robothell | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who: Megatron, Rodimus & Tarn
Where: Probably a wide open space suitable for two large robots to throw each other around
When: A few days after Tarn wrecks Drift
What: Megatron goes to Deal With his Tarn Problem
Warnings: Scrums; raised voices; impoliteness

Megatron leaves the clinic with his knuckles itching to punch someone. His exchange with Drift hasn't lessened that urge any. He doesn't plan to kill Tarn, but he's certainly going to do his level best to make him regret his life choices.

As soon as he's out of the building he's pulling up Tarn's comm frequency. "Alright, you've got my attention," he says, in a tone of voice that doesn't do much to disguise how angry he is. "Meet me at these coordinates and I'm sure we can talk this out like civilised people."

He doesn't wait for any kind of response or acknowledgement before he cuts communication and calls Rodimus. "I'm going after Tarn. You can come with me, but don't do anything stupid."

He doesn't stop to wait for him, of course. He's sure Rodimus can catch up.

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Tarn stumbles back with a choked groan as Megatron's fist connects with his stomach. The groan slowly turns into a dark laugh as he looks back into his face.

"That's more like it." Tarn grits out, driving his shoulder into Megatrons chest with all of his strength. "Nice to see you still have your courage at least."

Megatron grits his teeth, feet digging into the rubble beneath them as he staggers backwards with Tarn's weight. He can feel the dent that blow has left, but he'll worry about that later – the fact that this once again can be something he'll worry about later, rather than immediately and utterly incapacitating, is so refreshing as to be almost intoxicating, and he can't help a bitter little laugh of his own as he seizes the treads of that shoulder in both hands and brings up one leg to knee Tarn in the chest with one of his ridiculous, over the top knee protrusions.

"Courage?" he snarls, backhanding Tarn away from him. "Do you think this decision was motivated by cowardice?"

Tarn doubles over when Megatron's knee rams up into his chest, stumbling back before catching himself on one knee. This shouldn't so so easy for him. The fools energon should have weakened him more than this. His optics flare in anger as he gathers to his feet.

"You abandoned us. We lost the war and you were no longer proud of what you created. Switching sides to run with the winning team? That is cowardice."

Tarn takes a swing at Megatron's jaw, trying desperately to vent some of the rage that threatens to tear him apart from the inside.

Megatron catches Tarn's huge fist against his own palm, optics flashing. The jolt of it sears up his arm, and with real energy running through him instead of poison he can easily bear it.

"It wasn't losing the war that made me realise I shouldn't have been proud of what I'd allowed the Decepticons to become, Tarn – but it was cowardice that stopped me from seeing it sooner."

He draws his own fist back again, and punches Tarn square in the face, right in the middle of his ridiculous mask.

Tarn takes a step away, hand coming up his mask in a useless attempt to staunch the rivulet of energon running from his nose. Planting his feet a bit further apart be prepares for Megatron's next assault

"You made this!" Tarn roars, "You didn't just allow it to happen, you commanded it to be so! Phase Sixers, the DJD, the entire WAR. It was YOU."

"Yes," says Megatron, his own voice bitter and even. "And it was a mistake." He produces his pistol. (That's more powerful than the last time he faced Tarn, too – thanks, Valeria.) "You were a mistake."

He fires. But he doesn't shoot to kill.

the shot buries itself in Tarn's shoulder, ripping through some of the sensor relays and destroying servos. A large hand immediately clamps down on the wound and he lets out a strangled howl of pain.

"So you have mentioned." Tarn hisses, "But what's done is done," Leveling his double fusion cannon he takes aim, swaying just slightly on his feet.

For a moment, he thinks of letting Tarn take that shot. It would, he thinks, be easier.

You abandoned us hums through his mind, though, the weight of responsibility as heavy as ever on his shoulders. He has too much to do to end it like this.

As the cannon hums to life he launches himself at Tarn, aiming to tackle him to the ground before he can fire.

Tarn tries to step out of the way but isn't quick enough. Megatron slams into his injured shoulder, knocking Tarn flat on his back. The shot from the double fusion cannon misses its target completely, incidentally wrecking a building nearby where Rodimus is staying hidden.

Pain seers through Tarn's arm as Megatron pins him in the dirt. His free hand comes up to grab Megatron by the throat and his equally ridiculous knee comes up between them in an attempt to shove him off.

Words have stopped coming to him at this point. There is only blind rage.

Perhaps this is why all of these knees are so ridiculous in the first place. Mystery solved

Megatron hears the explosion as the shot goes wide, and he knows that has to be around where he left Rodimus. There's the compulsion to look over, but he knows he can't afford to betray his concern – or to take his optics off of Tarn at all, especially with those massive fingers wrapped around his neck. He lets out a choked snarl, static buzzing in at the edges of his voice; with one hand he grasps Tarn's wrist, the plating warping under his fingers, and with the other he aims the souped-up pistol down at the knee Tarn's trying to use to push him off. He probably shouldn't be shooting it at such close range, but, you know, whatever, he's been a gun; bracing himself, he fires right into Tarn's leg.

Tarn's fingers fly open as Megatron shoots him point blank in the knee. His pained cry rings clear through the air and both of his hands fly down to clutch at his knee.

He glares up at Megatron, eyes blazing in uncontrolled fury. This is wrong. This should be easier. He should have been able to get the upper hand. But, no, clearly Sixshot was mistaken. There is no way the fools energon should have flushed out of his system this quickly. Even if he has been consuming regular energon, he should still be slightly weak.

His voice is his only chance at this point. Anger is all consuming, robbing him of enough thought to string together a coherent statement. A rare occurrence, for certain.

“New pistol, I see. Certainly nice of the Autobots to allow you to properly arm yourself.” He growls, voice hitting a spark snuffing baritone, “What do you say, Megatron? Would you like to kill me? Rip out my spark and bring it back to your new comrades? How proud they would be. You may even be able to pretend that I never happened. You never made your mistake at all.”

His voice is like a thick blanket smothering the flame in Megatron’s spark; viciously constricting and strangling without mercy.

Tarn's voice seizes his spark in a grip infinitely more chilling than that hand around his neck was, and Megatron thinks for a second or two that this is it, that despite his efforts he will die here.

Bullshit.

He's Megatron.

With all the strength he can muster past the fog of Tarn's deadly voice, he hits him as hard as he can, determined only to silence him. His fist leaves a dark, prominent crack across the Decepticon mask on Tarn's face.

Edited 2015-02-15 02:55 (UTC)

Megatron's fist did more than silence him. Energon begins seeping from the seams of Tarn's mask from the gash that the now broken and jagged metal created. He tries to cover his face with an arm, unsure if Megatron is going to go for a second hit. His other hand comes up behind it, feeling to see how extensive the damage is.

The crack is large, winding for his right optic down to the mouth slit. A small bit of the mask has chipped away around the eye hole, revealing the smallest bit of scarred metal.

How dare he.

Tarn slams forward, driving his chevron into Megatron's face, intending to do his own damage.

That's better.

Or at least it is until he's getting headbutted in the face with those awful spikes. He feels one optic shatter, and responds by slamming Tarn's head back against the ground with a roar of anger. A few seconds later his foot comes down on Tarn's chest, and he straightens up, glaring down at him with his one good optic. The way the other one sputters and sparks doesn't make him look any less furious.

"Enough of this, Tarn," he growls, and underneath the anger there's an edge of regret in his voice. "The Decepticons are over."

Like hell they are.

Tarn flails a bit trying to get up from under Megatron's foot. His fingers scrape against the plating of Megatron's leg, trying to do as much damage as possible. His fingers manage to hook under a bit of plating on his calf, tearing at it and warping it.

"Never. The Decepticons will go on without you, Megatron." Tarn spits, a bit of energon spraying from his mouth. "We don't need you."

He rips off a bit of plating and sinks his fingers into some of the wiring around Megatron's knee joint, pulling savagely.

Megatron grits his teeth against the pain, putting more of his weight on the foot he has pressed down on Tarn's chest. "Perhaps not," he replies, "but Cybertron no longer needs the Decepticons – and it never needed what we became."

Tarn feels the outer armor on his chest begin the crush under Megatron's weight. His comment stings. Worthless, forgotten, abandoned, his thoughts feel poisonous as he tries to block them out.

Tarn is a Decepticon and he is proud to be part of his Division. An elite position so prestigious as his own is nothing to scoff over. He forces strength back into his voice.

"Enough!" He roars. Pointing his double fusion cannon up to aim at Megatron's head. He has to shut him up. He can't listen to his old Commander talk this way about the cause. "I won't listen to these lies and slander any longer. You have gone too far. This ends now."

Every word out of Tarn's mouth makes Megatron's tanks churn. This blind loyalty, the thoughtless adherence to a doctrine that evolved to excuse his own mistakes – everything he worked so hard to instil in his soldiers. It isn't really Tarn he's disgusted with.

He stares down at him, down the length of that cannon, his functional optic burning with more than just anger.

"I wonder if you'd really do it."

Tarn continues to aim the cannon at Megatron, anger blazing in his optics. It hums to life, pink light bathing both of their frames as he directs more power to it. How dare he. He tries to fire but falters. And again.

It feels wrong. Tarn desperately tries to snap himself out of it. Megatron deserves this. He abandoned the Decepticons. He betrayed the cause. He can not afford to show this weakness in front of his old leader.

The light from the fusion cannon dims slightly as Tarn wars with himself.

He's almost surprised – had almost expected Tarn to earnestly loose a blast from his fusion cannon straight at his head, almost – but the evidence of the kind of spark-deep power he still holds over Tarn and those like him is hardly news to him. What it is is a stark reminder of what his defection really means, and as Tarn's cannon begins to power down Megatron doubts more than ever that it's a responsible, sustainable decision, for all that it might have been the best he could do in the circumstances.

Either way, though... the best he can do in this circumstance is to seize the end of Tarn's ludicrously oversized gun in his hands while he's preoccupied with his inner struggle, and lift his foot briefly from Tarn's chest to bring it down hard on his arm instead, pinning it to the ground as he begins to pull and twist at the double cannon in a slow and painful attempt to wrench it straight off Tarn's forearm.

Edited 2015-02-22 21:00 (UTC)

The sudden shift of weight from Tarn's chest to his arm snaps him out of his slight daze. He twists onto his side, using his injured arm to try to dislodge Megatron as he begins to tear at his fusion cannon. Gritting his teeth behind his mask he lets out a sharp hiss as clasps and sensors are warped and ripped apart.

Megatron can't have this. He can't force this sort of submission upon him. This weapon is his right. Tarn's prying becomes more desperate as he feels it loosen from his forearm; His injured shoulder sparking from the stress being put on it.

"You can't do this. You don't have the right!" He growls, although it comes out somewhat strangled. He bucks trying to kick out and land a blow on Megatron's midsection.

When he feels the cannon pull free his tanks churn, energon bubbling up.

That kick hurts, but it's not enough to shove him off – nothing is until the cannon comes away in his hands amid the sound of creaking metal and splitting wires.

"I have every right," he growls, hefting the cannon in his arms as he steps back, at last. "It is my responsibility, Tarn."

When Megatron steps away Tarn instantly tries to shoot to his feet, desperate to gain some sort of footing in the situation. The dramatic loss of weight on his right side sends him listing, unable to keep his balance until his sensors recalibrate. After a few seconds he is able to charge forward, throwing his weight against Megatron's chest in a last ditch effort, a purple hand coming up to grab at his face, going for the unbroken optic.

"It isn't your place to decide, Megatron. Not anymore."

Megatron braces himself, but that tackle has him staggering back and almost losing his balance. "I made you, Tarn," he spits. "It is my duty to see to it that you do not harm my allies."

He hits him in the face with the fusion cannon.

The blow from the fusion cannon sends Tarn stumbling back, optics flickering as he lands on his injured shoulder. A pained shout tears itself from his vocalizer as he curls in on himself, embarrassment churning in his tanks. At least the mask hides the grimace etched into his face.

Tarn tries to get back to his feet but the blow to his processor still has him reeling. Instead he flops about in an attempt to get his limbs to cooperate with him.

Finally he settles back, frame going limp as he manages to turn to look up at Megatron, once again locking eyes with him, despite his own optics flickering at random intervals.

He has lost. He knows this. He may as well accept this with what dignity he has left.

"Kill me." He forces out through the energon coating his throat. "Just... finish this."