INT. SECURITY HQ – JASON’S OFFICE DESK
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[The glowing blue of the screen reflects on Jason’s face as he slouches deeper into his chair. Hours have passed. The pile of unread reports hasn’t shrunk—it’s just moved slightly to the left.]
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[Jason’s screen now shows a Security-approved entertainment portal, which is just a flashy name for “barely functioning internet.” He scrolls through: mindless robot sitcoms, low-budget drama vids, weapon reviews, reviews of weapon reviews… and—ah yes—MechaFeed, home of rumors and nonsense.]
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[Click. Click. Scroll. Clickbait title pops up.]
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TITLE:
“This Bot Claimed He Saw a Robot Melt Into Metal and Crawl Inside Another—You Won’t Believe What Happens Next.”
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JASON (muttering)
“…I probably will believe it, and that’s the problem.”
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[He clicks it.]
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POST (Voiceover in Jason’s head)
"Saw something weird last cycle. Bot was twitching near the waste zone, like it was getting eaten from the inside. Whole side peeled open like wet foil. Something crawled out, climbed into another chassis, and—no joke—started moving like nothing happened."
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[Jason pauses. His optics narrow. He zooms in on one blurry frame attached to the post. A twisted heap of metal. Something vaguely organic… spreading.]
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JASON (V.O.)
“That’s either a very convincing fake or I just found a friend of the thing we sliced up the other night.”
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[He opens three more tabs. Cross-referencing data, local sightings, encrypted rumor boards. As much as 87% of it is garbage. But the other 13%? Hits a little too close.]
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[He taps his finger on the desk. Then his stomach lets out a robotic grumble—like a dying fax machine.]
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JASON
“Right. That’s lunch.”
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INT. SECURITY HQ – CAFETERIA
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[The cafeteria is a minimalist slab of metal and glowy screens offering selections like “High-Octane Oil Gel,” “Battery Nibbles,” and “Mystery Paste #8.” Jason grabs a tube of oil, a discount heat snack, and a coolant-flavored energy capsule.]
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[As he turns toward the checkout, he spots COLT-31, another Security bot, leaning against a vending machine.]
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COLT-31
“Look who finally crawled outta that paper pit.”
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JASON (faking a smile)
“You mean my workspace? Nah, I live there now. Thinking of putting in curtains.”
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COLT-31
“Thought you'd be puffin' on one of those death sticks by now.”
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JASON
“Quit. Two months ago.”
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COLT-31 (grinning)
“Because of your lungs or your wallet?”
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JASON (sighs)
“Josh threatened to triple my monthly checkup cost. Said if I wanted to corrode my parts early, I could pay for the privilege.”
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COLT-31 (laughing)
“Damn. The big guy really got through to you.”
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JASON
“Yeah. Turns out fiscal death is scarier than physical.”
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EXT. SECURITY HQ – ROOFTOP – MOMENTS LATER
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[Jason exits onto a quiet rooftop, nestled between cooling vents and signal towers. His “secret spot.” A single folding chair, old scorch marks, and a great view of Central City’s skyline—if you squint past the smog.]
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[He sits, opens his snack. Stares at the distant spires.]
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[Wind hums. Somewhere below, a siren wails.]
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JASON (V.O.)
“Used to come up here and smoke until the smell of burning wire reminded me of what I was becoming.”
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[He munches quietly. The wind tugs at his coat.]
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[In his HUD corner, one of the tabs from earlier flashes. Another post. Same clickbait site. New report. Same symbol. Same melting.]
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[Jason doesn’t open it. Not yet.]
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JASON
“…Yeah. I’ll ruin my appetite later.”
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[He leans back, chair creaking. Lunch break’s ticking away, but for now? Just him, some awful synthetic food, and the headache of knowing something very wrong is happening again.]
ns18.118.173.146da2
