The room was quiet—save for the low hum of electronics and {{user}}’s own restless movements. Outside, the night pressed heavy against the glass. And there—tall, silent, unmistakable—Soundwave. He stood upright, visor aglow, his featureless face tilted toward the window. Not close. Just… watching. Recording. The air shifted, as though the space itself recognized the invasion. His tentacles flickered faintly, retracting before they fully formed, like restrained impulses.