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Neurobite is handing out candied garnet plums

Pest hands out severed fingers

Hydrasight passes out various dainty little confections

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OC INTRO: NEUROBITE

Everything must be perfect. If the calculations are off, if the ritual is performed incorrectly, if the bartender lied-- if anything is wrong, her people will starve.

Neurobite can feel the power thrumming just beneath the surface, blood welling up within the skin of Primus. She slams her staff against the ground, and her followers begin to strike the earth with picks and stakes. Energon seeps up through the cracks, and the group bursts into raucous cheering.

They will have to move on from this spot soon. But not tonight. Tonight, they feast. Tonight, they rejoice in celebration of continued survival.

-----

Neurobite is the leader of a mysterious group of nomadic hedonists known to most as the Cult of Sensation. They believe that the Cybertronian species was created with experience in mind, and that the gift of transformation was granted such that the universe could be explored from a vast multitude of perspectives. To them, the true purpose of life is to collect experiences of all kinds. To this end, they often modify their frames heavily, and some of the more violently inclined may seek out combat with foes that far outmatch them.

Neruobite herself is guided by mysterious visions, which she believes to be divine in nature, which lead her and her followers on an unending journey through the cosmos. A romantic at heart, Neurobite values two things: her passions, and her religion-- and is often inclined to disobey the latter in favor of the former

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Hydrasight isn't trying to get hurt or anything. He just... forgets what frame he's in sometimes. The open sky calls out to him, and he answers before he can remember this body isn't built to fly. Usually he catches himself on something, or at least lands well. Usually.

This time, with the night sky and the cold breeze and the midnight quiet, it takes a moment too long for his mind to catch up. He lands hard. One optic flickers, dims, goes out. He feels as if he's been plunged into utter darkness. One half of his sensory array is knocked loose, and there's dented plating all along that side of his body. At least without wings, there's nothing to crumple and tear against the ground.

Maybe he'll just.... lay here for a little while. If anyone needs him they'll have to comm him on his work line, not his personal.

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Pest agrees that Unicron has nice tits. It even has a poorly done crayon drawing demonstrating the concept

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Lotus flowers and pomegranate seeds for Mortilus. Lapis lazuli and keys for Solomus and Epistemus. A length of colorful braided rope for Adaptus. Gold and sunflowers for Primus. Hydrasight is meticulous in laying out offerings on his altar. He hangs bundles of dried herbs and wildflowers from the walls of the shrine alcove, then, almost as an afterthought, places a bird skull and a vial of energon off to the side. He may not approve of Pest's worship, but even the most faithful follower of the Guiding Hand knows not to neglect Unicron entirely-- the world-eater does not take kindly to being forgotten.

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What does Pest have in its mouth? An optic!

Crunch crunch crunch crunch

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Pest is not sure when it abandoned the idea of a benevolent deity. Maybe when it prayed, night after night, cycle after cycle, for salvation, and yet found none. Maybe when it awoke in a world it did not know, built over the bones of the one it had lived in before.

But it knows, now, the truth. That there is nobody there to answer prayers, or if there is then they have abandoned their disciples, and if they haven't then they have at least abandoned Pest.

It does not blame them. Perfection cannot love filth. Cannot love bloodied paws and rusted plating and flickering optics and feral instinct.

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Pest has always been a good hunter-- that's what it was trained for, after all. Padded paws carry it silently through backstreets and dark alleys as it stalks its prey. Gets closer and closer, bit by bit, until... now! It lunges, strikes at the knees to bring down its prey. Prey lashes out. It bites down on the flailing servo. Rips it off. Pin prey, bite down. Swift, full-force. Back of the helm. Crush the processor.

Pest rolls over, heaving with exhaustion as it runs a few vent cycles to keep from overheating. When Pest feels able to stand again, it drags the corpse into an abandoned utility tunnel. This-- this is good. Safe hideout. Pest knows this place well. Cushions and blankets line much of the area, but there is a space cleared away for it to eat.

Now to decide where to start-- energon is most concentrated in the neck and limbs, but it could also save those for when it's injured and instead gnaw at the torso.

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A shiver runs through every inch of Pest's frame, and suddenly the whole world is awash with Red and Pain and Wrong.

nonononono it was getting better, it hadn't hurt anyone in--

Point taken, then, whatever caused that. It lifts its paw from the altar and stalks off to find food ideally still squirming and screaming, still uncomfortably alert.

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Hydrasight's whole frame trembles with jolts of sourceless pain as he mixes his stupid nutrient packets into his stupid energon cube. His optics flicker, and he braces himself against a wall to avoid collapsing from the waves of vertigo that wash over him. The dizziness fades, and he picks up the cube. Takes a sip and prays to whatever divinity may exist that he can keep it down. He takes a cautious step away from the counter, cube in hand, to sit in his living room and watch that stupid soap opera Pest is so fond of. With how his day is going, Hydrasight isn't even surprised when he falls, but that doesn't stop him from cursing loudly over the wasted energon.

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The little rooftop garden above Hydrasight's apartment is blooming. It is a small thing, but small things are what he has these days. The flowers are so delicate, and he is so large, a weapon of war. But he is careful, deliberate in his movements, and he does not harm them. Dirt is caked into every joint and seam of his servos, and the strain of hunching over the flowerbed wraps barbed-wire pain around his spinal struts, but it's so very worth it to see flowers and herbs overtake the gray concrete roof with bursts of green and lilac and gold. This small, fragile peace is everything Hydrasight has fought and bled and killed for. In this moment, he can almost forget what he is. Almost.

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╭┈┈┈┈ ₊˚ෆ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ! ╰ ♡⸝⸝ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎 𝐄𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐔𝐌

' i don't want to get better. i want to get worse. '

' solve the world, one conversation at a time. '

' this is all you have, but it's something. streets and sodium lights. the sky, the world. you're still alive. '

' the first death is in the heart. '

' all the gifts your parents gave you, all the love and patience of your friends, you drowned in a neurotoxin. you let misery win. '

' how not to lose? it is impossible not to. '

' given enough time, you would wipe us all out and replace us with nothing. '

' you'll get it in the next life, where you don't make mistakes. do what you can with this one while you're still alive. '

' i can't help you. i am totally useless. '

' everything i've said are lies. '

' i don't want to be this kind of animal anymore. '

' think of how much they'll miss you. '

' in the dark times, should the stars also go out? '

' what kind of ghost are you? '

' one day, i will return your side. '

' here we are again, my broken bird. '

' are they not heartbroken? how could they have moved on? '

' above all, you let life defeat you. '

' leave them behind. rest. '

' tell me, what's waiting for me? '

' never forget, the whole world is a wooden house, and you are a goddamn flamethrower. '

' all i wanted was to live with dignity. to die with honor. '

' you are a violent and irrepressible miracle. the vacuum of cosmos and the stars burning in it are afraid of you. '

' be vigilant. we loved you. '

' there are no words for how i failed you. '

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Hydrasight knows he's been seen. He knows because he can feel in the very tips of his sensory antler array the miniscule vibrations in the air that he knows he isn't causing. Instincts honed by decades on the streets and centuries of harsh training tell him the witness is too close to dispose of with his rifle. Backup weapon it is. His revolver the gun that reminded him of his purpose, the greatest honor he bears aside from the Decepticon emblem itself is in his hand before thought has wrenched control away from reflex. "Three steps back, civilian, before there's any collateral damage here."

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Pest is gnawing on an arm. It's unclear who's arm, but it's dripping with energon and isn't attached to the body it belongs to. Pest seems to be having a wonderful time crunching through the plating

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Scrapcharge has a bag of assorted rubber ducks and is sneaking around Autobot HQ with it. Whatever she is doing with the ducks, it is probably malicious.