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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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."

He glares down at Tarn with his one good eye narrowed to a crimson slit.

He thinks of doing it. It would be easy. It would save everybody a lot of trouble. Nobody could honestly blame him.

But:

He touches the badge on his chest, and thinks of Bumblebee...

And beyond that, Autobot or not, he's the one who's made Tarn what he is. On some level he can't help feeling it's not his place to pass judgement.

He steps back.

"Do you surrender?"

Tarn glares weakly back at Megatron. He has no other choice but to surrender. He can barely move, his fusion cannon is gone, he's useless.

"Yes." He manages to grit out,"I surrender."

Tarn shutter his optics waiting for Megatron's final blow.

Megatron sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. Then he reaches down to grab Tarn by the less damaged of his arms, and says, gruffly, "Get up."

Edited 2015-02-23 04:40 (UTC)

Tarn looks, confusion clear in his optics. Perhaps Megatron wants his death to be more public. Leave it to his old commander to use him as an example.

Tarn allows himself to be pulled up, trying to get his legs to stabilize under his weight but just ends up stumbling and falling back to his knees. He tries again, but to no avail.

Tarn won't find his answers in the look on Megatron's face as he glares back at him. His expression is only stern and frustrated, that same bone-deep, weary frustration that seems to be his default now.

He curses under his breath, and stoops to haul Tarn's arm over his shoulders so he can pull him up. For a moment he looks as if he's about to say something else, but instead as he straightens up he looks back in the direction he came from, scanning the wreckage for a glimpse of obnoxious orange flame decals.

"Rodimus," he barks. That idiot had better not have gotten caught in the god damn crossfire.

Yeah, Rodimus is there and in one piece - although dusty and frowning as he tries to wipe away some of it. That was an experience and he's almost afraid that he might have missed some of the good parts while he was attempting not to be crushed by rubble.

Thanks for that, Megatron.

"You know," he says as he scrambles over some of the debris to get closer - ignoring the fact that Megatron's warning still might be in place, "Autobots don't normally let buildings fall on people."

That is a terrible way to die, if he was planning on it. Which he's not. But the point remains: here lies Rodimus, spark extinguished too soon by a wall. Eugh. No thanks.

He lets that particular subject drop in favor of staring up at Tarn's hulking form, scowling. Tarn isn't dead, which is actually kind of a disappointment all things considered, but it's a start - arms crossing in a pointlessly defiant gesture since Tarn can't actually do anything.

"Don't," he says to Tarn, "ever go after them again."

Does it matter that he doesn't really have the power to make sure of that? Nope. Not really.

Edited 2015-02-23 18:52 (UTC)

Tarn stays stubbornly silent, staring down at Rodimus. He isn't surprised that Megatron brought him along but is still aggravated that he is there to see him fall. He wants to pull away from Megatron's hold but knows he stands no chance of supporting his own weight. It burns him to appear so weak in front of his enemies.

He's tired and in pain, but Primus, he wants to smack the smug scowl off of that Autobot's face. His hand twitches before curling into a fist.

If he is to die today it will be by Megatron's hand. He will accept no other executioner; especially not Rodimus.

"Excuse my inability to be in two places at once," mutters Megatron – but, okay, Rodimus is intact, that's great, they can move on. He looks back at Tarn, his good optic narrowing.

"Do you have any allies here?" he demands. He really would not be surprised if the answer is no.

Tarn doesn't look at Megatron, unwilling to turn away from Rodimus.

"Yes. A few." He answers, voice steady but quiet. "If I have any say in this, I would like it to be known that I would prefer my execution to be a private affair."

Well that works out well, because Rodimus is happy to stare at Tarn.

"I can think of approximately zero people who care what you prefer after what you did." Rodimus chief among them, although he's not sure what they're going to do about Tarn after this. That was something he didn't even think about.

Whoops.

Megatron glances from Tarn to Rodimus and then back again. He isn't the biggest fan of the way they're staring at each other – he feels like something inexcusable is going to happen if he isn't careful here.

"... You're not going to be executed," he says, bracing himself for Rodimus's reaction. "I'm going to take you back to whoever's willing to actually help you, and then you're going to leave the Autobots alone."

Tarn's attention instantly snaps to Megatron, shock clear in his optics.
He's not going to be killed? What purpose does he have to keep him alive? What reason could he possibly have?

Pity. Tarn narrows his optics, disgust roiling in his tanks. He looks away with a snort.

"You're a fool. Have the Autobots really softened your spark that much?"