INT. JASON’S CUBE – EVENING (CONTINUOUS)
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Jason sprawls on the edge of the bed, rubbing his visor as the last of the headache lingers. SD‑K sits at the desk, silently sorting poker chips into perfect color gradients—therapy by precision. SD‑A, holding his new texter like a toy, scoots closer to Jason with trademark curiosity.
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SD‑A
“Jason, can I ask something?”
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JASON (groans good‑naturedly)
“ —If it’s how babies are made, ask K.”
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SD‑A
“No, not that. First problem: The texter’s menu says ‘Contact Slots: 02.’ That’s… only you and K?”
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JASON
“Pretty much. Limited memory. Cheap model. If you need more friends, borrow mine—oh wait, I have none.”
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SD‑A
“I’ll survive.”
(thinks)
“Second problem: Why do Operator bots hate Security bots so much? On the Maglev I saw some glare at you.”
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Jason exhales, eyes the ceiling cables.
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JASON
“Because we remind them the world’s still dangerous. Operators like tidy code. We’re messy—scratched armor, weird decisions, lotta improvised violence. Makes them nervous.”
(shrugs)
“They prefer their safety sanitized. We’re the bleach that stings.”
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SD‑A
“…Bleach is important though.”
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JASON
“Tell them that.”
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Across the room, K flicks a poker chip into the air, catches it without looking.
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SD‑K (flat)
“Operator prejudice is statistical cowardice. Ignore them.”
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SD‑A
“Third problem: I saw your paperwork—Form ‘Emotional Containment’ or something. You lied, right?”
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Jason’s visor flicks to A, surprised.
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JASON
“Excuse me?”
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SD‑A
“It asked if you ‘experienced unauthorized emotional fluctuation.’ You checked ‘No.’ But… you laugh, you worry, you got mad at cigarettes. Isn’t that fluctuation?”
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Jason opens his mouth, closes it, then gives a soft laugh.
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JASON
“You’re sharp, Fort King. Truth is HQ wants bots who follow code, not feelings. If I tick ‘Yes,’ HR slaps me with mandatory de‑frag therapy. I prefer my sanity un‑therapy‑ized, thanks.”
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SD‑A (quiet)
“Isn’t that dishonest?”
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JASON
“It’s survival. Big difference.”
(softer)
“And I trust my alert system more than theirs.”
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A processes this, nods slowly.
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SD‑A
“Okay… Last problem… What’s for dinner?”
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SD‑K
“Heavy‑grade oil stew. He already planned it.”
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JASON
“Look at Bat‑Chef reading my mind. Yeah, stew and heat‑cubes. Luxury dining.”
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SD‑A beams, hops up to help.
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SD‑A
“I’ll set the table!”
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SD‑K
“And I’ll keep counting chips until the universe makes sense.”
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JASON (smirks, heading for the kitchenette)
“Good luck with that.”
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The camera drifts back: Jason rummages for stew packs, A hums while lining up mismatched cups, K continues his meticulous chip architecture—three utterly different bots sharing one cramped cube, making it work.
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FADE OUT.
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