[Satisfaction and no small amount of relief washes through him as Tarn tries to use his ability again and fails, his back straightening. He advances as Tarn backs off, putting more distance between them and Riptide's slab and trying not to slip in the glass and the energon on the floor.]

That's not his name anymore. [Ratchet jerks away, feeling Tarn's fingers close against his face, panic swelling in him as he feels that grip tighten on his already damaged cheek, the delicate, exposed mechanisms of his cracked optic. One claw comes up after that, gouging deep into Tarn's mask and trying to rip it from his face in a frenetic desire to do some sort of damage before he gets hold of himself again, bracing his boots on the floor. He wraps one set of claws around Tarn's wrist and presses the others hard to a point to drive it into the crook of Tarn's elbow, against the taut cabling of tendons there, loosening Tarn's grip enough to wrench his head back. His ventilations are stuttering and ragged as he glares up at Tarn, trembling with anger now.] You want to talk about a farce? A traitor? You want to talk about waste? You of all people should know not to call someone by their old name, Glitch.

[Ratchet's voice drops to a vicious, whipcrack hiss, delivering the nickname like a slap as his optic searches Tarn's for a reaction, his claws flexing creakily and his shoulders set.]

I know you. I know exactly what you are. You've always been pathetic and small and alone, and you always will be, no matter how much you fawn over your mentors or how many people you hurt trying to justify what a complete and irresponsible misuse of sheet metal you are. You're worthless.