EXT. TEMPORARY SECURITY HQ – LATE MORNING
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The sky above Central City remains dull, sun filtering through like weak tea. The temporary HQ—an old converted office building—is alive with movement. Scientists in white and grey coats cross paths with armored Security staff. Cables trail across the floor, and heavy crates shift on auto-lifters with sharp metallic hisses. Everyone has a destination, and no time to waste.
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Jason steps through the main gate, crisp in his standard formal attire: black suit pants, a white shirt rolled neatly at the elbows, and a deep navy-blue vest. His eyes flick across the chaos with practiced calm.
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Inside, the BIO-CONTAINER 03 sits heavily in the center of the room—its thick glass full of bubbling biology liquid, greenish-blue, faintly glowing. Inside it, the core floats like something out of a dark dream. Pulsing faintly. Mysterious. Still.
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People whisper when they glance at it. They all know: that thing killed a city block.
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On the rooftop, a military transport aircraft waits with its engines humming low. Large crates—jarred specimens, containers of cooling gel, data drives, and fragile electronics—are already being loaded by specialized bots and staff in exo-suits.
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Vult, ever composed, steps beside Jason, tablet in hand, glancing up from his files.
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VULT
“Gearman. Good. Here’s the situation—”
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(he doesn’t wait for confirmation)
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“HQ’s still a mess. No access to deep-analysis equipment. No secure server cores. So we’re transporting everything—samples, data, and the core itself—to Crude City’s main hub. It’s the only functional Tier-One facility left with enough containment measures.”
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JASON
“Crude City. That’s a hell of a drive.”
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VULT
“Three days. Extreme weather risk is high. Oil wells flare up randomly, and temperature dips cause magnetic storm surges. But it’s fortified, and stable.”
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Jason casts a glance toward the bio-container. One of the scientists is tightening a clamp with trembling fingers.
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JASON
“And you want me onboard.”
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VULT
“You and six others. Guard rotation and logistics team. You’ll receive mission-specific authority on-site. Transport departs at 18:00 sharp.”
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Jason tilts his head, sighs through his nose.
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JASON
“Business trip, huh.”
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Vult doesn’t even acknowledge the sarcasm, just turns and walks off, issuing orders through his comms.
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Jason stands there a second longer, eyeing the massive aircraft, the rising stack of crates, the pulsating container of liquid death.
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Then he quietly turns and leaves.
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INT. CUBE – MIDDAY
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Jason enters the Cube again, already removing his vest. His movements are fluid but reserved. There’s weight on his shoulders again.
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JASON (to A and K)
“Pack me three days’ worth of painkillers, shock-absorption foam, spare power cells, and maybe a neck pillow if we still have one. I’m going out of town.”
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A (from the sofa)
“What? Where?!”
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JASON
“Crude City. Transport mission. Dangerous. Long. Hot. Probably smelly.”
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K (muttering)
“Sounds like a lovely vacation.”
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JASON
“Transport leaves at six. I’ll take anything that might make this less miserable.”
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A
“I’ll get your bag.”
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JASON (half-smiling)
“Add a bottle of memory suppressant, in case I survive and want to forget.”
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As A begins collecting supplies and K rummages for rations, Jason sits down at the table, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He hasn’t even left yet, and his spine already aches with anticipation.
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