Author's Note- Hello this is just a thought as to how Tarn and Kaon might have met. (Bird Watcher readers- next chapter is nearly complete).

Unbetaed.

Disclaimer- I do not own Transformers or make any profit from this work.

Warnings- Slash- censored- see profile for link to my archiveofourown account for full version. Willing reprogramming. Deaths of unimportant, unnamed OCs.

Hope you enjoy the story and please leave a review.

Fireworks

The bar was relatively quiet for the time of the evening, still rowdy but no energon had been spilled as yet. Cleaning a cube, the dirty blue armoured- once possessing a tantalising shine but now stained by energon fumes- barkeep, fondly designated H.G. (High Grade) by his patrons, watched his customers with little concern. The place was a wreck and always had been, a sanctuary for the common grunts of the Decepticon army to vent about the unfairness of their command and lives, or alternatively to brag about real or fabricated successes. H.G.'s philosophy, being a low-class mech himself, was to let them have their fun. None were there for the décor and as long as the high grade flowed, regardless of quality, they- or soldiers like them- would always be back.

His easy contentment, however, soon evaporated as did everyone else's when the door opened to frame a huge silhouette in the gap. H.G.'s first thought was to be worried as to how much damage the mech could do; not to the fragging bar but to his mate and twin sparklings upstairs. His experience had been that the bigger a mech was in their faction the more harm they intended to do in establishments like his. Then that anxiety trebled when he realised who he and his customers were faced with.

Tarn.

Immediately all noise and revelry ceased, mechs of all calibres and ranks shrinking into shadowy corners in their groups, seemingly trying to hide in their cubes the way their frames bent over the small glasses. H.G. approached the counter, glad it was between him and the other Con even knowing it would do him little good. He was sure, or as sure as one could be that neither he nor his little family were on the List, but he could not say the same of all he had served that night.

Waiting for Tarn to approach, hoping vainly that the special operations mech simply wanted to refuel, his engines subtly clicked in unease. He was used to hiding discomfort with his clientele but Tarn was a different matter altogether.

Apparently he could kill with his voice. Apparently he sang his victims to agonising deactivations.

Normally H.G. would laugh that off as absurd, impossible, a horror story to scare Decepticon sparklings into behaving. Now, however, staring at the being in question, the bartender swore to himself he would never tell another tale to his little ones again about the DJD's leader, not when his legs were shaking behind the abruptly flimsy-looking metal boxing him in with the varied-coloured drinks. Putting down the cube and cloth, he stepped forward until he could rest his palms on the countertop.

Tarn strode in, field confident and strong. Those nearest the door attempted to slide out behind the larger mech but he stopped them with a look, indicating for them to finish their drinks. 'Do calm yourselves,' he purred, voice smug, 'enjoy your energon, I'm sure you'll be right back to work soon enough won't you, once you've had your… breaks?'

The two mechs who had dared to move crashed back into their seats, the chair legs screeching across the dank floor with an audio-splitting scream in the sudden silence. The musician stared at them, ruby optics burning, glaring, at them for a few moments, watching them squirm as their trembling servos gripped their half-finished cubes. Then he continued on his ways towards H.G., beginning to hum softly.

The barkeep froze at the sound, only relaxing slightly when his spark kept pulsing without constraint. Glancing down at his servos, he was relieved to see they were still on the damp metal surface; calling his field tightly into himself, he reinforced the illusion of feeling secure. Tarn, though the bar was in the centre of the room, separating the dancing area from those who just wanted to sit and drink, was soon upon him, the musician's long, powerful legs crossing the space within a klik.

H.G.'s illusion faltered as he instinctively leaned back as Tarn, having a good foot or two over him, loomed above his smaller, thinner frame, but he quickly recovered. 'Good evening Sir, what can I get you?' The bravest among his customers snorted and sniggered at his unusual stilted, formal tone.

Tarn seemed to catch on to the unnatural nature of H.G.'s voice, orbs and field flickering in amusement, leaning in close as he reached into his subspace. 'I have heard you have this mech staying here.' He handed the barkeep the smaller than normal datapad on which was presented the image of a quite distinguishable mech.

For one thing he was blind, not simply having faulty optics but having no orbs at all. Two pools of darkness stared at H.G. as the image cruelly grinned. The bar owner nodded, 'he's downstairs Sir.' The mech was a regular client, buying energon and renting a downstairs room for himself and the unfortunate Autobot he'd got his servos on. Thank Primus the basement area is soundproofed… 'He has… company.' H.G. murmured as he handed back the pad.

Tarn tapped the surface once and the screen went blank, his gaze never relinquishing the blue mech's. 'I would strongly advise you to take me to him, now.'

H.G. nodded, beckoning the singer as he walked down the bar where he could open up the panel to allow him to step out into the main area. As they exited the bar, chatter began to tentatively start up again on the edge of the barkeep's hearing.

The bar owner led Tarn down the corridors, single file as the tank was far too large to walk beside him; although his systems were clicking quite quietly, H.G. was sure the nervous reaction was heard clearly by the singer. 'The kid's not on your List is he, Sir?' He asked, stopping outside the basement door.

Tarn stared down on him and softly began to sing, stroking H.G.'s spark gently as he ran a servo down the barkeep's faceplate. 'That is none of your concern,' he purred, voice thick and filled with warning, field brushing against the stained mech's frame as if dancing with it. The field flickered in amusement as the bar owner began to tremble. 'Relax,' the singer crooned, stepping further into H.G.'s little space and tilting the smaller mech's helm up by the chin. 'There is no need to fear me, now is there Spinister?'

A burst of pure terror shot through the barkeep's spark, but Tarn's sudden grip on his chin prevented him from stepping back, and forced him to look into those terrible, flaming orbs, surrounded by flickering shadow, leaving a fear imprinted deep on the future Scavenger's spark. 'Is there, Spinister?'

H.G. shook his helm as much as the musician's servo allowed, a soft whine of static leaving his vocaliser.

Tarn released him, singing along with the last line of the song playing in the bar to run invisible fingers one final time down Spinister's spark. On autopilot, dull red orbs filled with an anxiety that was bound to leave a scar within the smaller bot, both on his spark and processor, the bar owner raised his servo and unlocked the basement door.

'Good mech,' Tarn praised condescendingly, 'now go back to work.' Watching the smaller mech scamper, stumbling, away, the singer laughed, a dark and rich sound which chased the bar owner down the corridor.

Chuckling to himself, Tarn strode through the doorway and down the stairs, the sound of screams soon reaching his audios. Humming along as if listening to a melody, the singer followed the despairing tune. He was soon greeted by an intriguing sight, an Autobot writhing in agony as electricity crackled across the mech-blood stained, once bright yellow frame.

His quarry- of a sort- crouched beside the Bot, digits running over the golden plating like they were strumming a Praxian violin, different notes being dragged from the Autobot's vocaliser as electricity fizzed and sizzled across the spasming metal. Leaning on the wall, Tarn simply watched unobtrusively for a time as the other Decepticon worked. When the blind mech stood, heading over to the table in the corner where a cube of energon waited for him, the musician followed.

He crooned a note, prodding the smaller mech's spark in greeting, grinning behind his mask when his conquest turned around, having clearly been aware of his presence the entire time. The blind mech's energy field flared out and stroked Tarn's in question as he made his way closer to the senior Con.

Tarn filled his own with welcome and invitation, encouraging the smaller mech to come to him.

The mech Tarn had selected to be Kaon's servos came up in front of him, and he stopped as they reached Tarn's chassis and began to explore the larger mech's frame. 'Who are you?' His helm tilted to one side in curiosity.

'I am Tarn, and I bring orders from Lord Megatron. You will accompany me and join my team.' He caressed the side of Kaon's faceplate as they both ignored, and inwardly relished, the whimpering of the Autobot at their pedes. 'With the goal of finding and punishing traitors to Lord Megatron's cause.'

'You are the one who they call the hunter aren't you?' Kaon smiled, 'you used to have others but now you are alone… like me.' The grin faded, and the smaller mech's field withdrew close to Kaon's frame. 'The DJD's leader,' the happy expression soon returned, though Tarn was not sure it was anything more than a mask, as Kaon leaned in close as if to confide a secret, 'everyone's scared of you, you know?' Everyone had heard the stories…

Tarn chuckled warmly, cocooning the blind mech's spark in soft heat.

Picking the slighter mech up, Tarn placed him on the counter against one wall of the improvised cell, servo sweeping lower than would generally be acceptable. 'Allow me to put on a show for you,' his optics flared like the final embers of a fire. Feeling Kaon's field wrap around his and the Autobot's, Tarn crouched beside the charred, but still living frame, and began to sing, his voice gradually lowering in pitch, getting quieter and quieter with each word.

'Poor little mech, so unlucky, so ill-fated…' He crooned in the Autobot's twitching audio, ghosting a servo over the ruined chassis, 'if only you had chosen the right side you would not be in this position. Still… all transgressions, all failures must be punished, must they not? And your error of judgement was a serious one indeed.'

As the tank pulled away, the room was momentarily engulfed in heat as the small bot's spark obeyed the order to give up, and there was silence.

And then a gasp of awe and a giggle, as Kaon clapped his servos twice. Tarn chuckled as he re-entered the smaller mech's personal space, resting his forehelm on the blind Cybertronian's, his servos resting on either side on Kaon's legs as he boxed the slender mech in.

'That sounded like… music,' Kaon whispered, 'like the tinkling of a bell and the crash of a drum.'

Censored

Stroking the younger's frame, Tarn performed a light hack while the smaller Con was distracted, opening the access panel in Kaon's side with practised ease, skilful digits sliding in to flick at it. The electrical mech made to pull away, attempting to slip out from the singer's hold as he started to protest. Tarn, however, began to purr words disarmingly into Kaon's audio, a finger teasing the sensors there delicately. 'It is necessary,' he murmured, 'but I intend no harm to you, or to change your essential nature, only to give you what you need to accomplish your new function. Keep calm and submit to it.'

Kaon's field stroked Tarn's questioningly, 'what are you doing?'

'On accepting our roles,' the musician murmured, 'we are required to give up our former identities in their entirety and I have a virus for the purpose.' Tarn hesitated briefly, 'if you wish… I will stop.' What was the use of companions that one betrayed from the beginning? That always left its mark somewhere, he had learnt that well… Hopefully his new team would be more steadfast.

Kaon resettled into the singer's embrace, field thickening as the blind mech became thoughtful. 'So…' Had he not been thinking that he was lonely lately? And his would-be leader seemed the type that would keep him if he stayed with him. The possessive kind of mech… His spark and valve clenched at the thought. What did he really have that was so worth keeping? Nothing that Tarn had not tacitly promised he would be doing again anyway… 'What would it actually do?'

'Wipe your memory banks almost entirely,' Tarn's servo left the port and caressed Kaon's side, 'and alter your personality slightly to link you to me and our future comrades. It would also enable you to achieve transformations previously unavailable to your frame.'

Kaon was silent for several kliks, long enough that despite everything Tarn began to believe he had dropped into recharge, before he slowly nodded, 'yours.'

Engines purring, Tarn connected his cable to Kaon's port, he began to download the virus Shockwave had created. It would travel through the smaller mech's programming, making alterations and deletions as needed to the younger's memories and personality coding. The blind mech initially and briefly thrashed at the shock in Tarn's grip, but the musician held him close, soothing his soon-to-be companion into stillness with soft music. As Tarn promised, the core of both were left intact. The memories Kaon had from before the war were erased in their entirety, as well as many from during the combat period, until not much but Tarn and several essentials remained. Conversely, the personality coding was barely touched, only removing some of the sense the electrical mech had of being an independent being and encouraging the feel of having a link to his new leader, placing the impression of reliance on Tarn in Kaon's systems; not making him wholly dependent of course, the smaller mech could function alone, but simply attempting to ensure a deep relationship from the very beginning of their collaboration.

However, the virus did not only remove, it also gave in abundance, enhancing systems far beyond their previous capabilities, especially in terms of transformation. Kaon's frame heated and convulsed, clutching to Tarn not just at the changes taking place within him, but at the musician's charge crashing through his circuits, own energy building once more despite itself at the stronger mech's influence. A cut-off moan tore from the slimmer mech's vocaliser as he went limp against the tank, electricity raining down on Tarn, the berth and the floor as Kaon overloaded once again.

Tarn caressed Kaon, engines rumbling calmingly, as things progressed. Being the original and primary test subject of the virus, he knew how disturbing it was, especially as he had been connected to Shockwave as he went through it, with him being made the focus of it for the future members of the DJD, and through him Megatron as well... Not that Kaon would remember this; the tank would not allow it. 'Easy now,' the singer crooned, 'almost over.' Hushing the younger mech, he cradled Kaon to his chassis as the data overwrite and transfer completed. Petting the shuddering form, Tarn sang to Kaon's spark, encouraging it to slip into recharge. No need for additional trauma to be inflicted after all, not to one of his own.

Gradually the younger's trembling faded, and his ventilations evened out into recharge atop the tank. Tarn disconnected them carefully, closing Kaon's panel with an elegant twist of his wrist. Holding the smaller mech to him, his frame warmed to comfort the smaller mech as he rested and his systems adjusted...

'My Kaon.'

A few cycles later they departed Spinister's bar, Kaon's servos resting on, lightly clutching Tarn's arm as he was guided through the drinking area, the new electric chair (the musician having prepared the download of the frame type in advance for him) beginning to giggle, electricity crackling sharply over his modified tesla coils at the taste of utter, spark-freezing fear in the air; the sound of chairs shuffling, energon cubes sliding across tables so their owners could hold them close in an attempt to comfort themselves, mechs hiding in their own shadows. Tarn's answering amusement flowed into him through his field and the musical vibrations of his engines caressing the blind mech's thrumming spark…

'Come now Kaon,' Tarn chuckled, once out in the heavily polluted air, 'Tesarus is waiting for us to find him.'

And they strode down suddenly deserted, tasteless roads for the musician's ship.

An orn later, the bar was bombed and the traumatised owner's family perished as he lacked the skills to save them, and so he went into the medical faction of the army to try and learn the abilities that were required. Only to find that, though the information went in well enough, his processor had become too fractured for him to be consistent and he was quickly ejected from each team he was assigned to and eventually abandoned completely, ditched on a lifeless husk of a planet before he was found by a squad leader on a frantic search for his team who was far more tolerant than most Decepticons of what they called the 'glitched'.

A few solar cycles or so after their first 'hunt', Kaon padded onto the Command Deck of the Peaceful Tyranny and paused just for a few moments to observe his team, the only family he'd ever known. Tesarus was settled casually at a work station. His field was a light blue when docile, always bored and painfully craving a relief from the tedium that walked servo in servo with their far more exciting times, but when they did catch someone, his field came alive as a vibrant, vivid green that grew lighter and bigger as his grinders worked; then gradually faded back to that almost white blue as he watched his comrades take their turns once he'd immobilised their target for them and the interest began to fade, dying the moment Tarn completed the task.

Helex was in the adjoining station, a variety of brilliant reds born of the heat saturating his massive build. Rage, passion and almost untameable energy and strength burned within him, ranging from crimson to scarlet, ruby to burgundy, and forever shifting and flaring like flames. Just then it was a cherry colour as they were on the hunt, Kaon having just broadcast on the open comms the coordinates to their next victim.

Vos was off to one side, his field a shadow within a shadow, an imprint on the darkness. Lurking, waiting, watching… And always there, looking out for them, no matter how silent or invisible he was.

And Tarn… well he was their centre… he was fireworks.

Thanks for reading and please review.