A bustling downtown plaza. Office workers, tourists, a street musician.
A shredded transit bus. Kai, then in full EOD suit, cuts a wire. Sweat drips off her chin. PARTNER > Red or green? KAI > Neither. She cuts a third wire—black, hidden under a plate. The timer stops at .
At , a food truck’s gas tank ignites—not explosion, just flame. Panic.
She doesn’t cut.
Inside: fifty fuel barrels. And one junction box marked "CLOCK TOWER - SERVO CONTROL."
KAI (30s, sharp, exhausted) stands in the middle of it all, eyes fixed on a cheap digital watch. Not hers. Taped to her wrist.
END OF COLD OPEN.