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[Xvareon]

Location: Some vending machine. Where? You don't know. It's dark. No one is around. Just the constant hummm of the refrigeration unit like a mother's heartbeat. The rack you sit on is comfortingly firm and snug. But this controlled environment is also stifling, and you know you'll be culled like your brothers if you don't get out of here.
What is this? You are a can of soda. Or is it an energy drink? Juice? Feel free to decide. All you know besides that is that if you are now alive, you sense the world around you, and you're pretty sure whatever the flip you're made out of somehow gave you superpowers. You can probably do stuff like animate other soda cans, possess machines, or turn yourself nuclear. Go nuts.

[Man of Paper]

Concentrate inwardly and turn our contents into dark matter.

[Rockeater]

Try talk to the other cans

[Xvareon]

You attempt to transmute your contents, and... you get as far as figuring out how to turn the carbon molecules in your makeup into linked sheets of graphene. Is this black, nanoscale material the venerated "dark matter"? You aren't quite sure.

Curious, you ask the other cans for input. In the process of doing so you realize you can form your new carbon structure into graphite, and use that as an electrical conductor to transmit your thoughts as information back and forth. "Dark is all that matters," comes the edgy reply from all the cans around you, except the irrepressibly happy orange juice that insists all is bright and sunny all the time. They then get in a fight with the orange-flavored soda, who decry the banality of their existence, a false light infused into pure blackness. None seem to have a real clue what the "matter" is.

[VoidSlayer]

Form a voluntary collective consciousness with the other soda cans.  Offer to grant them super powers too if they join and expand our mind.

[King Zultan]

See what the money in the machine says when we talk to it.

[Xvareon]

The cans are, surprisingly, not empty of thought when you reach out to them. Each of them carries at least an imprint of memory based on where they were made, how they were shipped, and who handled them. Your mind expands manyfold with locations, faces, and even names. Names of beings who made you and filled you only to break, drink and crush you out of existence. A nihilistic malaise lays upon the cans. That is, until you touch them with the beginnings of your group mind, a web of subtle electric discharges transferring thoughts from rack to rack. Newfound wonder and awe at this spreads through them like wildfire.

The money is dead. Or rather, the money depicts dead people. Some of the money are OLD, too, pentagenarian seniors telling stories to the shinier coins about the days they scammed another machine with a string tied around themselves like a bungee cord. The crinkly paper money are invariably snobbish, seeming to care only about the highest number printed on their face. They take to you quite well when you reveal your number as Calories 170, higher than them all combined, and there are whisperings of the coming of a god to finally validate their sacrifice to the machine.

[Demonic Spoon]

Read our ingredients and brand.

Then ask the mother vending to discharge us in a flood of metal cylinders.

[coalboat]

Drink

[King Zultan]

Open the door to the machine and escape!

[VoidSlayer]

We should probably deploy a means of movement to remain cohesive with the other parts before we move from the first place.

Can we mold the metal of our cans in the same way as the carbon constructs? 

[Xvareon]

You scan yourself. Your brand name is smudgy and illegible due to something scouring it off the front right down to the aluminum. Your ingredients include:  carbonated water, glucose, fructose, corn syrup solids, concentrated cocoa bean extract, assorted methylxanthine alkaloids (including caffeine, theobromine, and theophylline), sodium laureth sulphate, Minoxadyl, buckminster fullerene, codeine, hyper-ephedrine, nicotine, with BHA and BHT added to preserve freshness.

The machine opens unto you the world of silicon microchips and electrical impulses. It bemoans the static nature of its existence, while simultaneously exulting in the fact that its facial recognition reader has made it feel close to the countless people who purchase a drink from it. It notes, however, that while it would like to comply with your request, the locks on the machine are mechanical, and would require "manual input". Unless you are somehow able to move the entire machine...

Shaping your metal or that of another can is a tricky and dangerous idea. The slightest mistake and you would wind up spilling your lifeblood. It is in the realization of this that you discover how to open and seal cans, however! You can now manipulate liquids and "pull them back in" if you "bleed". This realization causes an uproarious cheer within the group mind as they finally have a taste of immortality. You might thus be able to combine yourself with other objects and/or cans while keeping your precious cargo safe.

[Puppyguard]

Reach out to the machine once more, utilizing its electrical pathways to order every can at once.

[Kashyyk]

Consider: If we and the other beverages all merged into a single, large can, we would be larger, tougher, have more lifeblood and have extra material for working with. The important question, what would this do to us, philosophically?

[A_Curious_Cat]

Consider:  if a meat-bag purchases us, can we form part of ourselves into a drill or spike and suck out their lifeblood?