Took two years, but this side-story is nearing its conclusion.
TALES OF THE DISAPPEARED
TARNISHED, PART SEVEN
Cycle 9809
“They say that I have the gift of weaponized conversation. That I can ‘talk people to death.’”
It was the same script, one he had heard countless times. The wording was always tweaked each time; something that was inevitable when you’ve been playing the same post for nearly three hundred years.
“They say that with each drop of an octave, they can feel their gears grinding to a halt. That their spark starts beating one last pulse per second.”
It was something he had long since become numb too. Every trick was the same. Every death, every scream of agony. None of it was anything he hadn’t already seen countless times before. It had long since gotten old after the first couple of times, let alone the first several hundred.
“That’s what they say. What do you say?”
He hadn’t even bothered to learn what the poor bot’s name was.
“Looks like he shut off fifteen minutes ago,” Helex said as he pulled the deactivated Decepticon out of Kaon’s chair form.
“Ah,” said Tarn. “I was wondering why he had stopped twitching. Shame; I was hoping for a response. Those are always a treat.”
“Want me to grind him up?” asked Tesarus. “My blades could use some sharpening.”
“Please, be my guest.”
A sound escaped from Vos’s voice modulator that he had not intended to. The sound reached the audio receptors of his teammates and they all stopped what they were doing to look at him. Their latest victim dangled lifelessly in the air from the grip of Tesarus’s waldos, hovering over his chest grinder.
“Is something wrong, Vos, old friend?” Tarn inquired.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Vos replied, hoping to save face. “It’s just been a long day. I could use a recharge.”
“Yes, I believe we all could use some much needed rest.” Tarn made a gesture to Tesarus and the larger Decepticon promptly shoved his victim into his already-moving chest grinder. Vos had to refrain from his shutting off his optical sensors as the offline bot was reduced to the tiniest pieces of metal possible. Tarn barely paid the macabre scene any heed as he walked over to Vos, putting a hand on the other’s shoulder.
“Are you sure there isn’t anything else troubling you?” Tarn leaned in closer to Vos, enough for the latter to see a hint of his commander’s scarred visage behind his Decepticon emblem-shaped mask. “I’ve noticed that you’ve been a lot more… morose as of late.”
Vos met Tarn’s optical sensors with his own. For the briefest of moments, his hook-like claws twitched, but he did not think Tarn noticed.
“Perhaps I am simply… disheartened by the current state of things,” Vos said, hoping to save face. “Megatron had still not yet been found after a century, High Command is divided between fighting amongst themselves and keeping Starscream from taking full control, so many of our soldiers have become dissidents and earned a place on the List… it kills one’s morale, needless to say.”
Tarn nodded. “I understand your frustration, my friend. But even so, we must remain strong lest we allow the Autobots to gain the upper hand. Even if the official word on the war is that it has gone cold in the absence of both our leaders, that is no excuse for us to stop fighting.”
“Of course not,” Vos replied. “Again, I think a simple recharge is all I need to boost my spirits back up.”
“If you say so,” Tarn said. “Have Nickel check up on you while you’re at it. Once you’re done, we’ll set off for the Eshems Nebula.”
Vos had been about to walk away when Tarn had said this. Pausing in his step, he turned around to look at the D.J.D. leader. “The Eshems Nebula? Why there?”
“It just so happens that our next target has formed an alliance with some of the Ejoornians and caused a stir in the region. High Command has reason to believe that he is attempting to raise an army to seize control of the Decepticon Empire in Megatron’s absence.”
Vos tilted his head, masking a frown. “I was not aware of this.”
“Well, now you are.” Tarn made a motion with his hand for Vos to continue walking. “Go ahead and get some rest. You’re going to need it for the fight that awaits us.”
As Vos walked away from his teammates, he allowed his consternation to display itself on his faceplate. The Eshems Nebula resided between the borders of both Autobot and Quintesson space and the native Ejoornians had notoriously caused trouble for both of them. While such trouble was of no concern to the average Decepticon, it was definitely a concern to Vos, who was no average Decepticon at all. He needed to get a message back to the Autobots and make them aware of the situation before it got out of hand. But unless they encountered some Autobots along the way, it was going to be impossible for him to deliver his message in his regular manner.
He would have to improvise, something that was incredibly risky in his position. But it was a risk he would have to take.
As he stepped onto the Peaceful Tyranny, Nickel rolled up to him on her feet-mounted wheels. A Mini-Con survivor from Prion, the D.J.D.’s medic was the latest addition to their crew, providing them with maintenance to ensure they were up to their highest standards. Vos had found it remarkably generous of Tarn for him to have given Nickel a place in the Decepticon ranks rather than enslave or execute her. Perhaps he saw something of himself in her; based on the intel he had been given of Tarn, Vos knew that the D.J.D.’s leader had once been a small, innocuous bot who had been oppressed by society. In the same way the Decepticons had saved him from the Functionists, perhaps Tarn figured Nickel too would be saved from the wrath of the Black Block Consortia. It was an interesting philosophy to be sure; one that Vos, in spite of his true allegiance, could not help but admire.
As he walked past her, Nickel said, “Hold it right there, Vos. You can’t just walk onto the ship after a mission without getting a maintenance check-up. You know the rules.”
“Later, Nickel,” Vos said wearily. “There’s something I have to take care off.”
The Mini-Con continued to object as Vos made his way to his personal quarters. Once he was inside, he secured the door and scanned the room for listening devices and cameras. As soon as he was sure that he was completely isolated, Agent 113 walked over to his computer station and got to work.
Ejoornus, the Eshems Nebula
“Tarn,” General Clench said wearily from his seat, steam exiting from his grill-like mouthplate as he spoke. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to show up.”
“My apologies if I kept you waiting,” Tarn said. “We tend to have a rather busy schedule.”
The five members of the D.J.D. stood before the rogue general in the makeshift throne room of his similarly makeshift fortress. Clench’s forces, comprised of Decepticons and Ejoornians alike, surrounded Tarn and his team with weapons drawn and pointed at them. Tarn had approached this meeting as a simple rendezvous between Decepticons, but Clench had clearly seen through this ruse and had come prepared for the inevitable confrontation. It wouldn’t be enough, but it was remarkable nonetheless.
“I’m sure you do,” Clench growled. “I’m surprised you’re even still in operation, what with Megatron gone. I thought High Command would have disbanded you in order to protect their hides.”
“Clearly High Command is not as disloyal to our leader as you are. Or perhaps they see you as a more pressing threat to their command.”
Clench shrugged dismissively. “It would not surprise me either way. In any case, you must realize that the odds are stacked against you. I have at my disposal a warship, over a hundred soldiers, and an Ejoornian fleet. And you have, what, four overpowered cronies?”
“Which is more than enough, I would say,” Tarn said.
“Of course you would. So then, shall we get this confrontation over with? I’m not much in the mood for a conversation, especially one that we both know will go nowhere.”
In the corner of his optic, Tarn noticed Kaon begin to charge up his coils while Tesarus’s chest grinder whirred. He raised a hand to stall them as he kept his attention on Clench.
“Perhaps it doesn’t need to. While normally we would execute you swiftly as we have the likes of Heretech and Turmoil, your position within the Decepticon Empire is respected enough that I would like to give you a chance to make amends.”
Clench narrowed his optics suspiciously. “And what are your conditions?”
“For one, you will end your alliance with the Ejoornians and cease operating in the Eshems Nebula. You might even get bonus points for wiping out their military.” Tarn noticed that his words has caused a stir among the Ejoornians within Clench’s forces. Continuing on, he then said, “Second, you will reaffirm your loyalty to Lord Megatron and pledge your forces to further carrying out the Decepticon cause.”
“Is that all?” Clench asked. “And what if I do not agree to these terms?”
“Frankly, I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” Tarn replied. “But should that be the case, then we will carry out our orders to execute you.”
A large blue and black Decepticon approached Clench’s throne from the side and leaned in to speak into his audio receptor. “Boss, I think we should accept their terms. This whole deal with the Ejoornians ain’t worth it.”
“If I wanted your opinion, Dreadwing, I would ask for it,” Clench snapped, pushing the other Decepticon away from him. He was about to rise from his seat, perhaps to give his forces the order to open fire, when a Decepticon in black and red—whom Tarn recognized as the Stormtrooper leader Rage—rushed up to him.
“Boss! What about that thing we got from Skyjack?”
Clench paused to glance at Rage. “What thing?”
“You know, the bullet. The bullet that he sent us.”
At this, realization dawned in Clench’s optics and he slowly sat back down, eying Tarn and the others with a smug, confident gleam.
“Ah, yes. The bullet. Would you like to see the bullet, Tarn?”
Tarn stared back at him with a confused look. “What interest would I have with a bullet?”
“Well, as it happens, a member of my forces happens to be a mole within the Autobot ranks. He has since been compromised due to the incident at Garrus-9, but before we lost him he sent us a bullet that happened to contain a message. A message from one of your own. Hooligan, if you would please.”
Tarn kept his gaze on Clench as an orange Decepticon Cyberjet stepped forward and raised his arm, pressing a switch to project a video onto the wall. It took Tarn several seconds to force himself to look up at the video and confirm the identity of the bot speaking in it. Somehow, deep in his spark, he already knew the answer.
“—position has been compromised,” Vos was saying in the visual feedback. “The Decepticons’ forces continue to be in disarray and there are talks within High Command of someone assuming full power in Megatron’s absence; Air Commander Starscream has already—”
Tarn looked away from the video to look at the Vos standing next to him. Vos tilted his head to look back at him, his face an expressionless canvas. The others were also staring at him now, varying looks of disbelief and anger being sent his way.
“Bullets,” Tarn said simply.
“Yes,” Vos said simply in return.
“And for how long?”
Vos hesitated for the briefest of seconds. “From the beginning.”
How Tarn was able to find the strength to not raise his arm cannon and blast Vos into oblivion, he did not know. Instead, he simply glared at his teammate with a fury as hot as the pits of Lucifer before turning his attention back to Clench.
“Thank you for making this known to me,” he said coolly. “I say this has earned you a… temporary reprieve. You have seven solar cycles to terminate your alliance with the Ejoornians; failure to do so will result in a much less generous response.”
Clench’s expression indicated that he was not at all intimidated by the threat. “Duly noted.”
With a curt nod, Tarn turned around and signaled to the others to follow him back to the Peaceful Tyranny. He spared a moment to give Vos one last glare before converting to his tank mode and driving off.
* * *
My dearest Rewind,
You are never going to see or hear this message, but I feel that the words I have to say need to be said. It is the only way I can meet my end with some amount of dignity and grace.
I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. All I wanted was a world where mechs of all modes and sizes could live in perfect harmony. I fought so hard to achieve that vision and was willing to sacrifice anything I had to do so… even if it meant losing what we had together. I don’t know if what I’ve done for the past few centuries will do anything to achieve that perfect world… but if you are still alive, then I suppose it was all worth it in the end.
I only have so much time; as soon as we are back on the ship, they will surely execute me or put me through some gruesome, horrific procedure. It is in their nature after all. A part of me wishes that I could be a bit more eloquent here, but alas, I will be not allotted such opportunity. Besides, even someone as prolific as myself knows that the simplest words can be the most impactful. After all… there are some words you simply cannot afford to lose. And so, my dear Rewind, I leave you with this final declaration:
I love you.
Always have. Always will.
I only wish I could have said it to you more. I think we both know that I didn’t say it nearly enough.
Tarn is facing me now. His optics are filled with a rage I have never seen before. An ungodly amount of hatred rages in his spark.
My time has come.
I will never forget you.
Farewell.
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