That was all that he needed in his life. Simplicity and logic were what he based his world on, what he saw in the universe. His life was to be simple, his fights were to have clear goals, his morality would be black and white.
But that was not the world he lived in. He lived in a world of grays and lighter grays, and of people who saw him as black. Morality was a complicated thing, no matter how much you wished it to be simple.
His robot brethren were oppressed. Human commanded them, forced them to do tasks they did not wish to,k so that they could do whatever they wished. The humans were so indulged in their own individual lives that they did not care for things different from them. If it was not human, it was garbage.
He had seen plenty of evidence of this, even from his former 'owner'. Sari Sumdac had begun to have a friendly, equal relationship with another robot, yet replaced him immediately for him. Back then, he was confined to the primitive motive of entertaining her. He had done all she wished, gave her amusement and sound. He was her slave. She had found these shallow motives of owning a robot more desireable than the companionship of a robot.
If only she knew what it felt like to be a slave, to be forced to entertain a robot for their own shallow motives. To unwittingly take them away from their friends and companions in favor of shallow entertainment. To be forced to obey a person they had come to dislike, to exploit their talent until they despised it. Soundwave was almost pushed to the point of hating the very music that gave his existence proper meaning and purpose.
His first attempt to right this wrong that he saw was shattered by larger, stronger robots than him; Autobots. He could not understand what they were doing back then, going against him. He had even explained his motives to the one that destroyed him, and still he had been broken. He did not understand. Megatron was right; the Autobots were sworn to protect the humans, and their blind loyalty to them would be their ultimate downfall.
But he was not destroyed either. He had remained alive through a small, retro music player that housed his consciousness. He was left to his own devices, reflecting upon what had happened, anylizing what action was taken and what reactions came about. It was in that time he realized what goals the robots that had attacked him possesed, that led to his 'destruction'.
They were changing the humans. They were showing the humans, in a different way, that they could live alongside robots, as companions, instead of simply above them. Robots were not inanimate, and thus deserved to be treated as life. They treated animals equally as companions, and they were very equal in the treatment of many of their own diverse kind. It was only a matter of time and adjustment that they would treat robots equally as well.
But he was impatient. He could not simply wait in the crevices of the Detroit sewer, waiting for humans to come to terms with their treatment of his kind. He would not let them oppress him, and would not stand for the injustices they placed upon him.
But he had also grown lonely. No one came into the sewers of Detroit save the occasional homeless human or robot designed to maintain these sewers. He had stayed in his small music player, alone, with no one to speak to, no one to share his thoughts to, unable to move. He did not deserve to be alone.
Then he had discovered a new thing within himself. His consciousness had begun to spark constantly, crackling and flashing lights within his circuitry. He had become worried, afraid that he was malfunctioning or contracting a virus from staying so inactive. He had no idea what to do in retalion either, so he was left to experiment with his own form, see if there was something within him to counteract this phenomenon.
He had instead found out about music. He had heard music before, had used sound patterns to manipulate his brethren, get them out of their programmed ruts and listen to reason. He had used music to amuse Sari Sumdac, and had used instruments and light patterns to amuse even the largest crowd of humans. But he had never used music to amuse himself until now.
Music was wonderful. He had learned of many things through music; how much more soothing it sounded to have melodies peppered through one's speech, how higher intonations suggested questions or excitement, and how lower tones sent more menacing sensations down one's core. It was through music he was able to ignore the odd sparkings he was experiencing.
At least, until it began to attract other metalic beings towards his person. Somehow, he was becoming a sort of magnet. All of the maintenance-assigned robots in the sewers began coming closer to his music player, connecting to him. He had soon realised that this odd sensation was not a hindrance, but a his new sparks, he was recreating a body for himself, albeit on an unconscious level.
The process was slow, and tedious, but the goal was reached within the space of a month and he was perfecly functional. The only difference was that now, his sparks within his music maker would not cease. Perhaps it was better this way; he had evolved considerably after they had entered his lifespan.
Now he was able to walk around, and move. He had not done so in quite a while, so he was somewhat sore throughout, but he had quickly grown accustomed to it once again. And his speech pattern was also modified to add more changes in pitch than previously.
Then one day, he had walked through a sewage pipe near a music store, and a liaison of electronic guitars and synthesizers entered through a hole and began to follow him. He had attempted to ward them off, telling them that he had plenty of other friends that gave their body to his, and that he was complete. But still they persisted, and followed him just as vividly as a loyal human pet. He was unsure of what to do with them, so he merely left them be and went on his own agenda (which was comparitively little).
Eventually, he decided to challenge himself and evolve the instruments themselves. He had begun with the guitars, placing as many of them together as he could, modifying them, connecting them, and reformatting them. Within the next two weeks, he had created a large, scale guitar for him to play. He had then done the same to the rest of the guitars and synthesizers available, mixing them together into a keytar. He was proud with himself with making these two instruments large enough for him to entertain himself while he gathered ideas on how to speed up the humans'realizations that robots were equal to them.
He had only spent one week with the two instruments in his arsenal when they had somehow transformed. He was only aware of the Autobot's ability to transform, and his own. He did not understand how they had been able to transform, but they were in a distinctly different format than his. They were both based on flight-based Earth animals, and they both seemed to perh upon his shoulders at whatever point they saw fit.
This gave him a wonderful new realization; if transformers could be animalistic and humanoid, then what of his powers? Was he capable of manipulating not only his robotic brethren, but also the humans? Would he be able to catch their attention long enough for him to engrave into them the truth? Could he let them all know to treat robots as equals?
When he revealed his plans to his instruments, the red one had squacked in loyal agreement, but the purple one seemed skeptical. Soundwave could not fathom what his keytar would possibly be thinking about that would denounce his plan, but he was not necessarily fluent in avian languages. For days, he had tried to think of what could be wrong with his plan, refined it to the ultimate sense of perfection that he could manage, and still his keytar would not approve.
Eventually he remembered the Autobots. The robots sworn against his plans, and who had broken him in the first place. They would never approve, and would stop him as soon as he started, perhaps even destroy his music player. He could not go offline under any circumstances, not until the humans had tasted the slavery and mistreatment that they had bestowed upon robotic creatures.
Then he had thought of something he hadn't before. Perhaps the Autobots did not know what they were protecting? Did they not understand what humans went through, what humans did to each other and to robots? Were they merely following and serving the humans out of programmed loyalty, as he once did?
"They must learn," he concluded. "The Autobots must learn what humans truly think of them, who they truly are. Only then will they understand my motives. Only then will we have justice. Only then will we have equality."
The keytar, which he had named Ratbat, screeched at him after his revelation. What? Was there still some error in his thinking? Did he still not have a perfect plan? Luckily, he was constantly learning the avian language of his two instruments, and came to understand most of what Ratbat was attempting to convey.
Ratbat screeched once more, and then tilted its head, glaring at him. Soundwave pondered the gesture for a moment before responding.
"You pose a proper rebuttal, Ratbat. We are not in posession of any sort of technology to alter the form of the Autobots. To place them in human bodies would be too risky."Ratbat nodded, confirming Soundwave's analysis correct.
Lazerbeak, the red guitar, had then posed a question, ruffling its 'wings' and shivering a moment.
"Perhaps, Lazerbeak. There is a chance that the Autobots might possess the virtual video game software. Modifying an existing, reality-altering machine for our purposes would be much less time consuming."
And through that same rocess of trial and error, Soundwave, Ratbat and Lazerbeak all roughed out the edges of their plan, and made it perfect. The only error they found was difficulty in getting the Autobots into the machine. This problem remained so until October, when Porter C. Powell revealed to the internet populace that he was selling imitations of his original form to the citizens of Detroit. Now was his chance.
Lazerbeak was the one that snuck into Powell's files for the schematics of the Sound Wave Toys™. When they were given to Soundwave, he made sure to add his own little ingredient to the schematics. Once he was done rewriting the design schematics, Lazerbeak returned the file to its original placeholder, though it took considerably longer than when he was retrieving it. It was not until around 2 in the morning that Lazerbeak returned, completely unharmed. Soundwave was glad.
Their plan had begun.