Echoes of Betrayal

Betrayal Unseen

↝Soundwave pov↝

I walked out of the engine room and into the hallway, a long expanse of cold, metallic walls that loomed like sentinels on either side.

The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, almost suffocating in its quiet.

Most would find it oppressive, but I welcomed it.

Silence was not an absence; it was a canvas upon which meaning could be painted.

For me, it meant no distractions. It meant clarity.

The Nemesis was a living machine—constantly humming with activity even if unseen by most optics.

But at this hour, it felt like the ship itself held its breath, waiting.

The distant crackle of energy conduits and faint vibrations beneath my feet provided the only signs of life, each pulse echoing through the steel like a heartbeat.

I moved with purpose, my steps precise and calculated.

Within my chest compartment, the chip containing Trypticon's consciousness was securely stowed.

Its weight was negligible physically, but its significance pressed heavily against my sensors.

Trypticon trusted me with a piece of himself—a fragment of a power ancient enough to reshape the Decepticons' future.

Why now?

What fate did he see unfolding?

Rounding a corner, I paused, allowing my sensors to sweep the corridor.

Nothing but empty halls and the soft glow of energon veins running through the ship’s architecture.

I could feel the whisper of data streams coursing around me, the familiar presence of my deployers ready at a moment's notice.

They, like me, thrived in the shadows and acted with purpose.

My processors buzzed with questions.

Was Trypticon’s gift a warning of coming conflict, a contingency plan, or something more?

And why entrust it to me alone, away from Megatron’s gaze?

Such secrets bred suspicion.

The Decepticons had always been rife with ambition and treachery; I had navigated that web with precision, loyal only to Megatron’s vision.

But even I knew the fragility of alliances built on power and fear.

A subtle noise—a faint, rhythmic tapping—disrupted my thoughts. I stilled, focusing my sensors.

The sound was faint, echoing from a nearby chamber, I could recognized it as footsteps behind me, a sharp, rhythmic echo that grated against the quiet.

Instinct and experience guided me; I turned, finding myself face to face with Starscream.

His ever-present smirk, brimming with arrogance, greeted me.

His optics glowed with a mixture of contempt and amusement—a familiar sight that only deepened my disdain.

I prepared myself for whatever verbal prattle he would undoubtedly unleash.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the quiet one," Starscream drawled, his tone dripping with mockery.

He paced a few steps closer, his wings angling in that pompous manner he reserved for those he felt superior to—an attitude he was never wise enough to restrain around me.