Chapter Text
Silence stretched throughout what once used to be a small, Neutral settlement. Lifeless optics stared blindly from pain and horror stricken faceplates. Piles of body parts soiled the main street through the settlement. A guttural growl resonated in harmony with the howling wind as yet another piece of still-warm plating was tossed with its siblings in the littered streets.
All that reminded were five mecha and a sea of parts strewn viciously across the energon-soaked earth.
The job was simple: Find one wayward Decepticon deserter, dispose of one wayward Decepticon deserter, and continue on with other missions. Not decimate an entire settlement of more than fifty Neutrals that handed over the truant without any unnecessary provocation.
Four members of the Decepticon Justice Division gave their leader a wide berth so that he could vent out his aggression. Tarn had been in a mood even before this chase had started. No one was stupid enough to say anything about it, which was why the other four members remained functioning.
In spite of this, Tarn had to be stopped.
Clamped, red armor plating puffed up in preparation for what had to be done. His teammates offered wary pings. Just because Tarn stopped dismantling a snuffed frame did not mean he was anywhere near calm. The fact that he was just sitting there, staring at his dented, energon-soaked servos spoke volumes of his current state of processor. There was a good chance this was a suicide mission.
Kaon strode casually toward the hunched over form of his leader. Normally, Tarn did not have many emotions. Slaughtering could be seen as anger, but he was never really angry at his targets. One can notice that you can’t spell “slaughter” without “laughter,” and Tarn did get some enjoyment from his job. But… Oh, he was digressing. Basically, Tarn didn’t do emotional displays. But right then, his actions were screaming for all to hear how much pain he was in.
How much he missed him.
Wisely keeping some distance until given permission otherwise, Kaon sent a non-intrusive ping inquisitively toward his target. Armor flared fiercely, tire treads churned angrily, and burning field lashed out angrily in an outward show of hate.
But the communications officer knew better. He would not have survived traveling with a group of nearly licentious murderers otherwise. Not that he, himself, wasn’t a miscreant as well. He certainly had his own little black datapad of kills. There was that one mech whose circuits he fried until all but the vitals burnt out, one by one. It took orns. A shiver went through Kaon’s frame from the sweet memory. Then he had the medics repair the delinquent just so he could start the process all over again…
Rustling of loose parts brought Kaon’s errant thoughts back to the present. Tarn was stalking toward him with murder in his field. Right. Best not to let the processor wander when his deprived, lovesick leader was on a homicidal rampage. He raised his servos in appeasement.
::Now now, there is no need to be rash.:: The stalking did not cease. Instead, Tarn made a slow, calculative circle around his newly acquired target. Electricity zapped from the red mech’s Tesla coils in a nervous display. ::I have orders from Megatron.::
That, at least, brought pause. Tarn loomed in closer at Kaon’s back; his sheer ability to dwarf the communications officer brought up all sorts of negative numbers in his chance-of-survival process running in the background. An energon-soaked servo made contact with Kaon’s upper armstrut, and the slow, almost sensual slide down toward his wrist caused his coils to spark once more. “Lord Megatron,” Tarn corrected sensually, faceplate near the smaller mech’s audial. “When did Lord Megatron send you this message?”
A shudder tickled down Kaon’s backstruts. He quickly forwarded the message to his leader. Thank Primus he received it only a klik prior. Otherwise he was sure Tarn would rip his spark out for delaying its delivery.
It was a heavy, tense breem as the message was received, unlocked with specially coded officer permissions, and absorbed. The servo still on Kaon’s arm gripped tightly, he feared momentarily that he might lose that appendage, but then it gently soothed the minor dents it caused. The rampaging leader’s errant field slowly relaxed into its calm, normal state.
Then, Tarn purred happily. “We are heading back to central command.” The four remaining mechs deflated in relief. “Lord Megatron is in urgent need of my assistance.”