Tarn and the very bad no good terrible week

[sparkwhisperer]

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.

Comments

[auramatic]

Drift puts his entire body weight into the keeping the sword buried in Tarn's side, but Tarn's too strong -- Drift's optics widen as Tarn pulls the sword from his chassis even as the blade cuts into his fingers and tears it out of Drift's grip to toss it behind him. Drift staggers back several steps and feels his spark clench in his chest, now facing Tarn without a weapon in hand. The Great Sword had been his best bet -- Drift knows he doesn't stand a chance in bare-fisted combat, not against someone as massive and powerful as Tarn.

"It must have been a long time since you've felt pain," Drift says levelly, holding Tarn's gaze as he steadies himself, refusing to give in. He might be weaponless, but he's still in good shape, not too injured -- he hasn't lost this fight yet. "You've made pain your business, but you forgot what it felt like, didn't you?"

And that's when he runs right at Tarn, charging as if for a full frontal assault -- an undeniably stupid move, as he's sure Tarn will think. But just before he gets within arm's reach of Tarn he rapidly transforms, shifting down into his sleek alt mode with a scream of tires hitting the dirt as he shoots right for the gap between Tarn's legs.

[sparkwhisperer]

The blow has weakened Tarn physically, but rage keeps him alert and consumes the pain like fire. Holding a large hand to the deep wound on his side, he snarls and dodges the speedster. He must applaud him for his bravery in the face of death, if nothing else.

"You know nothing!" Tarn growls lowly, reaching for his vocal talents once again; capturing his spark in a vicious grip and pulling. He just needs to down Drift long enough to regain the upper hand. "Where do you think you're off to? Do you think I am so weak that a silly sword to the side will be enough to fell me? I know more than anyone the limits of Cybertronian anatomy, and that barely even scratches the surface of the threshold of pain we are able to bear."

[auramatic]

Drift speeds past Tarn, intending to transform back and grab his Great Sword off the ground -- but he's barely even finished transforming when Tarn's voice insinuates itself into his spark and brings him to the ground with a choked cry. Drift can barely move, his spark suffocating under the influence of Tarn's voice -- his optics flicker and flare dangerously, his entire body stiffening and arching off the ground.

He can't manage a response -- he can't even speak, the only sounds making it out of his vocalizer strangled and full of static. It's blinding pain in a way Drift has never known it, and for several impossibly long moments he can barely even move. But Drift is determined to fight til the last glimmer of his spark, and even as Tarn's voice constricts dangerously around it, Drift reaches out a straining, shaking hand to close it around the hilt of his Great Sword lying nearby.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn stalks over to Drift as he lays convulsing in the dirt. Even as pain overwhelms him, the Autobot reaches for his sword. With a snarl Tarn kicks it out of his reach, reaching down to grab Drift by the throat with his mangled hand.

"Does it hurt, Drift? I assure you that there is more to come. Perhaps you will learn to have a better appreciation of pain by the time we are through." He squeezes, his own energon running down Drift's throat cables.

[auramatic]

Drift feels his spark constrict in his chest, suffocating, as Tarn kicks away the sword, his only shot at dealing any more real damage to Tarn. All he manages is a fiercely strangled cry by the time Tarn lifts him with a massive hand clamped around his throat. Drift feels warm energon -- Tarn's -- dripping down his throat, and the entire world spins around him in a dizzying rush, leaving his tanks churning. He's only dimly aware of the fact that his legs are dangling several feet off the ground -- he feels for a sickening few seconds like he's upside down, being jerked side to side, and his optics flicker again, his gaze going distant and unfocused.

It does hurt -- more than Drift has words for, even if he could form them. He's no stranger to pain, but the invisible vice around his spark is new and fresh and it sears mercilessly through him. But even now, groaning as every circuit lights up with agonizing pain, Drift refuses to knuckle under. Somehow he musters the strength to raise his shaking hands to Tarn's wrist, his fingers scrabbling uselessly over the energon-streaked plating -- and then Tarn squeezes and Drift feels his vocalizer give out under the pressure, crushed in his throat, and whatever sounds he'd managed to make at all dissolve into senseless static.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn smirks as he feels Drift's vocalizer crush under his palm, his pathetic noises quieting to static. At least he can no longer spew his spiritual nonsense.

"Such a shame that you turned your back on the cause. You made such a brilliant Decepticon. Your love for killing was unmatched." Tarn sighs, patting drift amiably on the cheek. "Really, Drift, I am disappointed in you."

And with that Tarn draws his arm back before punching Drift across the face with all his strength.

[auramatic]

Drift's throat burns with the urge to retort, protest, defend himself somehow -- because he's not Deadlock, not anymore, hasn't been Deadlock for a long time and he's not a murderer anymore -- but he can't make the words come no matter how hard he tries. He no longer has a voice.

And then Tarn's massive fist connects with his face and Drift's optics fly wide open, even as one of them shatters with the impact. The plating on his face dents in heavily, and Drift feels it pinch and sever nervecircuits and minute cabling in his helm, sending shocks of pain radiating through his body, but all he can manage when he opens his mouth is a rush of static.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn catches Drift by the arm before he can fall to the ground, hauling his weight up and catching him in the stomach with his knee, leaving a sizeable dent and warping some of his transformation seams.

Lifting him even higher Tarn looks into Drift's panicked eyes, blue bleaching to white as they widen further than he thought possible. So much for the brave warrior persona. He flicks a bit of cracked glass from his cheek before backhanding him across the mouth.

[auramatic]

The look of shocked agony hardly leaves Drift's face, lighting up anew with every blow Tarn lands. He can't move like this, can't see enough to predict Tarn's next move or even guess -- until Tarn holds him aloft, energon starting to leak from the dented cracks in his midsection. He's dizzy, the entire world spinning around him with Tarn as its sickening epicenter. Drift sees Tarn draw back his hand but he can't get away, even as his hands clutch at Tarn's wrist -- the Decepticon's hand connects with his face and Drift lets out another roar of static, tasting energon hot in his mouth. But he refuses to let go, gritting his teeth against the pained cry he can't vocalize. Drift grips Tarn's wrist with both hands as tight as he can, using what little leverage he can gain to swing his hips forward to kick Tarn right in the face.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn stumbles back with a grunt as Drift's foot connects with his face, loosening his grip on the Autobot's throat and temporarily dropping him. Once he regains his composure he glare's down at drift, death radiating from his eyes.

Reaching down he grips Drift by the ankle, beginning to drag him away.

"I think that its best if we took this outside." The last thing he needs is for one of his ridiculous Autobot friends to stumble across them. "But first..." He plants a large foot on Drift's chest, pulling on the leg with a harsh tug, successfully dislocating it at the hip. "Perhaps this will pacify you a bit."

[auramatic]

Maybe Drift is lucky that Tarn crushed his vocalizer so early in the fight -- he can't let out a pained cry when Tarn dislocates his leg, only a crackle of static. It pretty effectively immobilizes him, because even with the use of his arms, with no swords and Tarn dragging him across the ground, out to the far reaches of the city. Drift's spark quails in his chest despite himself; the farther they get from the center of the city, the less likely it is that anyone will see what's happening.

Then again, that might be a good thing. Drift hadn't expected to come out of this alive, anyway. Maybe if Tarn pulls him away from the city, he can get a few last desperate blows in, incapacitate Tarn -- so he doesn't resist as Tarn drags him for what seems like hours, even as every circuit lights up with pain. But as soon as Tarn seems to slow down, Drift grits his teeth and braces both palms on the ground, trying to use them as leverage to twist his body and pull his good leg out of Tarn's grip, although with his other leg hanging uselessly from his hip, there's a lot of dead weight.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn lets Drift pull his leg away as he stops just outside the city. Its not like he can go anywhere. And with his swords left far behind he is basically useless against Tarn.

"Now, Drift, I'm afraid I have some good news and some bad news." He kneels down, clapping a hand on his shoulder as Drift braces himself on his hands. "The good news is that I'm not going to kill you. Isn't that nice. That bad news is that by the time I am done you..." He buries his fist in the dented plating of his stomach again, " Well, you will wish that I had."

Kneeling on Drift's good leg, he leans in so that their faces are just a hair away. "You see, I have use of you. You are going to help me with a little task."

[auramatic]

Drift has never thought he'd be so unfortunate as to ever have the opportunity to gaze into Tarn's optics at this range. He can almost make out the scarred face behind the mask, but Tarn's optics burn bright red into his, and Drift has to fight to keep the sick fear from showing on his face. He wants to throw the words back in Tarn's face, tell him he's not afraid, tell him he'd rather die than help Tarn -- but all he can do is stare back at Tarn, his one good optic burning with fierce light. Pain flares in his stomach, shooting through every circuit to the tips of his fingers, and Drift knows with a grim, basic certainty that he's already suffered some massive trauma to his internal organs.

Truthfully, Drift had felt better when he'd been certain this fight would end in his death, however gruesome. Tarn's skill at torture, his flair for creativity -- they're legendary, and as unafraid as Drift is of pain, he's finding it harder and harder to steel himself agaist the thought. But he refuses to look away from Tarn, no matter how much his spark tightens in his chest. He doesn't have any idea of the world of pain he's about to be in, but he knows one thing -- if whatever Tarn wants him to do will put anyone but himself at risk, he'd rather impale himself on his sword than go through with it.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn can feel the panicked ex-vents against his helm even as his remainly bright blue optic pierces into Tarn's red. The sound of grinding components cutting through the silence, highlighted by quiet static.

"I need you..." Tarn grabs Drift by the collar assembly, smashing his head back into the ground. "to pass a little message on to Megatron."

Planting a hand on the ground beside prey he continues to pound him repeatedly into the ground, creating a crater littered with shards of broken aromor plating and smeared with energon. He is sure that upon seeing the condition of one of his precious Autobots, Megatron will read his message loud and clear. He cannot be there to protect all of them at once. But that will not be the end of it. He will drive it even further. Grabbing one of Drift's arms he holds it up, snapping one wrist in one firm flick of the wrist before moving quickly onto the other, his intent to thoroughly incapacitate him for what is to come.

He leans in to whisper into Drifts Audiol. "Are you listening to me? Nod yes."

[auramatic]

Drift's face seems to be frozen now in a permanent expression of shocked agony, his mouth agape in a soundless cry. He flinches every time Tarn throws him against the ground, every time Tarn breaks a fresh new part of him into pieces, and Drift would have thought he'd lose feeling in his limbs but he just feels screaming pain, sensors still connected by frayed wires. Drift can't imagine what this message must be, if it isn't going to be the complete wreck he's sure Tarn will leave him. Honestly, he doesn't know how Tarn intends to leave him alive like this. Drift doesn't think he'll survive this for long.

He's so far beyond being able to fight back by now it's dizzying. It happened so fast, too fast for him to even process now, it seems. Drift can barely move by the time Tarn leans in close, his one remaining optic out of focus and flickering dangerously. He's not quite shaking in Tarn's grip, just unsteadily twitching, but after a few pained moments, Drift manages a feverish nod, the world spinning away without him.

[sparkwhisperer]

Tarn pats Drift on the cheek "Good." He runs his thumb over the now chipped and scratched Autobrand on Drifts chest, contemplating his next move.

"I need you to deliver this exact message, do you understand? I want you to look him in the eyes as you say it too."

Tarn wraps his fingers around the brand, finding a corner and ripping it free from Drift's chest and tossing it into the dirt, leaving a startlingly empty spot on his chassis. It wont stay that way for long, however. Grabbing a sharp peice of Drift's own broken plating he sets to work, dictating his message as he goes.

"You tell him in exact detail everything that I've done to you today. You tell him that this is his fault. That he can't protect all of his precious crew. I will work my way methodologically through every one of you pathetic mechanisms that O come across until there are none left. Until its just him and I." Tarns voice stabs into Drifts spark with every word. As if he is physically carving them into it for him to remember for the future. "You tell him that I will be waiting. If he decides that he is brave enough to face me one on one. I will have this settled."

Sitting back he admires his handiwork. A sluggishly bleeding, perfectly drawn Decepticon brand standing out against the white.

"You tell him how proud you are to wear his brand."

[auramatic]

Drift's never felt so beaten down in his life, not like this. Even years and years and years ago back in Rodion, when he'd been nothing but gutter trash, it had never been so personal. Every one of Tarn's words burns itself into his spark, deeper and deeper, but none of it hurts as much as the sting when Tarn rips off his Autobrand, watching Tarn toss the mangled badge away out of the corner of his eye, and he lets out another rush of helpless static.

Drift can't see it, but he knows what Tarn's done. He can feel it, etched into his plating, a ghostly ache in his spark casing. If Drift could move his hands, he'd scratch it out, cover it or break off his chestplate and replace it with something new, because he discarded that symbol long ago.

But he can't move, not any more. Energon leaks from dozens of wounds, some in uneven drips and some in slowly forming pools on the ground around him. Drift struggles, straining, desperately urging his circuits to carry out the commands of his brain, but all he can manage is disjointed twitching, his head lolling to the side as his optic finally flickers out.