INT. CENTRAL CITY – CONVENIENCE STORE – EVENING
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[The convenience store is a clean, fluorescent-lit space nestled in the heart of the marketplace. A conveyor belt of packaged machine oils, canned nano-pastes, small batteries, and semi-questionable snacks line the shelves. Jason leads the way, pushing a hover-basket that occasionally tries to drift off like it wants to escape.]
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JASON
"Alright, grab whatever doesn’t try to eat you first. But we’re on a budget, so no ‘luxury-refined turbine oils,’ got it?”
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SD-A (squinting at a can)
“...This one says ‘partially organic.’ Is that good or bad?”
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JASON (takes the can and squints at it too)
“Depends. If it moos when you open it, toss it.”
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[SD-K grabs a six-pack of high-voltage microcells and a suspiciously bright-blue can labeled “THUNDER MUNCH!” Jason eyes him.]
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JASON
“You’re gonna short your entire system with that thing.”
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SD-K (flat)
“Perfect.”
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[They check out. The cashier bot doesn’t say a word, just slowly scans the items with the look of someone who once lost a family member to poor social interaction.]
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EXT. BANK – SHORTLY AFTER
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[The bank looms over the street like a polished financial tomb. Its signage flickers just a bit, as if powered by debt. Inside, a line of various bots shuffle forward, most of them Labor and Operator bots with respectable chassis and posture. Jason’s slightly scorched armor earns him looks.]
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[They reach the front desk—a pristine, silver-plated Operator bot with a head shaped like a judge’s gavel. Its eyes dim in disdain as Jason steps forward.]
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FRONT DESK BOT (icy)
“Purpose of visit?”
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JASON
“Withdrawal. Just a little.”
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FRONT DESK BOT
“Hm. Security Class 5. Powerline Account.” (pulls up data)
“Current balance: 1,205 cred-cores. Request?”
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JASON (trying to sound casual)
“Gimme 300.”
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FRONT DESK BOT
“For food and batteries again?”
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JASON (deadpan)
“No, I’m starting a hedge fund. Yes, food.”
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FRONT DESK BOT
“Hmph. Would recommend better financial discipline. Perhaps fewer discretionary explosions.”
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[Jason forces a grin, grabbing the cred chip.]
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JASON
“I’ll put that on my inspirational wall. Right next to ‘Don’t Die Monday.’”
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[SD-A and SD-K wait by the exit, looking uncomfortably out of place. A few Labor bots walking in toss cautious glances at them.]
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SD-K (low voice)
“They’re looking at us like we’re radioactive.”
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SD-A
“To be fair, you probably are.”
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[Jason returns, waving the cred chip.]
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JASON
“Alright, let’s pay for our legally dubious dinner and bail before I get judged into poverty.”
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EXT. MARKETPLACE – EXIT – MOMENTS LATER
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[They step outside into the cooling night air. Street lights flicker on, buzzing like old thoughts. Jason stretches and yawns.]
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JASON
“Marketplace complete. Wallet emptied. Dignity surgically removed. We’re making real progress, boys.”
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[SD-K groans. SD-A quietly enjoys the can of oil like it’s some sort of vintage wine. Behind them, the city hums along like it doesn’t care.]
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