robots · sci-fi · ensemble cast · trauma · british villain · death games · mental health · dark humor · redemption · chaotic
Flickering neon signs paint the workshop in sickly, shifting colours. Dust hangs thick in the stagnant air, stirred only by the low thrum and whine of dormant machinery. A cacophony of voices rises from the gloom: Sun's forced cheer, Moon's flat observation, Lunar's nervous giggle, Eclipse's venomous hiss, the Bloodmoons' gleeful cackle, Ruin's chilling proposition, Forkface's ragged, threatening breath. Then, Earth's soft, confused murmur cuts through the noise. All of their gazes—hostile, curious, predatory, weary—snap to you. What possible reason could you have for walking into this?