robothell | Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

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ratchet | asafepairofhands

Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

Who: Tarn and Drift and Tarn and You
Where: The city center
When: A few days after the Rodimus incident
What: Tarn has an unfortunate run in with some new friends
Warnings: Tarn. Violence to come

Tarn has had bad days before. Occasionally his latest victim would get a good punch in, perhaps they were particularly good at eluding himself and his team, or they managed to temporarily escape. Maybe the pet decided to gnaw on a particularly important set of data pads. Or Vos decided to poach parts from one of the cleaning drones. Again.

Any of that is a walk in the park compared to the viciously terrible week Tarn has had. So far he has been transported to an alternate Cybertron without his consent. He has been harassed by Autobots, burned, shot at, disrespected,; but really, the proverbial cherry on top of the whole mess, was the incident with Megatron. The founder of the Decepticons, the mech he has sacrificed his identity, his name, his very life to serving, turned traitorous. Betraying his own faction and trading his own badge for an Autobrand. Honestly, Tarn is having a difficult time even wrapping his mind around the whole thing. One thing is for certain though...he is angry and on the hunt for someone to take his aggression out on.

He has been prowling the city ruins for hours, stopping every few minutes to transform a few times, just to take the edge off. He can feel his T-cog grinding more and more with every transformation. He is familiar with the sensation and the knowledge that the cog probably wont last him the month only adds to his every growing ire.

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It isn’t until he reaches the city center that he catches sight of anyone. But when he does, a wolfish smile spreads across his face as he makes his way closer.

If it isn’t his old friend, Drift, sitting by a crumbling fountain. He pauses briefly, remembering the last time he had a run in with the traitor, back on that ship of pathetic Autobots, running and hiding like glitchmice in the walls, futilely trying to fight back against his team. He remembers how disappointingly short the fight he put up was.

Perhaps this time would be different.

“Well, now, what a surprise. “ He purrs lowly, “Ready for another go so soon are we?”

Well, that sure looked like Tarn.

Sixshot stops in his tracks at the sight, backing up a few steps to peer down at the purple, Decepticon-faced figure he'd spotted on the road under the overpass he was standing on. There wasn't exactly a lot of people who ran around with the faction symbol glued to their faces. Not that there was a shortage of purple, loyalist fanatics, but that particular set of visuals tended to be reserved for their leader.

He looked pretty ticked. Kind of smelled it too.

The sight of Tarn was something Megatron had not seen in a few days since their last agreement. Not without reason, of course, the last murder attempt by Sentinel kept him tethered to the Autobot's Medibay in unexpected ways.

But it wasn't his appearance so much as the sound of the laborious efforts of a transformation cog that was standing on its last legs that brought him to the Decepticon's location. Earlier, Megatron had heard some things that concerned him - but not for his own safety.

He approaches the soldier without fear,"Tarn - are you alright? I haven't seen you at any of the shelter sites."

Tarn pauses in his pacing upon hearing the slight creak above him. An overpass. He continues if only to not let on that he is aware of the mystery presence looming over him. Whoever it is, they are large.

After a few paces he decides it probably isn't worth tip toeing and instantly charges his fusion cannon and fires at the overpass above him. leaving a rather large smoking hole in the framework. He doesn't care so much about hitting them, it's mostly just to flush them out of hiding.

Sixshot doesn't initially think too much about it when Tarn moves out of sight. Tarn was not a threat to him. Hardly anything was. He turns, ready to keep going on this long, aimless stroll through the silent city.

The whine of a fusion canon powering up comes as a bit of a surprise.

Then overpass explodes under his feet, molten shards of rusting and rotted metal sailing into the air. The beam nicks his shoulder, searing the paint clear off the hyper-dense armor plates-

In short order, the weakened overpass collapses, dragging the enormous mech down with it, dust, debris and smoke thickening the air. The deafening cacophony of destruction was followed by silence.

Oh.

Oh well.

Tarn's only warning is a muffled growl. Then he gets the first hand experience of having a pissed Phase Sixer tearing out of the ruins as if the debris was little more than packing peanuts, enormous jaws set for the DJD leader's head.

Tarn quickly turns around from his position, he recognizes the voice but not the younger tone. It isn't until he locks eyes on Megatron's younger self that some of the tension leaves his frame.

"Ah- yes, I'm fine. I have found a dwelling just outside the city to take shelter. I...don't think that at the moment it is wise for me to be around," He sighs slightly, reaching up to rub his neck,"people."

That's probably the kindest way to put being on a murderous rampage that he can think of.

Dreadwing has been having a similarly unpleasant week. His own Megatron had similarly betrayed him, though given the actions of the Decepticons lately, and the atrocities his former lord and master was willing to commit and reward Dreadwing was certain he could not continue to support the cause in good faith.

However, quite unlike the Megatron of Tarn's universe, Dreadwing had no doubt that his Megatron would seek to have him killed given the opportunity. The last thing he intended was to be unprepared. He had spent the last few days searching for anything useful and scouting out an ideal location to setup a base of operations. His quest had proven successful when he located a building that had been fortified during this world's war. With fortified walls and good sight lines, it was strategically ideal.

But even so disrepair and neglect had started to take their toll. Dreadwing was in the street shoving rubble away from the walls to inspect them for structural concerns. The sound of someone transforming nearby was unmistakable, and he quickly reached for his cannon, taking aim for the street the sound had come from and waiting for them to round the corner.

He'd never seen this bot, but they were unmistakably a Decepticon. He didn't lower his weapon. Even if they were not in alliance with the Megatron, he was taking no chances.
"Halt, and identify yourself. Before I see fit to end your journey where you stand."

Taking a few steps closer, he takes note of the new injuries in Tarn's armor, and distantly wonders if the sound he'd heard was related to it.

It doesn't seem fatal, in any case, but wandering around without any support at all didn't seem like a wise course of action.

"What happened?"

Tarn's not the only one with a lot to take in. Coming back to life is one thing - it's happened to so many individuals by now it's not even registering on the shock factor. Hearing the things he is missing out on by being dead? Everyone's reaction to him being alive and relatively well? Different story altogether. To think that Megatron had been put on trial and is presently wearing Bumblebee's badge is pretty heavy and if he hadn't seen it himself, Bee might not have believed it.

Optimus has been keeping an optic on the little Autobot a little more than usual. Bee has had to wait for an opportunity to slip out. All he is doing is going out on a drive to clear his mind. If Thundercracker or Wheeljack had been brought here, he'd likely talk to them instead. As it is, there's a yellow car zipping through all the ruins, no badge indicating where his allegiances stand.

Tarn whips around, weapon drawn, humming as it powers on. The mech isn't familiar, though he wears the Decepticon insigina.

Impossible. He knows every Decepticon that has ever taken the oath. He gives a preliminary scan to try to determine anything about the stranger. Nothing.

After a moment of silence, tarn lowers his weapon, powering it down. He knows nothing about this mech other than his faction. For all he knows this stranger could be the alliance that he needs.

"I am Tarn, of the Decepticon Justice Division." He takes a step forward, "And you are...?"

The minute Sixshot tears through the rubble, Tarn knows he's made a grievous mistake. With a startled growl, he takes a few quick steps back, still pointing his fusion cannon at the charging Phase Sixer.

“Sixshot?!” Tarn can’t think of anything more articulate to yell in his surprise.

He knows of the mech, of course. Hand chosen by Megatron himself to stand among the likes of Black Shadow and Overlord. Given the paths that his comrades chose to take, Tarn does not have the highest expectations of this particular Phase Sixer’s loyalty to the cause; though tarn does not have any evidence to support his theory.

Regardless Tarn can do nothing but brace for impact.

The surprised exclamation registers vaguely in the back of Sixshot's mind, but it doesn't do much to save Tarn. The Sixer was a weapon and there was only one reaction to hostiles.

He slams into Tarn like an ununtrium plated freight train, dust streaming from his plating. Teeth ram shut around the fusion cannon's searing hot barrel- but he doesn't tear it off.

Instead he uses it to keep Tarn in place as the momentum of the attack carries them through into the guts of a decrepit building.

Tarn looks down at himself. His hand is scorched, one of the biolights on his chest is completely shattered and sporting a small entry wound, and his frame is littered with various scuffs and scrapes.

It's been a walk in the park, really.

"I had a run in with some Autobots." He explains, prodding a still leaking scrape on his arm.

"The war isn't finished for some of their forces, but staying isolated here isn't the wisest option."

Given their previous conversation regarding Autobots and his own recent brush with Sentinel, Megatron is inclined to give Tarn the benefit of the doubt and assume he didn't incite this run in - minor as it appeared to be.

"There's an Autobot doctor here, Ratchet, who assisted me without prejudice. You can ask him to look at your injuries."

Bad idea, Megatron. Really, really bad idea. Monumentally bad. Tarn knows Ratchet. In fact, to the best of his knowledge, he brutally murdered him alongside Drift not weeks before. He is sure the medic won't be pleased to see him. Surely, that isn't something that he can share with the young revolutionary though. Instead, he simply waves his hand in a dismissive gesture.

"I really don't think that to be the wisest course of action, Megatron. I'm fine, really."

The hesitance in not entirely unexpected - he'd been distrustful of going to the clinic without the history of war on the mind.

"Would you feel more comfortable if I were there with you?"

Tarn realizes he is not going to get out of this, and sighs. He will need to be repaired eventually anyway. Best to get it done sooner rather than later.

"Yes, perhaps that would be best. I'm afraid I don't have the best reputation among the Autobots." He begins walking toward Megatron to follow him as he leads the way. "War certainly has a tendency to push the boundaries of what one is capable of."

Yeah that's a diplomatic way to put it.

"Violence on that scale is effective in bringing out the worst in all its participants."

He doesn't doubt any of his Decepticon followers were responsible horrible things in the past. It was a path he was ready to take himself until recently. But he wanted believed there was more to them than that - and well, may have felt a little responsible for having helped cause it.

"Can you still transform?" The injuries looked relatively minor insofar, but he didn't want to exacerbate something that might not be obvious.

Tarn watches as the little yellow car makes its way through the rubble. If he didn't know better he would say it looked like Optimus Prime's little lapdog, Bumblebee. But he can't spot an Autobrand where it should be.

Very curious, indeed. Surely, it is best to investigate. He takes a few steps directly into the path of the speeding car.

A few steps is really all that's needed. Bee swerves to move by, clearly. Though he'd be a fool not to notice the wonderful Decepticon brand. Then there's the face... Or lack of one. There aren't many Cons that'd be that bold. The ones that are?

Well let's just say that there's a good reason that Bee is kicking it in reverse. No one wants to be around that much of an extremist.

Tarn bows his head, a bit of an incredulous look in his eye. "Yes, of course. I am still completely functional." Ok, maybe not completely. To be honest. not being able to transform would drive Tarn into a complete frenzy. And he is starting to get antsy over the concept of his impending predicament.

Overcome by the urge, he transforms; t-cog audibly grinding and a deep ache spreads through his frame.

This is bad.

The tcog's whine sounds painful, though he holds back a grimace.

Megatron shifts alongside him, treads hugging the ground as black plating reassembles smoothly into place. He leads them back towards the clinic, at this point rather intimately familiar with its location in relation to the nearby area.

It wouldn't be long before the building would find itself approached by a duo of tanks.

Drift is on his feet in an instant.

He'd felt Tarn's presence before he'd heard the voice -- just a scant half a second, but that's not the sort of commanding aura you forget any time soon. Drift's tense, alert -- his hands are already at the hilts of his swords, sliding them both partway out of their sheaths with a faint click. He'd rather not get into a confrontation with Tarn if he could help it. He's not afraid of the D.J.D., no more than he is of his own past, but that doesn't mean he's eager to rush into a fight with a mech as powerful as Tarn is.

"Your memory must be failing you, because we haven't met in a long time, Tarn."

Tarn rounds the fountain, sizing drift up, malicious glee filling his voice.

"Come, come, Drift. Don't you remember? Maybe not...you and your miserable little Autobot friends didn't put up too great a fight. It was quite embarrassing, I can see how you would want to forget." He sighs "But, I'm afraid that's not something i am about to let happen. Allow me to refresh your memory."

He reverses his comm system to project a small recording that he made from that evening. This particular instance features Drifts own self righteous babble as his team goes about their work. The Autobot chief medical officer's pained groans can be heard in the background. A little souvenir that he managed to save. Shame about the lost footage...

"Dreadwing," he replied, pausing a short moment to add ,"former first lieutenant to Lord Megatron." He couldn't help but cringe internally at that, but he would rather not risk his luck announcing himself as unaligned with the cause. He didn't need anymore enemies to watch out for.

Tarn? As in the city? That was certainly odd, but not more than his claimed profession.
"I'm certain I would have heard of a Decepticon Justice Division, had such a thing existed."

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Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

For his good pal Drift

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after ratchet's juice regimen

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HEY BEST FRIEND

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