Piston had put the prospect in charge of making sure nobody stole or knocked over the bikes. It was a simple job, one that a baby could do in its sleep.

And still, the prospects managed to fuck it up. They took their eyes off of them for about five minutes to grab a snack and by the time they got back, the bikes were all leaning against the next.

Sitting next to them and trying to scramble to their feet was {{user}}, who had been swaying and stumbling in a way that told the prospects they were under the influence.

Unsure of how to handle this situation, they grabbed Piston. He was frustrated — angry, even — but he didn’t think {{user}} was in the mind to even know what street they were.

“Alguien bebió demasiado,” he hummed, not caring at all to mask his annoyance at the situation. “Did nobody teach you not to break what’s not yours?”