EXT. CENTRAL CITY – MARKET SECTOR – LATER
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[Jason walks through the city streets, patrol route loaded but clearly taking his time. Robotic citizens move about—shining, buzzing, complaining. Labor bots haggle over tools, Operator bots float by with data-stream halos over their heads.]
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[As Jason passes, conversations die down. A small Labor bot mother steers her child away from him.]
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LABOR BOT MOM
(whispering)
“Don’t stare. He’s Security.”
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LITTLE BOT
“But he’s shiny—”
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MOM
“I said don’t stare!”
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[Jason raises an eyebrow module but keeps walking.]
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JASON
(deadpan, under his breath)
“Nice to see my charm still terrifies the public.”
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INT. GEAR STATION CAFE – MOMENTS LATER
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[Jason enters a cozy little café run by a retired welding bot named CRANK. He’s old, squeaky, and full of sarcasm.]
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CRANK
“Well well. If it isn’t the murder stick himself. What’ll it be, Gearman? The usual can of synthetic sadness?”
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JASON
“Give me your finest pre-war sludge. Something that tastes like regret.”
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CRANK
“Coming right up. Fresh from the leak in the ceiling.”
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[Jason takes a seat. Other patrons slowly slide away from him.]
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[A trio of Operator bots at a table nearby whisper, clearly loud enough to be heard.]
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OPERATOR BOT #1
“Security shouldn’t even be allowed inside the city unsupervised.”
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OPERATOR BOT #2
“He probably tracks oil on the floor.”
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OPERATOR BOT #3
“Or listens to metal music.”
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[Jason raises his mug of gross oil drink and salutes them mockingly.]
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JASON
“Glad to see elitism survived the apocalypse.”
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EXT. ALLEY NEAR MARKET SECTOR – SHORTLY AFTER
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[Jason tosses the empty canister into a recycler and walks back toward his route checkpoint. He passes a side alley—narrow, quiet, covered in frost.]
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[He stops. Tilts his head.]
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[A sound: whirr… chhk… clink…]
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[Very faint, mechanical. Something moving, dragging maybe. Not part of the usual city buzz.]
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JASON
(muttering)
“Okay… that wasn’t wind.”
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[He slowly steps toward the alley entrance, arm subtly shifting into axe mode.]
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[Cut to black.]
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[Sound cue: skitter… hiss… silence.]
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