EXT. BACK LOT BEHIND SECURITY HQ – NIGHT
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[Jason crouches behind a pile of rusted-out vendor bots, scanning the surroundings like he’s about to rob his own place. His eyes lock onto a large cargo crate sitting unattended near a stack of expired vending modules. He sprints over and knocks on it—hollow and big enough.]
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JASON
(to himself)
“Spacious. Questionably clean. Smells like old coolant and regret. Perfect.”
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[He yanks the lid open and jogs back across the street to the beat-up car where SD-A and SD-K are still crouched.]
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JASON
“Alright, lovebirds, you’re up. Into the box.”
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SD-K
(flatly)
“Into the box.”
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JASON
“Yup.”
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SD-K
“You want two war-grade fugitives with metal murder-wings to cram into a used shipping crate… and sneak through one of the most populated housing zones in the city.”
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JASON
“That’s the spirit.”
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SD-K
(to A)
“Your friend’s an idiot.”
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SD-A
“He’s not my friend. He’s a contact. With a trolley.”
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[Cut to: the crate now sitting on a squeaky old platform trolley, wobbling with every bump. Jason grunts, pushing it slowly across the industrial backlot and down a slope toward Central City’s inner housing district.]
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---
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EXT. CENTRAL CITY – APARTMENT COMPLEX – NIGHT
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[A towering maze of concrete cubes, glowing signs, wires hanging like sad confetti, and the buzz of robot chatter from behind cracked windows. Bots of all shapes and factions wander the halls—some recharge, others argue over power bills.]
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[Jason rolls the trolley in, forcing the squeaky wheels to move with all the subtlety of a malfunctioning parade float. He mutters under his breath with each creak.]
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JASON
“Yep. Totally normal. Just an average Security bot... pushing suspicious freight... past thirty tenants and one probably-drunk Operator bot.”
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[He nods at a janitor Labor bot passing by, who eyes the crate.]
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JANITOR BOT
“What’s in the box?”
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JASON
(grinning too wide)
“My dignity. Had to ship it express.”
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[The janitor stares at him for a long beat before continuing down the hall, muttering.]
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JANITOR BOT
“Security guys are all weird.”
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[Jason sighs in relief and turns the corner, nearly running into a couple of Operator bots deep in a debate about microprocessors and existential dread. He ducks his head, forcing a polite smile.]
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OPERATOR #1
“Is that… rust I smell?”
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JASON
(nodding earnestly)
“That’s just me. Natural cologne. ‘Essence of Battery Fire.’”
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---
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INT. JASON’S APARTMENT – MOMENTS LATER
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[He finally reaches the door to his concrete shoebox—wires hanging everywhere, a flickering light barely illuminating the “DO NOT REFORMAT” sign duct-taped to the wall. He unlocks it, wheels the crate inside, and shuts the door behind him with a long exhale.]
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JASON
“Alright, kids. Home sweet cube.”
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[He pries open the crate. SD-K immediately stretches and grumbles like he just lived in a vending machine.]
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SD-K
“This is how I die. Cramped, oily, and surrounded by rent-bots.”
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SD-A
(already scanning the room)
“You live in a closet.”
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JASON
“Yeah, well... closets don’t come with questionable wallpaper and a neighbor who screams in binary at 2 AM.”
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[A loud, unintelligible mechanical screech echoes from the wall next to them. Jason holds up a finger.]
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JASON
“Speak of the devil.”
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[They all stand still for a moment. Safe. For now.]
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FADE OUT.
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