Transformers: Oneshots (REQUESTS OPEN)

Our Song || Tarn x femme (repost)

That song. It's perfect. I do not need to be hyped up before a fight. I do not need to be hunching over in tears, remembering the sparks I am personally responsible for sending back to the Allspark. I need to remember the solemn lives of those I am removing from this world. Their lives are terrible. Mundane. So is mine. Eventually, I will be the one fading away.

He convulses. He tries to back away. He is not my enemy, not my victim. I am not his murderer. I am his savior. The desperate mech in my hold drives his helm forward, meeting with my visor and shattering the reinforced glass. I close my optics, but do not let go. My sword transforms back into my servo while it is still inside his shoulder. I tear my arm free, gripping onto his chassis plating to pull towards me. My other servo, the one by his spark chamber, goes straight through. I watch the light fade from his amber optics.

That is what is missing. What is so close, but so far out of reach. Life. Light. His life was...nothing. Mine is nothing. The lights in one's optics go out so easily...often giving barely a flicker before they turn grey. Not Damus. Not my Damus. I feel only a fraction of his pain, and yet at times, it was unbearable. Yet he's still alive. Somewhere. Somewhere, he is playing that song.

Arms dripping in energon, pink stained on my plating, I drop the body and leave. There are cheers. There are cries of anger. I am deaf to them. I hear nothing but that beautiful song. Nothing but my thoughts dancing along to the melancholic tune.

What would he think? Would Damus be appalled by what the pits have done to who I am? Would he share my inner rage toward the audience, who enjoy watching lights go out, all the while theirs is safe above the hollow arena? When he disappeared, he and I shared a hatred for the castes. We did not know who I now know to be Megatron. I enjoy listening to his words. Something about what he says is like poetry. The perfect lyrics to my song.

But would Damus sacrifice his freedom to join this new 'faction?' Perhaps he would. Me? No. Not yet, at least. I have no reason to join. No reason not to. I am perfectly fine sitting idly by and watching the chaos from my place in the pits, standing on a throne of lightless frames who owe their lack of life to the castes who watch from above.

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I hear it. Why do I hear it? Is it truly in my helm? Is it not a real song? Yes, it is. My processor is not enhanced enough to make something so beautiful. But why is it here? I am in my apartment. I should be in stasis. But the recharge cycle wouldn't come. I've been sitting at my desk, writing. I do not know how long I've been here - only that it is past midnight.

How can I stand by and listen? My frame tells me to close my optics. To let the notes take over and rock me into stasis. But I must find the source. I am nowhere near a gladiator arena. Someone is playing for me, and I think I know who. But why? Why must he hide?

I head for my door, clicking my new and repaired visor into place to hide my face with a pitch-black screen. I go outside. I look up. The stars are beautiful. They are hard to see through the light pollution, but I do not live in a lively city such as Iacon. The streets of Kaon are dark. Dark enough to see the brightest stars and distant planets. But I do not have time to stargaze. I have a song to follow.

The streets are mostly empty,  but those I pass by also seem to be listening. They hear it too. But I can tell, the song wasn't made for them. They do not understand it. Not like I do. I turn into a dark alleyway, tracing my digits along the old and rusting metal wall. I see a silhouette. It is familiar...but painfully altered. A deep hum comes from the frame, a hum playing along to a speaker set on the ground.

Scrap. Scrap. My calm demeanor is quickly disintegrating. Why? Why is he here? Why is he hiding? Why won't he turn and face me? I knew he was alive. That he had gone missing. He didn't run away. But that song. I'd been hearing it for such a long time. Why did he never face me? Why is he still hiding? Show me your face! Turn around! Please!

"Damus?"

The humming stopped. He gently leaned down, clicking off the speaker. Now all I could hear were the distant murmurs of quiet conversation far away. I see his servo...it wasn't his.

"Damus." I took a few steps forward, reaching an arm toward him. My servo stopped, hovering over his shoulder - not quite touching.

He turned his helm. He wore a mask. It was the Decepticon insignia. There was no emotion to be seen, but I felt it. My spark pulsed with apprehension. Not my own, but his. Slowly, I rested my servo on his shoulder. I could tell he was put off by the touch. But he didn't stop me.

Carefully, I stepped closer so I was hovering against his back. My other servo gently brushed against his arm, before I trailed it down to his servo. I grabbed his wrist, watching his mask the entire time for any sign I should stop. He gave none. Just watched. I lifted his servo, watching as he calmly intertwined his digits with mine. No, not his digits. Something had happened to his servos. They'd been repaired, but I knew they were different.

      Empurata.

The name of the traditional punishment echoed in my processor as I felt his servo with my own and watched his mask. Damus had started to be more vocal about our hatred for the castes. He'd started to learn about an...ability he had been forged with. Was this his punishment? Did they take her conjux away because he had a voice? Because he was different from others and therefore dangerous?

What did they do to his face? His mind?

"Damus..."

"No." He looked away but held onto my servo. I rested my chin on his shoulder.

His voice was raspier than usual. Raspier than one would expect given the beautiful voice he had when humming to a song. "I am not Damus. Not anymore."

Beneath my visor, I frowned. But I let him speak.

"I am...a glitch. I am Glitch now."

I squeezed his servo sternly, before letting go and walking around so Damus and I were face to face. "No, you are not." I reached for his mask. He flinched away. With a sigh, I took my visor off. He's seen my face before. There was nothing special. Not to me, at least. I simply chose to wear one.

"Your optics...they are as beautiful as the day they took me." Damus relaxed a little, looking into my calming expression.

I reached for his mask again. I slipped it off.

He had one optic left. He had no derma, no enstril. His faceplate was blank and scarred.

How dare they?

Damus watched warily as I brushed over what was left of his face with my digits. I couldn't remember the last time I was so angry. I've never been filled with so much rage before. I looked back at Damus. "No, you are not Damus anymore. But you are not Glitch either. They tarnished you. They tried to take your identity. We cannot ignore that. Continuing to go by Damus would only understate what they've done."

What was that I saw in his optic? His fear, his worry, his apprehension. It was all gone. He was mad. Angry. Furious. He watched all my fights. He knew who I was. I was a murderer. A slaughterer. An executioner.

Damus was tarnished. But he was strong. He was superior. He was better than the higher castes. Just like the military city...Tarn.

"You, are Tarn."

If he could smile, he would. I could tell. Tarn was smiling. So was I. We stood there, gazing into each other's optics. I could see why he chose the Decepticon insignia for a mask. For a face. He had every right to fight against those who had tortured him. And I would gladly fight beside him. I will be the vicious executioner who kills any and all who so much as associate with the caste who tried to take away my beloved conjux. And Tarn will hum our song, murmuring the words of freedom written by our leader, Megatron. Speaking the poetry of our freedom as we torment those who deserve it.

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Author's Note: This is a repost from my old 'new' book that I am bringing here. Most of my stories will be at a length similar to this, but in requests, you can ask for a shorter or longer length.