EXT. CENTRAL CITY STREETS – DAWN
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Jason walks. Step by step. His boots scuff against the cracked sidewalk, the chill of early morning air gnawing at his joints. A thin layer of mist clings low to the ground, swirling around his legs like ghosts of a sleepless city.
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The Maglev lines above him are dead—silent, skeletal tracks spidering through the fog. Rusty announcement boards flash "SERVICE TEMPORARILY SUSPENDED" in dull amber lights.
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He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched, optics half-lidded, mind spinning in grim circles.
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JASON (INTERNAL MONOLOGUE)
(dry)
"Alright. Strategy time.
Option one: walk in, pretend nothing happened, get murdered anyway.
Option two: walk in holding cake, buy five minutes before getting murdered.
Option three: fake my own death and live in the sewers. Pros: free housing. Cons: rats."
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The cold stings against the dents in his armor. The thin gray of morning stretches overhead, a pale wound in the sky, barely beginning to bleed light.
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He passes rows of tired, cracked neon signs—some flickering, some dead. "REPAIR STATION", "MOTOR PARTS", "CAFÉ 34% ORGANIC"—the letters buzz and fade like the city itself is trying to stay awake. A few early workers shuffle out of side streets, heads low, coats high, pushing past puddles of melted coolant and city grime.
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Above, a giant billboard sputters to life, showing an ad: "VISION TECH: Tomorrow’s Systems, Today!" The smiling face of a maintenance bot beams down like a synthetic sun.
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Jason stares up at it, deadpan.
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JASON (INTERNAL MONOLOGUE)
(grimly amused)
"Tomorrow’s systems, huh?
If tomorrow’s anything like today, we're so screwed."
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The walk signs beep dully, lifelessly. The only vehicles on the street are cleanup drones, moving like oversized bugs, scrubbing away invisible sins from last night’s chaos. The city hums under it all—a living, breathing, tired creature too stubborn to collapse.
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JASON (INTERNAL MONOLOGUE)
(sighs)
"Shoulda just stayed at the HQ. Get melted into a nice puddle.
Probably less painful than what A's cooking up right now."
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He crosses an empty avenue, his boots echoing against the hollow concrete.
A kid in a patched coat and a scavenged bot-head helmet waves from the curb. Jason gives a tiny nod back, barely noticeable.
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The world smells like burnt plastic and rain.
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JASON (INTERNAL MONOLOGUE)
(soft, almost... fond)
"City’s a dump.
City’s my dump."
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He trudges forward. Past the leaning buildings, past the shattered glass bus stops, past the silent Maglev rails bleeding rust.
Past life after life after life that kept going, even after everything fell apart.
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And still, no cube in sight.
Only the long, slow walk toward whatever nightmare he called home now.
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FADE OUT.
ns216.73.216.191da2
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