INT. JASON’S CUBE – DINNER HOUR
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The trio crouches around the improvised “table”: a crate flipped upside‑down, topped with steaming bowls of heavy‑grade oil stew and squares of re‑heated heat‑cubes. Jason sips first, wincing at the metallic spice.
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JASON
“Alright, spill circuits. How do you two keep citing personal details I never shared?”
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A raises his visor from the bowl, wiping oil from his chin.
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SD‑A
“Details? Which?”
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JASON
“Maglev Operators glaring, my HR emotion forms—stuff you shouldn’t know. I never talked about any of it.”
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SD‑K, seated coolly in his new leather jacket, casually taps at a wrist panel.
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SD‑K
“Observation.”
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JASON
“Observation, my chassis. You weren’t on the train. And HR files aren’t public. So how did you observe that?”
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K glances at A—who looks innocently blank—then back at Jason. Finally, he slides a tiny metallic object onto the crate: a micro‑spider drone, no larger than a coin, eight slender legs curled in standby.
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SD‑K
“I deployed reconnaissance units. Small, cheap. They skitter behind you, gather environmental data, and return. Simple.”
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JASON (staring at the bug)
“You’ve been droning me? In my own HQ? My commute? My cubicle?!”
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SD‑K
“Efficient situational awareness. New environment. Unknown ally. Tactical necessity.”
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JASON
“Tactical—? I shower in that cube, K!”
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A nearly chokes on stew.
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SD‑A
“He does. I heard the pipe screaming.”
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K remains unapologetic.
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SD‑K
“I only monitor patterns, not… bathing rituals.”
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JASON (rubs temples)
“Look, I get paranoia. Been there. But I need one place where I’m not on candid camera, capisce? Call off the spyders.”
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K tilts his head, weighing trust vs. habit, then nods once.
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SD‑K
“Understood. Units deactivated. Data feed deleted.”
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He crushes the spider gently between two fingers; tiny spark, then silence. Jason exhales, tension easing.
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JASON
“Thanks. I’ll ignore the memory violation this once. Next time, ask.”
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A raises a hand, genuinely curious.
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SD‑A
“If we ask, can we still use them? Maybe… outside?”
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JASON
“Fine. Outside. Not in my shower.”
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SD‑A (thumbs‑up)
“Deal!”
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Jason pokes at his stew, then smirks despite himself.
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JASON
“Can’t believe I’m negotiating surveillance boundaries over soup.”
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K flicks a heat‑cube into his mouth like popcorn.
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SD‑K
“Welcome to family life.”
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They resume eating. The spoon‑king sculpture stares judgmentally from the counter, but for now the cube feels—if not private—at least honest.
ns3.21.248.40da2
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