Transformers Regenerated: Lost Light IV, Prologue

This story arc (or the first part, mainly) takes inspiration from MTMTE #39-40
EDITED 11/15/2015 Changed the story arc name; didn't think the original fit it

PROLOGUE

    When it came down to it, he was not much of a religious person.

    Knowing him, that may have come as a surprise to some. Considering how often he played the Empyrean Suite, which had been composed by Eucryphia in celebration of Prima and his Citadel of Light, one would have taken him for a believer. But that was far from the actual truth.

    In reality, he looked down upon those with such beliefs with vile disdain. In his mind, there was only one being who deserved worship; only one Cybertronian who held power over others. Any Decepticon who said otherwise was instantly put on the List.

    The List. Such a simple name for something that meant so much. His duty revolved around the List-- his life revolved around it. Without it, the Decepticons would most likely not have a justice system.

    To tell the truth-- and he would never admit this to anyone-- there really was no rhyme or reason to who was put on the List. While there were certainly some high-priority targets, the rest were mainly just "filler"-- either an excuse to weed out any potential dissenters (regardless how small that potential was) or simply a means to keep themselves occupied.

    Some would tell him it was counterproductive. He would tell them that it was following protocol. And if they were wise, that would be the end of the conversation.

    On some days, however, he wondered if there was a point in such arguments. After so many years of conflict and violence, he wondered if there was any purpose to it anymore. What had it accomplished for them after all this time?

    In spite of all these pressing doubts, he never let it show. Not to his comrades, and certainly not to his victims. Today, however, he came close to letting those doubts get to him.

    There they all were, standing around their most recent victim: Zardak, one of the five warlords that commanded the Decepticons following the First Great War, and the first one they had succeeded in tracking down and executing after they had failed to take out Trannis. The battered leader of the Maladroids sat on his knees before the five members of the Decepticon Justice Division, energon leaking from his optics.

    "Are you enjoying the music?" Tarn had asked him as the Empyrean Suite played on. Zardak made no response; it was, after all, difficult to speak when one had their brain module stuffed into their mouth.

    "Ah, Helex, would you mind putting his brain back in? I wish to have a little talk with him," Tarn said.

    The stoic brute did as ordered and inserted the brain module back into the cavity in Zardak's head. After sputtering out the cranial fluid in his mouth, the warlord looked up at Tarn with baleful optics.

    "Why... why are you doing this?"

    Tarn laughed as he wrapped an arm around Zardak's shoulders. "Oh, Zardak, even when faced with the peril of death, you still manage to maintain your sense of humor. But really now, a veteran such as you should know the drill by now."

    "But... I've done nothing wrong!"

    Tarn chuckled again. "Always the comedian. But since I respect your venerability, I'll humor you: it is not in the Decepticon Empire's best interests to establish a sub-faction with its own doctrine."

    "I had no other choice!" Zardak countered. "The Decepticons are in tatters; someone must take command!"

    "And therein lies the problem; you're spreading lies, petty falsehoods. And somehow, you've managed to find Decepticons gullible enough to believe you."

    "Because they're not lies! It's the truth! Megatron is dead, the empire is in ruins... we've all been left to fend for ourselves!"

    A cloud passed over Tarn's mind as he listened to these words-- specifically the ones he'd never thought he'd hear again from someone other than Starscream: Megatron is dead. He quickly pushed aside his thoughts and leaned in closely to Zardak.

    "You're lying," he said softly, disregarding his own doubts. "Megatron still functions. The Decepticons continue to thrive. And until I hear otherwise from our esteemed leader, that is how it will be."

    Zardak looked up at him with bleeding, searching eyes. Then, he did something which Tarn was not expecting: he reached up with his hand and touched the enforcer's mask.

    "Take it off."

    "What?" Tarn said, caught off-guard.

    "Your mask. Take it off. Let me see you. All you've ever done is hide, 'Tarn'-- your name, your face. But what is it that you're hiding from? What are you afraid of?"

    Tarn did not indulge him with a response. Instead, he turned his back on the warlord and gave his comrades the permission to gratify themselves with the warlord. As the screams and sound of shredding metal followed him, Tarn raised a hand to his mask.

    Contrary to what so many believed, he did not wear the mask to hide his identity, nor did he wear it to intimidate others or to honor the Decepticon ideology. He wore it for a reason lost upon everyone but himself.

    He wore it so that no one would notice when he closed his eyes.

LEFT TO THEIR OWN DEVICES

Part I: A List of Dos and Don'ts