The image playing on Soundwave's visor never flickered. Megatron frowned as he watched it, the sleek lines of Starscream's jet form rocketing skyward and zooming through the air.

A lesser mech might have hoped that jet was someone else. Or wondered whether Soundwave had it all wrong and had mistaken one of the humans' fighter planes for the Decepticons' second-in-command. But Megatron had long since learned that Soundwave didn't make mistakes.

"So he isn't a prisoner of the enemy after all," Megatron hissed, drawing back his lip plates in a toothy snarl as the projection died, Soundwave's visor fading to its usual black.

The smaller mech made no response to Megatron's words, or to the Decepticon leader's obvious fury. He simply waited, his blank visor upturned so that he could more easily see his leader's face.

Megatron hissed a few choice comments about Starscream's latest treachery. He was used to defiance and manipulation from the Seeker, but he had never expected desertion.

Up to now it had been a game, a dance between them, a play of threat and counterthreat, of abasement and sharp-fanged forgiveness.

Soundwave might have commented, had he wished. A particular audio file of Starscream's voice admitting his cowardice. Or, perhaps, of Megatron's own voice, asserting his power. Voiceless as Soundwave was, he had never had any trouble making his opinions known.

He did not wish to, now.

Megatron's roar of irritation died and he looked down, nodding. "You have done well bringing me this news, Soundwave."

Soundwave, as before, waited.

Megatron brooded for another long moment, his chassis vibrating as he growled. Then, finally, he nodded to the smaller Decepticon.

Others might have thought too much about the gesture. Fond of words themselves, they might have used them. Even without a voice, he could have done the same. He could replay one of many recordings he had of nervous Vehicons asking Megatron what would happen now. A glimpse into his leader's plans might tell him whether his rage extended to the hapless messenger who'd brought him such ill news.

Or he could replay any number of Decepticons stammering Megatron's name in an awkward attempt at asking whether it meant they'd been dismissed. He'd seen almost all of them do this, frantic for any reassurance that they could leave before the storm of their commander's rage finally broke and they found themselves caught in its whirlwind.

Instead, Soundwave nodded, twitched his wings once in a gesture of respect, and turned to go. He had no need of such crude methods.

Not when he had served forever, faithfully and silently, and knew full well that Megatron knew it.