INT. ABANDONED FREIGHT TUNNEL – POST-COMBAT – NIGHT
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[Jason limps through a side tunnel, sparks trailing from his wounded side. He’s clearly in pain but doing that tough-guy thing where he pretends not to be. His weapon-arm reverts to normal, flickering from the damage.]
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JASON
(grumbling)
“Nothing says ‘fun Saturday’ like almost dying to a winged murderbot... and now this detour through a tetanus dreamscape.”
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[He moves deeper. The tunnel starts looking different—cleaner. Lit with aftermarket red neon strips. Faint bass-heavy music hums in the background. Graffiti glows on the walls: stylized skulls, oil can symbols, and the words “STAY WHOLE OR STAY GONE.”]
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[Jason stops at a metal door with a flickering retinal scanner. He sighs and pops a small lens from his helmet—presses it to the scanner.]
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SCANNER
“Welcome back, Gearman. Try not to kill anyone this time.”
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[The door slides open with a greasy hiss. Inside: a smoke-filled den of illegal tech and worse. Workbenches stacked with synthetic hearts, memory drives in jars, and mechanical lungs. Labor bots lounge around, their bodies modified, half-patched, chrome-plated like aftermarket war trophies.]
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INT. BLACK MARKET DEN – CONTINUOUS
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[Music bumps. The lighting flickers. A table with robotic eyes in bowls next to someone playing cards. A vending machine labeled “Fresh Battery Bladders – Human Taste Option Available.”]
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[Jason walks in, nodding at a bouncer with four arms and a plasma jaw.]
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JASON
“Still ugly, Sixjaw.”
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SIXJAW
(voice like a chainsaw idling)
“Still bleeding, Gearman.”
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[Jason makes his way through, drawing curious glances from various bots. A sleek, heavily modified Labor bot leans against the wall—chrome-plated skull, gold-etched digits. This is “Brasso”, the local black market boss.]
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BRASSO
(spreads arms dramatically)
“Jason! My favorite kill-happy garbage disposal. To what do I owe this unpleasant surprise?”
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JASON
“I need a patch job. And maybe a lead.”
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BRASSO
“Don’t we all?”
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[He gestures. Two bots approach Jason, lifting his arm to check the damage.]
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JASON
“Easy with that. You crack it, I charge extra.”
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BRASSO
(grins)
“Still allergic to bedside manner, huh?”
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[He pours machine oil into a shot glass and hands one to Jason. Jason downs it and winces.]
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JASON
“Ugh. Cheap synth-oil. You trying to poison me or put me to sleep?”
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BRASSO
“Same price either way.”
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[Jason holds up the melted Security badge he found earlier.]
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JASON
“You sell to Purifiers now?”
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[The room gets quieter. A few bots glance over.]
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BRASSO
(cold smile fades slightly)
“I sell parts, Gearman. I don’t ask who’s breathing through them. Easier that way.”
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JASON
“Then you might want to start. One of your customers nearly tore my chest out.”
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BRASSO
“Sounds like a return customer.”
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[Jason throws the badge on the table.]
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JASON
“This had your stamp on it.”
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[Brasso picks it up, squints, and his optics narrow.]
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BRASSO
“…That’s one of ours, alright. But this serial? It was removed from our listings. A ghost code.”
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JASON
“Ghosts don’t bleed fresh oil. Someone’s selling rejected mods to bots that aren’t supposed to exist.”
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BRASSO
(lowers voice)
“Jason, you didn’t just find a rogue Purifier... you found something new. Something built.”
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[A sudden sound—BANG! The lights flicker. Doors slam shut. A voice echoes through the walls—distorted, synthetic, almost singing:]
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MYSTERIOUS VOICE
“The city is cracked. The flesh is currency. And you’ve seen too much.”
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[All the bots in the room freeze. Jason pulls his axe out again, grimacing.]
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JASON
“Tell me that’s not your new bouncer.”
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BRASSO
(quiet)
“That ain’t mine.”
ns18.222.24.23da2
