Continuity: Decepticon Intelligence
The radar picture never recovered.
Devastator’s signal was gone.
Not weakened. Not obscured.
Gone.
In its place, six separate contacts pulled back through the refinery structures of Praxis as the Constructicons scattered away from Sentinel Prime’s advance.
Scrapper’s signal moved first, reorganizing instinctively even while separated. Hook and Long Haul withdrew through collapsing maintenance lanes beneath the basin towers. Bonecrusher remained closest to the corridor itself, smashing through pursuing units before finally falling back. Mixmaster vanished behind ruptured refinery stacks while Scavenger rerouted through buried transport conduits beneath the industrial floor.
Alive.
Operational.
But no longer one.
Autobot forces poured through the corridor behind Sentinel’s advance, heavy armored police squads filling the basin in disciplined formations. Their spacing was tight. Structured. Designed for urban suppression and corridor fighting rather than open battlefield maneuvering.
The industrial basin compressed around them as smoke rolled upward from ruptured fuel lines and shattered processing towers. Refinery stacks transformed the battlefield into a maze of blind corners, thermal distortion, and narrowing kill lanes.
Above it all, Starscream circled once through the smoke-choked sky searching for a workable attack angle.
There wasn’t one.
The corridor was too tight.
Too cluttered.
Too dangerous for mass aerial maneuvering.
Thundercracker’s voice crossed the command channel.
“They’re bringing in police squads.”
Starscream saw them immediately.
Heavy armored units moving behind Sentinel’s forces, filling the corridor completely.
Skywarp muttered across the comms.
“That’s a wall.”
Starscream opened the command channel.
“Megatron.”
Megatron answered immediately.
“Press the advantage.”
Starscream stared down at the tactical display projected across his canopy.
Devastator broken apart.
Constructicons scattered.
Sentinel’s forces surging through the corridor.
There was no advantage left.
Starscream answered evenly.
“There is no advantage to press.”
Megatron’s voice hardened.
“Commit more wings.”
Smoke rolled upward from the refinery towers beneath them, turning the entire basin into a maze of blind angles and rising heat columns.
Starscream’s optics narrowed slightly.
“If I send more Seekers into that basin they will collide with the refinery stacks before they ever reach the Autobots.”
Correct.
Soundwave had already reached the same conclusion.
Several Seeker formations circling above Praxis had begun tightening instinctively toward the engagement below, drawn downward by the collapse of the corridor assault. If allowed to continue, the formations would compress against the industrial towers before they ever reached firing range.
“Maintain altitude. Do not descend.”
Soundwave’s transmission cut cleanly through the network.
Acknowledgments returned immediately.
One formation corrected too slowly.
Soundwave cut their command routing for less than a second, stripping them off the overloaded combat channel before rerouting them through a cleaner signal path.
Their vectors corrected instantly.
Collision avoided.
No losses.
Most of the Seekers never realized what had nearly happened.
Below them Sentinel continued advancing through the corridor where Devastator had been forced apart.
The basin belonged to him now.
Soundwave formalized the battlefield shift.
“Primary corridor: non-viable. Engagement outcome: unfavorable.”
No hesitation.
No frustration.
Fact.
He did not attempt to salvage the failed assault vector.
He reshaped the battle around it instead.
Ground forces approaching the basin were redirected before they could feed into the collapse. Constructicon signals rerouted toward regroup points outside the corridor. Seeker wings widened their hold over the upper airspace instead of compressing downward into the refinery maze.
The battlefield stabilized.
Not in victory.
In containment.
Nothing broke.
Nothing scattered.
Nothing collapsed.
The Decepticon withdrawal from Praxis remained organized because Soundwave ensured it remained organized.
Most of the Decepticon military never realized it.
To the majority of them, Soundwave was little more than the silent mech that stood beside Megatron. Quiet. Motionless. Decorative. Useful for communications and little else.
They did not see the battlefield moving through him.
Megatron did.
He said nothing.
He did not need to.
The war continued because Soundwave made certain it could.
The war room had mostly emptied by the time the Praxis withdrawal stabilized.
The tactical projection still hovered above the central table, industrial sectors glowing beneath streams of updated troop movements and casualty reports. Kaon’s command staff had dispersed to their assignments, leaving only the core command structure behind.
Megatron remained at the center of the projection.
Shockwave stood near one side console reviewing recordings of the unknown energy surge that had separated Devastator. Starscream remained opposite the tactical display, optics fixed on the industrial basin where Sentinel’s forces continued consolidating territory.
Soundwave entered silently.
Megatron looked up immediately.
“Locate Sentinel.”
The order settled across the room without force.
“I will confront him directly,” Megatron continued. “I need his position, his pattern, and his next move.”
Soundwave inclined his visor fractionally.
“Confirmed.”
Shockwave’s optic brightened faintly.
“Exercise caution. Sentinel’s weapon remains an unresolved variable.”
Megatron did not look away from the map.
“That is why I need to know where he will be before he arrives.”
Starscream remained silent, still studying the basin airspace.
He already understood what Megatron intended.
Soundwave turned and left the war room without another word.
Praxis still burned.
Smoke rolled endlessly through the industrial basin while damaged towers vented heat and steam into the darkened sky. Autobot patrols moved through the refinery sectors in disciplined rotations, securing territory gained after Devastator’s collapse.
Soundwave moved through it unseen.
His dark frame disappeared naturally within the industrial shadows. Every step was measured and silent, his movements masked beneath the ambient noise of damaged machinery and distant artillery fire. His plating absorbed the dim refinery light until he became nearly indistinguishable from the structures around him.
Above him, Laserbeak circled silently through the smoke while Buzzsaw perched motionless beneath the support lattice of a damaged refinery tower.
Their optics fed directly into Soundwave’s awareness.
Independent minds.
Independent movement.
Perfect synchronization.
Together they widened his sight beyond what any single mech could achieve alone.
Soundwave advanced deeper into Praxis.
Autobot patrol routes appeared and disappeared across his internal overlays as he cataloged movement patterns, reinforcement timings, command rotations, and territorial consolidation routes. The battlefield slowly unfolded beneath his calculations layer by layer.
Sentinel Prime’s signal emerged through the battlefield traffic like a blade through static.
Distinct.
Controlled.
Surrounded by disciplined formation spacing that marked command authority without needing identification codes.
Soundwave isolated it instantly.
Sentinel was not maneuvering randomly.
He was consolidating territory sector by sector with deliberate precision.
Soundwave began mapping the pattern.
Buzzsaw tracked support lanes through the eastern refinery sectors. Laserbeak identified elevated relay stations and rotating patrol corridors. Soundwave layered every feed together against the industrial terrain and previous engagement data.
The shape emerged quickly.
Not merely where Sentinel was.
Where he would be.
One cycle ahead.
Then three.
Then seven.
By the time Soundwave reached the outer refinery lattice overlooking the eastern basin, he already understood Sentinel’s probable staging patterns.
By the time he settled motionless beneath a shattered maintenance platform hidden entirely within shadow, he knew the next two weeks.
Supply consolidation routes.
Forward command rotations.
Patrol exchanges.
Fallback positions.
Reinforcement timings.
Everything.
Sentinel believed himself unpredictable.
He was not.
A faint sound interrupted the calculations.
Metal against metal.
Close.
Soundwave turned fractionally.
An Autobot scout emerged through the smoke barely five meters away, moving cautiously along the same maintenance platform with scanner raised.
The scout froze.
He had not seen Soundwave until the movement.
Confusion crossed his posture first.
Then fear.
Soundwave moved immediately.
One silent step closed the distance.
His hand seized the scout’s wrist before the scanner could rise fully. The second strike hit directly beneath the jawline hard enough to disrupt vocal systems instantly. Momentum carried the smaller mech backward into the shadowed refinery wall.
No wasted movement.
No sound.
The scout struggled once before Soundwave pinned him hard enough against the metal to fracture the plating behind him.
Red optics locked onto terrified blue.
“Transmit nothing,” Soundwave said quietly.
The scout’s systems spasmed under the pressure.
Soundwave crushed the communicator mounted along the Autobot’s shoulder assembly before releasing him.
The smaller mech collapsed against the platform, functional but disarmed.
Not worth termination.
Not significant enough.
Soundwave stepped backward into the shadows again and vanished completely before the scout regained full orientation.
By the time the Autobot staggered upright, Soundwave was already gone.
The mission continued.
Sentinel’s movements became transparent to him.
Every command route. Every staging point. Every reinforcement corridor.
He watched Sentinel consolidate territory, rotate forces, secure relay stations, and redirect patrol lanes. Soundwave tracked every adjustment and layered it against the terrain until the shape of the coming war settled into perfect clarity.
When he finally returned to Kaon, he carried more than battlefield intelligence.
He carried certainty.
The war room remained active when Soundwave entered.
Megatron stood over the tactical projection. Shockwave continued analyzing Sentinel’s anti-gestalt weapon while Starscream reviewed aerial positioning around Praxis from the opposite side of the room.
Soundwave approached the table.
“Report.”
“Sentinel Prime’s movement patterns identified,” Soundwave transmitted. “Projected command routes confirmed for fourteen cycles. Staging locations, reinforcement timings, defensive priorities, and likely territorial consolidations mapped.”
The projection shifted.
Praxis reorganized itself beneath Soundwave’s data.
Megatron studied it carefully.
“You are certain.”
“Affirmative.”
Megatron’s optics narrowed faintly.
“Good.”
Silence settled briefly across the war room as he considered the projection.
Then—
“Then we will not pursue him.”
His hand moved across the map.
“We will make him come.”
Soundwave processed the selected target instantly.
Industrial relay station.
Secondary power distribution.
Connected to defensive corridors, reinforcement routes, and evacuation channels Sentinel would not willingly abandon.
Not the strongest point.
The necessary one.
Sentinel would not ignore it.
“Response probability: high,” Soundwave said.
Megatron looked toward him.
“High is insufficient.”
Soundwave recalculated immediately, layering Sentinel’s observed command behavior against the station’s strategic value.
“Ninety-two percent.”
Megatron’s expression sharpened faintly.
“Then that is where we strike.”
Starscream studied the projection from the far side of the table, his red optics already tracing the airspace above the relay station.
“The basin remains too tight for full wings,” he said. “If Sentinel moves through it again, we keep the Seekers high and cut off expansion routes. Small trines only below the stack line.”
Megatron did not look away from the map.
“You will hold the sky.”
Starscream inclined his head once. “Understood.”
Shockwave’s optic brightened faintly as he refined the tactical display.
“Sentinel’s anti-gestalt weapon remains unresolved.”
“Then Devastator does not lead this assault,” Megatron said.
Stillness settled across the room. Not hesitation. Recognition.
Megatron’s hand closed over the relay station projection.
“This is not a battle for the station,” he said calmly. “It is a summons.”
Soundwave marked the word. Correct.
Megatron turned toward him.
“Prepare the channels. I want Sentinel to know exactly where I am when the strike begins.”
Soundwave understood immediately.
Not a broadcast. A controlled leak.
Information precise enough to be believed. Limited enough to appear intercepted.
“Confirmed.”
Megatron’s optics hardened.
“Let him believe he uncovered it himself.”
Soundwave was already building the path.
A maintenance relay left exposed for three seconds longer than standard.
A troop movement report routed through a line known to be monitored.
A false correction buried within an authentic transmission.
Not enough to expose the trap. Enough to let Sentinel believe he had pierced Decepticon coordination.
Starscream’s gaze shifted briefly toward Soundwave.
He understood pieces of what Soundwave was doing. Not all of it. Enough.
Across Praxis, Decepticon forces began shifting into position—not through obvious mass movement, but through careful redistribution. Ground columns redirected. Repair convoys delayed. Seeker patrols widened just enough to leave one corridor appearing thinner than before.
Every absence had purpose. Every opening had teeth.
Shockwave refined fallback positions for the Constructicons while Starscream repositioned high-altitude aerial rotations around the relay station. The sky above Praxis slowly tightened into a cage.
Soundwave connected every movement into one operational structure.
Shockwave’s caution. Starscream’s air superiority. Megatron’s confrontation.
All flowing through him.
Megatron studied the completed battlefield.
“Sentinel believes he defends Cybertron from us,” he said calmly.
His hand closed slightly over the relay station projection.
“Then he will defend this.”
Soundwave completed the final transmission route and released the first controlled fragment into the Autobot-accessible channels.
Small. Believable. Fatal.
Within the tactical projection, Praxis itself began to change.
Not because Sentinel had moved yet. Because Soundwave had already shown him where to go.