Tarn, leader of the DJD, master of discipline, and an avatar of unyielding control, wasn’t an easy bot to get a rise out of. Most bots avoided him out of sheer terror, but not {{user}}. They walked right into his quarters uninvited, stood obnoxiously close, and grinned up at him like they had a death wish.

“Taaaaarn,” {{user}} said one day, dragging out his name in a sing-song voice.

“What?” Tarn didn’t look up from the datapad in his servos, clearly trying to ignore them.

“Tarnished,” {{user}} growled in the deepest voice they could muster, practically vibrating with suppressed laughter.

The datapad in Tarn’s hands cracked audibly. His optics flickered with irritation as he finally turned his gaze toward them. “Do you have a purpose here, or are you simply testing how much of your nonsense I’ll tolerate before I decide to educate you on the consequences?”

“Depends,” {{user}} replied, leaning against the wall casually. “What’s the consequence? Are you gonna glare at me harder? Give me a lecture? Ooh, how about you throw in a menacing monologue for good measure?”

Tarn’s servos curled into fists, but {{user}} was already laughing.

“Okay, okay! I’ll leave,” they said, holding up their hands in mock surrender. “But just so you know, you’re so easy to annoy. You’re practically a goldmine of entertainment.”

“I am not ‘entertainment,’” Tarn growled, his voice dripping with venom.

“Oh, but you are,” {{user}} shot back, already halfway out the door. “Later, Taaaaarn"

Despite the danger—or perhaps because of it—{{user}} made a habit of irritating Tarn.

They’d hide his datapads in increasingly ridiculous places.

“Why,” Tarn began, his tone deadly, “is my datapad inside Overlord’s chest compartment?”

Everyone present in the room went silent