastformer; transforms into a crab from the looks of it.” Descriptions will have to work for Brainstorm. It isn’t as if Tarn had the chance to exchange such pleasantries while trying to prevent his face from being eaten.

“Cannibalistic tendencies as well.” He extends his rather chewed pinky finger to prove his point; the entire tip of it missing. “I don’t suppose you know of such a character."

Brainstorm is quiet for a moment to absorb that information as he continues taking Tarn's measurements. He wasn't particularly pleased to be this close with the leader of the DJD still-- not only could he murder him in a twitch, but he was filthy and kind of smelled. The sooner he finish with this, the better.

"Doesn't ring a bell. Beast modes wouldn't typically be a preference. If his spark is immune to your... ah, voice, then this might be a bit harder."

That would mean that there's something special about this mech's spark that he hasn't seen before. Fascinating! But then, he realizes maybe he has heard of something similar. He hums thoughtfully, finishing his measurements and taking a swift step back.

"Immortal sparks just don't exist. The closest that came were Nova and Galvatron, but that's because they were already dead. Dead Universe kinda does that to you. Can't kill the dead."

He touches his chest, over his spark, rubbing there. He still hadn't forgotten how a bunch of people climbed through his chest. Worst feeling ever. Rude.

God Brainstorm don’t be so insensitive, he’s homeless.

“Ah, this is unfortunate.” Tarn’s optic’s burn with exaggerated disappointment. He can’t say he’s surprised that this is news to Brainstorm, but he had been hoping...

Although, he does have other interesting information to bring to the table. He hadn’t been aware of Galvatron’s stint in the Dead Universe. It seems that he has made a good choice in cementing an alliance with the warlord. The notion does get Tarn thinking more openly. Maybe Rampage is some sort of strange undead super soldier gone awry?

“Well, regardless, I’m sure that you will be able to sort something out for me. Undoubtedly, you will let me know if there is anything that I can do to help you pin down the identity of our mystery mech. I’ll, of course, be more than happy to ensure the absolute efficiency of my weapon."

The confidence in him would be appreciated if it was anyone besides Tarn. Normally Brainstorm would be preening by now, but instead he just wrinkles his nose.

"You know how hard this will be when I just have an urban legend to go off of? How am I even going to test this without you shooting him?"

He huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Go take a shower while I think." He motions to the side room where he built his shower. You know, that one that Spinister has been using.

Gladly. Even after Spinister’s assist with the acquired cleanser, Tarn’s plating is already dirty again; I guess that’s what happens when you live in a dust pit.

“How generous of you, Brainstorm. Do all of your guests get such hospitable treatment?”

Tarn slides into the comparatively small and cramped shower. To be honest it’s barely wide enough to fit his shoulders, but he makes it work, desperate for a hot shower.

“Would a sample of his energon be helpful for testing? You are a brilliant scientist, perhaps you can crack the code, so to speak.”

Keep at that ego, Tarn, it’s bound to get you somewhere.

There's a slow, cautious creak of a door opening.

Slooowly, Spinister sticks his head inside. He looks at Brainstorm without his mask on, seemingly unsurprised. He then looks at the shower that Tarn was occupying, optics narrowing at the tone of the DJD commander's voice.

He then looks at Brainstorm and makes a 'what the hell????' gesture at said shower.

"Active energon can show me some things, but unless you get innermost energon, I'm going to have to make wild guesses about this guy's spark."

Brainstorm's hand moves towards his mask at the sound of the door opening, his body tensing, but when he sees it's Spinister he relaxes somewhat. Did he care if he saw him with his mask off? Only slightly, but considering he wasn't hiding a mouth from Decepticons, it's not much of a worry.

He frowns intensely at the gesture and points at the shower again and shrugs. He then points between himself and Spinister, shakes his head, looks back at the shower, and then holds his hands palms out in a "What the hell?" sort of gesture. How did he find out about them?

Spinister steps further into the room, turns, and dramatically points at the black mark where he'd burnt Brainstorm's paint smear off of his aft.

YOU MISSED A SPOT.

Oh nooo. This was terrible! How did he miss that? Brainstorm could have sworn he got every inch of Spinister. How did that even get there? The heli took him from behind! But then there was all that clamoring around. Gosh, he doesn't know!

Sex is outrageous magic and he doesn't understand it.

All this sort of flickers across his face like an open book. Slowly he sinks down into his chair and puts his head into his hands. He takes a look at his mask after a pause, then picks it up and clicks it back on before returning to his miserable pose. Please end him now.

Honestly, it didn't make much sense to Spinister either. They had definitely not banged in a position where there should have been a paint transfer on his butt.

Either way, there wasn't much for it now.

Spin turns back around and casts a displeased glance at the occupied shower before making his way over to Brainstorm. He picks his way through the messy lab with surprising grace, almost silent, and any sounds he did invoke were lost under the hiss of water.

Once he reaches Brainstorm, he abruptly plucks the scientist up and off of his chair. Then he tucks the jet under an arm and starts making his way back to the door.

Spinister approaching was nothing to be alarmed at, but the next thing Brainstorm knew he was being lifted up by the much larger flier and tucked under his arm like a bag of luggage. And so, Brainstorm starts the quietest flailing he can manage.

You can't just kidnap him from his own lab, Spinister!

Brainstorm gives the shower a rather panicked glance as he's carried away towards the door. What would happen when Tarn exits and finds him missing? He'd probably think he ran! Brainstorm's wings flap and he grabs onto Spinister's hip, trying to pry himself out of the grip.

To anyone else, it would probably be pretty comical. Like some near silent gag show.

Tarn is so caught up in his thoughts that he completely misses the exchange between Spinister and Brainstorm.

How the hell is he going to get innermost energon? It’s an extremely risky endeavor that would undoubtedly end badly. Is he willing to risk the loss of a few more body parts in battle? He waffles a few times before settling on it being worth it. Rampage must be stopped.

As long as his t-cog, brain module, and spark stay intact Tarn isn’t sure that he cares what Rampage does to him. All that matters is that he wins this battle of wills.

He turns in the shower to address Brainstorm face to face. He isn’t sure what he was expecting. Maybe to find the scientist fiddling with a weapon in a poor attempt at murdering him while his back was turned. Or maybe Brainstorm standing quietly and benignly going over his measurements.

What he was not expecting was to see Spinister standing there with Brainstorm tucked up under his arm and struggling like an angry cat. All he can do is stare blankly.

Finally he’s able to snap himself out of his bewilderment.

“Spinister, put him down, we’re have a discussion."

Spinister freezes on the spot when Tarn comes out of the shower, gently shifting his hold a little bit to stop Brainstorm from falling out of his grip as the jet-former squirms.

For the longest for moments, he doesn't say anything.

In fact, he doesn't say anything at all and starts inching towards the door with exaggerated slowness, armor plates fluffed up. If he moves slowly enough, that means Tarn can't see him, right?

Brainstorm stops struggling when Tarn turns around and exits the shower, his arms and legs dangling under Spinister's arm like a rag doll. He has a very dull, defeated look on his face as Spinister keeps inching towards the door.

"Hello... again, Tarn."

He can't really stop Spinister from trying to kidnap him. His feet couldn't even touch the floor!

"See? I'm not sure what you see in him."

“Now, Spinister.” Tarn scolds, beginning to lose patience. This is absurd. Rolling his optics, Tarn focuses his attention on the jet hanging limply in Spinister’s grip

“His knowledge of scrounging in less than ideal situations is unparalleled.” Of course he neglects to mention that at this point in time he’s the only mech willing to give Tarn medical treatment.

Tarn clears his throat, approaching the pair still slowly sidling toward the door. His hand shoots out, grabbing one of Brainstorm’s legs, trying to ease him from Spinister’s grip.

“Let go."

Tarn grabs Brainstorm's leg and Spinister whips around to glare at him, quickly shifting his grip so that he had both hands under Brainstorm's arms and armor still flared.

"Stop trying to kill all my friends," he hisses trying to drag Brainstorm away. "I don't appreciate it!"

Ohhh no, this was going bad places real fast. Brainstorm tenses up when Tarn grabs hold of his legs and begins to pull, trying not to flail or move too much as Spinister doesn't relinquish his grip. His own plating flares, wings twitching, and he panics inwardly.

"Okay! Very funny! Now could we not pull my body in two?"

Ignoring Brainstorm’s comments, Tarn focuses his attention solely on Spinister when he doesn’t immediately let go.

“I’m not trying to kill him, I’m trying to have a conversation with him! Don’t make me press the issue.” He snaps irritably.

Tarn doesn’t let go even as Spinister starts tugging. What does he possibly think he can gain? Tarn is clearly stronger and his grip is like an iron vice around Brainstorm’s ankle.

“Stop pulling. I’m not letting go and you’re going to make me hurt him.

"That- okay, for once, I actually believe you having a conversation with someone isn't going to murderize them," Spinister admits, frowning unhappily. "But I'm not letting go either!"

He re-fluffs his armor and spins his rotor blade, although at least he's stopped pulling. There's a long moment of internal struggle followed by an unhappy engine growl and then...

".... What're you guys talking about."

Suspicious squinting.

With an perturbed huff, Tarn stops pulling on Brainstorm’s leg.

“Yes, of course. That would be a waste of perfectly good talent; especially talent that is ready and willing to help. And the term is murdering, Spinister, not murderizing.”

Easing his grip slightly in a show of good faith, Tarn cocks his head

“Your gifted lover, here, had just agreed to build me a gun. With that cannibalistic beastformer on the prowl, I though a bit of protection might be in order, wouldn’t you agree?"

It was absolutely ridiculous, but the praise makes Brainstorm fluff a little, preening like a peacock at being called gifted. He is, after all, a brilliant genius and more people should acknowledge that.

Still, he was suspended in air between the two mech's grip and he'd rather the circumstances be different.

"We're not lovers. Not really!" Of all the things to protest, he picks that. Lovers typically entailed more than mindless fragging right?

At that point, Brainstorm also realizes he has Tarn under his thumb in this regard. "Wait! Second stipulation. No killing any Autobots with my stuff, okay?"

When Tarn lets go, Spinister abruptly gathers Brainstorm up and closer to his chest before sitting down, cross-legged, and making noises of great discontentment.

"Well, it'd be nice not to have to keep replacing your fingers," Spin admits. He doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by the fact that Tarn called them 'lovers': it's not TRUE, per say, but he's not going to be the one to sit down and talk to Tarn about which kind of relationship they're in. The afthead thought he was banging Sixshot for some blinking reason.

"You're making a gun for Tarn," he points out to Brainstorm instead. "Even if he's not killing them, there's going to be some 'Bots who might try and off him. We don't even know if the beasty guy is an Autobot or not."

Ignoring the melodramatic glaring and mumbling with a subtle eye roll, Tarn only nods along with what Spinister is saying.

“Exactly so. Although he doesn’t wear a badge, I am still unsure of his affiliation.” Agreement? With Spinister? What is this witchcraft. “But I will promise you this: so long as they don’t pursue me, I will refrain from using the weapon against any Autobots. However, the minute they overstep their bounds I will have no choice but to protect myself.”

Tarn holds his hand out to Brainstorm for a gentleman’s agreement

“Do we have a deal?"

Despite being bundled up into Spinister's arms, Brainstorm doesn't exactly feel any safer. In fact, that point just makes him shrink further down and drag his fingers down his face.

"They're going to find out it was me who built it, you know. They've been looking for reasons to arrest me! Somehow Rodimus found out I'm a Decepticon."

There's not much to be done though. Slowly he reaches out, and gives a very shaky grip on Tarn's hand.

"Not everyone is an Autobot or Decepticon, Tarn. There's plenty of neutrals since the war ended."

Tarn reaching out to shake Brainstorm's hand earns the purple mech a low, warning rumble. Fortunately, Spinister resists the urge to bat the hand aside, although he keep glaring at it like the hand was made of needles.

"If you go out and you actually start a fight with anyone before the wounds you have are healed up, I'm not fixing you again."

That's about the end of his input on that matter.

“Ideally it won’t come to that. It isn’t as if i’m going to be flashing this at every mech I see, only those who I have no other choice but to fight. And, if you do the job correctly, they’ll never live to tell.” Tarn’s hand almost entirely encompasses Brainstorms as he gives it a firm shake.

Spinister’s disapproval of the new alliance rolls off of him in waves. Tarn gives him the smuggest look he can manage with his face covered with the roughed up metal of his mask.

“I’ll be back later this week with a portion of your Nucleon and to check on design progress. Is there anything else you need from me?"