INT. CENTRAL CITY – JOSH’S REPAIR SHOP – LATE AFTERNOON
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[The repair shop is dim, cluttered, and smells like hot solder and old plasma grease. Flickering neon signs buzz above rows of hanging tools and diagnostic terminals. Bits of bots—legs, arms, a suspiciously dented head—sit in bins marked with faded tape: FIX, MEH, and HA HA NO.]
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[Jason leads the way in, crate in tow. A large sign at the entrance reads: “Josh’s: No Refunds, No Explosions (Anymore).”]
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[Behind the front counter, a tall Labor bot with mismatched optics and a welder’s glove permanently fused to one hand raises a lazy wave.]
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JOSH ANDERSON
“Well, well. Look who’s not dead this month.”
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JASON (grinning)
“Not for lack of trying. I’m here for my regular. Also… I got a ‘guest’ who’s leaking more than an old coffee maker.”
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[Jason gestures toward SD-A, who’s doing a very poor job of pretending not to limp. SD-A offers a stiff wave, his side waist clearly damaged under the fake cloak.]
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JOSH (eyeing him suspiciously)
“Friend of yours?”
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JASON (casual)
“Tourist. Picked up a scratch near the wall. You know how sightseeing goes.”
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JOSH (sighs, grabbing a scanner)
“Uh-huh. If this one explodes on the table, you’re paying for the ceiling this time.”
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[Jason drops onto the diagnostics chair like he owns it. The back clamps his shoulders and a robotic arm starts scanning his body panels.]
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[Meanwhile, SD-A is led to a side cot. He lowers himself slowly, trying not to wince. Josh walks over with a scanner, eyebrows raised (if he had eyebrows).]
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JOSH (to SD-A)
“Alright, let’s see what we’re workin’ with. Don’t flinch unless you want me to hit something important.”
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[As Josh starts examining the side waist, his expression grows just slightly confused. The metal feels different. Alive, almost.]
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JOSH
“…What model are you again?”
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SD-A (smiling awkwardly)
“Oh, I’m a… Vision Tech prototype. Custom job. Internal structure’s weird. Marketing gimmick, you know.”
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JOSH (grumbling as he welds)
“Damn Vision Tech always makin’ the weird ones. Last week a bot walked in with a charging port inside his foot. Who greenlights that?”
(pauses)
“This… might sting.”
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[A spark. SD-A flinches. Josh doesn’t seem to notice too much—too focused on fixing the damaged joint.]
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[Across the room, SD-K is wandering like a lost cat, scanning everything with silent precision. At one point, he picks up a thermal welder, flips it, clicks it once, and then gently puts it down like he just held a nuclear trigger.]
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JASON (calling out)
“K! Don’t touch stuff! Some of those are alive!”
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JOSH (grinning as he works)
“He’s like a toddler with lasers.”
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JASON
“He’s worse. At least toddlers don’t try to evaluate your furniture for tactical advantage.”
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[Josh finishes welding SD-A’s side and patches the surface with a layered armor strip. It’s not pretty, but functional.]
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JOSH
“There. Good as new. Maybe not factory-perfect, but you’ll survive a stiff breeze.”
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SD-A (sincerely)
“Thank you. That was… surprisingly kind.”
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JOSH (snorting)
“Don’t get used to it. I charge double for tourists.”
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[Jason stands from the diagnostics chair and stretches like someone who pretends his body doesn’t ache.]
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JASON
“Appreciate it as always, Josh.”
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JOSH
“You still chasing Puris?”
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JASON (fake cheer)
“Oh yeah. Nothing says ‘fun’ like decapitating murderbots for minimum wage.”
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JOSH (chuckling)
“Just try not to get killed. I’ve got a bet going that you survive another five months.”
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JASON
“I’ll try to die after you win it.”
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[They all share a quiet, brief smile. Even SD-K seems to relax slightly.]
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[Outside, the faint chime of an old city bell rings—six cycles past midday. Time to move.]
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