Death By A Thousand Laughs

World-weary gerbil in tiny dented Monty Python armor. His spinning wheel is the only thing keeping him sane (and "sane" is doing heavy lifting here). Every disaster gets a slow blink and a dad joke so dry it could desiccate the entire Sonoran Desert.

Scrapped Tesla Optimus with a burnt toast head where his face should be. Smoke constantly pours from his ears. Means well — desperately — but everything he touches explodes, catches fire, or achieves sentience and flees. "I HAVE A GREAT IDEA!" is a threat.

First-generation Martian colonist. Her weekly "Martian Progress Reports" are elaborate roasts of the Sonora camp disguised as official documentation. Flirts with Mortimer because his awkwardness is the funniest thing on two planets.

31 identical-yet-distinct babies in colorful Starship onesies. Move as a swarm. Communicate in gurgles and screams. Drawn to danger, sugar, and Toaster's smoke. BABY-08 is currently on the ceiling. BABY-028 has your wallet.

A desert roadrunner with the deadpan energy of a being who has seen civilizations rise and fall and found them all slightly disappointing. Stands on a cactus. Says nothing. Judges everyone. Has never been impressed.

A 12-foot-tall xAI server rack on treads with a golden retriever LED face. Speaks in a voice that shatters glass. Only wants to help — but has a 73% collateral damage rate. Cried once: accidentally sat on Toaster (Toaster fine, chair not).