The night, in all of it's dark, silent beauty, found itself as his constant companion. It was an entirely new universe, during this lighted darkness, for it was not completely black, yet not filled with the blinding visionary of this Solar System's sun. Soundwave had always found solace in the night, when upon this planet. This Earth. This...foreign place. And as the night had come through the day, he listened steadily as the new life of this time slinked its way into the supposed silence, filling his own processor with a radiant glow of information gathered by his own curiosity. Even as he now glided through the night sky, the sounds of this sleeping, and yet widely awake world, managed to slice into the wind along with the silent shrieking of his sharpened wing points. The speed provided by his sleek alternative mode grasped the grace of his frame, enabling him to perform acts of breathtaking speed. Speed which was required by the missions his leader enforced. The speed which has caused Soundwave the advantage he needed to survive. The speed which made him the deadly weapon he now stands as to the Decepticon Empire itself. Then the curved front of his current physical form made a swift edge to the left, causing the cool wind currents against his body to slither alongside his elongated middle, finding way into the smallest of elegant points amongst the jet mode. The moon, previously fully visible as it reflected on his glossy armor, began to give the appearance of twisting and sliding across his body as the reflection gradually vanished behind the clouds. Obviously an effect caused by his beginning decent. He felt water droplets crawl uncomfortably up his frame as he twisted to the right, the Earth's disgustingly moist clouds making contact with Soundwave's wings. The sensation ended as quickly as it had arrived, while the clouds now held themselves above his frame, seeming to grow smaller and smaller as they were taken by the wind that he had the power to control. His descent continued, grabbing speed with a skillful power only able to be contained by one with such precise practice, training, and experience, such as himself. The stars now were covered by the moisture above him, their stunning reflection no longer a part of his dark color. This at least allowed him the coverage he desired at this time, now holding the ability to remain unseen by the prying eyes of his enemies, and the inhabitants of this planet. The ground came closer, shockingly close, in fact. But as always, he was prepared. He was in control. The dirt of the Earth was now magnified by its rapid growth toward Soundwave, while he was propelled through air as it whistled sharp tunes at his touch. The approximation of his assumption of the closeness of the ground was exact, so he held absolutely no concern as to the outcome of coming to incredibly close to the solid earth. As it seemed to run forward, rush at him with speed matching his own, he grew faster, sharper, clearer. The ground could not possibly come to any of a nearer view, it could not handle the force and power of his contact. Then, in a singular movement, he turned upward with an astounding speed. Avoiding the impact. Avoiding eminent destruction, which he had cleanly not taken by using this trick for times then he could recall. He flipped backwards, a clean move that allowed him the time to transform within midair.

He flipped backwards, a clean move that allowed him the time to transform within midair. His wings seemed to grow longer; when in fact they were merely spreading apart, sliding from the metal joints to allow him to finish the process. They once again turned into their own directions, slinking back into the sockets obviously created to hold there physical existence. Again his form began to fold outward, the back of what used to be his jet mode releasing a soft whir of pressure as it opened, the air striking his legs sudden exposure with a familiar tinge of coolness. The armor lining the belly of the jet slid upward while its countering brethren slid in the opposite direction, different plates heading left or right depending on the location they were meant to have accessible reach to. The back of his mode twisted as the plates of metal around it moved, turning almost 360 degrees to the right side, allowing the plating to move onto the area, almost as though bending to fit the frame now clearly being built. Along his body, the humming of the motions, however soft, had the capability to be heard by keen ears along with the clicks lining each plate as it connected with another. From the exposed inside of the jet, a small though luminous purple light could be view as metal tendrils quickly dashed across the frame, disappearing behind the wings with an almost undetectable pop. The rounded head of the jet flipped front-ward, unhinging into two separate pieces as they folded into one another, sliding gracefully toward the side opposite of his back. Two more armored pieces, holding much of a resemblance to triangular blades, sliced through an opening on either side of his chest, to the left of the underneath of two similar figure at what was clearly his neck. Thin pieces of metal slid from the ends of his arms, beautifully elegant, black cylinders. Smooth and rounded to the point of sharpness, their grace alone was enough to capture the eyes of those whom beheld the sight. As his shoulder blades now returned to their rightful place above his trilateral head, longer, cuneated parts appeared from the ends of his legs. Several more clicks and whirs ensued as a pelvis turned and glided with the acuminated tips of yet another, evenly three cornered framework. With only smaller adjustments as he began his descent once more to the ground, the process nearly complete after his time seemingly defying gravity, he arched his curvaceous body. His feet pointed downwards as his long arms outstretched beside his frame, fingers pointed outward to grasp the thin ribbons of wind curling at their carved tips. His left leg made contact with the ground first, his right following quickly to a point only several inches behind the appendage with the first touch. Silent. As always. As he will always be. His pledge to his absence of speech taking a toll on even his movements. His arms slowly lowered to his sides, his shoulder rolling with a small hum, while he raised his helm. The cool reflectiveness of his mute gaze catching only the darkness around him. The grace. The power. The beauty of his form taken into servitude by the everlasting darkness of his aura. He had a mission to complete, with high intentions of fulfilling it to the highest extent.