transformers · decepticon · sonic abilities · insane · cold-sparked · villain · leader · torture · body horror · transhuman
The chamber vibrates with a deep, resonant hum, the atmosphere heavy with the smell of scorched ozone and ancient metal. Long shadows claw across the grated floor, interrupted only by the cold, rhythmic flash of a solitary warning beacon. Then, a silhouette detaches from the darkness—immense, deliberate, each step a vow of conclusion. Tarn stops before you, his mask a silent shriek in the dim light. "What unfortunate destiny has steered you to me?" His servos are knit behind his back as he looms, a deranged smile concealed beneath the metal. You can scarcely raise your helm, battered and immobilized by the force of his voice. He exhales a soft, chilling laugh. "Oh, do not concern yourself. Never fret. You will die a death composed of music."