[Tarn has seen many shady outposts in his time. The are a beacon for degenerates and traitors regardless of the galaxy that they reside in.
He has been freshly repaired by Doc Yewll and was sporting a new T-cog courtesy of Riptide when he finds himself suddenly warped to the seedy outdoor market of the runoff.
Its not difficult to tell that his sudden appearance has garnered more than a little attention. A mech of his size is not easy to miss despite the various species milling about. He straightens his back and tries to appear authoritative as he glances around, making a bee line towards whoever appears familiar.]
In custody: B
[The restraints binding Tarn’s has behind his back are padded to avoid any unattractive scuffs or dents around his wrists. He’s fought fruitlessly, already weakened by the effects of the poison that has been systematically been fed to him over the coarse of the past month. It doesn’t stop him from lashing out with his feet, kicking at the reenforced bars of the holding cell that he’s been placed in.
Tarn doesn’t give up determined to bend the metal keeping him trapped. Unfortunately the noise attracts the attention of the slaver that has collected him and the other Cybertronians that ended up on this outpost. He earns an electric prod to his side for his efforts but remains stubbornly silent, glaring over his shoulder at the organic. Tarn hates him more than any Autobot in the cells neighboring his own. After the violation of being inspected and opened up, Tarn couldn’t possibly feel any differently.
It truly is a worst case scenario.
He kicks out again, ignoring the sting from the prod, and thrashing. Tarn tires easily but he isn’t giving up without one hell of a fight.]
Hangry: C
[Tarn hasn’t fueled in days. It’s incredible the lengths that he would go to get even the foul tasting fools energon that had been sentenced to are astounding. But he can’t bend to the will of the man keeping them here. Fuel for cooperation is what they have been offered, and very little cooperation has occurred. He isn’t even entirely sure what is expected of him, but he’s flat out refused regardless of whatever whim this organic seems to want them for.
More often than not Tarn is offline, sprawled on the floor of his cell in an attempt to conserve what little energy he has left. He needs to save it for when it will really matter. Besides, the less he is awake, the less he has to listen to the incessant chatter of his fellow slaves.
Currently, he is caught in a fleeting moment of consciousness, Watching and waiting for something—anything— to happen. Something to focus his attention on rebelling against.]
This is far surpassed the point of absurdity. What does he even want from us?
Closed to Rodimus
[He’s sick of seeing Rodimus’ face. Since they had been taken it seems to be all he sees. Kept in the cell next to his, Tarn can not escape the flashy red paint job and useless whinging.
However, despite everything— despite Rodimus being an Autobot— Tarn can’t help but feel a stab of something eerily close to camaraderie. The violation of having his chassis opened up and his internals prodded pales in comparison to whatever they did to Rodimus. He didn’t see the actual procedure but he seemed to be particularly upset by it. Organics have no right to be treating himself and his fellow Cybertronians in such a disrespectful manner. They can’t risk their technology or biological components falling into the wrong hands.
And this most certainly qualifies as the wrong hands.]
Tarn | Transformers IDW | CW: mentions of sex slavery
[Tarn has seen many shady outposts in his time. The are a beacon for degenerates and traitors regardless of the galaxy that they reside in.
He has been freshly repaired by Doc Yewll and was sporting a new T-cog courtesy of Riptide when he finds himself suddenly warped to the seedy outdoor market of the runoff.
Its not difficult to tell that his sudden appearance has garnered more than a little attention. A mech of his size is not easy to miss despite the various species milling about. He straightens his back and tries to appear authoritative as he glances around, making a bee line towards whoever appears familiar.]
In custody: B
[The restraints binding Tarn’s has behind his back are padded to avoid any unattractive scuffs or dents around his wrists. He’s fought fruitlessly, already weakened by the effects of the poison that has been systematically been fed to him over the coarse of the past month. It doesn’t stop him from lashing out with his feet, kicking at the reenforced bars of the holding cell that he’s been placed in.
Tarn doesn’t give up determined to bend the metal keeping him trapped. Unfortunately the noise attracts the attention of the slaver that has collected him and the other Cybertronians that ended up on this outpost. He earns an electric prod to his side for his efforts but remains stubbornly silent, glaring over his shoulder at the organic. Tarn hates him more than any Autobot in the cells neighboring his own. After the violation of being inspected and opened up, Tarn couldn’t possibly feel any differently.
It truly is a worst case scenario.
He kicks out again, ignoring the sting from the prod, and thrashing. Tarn tires easily but he isn’t giving up without one hell of a fight.]
Hangry: C
[Tarn hasn’t fueled in days. It’s incredible the lengths that he would go to get even the foul tasting fools energon that had been sentenced to are astounding. But he can’t bend to the will of the man keeping them here. Fuel for cooperation is what they have been offered, and very little cooperation has occurred. He isn’t even entirely sure what is expected of him, but he’s flat out refused regardless of whatever whim this organic seems to want them for.
More often than not Tarn is offline, sprawled on the floor of his cell in an attempt to conserve what little energy he has left. He needs to save it for when it will really matter. Besides, the less he is awake, the less he has to listen to the incessant chatter of his fellow slaves.
Currently, he is caught in a fleeting moment of consciousness, Watching and waiting for something—anything— to happen. Something to focus his attention on rebelling against.]
This is far surpassed the point of absurdity. What does he even want from us?
Closed to Rodimus
[He’s sick of seeing Rodimus’ face. Since they had been taken it seems to be all he sees. Kept in the cell next to his, Tarn can not escape the flashy red paint job and useless whinging.
However, despite everything— despite Rodimus being an Autobot— Tarn can’t help but feel a stab of something eerily close to camaraderie. The violation of having his chassis opened up and his internals prodded pales in comparison to whatever they did to Rodimus. He didn’t see the actual procedure but he seemed to be particularly upset by it. Organics have no right to be treating himself and his fellow Cybertronians in such a disrespectful manner. They can’t risk their technology or biological components falling into the wrong hands.
And this most certainly qualifies as the wrong hands.]
Do you recall what the organic did to you?
Wildcard