SCENE START
EXT. OLD DETROIT - NIGHT
The city is a jagged silhouette of rusted steel and neon decay. Rain falls in thick, greasy sheets, hissing as it hits the exposed circuitry of a derelict OCP drone half-buried in the mud.
A rhythmic, heavy THUD-CLANK. THUD-CLANK.
Alex Murphy—ROBOCOP—emerges from the shadows of a collapsed highway overpass. His armor is no longer the pristine silver of the 80s; it is a matte, tactical carbon-fiber dark gray, scarred by decades of bullet impacts and jagged shrapnel. His visor glows with a flickering, sickly amber light.
He stops. His internal HUD ripples with data—a cascade of red text scrolling across his vision: [THREAT DETECTED: UNREGISTERED MILITIA. PROXIMITY: 40 METERS.]
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