Echoes of Betrayal

prologue Echoes of the Titan

The Nemesis was cloaked in an eerie quiet.

It was a silence that would have unnerved most, but for Soundwave, it was a welcome state—a reprieve from the constant noise of war, from the chaos and the clamor of clashing ideologies.

Here, in the depths of the Decepticon warship, silence was a paradoxical refuge. It masked intentions and betrayed none.

For Soundwave, it was never truly silent; it carried meaning, hidden truths, and secrets waiting to be uncovered, dissected, and used.

Deep within the ship’s engine room, Soundwave maintained his vigil.

The space was a labyrinth of steel conduits and humming circuits, the scent of charged metal hanging heavily in the air.

The blue glow of energon lines crisscrossed the room, casting dancing lights across metal walls and painting fleeting patterns across Soundwave’s angular, imposing form.

Shadows flickered around him, morphing and shifting like specters whispering secrets that only he could hear.

Soundwave stood before a large terminal, his form statuesque, rigid, and unreadable.

He reached out with one of his two clawed hands, tapping commands into the console with methodical precision.

The light around him shifted in intensity, responding to his touch as if the entire room were alive and attuned to his every movement.

Beneath the metal floors, deep within the bowels of the warship, a low rumble echoed—almost like the growl of a slumbering beast, powerful and ancient.

"I am here, as requested," Soundwave transmitted, his communication a combination of clipped, distorted audio clips—an amalgamation of past voices.

His visor glowed softly, betraying no emotion, only the pulsing, static hum of raw data coursing through him.

For a being whose loyalty had defined his existence, Soundwave was a living contradiction: mechanical precision married to something deeply, hauntingly enigmatic.

From the shadows, the ancient presence of Trypticon stirred—a low, resonant vibration that seemed to pulse in time with the Nemesis itself.

For most, Trypticon’s name was a whisper, a fable of metal and might; for Soundwave, he was very real.

It was said that the warship itself was built atop the remains of a Titan.

It was no myth. Trypticon had slumbered for eons, and in his reawakening, there was a power that could shift the balance of fate.

“It has been too long since our last conversation,” Trypticon’s voice reverberated through the chamber, a mix of scraping metal and a primordial roar tempered by age and gravity. His words were heavy, each syllable vibrating through the energon conduits like a pulse. “You are the only one who remembers.”

Soundwave dipped his head slightly, a rare, solemn acknowledgment.

In the silence that followed, there was understanding—an unspoken bond forged through secrets kept and wars waged in shadows.

There were truths here that neither Megatron nor the Autobots could touch.

But time, as ever, was fleeting.

Soundwave felt a disturbance, a crackle of static that rippled through his sensors—a prelude to betrayal.

The air shifted, carrying with it the faint whir of wings.

Laserbeak swooped into the chamber, his form slicing through the dim glow with an unsettling grace.

He perched on a nearby beam, his optic gleaming an ominous red.