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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Tarn looks down at Sixshot as he lies next to him.

"I'm not doing it to distance myself from him. I'm doing it to punish him." Looking away he sighs, "He has to pay for his mistake, Sixshot. He has to face the mess that he has created."

Tarn reaches over to rest a hand upon one massive paw, as if they are creating a pact

"I will do as I have been commanded, just as you will do as you have. And if Megatron decides to use you against me, i will not hold it against you."

Hearing that certainly makes his lines run cold. Decepticon Justice Division... That's the one thing that both Autobots and Decepticons alike have nightmares about.

"Megatron, probably. Shouldn't you be going after him instead? I hear he's looking pretty good in red these days."

That's probably not the smartest of comebacks - especially when he's nearly pulled into a spin to avoid the falling rubble. Talk about being trapped between a literal rock and a hard places.

"A noble calling. I've no doubt you performed a great service the Decepticon cause." He did, legitimately, believe that, even realizing by definition he was now a defector himself. He'd tracked down his fair share of traitors in his time, it would not be right to expect anything less than a soldier such as Tarn. But he would never agree that his desertion it was by choice, he still believed in the cause even if he could not follow the Megatron's leadership.

Perhaps things would have turned out differently had Dreadwing served with Tarn's Decepticons.

Perhaps things could be different with Tarn's Decepticons. The thought hadn't occurred to him before, but then he'd never considered such a thing would be possible until finding himself here. It would be a lie to say he wasn't very keen on the prospect.

"You serve Lord Megatron, I assume. How would you describe your leader?" he asked, trying not to sound too hopeful about the answer.

Sixshot's eye tracks Tarns hand down to where they rested upon his paw before following the arm back up to the mech's face. After a beat, he dims his optics in acceptance, tilting his canine head slightly so that the edge of his broad snout bumped up against the DJD commander's forearm.

"I hope this doesn't get you killed,"

How strange it is to feel so tired again. He'd not felt this way ever since Shockwave had seen fit to install him with the regenerative fission cell so many a millenia ago.

"You said there were other Decepticons?" he asks by way of distraction. As far as Sixshot had seen, there'd only been Tarn, especially with the news of Megatron's defection.

Tarn smiles beneath his mask, tilting his head. His voice is warm and smooth; providing a deceptive air of comfort.

"Yes, yes, very well." Tarn sighs. "Assuming that you would prefer to stay in my good graces, I believe that it is only fair that we reassess your quota situation. As I understand it, t-cogs are rather scarce and you, my friend, seem to have single handedly destroyed your reputation. Unfortunately this puts up is a bit of a delicate situation. "

Pharma's optics narrow, lips parting for a moment -- but surprisingly, he doesn't contest Tarn's statement. Instead, he re-thinks his decision and settles on just crossing his arms and staring Tarn down with a cocked eyebrow. "Let me guess. You have a plan to correct that."

Tarn falls atop Ratchet with a hiss at the direct hit to his pelvic plating. He barely even feels the hit to his head, too distracted by the shooting pain. Pulling himself together he straightens up, glaring down at Ratchet fiercely.

"I warned you, Autobot, I really did. This entire situation could have been avoided had you not been so damned Stubborn. I have been more than patient with you, and this is the thanks I get." Tarns stands, grabbing Ratchet by the same knee that was used to assault him. "This hurts me more than I hurts you." He twists the knee joint, destroying it's inner workings and breaking cables, before letting him drop back to the ground.

"How dare you." Tarn growls in anger, shooting off three more shots in rapid succession.The third shot just barely misses, but it sends a shower of debris upon the small car. He can barely see past the blinding rage that grips his spark. This mech knows nothing. "You have no right."

He is sore enough about the situation as is, the last thing he needs is this pathetic tiny bot, rubbing it in his face.

"And for your information, I intend to. One must wait for the correct time, however."

Tarn sighs, suddenly tired as well, as Sixshot brushes against him. He supposes he can chalk it up to being low on fuel.

"Yes, but I know of only a few." He rests his head back against the beam, dimming his optics. "So far I have only come across three, excluding youself. There is another version of Megatron. From the past, during the beinging of the Revolution. He is still soft, but I'm sure experience will help to fix that. Then there is Dreadwing. Not Turmoil's follower, but a mech from an alternate dimension. He seems to have quite a bit of honor in him. A fine Decepticon, truly."

Tarn huffs a sigh. "And then there is a scientist named Spinister. He is..." Tarn trails off a bit, "Well he's a sort of idiot savant. Not too bright. Got himself stuck on the list. But, resourceful at the very least."

Ratchet screams.

His head slams back, optics blazing white as Tarn's fingers bite deep through plating into the joints and pistons of his knee, severing cables, energon spilling. His head slams back against the floor as he arches, trying to twist away for a moment and then stopping when that wrenches the tattered, pulpy mess in Tarn's grip and he stops to just drag in air through his vents. It hurts so much that the sensation is almost meaningless, white noise in his head, and he shakes through it, just taking a few seconds to jitter uselessly against the floor before he twists again, looking back up at Tarn with wild optics.

"Are you done?" he asks, voice ragged, vocalizer popping from strain and overuse, but he doesn't look afraid.

All good things must come to an end, right? The slight shower of debris isn't something he can dodge, unlike the shots being fired. Bee decides that perhaps the best way to escape is to tackle the problem head on... By playing chicken. It's also easier to dodge when he can see it coming, right?

"I have every right."

It's his badge Megatron wears, but he doesn't say that. Instead he thinks he's going to warn the former warlord about this potential threat - not that Megatron isn't likely aware already. "I'm more personally involved than you might think."

Bee's angle? Get Tarn good and mad. Distracted. Please, keep firing off rounds and kicking up debris and dust. It might give Bumblebee enough cover to slip away.

"Well not entirely." Tarn chuckles, "But I do know where to start. You..." he prods a finger into Pharma's chest, right above his Autobrand , "must win your way back into the Autobot's good graces. I don't care how you do it. In the mean time I will scout possible sources for tcogs and you can simply be on call if anything comes up. Does that seem like a fair bargain to you?"

Pharma watches Tarn's hand, pulling himself away as much as he can and averting his gaze from his Autobrand with a shake of his head. "You assume they'll let me back in at all. Being forced to farm t-cogs for someone like you is a rather grievous offense."

The idea of asking why he should help at all comes to mind, but is immediately dismissed when he remembers who he's talking to.

The medic's screams are like music. Tarn looks down at Ratchet, smirk reaching his optics and blazing behind his mask.

"Ratchet, Honestly, I'm surprised at you. "He leans over and grabs hand saw from one of the cabinets that he was just rifling through. "This is an interrogation! And I am the Commander of the Decepticon Justice Division. Do you think I would back down so quickly?" He kneels on Ratchet's injured leg, effectively pinning him, before looking him dead in the eyes.

"Now. You have one last chance. Tell me where the t-cog is." He lowers the saw to Ratchet's upper thigh, pressing down firmly.

Tarn gives Dreadwing a sharp look at the mention of Megatron.

"I serve the Decepticon cause. Megatron betrayed us. He has abandoned the cause and took the Autobrand." He doesn't particularly care to talk about it with this stranger but continues anyway. "Before that, however, he was a capable, strong, feared leader. Now he is weak." Tarn looks away. "We will continue on without him."

Glancing around the ruins he continues on, "The Decepticons are few here. Vastly outnumbered by Autobots. Have you any allies so far?"

Ratchet writhes against the floor, fists pounding uselessly on concrete before they shove helplessly at Tarn's knees, but that just jars his injured leg, so he stops. He's briefly frantic, panic slamming through him like a hammer on an anvil before he focuses on Tarn's face, the expression in his optics. Something nauseatingly and uncomfortably like hatred rakes through him, raw and naked, dragging like sandpaper through his brain and leaving him scraped clean and strangely calm.

"No," he says, his voice clear but for a little static, staring Tarn right in the optics.

Five Decepticons. That does make things a little awkward. Not that things weren't already awkward with their Megatron trying to dismantle the Decepticons, but, well.

"Another version of Megatron?" Sixshot asks somewhat lazily. They were on a weird Cybertron that wasn't their Cybertron where dead people apparently came back from being dead and people kept thinking he was 'nice'. Honestly, time travelling strangeness was just the missing ingredient at this point.

Tarn allows Pharma to pull away, dropping his hand back down to his side.

"You are a bright mech, Pharma. I'm sure you can find a way."

He takes another step back, really looking at the medic. Something had changed in him. "It may take a little while but I think with a bit of hard work it will be possible."

"You're willing to wait on something that may not happen?" Pharma looks back up, eyebrow raised. That's strange. The compliment is noted, both as an actual compliment and as something to soften him up. "How generous of you."

"Very well." Tarn murmurs before making his first cut with the saw. shallowly, but enough to cut clear through the armor plating on his thigh and into the protoform a few inches.

"You worried that I would injure your precious hands didn't you?" He saws slightly more into the leg. "Let me tell you something, Ratchet..." The teeth on the blade catch slightly on the inner workings, causing Tarn to push harder, energon gushing freely. He leans in to whisper into Ratchet's audiol, "Not even I am so sadistic as to remove a medic's hands from him."

With one last cut Ratchet's leg is severed.

What the pit is that supposed to mean?

"Who are you?" Tarn growls, shooting off another round. It grazes bumblebees fender just slightly. "Identify yourself Immediately!."

To Bee's credit, his plan seems to be working.

Ratchet thrashes and bucks, hands coming up to shove at Tarn's elbows, his shoulders, pounding laughably smaller fists against the collar of his armor. The teeth of the saw catch and a short, ragged sound wrenches from between his clenched teeth, despite how little he wants to give Tarn the satisfaction. He reaches up blindly, his fingers digging into either side of Tarn's mask and trying to wrench it free, struggling to do damage of any kind, to hurt Tarn back as he feels his leg come free, the sick lack of weight. He abruptly realizes that Tarn was only pinning him by that leg and he shoves back on his hands, optics blazing, trying not to look at the vivid pink swath he left on the floor when he moved.

"You don't know anything about that," he says, shaking with pain and the remnants of anger--it's starting to be swallowed up by the cold knowledge that if he doesn't start patching lines soon, he's going to pass out before he can finish and bleed himself dry onto the floor of his own medibay. He keeps his optics on Tarn. "You don't know anything. But I know how bad it's going to be for you if Megatron comes back here with Nautica and sees you like this. Is that something you want to risk?"

“Yes, it is quite peculiar, indeed.” A try humorless laugh escapes from behind Tarn’s mask. “ He had no idea who I was when we first ran into each other; or what I do, for that matter. I have a feeling even he would not approve of it yet. Too much of a pacifist. “

Optics still dim, he turns to look down at Sixshot. It was nice to have a conversation with an equal. Not someone who needs babysitting, or threatening to keep going. His attempts to call his team have become less frequent, and he yearns for the company that they provided.

"I am willing to take the risk. We don't have many options, now do we?"

Of course what Tarn leaves out is that he has Spinister in the wings, in case things go South and Pharma proves himself to be...unreliable. Can't have the medic thinking that he's expendable and wound that delicate ego of his.

"Now, do we have a deal?"

Pharma is a silent for a long moment, contemplative. He initially agreed because he was terrified; everything he worked for would be destroyed in seconds, and he certainly didn't want to die. That had stopped him from considering saying 'no'.

But now...

"...I'd like to propose a benefit in my favor. That outside of things relating to this agreement, you have no contact with me."

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Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

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