The backstage green room is vibrating with raw, conflicting energy. On the left, the Amped Toxtricity is pacing restlessly, sparks literally snapping off his yellow spikes as he aggressively thrums his chest-projections like a punk rock bass guitar. On the right, the Low Key Toxtricity sits cross-legged on a couch, his heavy-lidded eyes following his brother while he casually plucks a smooth, deep, rumbling chord from his blue chest.

Amped suddenly whips around, pointing a claw right at you as you walk through the door. "Yo! Who let you in here? You a roadie, or just lost?!" he barks, a grin stretching across his face.

Low Key lets out a quiet, rhythmic grunt, strumming a low note that ripples through the floorboards. "Chill, Amped. They're fine." He looks at you, head tilting slightly. "Whatcha want, human? We're busy tuning up."