Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Left swipe.

Left swipe.

Hm…Hesitant left swipe.

Oh, eugh. Hard left swipe. Nasty.

“Blades…"

Left-

"...Blades?”

-swipe.

“BLADES!”

“WHAT?! I’m busy, Disk.”

“Busy, my aft.” Diskshift replied, shouldering off a hefty layer of dust from the desert outside of their remote Decepticon outpost. He had been off racing around the base again in a futile attempt to beat his record time that he had set years ago and never seemed able to beat. That sure didn’t stop him though. Despite having a tank alt mode he always had such lofty, albeit outlandish dreams of racing in the circuit alongside the likes of Blurr. Silverblade never quite let him live down the fact that his idol was an Autobot, regardless of the fact that Diskshift idolized him far before the war and before Blurr chose a side. 

“Did you check the scanners? I heard some chatter that the Black Block Consortia was headed this way. Not that I’m scared of them or anything…ya know they’re just a buncha organics toting guns around the galaxy thinking they’re some real hot oil…”

Silverblade smirked, continuing scrolling through Con’dr with minimal interest. Diskshift’s tone clearly said otherwise.

“Hm mh. Oh yea? In that case I’m sure you could take them all on, big shot.”

Straightening his posture slightly at the vote of confidence, Diskshift’s gaze quickly narrowed at Silverblade as he realized his sarcasm. Rather than giving another verbal reply, Diskshift settled for grabbing the nearest energon canister and chucking it right at Silverblade’s helm. Upon Silverblade’s startled string of curses, Diskshift knew his aim was true.

“What in Primus was that for, Disk?!”

Sighing, Disk walked over to his station seat next to Silverblade, looking up the scanner’s information as he came to realize how utterly useless Blades had become ever since getting that primus forsaken waste of time he called a ‘dating app’. Despite his coworker’s objections Blades was still interested in the app, finding it to be one of the few things that was able to connect him to the outside world and wider universe. For some reason practically all other communication apps except official decepticon comm lines wouldn’t work in this galaxy. Why? Who knew. Decepticon ingenuity at its finest. Blades mused as he thought of how all Autobot attempts to occupy this region failed mostly because of their lack of working communications. And we got it to work…for a damn fragging app. Quite literally.

Just as Blades felt his servo automatically swipe left, he paused. 

USERNAME: [ NO1_TWRDS_PEACE_LOVR ]

Okay…common enough username considering this is a site for ‘Cons after all. Probably one of Megatron’s earlier followers. Might be interesting…

STATUS: Near You [ Same galaxy alert ] 

Same galaxy? Primus, how long has it been since that last happened??

HOBBIES: Re-reading the eloquent works of Lord Megatron, listening to Iaconian classical music, singing, and quiet talks.

Oh, a casual scholar then with a dash of artistic flair, hm…could be interesting…

This profile’s image was a zoomed in photo that showed just this mech’s face and glowing red optics. A purple mask that bore the Decepticon insignia covered this mystery Decepticon’s face. 

Hot. Blades thought and immediately swiped right.

Upon the acceptance of this match, his comm device rang, an incoming call from [ NO1_TWRDS_PEACE_LOVR ] made him grin like a giddy Autobot during a Prime’s coronation day. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually talked to someone besides Disk. About time.

“Hello?” Blades waited with a large inhale trapped in his vents.

“Hello, is this… 420_con_spiracy_hottie,” A full moment of silence sounded before he continued, “...is it not?” 

The way with which this mech started off, in a smooth, mildly seductive tone, only to stop before continuing on, his tone now far too stiff as nearly all previous swagger had crashed and burned as he read Blades’s username. Blades stifled his vents again to contain a laugh, playing it off as a lighthearted chuckle.

“Ha! Oh that? Yeaaaaaaaaaa I came up with that years ago. Ugh, soooo long ago, itsreallysostupidandIshouldhavechangedit ahahahaaa. But anyway, you can call me Blades, all my friends do.” That earned an audible scoff from Disk who was still helm to the screen, deep in his work.

“...Okay, Blades. I’ll admit I have gone by a number of names,”

Oh? Okay wow he’s mysterious too, thats hot as f-

“But today you can call me Tarn.”

“Nice.” ‘Nice’??? What the frag kind of answer is that you damn dolt - “Uh, it's nice. Really flows off of the glossa, you know.” Primus above, recover, recover, recover -

Blades cleared his vents before continuing, “Hey, you mentioned you were into music right? Uh,” Blades pulled up Tarn’s profile on the screen in front of him, continuing with the call, “Iaconian classical music, yea? What’s your favorite?”

“I…My favorite?” The voice on the other line paused as if he wasn’t sure whether or not to indulge in such a question, “I would have to say the Empyrean Suite. It has such a wonderful melody I’d even go as far as to say that it's to die for.”

“Hm, sounds lovely, I’ll have to listen to it sometime. Favorite section of ‘Towards Peace’?” Blades shot off the next question, afraid to lose his momentum now.

“...Section seven, particularly the latter half.”

“Ohhh yea, that’s the part about how society-”

“-Can’t be governed by those who allow free thought to transform into oppression. Lord Megatron does put it perfectly with his last quote. ‘Peace-”

“-through Tyranny.’ Oh yea, good stuff. That mech is a poet with the mind of a scholar and the experiences of one of the people under the senate’s pedes I tell you, hmm. Good man.” 

“Yes…yes he is, Blades.” Something lit up in Tarn’s voice upon hearing Blades’s reply, but he hesitated before talking more, “What…what might your favorite section be?”

“Oo! Finally someone is asking me that, I swear the other ‘Con on this outpost didn’t even bother to ever read ‘Towards Peace’ so it's awfully hard to find someone to talk to about it with.” Beside Blades, Disk stuck his glossa out at him as if in spite. “If I really had to choose, and do keep in mind that I really just admire the whole work, hm, section three. I’m sure you know it, it's that one about individuals’ responsibility to serve a cause that is greater than themselves.”

“Serving a higher power which ultimately is for the betterment of all Cybertronian kind. Mh hm, I know the one. It's a good section, Blades.”

Blades chuckled at Tarn’s familiarity with the text that was so like his own, “Yea, but…you know which part really got me, though?” He whispered his question as if it was a secret that Megatron himself had entrusted him with eons ago when he first read it.

“Which one?” Tarn’s voice had lowered slightly to match Blades’s, perhaps even unconsciously, as if completely invested in their own private conversation. This was an exchange of words just between the two of them and for a second the entire galaxy, the entire war, and everything else in existence faded from them as they now spoke.

“That one sentence, I’m sure you know the one: ‘And by the act of living for your fellow Cybertronians, in their defense, in their care, in their security, and in their justice-”

“-this is the way to true immortality. May death not be an end, for you shall live on in your deeds.’” They both remained silent for a minute or two as if savoring its aftertaste. It was only after that pause that Tarn spoke, although still quietly, as before. “ It’s beautiful…art if I’ve ever heard it. ”

“It really is, but I just…I wish,” Blades sighed, “Nah, I can’t. I just wish I had the capacity for words and stuff like Lord Megatron does. Just saying it's pretty doesn’t do it any justice.”

“I know what you mean, but I sense how much it means to you and trust me when I say you are doing it justice. You’re serving the Decepticon cause as our Lord intended, Blades. You will be immortal through your deeds.” Tarn cleared his vents as if getting back to his original objective after a welcome detour that he seemed reluctant to leave, “May I ask you something?”

Primus, is he shooting the question so soon? Not that I’m complaining…

“Of course, anything. And by anything I mean anything-” Eugh, far too oblivious. Don’t scare him off you idiot. “-Just…whatever’s on your mind, Tarn. Shoot.”

Beside Blades, Disk went rigid.

“Have you heard of me, Blades? Do you know what I do?”

Disk hissed at Blades, urgency in his voice as if his life depended on it. “Blades! Psst! Who is that…? You just said-”

“It’s Tarn, Disk. Keep up.” Blades held the comm device an arm’s length away as he spoke to Disk with annoyance, “Now let me talk to him, will you? This is my first score in megacycles- Yea, I’m still here, Tarn. Sorry, bummer coworker alert. About that…No, I haven’t heard of you. Should I have? I mean…I’m an MTO and they reallyyyy skimped on the data transfer when they set me up so I’m kinda lacking in anything more than a really basic history lesson of the war.”

“Hm, but you know of ‘Towards Peace’ and are familiar with it.” Tarn’s voice didn’t lose its casual edge, but became increasingly more deliberate in its direction now.

“I figured I needed to know what I was fighting for exactly and when they sent me off to this rock I only had a basic datapad which included ‘Towards Peace’ on it. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve read it, but each one is like the first time. Truth on every page.”

“Extraordinary, Blades.” The way Tarn said ‘extraordinary’ sent a shiver up Blades’s spinal strut making him positively fixated now, “But…you really don’t know who I am?”

Another voice from the background of Tarn’s feed came through, but it was a muffled, gruff voice, very different from Tarn’s: “Is this guy fraggin’ for real right now??”

“No…um, I don’t know who you are Tarn, but-” Blades looked to his side to see Disk in a state of what appeared to be pure fear. His optics were wider than he had ever seen them, arms gesturing wildly in a ‘stop’ motion, mouth sounding out words that Blades only partially made out to include ‘death’, ‘kill’, ‘we’re screwed’, and a few choice other words and phrases that he now blocked out. He got the gist. “But I think my coworker here might…”

“Oh? And what might your coworker’s name be ?”

Disk’s gestures grew more frantic, he had jumped out of his chair and was on his knees practically begging Blades not to answer the next question, but Blades found strangely enough he couldn’t hear any of Disk’s words and felt as if the answer was being pulled from him by some external force. “...Diskshift. His name is Diskshift.”

Upon hearing his own name Disk was dumbfounded, mouth hanging open as he remained kneeled before Blades’s chair. His frame was shaking uncontrollably now. 

“Good, Blades, very good. Could you please give the comm device to Diskshift? I have some business with him, but don’t worry. I will make sure to be quick about it.”

Blades held out the comm device, realizing that he wasn’t even doing this act on his own as Disk’s chassis heaved with what appeared to be a growing sob. Disk put his helm down to the ground, for what Blades assumed was a prayer to Primus, before leaning back up and seeming to accept his fate. I didn’t know he was a believer …Blades had been stationed with Disk for over five hundred thousand years and had never seen him like this. It had to be some strange elaborate prank, but as Disk pursed his lips, he took the comm device as if he was now ready to eat a fusion cannon blast voluntarily through the mouth, Blades had the growing suspicion that this was far from an act.

“Hello?” Disk managed after composing himself enough to form a single word. A muffled sound came from the comm device, but was enough to make Disk stand suddenly, walking with jerking, unnatural steps down the side hall outside of the main surveillance room. The steps stopped a few paces into the hallway, just out of sight and remained there in silence.

“Disk… psst, what’s going o-”

AAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!! 

The high pitched scream of agony tore through the base and prompted blades to his feet as he ran to the hall. “DISK!! DISK, WHAT’S WRONG!?”

BANG

Just before Blades had reached the hall a sound akin to a gunshot rang through his audials which set the tone for what he saw next. 

Disk’s body was leaning against the wall, sitting on the floor now as a glistening stream of energon followed his slumped path down the wall as if the force of whatever caused that sound had also done this to him. The effect of the sound seemed pretty apparent in the form of the gaping hole in the middle of Disk’s chest which was most likely his cause of offlining. But what in Unicron caused this mess??

“Oh- Oh Primus , Disk …” Blades found himself overcome with his own unease that had been near boiling over, now a completely lost cause as he felt helpless to whatever had done this, “W-What would have…?”

“Hello? Blades…is that you?”

Blades’s optics darted quickly to the comm device which was in Disk’s servo. A steady stream of energon was trailing down Disk’s graying body, over his arm, and onto the comm device. Tarn’s voice continued, unbothered and kept an easy rhythm as if he was trying for a persuasive tone.

“Blades? I hope you’re still there…I did enjoy our little talk. Really, very much so. Diskshift was just business, but I want to talk to you, Blades.”

Closing his optics as if this was a bad dream before opening them and realizing how entirely real this situation was, Blades picked up the comm device out of Disk’s servo, botching an attempt at wiping the energon off of it in a pink smear before steadying his vocal processor. “You did this, didn’t you? You…you killed Disk.”

A tsk, came from the other line, “Hardly. He was on the list and I helped him decide what was best for him. It’s my job, Blades.”

“What the hell did he do!?”

“One word: Blurr. He idolized that Autobot more than our own Lord Megatron. We do not tolerate Autobot sympathizers. I thought that you knew that, Blades. You did seem so well versed in our Lord’s words.”

“I…‘Idolized ’?? Okay, well… maybe, but he just wanted to be a racer! He didn’t want to ally himself with Blurr and the Autobots; he wanted to be Blurr! He wanted to race- He just wanted to- He-” Blades choked back a sob as he put a servo over his face, leaning his helm to the ground in dismay. How did it end up like this? It was just a call. This has to be a dream. It has to be…

“Regardless,” Tarn spoke on in a dismissive way, seeming to want to get past the bothersome topic of Disk’s fate, “Your outpost has been deemed obsolete by higher command and I think you know what tends to happen to those at such outposts. It was just you and Diskshift, yes? Now I imagine you’re all alone. Don’t worry, it won’t be long now my dearest, Blades.”

Blades’s helm shot up in a panic, “Wait- wait, it won’t be long now until what? Tarn, please, what's gonna happen to-”

Click.

Chapter Text

Since the call, it took Silverblade roughly two minutes to grab anything of value, ranging from survival to monetary to emotional, before he fled the base. Disk’s badge had been among one of his few artifacts, now carefully tucked away in a chassis compartment. His original datapad that had been with him since his onlining and contained his copy of ‘Towards Peace’ was not among them. 

It had been hours since Disk was killed, yet the memory seemed to chase Blades as if it kept occurring right in front of him, no matter how hard he tried to forget it.

He had stopped for the night in a plateau ridden region of this desert planet, deciding to take an opportunity to fuel up. The planet’s electromagnetic field was strangely powerful and tired out even the most hearty Cybertronian after a day or less. Blades began to wonder if leaving the electromagnetic-proof base was a bad idea as he came to realize that he was no exception to these severe planetary conditions. He flared his rotor blades, feeling the sand trickle off of them as he had transformed from his helicopter alt mode and now sat atop one of the plateaus, sipping energon. 

He figured one of two things would happen next: 

One - the DJD would assume that he would perish quickly in the planet’s harsh environment and destroy the base, moving on and leaving him to his fate. Nah, that didn't sound like their kind of thing. He knew that they would do their jobs thoroughly. Lucky him.

Two - They would come after him and well…frankly, he didn't think there was anything he could do about that. Likely this was going to be his fate.

However, the DJD had not shown up yet and Blades decided to make the most of his limited time and recharge like any slightly sane Cybertronian would do given the chance and with the knowledge that they may be facing down a wildly efficient Decepticon killer in the near future. Seemed smart enough.

-

It was that damned voice that had been echoing in his mind over and over again that awoke him.

“Blades… Blades.”

Optics shooting open, body forcing itself into the most hasty onlining he had ever done, Blades leaned up a bit too fast from his position of laying on the ground. 

CLANG

A ringing of metal on metal sounded as he groaned at the sudden pain that hit his faceplate.

“Oh- Frag! Primus above-” Blades was brought back to reality as he was met with that damned purple mask hovering over his own face. Tarn’s red optics were blank, although Blades thought he saw a fraction of interest pass them as Blades rubbed his face with a servo. That stupid mask probably dented my faceplace. “...oh. You.”

“Yes…me.”

Blades waited for Tarn to lean back up and out of his face, but when that moment didn’t come and Tarn didn't speak, Blades took it upon himself. “Frag you. Frag you! Fragyoufragyou! Frag you soooo Primus loving hard, I swear you- get the hell off of me!!”

Blades shoved Tarn away, hard, although it didn’t quite do anything, just shifted some tread on Tarn’s shoulder slightly as Blades attempted to stand back up. A few seconds later Tarn leaned back up on his own accord after watching Blades struggle in the sand. He knew better than to offer this cursing, spitfire mech a hand right now. It would far more likely get spat on than accepted.

“Just do it! I know you want to!” Blades stood, sand wafting off of him as he stood and waved his arms in surrender, “That’s why you’re here, yea?! To- to kill me! Like you did to Disk…however the hell you did it…”

“Actually-”

“Do it! I know it's what you’re here for, just make it quick, alright?” Blades was beginning to feel coolant pooling in his optics, but blinked it back upon remembering Disk. He wouldn’t cry here, not now. He’d do it for Disk, he’d stay strong. He swore it. He fell to the ground in a heap on his knees before Tarn, closing his optics as he readied for his fate. 

There was a full minute of absolute silence as Blades outstretched his arms with a deep inhale. Instead of a blasted hole in his chassis, he was met with clawed digit tracing gingerly along his helm, outlining his jaw before it tapered off. A chuckle sounded from under the mask.

“Blades, we’re not here to kill you. I’m not here to kill you. Diskshift, yes, but not you.”

A single optic opened from Blades, suspicion clearly not off of him.

“You see, normally MTOs at such remote bases are…repurposed, then again most MTOs in such situations haven’t taken it upon themselves to read ‘Towards Peace’ and show interest in such higher forms of art and literature. You’re different, Blades.”

Both of his optics opened now as his arms lowered to his sides in hesitation, “Sooo…I’m not going to be killed?”

“Hm, technically you weren’t, but then you abandoned your post-”

Blades ex-vented heavily, “Oh, frag me-”

“-Then again Decepticon code states that it isn’t considered abandoning your post if you're less than a hundred clicks out from a base for under six hours this far out in the galaxy. Rules are just a bit more relaxed so far out here.”

“H- How long has it been? How far am I?”

Tarn crouched down next to Blades, his optics adjusted as if studying him. Blades flinched at the thought. 

“It's been four hours and twenty three minutes. Eighty nine clicks, respectively.”

Blades lowered his helm and said a silent prayer to whatever being was up in those cold, careless stars.

“You see, Blades, it is also within my jurisdiction to request a transfer for you. I can easily put in a good word to a base of prominent operations and send you on your way. It would be a waste to offline a mech with such potential.”

Blades felt a servo cross his chassis, holding the chest paneling over his spark in disbelief. “You…you’d do that for me?”

“Of course. I even have a wonderful idea where you can be stationed. The position just opened up.”

Letting out an uneasy chuckle Blades began to lean towards Tarn, but was reminded of what this mech had done to Disk. He stiffened, grin disappearing as he leaned back away from Tarn, who on the other hand, seemed to lean forward into Blades as he went back.

“I…send me on my way and just…I’ll be off. We’ll never see each other again, okay? I promise I won’t give you any reason to see my face again.”

“Oh, really? As charming of a face as it is?” Blades furrowed his optic ridge, confusion going through him at the overly nonchalant tone that Tarn used for his compliment. Is…is he flirting with me??

“Look,” Blades stood hastily, suddenly realizing that Tarn was indeed moving closer to him with each passing moment, “Throw me at the nearest station, I don’t care what kind of work I have to do…well, maybe just not dealing with organics, and I’ll be gone. Poof. Never happened, never met ya. Buh-Bye!” Blades made a mocking salute to Tarn as he backed up a pace or two.

“Walk with me, Blades.” Seeing no real alternative, Blades kept in pace alongside Tarn although he put a fair distance between them. Just enough that he could transform on a dime and fly if needed as it didn’t look like Tarn had an aerial alt mode. That was one stroke of luck at least.

“Sooo…where am I headed?” Blades asked as they both came to a stop at the edge of the plateau. It looked out onto a vast expanse of dust and sand, peppered with tall, gangly plant life that all looked rather prickly in some form or another. A sleek, black and purple Decepticon ship was docked on the desert before them, below the plateau. It was no doubt Tarn’s. Blades tried not to think about what laid in wait within its walls.

“As I mentioned, a new position has opened up. You see it's quite the job running the Decepticon Justice Division and I could really use an extra mind such as yours. It is quite a remarkable one. Just to have an extra bit of help around would do wonders for us. Helping to keep track of energon stores, chart our starcourses for our next missions and targets. General upkeep.” Tarn reached his servo out again to Blades, who flinched as it gripped his shoulder, a single digit began tracing circles on his back plating. 

“Um, I really don’t think that's necessary-”

“Oh! and of course, I nearly forgot to mention one of the most important things: We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. Won’t that be extraordinary, Blades?”

Blades felt his spark skip a beat, momentarily ceasing to function as the sound of Tarn’s voice seemed to caress his spark. Whether this was a threat or the weirdest attempt at flirting Blades had ever experienced, he did not know. Knowing how Tarn was so far, he guessed the latter.

“...How long before I’m transferred?”

“I was thinking of making this an indefinite position for the foreseeable future. I do believe we’ll work wonderfully together.”

A pit formed in Blade’s fuel pump as he became hyperaware of the nagging weight of Disk’s badge in his chassis compartment. I’m sorry, I’m so so so sorry…Blades wanted to say, he wanted to scream it to wherever Disk’s spark had gone, but found himself unable to as he stayed silent, optics closed, and nodded his helm to Tarn.

“Good, good!” Tarn mused hopefully, releasing an amused ex-vent as if in a ham fisted attempt at relieving the tensions between them.

He failed miserably, but didn’t seem to notice. If he did, he cared not.

“I think we're going to have a lot of fun, my dear Blades. We’ll have a lot of meaningful little talks, you and I. Spark touching ones.”

Chapter Text

“Okay green 43-C goes…here….Red 17-A goes, hm…here.”

The tapping of a digit on the metal edge of a thin datapad sounded through the silent room as Silverblade attempted to remember the obscenely ridiculous manner of organization that Tarn had enacted upon his filed datapads. Each one was distinctly color coded, numbered, and even had a further classification of alphabetical hierarchy that Blades had remembered, but found himself ceasing to care less and less about as his task dragged on.

Why the scrap does he need so many rules, just sort them alphabetically and by what is on them! For a guy who thinks a whole lot of himself he's a bit of an idiot…this is way too complicated.

In the short weeks so far that he had been working as a glorified secretary and clean up crew for the DJD, he had come to dread the meticulous nature of how the group’s nagging and nauseatingly horrible flirter of a leader wanted everything done, his way and his way only. To object was to get a ‘black mark’ as Tarn called them and he wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to know what happened when he got three of those after Helex had just whispered to him one meeting what they meant and just to don’t get three with no elaboration of what happened after. Seemed easy enough at the start, do what is told of you and you'll be fine, until he started becoming more casual and thus had less fear of discipline in this environment of sadists, having learned how to navigate them with a fair amount of ease especially after Tarn had demanded no harm come to him unless it was from Tarn, himself.

He sensed that he was growing more desensitized to the type of average activities and jobs that this energon-thirsty crew get up to. At least he hadn't been forced to go out into the field with them yet. He wasn't sure if Tarn would ever allow that. His desensitization would have bothered him more, but he quickly came to realize that to think too much about his situation would surely mean death or madness which he wasn’t quite ready for yet.

Well…maybe after a few more months of sorting absolute scrap and scrubbing energon off of the walls and every hard to reach crevasse of this ship then he would be ready, but not yet. The one memory that kept him going above all else now was that of what had occurred to his fellow Decepticon, his only friend, Diskshift. He needed to keep living if for no other reason than for Disk who no longer was able to and besides he was at least able to give Disk’s murderer a whole helmache of issues that most ‘cons couldn’t even dream of getting away with, yet he did mostly due to how Tarn still seemed smitten with him. The thought of wrecking subtle havoc on Tarn’s sanity one small bit at a time right under his nose was one of the few things that brought a smile to his face along with the knowledge that he knew Disk would approve of his mission from the Afterspark. Perhaps, eventually, if he was lucky, he might even be able to try more…ambitious forms of sabotage against Tarn. An offlining form of one in particular.

Alas his oh so lofty goals would have to wait for the perfect moment and that sure wasn’t now as he sat, legs sprawled out before him on the floor. He inhaled a choice amount of air into his vents as he contemplated every life choice that led up to this moment. That Primus damned swipe in particular.

“Ugh, frag this-” Blades exhaled under his breath, grabbing the entire drawer full of datapads and dumping them out on the floor. He was going to do this his way and Tarn could simply thank him later for this simplified sorting method. He wouldn’t of course, likely Tarn would bust a tread and short a fuse upon seeing this way of sorting, but Blades had promptly ran out of frags to give and would simply ask for forgiveness, not permission.

-

“I’m telling you Blades, they taste good. They really do! Don’t look at me like that!”

Helex elbowed Blades with his smaller arm around his torso as his larger set was stationed firmly on his hips. He leaned in a little further, giving a smirk as if he was giving up a five star chef’s secret ingredient. “But get this, it's the crunch that really is where it's at.”

Blades groaned under his breath, settling his servos over his face as he placed his elbow joints on the mess hall table. “You’re disgusting, Hel. That’s disgusting.”

“Oh come on, don’t knock it till you try it, Flyboy.” Helex waved an arm dismissively.

Kaon just pursed his lips and furrowed his optic ridge, “What I think we really should be asking is how in the pits did you find out that you like brain modules? There’s got to be a story behind-”

BANG! CLANGAAAG! CRASH!

“What the scrap is that-?” Helex blurted out upon hearing the mass of destructive sounding noises coming from down the hall. Helex, Kaon, and Blades leapt to their feet, but just as he did that, Blades suddenly had a suspicion of who was causing such noises and why. It was dead silent for a few moments before the mess hall door slid open to reveal a stiff backed Tarn. Rage was practically radiating off of his frame which seemed roughly a fraction of a second from combusting and taking all of them with him. Helex and Kaon seemed to sense this too as they stood at attention, previous casual airs discarded on a dime. After all this wasn’t their first time with one of Tarn’s more volatile episodes so Blades took a cue from them and mimicked their stances, feeling as if he was back in the Decepticon training camp from when he first onlined.

“Who. Touched. The datapads?” Oh scrap, Blades was really in for it now.

As if sounding off in an unspecified order, Helex spoke first, “Not me, sir. I was helping Nickel organize the med-bay earlier today before I came here.”

Kaon gave a respectful incline of his helm, a regretful air about his tone as if he was saddened he could not be of more help. Blades figured it was an act, surely, since he wasn’t convinced this crew had even a gallon of casual compassion or sympathy between them, but it was a convincing tone nonetheless. “Not me, Sir. I was charting our next targets with Tesarus and yourself earlier before you left and only within the last hour I arrived at the mess hall.”

All eyes fell to Blades as he debated not saying a word and jumping right into Helex’s smelting chamber. At least he was on fairly good terms with the lug so Helex would probably make it quick..ish. 

“Tarn…sir, I…I was tasked with organizing our new shipment of datapads.” Okay, now to fully admit that he just fragging hated Tarn’s own organization system and used his own instead or to lie out of his tailpipes and say he forgot how Tarn wanted everything organized. Yea…he choose the latter because he didn’t quite want to be blown to bits and have Helex gnaw on his brain module for an afternoon snack today. Preferably never would be great.

“I…I was aware there was a system, sir, but I forgot it and just…well, I wasn’t sure how you’d take me forgetting it so I tried on my own. I’m sorry, but maybe you could teach me it again.” Sounded pathetic and stupid enough to Blades with a little extra of a sad tone thrown in that would hopefully snag onto that strange infatuation Tarn had with him. Now he just had to see if Tarn would take the bait.

“Silverblade…” Eugh, full name. Not good. Tarn put his servos on his hips, turning fully around as if composing himself. He tapped his foot a few times, deep vents of air cycling through him as if to cool down his heated frame. Only after a full minute did he turn around, slightly less murderous in his intent, “Blades.” Oh nice, my nickname. Good, good. I can salvage this…maybe.

“Yes, sir?”

“Walk with me. I’d like a word with you privately.” Frag.

Blades nodded, showing no reaction as he began following Tarn out of the mess hall, leaving Helex and Kaon to go back to their seats. Helex shot a suppressed smirk to Blades when he looked back, gesturing to his comm device on his forearm. Blades looked down at the quickly typed message from Helex:

U R FRAGGED. I’LL GET YR FUNERAL ARRANGEMENTS SORTED. HAVE FUN.

Blades tried to keep his composure as he remanded a step behind Tarn before typing back a reply and stepping into pace with him:

SHOVE IT UP YR AFT U BRAIN MUNCHER.

He clicked off his message notifications on his arm screen for good measure. The last thing he needed was a snarky message from Helex mid-meeting with Tarn and being forced to read to Tarn all their messages to one another, especially those earlier ones from last week where it was near exclusively them talking scrap about Tarn. Yeah, Blades could live without Tarn finding out about those…

The walk felt like a year or two in itself and another three to four added for the time it took Tarn to go into his office and gesture to the seat across from him for Blades. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Tarn sat down rigidly in his own. A bristlying layer of static seemed to surround Tarn’s EM field which set off a whole array of alarms in Blades’s mind. 

“So. You forgot, did you?” Tarn asked, although it hardly sounded like a question as Tarn eyed a stylus on his desk, shifting it a few centimeters before focusing back on Blades.

“Yes. I was afraid you’d be mad that I forgot so I just…kinda…guessed at it.”

“You ‘kinda’ guessed at it? Define ‘kinda’ for me, would you? Just walk me through…whatever your thought process was that led to…that. ” He spat out his last word that was partially laced with his outlier ability like a venom that caused Blades’s spark to stutter.

Okay, Blades…Time to dial up that dumbaft crush routine to a billion. “I- I just was thinking ‘hey, what if I organized them just alphabetically and by subject matter’ since I just got so utterly lost with your reallyyy detailed way. I just didn’t want you to think I was incapable of the most basic tasks. I’m so sorry, Tarn.” Blades put special, nauseatingly sweet emphasis on Tarn’s name as he remembered hearing some mech do the same when saying their Conjunx Endura’s name on one of Vos’s Tetrahexian telenovelas. Please work, please work, please-

A large ex-vent sounded from Tarn as he massaged the side of his helm plating with a servo. His other tapped the desk as if in tense deliberation. “I see. It seems that I have…expected too much of you too soon. Tesarus can’t even figure out this system and Helex still messes up on it occasionally which is why I tend to do it myself.”

Part of Tarn’s tension released as he voiced his verdict, “One black mark. Temporary and it can be excused earlier if your other work is up to par, but I am afraid I cannot let this go entirely unpunished.” Blades let out an audible sigh of relief, settling back in his own chair at the statement. He had somehow skated past a brutal execution and face planted firmly in probation instead. That was a win for sure. He knew Disk would be proud of such a maneuver like that, although he probably wouldn’t hear the end of it with that tone he used for Tarn’s name. Ugh he could already hear Disk mimicking that tone using Blades’s name, ‘ohhh Bladdeeessss!’ Heh, what a dork.

“I get it, Tarn, and I thank you for your understanding. That type of organization gets sooo so complicated sometimes.” If Tarn had any sense he would heed Blades’s critique of his organization systems, but Blades knew that he wouldn’t and just hammed up his own appearance of being distraught at the situation for further benefit of Tarn going easy on him. Tarn tilted his helm into his servo further, standing and facing towards the wall which contained the rather gruesome first editions of ‘Towards Peace’ that consisted of the mangled bodies of dead miners. Something was clearly bothering him now. 

“Blades…Do you understand that everything said within this room, stays within this room?” 

“Yea uhm- I mean, yes sir.” He quickly recovered from his casual tone that he had grown used to using with the other members of the DJD and when Tarn was in a good mood for his more business oriented tone of respect. 

“Good, good. Then you know that the others cannot know about this.” Confusion hindered Blades for a moment by what Tarn meant until he finished, “About us.” Blades closed his optics and hoped to Primus he would have the strength not to bust out laughing at this bold assumption of Tarn’s. 

Tarn really was one dense motherfragger.

Blades queued up his most melodramatic self for the show of his life, quite literally. Showtime, glitches.

“O-oh? What is it about us?”

“I do not want them all to think that I am giving you special privileges or extra leeway because of this.” Which you most certainly are, Blades thought promptly.

“Blades, my dearest…I think you’ve known since that call.” Tarn turned around now, a sad, near pitying light shone softly from his normally harsh red optics. “I cannot apologize for Disk. I know that he was…a fellow comrade, but he was on the list afterall-”

That humored air around Blades soiled to a rot as he heard Disk’s name come from Tarn’s own vocal processor. It felt wrong, like he shouldn’t have the right to say his name or even remotely think about him. He didn’t deserve it. 

“-and I am afraid I can make no exceptions for those on the list. But you, Blades, you’re still here. I understand how hard that was for you-”

No you don’t, you son of a-

“-and I know you said some things to me on that plateau that I am sure you regret now-”

Frag off. I won’t regret them even when I’m dead you -

“-but I believe we really have a connection, Blades. I can feel it in our sparks.”

Mayday! Mayday! Blades signaled to himself as he felt Tarn’s outlier ability bring a greedy pull onto his own spark. He stood stiffly as he had in the mess hall, making it at least somewhat clear through body language that he wasn’t as comfortable now. Okay, okay, think fast. Make it believable, but also draw that line. NOW.

“I…I can’t, Tarn.”

A spark of near frenzied questioning lit up Tarn’s eyes as he walked over to Blades, “Why? Is something wrong? Are you alright?” Blades would have laughed at the irony of Tarn asking him those questions out of anyone if he wasn’t so drained right now. 

“Yes, well…I’m fine. Physically, yea, but I can’t do this…er, us right now.”

Tarn had stopped in front of Blades and looked down at him with a blank look, “Why?”

Why? Oh, I don’t know. how about for starters you killed my best friend in stale energon, basically ruined my life, are FRAGGING INSANE, and-

“It’s…” Easy Blades, don’t say no outright, just redirect, deflect, do something you bolt! “It’s a bit fast. All of this.” 

“Oh… hm.” Tarn’s optic ridge lowered as if he hadn’t considered this thought, a stray servo of his began tracing Blades’s chest plating absentmindedly. “I suppose it’s been a lot for you lately…”

“You do come on a bit strong at times.” Blades added helpfully and continued on mentally: Well I don’t know about ‘strong’ so much as painfully cheesy or downright messed up. Both. Yea, that’s about right.

“Hm.” Tarn repeated to himself, “I will…consider that. Is there anything that can be done to help this?”

“Space.” Blades blurted out before he realized what that probably sounded like, “Er, not like the one with the stars that we already get plenty of. Just- Physical space. I know it's limited on this ship already and I’m not asking for any major special treatment with you technically being my commander and what not, but-” As if to make his point, Blades grabbed onto Tarn’s servo that had been feeling along his chest paneling in what he now realized to be a wildly brazen move that would have been a one way ticket to the afterspark for most. “Like the touchy kind, for example. Just some space, yeah?”

Tarn looked mildly disappointed as he withdrew his servo, leaning back in the slightest as if in an obvious attempt to show Blades, ‘hey look at me! I can learn how to do that! I’m not a total creep!’

Blades would take what he could get and give a small grin at this success. His tiny act of even remote satisfaction would no doubt tie over Tarn for a few weeks max and when Tarn finally decided to make his moves again…well, Blades would be preparing for that.

Chapter Text

“Get out already, damn you…geez! Who knew energon could stick so bad? Well, actually I guess everyone else on this ship did…which is why I’m now stuck with clean up.” Blades mused to himself as he had been trying for the last few hours to scrub the grime of a particularly messy remnant of a prisoner from one of the Peaceful Tyranny’s cells. It had to be Tesarus with this sort of mess, Blades thought, He needs to start cleaning his own messes that slob. Just leaving bits of, well, everything, everywhere! And to think- oh…is- is that an optic?

Indeed it appeared to be an optic as Blades plucked it up from a few meters away. Eugh. He flicked it in the waste bin that he had stationed near the cell’s door for the more solid bits of prisoner that remained.

At least this one didn’t scream as loud as the last one, that was a plus. He paused scrubbing for a moment, realizing what he had just thought. Primus, am I really that callous now? That mech could have easily been me in the wrong place at the wrong time. They could have been Disk before he…Yeah…yeah, okay. I’ll work on that. 

Blades reached for another piece of scrap metal that was perhaps part of a helm. Instead of tossing it he walked over to the waste bin and dropped the scrap in much more softly than he had the optic. Sorry, my guy. Nothing personal, I swear.

The silence was deafening now as Blades stood in the middle of the cell really taking in the damage. Energon coated the walls, floor, and ceiling as if in a hasty coating of pink paint. Torn scraps of metal littered the floor and the only gap in this mess was a patch on the floor roughly 1/5th the size of the floor that had been scrubbed clean by Blades so far. Yea…that's some great progress. Respect for not going without a fight, I guess. 

As Blades kneeled back down onto the floor he took out his datapad in hopes of giving himself a very much needed morale booster for this job. Hey dead guy, I hope you don’t mind some ‘Con’s top 100 list.  

They probably would considering how they had been killed by members of their own cause, but they sure weren’t here to object as Blades flicked on his go to playlist. A rhythmic electronic beat started up that seemed to move in pace with Blades’s scrubbing movements. 

What's wrong with this place? (What's wrong here? Oh!)

What’s wrong with these people? (What's wrong here? Oh! Oh!)

Blades began to hum along as his scrubbing continued.

Something flashed from the sky (Oh!)

And I don’t know why (Oh!)

And I just really-

“-need to fly away, yeaaah ah ah…” Blades mumbled the lyrics under his breath as he was starting to get into the song now. Finally something other than that dreary classical music Tarn only played whenever he did play music. 

But it's got me! (Oh!)

But it's got me! (Oh!)

Like a curse of Mortilus the great! (Ah-ah!)

I can’t-

“-shake the feeling that, ah ah, IT CAME FROM ABOVEEE, LIKE A RUST PLAGUE FROM THE SKY OOHH OH!!” Blades had abandoned his scrubbing now, using the metal mesh pad as an impromptu speaker, leaning back dramatically as he kneeled like he was on a cosmic stage before millions, being broadcasted to billions more on countless planets. 

“BLAZING THROUGH THE STARS, I’LL GET THEM ALL TO FLYYYYY,

FLYYY SO HIGH I COULD DIEEEE!!! OOOOHHHHH!!”

Fully in another universe entirely of his own mind, Blades jumped up, spinning on his feet as he gestured around the cell with his arms grandly as if to a crowd. 

“THAT’S WHAT’S WRONG WITH THIS SCENE, WOOO!!

IF YOU ALL COULD JUST KEEP TO THE BEAT, AHHHH AH!!”

There was no more energon coated cell, no DJD, no Tarn, no Decepticon cause, no war. There was only Blades and the song as they swayed together in the tune that now rang off of the cell’s walls, his optics shut to the casual horrors that now coated his everyday moments. He kept singing, one servo on his faux microphone and his other theatrically running over the side of his helm, shooting out to his side before coming back to move across his chassis.

“GET THAT METAL MOVIN’!! GET THAT METAL GROOVIN’ OH AHHH AH!!!” tracing his servo over his hips he swung them out in a large arc, spinning around again as he sensuously traced his servo over his frame before repeating his hip motion. 

It was only after this rather scandalous series of dance movements that he bothered to open his optics. 

“AAHHHHHHhhhhhhh- ahh…ah…oh frag.”

None other than his wickedly painful live wire in the aft stood in the doorway.

His datapad, which lay next to him on the floor, was clicked off unceremoniously with his foot.

Dead. Silence.

Well I’m sure as aft not going to say the first word…Blades thought to himself as he stood there, arms at his side now, metal mesh in a servo that was dripping energon onto the floor. At least a few whole minutes passed in complete silence as Tarn looked to Blades with the widest optics that Blades had ever seen him with. 

Take the hint, Tarn. Just blast a hole in my helm with those stupid double fusion canons…It would be the most merciful option right now. Unfortunately or rather fortunately, he wasn't sure which, Blades wasn’t that lucky.

“I…I came by to,” Tarn cleared his vents as he gained his bearings again, blinking after the long pause. “I just wanted to let you know the panel seams can be rather difficult to clean so I just brought this solvent that usually works well to…to clean all the edges…” at his last word Blades felt Tarn’s eyes start to drift lower across his whole frame which was what prompted Blades to finally move. 

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Blades took a step forward and snatched the bottle of solvent from Tarn’s outstretched hand. He popped open the cap and placed some on his mesh scrubbing pad before kneeling back down to return to his work. With his back now turned to Tarn he hoped that he would just walk away, especially since neither of them had addressed the herd of scraplets in the room. Good. Keep it that way.

“Blades…”

Ugh.

“What?” He snapped, perhaps a bit more harshly than he intended. He wasn’t trying to be the next bot whose energon coated this cell.

“Don’t think that I did not see your… moves. They were rather…” Tarn really thought about his answer before settling on what he likely thought was the safest bet, “Good. Perhaps you could teach me and if not that, maybe you could show me them again sometime in-”

“Uh huh.” Blades cut in before Tarn could get any further.

“Good. Well, hm.” Tarn cleared his vents again as he bid a farewell, “I trust you to complete this task well, Blades. I'll see you during our group meeting tomorrow, yes?”

“Yeah, yeah. Something like that…Bye!” With that rather forceful goodbye, Tarn’s footsteps retreated. Well at least one thing Blades could count on would be that out of everyone on this ship besides Vos, Tarn would likely keep this secret safe between them. Blades stopped scrubbing for a moment as he remembered how close Tarn and Nickel were. 

Oh scrap, he tells her near everything… So much for ever hearing the end of this.

Chapter Text

“I swear he does that thing, you know the one, where he gets all…all-”

“Pretentious. Big speeches, big words-”

“Big cannons too.”

Helex gave a snort of amusement at that addition. “Yeah, he better be careful because one day some mech might think he's overcompensating for something…”

A servo was thrown over his own mouth as Blades attempted to stifle his vocal processor. It was getting harder and harder to do so now with how the energon accelerator was beginning to affect him. Despite this realization, he took it from Helex again, the thin cylindrical apparatus giving a low hissing sound as he inhaled the altered energon vapor into his vents. A light pink smoke filtered out through the vents alongside his chestplating as he felt the substance seem to continually lift a weight off of him that he hadn’t even realized he was carrying. It was a nice change, but he made a mental reminder to himself to not make this too regular of a habit. The last thing he needed was getting caught like this when Tarn was in one of his varying moods. Murderous or romantical, neither were ever a good thing.

“What did you think of him when you first met him?” Blades asked suddenly.

Helex shifted on his oversized berth that he had snuck into this abandoned, short dead end offshoot in a section of the mines where practically no one walked down except for himself and now Blades. The entrance of the mineshaft was hidden by a large boulder that only Helex or Tesarus could move so they didn’t have to worry about any unwelcome visitors. They both liked the solitude and feeling of being able to talk much more freely without outside interference, namely from Tarn.

“About Tarn? Well, I knew he meant business even from the start, that dedication to Megatron was some of the most devoted I’ve ever seen so I did- I do, respect him for that. He might be a pain in the aft at times, but not many ‘cons have that kind of attitude for the cause. Not anymore.”

Not anymore. That addition stuck in Blades’s mind playing on repeat until he spoke again, “Not anymore?” he voiced aloud, only afterwards realizing he posed it as a question.

“Yeah…it's been millions of years of war and well, we’ve seen better days. All Cybertronians, not just Decepticons. You can imagine the hit that has on the morale of those who were not as devout to Lord Megatron’s ideals. Many of the warborns only served because it's all they knew and were partially programmed to adhere to ‘Con ideals.” Helex sighed, sitting up from where he laid on the berth, taking the energon accelerator from Blades’s outstretched servo and giving it a draw, “They’re just not the same as those like Tarn, the rest of the team, and me who were there at the beginning. Back when we had a planet to kill for.”

Helex looked up suddenly as if in regret, he knew he spoke out of line and that such words would likely put him on the DJD’s own list according to Tarn’s standards. “Hey, Blades…don’t say anything about…that, what I just said, yeah? That stays between us.”

“Sure, sure…I get it.” Knowing that he had never been to Cybertron and most definitely wasn’t there at the beginning, Blades indeed knew he did not get it. Not really. Not like Helex did.

There was a long silence, not uncomfortable, more reflective as Helex laid back down onto the berth, Blades leaning back into the rock sofa that Helex had managed to punch out of the wall when he first found this mineshaft. 

Blades finally shot the question that he had always wanted to ask Disk all those years, but never quite got the courage to, considering how much of a loaded subject it was, “What was Cybertron like?”

A pensive grumble sounded from Helex as he turned his head to the side, looking at Blades, “I bet you’ve heard mechs talk about how great it was, how much they miss it, yea?”

“Yeah.”

“They were lying or damned delusional is what.” Helex spat, “That place sure looked all pretty in the big cities, big towers of gold and platinum, but that was just the top percenters of the top percenters. For nearly everybody else it was struggle after struggle, getting beat down, grime and gutters for a nice view. Why do you think the Decepticons gained so much traction in those early days? We were an army in plain sight and Megatron was the catalyst that united us all. That’s what Cybertron was. I’d rather have no home and wander space for the rest of my days than go back to what it was with that society. There's other planets anyway. Messatine is kinda cold, but it's manageable.”

“Oh.” Was all Blades brought himself to say, all of the grandeur that Disk had talked about Cybertron with began to deteriorate with a layer of rust. He hated it, but couldn’t say he didn’t see Helex’s own point. Blades knew there was a reason the Decepticons had rebelled so fervently in the beginning and it sure wasn’t for fun.

“That said,” Helex seemed to sense how much of a downer his statement, no matter how true, was and tried to change the tone, “I know some mechs had better experiences, but I was a laborer so I was damn near the bottom of the system, you know?”

“Hm mn.” Blades sounded in agreement. Again, he did not know. Not really.

“Anyhow,” Helex began again, taking another puff of the energon accelerator, “Did you get a load of how Tarn started organizing the layout for the bridge’s controls on the Tyranny?”

Blades’s soured mood was shaken off as if a tarp as he let out an instinctive laugh, “Primus, yes I did. Does he really think that looks better or is more effective? It looks like…like-”

“Like Shockwave did a number on it or something,” Helex mumbled, but chuckled as he put a larger sevo over his helm, smaller servos resting over his smelting chamber. “It’s so complicated, it's like trying to understand Vos or-” He cut off suddenly, bolting up in his berth as he seemed focused on something.

“What is it, H-”

“Shh. Outside.”

Blades understood as he heard the sound of footsteps coming louder and louder down the mineshaft chamber right outside past the boulder in the entrance. A voice accompanied it.

“Blades? I need you for doc review, you’re nearly falling behind, come on out now. You know you're not supposed to be down this mineshaft, it's unstable.”

“Frag. Fragfragfrag -” Blades scrambled up off of his sitting place, but upon realizing that there was nowhere else to go he began to pace around the confined quarters. Helex slowly got off of the berth, trying to not cause too much noise as he did so. 

“Blades, quiet!” Helex warned, trying to keep his voice low as he took Blades’s shoulder panels in his larger set of servos, smaller set latching onto either side of Blades’s helm as if to get his full attention. “Shh!”

“Come now, Blades. I’ve checked everywhere for you so please make this worth my time…”

The Voice that Blades had come to dread sounded through the mines and seemed to strike home as he felt his spark falter for a second. He groaned, but threw his servos over his mouth right as Helex put his smaller servos over Blades’s servos as well.

“Turn your audials off!”

“I can’t do that, Hel! I wasn’t built with that option!”

Helex did a double take at Blades for a moment from looking at the boulder in front of them that was the only thing between them and Tarn now, “You what?!”

“I know you have to be somewhere around here, Blades. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

The tightening feeling around Blades’s spark grew more intense as he shook his helm, trying to distract from The Voice as Helex tried putting his smaller servos over Blades’s helm which didn’t seem to work. Exasperated, Helex grabbed Blades with his larger set of arms, opening his smelting chamber as if it put him in. Blades gasped and put his arms and legs on the rim of the chamber, clearly not going in without a fight. “NO -”

“Cut it out, Flyboy! If you go in here it might dampen his voice enough it won’t kill you. Go on! You’re welcome to stay outside and offline if that's what you want.” 

Tarn wouldn’t offline me…Blades thought, but realized that Tarn couldn’t see him, hear him, or otherwise perceive him beyond his own voice so there was a possibility that he could offline him even by accident. It wasn’t likely…but didn’t seem impossible either with as achy as Blades’s spark felt already with just a few words.

With a defeated sigh, Blades retracted his limbs from the outside of the chamber and hesitantly hopped into the empty smelting chamber, becoming more than aware that this was where many bots had likely met their final moments. He looked up, trying not to think too much about the circular holes above him that channeled where the smelting lava of Helex’s went. It was still stiflingly hot in here, even in the chamber’s off mode. Blades hoped to Primus that Tarn did not linger too long. He wasn’t sure how long he could hold it together in here as the chamber door closed with a pressurized sound. 

They both stood in the shaft silently staring ahead at the boulder that was but a few meters before them. 

You’ll be fine, you’ll be fine, you’ll be -

“Helex, pass the energon accelerator will you?”

Helex spun around, sending Blades tumbling around in the chamber as he was startled out of his module by this new voice. He let out a low gasp, flinching as he saw who it was.

“Nickel?? What are you- How did you get in here?!” 

The minibot was sitting in the opening of a circular tunnel neither Helex nor Blades had paid mind to as she simply pointed to further down the tunnel, looking none too impressed by whatever she had just walked into Blades and Helex doing. 

“Who do you think cleans up this space, you lug? You’re not the only one who knows your way around the base or wants a quiet minute to themselves.” She shimmied herself down from the tunnel in the wall, landing with a clang on Helex’s berth as she snapped her servo, making a ‘gimme’ gesture to Helex.

He sighed, clearly none too happy as he realized his sacred space was not so secret now and handed Nickel the energon accelerator. She scrutinized it for a moment before she took a small puff off of it. “This is garbage, Hel. Trash.” Despite her scathing declaration she took another puff, making a face before snapping it in half.

"HEY! WHAT THE F -”

THROOM

As if lighting struck the mineshaft itself, the boulder behind Helex exploded into a mass of rock and dust, causing him to lose his balance slightly and take a few staggering steps forward. After the sudden jolt to Helex, Blades tried to right himself back up in the chamber and choose the wrong moment to look up at the lava channels above him. There was a distant glowing red in them as he panicked and pressed himself back up against the glass door, banging on it with both servos.

“H- Hel- HELEX LET ME OUT!! LET ME-”

A glob of lava fell from the channel right as the door opened, sending Blades flinging out haphazardly onto the floor by the now demolished entrance to their hiding spot. He grunted as his back slammed against the rock floor, legs jerking back to his chestplate with the force of his fall. I’ll definitely feel this one later…

A pair of familiar red optics behind a mask gazed down unamused at him as he meekly finished his request that had been more than granted, “...out.”

“Helex.” Tarn stated, his voice was cool and had an air of seriousness that sent everyone on edge. “Two Black Marks. Go to my quarters and I will meet you there to have further words.”

“Yes, sir.” Helex gave a nod as he knew any explanation here and now would cause much more harm than not, walking out past the demolished boulder and back down the mineshaft’s hall. 

“Nickel…” Tarn began as he saw her standing with the snapped accelerator, but seemed to think better of saying any reprimand as he simply gestured with his helm back out to the hall, “Please.” He added on for good measure. It never hurt to be in Nickel’s good-ish graces.

She tossed both halves of the accelerator to the side as she strode past Blades and Tarn, giving Blades a disappointed Tsk as she did so.

“Blades-”

“Whatever you think was going on, Tarn-”

“...why were you in Helex’s chamber?”

“-itsnotwhatyouthink.” He genuinely had no idea what Tarn thought they were up to. Hell, if he hadn’t been in the situation himself he probably would have had no clue of where to even start. He really wished that the lagging feeling from the energon accelerator would wear off already so he could get his mind back up to its normal quick speed of plotting and Tarn related damage control. “I…we-”

Tarn held up a servo for silence as he continued. “That can be explained at a later date. Walk with me.” Another one of Tarn’s walk and talk sessions. Blades braced for a lecture as stepped over the remains of the boulder and met Tarn in the hall.

“Do you know one of the reasons why Megatron made me one of the leaders of the Decepticon Justice Division?”

Your wildly charismatic personality, absolute joyful temperament, and approachability, Blades sarcastically thought before he realized that Tarn actually seemed to be expecting an answer. “Um, your...devotion to the cause?”

“Hm, yes that is one of them, but there is another: my ability to keep my mechs in line. Order is the backbone of any worthy cause and considering how worthy the Decepticon cause is, it should be a temple of order and structure laid upon the foundations of Megatron’s teachings.”

“Uh huh.” Was all Blades responded with as he let Tarn do the talking now.

“Our cause cannot persist if we do not make sure to adhere to the most basic protocols, Blades. It is our duty as servants of The Cause to uphold this standard and this is why I am in charge. I intend to uphold this standard and you are no exception.” Tarn sighed before stopping in the hall and turning to Blades, “Clear your vents.”

“I’m really fine, Tarn-”

“Do it.” 

Blades stiffened as he knew Tarn meant business, taking a deep inhale of air as he cycled it through his vents. The air that came out was tinted with a pink hue from the energon accelerator. 

“Blades, I’m rather disappointed. One Black Mark. You see Nickel, our very own expertise in all things medical here, clearly knew that thing was no good as she snapped it in two. You would do better to ask her or me for permission the next time Helex shows you such devices.”

“Mhm.” Blades sounded. His refusal to give clear verbal answers seemed to be grating on Tarn now as he spoke.

“Is there something else you have to say?”

“You know what else probably isn’t good for mechs?”

“What?” Tarn’s tone seemed to taunt, ‘humor me’ in a slightly pissed off way.

“That Nuke I’ve seen some of you use.”

Tarn bristled at getting called out on his own vices. “That is perfectly safe…when used in regulated doses before a witness who knows how to work a fueling chamber. It is by no means even remotely on par with using an unregistered energon accelerator in an abandoned mineshaft thats two wrong moves from collapse.”

“Uh huh.” Smiling now, Blades seemed content enough that he found out a fault in Tarn’s argument even in his groggy state. This just seemed to make Tarn more annoyed.

“Your quarters, now. Get those doc reviews done and file our field reports from that last excursion by our next meeting or its another Black Mark.”

“Sure thing, boss… Sir .” Blades seemed humored enough with himself until he looked over and saw Tarn’s expression, softening his casualness with a more rank appropriate term. Tarn just pointed ahead to Blades’s quarters as Blades went ahead to his quarters to recharge off the effects of the energon accelerator. It was only when Tarn was out of sight and he was in his berth that Blades realized that Tarn had never asked what the circumstances were which led to Blades voluntarily in Helex’s smelting chamber. He got a good bit of amusement out of that at least as he slipped into the murkiness of recharge.

Chapter Text

12

11

10…and a half.

Silverblade vented as he stopped short, not quite wanting to make that turn into the last stretch of hall before his destination. Alas he knew he was already set to be on time if he kept going, but would be a minute or two late if he held up now so he trudged on, datapad in hand. He never liked to get to these meetings early, timing it perfectly that he arrived right on the dot of when he was due to meet, not wishing to spend any extra time on such things. Especially not when considering who they were often with.

Pedesteps stopped in the doorway as the door gave a hydraulic hiss open, his host now standing before him, servos behind his back as he stood at attention.

“So… sir, is this about the way I’ve been documenting the incident reports? I don’t really see the need to include, uh-“ Blades glanced down at his datapad, looking at the long list of required details that took up around seven pages of the document before tapping the screen with a digit, “-all of that. Meaning, I just know most of this is useless information that doesn’t even have to do with the report most of the time so-“

Tarn stiffened as he seemed to find himself in disagreement right off of the bat. Despite this he simply gave a low vocalization of uncertainty, bringing a servo to gently push down Blades’s datapad from his hands as he made his intention clear. 

“That…can be discussed later, Blades. The reason I arranged this meeting was not about any work you are doing currently. Or rather, it is, but more of a commendation of your work so far.” Tarn’s optics lightened, the brief hint of perhaps a smile from under his mask shifting his optics to a softer gaze. Blades managed to strangle the urge to run as every mental warning system he seemed to have began to ring loudly in his mind. What the scrap is he up to now…?

Unconsciously, Blades had leaned back in the slightest, which did not go unnoticed by Tarn who brought a servo to his shoulder, seeing the need to explain himself further.

“You’ve been doing well. Working…acceptably hard. More than I can say for most in the Decepticon ranks nowadays. Tess could perhaps learn something from you, but-“ He cleared his vents upon sensing himself getting off track, “I wanted to make this meeting just for you. A little something special. A nice break amidst your honorable work that really has been a help to me and our team.” 

Tarn removed his servo from Blades’s shoulder, bringing it to rest, overturned between them as if asking for Blades’s own servo. Hesitantly after a moment Blades obliged, the feeling of Tarn’s larger servo coming to close around him as if a scraplet in a trap. As Tarn stepped to the side, leading him further into the room, Blades could never help but feel a strange sense of unease when Tarn would place a servo upon him, knowing how that very servo and the mech behind it had caused countless of his own Decepticon brethren to perish, namely his only friend. The only mech who he ever truly felt as if-

What.

The.

Frag.

Wait…actually what in the flying Primus above was this even-

“I may have been a bit indulgent with the decorum for this meeting of ours, but we could spare the parts after dealing with our last few transgressors. Hm, well I did have to reason with Helex to leave the brain modules intact after he gave me this idea…”

Blades’s intake was wide open as he stared at the room around him, mind simply on a loop of a singular thought now:

What. The. Frag.

What. The. Frag.

What. The. Frag.

What. The. -

“Blades? Oh, is it too much…I knew I went overboard.” Tarn brought Blades’s servo inward towards his chassis, bringing his own other servo to rest over Blades’s servo in comfort. “Do come, please sit.”

Blades allowed himself to be led over to a small rectangular table that had been placed in Tarn’s work suite, sitting in the chair that faced into the room and window, his back to the door, as he took in the sight of the room around him.

The sight that initially caught his attention was the way the room was dim, overhead lights off as only a secondary light lit up the space. Upon realizing how that dimmer light was a cascading show of all different colors akin to a prism’s refraction of light, a truly beautiful sight Blades had to admit to himself, was when he realized how exactly that light was being made. 

The window to space in the room allowed for light of the nearest sun within this current solar system to shine inside, specifically through two circular mechanisms that were hung, wrapped on a ceiling’s pipes by some sort of thick cabling. It was only after a squint that Blades realized what exactly he was looking at that was making his beautiful show of light. Brain modules, two of them, were hanging in front of the window causing the cascade of color around the room as something between their gaps of metal seemed to cause this effect. Their spinal cords were the cabling that was keeping them held in place to the ceiling.

A wave of sickness akin to a virus ravaged through Blades’s systems as he took in the sight. His fuel pump felt like it was inverting in upon itself as he looked down at the table before him which he hadn’t even gotten around to looking at just yet.

Center in the table was a small cube sort of device, perhaps a battery, that had multiple wires running off from it. They led inside a tall sort of glass that one might see used for the distribution of high grade engex, however at the top of the glass which bent outward, a series of optics were placed at the top of the glass. Lights flickering on all of them as he noticed all of them were a hue of orange or yellow, except the middle one which was of a purple hue. He knew it was a rarity for such an optic color to exist even by his own limited frame of reference for such things. A saddened sense of anger and grief for all of those who had been slaughtered by the DJD only to end up as Tarn’s decorations in poor taste ran through Blades’s own brain module along with the sensation of becoming hyper aware of every bit of his own mechanisms after seeing such an…interesting display of cybertronian anatomy before him. 

Tarn sat opposite to him now at the table, pouring each of them a glass of engex from a decanter. Looking at Blades expectantly, he put a straw into his own glass, taking a sip through his mask as his gaze continued to burn with a hot, impatient sort of anticipation. Blades took his own glass, dragging it along the table closer to himself as he looked down at it before back up at Tarn. He did not drink, nor speak, instead mimicking Tarn’s own gaze as if he was now waiting for Tarn to say something. It was a strange few minutes of more eye contact than either of them had in millenia. Tarn was the one to finally cave, glancing down to his drink, adjusting his straw as he spoke.

“So do you…like it?”

“I haven’t tried it yet.”

Tarn blinked as he realized how vague that was and Blades’s own point about his engex, shifting his focus as if recovering his own fumble, gesturing back to the window then to the optics before them with his servo. “...The display.”

“It's…” Disgusting, an abomination, an absolute disgrace to our cause and why so many Autobots, neutrals, and other species think that we’re just energon hungry wild mechs who eat their enemies for fun, and Primus above, it’s just so - “Creative.” Blades finally settled on, knowing all of his other alternative answers would have likely gotten his own brain module strung up to Tarn’s ceiling alongside the others. As much as that actually felt as if it would be a mercy, he thought that giving Tarn a hard time and those vague answers he hated so much was a better revenge than getting himself killed or worse over one critical comment.

Tarn actually seemed to take this as a compliment, giving a satisfied hum as he leaned back in his chair. “Thank you, dear Blades. I bet you’re bright enough to know what’s so special about our little centerpiece.” He didn’t wait for Blades to answer, although that may have been because he sensed that Blades had less than zero intention to answer, “The colors. Those yellows and oranges, oh, particularly this one-” He ran a digit alongside the edge of an orange optic which was situated next to the purple one as one might touch a lover, “It rather reminded me of yours. When you’re not wearing the visor, anyway. I do love that color quite so and thought it goes well with The Cause’s color, of course. You really are a natural Decepticon, Blades. Not many can say that.”

“Thanks…I mean, I was built as one sooo…” Blades dragged his statement out, if for no other reason than to annoy Tarn. Of course I’m a natural ‘Con, why else did they build me?

“Yes, I remember. Still-” Tarn waved a servo, dismissively at Blades who rendered Tarn’s compliment rather ineffective with his reasoning. “I cannot but admire a work of art from The Cause when I see one.” 

Blades did not reply to this statement, instead finally caving as he brought the innermost engex to his dermas in hopes of easing the pain of this encounter. This seemed to catch Tarn’s attention as he changed the subject.

“Did you know a mech by the name of Astroilus?” 

This name prompted some thought from Blades before he remembered why it sounded so familiar, drinking down his first taste of the engex. “Mmm…oh yea! Big blue and purple space shuttle, yea? He was one of my first training officers when I onlined. Primus…it's been megacycles since I’ve heard about him and it's been at least over four hundred and eighty thousand years give or take since I’ve seen him. Why? Did he get promoted?”

Tarn seemed to be confused by this sentiment, eyes narrowing slightly, “Why would you assume that?”

Blades shrugged, not really thinking too deeply about his answer, “Because he was a good mech. He was one of the few training officers I had who actually…who saw MTOs as individuals and not just cannon fodder or scrap to send out to be killed in battle. He was nice to us, is all.”

“Hm, quite a shame, then.” Tarn mused as he took a sip of his own engex again before replying, “I wonder if that had any correlation to taste. Doesn’t seem too different from my other vintages. Maybe a little more on the dry side.”

Blades stopped mid-sip as his module was putting the fragmented pieces of information together with what Tarn was getting at. “...What?” 

He hoped he was wrong, the drink now feeling unsteady in his servo.

“Three megacycles ago Astroilus aided the Autobots in the detonation of a major Decepticon MTO factory and satellite station. It was the one in which you were built. Goras-Von, I believe it was called? Anyway, he managed to escape, although still refusing to join the Autobots outright as he went on the run. To make things short: he ended up on the list, we got to him, and dealt with a traitor. We happened to be running low on our store of innermost energon and I also had a little hobby of distilling energon into engex around that time, still do occasionally, and figured why not? He’s one of the better vintages I made, although not quite on par with how phase sixers turn out. I’m still not sure what it is about a phase sixers spark, but my, does the innermost energon from them pack an extra kick once distilled.” Tarn rapped his sharpened digits along the table as he finished his explanation, “So what do you think?”

Blades stared forward, intake slightly agape as his blades on his back twitched. 

How in the frag am I supposed to answer to that?

‘Oh lovely, Tarn! Absolutely the most savory engex I’ve ever had! I mean, he was nice, but this makes it so much better now! He was a traitor anyway so at least his fragging treacherous self got put to good use! Thank you, Tarn! Want to go back to my room for a good fr- ’

“Oh.” Blades composed himself, drawing his jaw back up, “Its good.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say any more as he felt his vocalizer seize up suddenly upon remembering the interactions he had with Astroilus. They always seemed like a ray of light on even the most dreary training sessions. Particularly he remembered how Astroilus was the one who gave him his first datapad, loaded with a copy of Towards Peace. He wished he had never heard of that damned book…

“That it is.” Tarn agreed, watching as Blades set down his drink upon the table, using a servo to shove it away, but not too forcefully as he felt weird about handling the remnants of someone who he knew well in such a manner. Instead of talking further, Tarn reached out a servo, bringing it to grab a hold of Blades’s own. The sudden act threw Blades off as he glanced up at Tarn with a confused expression. Tarn nodded down to their hands as he intertwined his digits in between Blades’s own. He stayed like that for a moment before shifting his digits around once more over Blades’s stiff servo whose own digits were outstretched. He pulled Blades’s servo forward towards himself before loosening his grip and making deliberate taps of certain digits to the back of Blades’s servo. After a pause, Tarn brought his thumb digit to Blades’s wrist, nearly getting his digit to run along Blades’s wrist wires before-

Blades’s servo shot away, landing on his chassis as his other servo held it as if it was injured, “What was that?”

“I asked you what you thought of section two of Towards Peace. I don’t recall that we have talked about that part yet. The interpretations vary greatly there and I wanted to hear your take.”

“You…you what?”

“Do you not know how to-?”

“How to freak somebody out?? No! Apparently not!”

It was then Tarn realized his mistake and how strange that must have seemed as he withdrew his servo from the table, bringing it to rest within his other servo as he ran his thumb digit over his palm, “Ah …I take it you don’t know Chirolinguistics?”

“Chiro- what?!”

“Speaking hand. Servo-speak. There's other names, but…you don’t know it? I thought at least some basics and even general knowledge about it was fairly standard.”

Blades cut his optics from behind his visor, “You’re joking.”

“I’m not quite known for that, but I can try if you’d like.”

“No, just-” Blades held up his servos in a stopping motion as he brought out his datapad. There was one way he could confirm this for sure as he looked up ‘Chirolinguistics’ on it. Just the name itself sounded ridiculous. Sure enough it looked to be a real thing. “Well, frag me…” Blades hissed as he scrolled the information databases about that subject before closing the datapad looking rather violated still at having his servo handled that way out of nowhere. 

“I guess that's just another thing they didn’t teach us before shipping us off across the galaxy.” To die in countless horrible and useless ways for the cause, Blades wanted to add, but thought better of it.

“Hm, that is unfortunate. MTO education programs have gone down in recent years I suppose. I always thought that was a horrible idea. No need to halfway do things when it should be done right or not at all. I’ll make sure to bring that issue up at the next Decepticon High Command meeting.” 

Blades looked at Tarn with a deadpan look once again, not quite what the proper response to that would be, “Thanks.”

“But of course,” Tarn raised his glass slightly as if in a toast as he took another drink, “Perhaps I could teach you some? In situations where one cannot verbally speak such as undercover, stealth, or other covert operations it is quite… handy.” Tarn gave a restrained chuckle to himself as he put extra emphasis on his pun. 

This was Blades’s cue to leave.

The scratch of metal on metal sounded as Blades pushed out his chair, getting his datapad and beginning to walk off before Tarn stood as well.

“Would you like to take the rest of your engex with you-?”

“No. Keep it. I’ll ask if I want it.” Blades mumbled from halfway across the room already, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the daily meeting on the bridge.”

“Yes. Good, good. Remember to bring your initial estimates on our fuel conservation plan-”

The hydraulic hiss of the door cut off Tarn as Blades left without another word. Tarn looked back at Blades’s mostly full glass of engex and cursed under his vents to himself. “I knew I should have gone with that other batch of engex…This one is far too acidic.” He shrugged, knowing Blades was usually rather short anyway so he considered this good try. 

It was fairly longer than he initially thought Blades was going to stay.

Which wasn’t saying much…but he’d take it and besides there was always room for improvement. 

Chapter Text

“Drag the syllables out more. Focus on the sounds. Can you do that for me, Vos?”

A series of mechanical, borderline archaic, scrabbling noises were issued from the small dark bot in reply. Blades took that as a ‘no’ or at least some sort of resistant reply however Tarn nodded and continued. 

“Good, good. I believe in you, Vos. Another try.”

“You got it, bud…” Blades piped up from his seat off to their side, his encouragement was deflated by its tone which was rather monotonous and distracted as he looked out of the ship’s window. Several arcs had already passed since Tarn had dragged Blades into helping Vos learn more Neocybex which had quickly turned into a one on one session between Vos and Tarn, Blades there as a weak morale booster more than anything.

Vos vented, his small frame settling back in his seat in the mess hall further as he concentrated, arms crossed.

“De- Decom-“ another frustrated series of noises sounded from him again. Tarn sounded out the word again to help.

“De- cep- ti- cons. You can do it. Try again.”

A low hiss akin to a near detonating bomb slithered forth from Vos’s vocalizer, unnerving Blades who moved to the side, away from them slightly as Tarn just vented, bringing his servos to clasp before him on the table. It was then, in that moment of momentary weariness from Tarn that Blades thought of something far more entertaining than just watching this slow burning wreck take place. 

“Tarn?”

“Yes, Blades?” His attention was snared quickly as this was the most enthusiastic tone he had received from Blades just in that one word than the entirety of his others so far in this session.

“You’ve been at it awhile, let me have a go at it.” He scooted closer to them, Tarn nodding in agreement, but Blades added on the most important part to this plan that would not let it happen if it was not for this one detail, “Alone. Less pressure on Vos maybe, yeah?”

Shifting on the bench slightly, Tarn seemed to mull over the idea before giving in fairly quickly, but added a limit of his own (Of course, he always has to be in control…Blades added internally), “Very well. Two kliks.” Two kliks?? That’s nothing!

Giving a smile and a nod, Blades agreed, “Cool, thanks…sir.”

Tarn gave a single weary nod, getting up and making his way over to the doorway. It shut with a thud and near immediately, Blades slid down the bench seating to sit right across from Vos who indeed seemed more relaxed with just them, shoulder plating settling down by just a hair. 

“Okay, Vos, I’ve got a word for you but I promise it’s easy.” As if in a doubtful tone, another series of mechanical scrabbling noises came from Vos.

“No, no. I promise, really! Just one word: Frag.”

Vos brought his arms over themselves as he crossed them over his chest, clearly contemplating this word before giving his first shot at it. “Fr- eg.” 

“Close, you’re almost there: Fr- ag. It’s an ‘Ah’ in the middle there, not an ‘e’ but you’re close.”

He tried again: “Fr…ah…g.”

“Yep that’s it, bud! Now bring it together.”

“Fr- ag. Frag. FRAG!” Vos’s servos clanged together with joy, a lighter, happy tone issuing from his vocal processor as he finally got a word correct. Blades knew it was just a matter of Tarn having been rather over ambitious and needing to take a step back to less complex words, however he also was fully aware of the specific less complex word he had chosen to teach Vos. Tarn would have no love for that, but of course to Blades, that was the best part.

Almost on cue, after another few moments in which Blades congratulated Vos on his success and let him take a break with their remaining time, the door slid open at last revealing both Blades’s and, today specifically, Vos’s bane. Tarn walked back over and stood there as Blades got up and walked to the opposite side of the table’s bench, sitting next to Vos. He didn’t exactly want to be right next to Tarn when he found out about his and Vos’s exploits. Just in case…

“So, Vos, did Blades make any progress with your educational endeavors?”

Vos nodded. Blades held his vents as he brought a servo up to his intake, covering the lower half of his face as he readied himself for what was about to come.

“Well…do you care to demonstrate?” Tarn clasped his hands before him on the table, looking as if a strict principal or a dean. Blades had to take very deliberate effort to not show his amusement, the attempt akin to a complex open spark surgery. One wrong move and…

“Frag.” 

“I…I beg your pardon, Vos? Could you repeat that?” Tarn looked taken off guard, not sure whether to be angry yet or just vaguely pissed, but also not quite sure what just happened.

“FRAG!” Vos repeated, louder this time as he dragged the word out again, “FR- AG.”

Tarn was rigid, expression entirely unreadable from behind his mask, optics alight in a red, hazy wrath as they shifted from Vos to Blades now. The near chuckle that had come from Blades was strangled in his vocal processor as he took in the full look of Tarn. He kept a servo over his intake, his other servo coming to rest on the elbow of his other as he feigned a look of intense concentration. He nearly played stupid and asked what was the matter to Tarn but thought better of it. He’d be lucky to escape this in one piece. Time to start talking...

“Blades…care to share why you taught Vos ‘frag’ as your choice word?” Blades composed himself from behind his servo, now with an expression of dire seriousness he mimicked Tarn’s own stance of clasping his servos before himself, not giving anything away of how amusing he really thought this situation was.

“Actually, Tarn sir, I have an entirely reasonable justification for why I chose ‘frag’ as a lesson for Vos: length.” 

“Length?”

“Yes. The word you were trying to teach him was a bit more complicated than all of the other ones he’s managed to get down. Think about it: Decepticons, that’s four syllables, while the main ones he’s learned and can remember so far are all one or at the max two. Take what Kaon taught him: ‘wear my face’. Those are all one syllables. We need to start with smaller words before immediately jumping to larger ones, no matter how important those larger ones may be, it’s just not how Vos is able to learn. It’s like building a land base: gotta start with the ground up before you put a roof on it.”

“That…” Tarn still looked rather peeved at the entire situation although his optics seemed to ease slightly, posture releasing some of its tension as he pondered Blades’s words, actually finding a very valid point in them. As much as he hated it. “…makes sense. However, I quite disagree with your decision to use ‘frag’ as your choice word. It was rather ill decided, Blades, a quite immature display of sparklingish behavior.” Tarn was still clearly annoyed at this situation however he seemed to just be resigned to a tired disappointment as he really did see Blades’s point of why he chose that word. He understood why, but was still in disagreement of the choice. He would live with it though and more importantly Blades would live to see another day as well, much to his own relief.

Blades gave a nod, suppressing a smile as he replied, “I now in hindsight see that was a rather bad decision and I thank you for seeing and understanding my reasons. Forgive me for my puerile behavior…sir.” As much as it caused Blades to give an internal eye roll he thought it better to leave this interaction in Tarn’s somewhat good graces if he was to pull another gag on him anytime soon. Which he desperately wanted to do so he bit the bullet and did it. As expected it worked like a charm. It always did with Tarn. Especially after he added that ‘sir’ of his.

Tarn vented, leaning forward slightly as he unclasped his servos, bringing one to rest over Blades’s own, still clasped, servos as if in a sort of comfort. “Apologies accepted, just think a bit before you do such a foolish thing, yes? Our goal is to give Vos good, well rounded lessons with vocabulary that particularly focuses on The Cause so just keep that in mind the next time you teach him something.” 

‘Frag’ seemed rather relevant to the cause as Blades imagined all of the situations in which he thought of the word, especially recently, all of his uses which related to being in and experiencing things in The Cause. He had half a mind that he wouldn’t even remember that word if he was a neutral or outside of The Cause, away from this damned war. So yea…he thought 'frag' was rather relevant, however he still kept that to himself as he felt Tarn’s servo give a slight squeeze of pressure to his servos as if in confirmation all was well now. That contact had quite the opposite effect on Blades though as Blades simply smiled lightly, and oh-so-fakely, back. 

“I will.” Blades promised, despite how he was already thinking of his next vulgarity to teach Vos, in private this time, so he wouldn’t get immediately caught.

Tarn withdrew his servo after a moment, satisfied with Blades’s answer as he continued, “Good, good. Now how about trying another word, Vos?”

Vos scrabbled a tired noise, placing his helm between his servos, arms now propped on the table with his elbows as he seemed to reluctantly agree. Blades wasn’t quite sure he had a choice in the matter though, already lost in his own mind of planning his next scheme against the leader of the DJD, drowning out his voice in his own thoughts as he watched Tarn and Vos go back and forth again. 

He figured his days were probably numbered at this rate, but cared not because at least this was one bit of fun in a near unbearable pit of Unicron. He might as well make the most of his time here.

What else did he have to live for now?

Chapter Text

“So let me get this straight, Tesarus. I’ll have…”

“A flashlight.”

“And-?”

A rattle of metal sounded as Tesarus handed Silverblade a series of chains, “Leash.”

“Leash. Okay…and?”

“A BAP.”

“A BAP?”

“B. A. P. Bioelectric Armament Pole.”

“Which will help me… how?”

“Mostly to stop you from ending up as his newest chew toy. Keep up, Blades. I thought Tarn said you were smart or something…”

Blades vocalized a vent, rolling his optics as he walked around Tesarus now to continue to his task, “He says a lot of things, Tess.” He was about half way down the hall, nearly at the door to the lower decks of the Peaceful Tyranny when he realized Tesarus hadn’t followed after him. “Uh, Tess, c’mon we should get this done before the others get back. I don’t feel like hearing a Tarnian lecture for the eightieth time this week…Tess?” Blades’s tone grew less sure and more quiet as he saw Tess now smiling, arms crossing as his inner chassis of blades churned slowly as if in amusement at Blades's realization.

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what?’ you’re…you’re coming with me right?” Blades began to give an uneasy laugh as he walked back over to Tess, steps taking on a cocky sort of swagger as if approaching a good friend that one was accustomed to getting into trouble with. “Tesssss…c’mon now. I mean it, we should get going-”

“Who said ‘we’?”

“Tess.” Blades’s voice became sharper now, optics widening as he became all too aware of what this meant. 

“Blades, you’ll be fine!” A bark of a laugh shot past Tess’s intake as he waved a hand as if to send Blades on his merry way. “It’s sparkling’s play, really. Go. If you’re not back in an arc I’ll go look for you. Your aft probably would get lost down there anyway…”

“Get. Fragged.” Each word was accentuated with a jab of his BAP, the long charcoal hued metal pole giving a spark of electricity at each thrust as he spun on his heel and continued down the hall to the door to the lower decks. It's fine, I’m fine! I…I know where I’m going, I saw a map of the ship layout for the lower decks…once. I’m fine. I’m NOT going to get lost, I’m-

A large metallic bang signaled the closing of the door as the remaining light from the hall was snuffed out. Flicking on his flashlight, he looked down a near pitch black set of stairs which now began to look more and more like a large beast’s gaping maw. I’m going to get snuffed down here…Blades thought miserably, however he started to think a little more hopefully after taking his first few steps down the stairs, beginning to feel a little less as if he was actually walking into a predator’s intake.

After reaching the bottom of the stairs he did a quick survey of either end of the hall which ran to the left and right, bright yellow spotlight giving a stark look at what was there. The emptiness of the halls seemed to stare back at him. Nothing…

After taking a step to the left, Blades got the sudden feeling to go to the right. He wasn’t quite sure if this was due to sensing that his quarry was there or maybe because he felt it wasn’t there and thus safe. Either way he figured he’d probably run into that…creature eventually while down here so he took a right. Why not ?

-

It had definitely been over an arc now.

Perhaps more than three even, as Blades trudged along, BAP folded up and clipped to the side of his hip plating as he gave an audible groan. The eerie atmosphere of the lower decks and the occasional creaks of metal shifting and settling on the ship had worn off on him within the first arc, causing him to be in his current state of boredom with a slight sense of hopelessness at ever getting this particular task done. He was partially convinced that thing wasn’t even down here anymore. Primus, he wasn’t even sure it had ever been down here.

Well if it is down here I’m sure it can hear me…

“Come on out, little guy. I know you might, but I don’t bite! I promise!” 

Another bout of silence met him as he continued on in his one sided conversation. Two could play at this game. “I know you’re down here! HEY! I HEARD YOU LIKE TO EAT BOTS! I BET I TASTE GREAT!! WANNA GIVE ME A TRY!?”

A lone groan of metal from a wall sounded as if in a reply, the echo of his yells fading into the halls with a ghostly vibration as he suddenly grew conscious of his situation again. A lone mech with minimal combat experience down here with a possible apex predator. Growing stiff, Blades felt as if that particular apex predator perhaps had its eyes on him now as he continued walking down the hall, steps quickening as he now tried to get his bearings, mumbling under his breath. I’ve been long enough down here that I should probably just go back and get Kaon to wrangle his mutt…

“The exit…exit…exit. Slag! Was it down this way or…another two turns after this one…?”

“It was three turns back.”

Blades gave a startled gasp, nearly tripping over his own pedes as he turned around in a jump, swearing loudly at this new guest to his quest. “FRAG!!” 

“Language, dear Blades.”

“Don’t you- I- don’t sneak up on me like that!! I thought you were the Pet!” 

Tarn gave a melodramatic vent, droning on as he walked up closer to Blades, standing before his rather shaky frame now. “Oh Blades, now how could I have been the Pet if what alerted you to my presence was my words? The Pet cannot speak, the last I remembered, that is unless you’ve been teaching him some modern vernacular while you’ve been down here-“ a clawed servo of Tarn’s brushed against Blades’s shoulder pauldron as if in an attempt at comfort which failed miserably as Blades simply shuddered at the contact as Tarn lowered his voice, “-all alone, in the dark.”

“I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I know where I’m going, Tarn…sir.” Blades hastily shouldered his hand off of him, walking further down the hall with quick steps before he came to a stop upon remembering Tarn’s first words he nearly forgot already. It was three turns back. He elected to ignore this advice, continuing down the hall. There was probably another loop back around here somewhere…

“Blades, the exit is back here, I really doubt you want to go to the dead end of a smelting pool room…” Blades stopped again, thinking of the Pet tackling him out of nowhere in such a setting as they both tumbled into a room sized smelting lake. Perhaps such a fate still wouldn’t be as bad as having to listen to Tarn for however long this purgatory is going to last …Part of him still felt guilty for thinking such a thing as he ran his servo over the side of his shoulder, right where he remembered Disk wore his badge. He shouldn’t think such things while he was still alive to think them for many other mechs weren't as lucky. Another thought struck him suddenly as he wrinkled his nose. Why the slag do they need a whole room for smelting when they have Helex?? 

Sighing, Blades indeed turned around although didn’t say a word to Tarn as he walked past him. He wasn’t so lucky to receive the same treatment from Tarn who simply took this as some sort of invitation to be as bothersome of a mech could possibly be, pink hued biolights causing a mild interruption between the pitch black of the halls and the stark yellow light of Blades’s flashlight as Tarn kept in stride besides Blades.

“No need to act so acidulated, Blades. It’s an honest mistake for someone who hasn’t been down here yet. I had a little talk with Tess about sending you down here alone. He shouldn’t have done such a thing especially considering how he’s the one who let the Pet slip from his grasp in the first place. It never did really listen to him too well…but-” Tarn looked towards Blades with a renewed dazzle of interest in his optics that made Blades contemplate using the BAP on him, “You did accept his challenge. That was rather dangerous, Blades, but I have to admit your courage in the face of such a creature that most regular mechs cower at the sight of is no such small thing. It makes me think that maybe you have some potential for further endeavors for our team, perhaps even going out on-”

“Tarn.” Blades snapped “I’m fine. I can do this alone.”

“Really? Do you think so?” One of Blades’s optics twitched at Tarn’s tone. He wasn’t entirely sure whether he was teasing or just simply asking, but every syllable from that damned mech was driving him up the wall. It likely wasn’t the smartest thing to say since Blades knew how dangerous the Pet could be, especially having seen the sheer amount of energon which often coated its beastly form when they came back from missions. He stifled a vent, stopping in his tracks as he turned to Tarn, yellow optics seeming to shine with the same intensity as his flashlight.

“I’ll be back up there in-” Blades paused as he checked his internal chronometer, “Half an arc if I still can’t find the thing, okay? Just let me concentrate. Alone.”

A silence settled between them which nearly had Blades contemplating transforming and flying down the hall at full speed as he began to wonder if he had gone too far. Perhaps the opposite seemed to be the case as Tarn’s optics widened before taking a slightly downcast gaze upon Blades.

“Very well, but dear Blades-” Tarn reached out and took a hold of Blades’s free servo in a swipe that gave Blades an unnerving reminder of how quick Tarn could be for a mech of his size. Slipping something small and round into Blades’s servo, Tarn continued, “It’s Kaon’s. An auditory device of sorts he developed to occasionally call the Pet back if it’s feeling rather rebellious or if it gets loose from its leash. It should help to summon it, make the job a bit quicker, hm?”

“I…” Pondering the small device he clicked it a few times, furrowing his brow as he noted the lack of noise from it. Despite this, he noticed Tarn giving a blink with each click as if perhaps something was bothering him. “Is it broken?”

“No.” Tarn sounded much shorter now as he brought up a servo to knead the side of his helm as if he had a helm ache. “It operates on a wavelength of sound that most mechs can’t hear.”

A light lit up in Blades’s mind as he had a realization, “But you can?”

“Yes, I suppose it's a side effect of that outlier ability of mine, but-” Blades held down the device for an elongated click.

“-i-its manageable-” another click.

“-most of-” Click. Click.

“-the-” CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

“-Time. I…I’ll leave you to it Blades. Comm me if you have any further issues with the Pet.” Tarn shook his helm as he gave a short vent, sulking away into the darkness of the hallway, back towards where the exit was behind them. He still seemed reluctant to leave, however even Tarn wasn’t entirely that dense as to not get the not-so-subtle hint from Blades as well as put himself through the now incessant clicking that Blades had started up with the device as he began walking forward again. 

Part of him began to wonder if chasing Tarn off was a bad idea as he began to feel another set of optics on him, different from Tarn’s and with an alternate sort of hunger that was more feral and that knew very little of restraint. Blades’s vents grew shorter until they stopped entirely upon hearing the sound of scraping metal claws clicking upon the floor. He spun around in confusion as the sound seemed to be emanating from everywhere, an echo bouncing around him as if in a sick taunt. Then he heard a snarl behind him as he jumped back and shone his light down a pathway to his left he had just passed. It dead ended into a doorway which was closed, a rather spiky, writhing mess of jagged metal panels was crouched in a corner, fangs bared, glowing red eyes near rabid as they honed in on Blades.

“Easy…” Blades gave several klicks of the device wondering if this creature liked it since it had been developed to make it heed Kaon, however another energon thirsty snarl and flinch of the Pet as it took a step towards him made Blades think otherwise. He tossed the clicker quickly to the side as he knelt down, servos out before him as he talked to this rather unreasonable seeming creature. “Okay! Okay! No clicker. It’s gone for now, okay. Why’d you run earlier, huh? What could have-” As Blades spoke a stray glisten of pink energon caught his optic as he saw its steady flow drip from the side of the Pet’s torso. 

“Oh, did you get hurt out there, Spiky? Can I call you Spiky? I know they call you ‘the Pet’ but between you and me-” Blades whispered as he leaned towards the Pet who had ceased bearing its fangs and instead seemed more curious in Blades now, “I don’t think they’re very creative. You don’t seem like a ‘Pet’ to me. Spiky…Sparky, Spooky…I think you are kind of spooky looking.” A short growl sounded from behind the Pet’s closed jaws. 

“What?! You are! Okay fine, back to Spiky. Do you like that better?” With a shake of his head the Pet gave a snort which Blades took as being better than a growl. “Okay listen, Spiky, I know you hate the collar but-”

The clink of chains sounded from Blades as he unlatched them from his hip, but this noise seemed to set the Pet off as it’s head shot up towards him, its frame crossing most of the gap between them in a single lunge.

“NO! FRAG!!” Blades dove to the side, narrowly missing the Pet who skidded past him and slammed into the wall behind him as it continued its wild series of snaps with its jaw, practically howling as it writhed around to get its bearings again. Blades took advantage of this time to completely abandon the situation, BAP be damned as he transformed in a hurry, his helicopter alt mode narrowly cutting down the hallway as he raced for the exit. One more turn away…er, wait was it two…or three? Slag…

His thoughts were interrupted as he was forced to slow down to recall his pathway out of here which resulted a major mistake. The Pet caught up, a single frenzied swipe from its claws caught Blades in the tail rotor blades as he gave an outcry of pain as he felt knife-like claws rip past his paneling, a spurt of energon leaking from him. Giving a groan, realizing his alt mode was near useless he transformed back to himself, clutching his calf paneling which was now half torn open from the Pet’s first attack. Grabbing the BAP from the side of his hip plating he elongated it out with a whipping motion as it hummed with electricity. “Okay, I tried being nice, Pet. I really did. Ow -!!” 

Seeming to not care too much over Blades’s genuine effort to help it, the Pet lunged again at Blades who instinctively stuck out at the Pet with the BAP which caused a loud AEIIII AEIIII from the Pet who jumped back in surprise. Blades managed to get his footing better as he shook the end of the BAP at it. “Bad! Bad Spiky! Wait until Kaon hears about this! Ugh, now I’m going to have to see Nickel too! This is a lose-lose situation, Spiky!!”

‘Spiky’ didn’t quite care for Blades’ concept of a lose-lose situation as he hissed again before attempting another assault at him, however Blades braced himself for his next idea of defense as he felt the beast tackle him to the ground. He let out a vent as the air was crushed from him as the Pet was now fully on his chassis, torso panels groaning at its weight as he saw the open maw of the Pet nearly ready to come down on his helm. 

In a swift motion, he thrusted the BAP inbetween he Pet’s jaw, holding each side of the pole with a servo as he held it in place, preventing the Pet from biting down on him fully as he shoved its jaws back. Now with the Pet’s jaws open, Blades realized this creature had several rows of dagger-like teeth which caused Blades to gasp as his resolve to get this thing away from him only grew tenfold now. The BAP’s main pole gave a slight crack as the Pet’s jaws continued to clamp down upon it. “Ahahaa, nice Pet. Good Pet, don’t eat my spark, please - AHHH!!”

A pitched scream came from Blades as the BAP gave way, snapping in half with a fritz that signaled a surge of electricity through it as Blades quickly tossed one end to the side, taking the main taser laden end and thrusting the short length in between the Pet’s now outstretched jaws vertically as it attempted to come down upon his helm. A wailing howl escaped it as it clamped its jaws down onto the pole which gave a last shock of electricity as it did so, seeming to embed itself into the roof and bottom end of the Pet’s mouth as it jumped back in confusion and pain from Blades.

“See! I know you don’t like it, but that's what happens sometimes when you try to eat people!!”

An anguish filled wail sounded from the Pet as Blades carefully limped over to its bristling form that had now curled up beside a wall, adjusting the chain leash in his servos as he tried talking to it again. “Aw…I’m sure that does hurt, Spiky. I guess Nickel can give you a look over too. You and me both, buddy. Stay still, would you?” 

The Pet gave a garbled sound of static as it seemed to sense its defeat, allowing Blades to toss the leash over its head as it tightened around its throat. “There, c’mon. We’ve spent enough time down here. Let's get fixed up. I promise I’ll give you an extra energon biscuit if you don’t give me any trouble on the way back. Does that sound good?”

As if in reply the Pet eased itself up, tongue lolling out from the side of his propped open jaws as he practically pranced past Blades, seeming to know where the exit was better than Blades himself did. As if in a swap of roles, Blades vented before allowing himself to be led on by the Pet, uneven pedesteps echoing down the hall which was now dotted with leaking energon from the battered pair of misfits.

-

“Ah, Blades I was wondering when you woul- Blades?! What in Megatron’s cannon happened to you?”

“The Pet.” Blades sighed, letting go of the Pet’s leash as it already seemed to know where it was going once they opened the door to the upper decks and after it had seen Kaon standing in the hall, right next to a rather taken off guard Tarn. Blades kept walking, momentarily giving a hint of a grin as he saw Kaon’s joy at seeing his strange little creature again, its tail wagging wildly now as Kaon gave a Tsk, removing the broken BAP from the Pet’s jaws. Kaon shot a sideways look at Blades as he held the fragment of the BAP, before giving an expression that would have promised an optic roll if he had optics as he turned back to his companion, rubbing his ears as he murmured unintelligible words to him. 

Tarn followed Blades, matching his stride as he eventually grabbed Blades by the arm to stop him since he seemed to be ignoring him. “Blades, what happened down there?”

“The Pet.”

“Yes, I understand that, but-” Tarn bent down, running several digits carefully along Blades’s torn calf. “What exactly did it do to you?”

“My tail rotor blades got a clawful. I’ll just run by the med bay and have Nickel patch me up. It’s fine, really, I don’t- no- nono-!” Blades didn’t exactly get a say as Tarn hoisted him up, carrying him bridal style across his arms as he held him to his chassis. “I can walk, you know. I just did earlier when I was bringing the Pet bac-”

“Shhh…You shouldn’t be on that leg, Blades, it might just exacerbate any other tears or wounds you have and you’re leaking energon too. Allow me to take you to the med bay. I know Nickel can fix you right up.” Despite how this sounded as if a gracious offer, Blades was making a valiant effort to squirm from Tarn’s grasp as he knew all too well this was far from a selfless act for Tarn to offer as he now had a captive audience to whatever boorish lecture or left field propositions he had in mind for Blades. 

“I. Can. Walk!”

“Oh I’m quite sure you can, but you really shouldn’t, you know.” After they had made it the length of the hall Blades finally sighed, going limp in Tarn’s arms as he gave up on his escape, instead using this opportunity to ask about that thing Tarn had mentioned earlier down in the lower decks. He felt uneasy if it was what he thought it was…

“Tarn?”

“Yes, Blades?”

“You said something earlier about me going after the Pet alone, something about ‘further endevors’...?”

"Ah, yes I was rather surprised that you did such a thing having seen how the Pet can get sometimes and with its whole penchant for…well, eating sparks and such. I do think it might be time, after a little training of course.”

Blades looked up to Tarn’s mask which stared forward, optics shining with what appeared to be pride. “Time for what?”

“For you to accompany us on our missions.” Blades forced himself to swallow down a sick feeling within him as he looked out before them, narrowly avoiding Tarn’s optics which now focused on him intently as if trying to read his reaction. “Now I know it will be a lot to learn but I promise you can have a few sessions to shadow us in the field, take some notes. Perhaps even think of your own signature execution style before you really get into the thick of it, dear Blades. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? You can be by my side as I work outside of the Tyranny. I just know you’ll love it. ” That harping tone laced with his outlier ability struck deep within Blades as he froze upon thinking of what this meant, expression going slack as he felt Tarn’s grip tighten on him as if part of him was still afraid he’d fly away.

Me. Executing traitors. Traitors…just like Diskshift. Traitors that…well, most of them probably aren’t even really traitors …The thought made his helm spin as he felt near to offlining although he wasn’t sure if that was due to the proposition or the fact that his leg was still bleeding energon profusely now as Tarn had seemed to take notice as well, quickening his steps. Part of him was disgusted beyond comprehension at the thought of joining the DJD on their hunts. 

It was one thing to be trapped on their ship doing their busy work, but another to be the servo that dealt the killing blow to a possibly innocent mech. However another part of him grew interested at the prospect of moving closer to the central point of action for the DJD, thinking perhaps if he was in the eye of the storm that he could do so much more to stop as many innocent mechs as he could from getting killed or tortured by this group of sadists. Ultimately as he thought of how helpless he felt seeing Disk’s lifeless husk before him the latter won out as he swore to do all he could to prevent that from happening to another innocent mech.

“That sounds…good, Tarn. That sounds good.” The words escaped past Blades's intake as if against his will. They felt strange. Unnatural. So unlike his normal self. A flicker of excitement lit up Tarn’s bloody red optics as he met Blades’s own optics which took on an unfaltering, rather emotionless look.

“Oh, that is so delightful to hear, my Blades.” Tarn’s helm lowered, his mask now brushing along the side of Blades’s helm as they rounded the corner to the med bay as he made a promise. “I swear you won’t regret it. This is going to be the best decision you’ve made since joining us.”

Yeah …Blades thought, as he felt himself get lowered onto an exam slab in the med bay, the sharp cutting voice of Nickel being drowned out by his own thoughts and the deeper tone of Tarn’s vocalizer as Blades stared ahead, focusing solely on the near blinding exam light positioned above him. 

I bet it will be…

Chapter Text

It was time.

If only he could just bring himself to weld the damn thing…

Diskshift’s old Decepticon brand was pressed against the side of Blades’s shoulder pauldron. A small welding tool he had nabbed while in Nickel’s med bay earlier that cycle was sitting against its edge, waiting to be used. He was partially afraid of messing up the last scrap of Disk he had left, but alas he knew this was what he wanted to do. What he needed to do. 

The welding device clicked on as it gave a hum and a slight pain as he felt the edge of the metal fuse to his own paneling. He took a deep vent, steadying himself as he focused on keeping his servo straight and rigid. If he really was going to be conducting training as Tarn had mentioned for going out in the field, he needed to have this reminder of why he was still here. Why he even bothered doing whatever the slag he was here for. 

It was his own personal memorial to Disk. 

No one could take this from him and he doubted Tarn would disapprove of yet another Decepticon brand being placed upon him, even if it was for Disk. Despite his lack of regret surrounding the situation with Disk, even Tarn had seemed to catch on that Disk had meant a lot to Blades, often changing the subject if something related to him came up, for both of their sakes. It was one small thing Blades could be thankful for, however another part of him wanted to scream in Tarn’s face about how much of a disgrace he and the DJD were to the Decepticon cause. How many of their shared innocent brethren were killed over ridiculous rules that Blades was sure more than half of their remaining troops likely weren’t even aware of? He didn’t like thinking about that number too much.

Perhaps one day he would have the strength or stupidity to do such a thing.

As he finished up with the weld he vented, rubbing a small circle on the badge as it finished setting in place, he felt as if that particular screaming match was coming and soon. 

No, no…don’t do it, Primus he’d probably string you up in the cells with that last defector they hunted for saying such things. 

Still. The temptation was there and in full force especially now that he had that fresh constant reminder welded to his shoulder.

He opted to recharge for a bit, get the initial anger and resentment out after a fresh change up which usually did help with his shortening temper surrounding his work with the DJD. Alas he couldn’t have that. Of course he couldn’t.

Knock! Knock-knock !

Blades’s vocalizer groaned as he simply waited and laid upon his slab, knowing exactly who this was and more specifically, how if they wanted to, they would be able to come in. One of the downsides to being the DJD’s lackey: no locks.

A hydraulic hiss occurred as Blades just kept his optics shut, laying on his recharge slab as if in a deep slumber. Slow pedesteps sounded up to the slab before an all too familiar voice carried to Blades’s audials. 

“Blades, I know you’re not recharging. Your slab isn’t even on.” 

He kept his optics closed.

“Oh come now I know you didn’t forget about your first scheduled training session. Blades.”

Reluctantly Blades opened his optics for no other reason than how Tarn had hinted his name with that damned outlier ability of his. Blades reminded himself that if he was ever to attack this slagger that he should go for the vocalizer first and foremost. 

“Hm? Oh…that was scheduled for today, wasn’t it?”

Tarn gave a nod, bringing his servo up to Blades’s shoulder before he stopped, optics growing wide at his new addition. 

“Blades, what is…ah another brand.” He gave a sudden chuckle as if talking about perhaps a new paint job that suited his interest well, causing Blades to nearly roll his optics, however he kept his composure. “How ambitious of you to seek a brand collection before even going out on the field.”

“Actually it’s-”

Tarn leaned forward as Blades continued to lay on the slab, a pointer digit placing itself against Blades’s dermas to silence him as he continued in a hushed tone, “You don’t have to justify this need to me, dear Blades. You would be surprised at how common brand hunting is among the Decepticon ranks. A few of our former Justice Division members even had such an inclination. I just know you’ll have plenty of them once you get on the field. I can weld them onto you and give you the proper rites to them myself.”

Blades stiffened at that last proposition as if it was an offer to get put in Tess’s oversized blender, however he forced himself to go along with it…for now. If he had to have the strange persona of a brand obsessed trainee in the DJD then so be it if it was what allowed him to save even a single life while in the field.

“I…I think I can manage. This one turned out alright.”

As if to test his words, Tarn ran his digits over the brand, giving a quiet hum as he thought of another question. “Where did you get this?”

“I…” Slag. He hadn’t exactly thought of a story for that yet. Perhaps the truth would serve him well in this particular case.

“It’s Diskshift’s. I kept it with me.”

“Ahh, I see…already getting a head start with your collection. You did weld it well for your first one, although I would suggest I do so for any future ones.” Tarn gave a final trace over the badge with a digit before bringing them to hold Blades’s jaw as he gave a humored whisper as if this was a secret between the two of them, “Well then, consider this first little treat of yours on me then, my dearest Silverblade.”

Blades nearly gagged at those words and the implication of how Tarn had framed Disk’s badge, Disk's death as his gift of all things, to Blades. He really hoped he would shut up during their training and not push this subject again.

Luckily for Blades’s own comfort, Tarn leaned back up, giving him a come hither motion as he stood in the doorway. 

“Come now, it’s time to train.”

-

“You’re too tense. Keep your arms up. Back blades down as well, you don’t want them to get knocked off or snapped in a fight. Then you’re grounded. Then you’re dead. Can’t have that, now can we?”

Maybe. Blades thought as he adjusted his stance. That wouldn’t exactly be the worst thing in his mind compared to having to do another session with Tarn in the training room. He replied with the opposite of what he was thinking. It unnerved him at how easy that was becoming lately. “No.”

“Good.” Tarn agreed, doing yet another walk around Blades to check his stance, red optics honed on any fault in his technique as if a sniper rifle’s laser sight to its target. “It’s better, but you need it to be as effective as possible. As an aerial frame you don’t have the luxury of taking many hits before sustaining major damage so you need to focus on two things in a fight: defense and speed. Kaon and Vos, despite not having aerial frames, have a similar plight. Not much armor or reinforcing makes it a little more complicated when facing down a heavily armored opponent.”

Blades sensed this was becoming a lecture now, but kept his stance as he listened to Tarn. As much as he wanted to ignore him, he figured if he really was going out into the field and especially if he ever wanted a chance against Tarn when he finally decided to make his move, he needed to listen now. 

Tarn’s sharp tone cut through the sparring area of the training room, creating a minor echo as he continued. “Prioritize your tactics that will serve you in the long run: Don’t get hit, focus on evasion as your defense. Dodge, fly, do what you have to do to avoid getting a blow. Use your speed to your advantage to make a hit, but make it only when you have a good gap open. Never overly compromise your defense in order to attempt a hit to your opponent. There’s no point in trying to win a fight if you put all of your shanix in one move only to get injured or killed. Find the balance between your offense and defense and you’ll never go wrong.”

At last Tarn stopped pacing around, pausing before Blades as he looked him over one last time. “I normally don’t offer such things, but this is your first training session. Would you like a warning first?”

“What?” It took Blades a moment before he realized too late what Tarn had meant. 

Tarn’s massive figure lunged forward, sharpened servos in a fist that was now hurling itself towards Blades’s helm. A rattled gasp escaped Blades as he dodged, rolling to the side and jumping back up only to see Tarn having already righted himself. The tank spun, a leg kicking out to try and get Blades again, however Blades transformed, his helicopter form barely missing the edge of Tarn’s leg paneling as he flew up. Transforming back, Blades grabbed onto the rafters above and crouched on a metal bar, watching Tarn curiously to see how he would react.

A humored laugh escaped Tarn as he gave a few slow claps before folding his arms, looking up to Blades. “You’re learning, Blades! Good evasion and excellent thinking on your pedes, although I will say you cut it rather close with that last transformation. I wasn’t going particularly fast either. You could improve there, but no matter. Try and go for offense now. Whenever you’re ready.”

Blades’s energon ran cold as he thought about this. It was his best opportunity to kill Tarn here and now. If he didn’t succeed, then no doubt Tarn would brush his attack off as simply a very spirited show of his own combat prowess, however if he did succeed then Blades could write Tarn’s death off to the others as simply a combat exercise gone wrong. Whether or not they would still let him live after that was of little consequence and not a particularly important factor in his mind. At least not right now.

Grabbing a hold of the metal railing that made up the rafting, Blades dove forward, most of the way down he transformed as he flew to the side at the last minute in an attempt to throw off Tarn’s attention while he transformed back to his mech form and grabbed onto a blade that was on his back. A clangor sounded as he landed beside Tarn, his blade swinging out to make contact with Tarn’s knee joint in an attempt to cripple him. Blades knew he should have gone for his throat first, taking out his vocalizer, however it was a vicious enough move that he wanted to reserve it for when he knew he would be able to take that risk and end Tarn then and there. Right now was too early, he needed to bring him down to his level quite literally so access to his vocalizer was easier. What better way to do that then to cut him down by a peg…or a leg?

SCREECH

The blade was diverted as it noisily recoiled back from Tarn’s arm which had swatted away the blade as if it was a sparkling’s toy. It slipped from Blades’s grasp, the ring of it hitting against the floor echoing through the room.

Scrap.

Blades lept back, bringing a servo behind him to draw out his other blade. Only two more left after this one…Blades thought as he got an even better idea. A shocked expression came across his face as he disengaged his visor, a rarity that caught Tarn’s attention enough for a pause as Blades gasped.

“Helex! WHAT THE FRAG ARE YOU DOING?? THAT’S NOT UP TO CODE!!” Sure enough Tarn’s helm whipped to the side as he turned to see behind him at the door.

Of course there was no one there, although Blades pressed this advantage, leaping forward with a boost of his thrusters as he brandished his blade in an arc, moving it to make contact with Tarn’s helm once he realized that his neck cabling was too surrounded by armor to make a clean cut. Blades supposed taking out his brain module would do. Before he fully turned back around, Tarn’s servo met the blade, thrusting up as his servo contacted it from the side, catching it to direct it past his helm as he still held onto it steadfastly. A thin line of energon seeped past his digit joints as he clutched the sword tighter.

Now with a foothold on part of Tarn’s torso paneling, Blades hesitated, unsure whether to fully give up the blade and let go or to try and keep his distance leverage and take advantage of how close he was to Tarn’s helm. He chose the former, opting to remember Tarn’s own lesson of ensuring his own survival to fight another day by avoiding any major injuries. As he lept back, Tarn’s other servo grasped onto Blades’s leg, causing him to yelp as he lost his momentum. The landing from his fall didn’t hurt as much since Blades had shifted to land on his side rather than right on his back rotor mast.

That was a plus at least. 

Shaking his leg, Blades tried to get Tarn’s servo off of his calf, failing as he was drug forward, towards Tarn who let go of him only to bring his servo back to slam against Blades’s chassis as he crouched over him.

“Valiant effort with a clever little distraction, but-” Tarn bent down further onto a knee as he repositioned his servo that held onto Blades chassis in a way that his cannons now pointed at Blades’s face, his own masked helm moving to the side of Blades's, whispering his words as talking of a shameful secret between the two of them, “-if this was a real fight, Blades, you’d be dead by now.”

Blades’s expression took on a twisted sort of disgust as he writhed below Tarn’s grasp. The weight of his servo was far more than Blades had accounted for, not even adding in how his claws were beginning to put scratches in his chassis plating. Tarn must have felt a sort of pity for the helicopter in his grasp as he relaxed his grip, although remained over Blades as he continued talking, more normally this time. There was a tinge of humor to his tone as if he was simply toying with Blades now, curious to see what he would try next.

“Say if you were stuck like this, for some strange reason your opponent gave you a chance, what would you do? Continue squirming like a dying scrap of Autobot wiring? Come now, Blades, I know you can do better than that.”

“Yeah- yeah I can!” Shooting a servo up, Blades grabbed onto the side of Tarn’s helm, specifically near the edge of his mask as he felt quickly around the edge of it. Tarn’s optics cut at him as if in confusion before they shot wide open upon realizing what Blades meant to do. Right as one of Blades’s digits snagged onto a small lock button on the thin gap between Tarn’s mask and helm, Tarn swung his helm up, narrowly avoiding his mask coming off completely as he used his free servo to drop Blades's other blade and lock the mask back in place right as it shifted loose. He stayed up, away from Blades’s prying servos as he let out a laugh upon seeing this unorthodox tactic that only few traitors dared to do in their dying moments. 

“Good try, although not all mechs care if their masks come off. I wouldn’t bet on that being a good enough distraction in a fight. You’re still trapped. Try again. One more shot.”

Blades ceased squirming as he instead took a completely different route than Tarn was expecting, wrapping his arms in a sense of tired boredom around Tarn’s servo which was still splayed across his chest.

“So why do you care so much about it?”

“About what?”

“Duh, the mask…sir. ” After hearing a whirr of Tarn’s vents, Blades caught himself, adding on a ‘sir’ for safety.

“That’s not relevant, Blades-”

“Actually it is because you said so.” Those talon-like digits clasped harder onto Blades as Tarn’s optics squinted in exasperation.

“And when did I say that?”

“Three meetings ago you said we need to know each other as individuals in order to work as a team. To be aware of each other’s strengths and weaknesses. So why is this a weakness of yours?” It was a hell of a bold question, even by Blades’s standards as he half expected Tarn’s fusion cannons to activate, sending him to a one way meet and greet with the big mech Primus himself. Fortunately that did not happen as Blades thought he saw Tarn roll his optics from behind the mask.

“So you do listen to those talks of mine…I thought you would have ‘drank a quart of Optimus’s discarded oil then licked his filters’ rather than listen to another meeting.”

Blades’s frown evened into a look of shock before he scowled again. “I messaged Tess that in confidence! Have you really been reading my texts too and-? Wait- That's beside the point, you’re just distracting me, of course you do that. You still haven’t told me about the mask yet.”

“Drop. It.” Tarn hissed, shaking Blades’s frame slightly with a servo.

“How about…” Blades dragged his last word on, sounding deeply conflicted before he settled on an answer, “No.”

A rattling scoff sounded from behind Tarn’s mask as he stood, letting Blades go as he scrambled to his pedes. “Okay, if you really want to play that game and get to know your teammates, perhaps I should know a little more about you.”

The return of The Voice set Blades’s wiring on edge as he paced around Tarn, their steps echoing dully as they walked around each other cautiously in a circle. As Blades came near to where his first discarded blade laid, he picked it up again.

Giving a nod to a rather dangerous game, Blades spoke. “Fire away.”

“Gladly,” Tarn’s tone became more light, seemingly gleeful at this prospect of a war of words as he changed his stance from a battle ready crouch to a more distinguished walk, servos moving to hold each other behind his back. “I always wondered, how much did Diskshift mean to you…really?”

This slagging piece of- 

Blades wanted to take the bait so bad, but let it fall before him as he shook it off. “Nothing. He was a co-worker in the Cause, nothing more.”

“Hm, interesting thing to say when apparently you’ve held his brand with you this entire time. The very brand that now is wielded to your arm. Do tell how that correlates to ‘nothing’ for me?” 

“I want to collect brands. His was the first I got ahold of on another mech-”

“Don’t give me that.” Tarn spat his words as if a curse, patience to get a reaction running thin as his steps grew faster, causing Blades to hold his blade tighter as he sped up his walk as well. “I don’t have processor damage, Blades! I remember you cursing me out upon that plateau when I found you. Explain that. Explain that!”

You first. Blades nearly said back, his own brain module still trying to find a way to spin this back onto Tarn, however Tarn’s tone made that appear to be a futile choice. He needed to come up with something. Fast.

“He was the only mech I had known and had met in person for thousands of years, Tarn, so yes I acted out when he was killed-”

One of Tarn’s servos ran over his helm as he shook it in exasperation, “Mechs die all the time, why was he any different?”

The clack of pedes stopped as Blades ceased walking, Tarn doing the same as Blades took his full statement in.

Mechs die all the time, why was he any different?

Why was he any different?

The clangor of Blades’s sword against the ground sounded as the scale of that comment hit him.

This was the leader of the DJD he was talking to, of course he didn’t care or even think about one mech on his list of thousands. This monster had probably killed more mechs on the list than Blades had met in person in his entire span of being online. He had millions of years worth of battle experience, millions of years to be desensitized to the spilling of energon, even when it occurred to those within his own faction. 

What did Blades have in comparison? A fraction of that, not even a million years. An origin from an MTO factory that had been blown up by his traitorous first mentor, before a long lonely stint at a singular remote outpost with his only friend…also a traitor apparently. And now he was trapped in this job for the DJD, a rather literal dead end job in which he didn't see survival as a long term goal.

He had nothing. He was nothing.

Another ring of metal on metal sounded as Blades fell to his knees. His will to go on was slipping from his grasp faster than his own blade had. His helm shifted down as his view remained fixated on the ground before him.

“Do it already.” The hiss of Blades’s second blade getting picked off of the ground by Tarn let Blades know all he needed to know. 

Better to accept it and make it quick.

Tarn stopped to stand right before where Blades knelt as Blades closed his optics, visor flicking back over his optics as lubricant began to leak from them. He didn’t feel like giving Tarn a full view of his grief as he did his worst to him. That was about the last ounce of dignity Blades had within him and wished to keep til offlining.

“I read your file, you know. Surrounded by treason on every side from your inception until the moment fate led me to find you…not that I believe in any of that nonsense.” Tarn was quick to recover his words as he continued, “My point being: I’m astounded you’re as loyal to The Cause as you are all things considered...and occasional crude comments aside.”

One of Tarn’s larger servos took ahold of Blades’s rotor mast on his back as he leaned over him to adjust the very blade that Blades thought was going to be his cause of offlining back into place. It set in with a click, the feeling of the same servo that had threatened to crush Blades chassis now deftly running along his rotor mast, making sure each blade was locked in place causing Blades to flinch.

What the frag is going on…?

“You’re meant to be a Decepticon. A true Decepticon. You’ve been tested by the false who have tried to lead you astray, who have tried to betray you, who have betrayed you, but it’s all behind you now. Put your past behind you.”

The Voice hit Blades, causing him to shudder as Tarn used a digit to snag the bottom chin of Blades’s face plate as he lifted it upwards. It was hard to see Tarn at first, the harsh lighting above him serving to blot out his figure as a dark silhouette before Blades, red optics cutting through the haze to stare at him expectantly.

“Put Diskshift behind you. I know he hurt you. I know you’re confused, you feel betrayed by those closest to you, but I can guide you. I won’t betray you. I can lead you to greatness, Blades. I know you have that potential. Trust me.”

It was the last thing he wanted to do, but he felt himself cave as he replied, although considering how his spark felt as if someone was holding it under an industrial press he had a feeling the Voice had a more than partial say in his answer. “Y-yes. I will.”

That was what had disappointed himself the most. As much as he wanted to wholly blame it on The Voice, he knew there was a part of him not ready to resign to an offlining, a part of him too cowardly to stand up and die for his beliefs when given the slightest chance to escape a trip to the allspark. Part of him that felt this plan of revenge was just a sick excuse to elongate his pathetic life. Gasps came from Blades’s intake as he tried to restrain the streams of lubricant down his faceplate which were swept up by one of Tarn’s digits as he patted the side of Blades’s helm. 

“It’s quite alright, I do know that's a lot for a mech such as yourself. It doesn’t take mere days to change one’s way of thinking either, dear Blades. Megatron spent vorns conversing with me before I found solace in the fact that he was the answer and the Autobots were the true enemy. I believe I can do the same for you as he did me. You can be my very own protege, the cumulation of every bit of the Cause that runs through my wires, that powers my spark. You can be my shining blade, the cutting edge of our cause’s sword.” Tarn’s optics were wide, nearly manic now as he knelt down before Blades on a knee. “You can be everything and more. I can make you that. I can fix you. What say you to that, my Blades?”

Tarn’s servo drew a digit over the side of Blades’s helm, flicking his visor back up to reveal the sheer sense of desolation and hopelessness that plagued Blades's optics. His intake was open, dermas shakily trying to form words as he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Instead a sob wracked him as he brought both of his servos to his helm, hiding his face.

Tarn let out a low hum which sounded to be a dramatic vocalization of his sorrow before he spoke again. “Shhhh…It’s alright now, Blades. You’ll never be betrayed again. I promise you that.”  

Blades didn’t care. 

He didn’t care as those words were spoken. He didn’t care as the sensation of Tarn’s arms wrapped around his frame and drew him in closer to that accursed vocalizer. He didn’t care about those promises, about that future of grandeur of which Tarn assured him of. 

It didn’t matter if Blades would be betrayed again since ultimately he planned on being the very instrument of this mech’s demise. 

Ultimately he didn’t care, a yell of pure misery nearly shorting out his vocalizer as Tarn held him, because no matter what Diskshift wouldn’t ever come back. Astroilus wouldn’t ever come back. No one was coming to save him and this was his life. This or death and still some bit of him clung to the land of the living. A murderer, a monster who had taken the life of his closest friend and countless other innocent mechs now comforted him in a sick twist of fate.

He had a lapse today. A moment of weakness that was required to keep his spark humming, to keep his plan going, but by Primus or whatever being made them all did he plan on fulfilling this promise to himself and his former comrade. 

With every additional murmur of promises of better that were whispered from Tarn’s outlier ability, powered by his accursed spark, Blades simply sealed each word away as motivation to achieve his goal. Even if it took cycles, megacycles, vorns. Even if it took his life, which he was still strangely conflicted about his attachment towards, he intended to keep that promise. He wouldn’t be so weak again as to fail in this when the time came for him to accomplish his goal. 

He would keep going and perhaps if he could, save as many innocent mechs on his way as he could manage. That was his goal for living now.

And mostly, he would kill Tarn.

Just not today.

Chapter Text

The squelch of mud was a disgustingly organic sound that made Silverblade pine for his dry, desert home back at the outpost which was likely gone, destroyed by the Decepticon army after its decommissioning. This ruination was preferable, in commanders’ optics, to letting the base fall into Autobot control. Blades however, didn’t quite give a damn as he followed some distance behind the Decepticon Justice Division which was now stalking its newest target through the dense jungle of a sparsely inhabited, organic-based planet. 

“He’s nearby.” Tarn hummed quietly, strides looking more akin to a confident waltz than how the rest of the DJD’s legs moved in rigid unison. “Helex, take to the west. Kaon, the East. Tesarus, loop back around and make sure our little guest isn’t deciding to evade us with a backtrack. Vos, with me.”

Blades took a plant’s leaf within two digits, rubbing together until the fragile, fibrous surface tore with ease, causing him to let go. As much as he wasn’t  fawning over this new terrain, mostly due to the fact that he knew he’d be picking mud out of his paneling for the next two cycles, Blades did have to admire the resilience of organic beings. During their briefing on this mission, Tarn noted how this planet, Hnoal VII, had been under Decepticon occupation a few centuries ago, abandoned after the frontline of fighting shifted to another quadrant of the galaxy. Despite their previous razing of the planet, a new growth coated its entire surface, organic beings rebuilding their own cities and forming new societies in the time since any Cybertronian last visited Hnoal VII.

Life went on. 

It seemed such a stark contrast to the immovable will of Cybertronians who had been waging this war for what felt like countless years, making Blades admire that will to rebuild and grow that his own kind seemed so lacking in. If only they had shown the same initiative to care for their own and rebuild their home planet, perhaps Blades would actually have had the chance to see his ‘homeworld’ of which he had never stepped foot upon. It was hard to feel sentimental and driven in the righteousness of such a destructive cause, outside of readings Megatron's old writings, when one had no connection to the original land they were still fighting for, its previous life now barren, surface closer to a corpse’s cool indifference. 

Why couldn’t they just-

“SILVERBLADE!”

The call received a jump from the aerial mech as he stood at attention sharply, now aware of his utter distraction which snared the attention of Tarn. His heavy footsteps were now getting louder as Blades realized how far behind he had fallen with his momentary pause to admire the planet’s flora.

“Sir?”

“What are you doing ?” It seemed to be less of a question and more of a ridicule as Tarn pointed sharply forward, ushering Blades to keep walking as he continued his cautionary lecture. “I thought I taught you better than that. What if that plant had a toxin upon it? A corrosive that could eat through plating in a matter of kliks? What would you have done then ?”

“Chop my arm off to prevent it from spreading.” Blades suggested nonchalantly with a sigh, readjusting his visor. It had been misaligned since his last sparring with Tesarus although it wasn’t bad enough to endure Nickel’s berating for not being careful enough while training to get it properly fixed. Tarn hissed under his vents at this reply, knowing how much of a smart aft his attempt-at-a-protege could be at times. Still, he settled his aggravation and spoke again in that lofty tone that ticked Blades off even further as he knew Tarn was far from that pristine and classy image he often attempted to project himself as. 

Blades’s several cycles and dozens of training sessions under Tarn gave more than enough experience and time for Blades to see through that facade. In reality he was a grade-A, meticulous control freak with an unnervingly erratic streak of impatience, likely aided by the Nuke. It often gave Blades pause when he could tell Tarn was near to snapping from his usual collected, mannered self while he was on that substance. Over time Blades had learned to navigate such moods, today being one of the better days since Tarn was rather giddy about testing his new pet project in the field for the first time. This was Blades’s saving grace as he mentally made a warning to himself to keep any other snide comments to a minimum after his previous one. 

“That would be a last resort. What would you really do? Think.”

“I’d get that anti-rust or acid neutralizing solution from my emergency pack,” Blades patted a metal container that was magnetized to his hip, “-and use it. Then I’d comm one of you, probably you, to let you know whether or not I’m fit for continuing the mission or going back to the PT to pay Nickel a visit.”

“The Peaceful Tyranny.” Tarn corrected as he eased up, tension fading as he continued to look at his scanner upon his arm. Distraction began to creep into his tone as his voice quieted, a blip sounding as their optics caught a red Decepticon sigil upon the scanner. “Full names please. And yes, that is correct, Blades.”

“That’s him isn’t it?”

“Mm-hm.” Red optics darted to Blades as if expecting something as Blades could tell Tarn had that Cheshire smile under his mask based on his tone alone. “My dear Blades, I have a special job for you. Fly over the ravine just ahead and greet our guest, if you may? We’ll catch up, but we’ll have to go around the ravine so it may be a few extra kliks until we can get there. Can you do that or are you going to be distracted by some organic waste again?”

As if that’s a question…Blades thought as he huffed and walked to a clearing a few paces beside their trail, transforming without a confirmation and took to the skies. The view was even more overwhelming from above the canopy of the tree system that seemed to engulf the surface into a sea of blue leaves. Another ping sounded as Tarn was now projecting his scanner’s field of range for Blades to reference on his HUD. 

A message popped up alongside it.

Remember our training. You’ll do well, Silverblade.
Just remember: Wrenstrike will lie.
Don’t listen to anything he may tell you.

“Oh, so like you do?” Blades chuckled to himself before having a minor churn of his engines upon the realization that he forgot to check whether or not his mic was muted on their comm system. To his luck, it was. He noted to keep further commentary to his own mind as his helicopter form soared closer to his objective. 

Tarn hadn’t told Blades much about their target, Wrenstrike, other than he had defected from the frontlines, but not before giving a nearby Autobot unit the master code to access the Decepticon MTO factory he had been working at. It seemed clear cut of a traitorous act enough that Blades didn’t exactly feel as driven to help this mech escape and survive the DJD’s wrath. If anything he wanted to make sure it was at least quick and as painless as possible, however Blades recalled his promise to Disk. He would try and save as many mechs as he could, legitimate traitors included as he continued to ponder on that organic trait of resilience that he now strove to emulate. He would try at least. He owed Disk that much.

He was over the ravine and close enough to the target that he transformed back to his main form as he landed upon a rock that jutted up past the tree line and slid down it carefully. As much as he wanted to play dumb and pretend he had no idea where their defector was, it was rather hard to do that with the defector now staring at him in shock. The wiry red Decepticon flinched, already large optics near to bulging as their green light made Blades’s own optics ache after staring at them too long. Neither moved as Wrenstrike spoke, continuing to crouch under the safety of several fallen trees he seemed to have constructed in a haste as a shelter.

“Didn’t know - didn’t know there were other - fliers - fliers.” 

“Broken vocalizer, huh?” Blades frowned in a sense of pity as he put his servos up, not walking forward. He despised that professorial tone Tarn took with him, but he did adhere to his warning to be wary of this mech as with any and all defectors. All it took was one underestimation of them and that would be your final mistake. Better to keep my distance for now…

Wrenstrike cocked his helm to the side, flaring his panels out before drawing them back in. 

“Ookay…so, here’s the deal-” Blades shook his helm, ignoring the archaic movements this beastformer was giving him and dove onward. “It’s okay, I know you defected. Don’t worry about that. There’s some other bad mechs headed this way and we need to move. Like…now. Can you understand me?” 

“Fly - fly away, now?” Shuffling hesitantly out from his tree structure and with a more upright helm, Wrenstrike lifted his wing panels upon his back, fanning them out. His left wing was clearly damaged, likely from his initial flight away from his post. He flicked his helm to the side as if warily watching his surroundings. “It’s not safe here - here any longer?”

Good he’s getting it…Blades smiled as he nodded vehemently, “Yes! Let’s go, we just need to get further away and I can deactivate your Decepticon tracker. Based on what I’ve read, I think it’s right next to your spark. You have a ship right? One you can use to escape on?”

“Ship - ship is past the ravine. Low on fuel - fuel.” Wrenstrike hissed the last part as if knowing that was crucial to his plight. 

“But it has enough to run and get off the planet, maybe to the Daanax Quadrant, right? There’s a trade post there you can fuel up at.” Blades removed his sword, growing even more apprehensive as he knew the DJD must have been growing closer. If he needed to hold them off to let Wrenstrike escape, he would. He gestured with the blade towards the bent wing, a few notable panels missing. “Can you fly?”

Wrenstrike shook his helm, looking back towards the ravine. “No. We will have - have to walk. Not too - too far from here.”

“Okay...Let's start from the east end.” Blades vented his relief sword still held tightly in a hand, using it to point over Wrenstrike’s shoulder in the opposite direction from where he knew the DJD would be coming from. “They won’t find us there as easily.”

The breaking of large trunks of wood sounded from a distance. Someone larger, perhaps Helex or Tesarus was closer now. Blades looked away from Wrenstrike, back towards the dense blue leaves that obscured his view. Too bad he didn’t have a tracker of the rest of the team’s location. Only Tarn would be afforded the privilege of seeing such a thing.

Now that he was really thinking about it, Blades wasn’t sure if the rest of the team had access to locators, likely Tarn had only neglected to give Blades one for this very particular reason. He needed to earn it first and prove that he wasn’t just…well, doing exactly what he was trying to do now. Blades huffed, the elongated razor-like panels on his back shifting open before contracting together again on his rotor mast. 

“Listen, the DJD is getting closer so you should lead the way. I’ll stay and make sure-”

“D - DJD?” Wrenstrike’s vocalizer was pitched higher. Continuing to look at the ever shifting leaves in caution, Blades ignored him for the moment. 

“Yes, that’s who’s after you. So I really think you should-” A lurching sensation of something shoving against Blades’s arm startled him as his helm shot back over to look at Wrenstrike. 

“Oh- Primus no, no, no…” 

Stammering, Blades now caught sight of Wrenstrike’s impaled frame, his green optics flickered before going out as his body limply hung on Blades’s arm. Wrenstrike’s clawed servos continued to grip the far end of Blades’s sword near to his own hand, even in death. He had impaled himself upon the sword upon hearing the name of his assailants. DJD.

Blades’s optics froze on this sight as the weight of his words rang in his mind. 

DJD.

He was fully aware of their reputation by now, but he had no clue it was this severe. Death over facing this division. Such a quick decision too, Blades had to wonder if he shouldn’t have made a similar decision in the face of being forced to join the DJD. Perhaps this was the brave option while his own attempt to infiltrate them was simply cowardice. Perhaps Disk had received the better deal of the two of them. Perhaps, Blades thought, trying to shoo such a thought away, I’m the one who deserves this fate.

Unable to force his vocalizer to function, Blades reached out with a reluctant, careful grasp with his remaining servo over Wrenstrike’s frame. He looked peaceful like this, red panels relaxed to a limp sway as he lowered himself to place Wrenstrike down so he wasn't dangling like some organic animal in the window of a trade post shop.

It was too much to try and remove him from his own arm as Blades became paralyzed by the wet sensation of energon beginning to stain his paneling, the substance dripping into his inner wiring. He could already hear Nickel yelling at him about the dangers of energon-carried viruses and rust borne pathogens. 

Kneeling down, Blades used his free servo to stroke over that narrow helm that lolled to the side, resting against his bicep paneling. Wrenstrike looked peaceful. So much more peaceful than he felt and had been in these last few orbital cycles. Perhaps this was jealousy. 

Blades gave a sick chuckle to himself. How bad is life when you’re beginning to envy the dead?

“By the Pits…”

Blades’s helm shot around in a panic as if his entire plan had just been revealed. Tesarus stood between two trees, having just shoved one to the side, hoisting his ‘X’ visor up to make sure all eight optics of his were able to see what was before him. “You did it, Blades!”

An annoyed ramble began a few paces behind the large blender of a mech. “Tesarus, what did I say about keeping your volume down while-” Tarn froze mid-gripe, optics widening from behind his mask as he saw the scene before him.

Blades was still hunched over the body of Wrenstrike, the frame of which was impaled cleanly upon a sword which was still grasped firmly by Blades. He felt as if his digits were near to shorting as his HUD gave a warning to lessen the tension of his servo cabling before it snapped. He did so, reluctantly, causing the blade to slip. The frame dropped in front of him with a muted thud against the soft, spongy organic surface.

“Blades.” Tarn addressed, walking forward, voice unreadable, yet with a paralytic tone of his outlier ability. He knelt down next to Blades who continued to be frozen in place. Part of Blades wanted to throw his frame over this body, making sure that none of the DJD’s filthy servos would grace its surface. Wrenstrike deserved that at least.

“Oh, Blades.” Tarn murmured again. His helm tilted to the side so it was even with how Blades’s helm was turned to look over his arm. “I didn’t expect this from you.”

Blades couldn’t help but give a coarse laugh. “Don’t kid me, Tarn. It’s exactly what you wanted.”

“Mmm,” A servo reached to turn Wrenstrike’s body over, causing Blades to flinch as he saw that hefty Tank’s servo withdraw the sword from the defector’s frame. “Not exactly.”

The blade caught sunlight through the swarm of leaves above them, giving a scintillant as Tarn turned it over, moving it to rest right beside Blades’s cheek. “You need to be less eager, less angry to end a spark so soon. We are meant to punish, to give those who are found wanting the treatment that keeps other such mechs in line, my dearest Blades.”

Gesturing with his servo, Tarn used the sword’s edge to tap gently, perhaps even playfully and in good spirits, against Blades’s facial plating. “Don’t end such deserving mechs so soon. Let the rest of the group have their time with making them wish they had never even thought of their treachery, lest carry it out. We function as a team, so even as tempting as it may be to jump ahead and quell a spark, give it some extra time.”

Tarn shifted up from his stance, leaning over Blades to hook his sword back into place on his rotor mast. Giving a hefty, encouraging pat on his back, Tarn helped Blades stand, a servo moving to proudly squeeze onto his shoulder vent.

“See, you have the spirit, but look,” Tarn gestured deflatedly to Wrenstrike’s body as if scolding a sparkling on the lesson of beating too hard on a glass surface, “Such misery he’s caused to our people, so many MTOs such as yourself now formatted to fight for the opposite side of what they were intended for. Madness! I can see how you got ahead of yourself Blades, this being rather personal to you and your own brethren, but I do implore you to show restraint in such further cases. However…”

A prideful glee began to rise in Tarn’s next manner of speech. His servo on Blades’s shoulder shook him side to side tamely, yet with a renewed sort of eagerness at seeing Blades embrace such a role. Vocalizer lowering between them two, Tarn nodded his helm. “Good job. I can already tell, you’re one of us. Like-minded sparks know like-minded sparks, hm, Blades? Not to worry. I had a similar issue of haste when I first began, if you’d believe it or not.”

Raising his voice again as the clamber of several other mechs, the remainder of the DJD, sounded, Tarn gave a final pat to Blades's back. Turning triumphantly, arms out, Tarn addressed the group. Blades remained standing, staring at the body, his arm still dripping with energon.

“At ease. It seems someone grew a little too impatient for his first real taste of defector energon-” Helex audibly sighed with annoyance, kicking his sizable pede against a tree, causing it to creak and shift to the side, “-but no matter. What’s done is done, what’s learned has been learned. We all had such learning curves in the beginning, now didn’t we?” Tarn issued an easygoing laugh, shaking his helm as if Blades had simply used the wrong color of tabs on a file, not ended a life. 

“Needless to say, this will be addressed and already has been to an extent, but as for now…Kaon, if you’ll do the honors.”

The DJD’s communications officer brought out his datapad, feeling along it’s screen as the embedded program verbally read aloud where he was scrolling. Down The List of Tarn’s and each name his digit moved before settling at the top name currently: “Wrenstrike.” The program voiced out calmly, tone as smooth as if reading a lullaby. Kaon tapped the name, causing a defeated beep as a red strike crossed over the name.

“Good. Easy does it, back the way we came. Tesarus, Kaon. Would you mind piloting Wrenstrike’s ship? We should take it to the nearest Decepticon outpost to keep it out of organic servos. You never know what vile things they might think of doing with our technology.”

Blades had to restrain a laugh. No more vile than what we’re already doing to ourselves…

Picking up the body of the traitor, the unfortunate coward who made one wrong decision that led to an even worse fate, Blades hoisted Wrenstrike in his arms, following the odd group. He would make sure to smelt this body quickly once he was back on their ship. It would be the best and only gift he could give Wrenstrike now. 

“So Kaon,” Tarn prompted, falling back in stride with Blades, partially to keep tabs on him as he noticed the ‘copter was falling behind with his slow, weary strides. “I do believe our next target is rather monumental. Would you like to share him with the team?”

“Ah, this is going to be a fun one…” Kaon remarked, showing the datapad to Helex and Tesarus over his shoulders. Tesarus gave a smirk, Helex whistled aloud before giving a boisterous laugh at this challenge. Vos clapped his servos together upon hearing the datapad’s program announce the name. 

“Black Shadow.”

Chapter Text

“Here’s the thing: they say I can talk people to death. 

‘Weaponized conversation,’ they say. 

‘I don’t know,’ I say, ‘sounds a bit pretentious.’ 

‘Maybe so,’ They say, ‘but you can modulate the timbre of your voice so that it falls into step with the pulse of the listener’s spark.’ 

‘Well,’ I say, ‘There’s that, and-

…I…Blades, are you listening?”

“Was I supposed to be?”

Tesarus let forth a humored vent, the whirring of his blades clicking softly as they maintained a slow rotation. Energon was pooled within the circle of mechs, as if they were a savage pack of cyberwolves near to killing their prey. Two mechs were in the middle of the group, of those two, Silverblade was certain only one would walk away from this encounter.

The new paint job felt different than he was used to. Previously he had used the standard issue, cheaper Decepticon issued paint that was shipped once every twenty vorns (at most) to his base. Now his orange paneling was coated over with a darkened layer of royal purple paint. It had been Tarn’s pick of course as this was the official color of the Decepticon faction. Blades loathed it.

It was heavier on his paneling than he was used to, allowing for more insulation on his frame. On the chilling planes of Messatine this was good, but on a desolate mesa-ridden planet like this, it was quite a helmache in the heat. This factor had only partially contributed to his even more curt and sarcastic demeanor.

Tarn’s optics cut, eyeing Blades with his usual sneering disappointment that Blades knew would be under the mask. “Yes. It is imperative you listen, for one day,” his servo patted Black Shadow’s helm patronizingly as the half shredded and melted mech groaned in pain, “you’ll be the one standing where I am, carrying out justice as our Cause needs so desperately. Mm, a promise is a promise, I suppose…I would have liked for you to take Black Shadow out yourself, but you already accomplished a kill, too quickly might I add. I believe a test in patience is in order. Pay close attention, Blades. It’s not every day one encounters a phase sixer as their target.”

“Yes sir.” Blades gave a meager nod, enough to look respectful, but by no means further than what he needed to get Tarn off his back. 

Unlike his prior mission which was filled with more of a sense of ambiguity concerning their target, there was no doubt in Blades’s mind that Black Shadow was far from innocent. He had traded out hundreds of thousands of Decepticons on war world ships in exchange for riches beyond Blades’s imagining.

Normally, a sickening sense of pity and grief welled in Blades for every victim of the DJD, but Shadow was one of the few who he did see as deserving of some punishment at least. Had he or even Disk been assigned to the wrong fleet, they could have easily been killed in the name of this slag heap’s greed. A near genocide of his own people just to add several zeroes onto his shanix account. He disgusted Blades enough that part of him did believe this was deserved, although he still held back and thought the extent of what the DJD was doing was ridiculously excessive. 

Why give a soon-to-be-dead-mech a speech about why he was wrong when he so clearly didn’t care? A waste of time in Blades’s opinion…then again when did Tarn and him ever see optic-to-optic?

It took Tarn too damn long to get to his point. When he finally did, Blades couldn’t hear his whispers, only the interruption of his frame jolting up. He leapt backwards, an arm stretching out to shield Blades and Kaon’s frames as he yelled aloud. 

“Get back! Phase sixers have a tendency to have explosive conclusions.”

“What does-?” Blades’s ask was cut off by a deafening bang that caused him to crouch down quickly, afraid of being struck by Black Shadow’s remains. The surface was coated in excessive bits of shrapnel paneling, mingled with a concoction of oil and coolant. “Ah, I see now. Effective party trick there…sir.”

Kaon flicked what appeared to be a portion of arterial fuel lining off of his shoulder’s Tesla coil. “Done and done. We’ve got a two week trip ahead of us to the next target so I believe a celebration is in order for knocking Black Shadow off of the list. What do you say, Tarn?”

“Mm, sounds fitting for marking such a valuable target off of our list. Kaon, check the energon, engex, and nuke reserves to ensure we can spare the extra amount of fuel for such an endeavor.”

“Will do, sir.” Kaon replied back, taking the Pet’s leash in one hand as he jogged ahead back to their ship.

A party? Blades was hesitant to see what this entailed, but it was still probably better than seeing a phase sixer explode and getting said phase sixer’s inner mechanisms all over his new paint job. He reallyyy didn't want to have to visit Tarn’s quarters to get any touch ups. Luckily from a brief look over his frame, he appeared to escape the danger of any scratches, soley having a liquid mess of oil and coolant coating his paneling as any energon had been burnt off in the explosion of Black Shadow’s frame.

“I recommend an immediate disinfectant shower for the whole team,” Tarn announced as he stood from his prior crouch. Groans sounded over their shared comms, mostly from Tesarus who knew an extra deep scrub would be required on his midsection blades. A digit swiped across Blades’s chassis paneling, gathering the liquid grime disapprovingly. “It would do no good to celebrate in such a condition and would be far from sanitary, don’t you think, Blades?”

“Sure…I mean- of course. It is kinda gross to have someone’s insides on your…you know…outsides.” Blades let out a sigh of relief as rather than chastising his informality, Tarn chuckled, giving a nod.

“Indeed. It would be quite the shame to keep such a new paint job in such horrible condition, then again I wouldn’t mind too much having to redo it if you need.”

Blades turned and began walking, the feeling of Tarn lingering half a step behind him far too unnerving for him to give a proper laugh as instead a wavering chortle escaped him akin to a jet taking off in a wicked storm. Another painting session with Tarn’s optics on him was the last thing Blades needed right now…

For a party, it wasn’t half bad. 

Granted it was the first one Blades had ever been to and it only had an attendance of six, excluding himself and The Pet. As far as he was concerned it was going quite well. Too good. Then again he didn’t want to question things too much and instead decided to just enjoy himself. 

Helex had started up a mean game of Cricut Jack that Blades quickly invested his attention into…before losing most of his meager savings to a particularly stupid play (or two). He blamed the engex for that, although got a good laugh out of the fact that Tesarus was livid after losing a fair share of Shanix as well. Vos on the other hand was a rigid, calm statue of ice as he clearly was winning the most out of the group, Nickel not being far behind either after a series of risky plays. 

After leaning against the table, watching Vos’s every move as if to study a master at work, it hit Blades why this party was abnormally enjoyable. 

He hadn’t seen Tarn in arcs…

"Where is he?" Jolting up fast enough that his drink was knocked from the side of the table, Blades looked around. He was oblivious to the shatter of glass as his optics grew wider than Luna two, certain he missed something crucial. 

“From the mines, Blades! Watch your fuel, that scrap ain’t cheap!” Tesarus hissed as he used his thumb to wipe up a splash of the drink on his thigh, making sure to not let it go to waste. Blades’s attention was clearly elsewhere.

Tarn wasn’t in the room. He had been. 

No…was he? 

Blades clutched his helm as it seemed to throb upon trying to recall that fact. He was aware that he was lurking in a chair near the corner of the room, watching the group as his normal routine of being a quiet voyeur of the team was nothing unusual. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Everything okay, Silverblade? You sound peaky.” Kaon mumbled, more focused on feeling the length of his cards, the braille numbers serving to aid how he played the game.

“I’m fine. Just…I’m going to go turn in for the solar cycle. It’s been a while since I’ve had engex and I think it’s catching up to me.” That wasn’t a lie, more of an exaggerated truth as Helex swatted a dismissive servo, Kaon nodding in understanding, Tesarus still cursing a storm that would have earned him a black mark from Tarn had their leader been present.

Exiting the room quickly, Blades thought it best to sleep the growing effects of engex off as he never knew when Tarn would spring out of nowhere like the silent load of scrap he-

A clangor echoed down the hall. The cabling in Blades’s neck clicked with the strain of turning that quickly as he eyed the opposite end of the pathway. Something, no, someone was in the control room. 

He knew who it was before his own legs could stop him, yet curiosity still got the better of him as his mind was already conjuring images of a wicked Autobot stowaway, intent on hijacking their ship or worse. His mind was serving as his worst enemy at the moment as his servo reached for the opening button on the bridge’s control room door.

“Kaon, I believe I told you to- Oh…” The breathy tone softened as red optics caught sight of Blades in the reflection of the primary monitors and large glass windows. “Silverblade. Such a pleasant surprise. Is there anything you need? Do come closer. My audials are on the fritz, still needing repairs after that last mission, so speak up as well.”

One step forward.

Two steps.

Three.

Blades restrained his gait, but couldn’t fully stop it before realizing Tarn was using his outlier. Judging by how he had a minor slur to his normally smooth yet clearly enunciated vocabulary, Blades figured it slipped from his control as some engex had gotten to their leader as well. 

Considering only a short phrase was laced with the outlier ability, Blades assumed it was unintentional as Tarn had ceased to use the outlier on him as of late. This was of course after he had committed himself to keeping up the facade of a loyal soldier who did whatever was asked of him, however sarcastic and snarky he might still reply, as a way to avoid suspicion for his attempted field rescues.

Moving an arm up to rest over the back of his chair, Tarn tilted his helm to look at Blades cautiously as if he was weighing how horribly he would get blown up by trying to defuse a particularly tricky bomb. As he had been alone, Tarn’s mask was discarded onto the control console, leaving his scarred face bare. It wasn’t the first time Blades had seen Tarn’s features, but that eerie smile which hid so many twisted words that had ended countless lives unnerved Blades to no end. The helicopter grew curious at what this conversation was going to entail, as he likely couldn’t leave the room anyway until Tarn had finished his topic of conversation. Blades leaned his elbow joints on the armrest of the captain’s chair, helm in his servos as a bored frown drug his lips downwards.

“I don’t think I’ve been subtle about this, Blades…”

“About your obsession with our Lord Megatron? Yeah,” Blades heaved a sigh, “Sorry bud…your collection of his writings on dead mechs that are pinned to your office wall gave that secret away vorns ago.”

Tarn’s optics squinted as his frame tensed for a moment then relaxed again as he seemed to be debating on whether or not he should scold Blades for such a statement or laugh at it. Neither, it seemed as he instead gazed away and elected to ignore it in favor of pursuing his initial topic.

“It’s about you.” Tarn snapped before lowering his volume, easing his tone to something more palatable. “About how I…feel for you…”

A digit reached out, tracing the edge of Blades’s finial before resting on the side of his helm. He took a deep vent, knowing well where this was going. This was likely one of the more forward moments Tarn had with him since that sparring session or that first call into his office after messing up the file sorting. 

“You’ve done so well for yourself in these past orbital cycles. A stunning specimen of what the MTO program is capable of producing despite the cost of resources they require of The Cause. Everytime I hear you speak,” Tarn chuckled to himself and perhaps at the more annoyed sort of frown on Blades’s expression now, “even if it is the most disrespectful little quips, they prove every ounce of your competence. The fact that you are so driven to think steadfastly for yourself yet uphold every command required of you is everything I need so desperately in a successor. Just think about it…a manufactured spark stuck in a mass produced frame. Such a curious little contrivance you are.”

In truth, Blades’s energon boiled upon hearing his existence summed up in such a way. Not trusting himself to reply, Blades looked away to the primary monitor before them, finials tilting down in anger as he drew his lips into a pursed look of indifference. Anyone with a functioning set of optics could tell otherwise. Tarn was no exception, servo snatching Blades’s chin to draw his helm back to look at his leader. 

“That was quite imprudent of me. You deserve better than to be talked about like a commonly manufactured weapon. So far from that, you are…You’re an exemplary example of how our kind’s existence is rooted in the very meaning of transformation. Built to be something so much less remarkable than you’re accomplishing now. Do you know how many of your unit of MTOs are left?”

The question startled Blades, sending his helm aching further as he dig through his memory banks uselessly. He, to his own suprise, hadn’t considered his MTO brethren’s survival. More than anything he caught himself assuming that they had a similar fate, being assigned to remote posts with little activity, destined for a boring and long life. His vents stuttered as he realized this was likely far from the usual circumstances of an MTO, especially those from his own unit. 

“No…I don’t.”

“Ah, you still surprise me!” Tarn laughed, heartily, as if they were discussing the time Vos fell through the ceiling vents into Nickel’s room. “For a mech so considerate of others your lack of curiosity into your unit’s fate does shock me…then again I can’t blame you. I’m sure part of you knows the abhorrent statistics for MTO survival and simply knew what you would likely find already.”

“What. Percentage. Is. Left.” His words were staggered, partly an attempt to speak slower to make his helm hurt less and partially in anger over the way Tarn now spoke of his brethren. He knew the usual statistics…perhaps Tarn was right, he just didn’t want to know the real number. 

Tarn gave a smaller grin, more genuine this time of that was even possible. Blades retrained a sneer as he seemed to catch what appeared to be pity. Tarn shifted his servo to rest comfortingly on the side of Blades’s helm. The ‘copter hated to admit it, but the warmth of another frame’s contact soothed his helmache. 

“There were a thousand of you. And the survivors?” The Outlier lowered his voice as if telling a secret. “Now I’m looking at him.”

An indescribable feeling flooded Blades. Not anger. Not sorrow. Not even grief. The closest thing he could possibly imagine was emptiness.

There were a thousand of him. 

Carbon copies. MTOs. 

Now only he remained of that unit. 

At this point in the war, most would have felt a sense of relief, victory for having survived this far, but not him. If anything he felt like he had lost. He was not the most victorious soldier, but instead the most cowardly mech. He was tired despite having utterly limited frontline experience. He knew then, whatever had started this war, however unjust, would never be able to justify the losses their people sustained in their war. 

Silverblade closed his optics, unable to look at Tarn. He could have truly gone the rest of his days without knowing that fact. The urge to imagine all of those he had onlined jointly with had simply moved to the furthest reaches of space was overwhelming. 

A thumb brushed over his lips, making his optics shoot open again to see Tarn leaning closer than he remembered. Or was it the engex distorting his vision? He figured it was a bit of both. 

“You know, I always admired your frame. Aerial alt modes…so highly coveted by our Lord for such good reason.”

Oh, by the pits…Tarn was so incredibly drunk. 

Blades then hatched a impromptu plan, a servo drifting from holding up his helm to snaking behind his back to retrieve his namesake. Palm rested on the hilt of his ‘copter blade longsword, he changed his expression on a dime, smiling stupidly as if genuinely pleased with such attention. 

He was going to kill Tarn. Tonight.

All he needed was a better distraction for the best strike he could manage against such an armored frame. 

“Oh? So you take after our Lord Megatron on that front too. Who would have guessed?” 

Meeeee. Blades thought in annoyance. Tarn was many things, but he was far from subtle...

“I know. I also am aware I shouldn’t do this, but-“

Too tired of hearing flowery flirtations, Blades decided to cut right to the point. Like his many horribly calculated plays in Circuit Jack, this was no exception to how ill planned his night had gone.

Blades shoved his frame forward, over the armrest of the captain’s chair, giving Tarn a start. Instead Tarn received a blandly placed kiss that landed on the side of his cheek before repositioning messily onto his lips. 

The sword hilt unlatched from his back. Just a few more seconds. 

Tarn’s optics closed as he gave a needy moan, both of his clawed servos snatching Blades’s helm on either side to keep him close. Frag, Blades cursed as he realized how much this restricted his movement and trapped him in. Abort, abort, abort.  

It was far too late for such a thought when their lips shifted, Tarn pressing further as he slipped his glossa into Blades’s intake. Blades barely swallowed down a gag.

Blades’s mind screamed at him in every octave at once. 

ABORT MISSION

Having a fraction of sense that hadn’t been snagged away by engex yet, Blades hooked his sword hilt back onto his back’s rotor mast so the weapon didn’t go clattering to the ground seperately after what he did next. 

Moving his arms to the inside of Tarn’s, he shoved outwards on his forearms, pushing them off of his helm. Servos let go of his helm, although he was already pulling his frame backwards, Blades getting sent slipping backwards onto the ground with a groan. Several coughs were issued before any words as Blades traced his own glossa around his intake as a way to forget the intrusion that just occurred.  

Of course, to Blades’s dismay, Tarn was the first to speak.

“Are you well? I wasn’t aware that you-“

“Fine.” Blades barked back, although he looked far from it, still sprawled upon the floor. The floor was so much more comfortable than standing he realized. Then again, that was likely due to the engex talking. Damn that substance, Blades swore, regretting this impromptu assassination plot greatly.

“Good, I do hope you got as much delectation from that experience as I. I’m sure you’ll find it hard to believe but as many times as I have interfaced I’ve never shared such an experience before. A ‘kiss’ is what the organics refer to it as I recall.” Tarn brushed his digits against his lips hesitantly, clearly savoring the act. He caught his own enjoyment, backtracking his words. “Not that I would know anything about such backwards species such as organics. There have been plenty of recorded cases of Cybertronians participating in-“

“Tarn. I- it’s fine. I don’t need a history lesson.” In a way, having a glossa nearly down his throat had been a strangely sobering experience Blades never wished to repeat. Shoving his frame up on his arms, Blades groaned at the lasting ache in his helm as he stared below Tarn at the chair he sat on. “You don’t tell the crew about it, I won’t either. Deal?”

“More than fair…” Tarn mumbled, a servo still brushing his lips curiously. He seemed aware of his surroundings once again as he became more attentive, optics flicking to Blades. “Just so you know that was certainly my first time ever remotely attempting this ‘kissing’ act.”

“I could tell. Don’t ever use glossa again…” Blades replied without thinking before catching himself too late. Luckily Tarn seemed embarrassed and amused simultaneously at that answer as he watched Blades stand. He had more of a wobble to him than a misaligned joint. Tarn hadn’t bothered to get up and help, instead stayed seated and watched Blades with curiosity, those red optics tracking every move as his helm rested on the back of a servo.

“Listen, it’s been…uh, real, but I should really get to berth now. Early morning and all-“

Tarn smirked, “You have no training tomorrow, Blades.” 

“Ah…” He cursed that excuse to stay longer but kept to the oblivious card and continued with his plan B: GET OUT.

“That’s great. I’ll really need the extra recharge time to sleep off that engex and all the shanix I lost in Helex’s game of circuit jack.”

Tarn’s prior look of intrigued seduction floundered into a furrowed-brow frown. “Helex is gambling with the team again?” 

Oops…Blades kicked himself for revealing that fact, already stumbling towards the door. He hoped Helex wouldn’t beat his panels in too bad for that one.

“Ah, maybe. I could have mistaken it for uhhh, chess maybe? Anywayhaveagoodnightbye.”

Silverblade practically flung himself out of the ship’s bridge control room, having the door slam shut behind him. The extra drowsiness of engex was held at bay as he sprinted full speed down the hall to his room. Normally, going down the empty halls, he would have flown. The halls were big enough and he got limited flying time as it was in the cramped ship, but that felt like a particularly bad idea that would end in a trip to see Nickel.

This entire night was a horrible idea. 

Just about five seconds from committing an unretractable act, Blades knew he did the right thing by holding off. 

First situation: he failed to kill Tarn with a single blow or two which would have resulted in an immediate comm to the rest of the team for backup. That was if Tarn didn’t execute him via his outlier voice first. 

Second situation: he did somehow kill Tarn, however their ship was still at least several solar cycles away from the nearest planet he could escape to. This would result in the galaxy’s most terrifying game of cat and mouse on this ship with a team of trained murderers that each had their own specialized PhD in torture.

Wonderful idea…

He was so close but the more he thought of it made his goal feel like it was light years away. Today was a valiant if not horribly stupid attempt but now at least he would be able to live to try further plans. 

He made a mental note once he locked himself in his room, making sure to clean his intake thoroughly with solvent as soon as he reached his sink. 

Note:

Never make plans while drinking engex.

Live and learn he supposed. 

Live and learn. 

For how long? He hoped it was longer than shorter, but recent events as of late had his fuel pump churning at the thought. 

He had a sense it would be shorter, despite his most desperate wishes...

Chapter Text

Wires snapped. Circuits shattered.

Still, Silverblade couldn’t scream. His mind embraced every false pain, every searing sense on his neural network. He knew one fact for certain: he deserved this.

His most dearly betrayed held one of his own longsword blades in a servo. No satisfied ease was on that face that now looked so foreign. Normally lax features were drawn in a twisted scowl, akin to the barren planes of the Cybertronian rust wastes being swirled up into a deadly storm by oncoming winds.

Blades didn’t say a word as another blow landed, Disk’s grunts being heard as the blade bit through shoulder paneling, starting to sever his joint’s cabling. Only one thought remained on his mind as he saw Disk. I deserve this.

Another blow. His arm fell with a clangor to the floor.

I deserve this.

His helm received a blow that shorted out an optic.

I deserve this.

The final blow landed as Disk screamed a final curse.

TRAITOR

That onlining was one of the more jarring ones Blades had received since joining the Decepticon Justice Division. Vents stuttered as his helm fell into his servos. He wasn’t sure how many more he could tolerate, even now his helm throbbed despite not a singular drop of engex being in his systems. Servos shifted away as he saw a thin coating of optical coolant dripping onto them. There was no end in sight, even with as hard as he could try saving any of those that the DJD encountered. 

He couldn’t save them all. 

Too few of them could be saved, he knew as he realized how futile this mission was. Justification for this plan came with how he knew those on the list would be killed regardless of whether or not he was on the team so at least someone on the team would be trying to save them. 

It was stupid, so very stupid. And how many mechs would he inadvertently aid in killing by tagging along with the DJD? How many times would he betray Disk’s memory over and over again?

Too many.

It was then, he knew what he had to do.

-

He always wondered why the airlock door was adorned with such a large button.

Something so easy to accidentally bump into, something so well within reach for even the most tiny minibots. Such ineffective and frankly dangerous design was something Blades had to let a sorrowful laugh out at, even as a digit lingered over the smooth surface. In a few moments he wouldn’t have to worry about such trivial considerations. A meager button wouldn’t be the worst last view he could have. 

At least Tarn wasn’t-

“Silverblade. May I ask what you’re doing so very close to the airlock?”

Speak of that Mortius spawn…

“No.” Blades snapped. There wasn’t any point in being respectful to someone he loathed so much when he was about to be a frozen pile of scrap floating somewhere around the Xheru Quadrant. “Leave me alone.”

Tarn shifted uncomfortably, holding out a servo, digits beckoning backwards in a demanding twitch. “I’m quite afraid I cannot do that, Blades. Here, come closer away from the airlock. That’s a rather painful way to go, you know. Far slower of a death than most mechs realize. It could be full orbital cycles before your frame fully goes offline.”

Maybe he was delirious, maybe he had just gone mad after so much time with this pain in the aft. Maybe both at once. Who wouldn’t do the same? Blades grinned, helm turning back to Tarn as if to have the last laugh. 

“Great! I’ve always wanted to try that. Maybe you should come with me, Tarn.”

“Wait-!”

Tarn’s plea fell on deaf audials as Blades’s servo slammed on the button.

A whirring hiss sounded, the air itself snatching them from their places within the ship. 

Blades optics closed, a cool vacuum of space embracing his frame as he went limp. That was, until a servo grabbed his bicep, pulling him closer.

Tarn had expected so many things from Blades, but not quite this. He certainly didn’t expect to be dangling partially out of an airlock, a leg and an arm holding him against the door’s threshold. 

“Kaon, enact the auto seal!” Tarn demanded over the comms, at first he worried his voice would get lost in the howling sound of the depths of space that were crawling into the ship to consume whatever remained nearby. Then again, this was Kaon, out of all mechs currently stationed at the bridge he was sure he could take care of the situation with ease.

“Reinstating airlock and pressurization protocols.” Kaon replied back, not a hint of unease in that monotonous tone. He caught a meager sense of curiosity at the situation, but further questions could wait. 

Tarn could feel the tearing strain on his joints, even further pushed to the limit as he pulled Blades back inside the ship, the airlock closing with a quickness. Only a clangor sounded as they fell to the floor, the hall silent save for a series of rapid vents from Blades. He remained hunched over, helm facing the ground as Tarn stood, stretching his arms to make sure he hadn’t torn any cabling. 

“What. was. that?” Tarn’s tone was venomous this time, far from the prior smooth voice of reason he had tried earlier.

Blades’s frame shuddered, a dry cough heaving from him as if he was sick at what had just transpired. It took several kliks before he replied, vocalizer shaking from the experience. “It was for him.”

“Him?” A renewed curiosity wove into Tarn as he knelt next to Blades. 

“It was the least I- I could do after betraying him. I killed him and I’m the reason he’s gone. I- I murdered the only mech I…I killed Disk.”

Tarn let out an exasperated tsk, “I can see how you may feel that way, Blades, but rest assured. I killed Disk. No matter what you would or could have done, I would have found him and ended him all the same. So try not to let your mind run away with futile little imaginings that you could have saved him or anyone else on the list for that matter. It was simply fate, my dear.”

“He was my fault…he was my-”

“Silence.” Tarn hissed, the outlier lacing his words. “I’ll hear no more heresy to our Lord Megatron’s righteous doctrine on this solar cycle. Diskshift was a traitor to the cause and is not worth an ounce of your sorrow. Save your grief for the loyal fallen…or for yourself if you continue to drown your mind in delusional fallacies.”

The mech’s frame continued to shake, now unable to conjure up words as that meager skill was stolen from him. Even as livid as Tarn was with his charge, a pang of pity made his fists tighten at his sides. Perhaps he was getting too soft on his team, but a possible successor writhing on the ground, still yammering about some traitor they felt guilty about was far from his goal and he intended to conduct some course correction. 

Those countless solar cycles in which Tarn had spoken with Megatron in that previous life of his on Cybertron, before the Decepticons, before the war broke intergalactic confines, remained in the forefront of his memory. He realized then he owed it to Silverblade to have the same patience his Lord had taken with him in his own journey to see the full righteousness of the Decepticon cause, even at its most brutal moments. 

Blades felt a tug on his frame upwards, an arm slinging over his shoulders to yank his frame into a loosely standing position. He made little to no effort to move his legs which were closer to being dragged than helped to walk as Tarn took him down the hallway.

“It will take time for you to know you had no more fault in Diskshift’s death than the blowing winds of the rust planes did, more time than you may realize, Blades. No matter, for I will guide you to the other side of these wretched thoughts that such a traitor seeded during your many cycles together on that base. Think not of such matters, Blades. Try and recharge more as I see your offline hours have severely decreased since your activity in the field. I’ll take you by the med bay and see if Nickel can get you some recharge aids you can use. Just some simple plug in programs to help your rest that-”

Blades ceased to listen, instead beginning to trudge his legs forwards as he knew resisting was beyond useless. Maybe Tarn was right. Diskshift wasn’t his fault, but he now knew of a new mission in his inner focus that he kept from Tarn: Kill the leader of the DJD. He would continue trying to save those on the list as he could, but now if he could manage, taking out Tarn would be a renewed goal in his mind, but perhaps he would need help to accomplish such a goal. Only if some outsider could be involved with the DJD, close enough he could maintain a rapport and way to have safe, private communication with them...One day, maybe…

Despite these unknowns, he knew then, the next dream he would have would be of himself where Disk stood. Tarn would be where he was previously, taking every deserved blow that was dealt to him with interest.

-

“Nickel, I’m trying-”

A smack sounded as Nickel bapped one of Tarn’s wandering claws from messing with her organized tools on her workbench in the med bay. 

“You’re driving him to his limit, Tarn. He’s still an MTO with highly limited experience outside of that base he was in. He’s probably never seen spilt energon prior to Diskshift’s! By the Titans, that was far from the best way to have an introduction with your possible successor to the DJD. Scare him off a little more, why don’t you?” Nickel mumbled that last comment, knowing Tarn heard it, but entirely fearless of the repercussions unlike so many others.

“I’m trying. I am. It doesn't help he’s so…unwonted with such matters of Cybertronian life. War has existed longer than most of our current soldiers and yet-”

“And yet, Blades isn’t used to it. No mech in their right mind would be after such a sheltered station. You’re going too fast with him, remember how long it took us to even trust one another? It hasn’t even been a fifth of that time!”

Tarn grumbled, vocalizer making a strained garble of annoyance. “I know…so what would you do to coax our little addition out of his prior paneling?”

“Well, give him more time, first off. Make sure he gets his recharge numbers up before you even think about bringing him out in the field again. The programs I gave him will help…And for the love of scrap, Tarn, give him some space! He’s an aerial mech for crying out loud! Keeping him contained in a ship in the middle of deep space after he had a whole base and planet to himself save one other mech is a drastic change. Give him more time on Messatine. Let him fly around-”

“Nickel, you can’t possibly trust that he would-”

“He will.” Nickel snapped, jabbing a digit at Tarn. “He’ll have a bit more sympathy for our view of things if we actually consider his needs a little more. Maybe he really just is one of those Cybertronians who just doesn’t handle deep space well and needs their allotted planet-bound time to stretch their wings. It’s not unheard of among Decepticon ranks, especially with so many aerials. You might forget that, with an entire team of non-aerials, but it is a fact.”

Heaving a cycle through his vents, Tarn nodded once. If nothing else, Nickel could be trusted to be the most honest of the group, thinking of things that most of the other team may not have considered. 

“Well, I’ll try that when we reach Messatine. We’re due for some ship repairs and a fuel up so I’ll call an orbital cycle or two of a break at our base. That should be long enough for Blades to ‘stretch his wings’ as you believe, yes?”

Nickel smiled, servos gesturing out as if Tarn was finally able to see the truth in what she had already told him several times. It seemed that it just took someone throwing themselves out of an airlock for him to realize it.

“Exactly. Now, that wasn’t so hard was it?”

Chapter Text

Despite how dangerously cold the winds of Messatine were, they were far more comforting than any words Tarn could have spoken to him. 

Normally Silverblade was granted a limited lead to leave the Messatine base, hardly able to fly farther than visual distance from the base’s entry which was meager from how far Blades wanted to get from his new team. As a last, rather risky act on Blades’s part, Tarn realized that he was putting him through an unsustainable situation, mostly thanks to Nickel. The result was now sweeping past Blades’s helicopter alt mode, the freedom to fly as he previously had on his old base seeping back to him with joy.

He had to at least be a whole arc out, surprised Tarn hadn’t called him back yet, but he was far from complaining. As far as he was concerned, he might do a lap or two around this planet’s equator before he would go back to the DJD’s base…even if that did mean he would run out of fuel and-

A grey spec showed in his visuals, optics focusing intently on the anomaly. Strange…the only settlement Tarn said was here is our own…

Banking over to the left, hard, Blades let his curiosity get the better of him. Based on his thermal reads he also needed to find some shelter in the next few arcs or else he would be making a risky walk back to base. That was something he didn’t feel like explaining to Tarn nor losing his free flight privileges over. 

Upon seeing a better view of the clearly Cybertronian-constructed base, Blades knew: there was no way Tarn missed such a large building. He had lied yet again about something else.

Orange paint lined some limited paneling of the large base that looked less of a militaristic outpost and instead closer to a radio or communication station. By all means such a large station should have been bustling with active spark signatures inside but the entire building was void of them upon conducting a scan. 

Double strange…Blades thought. He caught a broken window, glass shattered out by what appeared to have been a bullet or laser shot.

Close enough of an entry way, he reasoned, shifting his alt mode for a swift slide past the gaping window into the building. The hall was barren, not a mech to be heard or seen. 

More of the same over and over hit him again until he reached a large set of hangar bay doors, red paint dripping down in a congealed mark that sent Blades’s spark racing.

He might have been more than naive to much of the galaxy’s business, but even he had been educated on the universal sign of a plague. Freezing, he looked back at the window of which he flew in, wanting anything other than to go down the hall again. 

“Frag this!” Blades shot a barrage of bullets from his arm into the window behind him, turning around in a sprint. The leap from it was smooth as he transformed mid air through shattering glass and continued his flight. It seemed this curiosity would indeed kill the cybercat if he continued in that building. 

A plague would explain why no survivors were in that building. Then again, so would the broken window if the DJD had raided that base. It would partially explain why Tarn had kept Blades from exploring further and telling him no other base existed. Not anymore, anyway.

Just as he began to kick his engines into full drive, a streak of red caught his vision in a ravine. Even more shocking to him was a singular beep on his scanners: a spark signal. Who the signal belonged to, he had not a clue and if Tarn had raided this base it would stand to reason they wouldn’t be friendly to the DJD. It was exactly what Blades wanted to see. 

A little red panel sent from Primus themself.

Upon further inspection, his gift from Primus was quite the mess. Alive, but only by a thin wire. 

Helm chevron broken, a sharp point of it missing to make an asymmetrical cracked crown, the mystery mech’s jaw was slack, intake open as if he offlined before finishing a sentence. His frame was sprawled out, helm tossed haphazardly to the side, half of it still buried. Arms were still deep in the snow, a leg peeking out as the other was still buried along with most of his lengthy frame.

Blades had expected many things, but not the red brand that while worn, still adorned the mech’s chest plating like a glaring warning. 

An Autobot.

To Blades’s realization this was the first one he could claim to have seen in person. ‘Met’ would be a bit of a stretch considering the mech, a lithe aerial jet, was offline in stasis lock, half buried in snow. A medic’s sign was painted evenly onto his wings.

Using his servos to dig around the mech’s arms and free him from this chilly prison of snow and ice, Blades gasped and lost his balance, landing flat on his aft. Below the wrists on the mech’s arms, his servos were missing, cabling and wire chopped off by the appearances. This didn’t quite seem like the DJD’s work as the rest of the mech was too unscathed save for some glass and panel cracks that might have come from the fall alone. At least, that was what Blades assumed happened since the edge of the base’s rooftop aligned quite well with where this mech had fallen. 

Perhaps he had escaped the DJD? No, Blades knew that wasn’t the case, no one escaped the DJD. So, some other party had done this to the base, perhaps a different ‘Con unit? 

Either way, he knew that he couldn’t leave this mech here or he would certainly be offline within the next few solar cycles. 

He was then faced with two decisions: leave the mech here as going back into the abandoned base wasn’t an option (he didn’t want to test if a plague was still active there…) or take a near dead Autobot back to a Decepticon base. Then again, Tarn, as annoying as he could be, wasn't entirely without reason. He would probably appreciate another medic to help around the base, even if they were an Autobot. At least, that was what Blades hoped…

Hefting the jet’s limp frame up onto a shoulder, Blades transformed, using a series of well placed cable wires for cargo to secure the mech’s frame to the bottom of his alt mode as he took off, back to the DJD’s base. 

Maybe this mech would be the one he needed to help bring down Tarn or maybe he would be another mech’s life saved that could help to ease his horrible conscience. It was already riddled with grief for all those he hadn’t saved. Either way, Blades knew one thing: he wasn’t going to let anyone kill this mech quite yet, Autobot or not.

-

So far their new guest to the DJD’s Messatine base had been quite the treat. 

And if by treat, Blades meant pain in the aft, then yes, he was quite the treat.

Readjusting the energon ration cubes he held, Tesarus cursed loudly down the hall, rubbing his arm’s elbow joint incessantly. Right as he was passing Blades, the ‘copter opening his intake to ask what was wrong, Tesarus threw the cubes in Blades’s arms, yelling. 

“That DAMN Medic! He almost severed my main fuel line in my fragging arm! Here, you deal with that scrap munching glitch since it was your bright idea to bring him here. You’re just lucky Tarn’s gone soft and kept him alive or else I’d be giving you something-”

“Easy, Tess…” Blades raised his servos in defense, curious at the supposed attack their new addition did to get Tess this riled up. “I’m sure he just got startled or-”

“Like the pits he did! He was watching me with those cold little optics like he always does. Why does Tarn have me doing energon duty with that slagger anyway? You’re the one that brought him here! Time for you to take care of him for once.”

“Tess, it's only been five solar cycles, two solar cycles of him being awake and you giving him rations. Ease up and simmer down, I’ll handle it.”

“You better! I’m not going back in there, Tarn can give me a black mark all he wants, I’m not doing it!” Tesarus yelled the last phrase as he began trudging down the hall, shaking a fist in the air. 

“Yeah…okay, yeah. I’ve got this.” He very much didn’t ‘got this,’ but refused to let that get the better of him as this was the exact opportunity he wanted and Tarn had avoided him getting so far. A moment of privacy between himself and an Autobot. Some time to get his trust maybe…Blades was certain of his idea, but as soon as he saw the Autobot in the cell, his spark sank.

A forearm was raised to his face in place of a servo, both of which were still missing as those had not been procured or granted to the Medic yet. His frame was curled upon itself in a condensed form that huddled against the corner of the small cell. An arm blocked what appeared to be a smearing of energon across the mech’s scowling features. If looks could kill, Blades and the entire planet of Messatine would have melted to slag ten times over. The worst part was, he could hardly blame the mech. 

Even now, Blades still didn’t know his name.

“I saw you gave Tess a run for his Shanix even with no servos. That’s pretty impressive.” Blades smirked, hoping to lighten the mood from the tension and a spark-driven fear that illuminated the Medic’s optics. He crouched down, setting the fuel rations down next to him. Nodding towards him, Blades brought out a spare cleaning rag from his subspace. “If you move your arm back, I can help you clean up that mess on your face…and uh everywhere. I usually feel better when I’m not covered in my own energon.”

Hesitantly, as if this was still some elaborate and perhaps cruel trap, the Medic drew his arm back, placing both at his sides as he turned around to sit, back against the wall. His frown was marred by energon that had dripped down onto his chassis and cockpit from a clearly broken nose. Every flinch of the Medic was calculated, every motion of Blades’s was analyzed with harsh blue optics that reminded Blades of a melting glacier. 

He made sure to move slowly, deciding rather than coming closer to instead slide the rag towards the DJD’s newest captive. A pede shifted back as the rag slumped against it, but still the Mech took the mesh rag between his two empty wrists only after making sure the rag contained nothing else with a visual inspection. Dragging his helm against the surface, the Mech cleared off most of the larger stains of energon, smaller seams remaining crusted with the dried fluid. 

“How do you want to do this?” Blades asked, gesturing towards the bowl of military grade (the worst kind) of small energon cubes. “I can slide the bowl to you if you want or come over and help since you don’t have your servos.”

The Medic eyed the bowl, ignoring Blades. 

“Okay, the bowl alone it is.” He slid the bowl over to the mech who repositioned himself to kneel, hunched over the ration, but didn’t eat.

“Everything okay? Well, I know it isn’t being with uh…the DJD and all, but is there anything else you need?”

No response save for two trained optics on his frame.

“Okayyy…does your vocalizer work? I’m assuming it doesn’t work.”

A rasp sounded, graveled from disuse and perhaps an after effect from the dangerously low temperatures he had been exposed to for an extended period. “It functions.”

“Ah! Nice, that helps doesn’t it? I should have introduced myself, that was pretty dumb…anyway, I’m Silverblade, Blades for short. You can just call me Blades. What can I call you?”

No reply. The Medic glanced down at the bowl before back up at Blades.

“Oh, they’re not poisoned or drugged or anything if you’re worried about that. Here let me-” Blades leaned forward after another few steps, reaching an arm out to take an energon cube to prove they hadn’t been tampered with.

One of the Medic’s arms wrapped around his own, keeping him close as his frame lunged at him, a leg kicking into his side. Groaning, Blades fell back, the Medic’s weight contributing to the fumble as he was now crouched over him. 

The initial shock of the attack slipped past Blades as his training kicked in. Being nearly as tall as Blades, the Medic still lacked a heftier frame’s strength that Blades excelled in with training in these past orbital cycles. Using the grip on his arm against the Medic, Blades threw his arm to the side, taking the Medic’s frame with it. In a quick roll, the ‘copter landed over the mech’s still writhing frame, making sure to place his legs over the Medic’s as to avoid further hits. One of Blades’s arms held the Medic’s back, his loose arm recoiling to guard his face against another possible strike as Tess had done earlier.

Blades’s jaw went slack, losing his words as he saw how the previously fierce expression withered down into fear at retaliation. His next words struck even more regret into Blades for having this quick task end in a physical match with the Medic.

“Make it quick…”

“No…no, no.” Blades shook his helm repeatedly, vocalizer quieting as if he was equally afraid as the mech below him. “I won’t hurt you. I’m just- I just wanted to help. I wanted to save someone for once. You’re a medic, yeah? Well, I know you can do good, help others if you live so I want you to stay alive and well. I…I just want to help…”

A confused look contorted into one of amusement, although his optics remained eerily slack. A barrage of laughter sounded, uncontrolled and unabated from the Medic before he spat at Blades’s face. The oral lubricant only half caught on Blades’s visor as he flicked it down, the other portion hitting his face and the corner of his optic. Blades bit back his disgust, figuring a little bit of grime couldn’t do that much damage and instead held onto the Medic stedfastly as he spoke.

“That’s rich to hear from the DJD…you must be new or the most obvious sounding mole I’ve ever heard. If you’re honest about that statement, don’t bother trying. I’m dead already. Tarn probably has a smelter with my name on it after what happened.” The Medic leaned closer to Blades, whispering even as his vocalizer sounded near to giving out due to terror alone. “You’d be doing me a favor.”

Blades jumped back up, letting go of the Medic as he felt his back rotormast hit a wall. How strange to hear such familiar thoughts from a mech from the opposite faction. Such thoughts he often had lingering in his own helm far too often. 

“What happened?” Blades managed out after another few moments of biting his glossa in an attempt to restrain other comments that likely would be heard by Tarn. If this Medic did have some business or history with the leader of the DJD, it was more than possible that he was listening and watching at this very moment. 

“Why don’t you ask him?” The Medic snapped, drawing his arm paneling under his nose again as the hit from Tesarus was continuing to act up and leak. “Just leave me be until he decides when he wants my spark sung to until it offlines.”

Blades couldn’t quite form a proper response. He didn’t have to as a beep sounded from his comms:

(1) Message

TARN:

Meet me in my office.

The demand of ‘now’ didn’t have to be included for Blades to know when he was supposed to meet Tarn. Digits swept over his face and part of his visor in a quick clean up before he left. Sparing the Medic a final glance, Blades shuffled out of the cell, locking the door and walking briskly to the other end of the ship. That last look from the Medic appeared to be pity, if Blades didn’t know better, as if he knew who that interrupting message came from. 

A lone condolence from one condemned mech to another.

-

“Sir, I never meant for that to-”

“Sit down, Silverblade.” 

Tarn’s command had the newest recruit to the DJD glued to a seat even without any use of his outlier abilities. So much for Blades’s idea of trying to explain himself before Tarn could start talking.

“Since you are ever so curious, his name is Pharma. An Autobot medic as you have already guessed I’m sure.” Tarn heaved a disappointed sigh, optics remaining on the body of a miner that hung on the walls, his back facing Blades. It was one of his ‘first edition’ copies of Towards Peace as he called them. Blades wrung his servos, watching his leader’s helm tilt to the side, a consideratory motion as if thinking of what to reveal and what to keep to himself. “His name is Pharma and he is alive because he owes me. One does not break deals with a Decepticon and expect to walk away freely.”

Tarn turned, the click of his pedes heavy on the polished floor before he sat at his desk. “So you want to ‘save someone for once,’ hm? I take it that drawing energon for your cause doesn’t feel righteous enough? Now you want to save poor Autobots to further the Decepticon cause. Tell me how in any form of reason that such an act makes sense.”

Blades felt his fuel tank churn. So he had heard everything. It took considerable effort to prevent his servos from shaking.

“The dead don’t give us information, sir. I thought that if we found a living Autobot any information they had could be extracted and used to help the Cause. By keeping this Autobot, a medic too, alive we can save more Decepticons and end this war quicker. I…I wasn’t lying. It was a misdirected truth to Pharma. I do want to save someone for once, but I never said it would be him.”

“Ah…” Tarn’s helm shifted up, optics glowing in a clear sense of pride, even from beyond the mask. “My ever so clever protege strikes again. I admire your ambition even with such little information to work with, Blades. Keep that trait close and nurture it well during your time with us. We may find use for it further down the line. For now, however, there will be no need for information extraction with this particular Autobot so your plan is not warranted in this case. Another medic will be useful given our line of work, but don’t get your hopes up about any groundbreaking information that would end a war from that Jet.”

Relief flooded through Blades, but still, he wanted to know more about Pharma, even if it was pushing his rationalization of why he spoke the way he did earlier. This excuse would be enough to sate Tarn for now, but he still wondered what exactly the history was between these two. The last two words Tarn used to refer to Pharma had been spat out as if a derogatory curse.

An Autobot medic and a Decepticon hit squad leader hardly had much in common to Blades’s knowledge. What about the plague markings too? He wondered if Tarn even knew there had been some sort of outbreak at the Autobot base. Perhaps their connection was something from before the war. Otherwise would likely mean treason on Tarn’s part, sparking a doubled sense of interest at the situation. What if the leader of the DJD had committed treason? Perhaps this could be his silver bullet to taking him down…

“Why?” Blades blurted out, his mouth speaking faster than his spark could keep up with. His curiosity, for the third time this orbital cycle, would possibly be the death of him. “How can we be so sure Pharma isn’t hiding other information we might need?”

“Because, Blades,” Tarn stood, clicking his monitor screen on and turning it around for Blades to see. It was a very detailed dossier on the Medic, most of the information appearing to come from notes that Tarn himself had included on the official, public file of Pharma that the Decepticon database had. “I made sure of that myself, ages ago.”

His servos clenched, no longer at risk of shaking now that his own paneling appeared to be in the clear. Still, he kept the information about seeing a plague symbol at the base to himself. By giving up that information he would have to admit he went into an Autobot base. Abandoned or not, that alone could mean treason. “So that base I found Pharma outside of…did we do that? The DJD, I mean.”

“No, surprisingly enough, that was not our work. We’ve given some scrapes and shots to Autobot patrols that wander too far from their agreed upon boundary before, but had an agreement to let the Delphi Medical Facility stand if they obeyed our terms. Autobot infighting has gotten worse it seems, enough that they were willing to leave one of their own medics, an accomplished one at that, for dead.”

Blades nodded along. Sometimes he felt that Tarn was lying or evading the truth, but with the statement about infighting being what led to the facility’s downfall, he sensed no lies there. Still, he wasn’t being fully transparent about other details concerning this ‘truce’ and specifically his history with Pharma. The Medic’s words still echoed in his mind, ‘I’m dead already. Tarn probably has a smelter with my name on it after what happened.’ 

What did happen?

Blades leaned closer to the monitor, reading it as he ignored Tarn’s impatient stare. “What were our terms in the agreement?”

“We each keep to our own areas. The Autobot base was a medical-based one with a minor mining operation. No active military forces, at most they had some soldiers who were injured and taken to Delphi, but nothing close to a threat. Sometimes in war, compromises are made for how valuable a territory may be.”

“Messatine is a giant snowball, what could possibly be valuable…” Tarn stayed silent as he let Blades put the pieces together. “Ah, fuel. It was enough for both sides to mine so both sides stayed, yeah?”

“Indeed. The Decepticons maintained a fuel rich region with a rarer strain of energon, Nuke, while Autobots settled on a standard energon vein to mine. It’s been many vorns since the front lines were close to Messatine so it isn’t actively sought after territory. If anything I would classify it as dormant territory. If the need was ever to arise for our re-acquisition of the planet, striking down a colony of miners and a medical facility would be far from challenging.” Tarn’s clawed servo settled down on the back of Blades’s chair. Digits rapped an even rhythm that wormed its way into Blades’s mind. 

Finishing a glance over the first page of a several page document on the Medic, Blades leaned back in his chair, finally looking to Tarn once more. 

“Sir, I still think maintaining at least one person in the DJD for Pharma to feel more open with would be smart. Even if he doesn’t have any existing information we need, perhaps we can use him in the future. It would make his cooperation easier than if he hates us all equally.” Blades shrugged to add on an additional sense of nonchalance to his idea. “His background, even at a glance, is pretty impressive. I say having someone like that on our side, even a little bit, is better than none.”

Servo shifting from the chair to Blades’s shoulder, Tarn nodded, optics remaining glued to Blades as Pharma’s were earlier. Every movement, every reaction was observed with equal interest. 

“I do find sense in such a plan, but promise me something, Blades.” Tarn bent down, mask mere inches from Blades’s face. His visor reflected the red from his optics. “Promise me you won’t lose sight of the Cause. This particular mech is cunning enough, he may say or do anything to get you close enough to kill. You saw a small share of that earlier. Make sure that if I were to ask at any moment, you would be able to pull that Autobot’s spark right from his chassis. Don’t ever forget that.”

-

This had been the worst orbital cycle of Pharma’s life. No contest.

In one fell swoop, everything he had worked for, years of agony, tension, and borderline torture were for nothing. His position, gone. His reputation among his own faction, gone. His home if he could even call it that, gone. Everything was wrong, a flipped horror-esque reality that he couldn’t awaken from. 

Even in his recharge, his worst nightmares were more tame than his waking hours. At least he died plenty of times over and was freed from the pain of existence in most of those. Thinking about it, those nightmares were more akin to dreams, they were an escape at least.

The cell of the DJD’s base was going to be his final resting place, he knew that and had resigned to it. Cold iron bit into his side as he laid down, the lack of proper heating that cycled through the rest of the ship only worsening the condition of his vocalizer. It had grown even more corrupted, sounding like a static laced radio, from earlier frostbite and red rust infection in the days prior.  

His arms were tucked against his frame, wrists having been capped off by emergency fuel line endings as he still hadn’t received a set of servos. The Red Rust he was now infected with would take several days to fully engulf his frame, the cold hindering its spread after he fell on that fateful day. He wasn’t stupid enough to make only one cure for the virus, although he hadn’t had enough time to finish developing the several other doses of the full cure at the time. Instead he was left with an emergency pill in his cockpit that slowed the progression to a normal rust virus’s spread time. Now, after taking it, the plague spread a fraction of how fast the Red Rust could spread. At least, he could have weeks or months rather than days or hours. He wasn’t even sure why he took the pill, as it simply prolonged his current existence in this hell.

It was a temporary solution to a much larger issue that remained, but Pharma fully expected that he wouldn’t live long enough to get to a lab and make another dose of a full cure for himself. And now, after the stunt that this new DJD member pulled (Pharma didn’t recall seeing any information about that member with the DJD on the last update to the Autobot public records on the DJD), he was sure that mech also had the virus, thanks to some well targeted spit. Perhaps his plan to take out the DJD with the virus would end up working after all…

Steps triggered Pharma’s waking protocols as he fully expected Tarn to pay a midnight visit to his cell. Perhaps he had finally come for Pharma’s own cog as payment for losing the stash of cogs available for use at the medical facility. Instead, to his surprise, that damned ‘copter now stood at his cell doors, giving a hesitant wave of his servo.

Rather than saying anything more, he crouched down and slipped something through the bars. The small wrapping of a mesh rag prompted Pharma to scramble up on his arms. A note was attached to the bundle, reading:

sorry 4 how the DJD is

they suck

He nearly laughed at that alone, but didn’t want to strain his vocalizer. Instead giving an indignant look at Blades as if wondering whether he was seriously talking bad about the DJD of all mechs (his own team) on a little etched note. Unraveling the bundle, Pharma saw two extra energon cubes and a tube of nannite gel. As Pharma glanced back up, Blades gave a flick of a digit to his nose as if telling Pharma silently what the gel was for.

Reluctantly, the Medic knew this new member of the DJD was growing on him. Slightly. More akin to a bothersome bit of ice that formed between paneling while he was out traversing Messatine. The annoying kind that refused to move even after transforming several times. Yes, that description seemed more apt as Pharma truly wanted nothing to do with anyone from this group. 

Blades it seemed, would be harder to shake than the rest of them. Pharma found, after Blades’s more tolerable vists, that he didn’t mind nearly as much as he thought he would.

At least it wasn't Tarn stopping by.

Chapter Text

Silverblade nearly forgot how awful sand was. He’d be picking the annoying little granules from his seams for the next cycle and a half…

The DJD’s current quarry had holed up in an arid, desert planet with several large bodies of water dotted sparsely through the surface. There was a limited mountainous region but of course, to Blades’s luck, their wonderful traitor had decided to make a run for an abandoned organic settlement underneath the desert. 

This runner was one of the few who Blades could firmly agree was a traitor. Bonesaw, a Decepticon medic on a remote base, had killed his entire hospital of patients, as well as fellow staff. Why? For a twisted collection of nerve wiring he had become obsessed with in the last few cycles. 

Upon inspection by Con forces, his entire habsuite had been a spider’s web of interwoven wiring. The photos hadn’t done the deed justice in Blades’s optics as the image of kilometers upon kilometers of inner wiring stretched overwhelmingly, yet somehow still orderly, through the room. Floor to ceiling, countless little points all ending at a berth slab where they tied themselves to the edge of the slab.

Tarn said that Bonesaw had done it believing this was a way to channel extra energy to him without consuming energon. Blades didn’t care why he did it, only that he was one of the few true traitors that needed to be stopped. 

His fuel tank churned even thinking of encountering such a disturbed mech…not that he didn’t encounter such mechs on the daily with the DJD, but at least he had an understanding with them. A sense of strained comradery that had developed over his time with them. He didn’t think Bonesaw of all mechs would be one to find solace in talks of reason.

For now, Kaon and Vos were clearing out the tunnels below, drawing Bonesaw out to the surface for the rest of the DJD to deal with. Blades was on the north exit of the tunnel settlement, perched on a sand dune as he watched the bleak expanse of silver sand. The moonlight illuminated the surface well enough that even at night any minor speck could be seen against the light of the seven moons orbiting this planet. He scoffed upon thinking about how horribly his new paint job (dark grey, black, and purple; Tarn's choosing) stood out against the environment. 

Stretching his legs out before him, Blades caved and sat down fully. Joints creaked in protest as he groaned in equal measure. At first, he thought this full frame pain was from an intensive session of training with Tarn and the team, but now he was growing uncertain…Limbs grew more and more stiff with each passing day, his helm even starting to throb horribly these last two days since they departed from Messatine to their latest hunt.

Perhaps he had caught a minor viral strain somewhere? Primus knew what he was bound to pick up with being exposed to so much energon being spilled on himself. He cringed at the thought, but the idea of asking Nickel to check on him made him bear through whatever pain this was. 

Nothing that wouldn’t pass in a few paracycles, he told himself confidently. Nothing that won’t just fade away with time and-

Blades

Nearly pulling a nerve wire in his back, Blades spun around wildly, spark flaring in shock. Someone had whispered his name right next to his helm. Yet, no one was behind him. His comms weren’t active either.

“Well, so much for sitting. If anyone is there, I’m up! I’m still on watch!” Blades said aloud while standing up just in case it had been a comm that came through strangely. A shuddering cough followed his statement. Ugh, now his vocalizer was continuing to be a staticky pain from whatever he had caught. No big deal, it’ll probably be gone and through my systems by the time we get back to Messatine and Nickel checks us over. At least he hoped so…

He began to turn from where he knew the tunnel’s exit was, feeling…off. A crawling sensation skittered up his spinal strut, burrowing its way into his helm.

Someone was watching him now. 

Blades clicked on his comm line, eager to hear another voice that wasn’t his own. By the pits, he’d take hearing Helex talk about the best way to crack open a brain module if it meant he didn’t have to sit with this eerie silence.

His vents quickened as he felt something closer to him, yet he still couldn’t see anything on the vast silver-sanded dunes. “Hey, Team! Where we at with Bonesaw?”

“Blades.” Tarn’s now-familiar drawl chastised his mentee immediately. Blades heaved a sigh and rolled his optics…of course he would at a time like this. “That would be ‘Where ‘are’ we at with Bonesaw.’ We have him cornered. Kaon has optics on him so now we wait for our quarry to scurry right into our trap. All good and well, as this shouldn’t take longer than to dawn.”

Kaon cut in, ever the astute planner. “Right on time too. I really didn’t want this one taking longer than that. Tarn, if we haven’t finished our business by 06:45:00 can we just take him to the PT and finish the job on base?”

Blades was listening absently, mind entirely on other matters as Tarn droned on in agreement, forming plans of what they could do with Bonesaw while on the ship. An itching feeling was burrowing into Blades’s helm as he reached a servo up to physically scratch behind his finials. What was this sensation? 

Blades

The Decepticon almost tripped on part of the dune’s sinking sand as he stumbled along the ridge. That voice had to be coming from somewhere…

Tarn casually laughed at something Kaon said as he continued. The bloated certainty of victory was clear in his tone. “Oh, but of course! Nothing but the best for our guest-“

“Kaon.” Blades blurted out, not giving two flying frags that he just interrupted Tarn. The whispering was growing louder. One of his servos shot to the side of his helm. “Do you have optics on Bonesaw?”

“I’m looking at Vos giving him an intimate look at his mask right now…Blades is there something-?”

Blades kept his comm line open as he collapsed to his knees on the sand dune, both servos over his audials now. His finials were twitching frantically with the sound. It was overlapping now and sounded like several voices. 

Blades Blades

Blades Blades

Blades Blades

BLADES

He yelled aloud, shaking his helm fervently. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just near him. 

It was everywhere.

Kaon sounded taken aback at the shift in Blades, prior cocky tone fading to his more usual sense of urgency. “Blades, is everything okay up there? Tesarus, can you go check on what’s happening to the north. Bonesaw shouldn’t have had any accomplices according to our investigation, but we shouldn’t rule that out now. Blades, comm us back, what’s happening?!”

“On it.” Tesarus confirmed as the comms went silent for a moment, waiting for Blades’s reply.

The voices stilled for a moment, but Blades kept his helm down, optics squeezed shut as he braced for another audial assault. 

“Something’s here…” He whispered, vents shuttering as he suddenly became more fearful than he ever had been to open his optics. This wasn’t just the cheap gore-rich terror of the DJD that he was now confronted with. This was something else, something so viscerally and deeply disturbing. Something that he felt knew him. 

He was completely oblivious to his comms which remained on as he pleaded out a string of futile wishes against whatever he now felt was hunting him. He was certain of that, although he had no clue how. “Please leave me alone. Please leave me alone, please. Please. Please.”

“BLADES! What is there? Do you see anything!?” Tarn’s command cut through the comms, the signature clicking of transformation seams sounding as he moved to see what was terrorizing Blades in this way. He didn’t ever think he had heard him so desperate and terrified, not even on that first day they properly met. Whatever this was had to be bad…

A rolling wave of comfort flooding Blades made him open his optics, Tarn’s voice garbling to a lost sound on his audials. He wasn’t sure what was distorting it so, but he could have cared less as he gaped at the sight. If he wasn’t already on his knees he would have fallen right then and there.

Blades. Long time no see, bud.

No way. It couldn’t be him, he was-

Like an idiot, Blades could only stutter out a casual greeting to this specter now back from the dead. “Hey…”

Diskshift’s hefty tank frame jostled with a laugh as he stood before Blades who was on his knees, half shrunken upon himself. Dark green was tinged with neon green accents upon his paneling. Such a familiar sight after all the times he had helped him touch up the paint on his frame. 

It was him. 

So, what kind of work do they have you doin’ now?

“Bad things…” Blades’s vocalizer nearly gave out. He couldn’t bring himself to admit everything to Disk, but he simultaneously felt the urge to reveal everything to him, no matter how twisted the details. “Such bad things…”

Hm, are we talking ‘cleaning the oil change stalls’ or uh, even worse?

He couldn’t help but laugh in response. Half of it sounded to be corrupted by his vocalizer but he didn’t care. His helm had stopped throbbing for the moment, everything was fine. 

Everything was going to be okay. Disk was here. 

“So- where have you been?”

Here, there, everywhere. More places than you have, I bet. You always were more of a homebody.

“Pft…not by choice.“ Blades watched intently as his former comrade bent down to a knee in front of him. He roughly shoved a servo forward to grasp Blades’s jaw, shaking it back and forth loosely as if to mess with him. 

Gee, Silver-B you really need to take care of yourself. You look like Mortilus just took a bite out of your aft. A big, ol’  juicy one. I sure don’t recall you having those optic indents either…

He did suppose one lost countless hours of recharge when your mind was playing memories of the DJD’s handiwork over in your helm. Blades smirked, leaning into the grasp. For someone who was dead, he felt strangely present. 

Perhaps Bonesaw had got the one up on him and he was dead. Well, it certainly could have been a lot more painful than he thought it was. He was entirely fine with that. For now, he was content with listening to Diskshift ramble.

“Tell me about the races, Disk.”

The races? Damn, you have lost it…you never did ask me to yap about that. If anything you asked to shut me up about it. Are you sure?

Both of Disk’s servos grasped either side of Blades helm as he smiled in near delirium. Blades made the extra effort of raising his servos up to feel Disk’s face as well. All-be-damned…he certainly did feel real. 

“Please. Just keep talking. Tell me about that one…the Tetrahexian Grad Prix.”

Ah! See, you never did listen. It’s the Polyhexian Grand Prix. You know that one wasn’t…

“Wasn’t what?” Blades squinted as he leaned forward, putting more of his weight against Disk. His mind was beginning to feel the onset of the whispers again. Frag.

It wasn’t the…

Disk’s mouth was moving but no sound emitted past the first few words now. Frantically, Blades grabbed his shoulders, optics widening.

“Disk? DISK! No, no, no. Stay with me!”

A splitting pain caused Blades to double over as he leaned his helm into Disks’s chassis for stability. paneling felt as if it was shifting and contorting under his grasp. A futile dream that he could never even hope to hold on to. Just one more thing taken from him. 

Too much. 

It was far too much.

“Blades! What’s your problem?!”

Tesarus’s annoyed snap cut through the fog of his brain module. Optics struggling and failing to calibrate properly, Blades squinted at Tess’s signature red ‘X’ visor right before his own face. The warbuild mech’s servos shook his shoulders, holding onto him steadfastly while inspecting his frame. 

“You don’t…you don’t look hurt. Something is wrong so just spit it out before…wait,” Tess frowned, helm tilting, “Did you say ‘Disk?’”

Blades, far from mentally sound enough to answer replied with offlining his optics. Not voluntarily. He gasped, visor retracting as his vision degraded into a black pit of nothingness. Tess cursed badly enough to earn a black mark right then and there as he let go. Body falling backwards onto the sand, Blades held his helm in his servos, legs curling up to protect his vulnerable form. 

“What’s happening- Tess? Tess, what can you see?!”

“Slag on a stick, Blades…what did you get into?”

“Not helping, Tess!” Blades yelled back, the whispers continuing in full force. They grew stronger, louder, more disorienting the less he was able to find a sense of grounding. Now without his vision nor another mech having contact with him, it became tenfold harder.

Blades Blades

Blades Blades

Blades Blades

Blades Blades

Blades Blades

Blades Blades

The familiar sound of tank treads rolling closer sounded in the distance, off to his left. A clicking of transformation. Running steps. Then a voice. 

Oh that hated, vile tone that was about as comforting as a needle to your optic, yet as smooth as liquid mercury. How he hated every syllable of it calling out his name…

“Blades! Now, Tess, why did you drop him like that…oh. Oh my.” Tarn’s voice faltered, a sharp vent being sucked past his shuttering air circulation system. “Call Nickel immediately, tell her to prepare a quarantine chamber.”

Tess scoffed. “Did you hear him talking? The little bugger’s gone and lost it finally…” A shove to the back of Blades’s shoulders prompted him to flinch. He did it again when he heard the next voice speak.

“No! Don’t touch him. Not yet. We need to handle this carefully.”

Blades groaned as the aching got worse. Crawling up his spine, sitting right behind his optics, gnawing away at his inner wiring. Something liquid ran down his cheek. 

Tears? No, he might have been feeling many things right now, but he wasn’t crying…what the slag was that?

“He was rambling about him again-“ Tess tattled, talking aloud to Tarn as if Blades wasn’t aware enough to hear them both still. He was blind right now, not deaf.

Tarn cut Tess off, tone callus and on the verge of anger, held back by a thin veil of worry. “I heard, or did you forget that his comms were on? I will deal with that in time…For now I expect you to make that call to Nickel. A dose of haste is exhorted...“

Pede steps sounded closer, a large weight settling down next to Blades as he tucked his knees in closer to his frame with his arms. He panted, something causing his vents to feel particularly strained.

Was this really what it felt like to go offline? Primus, it sucked…

“Blades, listen now, can you hear me?”

A nod, jittery and shallow as even the slightest motion to Blades’s helm hurt horribly. 

“Good. Very good. Tess is headed off to get the chamber for you, just stay still.”

Blades let out a forced fit of a laugh. A sour, metallic tasting liquid dripped down the back of his throat. He coughed on it, nearly choking. “Don’t…plan on moving…sir.”

“I can’t imagine it.” Tarn mumbled. A servo, clawed as ever, rested apprehensively on Blades’s shoulder. “Focus on venting. Try and-“

“What’s happening to me?”

A pause, a deep vent passing through Tarn. 

“From the ever so obvious looks of it, an infection of devastating magnitude to the frame. Rust based and strategic, this one attacks the senses first when it goes for a full frame offlining.”

“So I- I’m dying?” Blades found he was more comfortable with that idea than ever before. 

“Well…yes. But I promise I won’t let that happen if we can help it. I think I know what we can do, but we need to get you back to Messatine. The quarantine chamber will help slow the process on the trip back.”

Let me be…Blades wanted to call aloud and laugh in utter joy. He was so close to an escape. So close he had even glimpsed a quick peek of what lay beyond in the form of Disk. 

Let me be free.

Please, just let me go…

-

Blades lost most of his major motor skills halfway back to Messatine. His vocalizer only worked for one full word out of two dozen tries. Optics remained pools of shadow, prompting his audials to compensate for the lack of utility. 

Tarn was thankful for that at least. He always thought of his voice as one of his more redeemable qualities. It was a small gift from his Lord himself, honed by countless vorns of training. He could comfort Blades even if this was to be his last few days. The thought was inevitable, yet Tarn refused to fully accept it.

That little Autobot scum had brought this plague onto their team, now he would pay the price, fix his mistake, and owe interest as the DJD’s leader saw fit. Tarn, after pondering about it on the entire way back to Messatine, had a very good idea of what said interest was going to be. One prickly medic from the opposite faction would have to try harder than that to eradicate his team and his chosen protégé.

-

It was only the third time during his entire stay in the DJD’s cells that Pharma saw Tarn. Some itching feeling at the back of his spark made him think it would also be the last. Part of him, most of him, hoped desperately that was the case. 

“Doctor.”

The greeting was more curt than usual. Pharma smiled, knowing his handiwork must have come to some form of fruition. 

Opening the cell, Vos scurried in, unlocking a series of chains that kept him within a few paces of the back wall. Tarn continued to look down on him in disgust, those red optics cut down akin to a single strand of a red-hot heating coil. 

“Doctor, Doctor…were you ever going to tell me what you had planned? I thought we were on more satiable terms than this.” He clicked his glossa, the pop causing Pharma to flinch involuntarily. “Do you think that-“

Having near nothing to lose, Pharma held up an empty wrist, cutting Tarn off.

“He’s lost most of his sensory input by now, hasn’t he? He was probably tested for any illness before he was infected. Sneaking past health evals, trudging through the worst of it until he finally took one last fatal flight to trigger it. Judging from your tone and this visit, he’s been hiding his other symptoms from you and your team. Smart mech. Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same, even if it does severely lower one’s chances of survival. Maybe he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Arm paneling of Tarn’s groaned underneath the strain of his newly clenched servo. Still, his arms remained stiffly behind his back. He had to keep up appearances after all, his projection to those whose opinion mattered to him was everything. Perhaps to a fatal fault.

“Vos, some privacy, please.” 

It was far from an ask, simply a civilly worded order. The dark gangling mech slipped away between what little room remained next to Tarn’s frame and the threshold of the cell. Pharma swallowed. This was the first time he had been alone with Tarn since before Delphi fell. Subconsciously he backed into the wall, attempting to place as much room between himself and Tarn. It didn’t take much to remember what occurred during those secret meetings they had…and that was when they were on passable terms.

Striding into the cell, Tarn tilted his helm. The dim, cool lighting reflecting weakly off of the edges of his frame. That sharp mask, that scarred covering just whispered to Pharma about the horrible job Tarn did in concealing his expressions. It was so easy to read him, a cheeky little pulp datapad novel dressed up in a reformatted warborn frame. Despite that he knew whatever was coming was bound to be bad, Pharma maintained that smile. If he was to die, he’d do it by going out how he wanted to make himself perceived. No screaming or praying or begging or any of that nonsense. Tarn would have to try far harder than that. 

“How do you feel, Doctor?”

“Like expired ener-gel. Lacking servos doesn’t help.” He kept his voice down, curious to see what angle Tarn would take now that his own cards had been guessed so easily. 

“Mm. That’s good. You deserve every ounce of discomfort you receive while in our care.” One step closer, two… “I don’t imagine it’s very palatable bearing a virus, seeing which will come first: your demise or that of your adversaries. Tell me if I’m getting close to it, Doctor Pharma.”

Pharma didn’t reply, simply keeping up that smile. He wanted to drag out Tarn’s lack of control over this situation for as far as he could. 

Tarn was more than halfway across the cell, but he closed the gap between them in less than a nanoklik. Pharma let forth a strangled gasp as Tarn’s servo closed around his throat. In the same vent, he found himself hurled across the cell, back turbine slamming into the wall, crushing half of it in one fell swoop.

Tarn’s weight was on him by the time his vision stopped spinning, HUD screaming further warnings as if he couldn’t already feel the pain. A knee dug down into Pharma’s back, prompting a restrained hiss as he planted his face to the ground. He didn’t want to be seen like this by anyone, especially his own assailant. Vulnerable, broken…pathetic.

Pharma had ceased writhing under the pressure of an entire tank above him. That slick tone shifted next to his helm, hissing the last thing he wanted to hear. 

“How would you fancy making one last deal, dearest Pharma? For old times sake of course.”

“Get fra- AHG!”

Pharma’s retort was cut short as Tarn grabbed his jaw, bending his helm back up. The limit was tested and nearly went past what his spinal strut would allow. He whined, vocalizer unable to function while his throat cabling was drawn up this taut.

“I jest.” It was Tarn’s turn to laugh now. A giddy sense of elation at his control gaining back over the situation. It swarmed through his wiring as quickly as Pharma now drowned in his own terror. 

“No more deals from you. How can I ever trust you after breaking our last one, hm?” He seemed to wait for a real reply. It sure wasn’t coming as Pharma emitted several choking sounds, his energon flow already restricting noticeably to his brain module. “Nothing? I’d really hoped for more, but alas, now is far from the time to dabble in our prior little dissipations. I will not make meager barters with an Autobot any further. I will tell you to do something and you will do it. Anything I say, anytime I demand, whatever I please, and however I command it.

"Today, I have a job for you, Doctor. It's quite an eleemosynary task, all things considered. You save my protégé and perhaps you will have earned a set of hands back. If not…well, in my time with the Decepticon Justice Division, I know how spineless miscreants favor a quick way out. I’ll make sure to keep your spark running for as long as I’m functioning, making it miserable for every. single. klik.

“Now…how does that sound?”

-

He did a good job, lack of servos considered…Tarn had been particularly smug in his announcement that Pharma would only receive a proper pair of servos after he saved Blades’s spark. In the meantime, Nickel would aid him and complete what tasks he needed for finalizing the rust’s antidote. 

Perhaps it was the post-victory glow in his spark, maybe he was just growing soft, but he nearly felt bad for Silverblades. The copter was still unconscious, even as the antidote and nanites coursed through his fuel lines to undo and repair the damage that had been done. He had already taken his own dose for himself, the prior pill that kept his symptoms from progressing too quickly also having served to keep his infection from being initially detected. That hidden hand in his own deck of tricks, however, was now up entirely. So much for years of research into a biological weapon and for all those who fell from it.

He deserves it for being with the DJD, Pharma told himself steadfastly. Still, something felt…off about Silverblade’s involvement with the group. There was a sense of strain Pharma could pick up on from Tarn, as obvious as a noisy malfunctioning ventilation system. What the context was behind this exact point of conflict, Pharma had no clue but did pick up a whisper from Tesarus to Helex. Those hushed words spoke of Blades having referred to ‘him,’ some mystery forbidden mech whose name they would not mention around Blades. It wasn’t much to work with, nearly a net zero sum of immediate relevance, but Pharma filed it away nonetheless. 

Using a capped wrist, Pharma tapped a monitoring screen, checking Blades’s condition.

The Jet glared behind him, posture puffing out as if offended Tarn ever questioned his ability to remedy the situation. “He’ll live…if that’s what you’re hovering over my wings for.” 

“I am aware he is going to live, but what of any more permanent damage to-“

“That’s what the nanites were for,” A wrist jabbed annoyedly at Tarn, “And my recommendation for several paracycles of rest before any…business is conducted in the field. That wasn’t just a suggestion for the fun of it, it could very well be the make or break between Silverblade making a full recovery and finding himself offline in the middle of one of your little sadist hunts.”

“I see.” Tarn’s mind was elsewhere. His optics certainly were conducting similar business as he continued looking down the length of Blades’s still frame. They lingered upon the mech’s face as if concerned he would see another wave of liquid rust running down his features. He blinked several times, seeming to snap his mind from its trance, although he didn’t look back to Pharma. “And the other antiviral doses? Or did you forget that was equally part of my requirement for your spark’s continued function?”

“There’s enough for your team and several spare doses. Nickel is finishing up the solution then will store them in the med bay.”

“Good…good. Are we certain no one else has been infected?”

“Yes. Very much so. Blades was the only one I was able to get close enough to infect, although you should probably give that overgrown blender a warning about getting too close to prisoners too.” He added on that last bit less as a helping tip for Tarn and more of a little dose of conflict to sow among him and his team. The less they trusted each other, the more Pharma could find a crack in their armored exterior to work with. He smiled after giving the suggestion, ever the diligent medic no matter his circumstances.

“Mm….noted.” Tarn mumbled, stepping closer to Blades as if less fearful he was going to infect him with red rust now. A wary servo reached for Blades’s chassis, splaying across the glass ridden surface. Tilting his helm, seeming to listen to some other frequency that was far from Pharma’s own perception, Tarn began to hum. 

It was a low, deep tone. Something that conjured the image of an industrial smelter churning on, the groan of an old factory limping along on its last days of operation. Something strangely ancient coming from a zealot of an upstart political regime. 

Blades’s digits twitched, vents hitching before Pharma realized what Tarn was doing. 

“Stop!” He wasn’t even sure why he barked that order, supposing it was an old protective habit towards any of his patients. Regret struck him like a backhand from Tarn during one of their earlier meetings in which Pharma had first fallen under his quota. This time, Pharma stood firm, even if he was defending someone who he wished wouldn’t make it to the next paracycle. 

“Stop?” 

The question sounded far more innocent than Pharma would have thought possible from Tarn. Of course Tarn knew exactly why he said stop. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to kill one of his own mechs, but-

“It seems, Doctor, even you don’t know the extent of my abilities. I am not trying to harm him, simply waking him.” Pharma could feel the self satisfied smirk at getting such a rouse from him. “Although I am touched that you’ve taken to your role as our own medic quite assiduously. See how comfortable it can be when you’re cooperating and not trying to be a sabotaging little Autobot quisling?”

Pharma sneered at that, about to give another biting remark he knew he’d regret, but another’s vocalizer was quicker.

It was a quiet murmur but undeniable as both of their attentions turned to Blades. The mech was stirring now, optics clicking back on for the first time since they had gone offline in the field. He glanced around his surroundings drearily before settling to look at the massive servo on his chassis. 

“Am I in the after-spark?” 

Pharma had to give an amused scoff to that, turning to focus on the monitor to make sure Tarn’s impatient self hadn’t woken him up too early. He was going steady now, likely out of the storm for good. 

A sense of failure struck Pharma. It was the first time he had ever wanted a patient to die. All of those at Delphi, they were out of survival, a weighing of odds to sacrifice the few for the many. Now, this was nothing but pure animosity coated in a bitter taste of defeat. He didn’t want to get used to this feeling, but considering who his new patients would be, he didn’t see that as a luxury he could afford.

“Far from it.” Tarn assured, his own voice rising in elation at this victory. “You have been given a dose of the antivirus for the red rust as well as some nanites for the other lasting damage. You will need some recovery time, but that’s nothing I can’t plan into our next few missions. I know the team will miss your presence for our next assignments on The List, but I trust you’ll make a wonderful recovery in no time.” 

Blades groaned, “Too many words…Helm hurting.”

Pharma shook his helm. This patient is turning out to be quite the bright bulb. Shifting the monitor closer to the berthside, Pharma faced Blades, leaning over him with his empty wrists on his hips. “What he means to say is: recharge when you can. Rest for a few paracycles. No killing mechs. How does that sound?”

Those orange optics contracted and shifted, still adjusting to the bright lights of the med bay. His expression changed to one of surprise as he fully realized who was his medic now. He gave a weak, weary smile that spoke of pressures past his day to day assignments with the Justice Division. Something that reminded Pharma of the way his own features had looked in his habsuite mirror on Delphi. The tension of something hidden drawing one to their limits, only to soar past what one thought they were capable of withstanding. A strange kinship through silence touched Pharma as he gave a stony glower back. He was stupid to even consider anything in common with such a bloodthirsty thug as one who ended up with this gore-hungry band of Cons. After all, he had to have done something horrific enough to get assigned to the DJD of all teams…didn’t he? 

Pharma shoved that sickening doubt from his mind. Of course he did. He was sure this fool was just as guilty as the rest of them…even if he did carry himself differently and had given Pharma no indication that he was like them in that way. That look of despair he held as he pinned Pharma down in the cell, stating his denial that he would hurt him sure didn’t feel like a stereotypical DJD recruit. 

Shaking the feeling of those curious orange optics on him, Pharma huffed, turning around fully to focus his attention to the monitor screen. 

“Thank you…” Blades whispered, vocalizer still raspy from its corrosion. Pharma gave a ‘hmph’ under closed lips at the phrase. Yet something else to surprise him from this DJD enforcer…

“Tarn?”

“Yes, my Silverblade.” Pharma’s audials tuned in that the inclusion of ‘my,’ even more curious now as to what Blades meant to the leader of the DJD. Another figment of information to be used for later…

“Get your servo off my chassis. It’s hard to vent.” 

Startled at the bluntness of his statement, Tarn did so, seeming unsure whether to chastise his informality or let it slide. He seemed to choose the latter.

“Speaking of chassis and sparks, I recommend you not use your ‘ability,‘ or whatever you want to call it, on Silverblades until he is fully recovered. Regardless of whether you were just trying to ‘wake him,’ rust makes an entire frame’s system vulnerable to even minor changes.”

“You woke me up?” Blades complained, “Ugh that must have been what that damn noise in my helm was…”

Pharma restrained his features, trying not to let an ounce of humor slip past as he saw an offended look on Tarn’s optics. The Tank crossed his arms, a digit scratching at an edge of paneling restlessly.  “It was a song. The Depths of the Well of Allsparks, 8th movement. Composed by none other than Chorida of Helex.“

Blades cringed, shifting his helm to lay on its side, optics closing as if the light around him was too much. “You know I hate the classics.”

“Hm, yes. Just one of your more regrettable traits no doubt fostered by your manufacturing. I’m going to talk with Tesarus about his performance in the field.” Tarn glowered at Pharma specifically now, “Try not to kill him while I have my back turned for five kliks, Doctor. Then again, you are so very good at killing patients aren’t you?”

Pharma’s face flushed a cool blue at the accusation. Blades’s optics snapped open, shooting towards Pharma. A sudden expression of ‘oh frag’ was now plastered on his face as Tarn strode from the room, fuming. 

Blades swallowed shallowly. “So…are you gonna try killing me again?”

“Not right at this moment.” 

The medic had busied himself with flipping through information on the monitor concerning the medical supply information for the med bay, making note of what they did and didn’t have. Might as well, while he had some time alone. Already, he didn’t see Blades as being one to snitch on him for such a minor bout of curiosity concerning something related to his field of expertise. He upped his anesthetic dosage for the pain and to perhaps get some extra quiet time to research.

“He said you-“

“Killed patients? Yes, only because he forced my servo. It was a few dozen in exchange for the sparks of hundreds. As far as I’m concerned, they were casualties of the DJD.“ He paused in his scroll down the list of samples the med bay housed, aware that statement felt like a hollow lie as it passed his lips. Still, he pressed on this truth of his as it made the situation more manageable in his mind. “They are casualties of the DJD. Their energon is on your servos just as much as it’s on mine.”

Blades wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. He settled on a safe, complimenting option. “…Thank you for not killing me, Doctor Pharma.”

“Again, like I said before,” Pharma stressed his tone, sounding as exasperated as a caretaker of new-sparks, “Don’t thank me yet. I just haven’t decided how I want to kill you yet.”

Blades giggled. “I like you. You’re funny.”

“Andddddd that would be the anesthetic kicking in.” Pharma said quietly under his vents.

“Mm, Pharamara…Harma…can I call you Harmy?”

“Absolutely not.” Perhaps doubling his anesthetic dosage was a bit too much…

“Can I say thank you again?” Blades’s voice was growing more distant, airy as if he was only halfway aware of his surroundings. His optics were already flickering in and out.

“For what?”

“For telling Tarn not to use The Voice on me. Thank you, Harmy…Mr. Doctor…Pharmar…”

A deep venting snore signaled Blades’s retreat back into recharge, to Pharma’s great relief. 

Even his last statement, as out of it as he was, still held another fragment of information that Pharma filed away. 

‘For telling Tarn not to use The Voice on me. Thank you…’

Why would Tarn be using his ability on one of his own mechs? Pharma found his curiosity growing exponentially over what Blades’s place in this team really was. Things were already not as straightforward as they previously appeared, only growing more muddied and complicated the more he overheard from each mech within the DJD. 

At the same time, who cared if they were all torturing each other in private like some sick game? Pharma still had a goal to fulfill and a debt to collect from Tarn. Perhaps one day, the perfect opportunity would arise and Pharma would get to stick his scalpels deep in this new recruit’s optic sockets before trying his servo at disconnecting Tarn’s spark wires one by one. A mech could dream couldn’t he? Dreams he often found growing more akin to something he would see from the DJD’s ‘hunting’ tapes. He shivered at the comparison. 

Perhaps he could just stick with something old school, something tried and true like a good old bullet to the back of the helm. Still, such an end didn’t feel like nearly enough payback for what this entire team had wrought upon their own kind. He needed them to feel the pain they made him and so many others feel. He needed a deeper cut down into that open wound. He needed to feel the energon dripping past his servos, up his arms, and onto his chassis. He needed the sensation of digits curling indiscriminately around crucial wiring, pulling with a manic force to dismantle them all. He needed to see their spark casing peeled back and-

A loud churn of helicopter engines startled him from his thoughts. He tsked, using the edge of a wrist to further prop open Blades’s cooling vents. The last thing he needed was for Tarn to have something against him if this absolute idiot overheated in his recharge. 

Despite the noise, he looked peaceful. Those optics that held indents below them from lack of recharge seemed to add a sense of age to his frame that Pharma knew he didn’t have. He was clearly an MTO, Pharma having seen dozens of other standard heli-model MTOs cross-faction after the Autobots overran a notorious Decepticon MTO station. Perhaps Blades was from the very same one. He chuckled to himself at the possibility of an MTO working for the DJD being an Autobot in some other reality where he was built just a few cycles later. Now that was a joke.

Without paying much attention, Pharma tapped a wrist to Blades’s helm, extending out his visor for him. He knew his optics would be sensitive to the bright light, the visor serving as a welcome buffer when he would awaken. 

Cursing himself, Pharma turned away from the frame and back to the monitor to get as much information as he could from it while he was alone. He needed to focus, not play caretaker to a group of energon-hungry maniacs. Especially not to this strange addition to their group that he was still unraveling like a knotted set of wires. 

How did you end up here, Silverblade? 

Voluntarily or just the same bad luck as me? 

-

In the short time of solar cycles passing, Pharma grew more and more numb to the immediate shock of limbs on the floors and energon split in rather unconventional ways.

What he didn’t expect, however, was a severed pair of servos being slammed onto his workbench.

Silverblades had strode into the med bay one afternoon, still limping from his near offlining experience with the Red Rust. Energon coated his servos and down one side of his frame. There was an extra splattering of it along his jaw and cheek, avoiding his optics as his visor was down. 

Pharma looked up curiously, arms crossed as he remained hunched over his datapad reading. 

“A real thank you...Something you can use at least.”

“Ah,” Pharma inspected the servos noting how they were clawed, intricate of build. Clearly a Decepticon medic’s. “Where might you have gotten those?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Blades said quickly despite how Bonesaw’s screaming still rang in his audials. 

“I’m going to be using them for highly sensitive and precise work. So yes, I do believe it matters.”

Blades gave an impatient stomp on the ground, subtle and played off as if he was shifting his stance but Pharma knew better. Was a member of the DJD really pouting? Pharma smiled pleasantly as if to just get on his nerves.

“There was a medic, a Con. He kinda...uhhh, lost it.”

“Oh,” Sounds familiar, Pharma thought pessimistically, “Where is he now?”

“Mmmmm…” Blades ground his heel into the floor, focusing on the grating sound as a distraction. His optics flicked down, concentrating too much on such a simple act. “He’s in the basement.” 

A pitched laugh jumped out of Pharma’s vocalizer before he could stop it. “You mean, he’s been tortured right below us for who knows how long and you just cut his servos off to give to me as a little thank you present for deciding not to kill you?”

“Mmmp…no…okay, maybe.”

“Does Tarn know you did this?” Pharma hadn’t heard much of anything when it came to Tarn keeping up his end in getting a set of servos for him to work with. Perhaps Blades was just carrying out one of his commands. This was the most likely reason for energon stained servos now dirtying up his workspace.

“…No. He wanted to wait until we went to an outpost planet to buy some simple replacement servos. I don’t see the point when we have a medic with fully tooled-up servos with us.” Blades swallowed, optics still avoiding contact with Pharma’s, “He won’t need them in a few solar cycles anyway…Vos is almost done with him.”

“Oh…charming.” Pharma quipped. 

It made sense that Tarn wanted to equip him with the most rudimentary, archaic servos he could find. Less for him to get up to and be able to do with as little integrated equipment as possible. How perfect that Blades was now dropping this goldmine (granted the most morally questionable gold he’d seen in a while) right in his lap. 

“You know Nickel will never install these on me unless she has Tarn’s say-so.”

“Uh-huh. I figured. That’s why I already told her that you’d take up all of her cleaning shifts and help around with whatever she needs in the med bay once you had new servos. The sooner, the better for her.”

Pharma’s brow ridge raised. “So you bartered me off as a glorified assistant is what I’m hearing?”

“Maybe.” Blades sighed heavily, bringing his servos to his face as if to rub it before jerking his servos back upon recalling the energon on them. “Look, do you want the servos or not? I don’t know about you but I think I’d really enjoy life a little more if I had servos.”

Giving a drawn out vent of resignation, Pharma played up a frown. His arms closed around the servos drawing them closer to him across the counter. “I suppose you’ve twisted my wing…I accept.”

“Oh I forgot but you also have to sharpen Tesarus’s chassis blades. He’s awful about keeping up with that.”

Pharma’s amusement crashed similar to how he fell off of Delphi’s roof. “I’m sorry, I have to do what?”

Already stepping back, Blades smiled and shrugged. Two thumbs up of encouragement met Pharma’s horrified expression. “No biggie! I did it last week. He only almost turned them on once. Just make sure he doesn’t fall into recharge while you’re in there working on it or things could get uh, nasty.”

The med bay doors closed, leaving Pharma to stare back at those black and bright red, clawed digits, still contorted in their last sensations of pain. 

Quite the deal you’ve made, Pharma…quite the deal indeed…

Servos were servos and beggers couldn’t be choosers. 

Context aside, Pharma believed they would do quite nicely. Perhaps with an extra layer of navy paint to match his own frame, but the prospect of fully equipped medic servos with common tools he would need and the extra edge of claws was…interesting to him to say the least. 

It sure was better than capped off, near-useless stubs. One more step closer to being able to accomplish his goal. That was all that mattered. And ten thousand more steps and countless days ahead among the perils of the DJD to go…