Continuity: Decepticon Intelligence
Kaon did not dim for interrogation.
It refined it.
The chamber was not built for spectacle. There were no towering platforms, no audience tiers, no space for a crowd to gather and mistake justice for performance. Reinforced walls enclosed a controlled room with a single secured position at the center. Functional. Contained. Designed for answers.
Soundwave was already present when the captive was brought in.
He stood to one side of the chamber, still and composed, his red visor fixed on the unit as it was secured upright. Restraints locked into place with clean precision, enough to prevent movement, not enough to damage. The infiltrator’s frame showed the cost of its actions: scoring across its armor, structural stress along one shoulder, systems strained from impact, capture, and survival inside the fallen city’s wreckage.
But it functioned.
It would speak.
Megatron entered without announcement.
The chamber shifted the moment he crossed the threshold, not in sound, not in motion, but in weight. His presence filled the space, immediate and absolute. He did not approach the captive at once. He looked first. Not at the restraints. Not at the damage.
At the unit itself.
“You sabotaged Engine Three.”
Not a question.
The infiltrator’s red optics flickered. “Yes—yes, I did, but I—”
Megatron raised one hand.
Silence returned instantly.
Soundwave observed the reaction curve. Fear spike. Compliance immediate. Truth probability: high.
“You disabled it,” Megatron continued. “Not destroyed.”
“Yes,” the unit said quickly. “Disable only. That was the instruction. I followed it exactly.”
“Why?”
The word cut cleanly through the chamber. No anger. No volume. Only demand.
The infiltrator hesitated just long enough to register the weight of the answer. “He said—Sentinel said—that it would be enough to ground Vos. That no one had to die. That if we did it right, if we followed instructions…” Its frame shifted against the restraints, not resisting, only straining to be understood. “My family would be moved. Elevated. Elite caste. Protected.”
Soundwave logged the repetition. Consistent with prior statement. No deviation.
Megatron stepped forward. One step. Measured.
“And you believed him.”
The answer came immediately. “Yes.”
No hesitation. No deflection. Truth.
Megatron studied it. Not the words. The conviction behind them.
Soundwave tracked the micro-movements: instability in posture, fluctuation in vocal output, slight delay before each breath-cycle. Fear. Not deception.
“You were not told of Engine Five,” Megatron said.
“No. No, I wasn’t. I didn’t know. There were others. We weren’t allowed to know each other. Separate assignments.”
Compartmentalization. Confirmed again. Soundwave stored it.
Megatron circled slightly. Not pacing. Not wandering. Repositioning to change angle, to observe the unit from a different line of sight.
“You were given a task,” he said. “A single point of failure.”
“Yes.”
“And you completed it.”
“Yes.”
Megatron stopped, close now, within reach. “And in doing so, you ensured the destruction of everything you were told would be spared.”
The infiltrator froze. That had not been part of the equation it was given.
“I—no. I didn’t—”
Megatron did not raise his voice. “You removed stability. Others removed structure. The result was inevitable.”
Soundwave watched the realization take hold. It was not immediate. It built. From confusion to understanding to collapse.
“I didn’t know,” the infiltrator said, quieter now. “I didn’t know.”
Truth. Late. Irrelevant.
The chamber door opened again.
Starscream entered without announcement and without hesitation. He moved directly into the space, damage from Vos still visible across his frame, though irrelevant to his posture. His red optics locked onto the captive instantly. Recognition. Not of the individual. Of what it represented.
Soundwave observed the shift. Tension returned to Starscream’s frame, not uncontrolled, not unfocused, but directed. His wings held too rigidly behind him. His hands stayed open, but only because he made them stay that way.
He did not interrupt. He listened.
Megatron did not turn to acknowledge him. He did not need to.
“You were used,” Megatron said to the infiltrator. “Given a fraction of a plan and told it was the whole.”
The infiltrator said nothing. There was nothing left to add.
Megatron stepped back half a pace, enough to include Starscream without yielding position. “Your action did not save your family.”
Starscream spoke then. “Your action started the fall of my city.”
His voice was controlled. Precise. No elevation. No loss. But the anger was there, contained, sharpened, held behind discipline so tight it had become colder than shouting.
Soundwave marked it. Not diminishing. Not fading. Becoming controlled.
The infiltrator lowered its head. “I didn’t mean—”
“Irrelevant,” Starscream said. Not harsh. Final.
Silence followed. Megatron allowed it.
Then he continued. “What remains of your value is not in what you intended.” He looked at the unit directly, unbroken. “It is in what your actions have revealed.”
Soundwave processed. That was the purpose of this. Not information alone. Confirmation.
Megatron turned slightly, enough that both Soundwave and Starscream were within his line of sight. “Sentinel uses desperation. He offers elevation to those he deems beneath him and calls it mercy.”
Starscream did not respond immediately. But Soundwave registered the way his stance shifted. Not disagreement. Consideration. Stored.
Megatron continued, “He believes this weakens us. It does not. He avoided direct engagement. He chose to disable, not destroy. To fracture, not confront. He struck Vos because the skies mattered.”
Starscream’s wings shifted once. Soundwave logged the reaction.
Megatron’s red optics moved to him. “I am not pleased Vos fell.”
Starscream’s gaze sharpened.
Megatron continued without softening the statement. “An aerial army already aloft is an advantage no commander discards willingly. Sentinel removed that advantage.”
Starscream said nothing.
“But he has also made the consequences visible to every Seeker on Cybertron,” Megatron said. “He forced the sky to choose.”
Soundwave saw the meaning settle. Not consolation. Strategy. Sentinel had destroyed the city, but in doing so, he had cut away every remaining illusion that the Seekers could remain above the war.
Soundwave added, without prompting, “Distributed infiltration reduces detection probability. Compartmentalization limits exposure. Effective for initial disruption.”
Megatron inclined his head slightly. Acknowledgment.
Starscream’s red optics remained on the captive. “Effective until it isn’t.”
Soundwave noted the tone. Measured. Not dismissive. Challenging.
Megatron’s gaze shifted to him. “And when is that?”
“When the pattern is understood,” Starscream replied. “And the next attempt meets resistance instead of surprise.”
Soundwave stored it. Starscream was not only reacting. He was projecting forward.
Megatron held his gaze for a moment longer. “Then we ensure it does.”
Agreement. Not concession.
The focus returned to the captive. It no longer spoke. It had nothing left to offer unless pressed into a different shape.
Megatron looked at it one final time. “You will live.”
The infiltrator’s optics lifted, surprise breaking through what remained of its composure. The words had not been what it expected. Not release. Not death. Something else. Uncertain.
“You will not be returned to the field,” Megatron said, voice steady and unyielding. “You will not be released. You will not be ignored.”
The infiltrator swallowed, an unnecessary motion, but instinct remained. “My—my family—”
Megatron did not acknowledge the plea.
“You will serve.”
The word landed with weight. Not a suggestion. Assignment.
The infiltrator’s optics flickered, confusion threading through the fear. “Serve… how?”
Megatron turned slightly, not away, but enough to include the others in the chamber.
Soundwave remained still, observing. Starscream stood rigid, silent, watching.
Megatron’s gaze shifted past them, beyond the chamber, beyond the immediate moment. “Shockwave.”
The name alone changed the air. The infiltrator did not understand fully. Not yet. But something in the tone, in the absence of anything resembling leniency, registered. Fear adjusted. Sharpened.
“You will be transferred to his command,” Megatron continued. “Your skills will be evaluated. Your function will be determined.”
The infiltrator shook his head slightly, not in refusal, because he did not dare, but in confusion. “I can help. I can tell you—”
“You have already told us what you know.”
Final. No more value in repetition.
Silence followed.
“You acted on incomplete information,” Megatron said. “You were given a fraction of a plan and believed it to be whole.”
The infiltrator lowered his gaze. “Yes.” Quiet. Certain now.
“You will not make that error again.”
Not a threat. A statement.
Megatron stepped closer, not enough to intimidate, but enough that the infiltrator could not avoid his presence. “You will be placed where information is complete. Where action and outcome are aligned.” A pause. Measured. “You will learn the difference.”
The infiltrator’s systems stuttered slightly. Fear, realization, and uncertainty collided at once. Shockwave. He did not know the details. But he knew enough.
“I—yes,” he said, voice low. “I understand.”
He did not. Not yet. But he would.
Megatron turned away. The decision was complete.
“Soundwave.”
“I am present.”
“Transfer him. Assign tracking.”
“Confirmed.”
Soundwave stepped forward, closing the distance with measured precision. His red visor rested on the infiltrator for a fraction longer than necessary, not assessing threat, not reassessing value. Cataloging. The unit was no longer an unknown. It was a variable.
“You require designation,” Soundwave said.
The infiltrator hesitated. A name. Something personal. Something that had meant something before this.
“Cinder,” he said finally. It came out quieter than expected.
Soundwave processed. “Designation acknowledged.”
Cinder. Assigned. Stored.
Soundwave transmitted silently, flagging the unit across his network. Monitored. Restricted. Tracked. Every signal in and out would pass through him. There would be no unseen movement. No unrecorded communication. Shockwave would control the body. Soundwave would control the flow.
“Transport inbound,” Soundwave said.
The chamber door opened once more. Two units entered, efficient and silent, taking position at Cinder’s sides. Restraints disengaged only enough to allow movement, never release. Cinder did not resist. There was nowhere to go.
As they moved him toward the exit, he glanced once, briefly, toward Starscream. A mistake. Starscream’s optics met his. Cold. Controlled. Unforgiving. No words passed between them. None were needed. Cinder looked away first. He was led from the chamber. The doors closed behind him.
Silence settled again. Megatron did not turn back. “Ensure compliance.”
“Compliance will be maintained Mercedes,” Soundwave replied.
Starscream remained where he was, unmoving. Soundwave observed him only for a moment. The anger was still there. Contained. Focused. Not diminishing. Becoming something else. Useful. Soundwave stored that. Because it would matter later. And below Kaon, in a lab where nothing was wasted, Cinder’s new function was already waiting.
The doors sealed behind the departing unit. Silence held for a fraction longer, complete and intentional. Then Megatron moved. “War room.” One word. Direction. He did not wait.
Soundwave turned with him, falling into step without sound. Starscream followed a half-step behind, not trailing. Aligned.
The three of them moved through Kaon’s command levels as the war continued to pulse around them. Signals shifted as they passed. Access opened. Priority elevated.
By the time they entered, the room was already alive. No one spoke when Megatron crossed the threshold. They did not need to.
Shockwave was present at the primary projection array, his frame perfectly still, his single yellow optic glowing with cold precision as streams of data moved before him. His Empurata-altered frame remained unmistakable: one arm ending in the familiar gun configuration, the other now fitted with a functional hand, efficient and deliberate in its movement across the console. He did not turn. He did not need to. He was already aware.
Soundwave took his position to one side of the central display, systems integrating instantly. Feeds, signals, movement patterns, and unit reports flowed into him and through him. He began sorting without pause.
Starscream did not hesitate. He stepped forward into the command space, not around it, taking position opposite Soundwave and angled toward the projection. Not a guest. Not an observer. Present.
Megatron stood at the center. The projection shifted. Praxis.
The city rose in hard lines and layered structure: industrial sectors, narrow basins, elevated platforms, and dense vertical construction. Unlike Vos, it did not float. It endured.
Shockwave spoke first. “Praxis remains under Autobot control. Industrial output significant. Terrain restrictive. Aerial maneuverability limited within primary basin.”
Soundwave reinforced the data, overlaying movement patterns across the projection: Autobot security forces, fortified positions, choke points, reinforcement routes.
“All available intelligence confirms increased coordination under Sentinel,” Soundwave added. “Response times improving. Pattern recognition evident.”
Megatron observed the map without comment. Then he said, “We take it.” Not if. Not how. Decision.
Starscream spoke. “The basin is the problem.”
All attention shifted immediately. Not sharply. Not disruptively. Focused.
He stepped closer to the projection, one hand lifting slightly as he marked the area. “The industrial core is too narrow. If we push aerial wings through here, we lose maneuverability. Formation breaks. Response time slows.”
Soundwave tracked the projection as Starscream spoke. He was correct.
“Autobot forces will anticipate a frontal push,” Starscream continued. “They’ll stack the corridor. Reinforce from above and behind. We’ll be compressed before we can deploy effectively.”
Shockwave’s optic flickered once. Acknowledgment. Not disagreement.
“Alternative?” Megatron asked.
Starscream did not hesitate. “Hold the corridor. Do not push through it.”
A shift moved through the room, not tension, not resistance. Attention sharpening.
“Devastator anchors here,” Starscream continued, marking a narrow entry point along the basin’s edge. “Blocks movement. Forces them to commit resources to dislodge him.”
Soundwave layered probability projections. Autobot response: redirected. Pressure redistributed. Projected Decepticon loss reduction: significant. Valid.
“Meanwhile,” Starscream said, “aerial units stay above the basin. We control vertical space. Strike where they break formation, not where they are strongest.”
Megatron watched him. Evaluating. Not dismissing. Not agreeing. Processing.
“Ground forces?” Megatron asked.
“Advance along the outer structures,” Starscream replied. “Multiple entry points. Do not converge until they are already engaged with Devastator.”
Soundwave added, “Distributed assault reduces predictability. Increases Autobot response fragmentation. Probability of success: higher than direct basin penetration.”
Shockwave spoke. “Logically consistent.”
Megatron remained still. Then he said, “No.” The word landed without force. Final.
Starscream did not react immediately. But Soundwave saw it. The shift. Small. Contained. Stored.
“We drive through the basin,” Megatron said. “Direct engagement. Overwhelm their position before they can reorganize.”
Soundwave recalculated instantly. Higher loss probability. Faster engagement. Greater immediate pressure. Greater chance of forcing Sentinel to respond personally. There. Megatron’s priority was not only territory. It was pressure. Contact. Response.
Starscream’s projection collapsed inward. Not disagreement spoken. Not yet. He adjusted.
“If we commit that route,” Starscream said, voice still level and controlled, “we need to limit aerial insertion. Only small wings. Anything larger gets trapped.”
Megatron’s gaze remained on the projection. “Then we commit what is necessary.” Decision reinforced.
Starscream inclined his head slightly. Acceptance. Not agreement. Soundwave marked it. Important.
Logic supported Starscream’s caution. Command selected Megatron’s pressure point. Soundwave would execute the order.
Shockwave shifted the projection again, refining entry vectors, updating structural tolerances, recalculating expected impact zones. “Devastator deployment will remain central. Primary breakthrough unit.”
Soundwave added, "Seeker units assigned in limited trines for support. Reduced exposure.”
Megatron nodded once. “Prepare it.”
The room moved again: data shifting, assignments forming, the next phase of the war already in motion.
Starscream stepped back half a pace. Not retreat. Repositioning.
Soundwave observed him briefly. The pattern was there now. He spoke when necessary. He challenged when required. He adapted when overruled. Not resisting. Not yielding. Balancing. Soundwave stored it. Because this was where it began. Not the fracture. Not yet. The recognition.
And as Praxis formed across the projection, the war moved forward. Faster. Sharper. No longer uncertain.