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Megatron has never been the most understanding Mech. Not once has he gracefully accepted Tarn, not once has he encouraged him. Only then did he look upon the D.J.D leader with hatred as the blood of the robotic cat coloured the tanks servos purple. Ravage, if Tarn remembered correctly. One of Soundwaves little toys. Tarn couldn’t remember exactly, but he knew he did it. Knew he didn’t regret it.
He’s all for Megatron, loyal, truthful. But he never claimed he wouldn’t harm those that got in his way. He’d been poisoned to do this, poisoned to change by those around him. Even as he thinks back now, Damus was a harmless slag that had no value to those around him. Other than his so-called gift. Tarn hated it, despised it. Every bit of that memory and the ones leading up to it. The orange and yellow still taint his vision. Splatters of colours and faces fog up his memory system.
Till he hit Messatine. Took it over almost. The D.J.D chose its home. Nearing an outpost, Delphi. Where a specific Doctor stayed. A white, blue, and red aerial mech. With an almost gentle accent. Blue large optics. A helmet fit for him. Servos so delicate, yet so powerful. Able to crack even the greatest mechs to their knees. Tarn was enthralled by him, when he caught wind of his designation, he’d stormed over immediately. Making a deal with the half-scared medic.
Pharma… leave..
The mech spoke, hiding his inner fears. Tarn could see through it, almost rhythmically, he responded with agreement. Zero hesitation, other than that lurking within his spark. Which Tarn slowly became accustomed to hearing and listening to. The slow and gentle thrum of electricity. It became second nature to tune into that sound exactly. Without needing to ask, Tarn would tap into his audials and listen. Any time the medical mech preformed the T-Cog surgeries. Tarn would use the mechs Spark beats as a calming point.
Till he’d driven the doctor to madness. Suddenly as he upped the quota, so did the mechs manic episodes. Sometimes Tarn himself felt an uneasy jolt in the Rhythm of the mechs Spark. The medijet clenching and unclenching his fists as he installed a newer T-Cog. One from a miner that had be euthanized. And as that grew on, Tarn learned of the numbers at Delphi rising. The way the doctor’s kills got more creative, almost exactly to Tarns taste. His pallet was always quenched when the CMO would explain how he killed the bot that the T-Cog belonged to prior.
Pharma… gone
Even as though be drove the jet to the point of mania. There were moments when the little doctor couldn’t pay his debt. Couldn’t meet the quota by one. Sometimes he’d offer his own T-Cog in exchange. And sometimes Tarn would threaten the mech, say something like; “next time I’ll take it” or “maybe your former Decepticon friend should be paid a visit?” Something of the likes. That’s when the medical jet would panic, and start offering up his own T-Cog, or his own parts. The times when Tarn could tell the medijet was truly out of it, was when he’d offered his servos.
Each time Tarn would sigh, contradict his statements, and let it go. Telling him that he’d send down Kaon or Vos to grab the remaining. He’d let the little doctor off every single time and every single time he’d still tune in on the sparks song. The way the doctors Spark would jolt and calm down depending on how much Tarn sings his praises or demise.
But then.. it happened. Something extinguished that song. The one Tarn had grown fond of. It had disappeared, swallowed by the rich and deep snow on Messatine. Darkness caused over it, and suddenly Tarn felt himself lost. Not understanding why. He could easily move on, find a new medic. But something about that song stung him. Like he could never find a new one. Even as he was locked away, and memories played through his processor, not a single one was of that mech. But Tarn remembered it.
Ba-dum-ba-dum-ba…dum…
Megatrons canon hadn’t been intimidating enough to truly worry Tarn. Not until it was aimed at him, even for a brief moment. He’d watched his lord fall and worry over Ravage, the one Tarn had ripped apart moments prior. Tarn barely remembered the moment. Barely stopped remembering it, began focusing on the gentle thrum of a familiar song. His accustomed tone returning faintly. Suddenly a pair of gentle aerial wings filled his memory. A familiar colour coloured over the yellow and orange. Splashes of White, Red, and Blue danced in his system.
He hummed gently. Even as the ball of ice came to a shivering end. Even as a familiar canon grazed the back of his helm. The positions were switched when he opened his Red Optics. Looking down at a familiar face. His lord. His master. The one darkness he’d followed for years and years. The only sense of reality he could escape towards. Megatron helped him forget Glitch, forget Damus. The derogatory nature of the memories. He’d helped him, without getting memory surgery done. Without removing his gifts.
But something about this picture was wrong. As he looked up, glancing over the snow covered mountains, over at the on coming end drawing near. Messatine had fallen, and Tarn had dragged the only remaining thing onto it. Except, megatron hadn’t taken that thing away, it was the Autobots, it was a God, Tyrest maybe. He can’t be sure. But even as the heat drew closer, just over the valley of snow covered mountains. His canon touched cold metal, but his optics remained trained upon the sunset. A figure in the distance, standing atop of that hill. That distant valley.
White, blue, and red.
The figure was faceless. But the song was the same. The wings bared the shameful medical markings. But the centre of the figures chest was blank. Where there was once a Autobot logo, then a Decepticon one. It was poetic almost, to Tarn. Like some famous poem about lovers who can’t reach each other without one being gone and the other leaving with the guilt. Except, did Tarn love the mech? Did he listen to the thrum of his spark out of intimacy or just interest? Was it lust or was it possibility? Not even Tarn knew.
He pushed his canon down, this time it touched snow. The head of the canon laid near the helm of megatron. Even as Tarn stood above him, his pedes keeping the leader down. Though, Tarn knew Megatron was letting him do this. He was aware this was a rouse, that Megatron knew Tarn needed to blow steam off.
The figure stayed there. Being highlighted by the setting sun, the whiteness of the snow, and the impending doom. Even as Tarn leaned down, coming face to face with the mech that he once called lord, master, many other loyal terms. A mech he’d once thanked. Setting his purple Decepticon mask down nearby. Tarn bared himself to the figure and the mech. Yet the thought of Megatron seeing him like this brought about distrust and confusion. But when he first showed the figure his face years prior, it had felt freeing and beautiful.
“I don’t understand?” Megatron finally asked, shifting below his subordinates pedes. Tarn scoffed, leaning closer. Red optics reflecting off the cold grey metal of Megatrons helm. He whispered something, making Megatron go silent. The big and powerful mech nodded briefly. Watching as Tarn raised himself, and removed his weight. The tankformer looked down once before, before stepping to the side. Ignoring the grey leader watch on in confusion.
Tarn reached his servo out for the figure. A name whispering in his audial. The gentle accent filling his sensors. Even as his servos went through the figures hand, he faux held it. As if the mech was still present. As if Tarn still had the one cold star in his sky. “What did you say?” The figure asked, looking straight ahead at the incoming storm. His voice drowned out the sound of the Decepticon ship leaving.
Tarn hummed and sat down, the snow touching his warm frame. It was sharp. Even as the figure sat next to him. Not leaving a dent in the snow nearby. Because as Tarn glanced back, back where he once stood with Megatron below him. There had only been one pair of footsteps, only one pair of dents in the snow, it had only been him.
“I said nothing to him, my dear. Absolutely nothing.”
and when the end touched his frame. He found himself huddling into the figure of his one true medical mech. His one true Pharma.
“What's there not to understand? You took so much from me. But merely taking away your spark ain't enough to suffice what you've done.
Instead you'll live.
Because living is more painful than dying”