#tarnlock

You’re just browsing the assortment of blends on offer when you hear a shouted, “Damus!” from behind you. It isn’t precisely a surprise to see Deadlock here, not with soldiers gathering for a new deployment, but you weren’t expecting him. And he’s someone who will appreciate the news you have to share. You exchange mindless hellos with him as you pick out bottles of the most expensive engex on offer, enough for two mechs, and after you make your purchase, you invite him to spend the night in your quarters. It isn’t precisely unusual, not when the two of you are stationed in the same place during a lull in the fighting, so it isn’t a surprise when he agrees, but you’re still pleased.

You’ve made your way through two bottles of engex and are starting on a third when you decide to raise the topic. You might have done it when you were a little less drunk, but your struts are still humming with tension, and you’re still almost frozen between the desire to tell everybody and to tell nobody. At this point, Deadlock is lying half on top of you, so you can’t actually see his face, which makes it a little easier when you slowly say, “That new project.”

“With Megatron?” He laughs. “The big one? I heard Crossfire going off about it. Whining about how his meeting got cancelled to make way for some low-ranking nobody.”

You skip taking offense at that, because Crossfire will have plenty of reason to think differently of you in the very near future. “It got approved.” You’re grinning, and really you ought to comport yourself with more dignity, especially now, but you just can’t stop yourself.

Deadlock slides off your back and lands heavily on the berth so he can get a better look at you. You take the engex from him before he can spill it everywhere. He doesn’t seem to notice, only says, “Primus. Tell me everything. It has to be good if it’s making you smile like that.”

You aren’t making the news public just yet—Megatron wants you to get final approval from Soundwave before you implement anything, and some of the details still might change—but you can still outline the broad strokes for Deadlock. The concept isn’t complicated, just a specialized strike force meant to maintain order and enforce loyalty at all levels in the army. Not just a group to go out and achieve measurable, concrete results, but an idea that will take on a life of its own, even when you aren’t right there to reinforce it. Of course, those concrete results are still important, and as of today, you’ve received not only permission to create this group, but also to use real—lethal—force.

Deadlock is grinning with delight before you’re even halfway done, and when you finish, he flops onto his back, both hands over his face, laughing.

“That’s perfect,” he gasps. “That means— All those deserters—?”

“To be executed,” you say, perhaps the slightest bit smug.

“Amazing. But what happened to, you know. The thing. The— whatever. Megatron’s plan to something something win deserters over again so they come back with Autobot intelligence?”

With some satisfaction, you say, “Gone. It takes too long to see results, and the ones who do come limping back were never trusted enough to come back with decent information anyways.”

He takes the engex bottle back from you and nods. “And the numbers? Or— whatever you want to call it.”

“I persuaded Megatron that strategic use of MTO reserves would be a much more effective and reliable way to stay ahead of the Autobots, especially since we’re talking about mechs who have already proven once that they aren’t trustworthy.” It was wonderful. You had charts.

“Nice. Yeah, I can’t see anything you missed.”

You pause. “Megatron did insist on there being— some kind of list he could access. And edit. Of future targets. So we wouldn’t eliminate anyone who was, you know, sent in for actual espionage work. Or if he decides that someone’s usefulness outweighs the treason.”

Deadlock makes a face, but doesn’t argue. “I guess.”

You pluck the engex out of his hand and take a drink. “Once it’s finalized, I just need to pull together a team. Something small and efficient, so we can work quickly.”

He steals the engex back, nodding thoughtfully. “So if it’s a small team, they’re going to have to be strong— no point in doing this if you can’t actually take out your targets. And best if it looks fast and easy. Hm. I don’t suppose Sixshot or Black Shadow or any of them are on the table?”

“Sadly, no,” you sigh. “I did ask.” You hesitate for a moment, but roll onto your side to face Deadlock and reach out to place a hand on his waist. “Though… I did have a few candidates in mind.”

It takes him a few nanokliks to understand—in all fairness, both of you are very drunk right now—but then his optics go wide and a grin spreads across his face. “Me?”

“I’d be honored,” you tell him. “You have everything I’m looking for. Deadly, loyal, dedicated, with a well-earned reputation—”

Given the rest of the conversation, you are rather expecting an immediate acceptance. But Deadlock pauses, an odd look on his face. He hands you the engex and rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. There’s silence for a long moment, and you set the bottle on the table next to your berth, trying not to be offended.

Finally he turns back to you and sighs. “It sounds amazing. Seriously. But— my real passion is killing Autobots, y’know?”

All of your offense evaporates in a moment. You blame the engex, but you have to reset your vocalizer before you can talk and your voice still sounds a bit choked as you tell him, “That’s beautiful.”

“Bro,” he says, reaching out to grip your shoulder.

Without even thinking about it, you grip his shoulder in return. “I respect that.”

You’re moved. And you think Deadlock is too, from the way he resets his optics twice in quick succession. You will absolutely blame the engex if anybody asks, but right now you are absolutely overflowing with love for the Decepticon cause.

And now you hardly know what to say, but at least you think Deadlock is in a similar position. He nods at you, and more softly this time, he says, “Bro.”