robothell | (no subject)

(no subject)

Who: Tarn and Megatron
Where: in the city :T
When: sometime
What: Tarn gets caught exactly where he should not be.
Warnings: threats of violence. possibly actual violence.

It’s been a hectic day. It all began when he was rudely awoken by Spinister kicking him in the face, shouting about the energon refinery having sprung a leak. With his tanks almost empty and roughly 80% of their acquired energon spilt into the dust, both Tarn and Spinister are touchy to say the least, leaving tensions running high.

Tarn needed to get out and clear his head; to be alone for more than a few minutes at a time. The buddy system has it purpose, and Tarn would never disagree, but being attached to Spinister every waking moment of every day has begun to grate on him. Seriously, who kicks someone in the face to wake them up? Walking aimlessly, he is itching to transform, but the metal contraption welded to his leg has effectively locked him out of his alt mode. Tarn can't transform without wrecking the brace and risk ruining his knee beyond Spinister’s repair. Trying to walk it off, the ex-DJD Commander makes an attempt to distract himself and somehow ignore the minute twitch in his t-cog that throbs with every step.

It only makes him more moody.

Tarn is far enough from the center of the city that he’s let his guard down the slightest bit, not expecting any unfortunate encounters with the local inhabitants. What reason would anyone have to be out this far? His only concern is Rampage, but to be honest, he has just as much of a chance of stumbling into him in the wastes as he does in the city.

He already feels himself beginning to calm just by getting some alone time. A lap around the outskirts should be plenty time to fully cooled down. That’s all it will take.

Lost in his own thoughts, and distracted by growing hunger, Tarn may have ventured into dangerous territory.

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Megatron needed some time to think after over a month of training with Sixshot. Progress had been going well. Even without any wartime upgrades, he held an uncanny propensity for violence that loomed over him at every moment.

Still, being denied at every turn when he began to look into working around his frame was starting to frustrate him. With every training session, he became more and more aware of his actuators and joints straining to keep up with the force of his spark. He could do more, but he was being held back - and no one in their right mind seemed to want to help alleviate that. Of course, given what he'd done back in their worlds, he couldn't entirely blame them.

But Galvatron was still out there, as was the distant threat of other Decepticons, he couldn't let that be the end of it. There had to be some other way to make up the difference.

His fixed concentration is broken by the heavy footsteps of what he can determine to be an injured mech. He rises out of his thoughtful slump as that familiar purple frame comes into view, his own optics slowly lit with a renewed fury.

Tarn may notice the physical marks left by having a phase sixer as a combat teacher, but Megatron otherwise looked the same as before. Including the expression of someone very intent on tearing his spark free from his casing.

Rounding a corner, optics downcast and unfocused in his frustration, Tarn almost doesn’t see the mech in his path. Almost. At first he’s struck with irritation, thinking that he’s going to have to fight off Rampage, yet again; until he actually looks up.

Tarn freezes, optics wide and bright behind his mask. Maybe if he doesn’t move, he won’t be noticed. But, it’s too late; Megatron is staring right at him.

He looks looks very much the same as the last time that Tarn had the pleasure of speaking with him, right down to the murderous scowl plastered on his face. The only thing that is slightly different are the scrapes and dents covering his frame. The ex-Decepticon was sure that Galvatron would have told him if there had been an uprising against Megatron. Besides, the damage is minor, looking more like evidence of a rather rigorous sparing match than much else.

Too stunned to speak, and frozen in place, Tarn only stares at Megatron. What he he doing this far from the base? There’s nothing out here; no reason for him to be prowling these back alleys and trash pits. His mind flounders for an off-handed reason for being exactly where he was ordered, by threat of death, to never be seen again.

“I…”

He has no valid excuse.

There were multiple lessons Terminus has ironed into his memory in their time deep within the nucleon mines of Messatine. None were more clear than one of the last lessons he'd learned by his side. There was a time when he needed to use his brain - his words. But there was also a time where he needed to be prepared to use his fists. And with the former clearly only beginning to have an impact at the pointed edge of violence, he knew what he had to do.

His expression is steely and quiet, aware that Tarn knows how deep of a pit he just dug himself into. He simply steps forward, ridding Tarn of the small distance between them in a few calm steps. A hand reaches out to tear a piece of rebar free from the ground, idly weighing the jagged pole of metal in his hands. Far from perfect, but it would do the job.

"Tarn. I didn't expect to see you."

Scuttling backwards to put space between them, Tarns hands fly up in a placating gesture. Instinctively, his frame lowers into a defensive position, ready to dodge the end of that jagged pole if it comes too close.

“Come now, Megatron… lets not do anything brash.”

Tarn’s optic’s frantically scan the rubble for something to shield himself with, only spotting a metal sheet behind Megatron. It’s probably too small and flimsy to offer much protection from that heavy pole anyhow. His tanks sink; he’s made a terrible mistake.

"On the contrary, I've been far too patient-"

It should probably be more unsettling, how easily the thought comes to simply strike Tarn at his injured knee to get him crumpling to the ground. The jagged edge comes forward - but rather than tear open the wound anew, simply gives a strong swat to the side of his leg with the blunt side of the pole. The weight should be enough to do what he wanted.

"Though I am surprised to see you still alive."

The brace hinders his movement, making him too cumbersome to dodge the blow. Between the force behind the swat, and the weight of the pole, Tarn's leg crumples beneath him, sending him careening to the ground with a startled grunt. His arms shoot out to catch himself and he luckily manages to catch himself before faceplanting into the dirt.

At Megatron's mercy, Tarn stares up at the leader of the Decepticons, warily waiting for his next move and hoping for a way to deflect it.

"I'm more resilient than you seem to think." He croaks out, his normal smooth voice rough with static. Of course, it also helps that Spinister is willing to piece him back together and help provide fuel... and Helex brings him supplies... and Galvatron provides an end goal to strive for.

Perhaps, if not for them, he would have off-lined in the wastes within days. Had Galvatron not found him when he did, it probably woundn't have taken long at all. Tarn's hand protectively shields his replacement badge from Megatron's burning glare.

His footsteps are heavy and deliberate as he positions the jagged edge of the pole over where Tarn's spark chamber lies beneath armor. The point digs between the seam of his chest plate, one good push away from sinking inside and ending this once and for all.

But rather than finish the job, he kneels down closer to the exiled Decepticon, getting a good look into his optics.

"Fortunately for you, you seem to have had quite a bit of help."

He doesn't seem too offended at the realization. It was never his intent to keep all of the Decepticons on tight leashes as long as they followed a few simple rules.

Tarn freezes as Megatron presses the jagged point to his chest, threatening to pierce his spark chamber. His hand flies up to grip the shaft of the pole, holding it away. Strangely, Megatron doesn't try to press the matter, instead, using it to just pin him in place. If he had truly wanted to end Tarn's life, he would have already skewered him. Why? Is he just playing with his prey before he destroys it? Are those wretched Autobot values really digging in? Or worse... is it pity?

Swallowing down his anxiety with a growl, Tarn tries to lean away as Megatron kneels down. He refuses to comment on the observation, instead, he glances away. Although Megatron doesn't seem overly irate about the concept, he's not going to confirm and risk some sort of punishment befalling Helex.

Tarn's fingers gouge into the dirt as he fights the urge to start an altercation with Megatron.

"What do you want from me?"

Despite Tarn's original opportunistic attempt to groom him on arrival, Megatron was no fool. Even now, he had a cunning about him present well before his full descent into bloody warfare in the fighting pits. And it's just a slight glimmer of that that shines through his optics as Tarn asks the question. With the jagged tip resting firmly on his chest plate, he makes firm eye contact.

"How would you like to become a Decepticon again?"

He gives the covered badge no more than a shaming cursory glance,"A true Decepticon, not whatever farce you have carved for yourself out in the wastes."

Tarn squints, searching Megatron’s face for any sign that he’s being mocked. The sharp glint in his optics is not lost on him. Surely something is amiss...

“Explain.” Tarn demands, unwilling to make a commitment one way or another until he knows the full details of the situation. This has to be a trap, there’s no other explanation.

His optics scan the rubble for possible danger or surprises that Megatron may have planned. But, the persistent press of Megatron’s makeshift weapon over his spark makes it difficult for his mind to stray too much; the idle threat of death still hanging overhead.

Megatron stands to his feet, resting lightly on the heavy, jagged point pressing into his chest.

"Your exile has attracted a few stragglers to rush to your aid, one of which I have particular interest in."

As the point begins to sink into the seam, the pressure lets off.

"That leaves you in a unique position, Tarn. One that could be very beneficial to the both of us."

Unless Tarn would prefer to be dead, of course.

To Tarn’s credit, he doesn’t quail as the tip of the pipe slides between the center seam of his chest. He steels himself, maintaining eye contact even as Megatron towers over him.

“You’re insane if you think that I will do anything to betray the trust of my allies, Megatron.”

How could he when they came through for him in the darkest of times? Betrayal isn’t something that Tarn takes lightly, even if it will earn him the chance to properly rejoin his faction. It is a difficult decision, but one that he must make. If Megatron chooses to the end him now then so be it; at least he will die knowing he was loyal to those who put their faith in him.

There's a moment of silence as he lets Tarn's words sink in with the point of the makeshift spear. He really had no reason to continue letting Tarn live. He's been little more than a deadly nuisance since his arrival.

Yet, rather than end it then and there, his expression lightens, and he lifts it off Tarn's chest altogether. Aside from a sharp indentation, there was no damage to his armor.

"I see. You'd truly rather die than betray them."

He takes a moment to think on the the refusal.

"You've shown remarkable resilience in the face of your exile, Tarn. Even when an opportunity arises to lift yourself out of the charred pit you've been given, you choose to stick with your convictions. I didn't quite expect that from the monster that prowled the city streets."

The bar rests on his shoulder, idle and out of threatening range.

"Perhaps I was wrong about you."

“I’ve always been loyal to those I choose to serve.” the statement is quiet, but clear. Though Megatron has cast him away and forsaken him to a pit…Tarn still finds himself unable to let go. He’s tried so hard to leave his hopes for the young miner behind, locking them tightly in a box out of sight. But, even now, after all he's been through, the thought of Megatron’s approval has his spark swelling uncontrollably with pride.

Tarn finally tears his gaze away, realizing that he was staring for perhaps too long. Clearing a buzz of static from his throat, he glances down at his chest. Fortunately, there is not even a scratch in his paint. The only evidence of the threat being a tiny indent right against his center seam, slightly below his adopted badge. Straightening himself from his slump Tarn assumes a more dignified position in the dirt, before attempting to raise himself into a standing position. It’s a bit of a struggle as always with the stiff brace. Alone he’s able to ignore the shame, but with Megatron staring right at him with appraising optics it makes him burn with humiliation. He must appear strong. He has to earn his respect.

“If it means rusting in the wastes, then so be it."

Megatron's gaze had lost some of it's aggressive fire as Tarn struggles to stand to his feet. As much as he despised what Tarn did and stood for, seeing an injured mech try to stand proud was a little too close to the day to day deep within Nova Point. Even someone as monstrous as Tarn.

He reaches for a canister stored within his armor. It was beaten to all hell, clearly picked from the ruins of the city. Megatron hands it to the ex-Decepticon. It was heavy, and a little jostle of the canister would reveal it was filled with a viscous fluid.

Energon. High quality and immaculately refined by their outpost.

"You'll need this."

Tarn steadies himself on his feet, shifting to alleviate some of the pressure on his joint. His optics dim and he purposefully looks up at Megatron, just in time for the cask thrust into his field of vision.

The ex-‘Con stares at the canister with wide optics. His hands twitch, curling into fists at his side. He can hear the dull slosh of fluid inside, taunting the hungry mech. Tarn wants so badly to disagree, to tell Megatron that he’s wrong that he doesn’t need his help, or pity. He wants to prove to his old leader that he’s still strong. But he can’t.

Slowly he reaches his hands out to take the offering from Megatron. They need the energon too much for Tarn to refuse it. His pride will recover.

“Thank you."

Megatron rests his weapon on the ground, by the side of his boot. With an injured leg, it wasn't like Tarn could make any rapid movements without heavy retaliation. He approaches and rests his hands on the dirtied treads of Tarn's shoulder.

"What you've done cannot be easily forgiven, but I will leave you with this offer."

He gives the metal flask a glance before meeting Tarn's optics.

"Assist me in protecting the cause against the parasites lurking for the shadows, waiting for opportunity to upend what I've began here, and I will begin to reconsider your exile."

He looks down at the badge on Tarn's chest.

"And perhaps return something of yours that I've held on to for some time."

Spark flipping in his chest, Tarn’s gaze flicks briefly to the hand on his shoulder. It bring him back to simpler times. Times where they had each other’s complete trust. Still, Tarn can’t back down now. Has to stick to his word.

"Megatron… I’ve given you my answer.” His voice is steady, despite the occasional crackle of static.

“But, know that I will never condone acts against the ideals of The Cause.” He stares up into Megatron’s optics, straightening proudly and clutching the energon to his chest. "Should the situation arise I will alert you of any misdeeds. While I am loyal to my allies, I am first and foremost loyal to the Cause. If they conflict I will always side with with the Decepticon doctrine. You have my word.”

Having his exile lifted, being allowed back into the Decepticons, getting his own badge back…He had all but given up hope. It was a pipe dream, held together only by his last threads of foolish optimism. To have it offered? It makes Tarn almost willing to do anything.

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