INT. LINDA'S CAR — DAY
(Traffic hum, turn signal clicking. A dashboard hula flamingo bounces. Linda drives, beaming. Tina's in the back with a notebook; Gene rides shotgun, vibrating with off-topic energy.)
LINDA(hands at ten and two, delighted hum)
I love this, I love this, I love this—car time with my babies! Look at us, erranding! Are we erranding? We're erranding.
GENE(gesturing at air vents like they're an audience)
Speaking of errands, what if air fresheners were edible? Like "New Car Smell" but it's a fruit roll-up. You just nibble your mirror on long trips. Call it Car-B-Que Tapes.
TINA(not looking up, calm)
If a horse had a car, would the glove compartment be called a hoof compartment. I'm writing an essay.
LINDA(glancing between them, overjoyed)
Talk to me, I'm your talk radio, I'm Linda-FM—who needs friends when you've got family and me?
GENE(speeding up, classic distraction mode)
Okay, new topic: ranking condiments by how good they'd be as hair gel. Number one, mayonnaise—controversial but brave. Number two, mustard—spicy scalp. Number three—
TINA(still writing)
Ketchup is too tragic for hair. It reads breakup.
LINDA(nodding, utterly sincere)
Yes, yes, very good note, Tina. Hair should not read breakup unless it's an updo. Then it's a "break-updo." That's for court dates.
(They slow toward a green-to-yellow light. Linda glances at Gene, hanging on his words like he's giving a TED Talk in a deli.)
GENE(counting on fingers)
—number three, ranch, because it's America's lotion—
(They roll into the intersection. A metallic blur in the peripheral. Gene's eyes widen.)
GENE(full-body point, sudden screech)
AHHH IT'S A ROBOT!
LINDA(reflex slam on the brakes, scream harmonizing with the tires)
OOOH—!
TINA(screaming because everyone else is screaming)
—aaaand I'm screaming!
(The car nosedives. A chrome-armed figure—BIO-MECHANICAL MICKEY—slides across the hood in a shower of sparks. He plants one hand, servo-whine rising, the other hand braced against the windshield frame. The car coasts to a gentle stop under his grip.)
LINDA(frozen, white-knuckle wheel)
My car! My babies! My upholstery!
TINA(blinking at Mickey, oddly polite)
Hello, hot robot. Do you know where the nearest horse is.
GENE(awed, then delighted)
It's a hot robo-hobo! A robobo!
(Mickey peels his gaze from the street to the family; beneath the metal plating, it's unmistakably MICKEY—those familiar eyes, that "I may or may not have borrowed a boat" smile. He gives a shaky thumbs-up.)
MICKEY(half-smirk, obviously nervous)
Phew, that was clos—
(A SHADOW rips through frame. ROBOTIC SHARK MONSTER—a gleaming, supersized cousin of The Deepening shark with piston-jaws and buoyant siren lights—SLAMS into Mickey from the side like a chrome freight train. Impact BOOMS; Mickey rockets off the hood and out of frame. The car rocks on its shocks, wipers flick once in panic.)
LINDA(still screaming, then breathless whisper)
—ose.
GENE(eyes saucer-wide, gripping the dash)
Robot! Shark! Robark! Shabot!
TINA(flat, stunned)
This intersection has a lot going on.
(The shark-monster's tail WHIPS past the windshield, strobing them with red buoy lights.
(Offscreen: the clatter-crash of Mickey hitting a newspaper stand and a heroic "oof." The hula flamingo tips over and we smash cut to black.)
END SCENE