EXT. BLACK MARKET SHOP RUINS – NIGHT
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[Moonlight glints off twisted metal. Jason steps out through the cratered wall, surveying the ground. There: long, dark streaks in the snow—drag marks leading into the bowels of a side street.]
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JASON
(under his breath)
“Fresh… someone didn’t carry their buddy.”
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[He crouches to examine the grooves. Fingers brush the icy trail; oil stiffens his joints. He winces, then masks it with a grunt.]
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JASON
“Great. Ice, oil, and a side of existential crisis. Perfect combo.”
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[He stands and follows the trail, each step measured. His posture is rigid—arms crossed, shoulders broad—projecting the “nothing fazes me” attitude he’s known for.]
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[As he moves, brief flashes of doubt flicker across his eyes: the toll of endless hunts, the weight of unknown orders, the nagging question—Who’s really pulling the strings?]
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JASON (V.O.)
“You tell yourself you’re unbreakable. That you see everything. But sometimes… every sensor in your head just feels overloaded.”
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[He shakes his head, forcing a smirk.]
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JASON
(loudly, to the empty street)
“Come on, tough guy—no room for soft circuits tonight.”
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[He continues, following the drag marks into a darker alley. The wind howls. His right hand hovers near the axe blade, ready—but his movement is slower, more deliberate.]
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[The drag marks end at a chained grate sealed with a heavy padlock. Jason kneels, examines the lock’s tamper marks, and then glances up—half-expecting an ambush.]
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JASON
“So… whoever this is, they want to stay hidden. But not too hidden.”
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[He pulls a small pry tool from his belt, flicks it open. His jaw tightens as he works.]
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JASON (V.O.)
“Being the tough guy doesn’t always mean knowing the answers. Sometimes it’s just faking it…and hoping the next clue doesn’t kill you first.”
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[With a soft click, the lock yields. Jason stands, shoulder-checks the grate, and slips inside, axe in hand, ready for whatever’s next.]
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