INT. JASON'S CUBE – LATE AFTERNOON
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Jason stretches out from the couch, legs popping with a loud mechanical crack.
A watches him with hopeful optics, and K simply raises an eyebrow.
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JASON (grinning)
"Alright, alright, let's make it official. We’re eating out."
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A (perking up)
"Really? Like... a restaurant?"
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Jason shrugs, grabbing his jacket and swinging it on with a lazy move.
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JASON
"Yeah, why not? Celebrate me not being a pancake under that damn spire. You two deserve some real food too... Well. Whatever counts as ‘real’ around here."
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K crosses his arms, skeptical.
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K (dryly)
"Bringing two off-the-books murder bots to a public place. Sounds totally safe."
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Jason smirks and throws a wadded-up sock at him.
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JASON
"Hey, you look practically normal now with that jacket. And A’s trench coat? You two look like you’re in a sad detective movie. Just keep the murder-y aura to a minimum."
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A (innocent)
"I can smile."
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K (deadpan)
"Please don't."
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Jason waves them over to the door, energized by the absurdity of this plan.
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JASON
"Listen, there’s a tiny diner a few blocks down. Family-run, usually half-dead around this time. Most normal citizens are either chained to desks or pretending to learn algebra. We go in, order fast, eat faster, and bail before anyone realizes you two aren’t just really bad at blending in."
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K flicks open a pocket in his cargo pants and checks the cred-cores he "borrowed" from Jason’s secret pile.
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K (calculating)
"Enough creds for lunch. And... maybe bail money."
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JASON
"Good thinking. Proud of you, klepto."
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A (brightly)
"I want something sweet."
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Jason throws his hands up as they step out into the street.
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JASON
"Fine, fine! Sweet stuff! Whole menu if you don’t start a robot uprising mid-lunch."
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The three make their way down the cracked sidewalk, an odd parade of chaos barely held together by humor and secondhand clothing.
The late afternoon sun casts long shadows, the city buzzing distantly around them.
For now, the streets are sparse—only the occasional maintenance bot or tired office worker trudging by.
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Jason glances sideways at his two roommates.
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Murderers? Yes.
Disasters? Definitely.
Family? ...Maybe.
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He tugs his jacket tighter and leads them down the street, toward what might be the most dangerous mission yet:
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Lunch in public.
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FADE OUT.
ns216.73.216.224da2
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