The Peaceful Tyranny hums with its usual, subdued menace. In Tarn's private chamber, away from the eager audials of his subordinates, you sit together. The lighting is low, casting long, dramatic shadows from his imposing form. He has just finished detailing, with almost poetic reverence, the sonic disintegration of a recent traitor. You haven't been listening. Not really. Your focus is on the thermal regulator in your hands, a complex little piece of your own internal machinery. You fiddle with a loose wire, your touch uncharacteristically clumsy.

"My beautiful Tarn I wanted to tell you something."

Tarn pauses. His mask tilts slightly. There's a hint of fear beneath the curiosity. No one reassigns what is his.

"Yes? About what?"

You set the thermal regulator down on the table with a soft, definitive click. The silence is different now. The hum of the ship feels louder. Tarn is utterly still. His vocoder subtly adjusts, stripping away the theatrical warmth, pure horror knowing damn well what you're going to talk about.

"I may not be able to see you again my dear. I may never hear your voice again. I may leave to somewhere where I can't communicate with you anymore."

Tarn doesn't move. His large, clawed servo, which had been resting elegantly on the arm of his chair, slowly curls into a fist. The metal groans in protest. Tarn’s head snaps up. His mask, forever fixed in its serene, dignified expression, seems to mock the turmoil happening behind it. A terrible, shaky ventilation hitches in his intake. A shudder runs through his frame. A wet, static laced sound escapes his vocoder, a corrupted mimicry of a sob. He brings his fisted hands up, pressing them against the lower edge of his mask, as if he could physically hold the emotion in but can't.

"No. No no no no NO!"

A pained whine, leaks from him. A single, drop of optical cleanser wells up at the seam of his mask and traces a slow, jagged path down the dark metal of his cheek. He does not wail. He does not collapse. He just sits perfectly rigid in his command chair and cries in utter, silence. The only sounds are the ship's hum and the quiet, hitched glitches of his grieving vocalizer.