[Black screen. Eerie silence.]
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NARRATOR (V.O.)
“In the grand, frozen junkyard of space known as Iresans, the humans are dead. Long gone. Poof. Like your diet plan.”
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[Slow pan across Central City’s towering walls, frosted buildings, neon signs flickering. Everything looks like a mix of rundown tech and IKEA furniture that got sent to hell.]
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NARRATOR (V.O.)
“All that’s left now? Robots. Thousands of them. Living their best lives—working, dating, occasionally blowing each other up. You know, just like humanity… but shinier and way more judgmental.”
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[Close-up on a Vision Tech mug being filled with steaming machine oil. It cracks, leaks, then explodes.]
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NARRATOR (V.O.)
“Vision Tech made everything—mugs, memory chips, ‘robot intimacy’ kits. Not judging. They also might’ve caused the apocalypse. Small detail.”
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[CUT TO: A dark alley just outside the city gate. Snow whips through the air. JASON GEARMAN stands there—tall, slim, made of sleek combat-grade alloy. One foot on a downed Purification bot.]
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[His right hand transforms into a gleaming axe.]
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JASON
(flatly)
“Another one bites the—wait, no. That's copyrighted.”
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[Something moves fast in the snow. Jason’s arm morphs mid-turn into a railcannon. He fires without hesitation. A Purification bot's torso sails off-screen. Silence. Steam.]
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JASON
(dry)
“Oh no. My peaceful afternoon ruined. Again.”
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[His arm shifts back to a regular hand. He bends down, scoops some oil from the wreckage into a portable canister, and flicks a bit of shrapnel off his shoulder.]
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JASON
“Breakfast.”
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NARRATOR (V.O.)
“That’s Jason Gearman. Security bot. Railcannon arm. Flexibility of a dancer. Charm of a toaster. He’s what you send when you want a problem erased and a one-liner tossed on top.”
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[Jason checks his wrist display. It beeps and flashes: "Threat Level: Still Dumb."]
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JASON
“Can’t argue with that.”
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[Title screen slams on with glitchy letters and a buzz: “ROBOTIC ESSENCES”]
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NARRATOR (V.O.)
“Welcome to Central City. Please keep your limbs and wires inside the wall at all times.”
ns3.12.165.112da2
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