INT. JASON’S CUBE – EARLY MORNING
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[Dim lights from the ceiling flicker on with a mechanical buzz. Outside the window, the city hums to life—maglevs gliding past, distant drones zipping through morning haze.]
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[SD-K is the first to wake, optics glowing faintly red as they power up. He dangles for a moment like some kind of sleek, metal bat, still clinging to the ceiling beam he claimed as his “bed.”]
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SD-K (quietly, groaning)
“...Another day in this bizarre sitcom.”
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[He drops down silently, landing with a dull thud. The cube is a quiet mess. A pillow on the floor. Wires tangled like noodles. A half-finished weird sculpture on the table—definitely Jason’s doing.]
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[On the small bed, SD-A lies in the exact same dramatic, face-down position he fell asleep in, clutching the blanket like it holds the secrets of the universe.]
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SD-K (sighs, standing next to the bed)
“Alright. Up. Daylight’s wasting and your absurd battery consumption rate isn’t going to fix itself.”
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[A mumbled whir escapes SD-A. He rolls over, optics blinking open… then shuts them again. He pulls the blanket tighter.]
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SD-A (groggy)
“Just five more minutes…”
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SD-K
“That’s the third five minutes. And we don’t have a schedule—how are you even this bad at keeping up with free time?”
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SD-A (muffled)
“I’m calibrating… to the environment…”
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SD-K
“You’re napping. That’s what you’re calibrating to.”
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[He pokes A with his boot. No effect. He pokes harder. A whines.]
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SD-A
“Let me enjoy peace before I have to endure more of your sarcasm.”
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SD-K
“I’m not sarcastic. I’m practical.”
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SD-A
“You sound like a bitter toaster.”
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[SD-K steps back. Paces. Looks around like he’s debating whether tossing a mug at A would help. Ultimately, he sighs and walks toward the terminal. He tries turning on the screen, but it’s locked.]
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SD-K (mutters)
“Of course. Locked out of cartoons. This place is a prison.”
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[He attempts reading one of Jason’s old repair manuals left on the desk. Immediately slams it shut.]
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SD-K
“…How does someone enjoy this?”
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[Back on the bed, A has rolled over again, now flat on his back with one arm dangling off the edge.]
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SD-A (eyes still closed)
“Wake me up when the plot advances.”
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SD-K (rubs his temples—figuratively)
“I’ll wake you up when your joints start rusting from inactivity.”
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[A beat of silence.]
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SD-A (half-asleep)
“Rude.”
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[The cube remains dim. The domestic silence is broken only by the occasional creak of Jason’s weird art project shifting on the table.]
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[Eventually, SD-K slumps into the corner chair, arms crossed, staring at the ceiling with the expression of someone deeply regretting agreeing to a sleepover.]
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SD-K
“...We’re going to die in this cube.”
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