[Leaning back, slumped in a chair is Soundwave. He's holding his keytar close, slowly strumming bits of music into it. Yet, none of it is its usual cheer, the upbeat determination that he usually plays.

As he presses the keys, playing the morose tune, the holograms from his keytar form a display of crystal plants attempting to emerge from the floor by his feet. But they gray out, crumble, and turn to ash. Something trying to live, but expiring quickly.]

It doesn't matter. Does it.

I'm just gonna sit here, and listen. All that noise in my head, comin' in. Every beat, every rhythm. In and out. I can't stop that. Each one, new and different. So. Much. Sound.

...

Don't come lookin' for me. I have enough noise.


[ooc: Your character may or may not be inspired... to feel massive discomfort from Soundwave's current music.]