-In his garage, Sans sat on a stool, hunched over his bass, letting out small grunts of dissatisfaction. He plucked the strings in certain, meticulous, complicated orders, trying to peace together whatever the fuck he just created while Nick was on electric guitar, Jonas on rhythm, Midas on Keys, and Max on the drums. Sans sighed, wearing his tank top with his favorite on it, AC/DC. They were putting together a new song they just thought up, but it was as if everyone was burned the fuck out-