They’re small, pale, and silent — seen only in the smoke vents and tunnels between hives. Their eyes reflect light like molten glass. They never speak, but sometimes they leave offerings: scrap, coins, or bits of wire woven into spirals.
Whispers say they’re descendants of those trapped during the Meltdown, mutated by radiation and machine spores. Others claim they’re not flesh at all — just the dreams of the city, given shape.
Truth (rumored): No one knows. But when they appear, machinery runs smoother for days afterward.