INT. JASON’S CUBE – EARLY MORNING
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[Light peeks through the grimy blinds, casting faint strips of silver across the cluttered concrete cube. The air is quiet, still thick with the warmth of robotic sleep cycles. Somewhere in the corner, a motor hums softly. And on the bed—Jason stirs.]
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JASON (muttering, half-conscious)
“...Five more cycles... just five…”
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[He rolls over and nearly falls off the bed but manages to catch himself with a sleepy grunt. A, still blanket-wrapped, shifts and buries his face deeper into the pillow. Jason lays there for another few moments, his optics flickering dimly like a dying flashlight.]
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JASON (grumbling into his palm)
“Nope. Nope. Not dying in this bed today. Get up. Be a responsible Security bot. You can do this.”
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[He sloooowly slides off the bed like someone trying to sneak away from a sleeping lion, only this lion is a vaguely humming A-burrito. His servos creak faintly as he stretches.]
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JASON (quietly)
“System startup: 12%. Hangover level: catastrophic.”
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[He trudges over to the small makeshift kitchen corner, which looks more like a mechanic’s junk pile than anything culinary. He pours a bit of filtered oil into a cup, then cracks open a cooling battery pack and pops a piece into his mouth like it’s breakfast cereal.]
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JASON (grimace)
“Ugh. Vintage acid flavor with a dash of ‘please shut up’.”
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[He walks past the mess of scrap and tools to the wall terminal—currently dark. He boots it up quietly, screen flickering with a warm glow as it loads the default channel: Central City Morning—sponsored by Vision Tech. Jason immediately turns the volume down to a whisper.]
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TERMINAL (NEWS ANCHOR, V.O.)
“—unusual static pulses detected in the Outskirts. Authorities advise citizens to stay alert and report any abnormal activity—”
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[Jason sips his drink, one optic twitching at the taste. Then he glances up—right at the ceiling.]
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JASON (deadpan)
“...You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
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[K is still hanging upside-down from the ceiling like a gothic chandelier. His arms are crossed. Head tilted. Not moving. His optics are off, giving him the uncanny look of a very decorative corpse.]
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JASON (staring)
“How is that even comfortable? Like, is this a habit? Were you trained in anti-gravity napping? Should I be worried?”
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[He turns back to the terminal, shaking his head.]
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TERMINAL (V.O.)
“...no official statement has been made by Security Bot HQ regarding the anomalies from two days ago...”
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JASON (half-laughing to himself)
“Yeah, because I was the anomaly. Great. That’s not nerve-wracking at all.”
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[He leans against the counter, quietly munching a battery strip like a sad energy bar, sipping bad oil, flicking through news headlines with a tired expression. Occasionally glancing back to make sure neither of his guests is about to wake up or explode.]
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JASON (mutters)
“Honestly… not even mad about the illegal roommates. But the hangover? That’s betrayal.”
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[He lets out a long sigh, finishes his drink, and sets the cup down a little too hard, then winces as if it hurt him more than the cup.]
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[A sleepy beep comes from the terminal behind him. New headline: ‘The Secret Life of Scrapyard Drones: Are They Sentient or Just Nosy?’ Jason doesn’t even blink.]
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JASON
“I miss when my life was boring…”
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[But even as he says it, there's a flicker of a smile at the edge of his voice. He glances once more toward the bed—A, tangled in the blanket like it’s war armor. Then to K, still performing his dramatic impression of a dormant gargoyle.]
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JASON (softly, shaking his head)
“Yup. Definitely cursed.”
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[He walks off to gather his gear. Another day, another headache. But he moves just a bit lighter.]
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