[… FACTORY ENTRANCE — DUSK.

A taxi stands nearby. Two figures emerge from the building. Only silhouettes are visible. In front — a tall man; behind him — a shorter one. The one in the back is wearing a massive, oversized trench coat, despite the warm weather. A large hat sits on his head. Something bulges under the coat, front and back, like backpacks. From behind his head, the end of a stick pokes out. Both are dragging rolling suitcases.

They stop at the car. The first man leans over to the second, says something. The second nods. The first man opens the front passenger door, leans into the cabin, and exchanges a few words with the driver. A moment later, the trunk pops open. He grabs both suitcases and heads for the back.

Meanwhile, the second figure approaches the open door, leans in, and touches two fingers to the brim of his hat, flipping them up in a sort of salute. The first man notices, nervously hurls the suitcases onto the ground, and points the second one toward the trunk. The second figure immediately crosses his arms and shakes his head in refusal. The first man charges toward him. The second turns and runs clumsily back toward the building.

The first man gets into the car.

Paul: — Hello again. Sorry about my son. You know how it is—that teenage phase. We'll have to wait a moment.

Taxi Driver: — I've got one just like him. Can't go anywhere together without it becoming an ordeal. But I've noticed — as long as there's Wi-Fi, you're fine. Without it, don't even bother leaving. When he gets here, I'll share my hotspot. Password is eight ones.

Paul: — Thanks, but no need. He's got his own. They're so high-tech these days, I can't even keep up.

Taxi Driver: — Tell me about it. They don't even know how to wipe their own backsides yet, but they play on those phones better than most adults.

Paul: — True. But sometimes that has side effects. They fall for all these trends and subcultures so fast.

Taxi Driver: — I noticed right away he was… a bit different. I was even hesitant to ask what's up with him.

Paul: — He's a Quadro-Nin-Turtler.

Taxi Driver: — A what?

Paul: — Have you ever heard of Quadrobics?

Taxi Driver: — The ones who pretend to be animals?

Paul: — Something like that. Only he's pretending to be a Ninja Turtle.

Taxi Driver: — So, like, a mutant-quadrober? (Laughs again.)

Paul: — Mutant is an understatement. He sleeps in that backpack shell, painted his face green with dye. He's out of school, switched to remote learning. He even asked me to install a manhole cover in the house. He wants to find his brothers from the same clutch of eggs and their spiritual mentor — a rat.

Taxi Driver: — How do you put up with it?

Paul: — What can I do? He's my own kid, after all. Just a favor — please don't ask him anything. Don't provoke him. He's a total orphan, really. No brothers, no mom or dad, no rat teacher. And he hates talking about it. Stays locked in his own world, just mumbles to himself.

Taxi Driver: — Good thing you warned me. I usually like to chat, find out what's new with people.

Paul: (touches the frame of his glasses, seemingly rubbing something there) — Son, where are you going? We're waiting in the car. There you go mumbling again. Fine, if you don't want to talk, you can mumble in the car too. Got it? You sure? I warned the man. Watch yourself.

Taxi Driver: (surprised) — How did you do that?

Paul: — Just smart glasses.

Taxi Driver: — Now that's progress!

Paul: — Not really. The first ones came out ages ago, but then the projects were scrapped. Probably decided that spying should be for the rich only. But it's convenient—you can make a call without anyone noticing.

(Aishibot approaches the car, dressed like a Ninja Turtle at a bad cosplay party. A wide fabric mask covers his eyes, with a digital image of a green face projected underneath. A mop handle is strapped to his back. He opens the rear door and awkwardly sits behind Paul.)

Taxi Driver: — Good evening, Quadro-Nin-Turtler.

(Aishibot remains silent.)

Paul: (staring intensely at the driver) — Son, say «good evening» to the man in your own way. Your mumbling way.

Aishibot: (sounding like he has a gag in his mouth) — Goenin!

Taxi Driver: — Look at that, he really does mumble. Maybe he's not a turtle, but a Quadro-Calf?

Paul: (nervously) — To the bus station, please.

Taxi Driver: — I see it on the GPS. (To Aishibot) — So, what's your name? Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, or Raphael?

(Aishibot stays silent.)

Taxi Driver: — Keeping quiet? Right. I'd stay quiet too if I could only mumble. I wonder how you mumble "Michelangelo"?

Paul: (with a goofy smile) — Muh-me-ma-me-mo... Something like that, I guess.

Taxi Driver: (won't stop) — Why guess? Let the boy speak for himself.

(A notification pops up on Paul's phone.)

SMS: One more word and I'll take him out with a mawashi yoko-geri from right here. Upd: Sending via GSM, the internet is dead. Aishibot.

Paul: — I'm sorry, let's just leave the boy alone. He's not enjoying this.

Taxi Driver: — Hey, what did I do? I didn't say anything bad. Just wanted to know his name. I've got a kid too. You have to squeeze every word out of them.

Paul: — But why?

Taxi Driver: — To have some kind of "intergenerational dialogue."

Paul: — I'm all for talking, but why push? If he doesn't want to, his time hasn't come yet.

Taxi Driver: — It might never come. And then it'll be too late. I know how they are. When the parents are gone, they start regretting: "Why didn't I listen?" But there's no one left to talk to. Who knows what he's thinking back there in silence. Let him speak. How else are you going to teach them?

Paul: — Maybe you don't need to, if they don't ask. Maybe that's the point. Imagine: you go to the premiere of the best detective movie of your life, and someone tells you the killer is the one in the black coat. Do you like people who spoil the ending?

Taxi Driver: — No. That's why I never watch movies with my wife if she's already seen them.

Paul: — It's the same here. Except they're not just watching the movie — they're trying to direct it themselves.

(Another message arrives.)

SMS: Thanks, "Dad." You just saved a minor from a juvenile detention center for premeditated murder. Let's see how much longer you can keep this up.

(The bus station appears in the windows.)

Taxi Driver: — It's only in movies they sing "life is like a movie" — but it isn't. (Turns his head toward Aishibot while driving) — What do you think, kid?

Aishibot: — I think life is even more vivid. But you really should stop shitting on your kid. When he grows up, he won't visit you because of the childhood trauma. So who are you gonna drink with then? And watch the road, before you fucking hit someone. You'll do time, and the kid will grow up without a father.

Taxi Driver: (obediently turns back, eyes on the road) — You're right about that, gotta watch the road… (Slowly brakes to fit into a spot. Then, suddenly) — Whaaa—?!

Paul: (irritated, through gritted teeth) — Oh, for fuck's sake.

Taxi Driver: (terrified) — Quadro-Ninja-Bober, kurwa!

Paul: (nervously, yanking the car door open and looking the driver in the eye) — Just some weirdo! Wants a lift! Card payment! Thanks!

(He hurriedly opens the rear door and forcefully pulls Aishibot out. They grab the suitcases and walk away quickly. After a few steps, Aishibot, without looking back, touches his hand to the brim of his hat — just like when he greeted the driver. The bewildered driver slowly raises his hand to his head… )]