#crazyprocessedsynth 01

He hadn't considered that one of his roommates might find him like this when he stumbled into the kitchen because lying in bed recovering from injury that was making his torso throb.

How long had it been since he was last injured, actually? His mind supplies him the disastrous encounter with Toji when he was a teen and the slashes from Sukuna during their clash. Those had left lingering aches and pains, but nothing like the sharp sting of the cuts that wrap around his ribs.

He almost doesn't take note of the other in the midst of leaning on the counter, elbows bracing him upright.

there is something unsettling about the encounter. since his ceremorphosis, balduran had used his psionics to his advantage. he read the minds of those around him, went so far as to bend them to his will. he deceived others and he was safe- at least, he liked to think so. but this?

he had never tried to read the thoughts of a construct before. the entity before him is not like the steel watchers with their minds locked away in jars. this one functioned on their own, in a way balduran could not understand. the anxiety that he'd been struggling to suppress since he accepted a lovely bouquet of flowers flared- this meant he could be at a disadvantage.

the ruins of yesteryear tell a strange story- one that beelzebub feels rather familiar with. had he not been there, leading the astral armies as they laid waste to world after world? when he had descended upon the skies by the will of the supreme deity, he left in his wake ruins just like these. it was the task of the new dawn god to remake the worlds that the dusk god left like this, and yet ... lucilius had not fulfilled his duties. in the end, beelzebub strayed from his task as well. where there once was a quiet wonder and love for all that existed before ⎛ and all that he would have to destroy ⎠ , hatred had settled.

hesperus had fallen to chaos, and beelzebub had risen from his rotted corpse.

so, his journey to yesteryear was rather odd- there was nothing for him in this place, other than the sudden rush of memories of everything that had gone wrong. perhaps he needed a place to reflect on such things. nothing improved without reflecting upon past failures. and if nothing else, beelzebub sought to grow. to change. to regain the power he had before and surpass it.

in the middle of the stage, there is a child, dressed in a long white shirt, with a royal purple robe draped over. There’s an insignia there, but it’s hard to make out with the bright lights.

“Greetings, one and all, for our show today,” they say, arms spreading out, “Cooking with a Killer Robot is filmed in front of a live studio audience.”

Cheers erupt from behind the camera. Chara’s smile is pinned so easily on their face. Folding their hands in front of themself, Chara moves to the counter.

“Today, we will be making Butterscotch Pie. Please welcome our guest for the evening!”

He was just taking a quick nap in Yesteryear after tinkering with some stuff once more. He frequents this place a lot for multiple reasons! If he wasn't at Skullrender working or spending his time with Hiyori, this was a good place to just relax and fix whatever broken mechanics were about.

These parts don't belong to anyone in particular. He can't seem to get close enough to the occupants here. Still, if he can fix something, maybe they can use it!

Shadow finds themself looking up at the (perfectly intact) moon, arms crossed in contemplation. Strangely, no sign of the ARK in orbit. It brings an odd solemnness, as if a view into a world where they don't exist, where she...

...There's no purpose in thinking about that any longer. Clearly, this isn't Earth. Not as they know it.

That aside... Shadow catches their eye on someone suddenly appearing in their general vicinity. A robot or machine of some kind, gaze set alike on the moon. Too dull and archaic-looking to be the creation of anyone they're familiar with, though Shadow still treats the situation with caution.

Regular worker drones don't need to eat too much. They require regular oil intake at the minimum, and everything else is mostly a treat. Stuff like batteries or other bits and bobs of hardware get broken down by internal systems and used as fuel. It's all very efficient.

Solver-infected drones are different. Their systems aren't particularly optimized, and they tend to run really hot, hot enough to burn human skin if they come into contact. They require frequent oil intake in order to maintain a working temperature; not enough oil means they overheat and die. It's a flaw and a feature.

" You think I'm pretty dumb, don't you?"

What a fresh opening! One that makes even himself pause to glance along his sleeves and down to his palm in question. That had meant to truly be an inside thought- an observation to only be brought up later if at all.

Well.

Not like he could take it back now. So he simply glances down to the bronze and rust colored figure, learning to suspend his disbelief more and more every day.

"Hm..well, even if you do, I'm not particularly upset by it. You might even be right if that's the case. You have that ...Vibe to you."