INT. JASON’S APARTMENT – EARLY MORNING
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[Sunlight—or at least a vaguely radioactive approximation of it—filters through the cracked blinds. Jason’s already up, sipping a mug of machine oil like it’s the holy nectar of life. SD-A is standing rigidly near the door, while SD-K is sitting cross-legged, adjusting his wing joints with surgical precision.]
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JASON
“Okay, listen up, boys. Today’s challenge: ‘Not Getting Murdered in Broad Daylight.’ The stakes? Your internal organs.”
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SD-K (deadpan)
“Fantastic. I love morning anxiety.”
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JASON (pouring a second cup of oil and offering it to K)
“You love complaining. Same difference.”
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[K reluctantly takes the cup. A tiny piece of rust floats in it.]
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SD-K
“This is just... actual filth.”
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JASON
“Adds flavor. Anyway—back to the part where society out there sees you two and yells ‘Dismantle first, ask questions never.’ We gotta blend you in.”
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SD-A
“We could avoid detection by hiding in another crate.”
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JASON
“You wanna be shipped like defective toasters for the rest of your life? No. We’re doing this the fun way.”
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[Jason claps his hands together, walks over to a locked cabinet, opens it… and reveals a terrifying pile of clothes, parts, broken gadgets, and one truly haunted-looking wig.]
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SD-K
“…Why do you have that?”
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JASON
“Look, every Security bot’s got a hobby. Some collect data cores. Some carve spare gears into miniature tanks. I? I dumpster dive.”
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[He begins tossing items at them.]
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JASON
“K—Put this poncho on. It’s designed to make your murder-camera head look more ‘intimidating fashion statement’ than ‘run, it’s death.’”
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[K reluctantly throws it over himself. It actually… kinda works.]
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JASON (nodding)
“See? It says ‘enigmatic janitor’.”
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[Then to A:]
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JASON
“A—This cloak covers your wings. Try not to glow or hum ominously while walking. Oh, and this hat.”
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[He hands A a slightly squashed top hat.]
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SD-A
“This… makes me look like I run a malfunctioning circus.”
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JASON
“Perfect. Nobody messes with circus bots. They're legally confusing.”
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[Jason steps back and admires his handiwork.]
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JASON
“You two look... moderately less illegal. We might just survive walking to the scrapyard.”
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SD-K
“You expect us to act normal out there?”
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JASON
“Yes. Just nod if someone says hi. Don’t hiss. No laser beams unless absolutely necessary. And for metal’s sake, if someone offers you a sample in the market, don’t analyze it, just say thanks and throw it away later.”
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SD-A
“…This is more stressful than combat.”
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JASON (grabbing his railcannon arm from the charger)
“Welcome to the real battlefield, boys. Public interaction.”
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[He opens the door and peeks out into the hall. A clunky neighbor bot walks by, humming a mechanical version of a lullaby. Jason waits until the coast is clear, then gestures sharply.]
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JASON
“Alright—go go go! Act like you belong! Blend in! Be cool!”
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[The three of them step out, Jason pushing the door closed with his foot as they march down the hallway—two fake-normals and one extremely tired Security bot doing his best not to lose his job or mind.]
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CUT TO:
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EXT. CENTRAL CITY – STREET – MORNING
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[The city’s alive with robot life. Sparks fly from welding shops, drones buzz overhead, and loudspeakers blare old automated ads for Vision Tech. The trio walks stiffly, Jason trying not to draw attention, while A and K walk like theater actors pretending to be washing machines.]
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JASON (under his breath)
“…Yup. Totally normal. Just a guy and his two weird roommates.”
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SD-K
“I hate this.”
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SD-A
“Do we at least get to choose breakfast?”
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JASON
“No. Now let’s get to the scrapyard before someone calls the Scrapper Corps.”
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[They move offscreen, awkwardly but determined.]
ns216.73.216.206da2
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