Crazy Naked Ape Publications

2011-09-10T07:32:00.000-07:00

To our Dear Readers,
You may have noticed the sporadic nature of our publishing schedule of late and for that we here at CNAP can only offer our most humble apologies. We know that it is super important that you get your monthly dose of all the imagination we can muster and we endeavor always to produce top quality work, which is primarily the reason for our minimal productivity right now. Anyone working in this medium currently can attest that it is undergoing some large changes. We here at CNAP are intent on weathering the storms and continuing to strive for the best quality work we can produce. We believe that imagination should never be subservient to financial concerns nor shackle itself to franchise advertising. We are not out to create the next hollywood tie-in nor intensify logo or design identification. We simply want to tell stories (hopefully great ones). Our stories, though often dealing with fanciful ideas and adventurous people (who sometimes wear costumes), are meant to be like a mirror held up to reality. It is our aim to reflect upon the real issues of our existence and present pro-active postulations of perspective. This task is not easy given the shifting climate of contemporary entertainment appreciation. It is our hope that you, our dear and most loyal readers, will continue to watch us here at CNAP learn and grow on our journey to produce real, hard-working speculations. We offer our most profound thanks to those of you who have stuck by us along the way. To those just joining us or simply browsing we invite you to stay awhile and see what happens. Real stories don't unfold as rapidly as the technology or advertised attention span would like. Real stories take time. Time to make and time to experience. Were still hard at work making art and staying away from fast food and instant gratification. Hopefully so are you. Thank you.
Yer Editors

2011-05-05T07:49:00.001-07:00

2011-04-26T06:23:00.001-07:00

2011-04-20T09:17:00.001-07:00

2011-04-13T07:35:00.001-07:00

2011-04-11T06:47:00.000-07:00

2010-07-11T09:20:00.001-07:00

DEAD LIVING (excerpt)

by: Ryan Buck

The zombie's head came apart after three good whacks from the business end of Mel's machete. Thick, black, coagulated blood oozed out the chopped and mangled face. What was left of the dead man's skull grinned up at Mel. Mel kicked the still standing body to the ground, turned her head and vomited. She was busy flicking the clinging bits of brain from the end of her machete when Davy came up behind her.

"Whoa! Watch where you swing that thing will ya?"

"Don't stand so close to me."

"Hey I know that song." Davy hummed a bar from the song and continued.

"Seriously, Hunter wants to see you."

"You mean Alan?"

Davy stood nervously and cleared his throat. Being new to the team didn't give him allowance to criticize the boss. Of course being old school didn't either, she just didn't give a shit. She wasn't going to play along with Alan's little ego trip and call him by anything but his name. Hunter? Could he have chosen a more pretentious bullshit pseudonym for himself? Melissa Markham of Taggert, Indiana had been with the Zombie Hunter (TM) group for over three years and had seen it grow from a one time lucky rescue operation into a rapidly advancing business venture for one Alan Wilcox, founder, proprietor and sole stockholder.

She, Kenny Balfor and Ozzie Davis (no relation to the baseball legend) had all braved the Quarantine Zone to recover friends and family left behind during the Panic, along with Alan Wilcox, who only went to shoot zombies. That wasn't really so special. Their group was one of hundreds that foolishly left the Uninfected Areas to go back and check on the state of the little worlds they abandoned when the dead stopped staying dead. All the things that got left behind seemed more important than staying alive. For whatever reasons they gave themselves thousands of people walked right back into that wasted land of Hell's Nightmare, but only their group ever walked out again.

Once word spread Alan, who had been the owner of a small chain of restaurants that had just gone national before the Plague Years, thought up the brilliant idea of cashing in on his newfound fame. He charmed Kenny Balfor and Mel into joining him again with visions of gold and fame and offered a no refunds "safari" into the "Queezy" for anyone who had cash or other tradable commodities. It was surprising how many fools Alan was able to find dumb enough to fall for his bullshit heroics and rhetorical machoism.

Mel was convinced it was his teeth. Alan's teeth were too white, far too white to be believed. She was convinced there was some kind of hypnotic transmitter installed in them and that every time Alan talked he flashed his pearls and distracted you from what he was really convincing you to do. It's the only way she could've been bamboozled into ever setting foot outside of a Safe Area again. Either that or she would have to admit that she was starting to like killing zombies as much as Alan did and she wasn't ready to do that yet. Davy scratched his chin and looked at his feet. Mel sheathed her machete and dusted bits of zombie brains from her jeans.

"Fine, fine. I'll go see what he wants." She rolled her eyes as she passed Davy by and headed for "Romero" where Alan was waiting. "Romero" was the affectionate name Alan had given to his armored double decker touring bus, purchased from a garage back in Safe Area 74. He had spent a lot of money modifying it for wasteland travel and it was the prize of the Zombie Hunter (TM) venture. The bottom half of the bus sported a fully armored "zombie resistant" exterior, at least that's what Alan claimed in the brochures he had printed up. The upper portion was where the "action" happened. From the safety of the top deck safari patrons could fire away at closing zombies to there hearts content. Alan was up top with the four dupes who had forked over their savings for a "protected sojourn into the Quarantined Zone". He was busy having his picture taken big game hunter style. He caught Mel with the corner of his eye and nodded. She waited for him by the armored bus' doors.

2010-05-03T06:23:00.001-07:00

2010-05-01T08:38:00.001-07:00

2010-04-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

2010-04-29T17:40:00.000-07:00

MORE ABANDONED DREAMS....

This was produced after two years of desperate loneliness (six years ago).

2010-04-29T07:04:00.000-07:00

2010-04-25T07:16:00.000-07:00

2010-04-20T07:53:00.000-07:00

2010-04-17T13:14:00.001-07:00

2010-04-15T07:17:00.000-07:00

2010-04-05T06:44:00.001-07:00

2010-03-31T07:50:00.001-07:00

2010-03-30T21:09:00.000-07:00

2010-03-28T08:10:00.001-07:00

2010-03-27T07:49:00.001-07:00

2010-03-19T17:10:00.001-07:00

2010-03-18T08:51:00.001-07:00

Cover of an unfinished work began in 2004.

2010-03-14T10:26:00.000-07:00

"The Man" himself (with security) at the 2010 Emerald CityCon, Seattle, Wa.

2009-12-07T11:29:00.000-08:00

2009-12-05T09:07:00.000-08:00

2009-12-03T09:56:00.000-08:00

2009-12-01T10:59:00.000-08:00

2009-11-30T15:51:00.000-08:00

2009-11-29T14:59:00.000-08:00

2009-11-17T13:48:00.000-08:00

2009-11-08T14:39:00.000-08:00

Here's a blast from the past recently uncovered. Print, Fold, Cut, Staple & Enjoy. (or you can try to figure out the order yourselves. I love freedom!)

2009-10-25T16:16:00.001-07:00

2009-07-31T09:52:00.000-07:00

The Big Bust-Up (final chapter first draft)

5.
The split second before kicking in the office door with her blood covered foot she thought about Otis. She thought about what they might've done to him, about what state she might find him in. She thought of how much his respect meant to her. It was not often in this vicious world that any spared a kindness for any one else, even less so respect, especially for a woman. Men had this sick need to exhibit power, not just possess it and women frequently became the canvas upon which these mad painters choose to share what little they've seen of existence. Her thoughts turned to an Otis bloodied and beaten and she could think of nothing but the bullets in her gun and how good it would feel to put one into every bastard she came across between here and the only man she had ever given herself to. All these thoughts flashed through her brain then immediately vanished as her fighting instincts took over and she began her bloody walk through what she assumed would be her final deadly mile. The offices were quiet, almost deceptively so. She knew that something awful lingered just on her horizon and the calmness of her surroundings seemed duplicitous. She imagined dozens of gunmen lurking under desks, behind filing cabinets and walls. But nothing happened the entire way to the rear exit of the office which led into the processing plant, the place where all the meat got cut up.
It would have been foolish to just bust through those doors and into the waiting rain of metal that lay beyond. Though she was sometimes flighty and prone to make mistakes she was never foolish, not where her survival was concerned. She looked around the office to see what she might be able to use. She smiled. She grabbed one of the rolling chairs closest to her and plopped down into it. She gave it a good spin, testing its weight bearence and balance. She stood up and put the confiscated gun in her armpit. She tested the weight of a few filing cabinets before settling on one that she could both lift and that the chair would support. It wasn't that difficult to put the filing cabinet in the chair but the arm that she'd been shot in started pumping fresh blood and that made her a bit light-headed. The noise from the machinery thrummed loudly and probably masked most of the noise she had made, but she doubted it.
The men beyond the door knew she was coming, and though it had taken her little to no time to complete her strategy she was curious why no one busted in on her and shot her full of bullets? It was probably ego. The man in slacks looked like that kind of a person. He must have been supremely confident in his position as a gangster to be so cocky. He probably thought he inspired an indefatigable terror. Most gangsters did. Show a little brutality and suddenly you think you're powerful. She knew the truth of that though. You can kill a brutal person just as easily as you can anyone else. They aren't bulletproof and death takes all comers.
She set herself behind the filing cabinet and gave a push. The chair rolled easily and kept a straight enough course, straight enough for what she needed. She backed up ten feet then ran with the chair ahead of her. As the cabinet and chair crashed through the door she had a frightening thought. What if the man in slacks had run off? What if she'd just wasted her time and the one chance she had at taking him easy?
The hail of bullets pinging off the sides of the metal filing cabinet at least gave her reassurance that there were still some bastards yet to kill. She had stopped at the doorway after the chair and cabinet broke through. She used the few seconds she had to survey the positions of the gunmen. There were six. Two on each side of the doors and two in front. They had sub-machineguns and let loose for a full five seconds before realizing what they were shooting at. That was more than enough time for her to shot the two on her left and dive for cover behind a big metal desk. The two gunmen directly in the path of the rolling chair had to dive out of the way to avoid getting hit so she used that distraction to take down the two others on the right side. She scrambled over to one of the SMG's the nearest gunman to her still clutched in his dead hands. The remaining thugs were scrambling to get up and return fire when she popped up and sprayed them with death. And then their was one.
The man in slacks was standing up on a platform by one of the large processing vats. Hung on a hook by chains over the vat was Otis, bloody and beaten. The man in slacks smiled and waved at her the control switch held in his hand.
"I see that you're good but how good are you really? Do you think you can make it up here in time to save him?"
She gripped her weapon until her knuckles turned white, but she couldn't hold back her smile. Otis was still alive! He looked like they had kicked the hell out of him but one eye still opened and looked at her with awe. She knew then that she would give up everything for this man, she had risked a hellfire of bullets and blood to get revenge and the gods had smiled on her. Her man was still alive! And all that barred her way was a pompous little Englishman who watched Scarface one too many times. He had no idea how good she was with a gun.
He smiled at her with a greasy desire.
"I know what you're thinking. Maybe you can shoot me somewhere and my hand won't press the button, but you're wrong. The nerves in my hand will contract and down goes your boyfriend like so much lunchmeat. Not really what you want is it? But not to worry, I can see you've got some worth and I'm willing to work out a deal." His grin told her what kind of deal that would end up being.
"What do you say?"
She looked him dead in the eye as she raised her weapon and fired at the power generator. There was an explosion of sparks and the resulting smoke set off the fire alarm, but all the machines turned off and slowly wound down. The look in the man in slacks eyes gave her the second greatest pleasure she had yet experienced.
"Wait I..." were the last words he ever spoke on this earth and then his head fell apart under the stream of bullets from the SMG in her hands.
Under the blaring red lights and fire sirens she pulled Otis to the platform and unchained him. She held him gently for a moment then held his face in her hands. He would have scars and probably lose his right eye. He looked up at her with his one good eye and softly coughed up words that let her know he would be fine otherwise.
"Hey hero, don't we have a plane to catch?"
She laughed loud and kissed him hard. Before the cops or firemen showed up she carried him out the back way and into the daylight of the street.

2009-07-27T07:37:00.000-07:00

The Big Bust Up

by Ryan Buck

1.
If three hours ago things had gone differently she and Otis would have been on a plane to Guam, toasting expensive champagne to a job well done and planning to have lots of sweaty carnal exercise. But things don't always work out the way you want them to and so now here she was sitting in a stolen car, holding a Mauser, smoking a cigarette and wearing nothing but her slip. A shotgun lay next to her on the front passenger seat. Her long legs were stretched out on top of the dash and her eyes were keenly fixed on the back door of the scummy dive Dirty Dave had gone into 10 minutes before. She knew it was a risk to let him go in there by himself. He couldn't be trusted. He was probably in there phoning ahead and getting some kind of ambush set up. That didn't matter. She knew that one way or another this thing wouldn't end until there was a reckoning. Either she got Otis back alive or she ended up dead, those were the only things that concerned her. She hoped for the former but expected the latter.
Dirty Dave came stumbling out, a brown paper bag clutched in his meaty fists. The same fists he'd tried to beat her with half an hour ago. She had broken three of his fingers with the butt of the Mauser and given him the fat lip he dribbled from. Dirty Dave was your typical he-man woman hater and thought all women weak and easy to beat on. Like all such men they never expect a women to be as strong or ferocious as themselves. She had never been a shrinking violet and had never in her life backed down from a fight. That was was one of the things that Otis said he admired most about her. Her tenacity and bravado had won her a spot not only in Otis' little band of misfit miscreants but also in his bed. She had been all of 22 when she first ran into Otis, quite literally, outside of Bowman's bar on a hot August night three years ago.
Otis had stumbled drunk into the parking lot and she was driving drunk through it. She had hot wired the car, nearly blind from two bottles of bourbon and as she backed up she heard a thump and felt something fall onto the trunk. She didn't know why she stopped and got out of the car but one look at him sprawled out over the back of that cherry red Camaro and she was glad she had. Otis was an amazing looking kind of guy. It wasn't one thing in particular that made him so attractive, in fact taken in parts he might not have been. His mouth was just a little too large, his eyes seemed unevenly spaced and his nose just a button on his face. Yet all these things put together and drenched in his incredible charm melted her like no other man before or since. "You hit me with your car." He said drunkenly and that made her laugh and from those first words she was hooked.
Being a tough girl hadn't ever made her many friends in the masculine department. Most of the guys she'd grown up with either wanted to fuck her or were intimidated by her. Otis certainly wanted to fuck her but not in that creepy way every other guy that looked at her did. He didn't force it on her or continually paw at her until she caved in just to get him off her back. Otis gave her what no other man other than her father had given her, respect. Otis admired her. He often told her how cool she was and how together they could accomplish anything. After their first job together Otis always made her a part of the planning and put her in control of the guns. She had always been good with guns. It wasn't from any special training or years of practice, it was just one of those things she had a natural affinity for like how some people can draw or write especially well. She couldn't paint or compose poetry but she could shoot.
Dirty Dave smiled at her through his fat lip and broken teeth as he bent down to open the passenger door.
"Ah ah." she said pointing the Mauser at his face. "Just drop it in the seat."
Dirty Dave looked dumbfounded, which was no great feat for him already looking the part of village idiot half the time anyway. "You ain't taking me with you? You letting me go?"
She just smiled. "Is it in there?" she said nodding to the paper bag. He nodded up and down, sweat trickling off his beefy jowls. "Where is he?"
"He...he's at Fredrick's. Over on Culvert. Y...you know the place?"
"Yes, I know the place." Damn! She was hoping this might be simple but like everything else about this day it was going to be twice as hard.
"So w..we square now? I did what you wanted. I found out where he was." She gave him a cold glare. "I promise. I swear I ain't crossed you...again. I wouldn't do that." With those words she knew the truth. Otis was gone. It was like a punch in the heart, but she didn't let a bit of it show through. She looked at this sorry excuse of a man and shot him through the mouth. She slammed the car into gear and sped out onto the street leaving Dirty Dave dead and bleeding in the back alley. She knew she was driving towards her death, but she swore that she'd put a bullet in every one of the bastards that had set up her and Otis before she went.
2.
Twenty four hours before she shot Dirty Dave in the mouth she and Otis were sitting about a block away from Johannsen's casing the street. She sat nestled in his arms, kissing him softly on the neck.
"You know if you keep that up I'm going to get distracted and where will that put us tomorrow?" Otis' tone was playful and only slightly reprimanding. They had an unwritten rule when pulling off a job; no sex 'til after. She wasn't trying to break that rule or bait him into breaking it either, she was simply playing around. They often liked to tease each other this way, increasing the anticipation of pulling off a score with no foul ups.
"I'm just trying to look convincing babe." She said as she tugged on his ear with her teeth.
"Well, don't get...carried away now." Otis put his hand on her neck and held her gently. "This is going to be a big score. Probably our biggest yet."
"You're sure about this Dirty Dave guy?" She put her head in his lap and looked up at the scar on the bottom of his chin. "He's kind of a creep."
"Yeah. Well a creep he may be but he's always been a reliable fixer."
"If you trust him then it's all gold with me." They sat quietly for a minute or two, she with her head in his lap, he gently stroking the hair from her forehead.
"So why Guam?" she asked. He was busy surveying the street, paying close attention to the grey Volvo that had just pulled up in front of Johannsen's. She asked him again.
"Huh?" He looked down at her and smiled. "I grew up there. My folks still have a house in the woods."
"Hey, wait a minute! Is this some kind of weird way to introduce me to your parents?"
He laughed, that sweet guffaw that always tingled the back of her head.
"No, haha, don't worry this isn't some kind of elaborate proposal or anything. My folks are gone but the house is in the family and...well I just thought I'd be nice to get out of the city for a while. You know take a vacation."
She punched him in the arm. "You scared me for a second there."
He laughed again and kissed her.
"Don't worry I wouldn't mess up a good thing with something as silly as marriage."
She leaned into him and they kissed again.
"Yeah, well you better not." They both chuckled and watched as two men got out of the grey Volvo carrying leather satchels.
Otis checked his watch. "Two thirty on the dot. This thing is going to go off like clockwork."
3.
The job went exactly according to plan. There weren't any cock ups and the only people hurt were the two bagmen, both shot close range with her shotgun. The bag was grabbed and the three man crew; her, Jolly and Otis lit out like a fourth of July bottle rocket. A smooth and easy snatch and grab. All they had to do was meet up with Dirty Dave, hand over the satchels and pick up their payment. That's when everything went to hell. Jolly got his head blown off as soon as he walked into the hotel room. Before she or Otis could raise guns and fire off they were jumped by big burly thugs and dragged into the dingy room.
Waiting inside Dirty Dave smiled through yellowed teeth. Next to him sat a man in white slacks, red shirt and a tie. Otis said his name and was promptly smashed in the mouth by one of the big thugs holding him. "Lancaster!"
The man in slacks was eating a sandwich. He stopped eating and wiped his mouth as he stood up.
"I'm glad to see you have such a good memory Otis. I might have been insulted if you had forgotten your old mates." The man in slacks had a British accent. He walked to within a few feet of she and Otis.
"Well she's a pretty one." The man in slacks looked her over in an oily way and took out a handkerchief from his pocket. He went to stand directly in front of Otis. Blood dripped from Otis' split lip. The man in slacks put the handkerchief around his hand protectively and grabbed Otis by the jaw. Otis struggled but the two burly men holding him flexed their arms and Otis let out a painful yell.
"You won't be getting away from me that easy this time, mate." The man in slacks squeezed Otis' jaw forcing more blood to flow out of the busted lip. "Take him to the car." Otis gave a fight but a few punches to his neck from his captors put an end to any more resistance.
"What about the girl?" This from Dirty Dave as the man in slacks made for the door.
"Consider it a finder's fee." He smiled, put his handkerchief back into his pocket and left. Only She, Dirty Dave and the man pinning her arms remained in the room. Dirty Dave was grinning to beat the Cheshire and wiping sweat from his pouchy lips.
"Put her over here." he told the thug holding her. The thug shoved her roughly into a chair by the window. Dirty Dave kept wiping his lips and running his eyes over her body.
"Take 'em off." He stammered, his excitement getting away with itself. She didn't move. She sat there glaring at Dirty Dave. Dirty Dave pulled a Mauser from the belt of his jeans and pointed it at her face.
"I said take 'em off you cunt!" His hand trembled from anticipation. She stood up roughly and began to take off her jacket and the plain skirt she was wearing. She stood in front of the two men wearing only her slip.
"Now that's hot. Isn't that hot?" Dirty Dave was saying to the thug. He came up to her and started caressing her nipples through the slip with the barrel of the Mauser. She stood resolute not flinching as he leaned in close to her neck. Before he could put his mouth on her she had twisted the gun out of his hands and shot the thug in the belly. Dirty Dave, being as physically slow as he was mentally, didn't have time to deflect the butt of the Mauser as it came slamming into his mouth. Her knee connected with his balls at the same time and he blacked out.
When Dirty Dave came to about ten minutes later it wasn't gentle or coaxing. He was being slapped in the face repeatedly and hard.
"You bitch! I'll fucking gut you!" He wanted to lunge at her, grab her by the neck and squeeze 'til her face turned purple but the belt holding his hands to the table wouldn't let him. She sat across from him, his Mauser in her hands. She had him tied so that his chest was flat against the table, his arms spread out wide. He could barely raise his head to look up at her. He pulled at the restraints for a second then gave up.
"Where did they take him?"
"What the fuck are you talking about you cooze?" With a quickness that Dirty Dave could not follow she smashed the Mauser onto his right hand. There was the sound like celery snapping and then Dirty Dave let out a high pitched yell. She had a glass of water next to her and threw it in his face. He stopped yelling and gurgled on the water, choking. When he was done she asked her question again.
"I...I don't know."
She raised up the Mauser as if to smash it down again and he began to stammer.
"I..I don't know, but I can find out. Honest. I can find out for you. Please don't hit me again. I can find out for you. I can get you your money to." She didn't care about the money. She wanted to get Otis and put bullets into the man in slacks.
"I'll shoot you in the mouth if you're lying to me." Was all she said and untied him.
4.
She sat in Dirty Dave's car at the parking lot across from Fredrick's Meat Packing Plant. The place was a gangster fortress and had a sinister mythology amongst the street operators of the city. It was the place the Big Guys took you if they wanted to put a nasty hurt on you and take there time doing it. She knew they'd be waiting for her. She was sure Dirty Dave had called ahead. The paper bag he'd given her was full of money, but she was sure that was only meant to calm her down, lower her defenses.
The way she planned on going in was guarded; three at the gate, two at the door. She'd been watching them for twenty minutes and they started to look bored. Then a skinny dude came out and talked to the five guns and suddenly they went back on the alert. Someone must've found Dirty Dave and phoned it in. Good, she wanted them to know she was coming. She wanted them on edge. She checked her shotgun and double checked the Mauser. The Mauser had five bullets left, the shotgun six shells. She didn't spend any more time thinking about her plan. She threw the car into gear and sped straight toward the front gate of the Packing Plant.
Across four lanes of traffic she sped without hitting any oncoming cars. She slammed the two ton bullet into the gate and through the three guns stationed there before they were able to get off a single shot. The two guns at the door had more time to make a move and one of them had gotten off a shot at the wheels of the car. The wheel popped and the car careened to the side and punched into one of the concrete support pillars by the front door stairs.
She was out of the car and squeezed off two rounds into the closest thug, hitting him in the arm and the eye. The thug went down and she swung around to get the other one in the leg. This thug was a bit faster and managed to graze her left leg with a bullet, taking out a quarter sized chunk of meat with it. It stung a little but it wasn't the first time she'd been shot and it certainly wasn't the worst. The thug dove for cover and she ran straight toward him, not giving him any time to recover. She came up to him.
She said, "Hey." and he turned to face her. She put a bullet through his ear and another through his forehead. His head popped like an over ripe watermelon. She tossed the expended Mauser down and brought up the shotgun. She turned toward the double doors of the front entrance. Two more thugs burst out and ate two exploding shotgun blasts at close range. Their faces turned to hamburger and a fine red mist sprayed across her white slip. She jumped over their dead bodies and dove inside the building.
She stood and looked around fast, taking in the layout and positions of all the shooters aiming at her. There were three men with guns waiting for her; two behind packing crates and a third up top near a conveyor belt. She dove to her right to avoid the bullets that were being fired at her. She came up next to a stack of packing crates. There wasn't much cover in the 10 feet between her and the three gunman. They were spending bullets like money in a Mexican whorehouse and not a one came anywhere near her. The crates she was standing behind dripped bloody meat from the numerous holes now lining the side facing the gunmen. She waited for them to stop shooting then made a mad dash across that deadly open space toward the gunman on her left. She was four feet away from the crate he was using as cover when the gunman up top clipped her in the arm.
She slid the rest of the way to the crate, slamming into the front of it. She jumped up immediately and swung around to the left, out of the line of fire from the other two guns and let go two more blasts from her shotgun. She heard the shells punch into something and by the screams that followed she was sure it was the thug. She crouched down and squinted at the pain in her arm. It was beginning to go numb and she knew she didn't have much time before the wound would seriously hamper her aim.
She could hear the gunman above running across the planks of the conveyor belt and as the footsteps got to a point just above her she fired upwards. A curse, followed by more gunfire let her know she had missed. She only had one shell left in her shotgun. She risked a quick glance around the corner of the crate and saw the dead thug's gun laying two feet away. Bullets whizzed close but went wide. She popped back into cover, counted five then popped out again diving for the thug's automatic pistol.
It was in a pool of blood and slippery when she grabbed it but her fingers slid easily into the trigger guard as she came up on one knee. She knew the thug on the ground was a terrible shot so she took two seconds to aim and blew a hole in his shoulder when he fired at her again. She heard the gun above her moving around and squeezed the trigger on the pistol in her hand until it clicked empty. She heard a thump and then saw the thug fall from the gang plank to land on his head four feet away from her. She stood up and walked over to the gunman she had winged in the shoulder. blood poured out all over his expensive clothes and she kicked him in the balls before taking his gun from him.
"Where are they?" she asked between gritted teeth. The thug coughed and spat out blood. "In the back."
She stood and shot him in the head. Then she turned and walked through the lake of blood at her feet toward the office door that led to her final objective.

2009-02-16T13:19:00.000-08:00

All For Love! The Crazy Naked Ape still perseveres.

2009-02-02T10:46:00.000-08:00

Ye' Editors,

As you may well have noticed, the font of creativity at Crazy Naked Ape Publications has trickled off to a 'snail crawlin' over a molasses patch'. Well we have only our condolences to offer as the majority of our creative forces have relocated to the offices of Go Get 'Em! Comics. We extend to you the invitation to continue following our publications and encourage you all to pursue your own avenues of self expression!

2008-12-04T16:17:00.001-08:00

AMERICAN JUSTICE 444

The Interview

Part 1

PG 1

[1]
LONG ON A STREAM OF LIGHT FROM ABOVE OFF-PANEL ILLUMINATING A MAN WHO APPEARS TO BE IN HIS LATE SIXTIES. THIN BUT NOT FRAIL, AVERAGE BUILD. LONG GRAY HAIR AND BEARD OBSCURE FACE. POSTURE IS SLUMPED. HIS ARMS HANG LIMPLY AT HIS SIDE. HIS WRISTS ARE SURROUNDED BY A BLACK LINE THAT IS LOOSE AND CONNECTS TO A BLACK BLOCK ON WHICH HE ALSO SITS. HE IS NAKED AND HIS BODY HAS NUMEROUS SCARS, PREDOMINATELY THREE OLD BULLET WOUNDS SURROUNDING HIS HEART.

CAP A: INTERVIEW SUBJECT: RYAN, RANDOLPH OLIVER
ALSO KNOWN AS: DOC TERROR

CAP B: LOCATION: FORT ALPHA
MAXIMUM SECURITY S.P.A.

[2]
CLOSE; FRONT ON TERROR. STREAM OF LIGHT FROM ABOVE. JUST ENOUGH TO SEE DETAILS OF SKIN; SCARS & BULLET WOUNDS

[3]
SAME AS 2.

[4]
SAME DISTANCE AND ANGLE AS 2; TERROR SCRATCHING AN EAR WITH HIS SHOULDER.

[5]
SAME DISTANCE AND ANGLE AS 2; TERROR LOOKING UP INTO LIGHT. ONE EYE VISIBLE, REST OF FACE OBSCURE BY HAIR/BEARD/SHADOW.

INTERVIEWER (OFF-PANEL/FROM ABOVE): ANY ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE AND YOU WILL BE INCINERATED INSTANTLY.

[6]
SAME DISTANCE AS 2; TERROR, HEAD FORWARD, HAIR DANGLING.

PG 2

[1]
SAME AS PG 1/6.

INTERVIEWER: UNDERSTOOD?

[2]
SAME ANGLE/DISTANCE AS 1. TERROR, HEAD UP, LOOKING TOWARD VIEWER, FEATURES IN HAIR/SHADOW.

DOC TERROR: I UNDERSTAND.

[3]
SAME AS 1.

INTERVIEWER: GOOD. THEN WE CAN BEGIN.

[4]

LONG; FROM ABOVE; 15'. TERROR SPOT LIT IN CENTER, REST IN DARKNESS.

INTERVIEWER: YOU'VE BEEN BROUGHT OUT OF DEEP LOCK-DOWN FOR A PHYSICAL EXAMINATION AS
WELL AS A PSYCHOLOGICAL RE-PROFILING. YOU WILL BE ASKED QUESTIONS. YOU
WILL ANSWERS THOSE QUESTIONS. YOU WILL ANSWERS THOSE QUESTIONS OR THERE
WILL BE CONSEQUENCES. DO YOU UNDERSTAND.

PG 3

[1]
CLOSE ON TERROR, HEAD UP, LOOKING TOWARD VIEWER. FACE REMAINS HIDDEN.

[2]

CLOSE ON TERROR, WRITHING IN AGONY AS ELECTRICITY COURSE OVER HIS BODY.

TERROR: YAAARRGH!!

[3]
CLOSE ON TERROR; ON FLOOR IN NEAR FETAL POSITION, DROOL AND PISS PUDDLE BENEATH HIM. SMOKE DRIFTS UP FROM HIM.

[4]

SAME AS 3.

INTERVIEWER: INSUBORDINATION WILL BE SEVERELY PUNISHED.

PG 4

[1]
MEDIUM ON TERROR, STRUGGLING TO STAND, USING THE BLACK BLOCK FOR SUPPORT.

[2]
CLOSE ON TERROR'S WRIST; BLACK LINE RETRACTING INTO BLOCK.

[3]
MEDIUM ON TERROR'S WRIST CLAMPED TO SIDE OF BLOCK, HEAD AND CHEST COMING DOWN FAST.

[4]
CLOSE ON TERROR FACE SLAMMING INTO BLOCK.

[5]
CLOSE ON TERROR, HEAD RESTING ON BLOCK.

INTERVIEWER: UNDERSTOOD?

[6]
MEDIUM ON TERROR; REAR, ON KNEES HEAD, TURNED TO SPIT OUT TEETH AND BLOOD.

[7]
MEDIUM ON TERROR; FRONT, LOOKING UP INTO LIGHT, BEARD AND CHEST COVERED WITH BLOOD.

DOC TERROR: I UNDERSTAND.

PG 5

[1]
LONG ON TERROR SITTING BACK ON BLOCK, WRIST LINE SLACKENING.

INTERVIEWER: A DRONE WILL NOW EXAMINE YOU. YOU WILL COOPERATE.

[2]
LONG ON TERROR (SAME ANGLE/DISTANCE AS 1) SEATED, ELBOWS ON KNEES, HEAD SLUMPED FORWARD. ON FAR RIGHT OF PANEL AN OPENING APPEARS, A FLOATING ROBOT DRONE IS SILHOUETTED.

[3]
LONG ON TERROR; FROM 15' ABOVE. TERROR SITS IN SAME POSITION AS 2. F.R.D. APPROACHES, 5' AWAY.

[4]
LONG ON TERROR; FROM 25' UP. ROBOT CIRCLES TERROR, A "PROBE" EXTENDED.

[5]
LONG ON TERROR: 35' UP. TERROR AND ROBOT BARELY VISIBLE.

INTERVIEWER (OFF PANEL/FROM BOTTOM) DO YOU THINK HE'LL GIVE US ANY TROUBLE?

PG 6

[1]
CLOSE ON COMPUTER SCREEN, ON SCREEN PG 5/5.

INTERVIEWER 1 (FROM LEFT): THAT MAN IS THE MOST DANGEROUS LIVING BEING ON THIS PLANET. HE SPENT FIFTY YEARS TERRORIZING THIS COUNTRY. NOW HE'S LOCKED UP IN THE MOST ADVANCED DETENTION CENTER EVER DEVISED. HE WONT BE GIVING US ANYTHING BUT WHAT WE WANT HIM TO.

[2]
MEDIUM ON THE TWO INTERVIEWERS FROM BEHIND; BOTH IN BLUE SUITS WITH KIRBYESQUE HEADGEAR COVERING HEADS. FROM THE HEADGEAR EXTENDS TUBES, WIRING ETC. WHICH CONNECT TO VARIOUS PORTS SURROUNDING THE TWO MEN. NUMEROUS COMPUTER SCREENS DOT THE WALLS AND PANELS WHICH TAKE UP THE REMAINDER OF THE PANEL.

INTERVIEWER 2: SO WHAT ARE WE TRYING TO FIND OUT WITH ALL OF THIS THEN?

INTERVIEWER 1: I DON'T KNOW. AND YOU SHOULDN'T WANT TO KNOW. THIS IS OUR ASSIGNMENT. WE ASK HIM THESE QUESTIONS. HIS ANSWERS GET RECORDED. IF HE TRIES ANYTHING WE FRY HIM. SIMPLE.

[3]
SAME ANGLE/DISTANCE AS 2. INTERVIEWER 1 FIDDLES WITH DIODES NEXT TO HIM. INTERVIEWER 2 FIDDLES WITH DIODES ABOVE HIM.

INTERVIEWER 2: WHAT IF SOMETHING GOES WRONG?

INTERVIEWER 1: I TOLD YOU. WE FRY HIM.

INTERVIEWER 2: I MEAN , WHAT IF WE CAN'T FRY HIM?

INTERVIEWER 1: ...

[4]
CLOSE ON MULTIPLE COMPUTER SCREENS, SHOWING VARIOUS CLOSE UPS OF DOC TERROR, HIS SCARS, THE FLOATING ROBOT DRONE AND ITS PARTS.

[5] (SMALL, OVERLAPPING BOTTOM PORTION OF 4)
EXTREME CLOSE ON TERROR SMILING, THROUGH BEARD AND BLOOD.

INTERVIEWER 1 (FROM LEFT): THAT WOULD BE BAD.

CAP A: TO BE CONTINUED...

2008-08-28T12:30:00.000-07:00

JUNE 2010

AMERICAN JUSTICE COMICS 444

"cancer 11010" PART 1.

PAGE 1.

[1].
LONG ON R.E.D. CELL AGENT 55 STANDING, HANDS ON HIPS, OVER SEATED NAVAL TECHNICIAN. BACKS TO VEIWER. THE TECHNICIAN'S LEFT HAND TOUCHES THE HEADSET HE WEARS. BACK GROUND IS LOW LIT NAVAL COMMUNICATIONS ROOM. NAVAL TECHNICIANS MAN THE NUMEROUS MONITORING STATIONS.

CAP: THE AORTA, NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN. 2010. 08:35.

AGENT 55: AND YOU'VE BEEN GETTING THIS SAME MESSAGE FOR HOW LONG?

NAVAL TECH: WELL SIR, IT STARTED UP ABOUT A HALF OUR AGO. AT FIRST IT WASN'T MUCH BUT IT SEEMS TO HAVE WORKED IT SELF INTO THE MAINFRAME NETWORK.

[2].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 AND NAVAL TECHNICIAN. AGENT 55 IS 'TEXTING' ON HIS CHARGE CARD, ONE HAND STILL ON HIS HIP. THE NAVAL TECHNICIAN LOOKS AT THE ELECTRONIC READOUT BELOW HIM WITH A DUBIOUS EXPRESSION.

AGENT 55: OKAY GIVE ME THE FREQUENCY.

NAVAL TECHNICIAN: OKAY SIR. IT'S FDMA 3.14159.

[3].
CLOSE ON AGENT 55'S HAND AND CHARGE CARD. THE "CHARGE CARD" IS THE SIZE AND WIDTH OF AN iPOD. IT IS SHINY BLACK. AGENT 55 IS DEPRESSING THE LARGE ILLUMINATED CENTRAL BUTTON. MICRO CIRCUITRY SNAKES OUTWARD ALONG THE SURFACE IN COMPLEX REPEATING PATTERNS FROM THE CENTRAL BUTTON 'ALA JACK KIRBY STYLE.

AGENT 55 (OFF): A RADIO FREQUENCY? THERE'S NO WAY THAT COULD PENETRATE OUR MAINFRAME DEFENSES.

[4].
CLOSE ON NAVAL TECHNICIAN'S FACE. CONCENTRATING. LIGHT FROM ELECTRONIC PANEL ILLUMINATES FROM BELOW.

NAVAL TECH: THAT'S JUST THE PIGGY-BACK. I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO ISOLATE THE ACTUAL SIGNAL. WHOEVER DESIGNED THIS IS BETTER THAN ANYONE OR ANYTHING I'VE EVER HEARD OF.

[5].
CLOSE ON AGENT 55'S RED ORB HEAD. CENTER OF THE ORB IS A READOUT SCREEN TAKING UP THE AREA DIRECTLY IN FORNT OF THE FACE. REPEATED OVER COUNTLESS TIMES IS THE MESSAGE
"01100011 01100001 01101110 01100011 01100101 01110010 00100000 00110001 00111001"

AGENT 55: KEEP WORKING ON THIS. I'LL BE BACK FROM WASHINGTON IN THREE HOURS.

PAGE 2.

[1].
FULL FIGURE OF AGENT 55 FLYING UPWARDS TOWARDS VEIWER. 200 YDS BELOW IS THE EXTERIOR OF THE AORTA, AN IMMENSE OCEANIC PLATFORM 'ALA KIRBY STYLE, BLOCKS WITH FLYING BUTTRESSES AND THE LIKE. THE ATLANTIC OCEAN TAKES UP THE REMAINING BACKGROUND, WAVES HEAVING WITH CHOP.

CAP A(55): WEDNESDAY'S ARE ALWAYS LIKE THIS.

CAP B(55): NEVER TIME TO HAVE A DECENT CONVERSATION WITH ANYBODY. NO WONDER MY WIFE LEFT ME. I REMEMBER WHEN SAVING THE WORLD AND FIELD WORK MEANT MUCH DIFFERENT THINGS.

CAP C(55): COURSE EVERYTHING'S DIFFERENT NOW. WHAT WITH THE ENTIRE PLANET AT WAR.

PAGE 3.

[1].
LONG ON SENATE BUILDING, WASHINGTON D.C.. CUMULOUS CLOUDS LOOM ON THE HORIZON IN BACKGROUND.

CAP: THE UNITED STATES SENATE, WASHINGTON D.C. 09:12.

[2].
LONG ON AGENT 55 STANDING, BACK TO VEIWER, IN FRONT OF LARGE OAKEN DESK STACKED WITH FILES, PAPERS AND OPEN BOOKS. AT THE DESK IS SEN. WILLIAM POOLE, EARLY FORTIES, ANGULAR FEATURE. WEARS A BUSINESS SUIT. IS HOLDING AN OPEN FILE FOLDER IN HIS HANDS. LOOKS UP OVER HIS GLASSES AT AGENT 55. A BULLET RIDDLED AND SLIGHTLY BURNED AMERICAN FLAG HANGS IN A GLASS FRAME ON THE WALL BEHIND.

POOLE: YOU'RE LATE SPECIAL AGENT. WHEN I SET A MEETING TIME I EXPECT IT TO BE ADHERED TO. MY TIME IS NOT SO VALUELESS THAT I SIT AROUND AND TELL FUNNY STORIES TO MY STAFF. UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE IN WASHINGTON I ACTUALLY WORK FOR WHAT THE CITIZENS PAY ME.

AGENT 55: APOLOGIES SIR, THERE WAS A LAST MINUTE EMERGENCY THAT I WAS JUST MADE AWARE OF.

[3].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 AND SEN. POOLE. SEN. POOLE LEANS FORWARD, PUTTING DOWN THE FOLDER HE WAS HOLDING.

POOLE: AN EMERGENCY? WHAT KIND OF EMERGENCY?

[4].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55, TAKING HIS CHARGE CARD FROM HIS INSIDE JACKET POCKET.

AGENT 55: WELL SIR ONE OF THE TECH'S AT THE AORTA THIS MORNING HAS BEEN MONITORING A SIGNAL THAT HAS SOMEHOW WORKED ITS WAY INTO M.A.R.R.O.W.

[5].
MEDIUM ON SEN. POOLE STANDING UP ANGRILY BEHIND HIS DESK. PAPERS, FILES AND BOOKS TUMBLE ABOUT TO THE FLOOR. AGENT 55 STANDS STOIC.

POOLE: WHAT!!! HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN!? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN!??

PAGE 4.

[1].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 HANDING HIS CHARGE CARD TO SEN. POOLE.

AGENT 55: I'VE GOT A TECHNICIAN LOOKING INTO THAT SIR. ALL WE KNOW RIGHT NOW IS THAT THEY WERE ABLE TO PIGGY-BACK A SIGNAL BY RADIO CARRIER WAVE AND SOMEHOW THAT BYPASSED OUR SECURITY COUNTERMEASURES.

[2].
CLOSE ON SEN. POOLE EXAMINING CHARGE CARD DISPLY SCREEN.

AGENT 55(OFF): IT HAPPENED ABOUT AN HOUR AGO AND AS YOU CAN SEE IT HASN'T ACTUALLY DONE ANYTHING BUT REPEAT THIS CODE. I THINK IT'S SOME KIND OF MESSAGE RATHER THAN AN ATTACK PROGRAM. COULD BE A DISTRESS SIGNAL OR...

POOLE: IT'S BINARY.

[3].
MEDIUM ON SEN. POOLE HANDING BACK THE CHARGE CARD TO AGENT 55.

POOLE: I'M SURE THE TECH'S AT THE AORTA KNOW THIS BY NOW, AND IF THEY HAVEN'T FIGURED IT OUT YET FIRE THEM ALL. I AM NOT HAPPY SPECIAL AGENT 55. NOT HAPPY AT ALL.

AGENT 55: YES SIR.

[4].
MEDIUM ON SEN. POOLE, BACK TO THE VEIWER. AGENT 55 RETURNING CHARGE CARD TO HIS INSIDE JACKET POCKET.

POOLE: I WANT YOU PERSONALLY OVERSEEING THIS INVESTIGATION. MAKE IT YOUR PRIMARY CONCERN. REASSIGN YOUR OTHER CASES IF YOU HAVE TO. I WANT WHOEVER'S DONE THIS FOUND AND BROUGHT IN. I'M SURE I DON'T HAVE TO IMPRESS ON YOU THE DANGER THIS SITUATION POSES?

AGENT 55: NO SIR.

[5].
LONG ON AGENT 55 STANDING. SEN. POOLE SITTING IN CHAIR BEHIND HIS DESK, FINGERS STEEPLED AND PRESSED AGAINST HIS LIPS. PAPERS, FILES AND BOOKS ON THE FLOOR.

POOLE: M.A.R.R.O.W. IS THE SECOND MOST ADVANCED COMPUTING SYSTEM THE GOVERNMENT HAS IN OPERATION. ITS CIRCUITRY ALONE IS BEYOND PRICE. TO SAY NOTHING OF THE INFORMATION CONTAINED IN ITS MAINFRAME. WHETHER THIS IS AN ATTACK OR SOME HACKER'S PRANK, IT POSES A DIRECT THREAT TO NATIONAL AND INTERGALACTIC SECURITY. I WANT WHOEVER'S RESPONSIBLE FOR IT PROSECUTED TO THE FULLEST EXTENT.

AGENT 55: ABSOLUTELY SIR.

PAGE 5.

[1].
LONG ON THE HALLWAYS OF THE UNITED STATES SENATE BUILDING. AGENT 55 IS CLOSING THE DOOR OF SEN. POOLE'S OFFICE DOOR BEHIND HIM. PAGES SCUTTLE ABOUT. THREE SENATORS STAND IN THE FAR BACKGROUND DISCUSSING SOME ISSUE OF CONSTERNATION WHICH MASKS THEIR FACES.

CAP A: 10:31

CAP B(55): WEDNESDAYS.

[2].
MEDIUM ON THE GROUP OF YOUNG SENATORS,NOW FACIALY IDENTIFIABLE AS SEN. THOMAS JEFFERSON (CL), SEN. DONALD BAILEY (D), SEN. GARFIELD WINSLOW (CL). SEN. JEFFERSON LOOKS OFF OUT OF PANEL AWAY FROM THE OTHER TWO TALKING SENATORS.

SEN. BAILEY: I'M STILL NOT CONVINCED THAT THIS MEASURE IS ANY MORE BENIFICIAL TO MY CONSTITUENTS AS THE OTHER DRAFT YOU SHOWED ME TWO WEEKS AGO...

SEN. WINSLOW: LOOK DON, WE NEED YOU TO COME IN ON THIS ONE. IF WE GET ENOUGH SWING VOTES GOING WE CAN STOP POOLE FROM GETTING THE GROUND WORK ON THIS "LOYALIST" ACT NONSENSE.

[3].
MEDIUM ON SEN. JEFFERSON STRIDING AWAY FROM THE OTHER SENATORS, HIS EXPRESSION DOUR. SEN. WINSLOW, MAKING THE "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" GESTURE. SEN. BAILEY, EYES ROLLED TO THE CEILING.

SEN. WINSLOW: TOM HELP ME OUT HERE.

SEN. JEFFERSON: HOLD ON GAR. DON, DON'T GO ANYWHERE.

[4].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 WALKING TOWARD VEIWER. 10' BEHIND SEN. JEFFERSON STRIDES QUICKLY TO INTERCEPT HIM. FAR BACKGROUND, SEN. WINSLOW, HANDS ON HIPS, EYES FOLLOWING SEN. JEFFERSON. SEN. BAILEY LOOKS AT HIS WRISTWATCH.

SEN. JEFFERSON: EXCUSE ME, SPECIAL AGENT?

[5].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55, TURNED TO FACE SEN. JEFFERSON, POSTURE STIFF AND INTIMIDATING. SEN. JEFFERSON, 1' SHORTER THAN AGENT 55, SMILES, HANDS IN HIS WAIST POCKETS.

AGENT 55: WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU SENATOR?

SEN. JEFFERSON: WELL, IWAS JUST WONDERING SPECIAL AGENT...UM I APOLOGIZE FOR NOT KNOWING YOUR PREFIX, BUT IT'S NOT LIKE YOU MAKE IT EASY FOR ANYONE TO TELL YOU FOLKS APART?

[6].
CLOSE ON AGENT 55'S GLOBULE HELMET. WALL EYE REFLECTION OF SEN. JEFFERSON ON GLOBULE.

AGENT 55: THAT'S KIND OF THE POINT SENATOR. 55 IS MY PREFIX NUMBER. NOW HOW MAY I BE OF SERVICE TO YOU?

PAGE 6.

[1].
CLOSE (WAIST LEVEL) ON SEN. JEFFERSON AND AGENT 55. SEN. JEFFERSON APPEARS RELAXED AND ALMOST JOVIAL. AGENT 55 IS RESERVED AND STANDS WITH HIS HANDS BEHIND HIS BACK.

SEN. JEFFERSON: WELL I WAS SIMPLY WONDERING WHAT AUTHORITY GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO BRING THAT "THING" INTO THIS FEDERAL GOVERNMENT BUILDING?

AGENT 55: SIR?

[2].
MEDIUM ON SEN. JEFFERSON RAISING ARM UP TO REACH THE GLOBULE ON AGENT 55'S HEAD. SEN. JEFFERSON'S HAND IS CLENCHED IN "KNOCKING" GESTURE. AGENT 55 LOOKS LIKE HE'S ABOUT TO FLIP THE SENATOR ONTO HIS BACK IF HE TOUCHES THE GLOBULE.

AGENT 55: SENATOR I RECOMMEND YOU NOT DO THAT.

[3].
CLOSE ON SEN. JEFFERSON. POINTING A FINGER AT VEIWER AND NO LONGER FRIENDLY.

SEN. JEFFERSON: YOU DO REALIZE THAT EVEN YOUR "EXTENDED" SECURITY POWERS DON'T CALL FOR YOU TO CARRY THAT ALIEN WEAPON PLATFORM INTO THIS BUILDING. I MEAN I'M PRETTY SURE ON THIS ONE, SINCE I BLOCKED THAT INITIATIVE YOUR BOSS TRIED TO SLIDE THROUGH LAST YEAR. SO TELL ME, WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO BRING THAT "THING" IN HERE!?

[4].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55, STANDING STOIC, HANDS BEHIND BACK.

[5].
SAME AS PANEL 4.

AGENT 55: NO ONE GAVE ME PERMISSION...SENATOR.

[6].
MEDIUM ON SEN. JEFFERSON LEANIG MENACINGLY INTO AGENT 55. AGENT 55 REMAINS STOIC.

SEN. JEFFERSON: NO ONE GAVE YOU PERMISSION? NO ONE? YOU JUST WHAT...THOUGHT YOU'D IGNORE PROTOCOL AND WALK AROUND BIG AS YOU PLEASE. THIS IS NOT ANCIENT ROME, SPECIAL AGENT 55, AND YOUR BOSS IS NOT GODDAMN CEASAR! NEXT TIME YOU VISIT THESE HALLS BE KIND ENOUGH TO LEAVE THE 3 TRILLION DOLLAR RADIOACTIVE WEAPON AT HOME. AND DON'T THINK THIS IS THE END OF IT. I WILL BE PUTTING FORTH A COMPLAINT AND YOU WILL BE CITED SPECIAL AGENT, ARE WE CLEAR?

PAGE 7.

[1].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55, STIFFER THAN USUAL.

AGENT 55: YES, SIR. WE'RE CLEAR.

[2}.
LONG ON AGENT 55 STANDING FIRM, FACING VEIWER. SEN. JEFFERSON WALKS AWAY HANDS IN POCKETS TOWARDS SEN. WINSLOW AND SEN. BAILEY. BOTH SENATORS APPEAR SURPRISED.

SEN. JEFFERSON: GOOD DAY SPECIAL AGENT.

[3].
FULL FIGURE OF AGENT 55 STRIDING QUICKLY DOWN THE HALL. A YOUNG FEMALE PAGE ATTEMPTS TO GET OUT OF HIS WAY CLINGING A STACK OF FILES TO HER CHEST.

CAP(55): WEDNESDAYS!

[4].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 TAKING FLIGHT OFF THE STEPS OUTSIDE THE UNITES STATES SENATE BUILDING. SEVERAL SENATORS AND PAGES WATCH HIM AS HE GOES.

CAP A(55): WHY ME?

CAP B(55): I MEAN REALLY, LIKE HE DOESN'T HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO?

[5].
CLOSE ON AGENT 55 FLYING OVERHEAD AS IF TAKEN FROM A PHOTO.

SFX: CLICK

[6].
MEDIUM ON SILHOUETTE, MALE, HAT AND JACKET, 35MM CAMERA IN HANDS, STANDS BESIDE TREE. BACKGROUND IS THE GREEN OUT FRONT OF THE SENATE BUILDING.

SILHOUETTE: HEH HEH.

PAGE 8.

[1].
LONG ON AGENT 55 AS HE TOUCHES DOWN ON THE AORTA LANDING PAD. THE WINDS ARE HIGH. A CREW OF FOUR F.B.I. AGENTS LED BY AGENT 26 WAIT ON THE PAD'S STAIRWAY.

CAP: THE AORTA, NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN. 11:22.

[2]. MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 AND AGENT 26, SHAKING HANDS. F.B.I. AGENTS IN THE BACKGROUND TRY TO KEEP COMPOSED IN THE MOUNTING WIND.

AGENT 26: YOU'RE LATE.

AGENT 55: YOU WISH.

[3].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 AND 26 STRIDING DOWN AN AORTA HALLWAY. F.B.I. AGENTS IN TOE.

AGENT 26: THAT TECH THAT BROUGHT US THE INFO CRACKED THE BINARY RIGHT AFTER YOU LEFT. HE SAYS ITS A MESSAGE OF SOME KIND BUT HASN'T DECIPHERED IT YET.

AGENT 55: HE FIND A SOURCE?

[4].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 AND 26 ENTERING MONITORING CHAMBER. NAVAL AND MARINE TECHNICIANS HUNCH OVER MONITORING SCREEN AND BUBBLES. THE NAVAL TECH FROM OPENING SCENE STANDS HOLDING UP HIS PAIR OF HEADPHONES IN GREETING TOWARDS THE AGENTS.

TECH: SEATTLE WASHINGTON! JUST CAME THROUGH ON THE BOUNCE BACK TRACE. THE RADIO WAVE IS SOME OFF CARRIER ON THE COAST, BUT THE BINARY? IT'S DEFINATLEY BROADCASTING FROM SEATTLE.

[5].
CLOSE ON AGENT 55 AND AGENT 26 REVIEWING A MANILLA FILE FOLDER AND ITS CONTENTS. THE NAVAL TECH STANDS AT ATTENTION.

AGENT 55: GOOD WORK...ENSIGN?

TECH: WOLVERTON, SIR.

PAGE 9.

[1].
LONG ON AORTA MONITORING CHAMBER. NAVAL AND MARINE TECHNICIANS HOVER OVER THERE MACHINERY OR WRITE ON THEIR LOG PAMPHLETS. AGENTS 55 AND 26 STAND TALKING. ENSIGN WOLVERTON SITS AT HIS STATION WITH HIS HEADSET ON, LISTENING INTENTLY.

AGENT 26: SO I GUESS THE GREELY CASE IS ON THE SHELF FOR NOW?

AGENT 55: YES, I JUST SPOKE TO THE SENATOR. THIS IS PRIORITY. I'LL GO TO SEATTLE WITH 19 AND START A FEILD TRACE. YOU AND YOUR TEAM WORK ON THAT CODE.

[2].
MEDIUM ON AGENTS 26 AND 55, TALKING IN AORTA MONITORING CHAMBER.

AGENT 26: M.A.R.R.O.W'S CORE MEMORY HASN'T BEEN BREACHED YET. THIS CODE DOESN'T SEEM AGGRESSIVE IN ANY WAY, IN FACT IT'S JUST A SIGNAL AT THIS POINT. IF IT TURNS OUT TO BE DIFFERENT AND M.A.R.R.O.W IS BREACHED...?

AGENT 55: THEN SHUT HER DOWN AGENT.

[3].
MEDUIM ON AGENT 26 RUBBING THE BACK OF HIS NECK.

AGENT 26: DID THE SENATOR OKAY THAT? REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME WE TOOK M.A.R.R.O.W. OFF LINE? THIS IS A SOPHISTICATED PEICE OF ALIEN TECHNOLOGY AND DOESN'T SUFFER IT WELL WHEN IT'S JUST TURNED OFF.

[4].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 AND 26. 55 STANDS STOIC. 26 HAS HIS HANDS ON HIS HIPS.

AGENT 55: I'M AWARE OF THE CONSEQUENCES AGENT 26. BUT THE SENATOR WANTS THE CORE MEMORY PROTECTED. IF WE LOSE ACCESS TO THE GLOBULE'S THEN WE DEAL WITH IT. WHAT'S THE MATTER 26, YOU FORGET WHAT IT WAS LIKE BEFORE YOU WERE BULLET PROOF AND COULD FLY PAST MACH 10?

AGENT 26: THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT AND YOU KNOW IT.

[5].
CLOSE ON AGENT 55. AGENT 26 AND THE MONITORING CHAMBER ARE REFLECTED IN THE GLOBULE.

AGENT 55: LET'S JUST MAKE SURE WE DON'T HAVE TO SHUT HER DOWN.

[6].
LONG ON AGENT 55, LEAVING THE MONITORING CHAMBER. AGENT 26 AND THE F.B.I. AGENTS STAND WATCHING HIM GO. THE NAVAL AND MARINE TECHNICIANS CONTINUE TO MONITOR THEIR STATIONS.

AGENT 26: ...YES, SIR.

PAGE 10.

[1].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 STRIDING DOWN AN AORTA HALLWAY.

CAP (55): WEDNESDAYS.

[2].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 ENTERING THE AORTA COMPUTER LIBRARY. AGENT 19 SITS AT A BANK OF COMPUTERS. HE HOLDS HIS CHARGE CARD IN HIS HANDS. THE CHARGE CARD IS PLUGGED IN, VIA A "FIREWIRE", TO THE NEAREST COMPUTER.

AGENT 19: DOWNLOAD AND DELETE FILE ECHO 2 THRU ECHO 3300.

CHARGE CARD: CONFIRMED.

AGENT 19: DOWNLOAD AND DELETE FILE GOLF 45 THRU IGLOO 721.

CHARGE CARD: CONFIRMED.

AGENT 19: DOWNLOAD AND DELETE FILE ZED 309 THRU ZED 1416.

CHARGE CARD: CONFIRMED.

[3].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 AND AGENT 19 SHAKING HANDS.

AGENT 55: STILL GOT YOU ON PROBATION I SEE?

AGENT 19: NAW. NOT AT ALL. I LOVE SPENDING MY TIME AND TAX PAYER DOLLARS ON FILE DELETION. I MEAN ITS NOT LIKE I HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO...LIKE CATCH BAD GUYS.

[4].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 STANDING TALKING WITH AGENT 19. AGENT 19 IS CLAPPING HIS HANDS TOGETHER IN EXCITED JOY.

AGENT 55: WELL GOOD THING FOR YOU WE HAVEN'T CAUGHT THEM ALL YET. YOU'RE BACK ON THE ROSTER 19. UNDER MY COMMAND, FOR NOW.

AGENT 19: HOT DAMN! I KNEW THE OLD MAN WOULD COME TO HIS SENSES ONCE HE FOUND OUT WHAT A SLACKER YOU ARE.

[5].
AGENT 55 IN HIS PATENTED STOIC POSE. AGENT 19 IN A 'WHAT THE FXXK?' POSE.

AGENT 55: IT WASN'T THE SENATOR THAT LET YOU OFF. I DID.

AGENT 19: WHAT THE HELL WOULD YOU DO THAT FOR?

[6].
MEDIUM ON AGENT 55 STANDING OVER A COMPUTER. HIS KNUCKLES ON THE TOP OF THE MONITOR.

AGENT 55: BECAUSE YOU'RE A GOOD FEILD AGENT AND WE HAVE A CODE YELLOW IN PROGRESS. OR WOULD YOU RATHER STAY HERE AND PUNCH NUMBERS ALL DAY?

[7].
CLOSE OF AGENT 19, PUNCHING HIS FIST INTO HIS PALM.

AGENT 19: FXXK THAT, LET'S GO!

END OF PART 1.

2008-08-05T14:11:00.000-07:00

BIZARRE THRILLERS! MAGAZINE

MAR 1939

"Circle of Spies"

2.

Major Danger arrived at the Los Angeles train station at approximately 20:00 hours. He was greeted by an Army officer. The officer flinched upon first seeing the Major. The Major grinned, accentuating the lines of the scars on his face. The Major sometimes enjoyed the reactions his scars had on people. Both men wore civilian attire. The Army Lieutenant was assigned to escort the Major to the local military adjutant's office. After a short stop for breakfast at the station diner, the two were off through the downtown area of Los Angeles in a black coupe. The Lieutenant, a one Hammerstein, John George, after five minutes of silence began talking.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
The Major nodded.
"First time to Los Angeles sir?"
The Major turned to survey the young Lieutenant. He was young, about 22, 24. College educated. Thin, but not overly so. Hands used to paperwork and not firing a weapon. All this the Major determined just by looking at the Lieutenant. The Major looked into the man's eyes and saw into his mind. The Lieutenant had graduated 65th in his class. He had not been an overly studious student. Not applying himself as best he could. Taking only a passing interest in advancement. J. Hammerstein was not in the military for "the fight". He was in it for the steady paycheck and it beat clerking for his father's insurance business in Gallantry, Texas.
The Major shook his head. 1939 is not 1917, he reminded himself, and with a wry smile on his battle ravaged face he grunted his reply.
"I passed through back in '22. Then moved up the coast. Lots changed since then."
"I wouldn't know sir. I've only been stationed here two weeks, can't say I've seen much of it yet though. Sir."
"You're not missing much, Lieutenant."
The Major had been surveying the sights and while looking past the Lieutenant, perceived a stray thought from him.
Damn this old man is a tough son of a b---h! Look at that scar!
The Major faced the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant looked away, nervous. The Major turned to face the road.
"Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to stare..."
"No need to apologize, Lieutenant. I'm used to it."
After an uncomfortably long silence, "Do you mind if I ask how you got them...sir?"
The lights from passing cars created eery shadows on the Major's face. The Lieutenant was immediately sorry he had asked.
"Belleau Wood." came the stern, stony reply. The remainder of the car ride passed in silence. The Lieutenant drove the coupe into a wooded sub-urb north of downtown Los Angeles. He parked in front of a one story home with a sparsely decorated lawn.
"This is the General's home sir. He's waiting inside for you."
The Lieutenant opened the door to the house. The major followed. They were both greeted by a woman in her early forties. The Lieutenant introduced the Major to her and identified her as the Gerneral's wife. She looked the Major over with a summary glance and smiled. She held out her hand. The Major shook it.
"Gladys Wells. Pleasure to meet you Major."
"Ma'am."
Mrs. Wells smiled and turned to the Lieutenant.
"John, come with me to the parlor. I need some help with that sofa. You'll excuse us Major? We're in the midst of preparing for a party so I apologize for the disorder. Sam is in the study straight back at the end of the hall."
"No apology necessary, ma'am."
The Major made his way to the General's study. The home was decorated in typical west coast decor. Aside from a few military photographs, the house appeared purely civilian. The door to the General's was ajar. The Major knocked three times sharply.
"Come in." came a gravelly reply.
"Sir, Major Daniel Johnson." Followed by a crisp salute gained the Major entry to the room. General Samuel Wells, in his late fifties, wearing a dark suit and bow tie, paced behind his desk, reviewing the contents of a manilla folder. His face was a chiseled mask of perplexion.
"First off, let me say I've read up on your "abilities" Major, and don't try any of that hooky-pooky on me. I don't go in for any of this shadowy operative bull. I'm doing this strictly as a favor to the Commandant. I've had my staff compiling reports for 22 hours and this is what they've come up with."
The General folded shut the manilla envelope in his hands and passed it to the Major.
"You can get Lt. Hammerstein to take you to the barracks where you can bunk for the night. If that's all Major?"
The Major saluted silently.
"Dismissed."
An hour later, the Major was sitting alone in a small barrack room reading the files from the manilla folder. Albert Billingsly; 46, Native Californian, college educated. Hobbyist aviator, purchased the Hillman Bros. Flight School in 1931. Through unidentified investments produced enough capitol to expand School into International Air Cargo Company. Suspected smuggler, though no valid evidence to support charges. Information on smuggling reported to the F.B.I., source; disgruntled employee, Horace Cannlin; 144 Brookshire Drive. No other information available. The Major decided to get some sleep and pursue the lead he had on Horace Cannlin in the morning.

***
09:20 hours found the Major standing outside a dingy looking flop-house, 144 Brookshire Dr. Inside the landlord wiped his sweaty underarms. He was standing in his door frame on the bottom floor of the 3 story apartment hotel. The few questions the Major put to the man were all answered with lies. The Major simply smiled and said he would return later. It didn't take long for the sweaty man to don a coat and hat and rush off to relay information. The Major followed in a requestioned coupe from the Army Motor Pool. He plucked the location of the meeting from the sweaty man's thoughts and arrived before his quarry. The sweaty man took a seat at the bar, ordered a double scotch n' pine and nervously tapped his feet. This man was an amateur. The Major dismissed him as any one to be concerned about. The big man who came into the bar a half an hour later however, was.
The man was big. He outsized the Major 2:1. And his thoughts were cold. A killer's thoughts. A practiced killer's thoughts. This man had done bad things. The Major respected the big man right away. Not out of fear or sentiment. The Major respected the big man out of recognition. The Major also was a practiced killer. And was wondering how he would fare against the big man in combat when the sweaty man let out a yelp and made a run for the back door. The big man did not rush after the sweaty man. He simply sat next to the vacant seat left by the sweaty man. Thirty seconds later the sweaty man returned being escorted by a well dressed man wearing gloves. The well dressed man urged the sweaty man forward, prodding him from his coat pocket. The sweaty man sat reluctantly, obviously nervous. The well dressed man stood close to the sweaty man, scanning the faces of the bar patrons. The big man drank from the glass of water he ordered. The noisy din of the bar recommenced drowning out conversation. The Major easily slipped into the mind of the sweaty man and 'listened in'.
What are you so nervous about, Dooley. We've got you covered. No reason to get jumpy.
I...I...I'm sorry. I was just expecting Malone. N...no..not you.
Am I so frightening Dooley? Be honest.
Y...ye..yes. I'm afraid of you.
That's right. And you should be. You know what happens if we meet again?
Y...ye..yes.
Then answer my questions honestly and we wont ever have to. Understood?
I understand.
Was he a cop?
I don't think so. He didn't flash no badge or anything.
What did he say?
He...he said he was an Interested party. He said he just wanted to talk to Mr. Cannlin.
Sounds like a fed.
He didn't say he was one.
They don't always have to. Dooley it's you're lucky day. Were going to see the boss.
The..the boss? But why? I told ya the truth...honest.
I know you did Dooley. That is why we are going to see the boss. So follow, Greeley.

The Major watched the three men leave. He waited till they were a block away and followed them into the hills in his coupe.

2008-07-22T09:03:00.000-07:00

JUNE 2010

AMERICAN JUSTICE COMICS #444

"THE OUTLAW RETURNS!"

Page 1.

Panel 1:
CLOSE: Foreground; The Masked head of the OUTLAW, wearing a "wharf-rat" hat. Background; shadow.

Caption: I am an outlaw.

Panel 2:
CLOSE: Foreground; Colt Single Action Army Six Shooter, in the OUTLAW's gloved hand, pointed at viewer.

Caption: My actions are illegal.

Panel 3:
WIDE: Foreground; In profile, the OUTLAW stands pointing the Colt Single Action Army down at a cringing MAN in his sixties,wearing a business suit. Mid-ground; Overturned desk and office chairs, paper, files and potted plants strewn about, a general mess, the kind that happens after a particularly violent donnybrook. Background; A large BLACK MAN wearing parachute pants and a white "wife-beater" t-shirt lays face down amidst the rubble of a shattered door. Behind him half a door hangs on it's hinges.

Caption: I do not do this for words like "right" or "wrong".

Page 2.

Panel 1:
Foreground; LEFT; In CLOSE, rear of OUTLAW's head and hat. Mid-ground; broken glass, strewn papers on the floor. Background; RIGHT; Overturned desk, A WOMAN with a torn business skirt and shirt huddles next to the desk. She is attempting to hold her torn shirt together across her breast.

Caption: I do not do this to protect the weak.

Panel 2:
CLOSE: The OUTLAW's gloved finger on the trigger of the Colt Single Action Army.

Caption: I do this because it is what I was born to do.

Panel 3:
EXTREME CLOSE: The masked "eyes" of the OUTLAW.

Caption: I do this for myself.

Page 3.

Panel 1:
FULL: The MAN in business suit, cowering amidst the debris of the office, his back is against a wall. The wall has water stains dripping down to floor. A puddle of water and a shattered potted plant at the MAN's feet.

Caption: This man is a rapist.

Panel 2:
(PHOTO REPLICA) FULL: The MAN driving fancy sports car. Large BLACK MAN sits next to him all bodyguard. MAN is on a cell phone, appears pleased.

Panel 3:
(PHOTO REPLICA) WIDE (Angle down from 30' up): MAN; on cell phone, carrying briefcase into high rise office building. BLACK MAN follows, still all bodyguard. Pedestrians mill about on sidewalk.

Panel 4:
(PHOTO REPLICA) WIDE: Foreground; Barred gates, Two Pedestrians walking LEFT. Mid-ground; Front of posh restaurant, brick-face, Italian, large window. BLACK MAN body-guarding it outside near window, open jacket reveals shoulder holster. Background; through window, MAN sits smiling across table at attractive WOMAN eating spaghetti.

Caption (stretches across Panel 2,3,4): I've watched him for three months.

Panel 5:
FULL: Standing behind a JANITORIAL CLEANING WAGON, dressed in a JANITOR JUMPSUIT, the OUTLAW, facing viewer, taking picture with a 35mm camera.

Caption: Tonight he showed his true self.

Panel 6:
(PHOTO REPLICA/BLURRY) FULL: Foreground; The MAN tearing at WOMAN's clothes. WOMAN resisting. BLACK MAN holds WOMAN by the arms. Background; Door to posh office, potted plants on either side.

Page 4.

Panel 1:
CLOSE: MAN in business suit, crying, hands held up, toward viewer, in defense.

MAN: Please don't.

Caption: He starts talking, thinking it will help him.

Panel 2:
MID: OUTLAW pointing Colt Single Action Army at viewer.

Caption: Thinking it will stay my hand.

Panel 3:
MID: MAN still crying, hands in pleading prayer.

MAN: I didn't mean any harm.

Panel 4:
CLOSE: WOMAN, dress torn, trying to hold her blouse together, tearful and angry.

Caption: He doesn't understand.

Panel 5;
CLOSE: MAN, hands down, looks up at viewer remorseful.

MAN: I can't stop myself.

Panel 6:
(PHOTO REPLICA/BLURRY (same as pg.3,pnl. 6)) CLOSE: MAN ripping WOMAN's blouse. WOMAN's breast exposed.

Caption: He is weak.

Page 5. (Entire page rendered in 1970's style, reminiscent of George Tuska)

Panel 1:
FULL: MAN in business suit, younger thirties, side-burned, 70's wide tie, ripping clothes off a young BLACK WOMAN (looking all PAM GRIER).

Caption: I tell him what he did to my mother.

Panel 2:
WIDE: Foreground; BLACK WOMAN, torn clothes, head shoved into dirty mattress, angry, teeth grit. Mid-ground; MAN thrusting at her from behind. Looks pleased. Back ground; Walls of a wooden shack, Two "hillbilly" white men stand looking on laughing.

Caption: She never told me about him while she lived.

Panel 3:
CLOSE: BLACK WOMAN's face, ANGRY!

Caption: I found her journals later.

Panel 4:
CLOSE: Same as previous panel, though a solitary tear falls down her cheek.

Caption: At first I hated her for keeping this...

Panel 5:
CLOSE: MAN's face, vicious and happy.

Caption: I came to understand her reasons.

Page 6.

Panel 1:
CLOSE: MAN (sixty), pleading, in tears.

Caption: I'm going to shoot this man down.

Panel 2:
CLOSE: Colt Single Action Army Six-Shooter in OUTLAW's gloved hand.

Caption: With these.

Panel 3:
Foreground;LEFT; WESTERN OUTLAW, rear shot, firing toward background. Mid-ground; CENTER; smoke billows from WESTERN OUTLAW's Colt Action Army Six-shooters. Three severed fingers fly through the air. Background; Two duded up western cowpokes, one gut shot and cringing, the other holding up a hand in defense, three of his fingers are blown off, the hand is bloody.

Caption: These guns have killed many rapists.

Panel 4:
CLOSE: Waist of WESTERN OUTLAW, hands crossed at belt buckle, gun holsters hang at hips, duster open and back.

Caption: They are the weapons of the Outlaw.

Panel 5:
The MODERN OUTLAW pointing barrel of his Colt Single Action Army at viewer. (EXTREME CLOSE on barrel in Foreground, foreshorten rest.)

Caption: I am the Outlaw.

Panel 6-8:
CLOSE: Head to MID shots of 1950's, ,'60's, '70's and '90's OUTLAWS firing guns.

Caption (stretches across all panels): Many hands have held these weapons over the years. Many stories have been told about them.

Page 7.

Panel 1:
WIDE: Foreground; HISPANIC MAN in "showbiz" style 1950's cowboy getup, embroidered and fringy, opening the lid of a dusty ancient looking treasure chest. Rays of light pour from the chest and illuminate the surprised face of the HISPANIC MAN. Back ground; Cave walls covered in undecipherable runic script.

Caption: Some say the guns are magical.

Panel 2:
Foreground; GRIM 90's OUTLAW, bandaged hands and face, bullet riddled t-shirt, camo BDU pants, guns blazing fire and smoke,leaping forward. Background; Pair of DEMONIC EYES float in the shadowy black.

Caption: Other's tell that a demon has claim over them.

Panel 3:
(B&W PEN & INK ILLUSTRATION, circa style: 1938): FULL: 1930's OUTLAW; tall, gangly, dark overcoat, "wharf-rat" hat pulled low, black scarf over nose and mouth. Holsters buckled out side of coat. Brandishing pair of Colt Single Action Army Six Shooters.

Caption: This is the truth.

Panel 4:
FULL: Two COLT SINGLE ACTION ARMY SIX-SHOOTERS, slightly weathered.

Caption: They've merely been taken up by determined people.

Page 8.

Panel 1:
CLOSE: Foreground; Hand; middle, ring and pinky finger missing, bloody stumps remain, held up toward viewer in "defensive" gesture. Background; Smoke.

Caption: They do not always hit their mark.

Panel 2:
CLOSE: OUTLAW's masked face inches form MAN's. Colt Single Action Army pressed into MAN's face. MAN, eyes shut, face turned toward viewer, pathetically crying.

Caption: But at this range I wont have to worry about that.

Panel 3-6 (one large image split into 4 panels, caption in each panel):
OUTLAW stands LEFT, pointing his gun at MAN, cowering bottom RIGHT. Strewn papers, broken pottery ground around and between. Background; Shadow.

Caption 1: This is more than revenge.

Caption 2: This is more than justice.

Caption 3: This is fate.

Caption 4: this is the fate of a rapist.

Page 9.

Panel 1:
CLOSE: OUTLAW's masked face.

Caption: I am the Outlaw.

Panel 2:
FULL: SILHOUETTE; OUTLAW jumping between buildings.

Caption: My actions are illegal.

Panel 3:
WIDE: Foreground; WOMAN and two POLICE OFFICERS standing, WOMAN draped in blanket, sipping from steaming cup. POLICE OFFICERS writing in pad, scratching head. Background; Fire-truck and police cars, flashing lights, uniformed men rush about.

Caption: The Law does not have all the answers.

Panel 4:
FULL: Smashed office door and potted plants, criss-crossed with CAUTION-CRIME SCENE-POLICE tape. The shattered glass of the door reads:

EVLIN,
PRATE LAW

Caption: Somethings a person must answer for themselves.

Panel 5:
WIDE: Smashed office; overturned desk, papers strewn about, large BLACK MAN face down amid debris. MAN, sitting in shadow, legs visible.

Caption: This man raped my mother.

Panel 6:
CLOSE: MAN, torso and shoulders, blood spattered shirt and tie.

Caption: This rapist is my father.

Panel 7:
CLOSE: Foreground; MAN, head lolled to LEFT, right eye missing, bloody shot wound, top of head also missing, blood covers face. Background; Shadowy wall immediately behind, blood and small chunks of brain and skull slide down wall.

Caption: My father is dead.

END.

2008-06-23T10:10:00.000-07:00

BIZARRE THRILLERS! MAGAZINE FEB 1939

"Circle of Spies"
1.

When it all began Major "Danger" was half asleep. The train ride from Waakogan had been uneventful until 03:00 hours. The Major had gone to the observation car, to relieve himself of the heat from his cramp passenger car. Upon arriving he found a secluded spot near the rear of the car and promptly drifted off. He "heard" them before he saw them.
I'm sure he isn't on to us.
It won't be long now.
This blow will be decisive...
I wonder if Amelia is okay?
His instincts brought him to full consciousness. From years of military and combat service he could intimate by the tone of the conversation that something dire was in the planning. Three men appeared at the far end of the observation car. The Major pretended to sleep heavily. The men noticed him and took a seat out of hearing distance. This did not prevent the Major from listening in however. Major Daniel "Danger" Johnson possessed a valuable ability that made him indispensable as a military intelligence officer. From a young age, he displayed what his maternal Grandmother referred to as "the calling", an ability to perceive the thoughts of others at a distance.
This plan had better work.
Toes gone numb again, shoes too tight.
Incredibly large.
Upstate is much pricier.
Once the bomb is set we'll have five minutes to evacuate.
Major Danger yawned and stretched in a loud and obvious manner. He stood and pretended to be waking from a restful slumber. He shook his limbs as he walked towards the three conspirators.
Careful.
G-----n bums.
Push, shove, then draw the knife.
Stiff elbow, Amelia can't be dead.
Push, shove, then draw the knife.
The men wore dark suits and hats. None of them looked up at the Major as he approached. He was able to knock the one nearest him unconscious as he passed. With a hard knuckle punch to the rear of the skull and a follow up blow to the kidney area, the thug complaining of his elbow and toes dropped easily. The element of surprise still in the Major's favor, with no hesitation from knocking the first conspirator out, he leapt over the unconscious body and pushed both his legs into the belly of the man with the knife. The man had not had time to properly draw his concealed weapon, as Major Danger also knew the location on the man's body where he hid the knife. Thus needing to reach behind him to retrieve it, the man had left his belly unguarded and so took the full force of the kick. He passed out while Major Danger confronted the final conspirator.
This one had a gun. Major Danger had his fists, feet and years of combat experience. As well as the added advantage of knowing precisely what his enemy was thinking.
Pull the trigger!
The gun went off loudly. The bullet shattered the window of the observation car. Major Danger was unscathed. He had rushed the criminal at the precise time the trigger was being pulled and by knocking aside the thugs arm, deflected the shot aimed at him. The Major, through clenched teeth, interrogated his enemy.
"Where's the bomb?"
"W..What bomb? I don't know anything about no..."
The Major grabbed the man by his lapels. Inches from his face, the conspirator looked into eyes that would brook no lies. The Major's face added to the allure of fear. Major Danger had been a soldier since the Great War. He was a mere sixteen when the War began but within his first year he had distinguished himself as an excellent forward observer and riflemen. His face bore the scars of battle. The most prominent being three jagged slashes extending upwards and to the right, across his lips and into the middle of his cheek. The conspirator was properly intimidated by this visage.
"The only thing that's going to save you from being thrown out that window is the truth...now!"
Major Danger saw the valise and it's hiding place before his prisoner spoke.
"I..It's in..one twenty one. I swear. It's not armed."
The Major wasted no time. He restrained the unconscious conspirators with confiscated seat-belts and took the remaining one with him. It didn't take long until the Major had the conspirators under guard of the train bulls and the explosives rendered harmless. Four hours later the train came to a deserted station in the middle of a barren plateau. The Major and his "cargo" departed. The train continued on it's route toward civilization through the early morning darkness. Within three minutes the Major was greeted by the familiar sounds of a jeep echoing in the distance.
The jeep pulled up to the loading ramp of the station. The Marine behind the wheel saluted. Major Danger returned the salute. The prisoners were loaded and secured into the jeep. The jeep coughed off through the Midwest desert toward the rocky crags in the distance. After five minutes the jeep pulled to a stop at a lone guard post. The post was manned by a single Marine with a rifle. The placard on the post read;
Welcome to Fort Alpha.
Security Clearance required.
The Major handed over his credentials to the guard. The guard looked them over, looked over the prisoners, saluted and handed the Major back his dossier. The jeep passed through the gate and into Fort Alpha. Major Danger stepped out of the jeep and onto the steps of Alpha H.Q. He instructed that his prisoners be taken to the holding brig and that they were to be kept separated. The Major was greeted by a staff secretary and told that Commandant Stevenson wanted to speak to him. Commandant Stevenson was reviewing paperwork when the Major entered his office.
"So how was Waakogan, Major?"
"Fine sir."
"Have a seat."
The Major sat in one of the two chairs in front of the Commandant's desk. The Commandant struck a conversational tone.
"Nice work on the train by the way. Do we know where they came from?"
"Yes, sir. They work for a man named Billingsly. He operates out of his Airplane hangers near Los Angeles. They have a big meeting there in just a few days to plan some "decisive" action against the United States. I probed further but this is all they really knew besides some politico babbling about their cause."
"Why bomb the train?"
"Just showing off. They wanted to make an impression at the meeting."
"Well handle the three you brought in. I want you write me up your Action Report and then talk to the Quartermaster about what you'll need. Report back to me at 14:00 hours and I'll give your dossier."
Two smart salutes and the Major returned to his own office. His staff secretary, Melissa McEntry, was busy filing folders when he arrived. She turned crisply.
"Welcome back, Major. Shall I bring you some coffee?"
"No thank you Melissa. I'm not staying long. I'll be writing my AR. And I'll need to speak to the Quartermaster in about one hour."
"Certainly, sir." A brief pause. "Where are you off to next, if you may say?"
"Los Angeles."

2008-06-17T07:52:00.000-07:00

A glimpse into the Futurepast!

Yes this is a bit of a spoiler, but too fun to not share!

2008-06-15T13:52:00.000-07:00

Top Cop Comics #13 OCT 1938

Title: "The Reign of Doc Terror! Part Two"

Page 1:

Panel 1:
Foreground; On the extreme left and right are numerous silhouettes of cloaked figures. Mid-ground; Sally Hemmings, an attractive dark haired young woman, her hands up to her temples, she grips a hand kerchief. She is in obvious despair and looks at the silhouettes in front of her with a terrified gaze. Background; More cloaked figures, we can see their faces, all wear skull head masks. The remaining is all dark shadows that flow up into a hazy image of Doc Terror's face and looming black hands above everything.

Caption:
Sally Hemmings had no idea why she was suddenly seeing this grim visage everywhere she turned. She had no idea of the diabolical machinations of her terrifying tormentor. All she had was the help of one man, Tom Jefferson, the Daring Detective!

Panel 2:
Foreground; Mid-profile; Sally Hemmings nervous, timid, looking forward in fear. She tightly grips the handle of her handbag. Background; A line of "normal" looking folks stream past.

Caption:
Another day in the city. People go about their simple lives.

Sally (thinking):
Everything will be all right. Just a little further and I'll have made it!

Panel 3:
Foreground; Rear full silhouette; Sally,in a day dress, standing still, looks upwards. Back ground; Small awning reads Open Arms Apts., doorman next to glass front entrance . The apartment building fills remaining.

Caption:
What help can the peculiar woman need? And what exactly is her problem anyway?

Sally (thinking):
This is my last hope. If they can't help me...I don't know what might happen to me.

Page 2:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; Foreground; Tom Jefferson sits, relaxing on plush sofa. His expression is condescending. Mary Blake (Tom's sister) an attractive blonde,wearing a day dress, stands holding a drink down towards Tom. Background; Large window behind, city scape view. Middle class swank, bookshelves and posh chairs.

Tom:
Look sis, I don't know what all this secretive stuff is with you, but how about tellin' me what this is all about? I'm giving up a perfectly good Sunday for this.

Mary:
I didn't want to say anything earlier because it wasn't my place to. Sally should be on her way here and she'll tell you when she gets here. You should see her Tom, she's dreadful.

Panel 2:
Foreground; Mary catching Sally, who is fainting into her arms, through the open doorway of the apartment.

Mary:
Sally, oh my! Tom bring me some water quick!

Panel 3:
Wide shot; Foreground; Mary sits next to Sally on the sofa. Sally looks at her handbag in fear, griping it tightly . Mary appears worried and has a comforting hand on Sally's back. Background; Tom Jefferson, standing behind the couch, in profile, lighting a pipe.

Sally:
I started having terrifying nightmares about a month ago. I was being stalked by a menacing figure in a black robe and terrible face. I went to a psychotherapist but it hasn't helped any and now I'm seeing him when I'm not sleeping! I don't know what to do. I don't know where to turn!

Panel 4:
Mid shot; Mary standing opposite Tom. Mary taps her chin and bites her lip, looks perplexed. Tom puffs on his pipe.

Caption:
After calming Ms. Hemmings down and seeing her to bed, the Jefferson siblings conference about their childhood friend and her plight.

Mary:
We've known Sally along time Tom, and I've never seen her so terrified. Something has really got her spooked.

Tom:
Well I'm not one for believing in ghosts. I'm sure there's a perfectly rational explanation. What stuns me is I still can't believe that's the same girl I used to pull the pigtails of. She's grown into an attractive lady.

Panel 5;
Mid shot; Mary Blake poking her index finger at Tom's chest. She looks angry. Tom, flustered, holds his pipe up in front of him, sheildingly.

Mary:
You listen here Thomas Jefferson! That girl needs our help and I'll have none of your shenanigans. You here me!?

Tom:
Cut it out sis, I didn't mean anything by it.

Panel 6:
Wide shot; Mary's bedroom. Sally sitting up, staring into a steaming cup. She wears a bathrobe. Mary sitting on edge of bed looking at Sally. Tom leans against the bedroom door frame. His hands in his pockets.

Caption:
Later once, Sally awakes...

Sally:
That's the first time I've slept without seeing that loathsome face. But I still feel him lurking just beyond the shadows.

Mary:
You can stay here as long as you need to dear. I'll look out for you until we can find out what might be causing these bad dreams. Maybe you should see your Doctor again?

Panel 7:
Waist level; Tom, pounding his fist into his palm, squinting fiercely.

Tom:
Sally I'll do all I can to help! Why don't you come by the station after your appointment and I'll take you for a walk. Just to show you there's nothing to fear out there in the world.

Page 3:

Panel 1:
Foreground; Silhouette, rear view, man sitting in chair, legs crossed. Background; Sally Hemmings laying on a psychiatric couch. Her right arm raised over her eyes.

Caption:
The next day.

Sally:
I was hoping there might be some advice you might be able to offer me Doctor. Do you have any theories on where these nightmare visions might be coming from?

Doctor:
Hmmmm...

Panel 2:
Foreground; Sally, in corner profile, one hand flung forward in defense. Background: the looming cloaked figure of Doc Terror!

Doc Terror:
...I think I might my dear. I think I might indeed, hehehehehehe!

Sally:
AHHHHH!!
Panel 3:
Foreground; Tom, wearing his hat and jacket, looking down at his wrist watch. Background; The front desk of the station house. The desk sergeant fills out paper work. A uniformed policeman escorts a handcuffed prisoner by.

Tom:
I wonder where she could be? Her appointment was over nearly an hour ago. Maybe I should go check on her?

Panel 4:
Mid shot; Tom in phone booth, receiver up to his ear.

Tom:
You haven't heard from her since she went to see her doctor either? Why don't you give me that address and I'll see if they know anything.

Panel 5:
Mid shot: Foreground; Tom behind the wheel of his Packard. Squinting in concentration. Background; buildings and trees blur past.

Tom (thinking):
I hope nothing terrible has happened to her!

Panel 6:
Wide shot; Foreground; Tom standing in center looking up at the background. His Packard is parked to the left of him. Background; A two story brownstone, surrounded on the left and right by high hedges.

Tom (thinking):
This is the place. Pretty cozy for a head shrinker.

Panel 7:
Mid shot; Foreground; Tom, his back to us, opening the front door of the brownstone. Back ground; The brownstone entryway. Placard next to door reads: 13 Black Pool Drive Randolph Oliver Ryan, Ph.D.. Psychoanalytical Studies and Behavioral Specialist Office Hours: by appointment.

Tom:
Yeah real, cozy.

Page 4:

Panel 1:
Mid shot; Foreground; Tom, his back to us, standing, hands in coat pocket, left of panel. Mid ground; Large oak desk top, neat stacks of paper and folders. At the desk sits a young woman wearing glasses and a business dress. She looks up at Tom Jefferson disapprovingly.

Secretary:
I'm sorry but the Doctor has no room for new patients. I can give you a referral if you would like?

Panel 2:
Mid shot; Tom, cocking his hat back, right hand on hip, jacket open, looking down slightly to the right. His expression is slightly amused.

Tom:
My heads on just fine, ma'am. I'm not here for any analysis. I'm looking for my friend. She had an appointment here earlier and I was wondering if she might have said where she was going? Her name is Sally Hemmings.

Panel 3:
Mid shot; Secretary, straightening a stack of papers by tapping it on the desk top, eyes closed, her expression is one of boredom.

Secretary:
I'm sorry sir, but I simply can't just hand out information about our clients to perfect strangers. If you are concerned about your friend perhaps you should call her at home. Good day to you.

Panel 4:
Mid shot, side view; Tom pushing open office door. Behind him the Secretary is standing raising her hands in fright.

Tom:
I'm a police detective, lady and I think I'd rather talk to the good doctor instead of you!

Secretary:
No, you can't go in there!

Panel 5:
Wide shot; 3/4 down; Tom stands in the center of an empty office room. The walls and floor are bare aside from possibly a few scraps of paper.

Tom:
What the !?

Panel 6:
Mid shot; Tom, hunched over, hat off, hair falling in front of his face, one hand covering his mouth. A gas cloud billows all around him.

Tom:
COUGH-COUGH! Should've guessed it...COUGH...13 is my unlucky number...COUGH-COUGH!

Page 5:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; Black stretches from left to right, at right side of panel gray blurry shapes, one resembling a twisted and warped human figure.

Caption;
Time passes and Tom Jefferson slowly emerges from the inky recesses of sleep.

Panel 2:
Full shot; Tom, wearing an undershirt and his trousers, sits strapped to a chair. The straps hold his arms behind his back and buckle his feet to the chair legs. His head is slumped forward, a lock of his hair dangles down.

Caption:
Still groggy from the gassing, the Daring Detective finds himself in a most uncomfortably familiar situation.

Tom:
Ugh...uh....

Panel 3:
Wide shot; On the left; Large machine generator covered with diodes, dials, levers and buttons. Wiring and piping extend from the top of the machine to the top of the panel. On the right; Black

Doc Terror (from the black):
Mr. Jefferson...

Panel 4:
On the left; The edge of the machine and wiring from panel 3. On the right; slightly obscured skull hovering 6' above the floor, in a field of black shadows.

Doc Terror:
We've simply got to stop meeting like this...

Panel 5:
On the left; the machine. On the right; Full figure of Doc Terror emerging from the shadows, cape billows forward, hands folded at mid waist.

Doc Terror:
People might become suspicious.

Panel 6:
Mid shot, side view; Foreground; Doc Terror, hands clasped in front, circles Tom. Doc Terror's robes blend into the shadowy background. Tom struggles feebly at his restraints.

Doc Terror:
Struggle all you like, Detective. You'll find my bindings quite secure.

Tom:
Ugh...huh...

Panel 7:
Close up, profile; Tom, head up, defiant, squinty- eyed, through gritted teeth, pulling forward against the restraints. Muscles bulge with energy.

Tom:
You wont get away from me this time you diabolical dissident! The whole of this city's police will be out in force looking for me!

Panel 8:
Mid shot, profile; Doc Terror hunches over a tray set atop a table. His skull face, turned to us, grinning devilishly. His right hand is holding a very sinister looking scalpel. Other wicked looking implements can be seen on the tray.

Doc Terror:
My dear Tom Jefferson, that is what I'm counting on. Though by the time they get here I doubt they'll be able to do much for you.

Page 6:

Panel 1:
Mid-shot; Foreground, center; Doc Terror, his back to us, holds up his hands as if conducting a major symphony, in his right hand is the wicked looking scalpel. Background; The weird machinery dominates the frame, wiring and piping like a wind organ extend upwards from the machine into darkness.

Doc Terror:
However, we are getting ahead of ourselves. We have much to attend to before the moment of climax arrives. You of course recognize my machine, though I have made some modifications to it since last you encountered it. By applying what I have discovered amongst the sciences of pharmacology and psychology to mechanics I have brought my Grand Experiment to its next phase!

Panel 2:
Wide shot; Foreground: Left; full figure of Doc Terror, left hand extended in a displaying motion. Right; An eight foot tall cylinder, wires and piping extend from numerous connectors on the cylinders surface towards the background, a small billowing cloud of gas seeps from its bottom. Background; The 10' high, 15' wide machine is fully visible. It resembles a giant Pipe Organ with numerous dials, buttons and levers covering it. A large Tesla coil is connected to it on the right.

Doc Terror:
Behold! The Organ of Terror! Through the use of carefully composed musical strains working in conjunction with my Gas Chamber, I can evoke in any living being their most terrifying experience, over and over again! Hehehehehe!

Panel 3:
Mid-shot, Tom, facing us, lunges forward struggling against his restraints.

Tom:
You fiend! I'll put a stop to you before you can hurt another soul! You wont get the chance to use that machine on me or anybody else, ever again!

Panel 4:
Close up; Doc Terror rubbing his hands in diabolical delight (classic cinema villain style).

Doc Terror:
Such bravado! How do you expect to stop me Tom Jefferson? With brave words and fists? Do you think I have not thought through all the contingencies before enacting my Grand Experiment? Do you even have a clue as to the truth of the things you have seen? You are shining proof of the ignorance that human-kind has become!

Panel 5:
Mid-shot; Doc Terror, facing us, stands next to the closed cylinder, gently caressing it. Gas clouds billow upwards from below.

Doc Terror:
Through your bumbling and dumb-luck you have made it this far. It was mere chance that you came upon my operations. Not from any solid deduction. The Daring Detective, Bah?! Your boasts to stop me from using my machine are pointless.

Panel 6:
Full shot; The cylinder, open to the sides, gas billows out and upward. To the left of the cylinder, shrouded in fog and shadows, Doc Terror stands menacingly. Inside the cylinder, Sally Hemmings is strapped to a vertically standing table. She is in her undergarments. Her head tilts slightly to one shoulder. Her face is void of emotion and her eyes are blank.

Doc Terror:
I have been using my Organ of Terror for some time now!

Page 7:

Panel 1:
Mid shot; Tom Jefferson lunging forward against his restraints!

Tom:
You psychopath! If you've harmed her in any way, I'll...!

Panel 2:
Mid shot; Foreground: Left; Doc Terror examining a vicious looking scalpel, head slightly tilted to the right. Background: Right; Sally Hemmings, restrained and terrified.

Doc Terror:
Come ahead then Mr. Jefferson! Show me how you are going to stop me from doing exactly has I have planned.

Panel 3:
Full shot; Tom standing up. His restraints are limp though still encumbering. The chair on which the restraints were is exploding in splinters! His fist clenched! Tom's visage is one of squinty eyed justice!

Caption:
And so Tom Jefferson, the Daring Detective does only what any person can do when faced with menacing terror! He stands up to face it!

Panel 4:
Wide shot; Foreground: Left; Doc Terror stumbles backwards, enshrouded in fog, towards his machine. His right hand is thrown up in defense. Center; Tom Jefferson, fists cocked for a punch, bursts through billowing gas clouds towards Doc Terror! Background: Right; Fog billows out of the open cylinder. Sally Hemmings, restrained, looks on in horror!

Caption;
And rushes forward to combat it!

Panel 5:
Mid shot; Foreground: Center; Doc Terror falling backwards into his machine. Background: The Organ of Terror; sparking and dangling wires.

Doc Terror:
My own hubris is to blame! I should have just killed you and now I will suffer...

Panel 6:
Full shot; Foreground: Center; Doc Terror electrocuted! His arms thrown wide. Electricity surrounds and shreds his cloak and face. Smoke pours from his burning body. Background: Left & Right; dangling, sparking wires descending form top of panel.

Doc Terror:
YEAAARRRGGHHH!!!!!!!

Page 8:

Panel 1:
Mid shot; Foreground: Center & Left; Tom Jefferson holds a frightened Sally Hemmings in his arms. Both appear visibly shaken from the events that have transpired. Background: Right; The charred remains of Doc Terror and shadow.

Tom:
You're safe now Sally. That's the last we've seen of that maniac.

Sally:
Oh Tom! Thank goodness!

Panel 2:
Mid shot: Left; Mary Blake, dressed in an evening robe. Her expression relieved. Right; Tom, in a double breasted suit, holds a glass in his right hand. His expression dour.

Caption:
Upon informing the station house of the whereabouts of Doc Terror, Tom Jefferson returns to his sister, Mary Blake's apartment with Sally Hemmings.

Mary:
Thank the stars he didn't have a gun Tom! Heaven knows what you would've done then? I'm glad that's the end of it though. You do scare me so with your antics.

Tom:
It's not over quite yet sis. Though the man is dead, his "plan", whatever that may have been, might still come off. I've got to put the pieces together, and fast!

Panel 3:
Mid shot; Tom sits at his desk, hat cocked back, coat off, rummaging through files of papers. His desk is stacked with and surrounded by files.

Caption:
Back at the station house, Tom carefully reviews some of his old cases.

Tom:
There's gotta be a connection here I'm just not seeing.

Panel 4:
Full shot; Foreground: Center; Tom, in coat and hat, pounds his right hand into his left palm. His eyes squinty revelation. Background: The shadowy city docks. Shimmering water beyond.

Caption:
Even visiting a former 'scene of the crime' to try and gain a fresh perspective. Until...

Tom:
That's it! I've figured it out! I've got to get back to headquarters and tell the Lieutenant!

Panel 5:
Mid shot; Left; Tom, standing, leant forward, coat off, hat cocked, shirt sleeves up, knuckles on desk. Center; Lt. Rick Reynolds desk, stacks of paper and office paraphernalia. Right; Lt. Rick Reynolds, sitting, leant forward, puffing a cigar. Both look attentive to the other.

Tom:
His plan had been to contaminate the water with that powder he developed from his gas and then through hypnotic music, terrorize the entire populace of this city, perhaps the nation!

Rick: What kind of sick mind would even contemplate such a horrifying concept?

Panel 6:
Close up; The shining, squinty eyed grin of Tom Jefferson.

Tom:
What really matters is that we've put an end to his mad scheme. I can't imagine the kind of world this would be if everyone lived in fear of such terrorists?

THE END.

2008-06-05T08:51:00.000-07:00

In the works

Just a quick tease of what's in our artist's sketchbook.

2008-06-04T19:08:00.001-07:00

DOC TERROR!!!

2008-06-02T08:55:00.000-07:00

Top Cop Comics #12 SEP 1938

Title: "The Reign of Doc Terror!"

Author: Ryan Buck

Page 1:

Panel 1:
Dominating the foreground, on the left, is the cloaked figure of Doc Terror. His cape billows out like streaming tentacles towards the background, where Tom Jefferson is strapped to an upright table. Tom is writhing in agony. Covering Tom's arms and bare chest are electrodes. Wires extend from the electrodes to a giant machine in the background, covered with dials and tubes. Electricity passes along the wires. At the bottom of the page, under the caption, is the title written in "electric" type.

Caption:
This scene may be too shocking for some of our readers with low constitutions. But if you can stomach to watch, follow along as Tom Jefferson, the Daring Detective faces his most deadly challenge to date. And see how he brings the deadly mastermind to justice in...{Title}

Page 2:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; Foreground; five huddled thugs , wearing trench-coats hide behind garbage cans. They are firing towards the background from cover. Mid- ground; billowing clouds of smoke. Background; three uniformed cops and Tom Jefferson rush toward the foreground, guns blazing.

Caption:
In our last story, Detective Tom Jefferson had cracked the "Case of the Silver Pen" and was in the process of mopping up the O'Malley Mob.

Tom:
C'mon men, these mugs ain't so tough!

Panel 2:
Side shot; Foreground; One thug looking at back ground, frightened. Background; Two thugs doubling over from bullet wounds in the belly.

Thug 1:
Nuts! Freddy and Joe Got it! All right coppers I surrender!"

Panel 3:
Foreground; Tom Jefferson prodding the dead body of a thug with his foot. He is in the process of cocking back his hat. His expression is dour. Next to him stands a uniformed policeman, looking on. Background; the remaining two policemen stand in front of the last thug, holding guns on him. The thug has his hands in the air, he looks scared.

Tom:
I guess that does it for the O'Malley Mob. But I still never found out who these crooks were in cahoots with.

Panel 4:
Side shot; Tom sitting at his desk looking up at Lt. Rick Reynolds. Tom appears nonchalant and relaxed. Rick is bent forward leaning his knuckles on Tom's desk. His face is red and consternated.

Rick:
So you think that does it do you? You just bring crooks in while the rest of us do all the paperwork? Well if I've told you once I've told you a hundred times there's more to police work than just shooting at criminals...

Tom:
Relax boss, I've already got my reports started. I just have to interview the last of the O'Malley Mob and then I'll be all done.

Panel 5:
Foreground; Tom, his back to us, sits at his desk looking toward background. Background; Rick, walking away from Tom's desk, holding his right hand up and swirling his index finger in the air, paper trailing after him.

Rick:
You better hope so, Jefferson! Or else it'll cost ya two weeks pay and lunch for the station house!

Page 3:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; Tom sits across a table from the captured thug. Tom looks at some paperwork. the thug looks nervous and fidgety. A single light bulb with no cover hangs above the center of the table. Shadows crawl on the wall in the background.

Tom:
Things don't look so good for you Jimmy. With your rap sheet the judge isn't likely to take it easy on you. Maybe if you had something I could use to soften him up with?

Panel 2:
Jimmy, a typical looking dock-rat; sweating bullets. He wrings his hat nervously.

Jimmy:
I told youse coppers that I was just in da wrong place at da wrong time. I don't know nothing 'bout no dope ring. Honest.

Panel 3:
Tom leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. He looks bored.

Tom:
You want me to ask Officer Chino to step in? I know you and he are ol' pals. Maybe you'd tell him what you can't tell me.

Panel 4:
Side shot; Jimmy, looking down at his hat, defeatedly. Tom leaning in, very interested.

Jimmy:
N-no, no. That ain't necessary. I'll tell ya what I know. I'm just a hired gun ya see. That's the truth. I was just there cause a Joey. He got me the job. I didn't know nothing about no dope til youse guys told me, honest. The only other thing I know is there was this funny looking guy handing out business cards to all a us before the caper. I didn't think nothin of it. I thought he was just a hustler, but Big Man O'Malley seemed scared a him.

Panel 5:
Close up of Tom's hand, holding a business card. On it in the upper left hand corner is a skull chomping a bullet between it's teeth. There is fancy feminine writing below and center.

Card Script:
Dr. T. R. 999 Forsigthe Ave. Rm. 13. Call for Appointments. Bellwater 462.

Jimmy (of panel):
Here's what he give me.

Panel 6:
Wide shot; Foreground; Tom shrugging on his coat and donning his hat. He is walking quickly. Back ground; A desk sergeant looks up surprised. Papers from his desk scatter behind Tom to the floor.

Tom:
If the Lieutenant asks where I am. Tell him I've got a lead on that dope ring. It's the Ritz!

Page 4:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; Foreground; A black sedan cab parked on the left. Mid-ground; Tom leaning against the passenger side window-sill. He is tipping his hat back nonchalantly. Background; The bottom 12 stories of a high rise, ritzy Park Place apartment building. It is night and street lamps are lit.

Tom:
Thanks again buddy. I owe ya one. Stop down at the station anytime and I'll see if I can't help you out.

Panel 2:
Mid side shot; Tom looking down at the card he holds chest high. His face a chiseled mask of determination.

Tom (thinking):
If my hunch is right I should probably just go in guns blazing. But everybody's got the right to a fair trial, so...

Panel 3:
Mid front on shot; Tom standing in an elevator. His hands in his pockets, His hat tilted forward to hide his face. A squirrelly looking bellhop pulls the ascension lever. He looks thoroughly bored with his station in life.

Tom (thinking):
Its got to be him! Its just got to!

Panel 4:
Wide shot; Foreground; Mid shot of Tom stepping off the elevator. Mid-ground; Opposite him is a particularly nasty looking thug wearing spats. "Spats" is looking toward Tom, his expression unfriendly.

Tom (thinking):
He's got muscle. I'll just go say hello.

Panel 5:
Mid side shot; Tom standing opposite "Spats". Tom's hat is pulled low to hide his face. He holds out his hand with the small white card. "Spats" puts out a stopping hand level with Tom's chest. He wave's his hand back and forth.

Spats:
Eh, you look lost mista. You musta got the wrong door. Try lookin' elsewheres.

Tom:
I have this card.

Panel 6:
Wide shot; Tom and Spats entering a large, poshly decorated apartment. The rooms dominate feature are the numerous bookshelves.

Spats:
You must be the guy Doc's waitin' for? C'mon in and well take care a ya.

Panel 7:
Mid side shot; Spats saps Tom Jefferson from behind. Tom surprised by the blow is doubled forward. Spats' is smiling.

Spats:
I know the Doc'll be happy you stopped by.

Page 5:

Panel 1:

Foreground; Tom, his back to us, is strapped to a chair. He is in shadow. His head lolls over to his right shoulder. His hair is messed and fallen forward, overall his clothes look disheveled. Background; All is in shadow except for one bright spotlight the illuminates Spats, standing, wearing his jacket and hat, arms crossed. A cigar sticks sidewise out of his mouth. The cigar is unlit.

Spats:
You ain't said much worth listen' to so far copper.

Panel 2:
Mid shot; Spats rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt. His coat hangs on a rack behind him. He wears a vest, tie and pocket watch. His face is unemotional, but unfriendly.

Spats:
Guess you're gonna make me take my coat off for this one, eh?

Panel 3:
Foreground; Tom, leaning forward, towards us, in pain. Behind him Spats is following through on a punch to the back of Tom's head, a large sap in his hand. Background; Explodes in 'slam-bang' lines.

Spats:
You remember my ol' pal Beanie here?

Panel 4:
Small, thin, all black.

Panel 5:
Slightly larger than previous panel, all black.

Panel 6:
Larger than previous panel, right side spottily fading to gray.

Panel 7:
Buts the edge of previous panel, Left side is spottily gray fading smoothly to; Close up of Spats' face. This shot is from Tom's P.O.V., Spats is looking up and away to the left (behind us), His mouth is opened as if speaking.

Spats:
He's come back around Doc. Want I should toss some water on 'im?

Panel 8:
Wide shot: Foreground; Silhouette of Doc Terror viewed from the back, on the left side, his left hand fiddles with silhouetted turn dials on silhouetted machinery. Back ground; Spats leans over a table, waist high, center. He looks down at Tom Jefferson, who is bare chested and strapped to the table by buckled leather straps. Tom faces the silhouette of Doc Terror, his face stony and determined.

Doc Terror:
I think the stoic Republican is coming around quite nicely on his own.

Panel 9:
Close up of Doc Terror's hooded face. A floating skeletal head in a field of flowing black robes. The skull looks particularly menacing.

Doc Terror:
Tell me Tom, why is it do you think I've brought you here? What does that brawny brain of yours tell you is happening? Let me assure you though, that nothing you can be thinking now is remotely near what the actuality of this moment is.

Page 6:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; Foreground; Left side; The table, tilted at a 45 degree angle, viewed from behind it is in shadow. Tom's buckled hands are visible at the top of each corner of the table, also in shadow. Doc Terror, in rear silhouette, stands next to him, a black gloved hand pointing toward the screen. Right side; A giant cinema screen dominates the upper portion of the panel, On the screen is a newsreel image of piles of decrepit looking skulls. The lower portion under the screen is a strange machine with numerous diodes, levers and dials. Spats, his back to us, is manipulating some of the knobs and buttons.

Doc Terror:
Not when you face "Les Cinema de Terreur! Put the mask on him.

Panel 2:
Side shot; Foreground; Waist up shot of bare chested Tom strapped to the 45 degree angled table. Covering his head is a Great War gas mask. Fumes billow out of it. On Tom's chest are electrodes connected to wires that run off the table. Background; The dark form of Doc Terror blends in with the shadows around him, a few folds of his robes and his skull face can be seen.

Doc Terror:
That gas is a little experiment I've been working on. It should make all that you are about to see quite interesting.

Panel 3:
Mid-shot; Mid-ground; Tom, face on, bathed in light from the foreground, He is bare to the waist. His hands are shackled above him to the table, struggling. A Great war gas mask covers his face. Background; Very small in the black background is the grinning skeletal face of Doc Terror.

Caption:
As the images, much to heinous to show you, flicker by on the terrible screen, Tom tries to shut his eyes, behind the mask. But the gas makes him want to watch, the terrible gas that makes all the horrible images before him seem more real than anything he's ever seen before!

Panel 4:
Close up of he gas mask. A reflection of flames can be seen in the eye-pieces. Vapors escaping from the venting.

Tom:
Must fight it...mustn't give in to...

Page 7:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; Mid-ground; Tom in coat and hat stumbling forward, his hand held out as if reaching for something. Back ground; A hypnotic background of swirling images and floating objects.

Caption:
Tom finds himself in a world gone topsy turvy. He doesn't know if he's dreaming or if any of this is the real world. He wanders in this foreign landscape for what seem like hours until...

Panel 2:
Foreground; Tom being supported by two uniformed police men. The men look confused. The police men are walking, Tom is being dragged between them. Background; The left side is 'topsy-turvy" world that at center blends in with the "real" world of a street with a car driving past and a lamp post, that fills in the right side.

Cop 1:
Yeah but I haven't ever seen him like this before.

Cop 2:
Maybe we oughta bring him to the station house?

Panel 3:
Tom, disheveled, hunched and gripping a glass of water, sits at his desk. Lt. Rick Reynolds stands next to his desk, knuckles pressed against the top.

Rick:
You took a nasty blow there Tom. The Doc says you'll pull through okay though.

Tom:
T...the D..doc?

Panel 4:
Tom gripping Rick by the lapels of his shirt, thrusting his face toward Rick's.

Tom:
We've got to get back there! Before he gets away, we've got to get back!

Panel 5:
Foreground; Tom and a Rick inside a police sedan. The sedan's siren and lights are flashing! Background; the streets zoom by in blurs.

Caption:
Explaining about the gas, Tom convinces Lt. Rick Reynolds to take him back to 999 Farsigthe, the home of Doc Terror!

Panel 6:
Tom and Rick standing on either side of the bellhop from earlier. The bellhop looks confused and slightly frightened.

Billy Bellhop:
Sorry Mista, I just don't remember. Ridin' up an down all day kinda rattles ya after a while.

Tom:
I know it's here, just take us up.

Page 8:

Panel 1:
Foreground; Empty apartment walls, shadows everywhere. Mid-ground; in the center of the bare floor is a scrap of paper, to far away to read. Background; Tom kicking open the door, Rick behind him gun drawn.

Caption:
No guards out front! No one answering the doorbell! Tom leaps into action!

Panel 2:
Wide shot; Tom stands center looking at the scrap of paper he's picked up, Rick, paces scratching his head, gun on his hip. shattered door lies to the right. Billy Bellhop peeks in through doorway, looks perplexed.

Tom:
I knew this was the place, this card proves it!

Rick:
What I can't figure is how they got all their stuff outta here so fast?

Billy:
Mr. Donnielli is gonna be mad at you guys for this.

Panel 3:
Tom sitting at his desk; feet propped up, his hat knocked back, he holds the card on his chest studying it. Rick stands; next to Tom's desk, arms crossed, his expression dour.

Rick:
Well we've got our work cut out for us on this one. Not a clue except that scrap you found. This guy is pretty slippery.

Panel 4:
Foreground; Tom, his back to us, in silhouette leans against a large window frame (possibly panel frame?). Background; Out beyond the window is the night and the city.

Tom:
Slippery or not, I'll get him. Whatever mad scheme he may have planned, I'll track him down and put a stop to it! I swear!

Panel 5:
Wide shot; An expansive rooftop view of the city at night. Between a gap in the peaks of skyscrapers, the moon and a ghastly cloud crossing in front of it, resembling a skull.

Caption:
This is not the end of our tale. Join us next time for the thrilling conclusion to Tom Jefferson's hardest fight! "The Reign of Doc Terror, Part Two!"

THE END.

2008-05-30T05:06:00.000-07:00

Tough Comics #8 MAR 1938

Author: Ryan Buck

Title: "Terror Strikes at Night!"

Page 1:

Panel 1:
Under the title letters which should look wicked and menacing, Tom Jefferson, the Daring Detective, is slugging it out with four thugs on a pier, mid-ground. In the foreground are three large crates with poison labels emblazoned on them. One of the crates is cracked and leaking powder into the water below the pier. In the background looms a water front warehouse. Above all is the ghostly image of a Grim Reaper-like face; this is Doc Terror.

Caption:
Can our intrepid hero for justice out wit the diabolical machinations of the city's newest and deadliest threat? Will he solve all the clues in time to prevent the deadly crime you see here? Read on, good friend, and pit your own sleuthing mind against that of the Daring Detective as he tackles his toughest case yet!

Page 2:

Panel 1:
Tom Jefferson, slouches at his desk, reviewing some paperwork. He looks grumpy.

Caption:
At the 7th precinct, we find our Daring Detective hard at work finishing up another case.

Tom:
This blasted paperwork never ends.

Panel 2:
A wide shot of the precinct office. Tom is in the fore ground, his back to us. In the mid ground other police detectives mill about. Lt. Rick Reynolds approaches Tom from the background; he looks upset and is waving a sheaf of papers in his hands which spill out about him.

Rick:

You call this a report?! Why I wouldn't hand this in to my kids third grade english teacher!

Panel 3:
Side shot of Rick leaning over Tom's desk, his chin jutting menacingly toward our Daring Detective. Tom looks bored and unperturbed.

Rick:
What's the matter with you Tom? Didn't you ever learn the difference between a preposition and an adjective? I know paperwork isn't the most exciting part of being a cop, but it's still important!

Panel 4:
Close up of Tom, smiling wide and appeasingly.

Tom:
Sorry Lieutenant, I guess I got a little rushed trying to wrap up the files on my backlog. You know I've never been that great at grammar.

Panel 5:
In the foreground, Tom; with his back to us. Rick, standing with his hands on his hips, scowling.

Rick:
Look, Tom, I don't want to be the bad guy here, but you have to pay more attention to your paper work. You don't want all that hard work you do catching crooks to be thrown out when they go to court do you?

Tom:
No, sir.

Panel 6:
Side shot of Rick stalking away from Tom's desk, still huffy. Tom looks a little brow beaten. The papers on Tom's desk cascade down to the floor.

Rick:
Well, then re-write these reports and make sure you check them with Phyllis before you hand them in next time. Take the rest of the night off and don't come back till you catch up on your backlog! Hey Peterson, I got a beef with you to...

Page 3:

Panel 1:
Wide shot of the city streets. It's night and people make their ways about, some heading home with their children others looking geared up for a night on the town.

Caption:
Later, as the bustle of the vibrant city prepares for another evening. Tom Jefferson makes his way home, his thoughts as cloudy as the night.

Panel 2:
Side view, close up of Tom, hunkered down into his trench coat. His expression is glum.

Tom (thinking):
What a balling out that was. It's not like I haven't been doing a good job, but the Old man sure laid into me tonight. I wonder if he's still worried about that threat the Black Cape made last week?

Panel 3:
Wide shot of Tom walking past a subway entrance. People make their way up and down the stairs.

Tom (thinking):
Naw, couldn't be that. The Cape's been locked up since Monday and with all the evidence against him, no jury in the world wouldn't indite him. Wonder what it is that has him so worked up?

Panel 4:
In the foreground Tom, his back to us, is walking down an empty section of street with warehouses on either side.

Tom (thinking):
He's wound tighter than my grandpa's pocket watch. He's gonna wind up in the hospital if he doesn't take it easy.

Panel 5:
Close up of Tom, looking up from his coat; surprised and inquisitive.

SFX: Thud! Crash!

Tom (thinking):
What was that?

Panel 6:
Tom, in the foreground, drawing his revolver from the inside pocket of his coat. Empty and dark warehouses loom in the background. A low fog permeates.

Tom (thinking):
Better check it out.

Panel 7:
Tom, in the foreground, his back to us, holds up his revolver with both hands as he peers around the corner of a warehouse. The background is shrouded in fog, but two silhouettes can just barely be made out.

Tom (thinking):
Can't see a thing in this pea soup. I'm gonna have to get closer. But I gotta be careful. Don't want anyone to get the drop on me.

Page 4:

Panel 1:
In the foreground, two thuggish looking men stand over a crate that has been smashed open. One is scratching his head the other points to the broken crate. Amidst the debris are large black canisters with skulls emblazoned on them. In the far background behind some more crates Tom Jefferson's head peeks out, observing.

Thug 1:
Man the boss is sure gonna be mad about this.

Thug 2:
Not if he don't find out about it he wont. Get to cleanin' up this mess and he wont be none the wiser.

Panel 2:
Full shot of Tom creeping slowly forward, over crates. His gun is at the ready in case of trouble.

Caption:
Inching slowly forward the Daring Detective steels himself for confrontation.

Tom (thinking):
These characters better have a good reason for working so late. But by the look of those canisters something tells me they wont be nice reasons.

Panel 3:
Wide shot; In the foreground the two thugs busy themselves picking up the menacing looking canisters. They are turned to look behind at Tom, who is in the background gun pointed at them.

Tom:
All right fellas, just put those down nice and slowly.

Thugs (in unison):
The coppers!

Panel 4:
Full shot; the thugs in a cloud of smoke, guns blazing.

Caption:
In the blink of an eye the dastardly thugs open fire on our brave upholder of law.

Panel 5:
Mid shot; A determined, yet clam looking Tom Jefferson returns shots from his own revolver as bullets whiz past him.

Tom:
So you like to play rough do you?

Panel 6:
Close up; One of the thugs doubled over in pain, he's been shot in the belly. His gun hangs loosely in his hand.

Thug:
Ugh! He got me Willy, I'm done for!

Panel 7:
Full shot; In the foreground, their backs to us, "Willy" the thug holds his dying buddy in his arms and looks up toward Tom. Tom approaches gun still pointed forward and at the ready. His eyes are slits of caution.

Willy:
All right copper, I give in. This racket ain't worth dyin' ova.

Tom:
Smart choice. To bad your pal there didn't have your brains.

Page 5:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; In foreground three uniformed cops carry the black canisters, we see them from the waist up. In the mid ground between the images of the cops in the foreground, Tom stands talking to another uniformed officer as Willy the thug is helped into a paddy wagon.

Caption:
Once his fellow officers arrive, they make short work of confiscating the deadly canisters.

Tom:
I don't know whats in those things so make sure your men handle them with extra care.

Panel 2:
Tom,in profile is holding a telephone receiver up to his ear and talking. His hat is cocked back jauntily, and his feet rest on his desk.

Caption:
Later, at the station house...

Tom:
Yeah that's right, about thirteen of 'em. All black with skulls on 'em. We can't see how they open. I was wonderin' if you might take a look at them. You will? Thanks, I'd really appreciate it.

Panel 3:
In the foreground, Tom, seated, his back to us, hangs up the telephone. Standing to the right of his desk is Rick Reynolds, vision of comically contained rage; red face, smoke pouring from ears, eyes slits, that kind of thing.

Rick:
Didn't I tell you I didn't want to see you back here till you fixed those reports? You better have something awful important in the works or else I might just have to get mad at you Tom Jefferson!

Panel 4:
Side shot; Tom; standing, fist on desk, he bends fiercely toward Rick who is bent backwards slightly in avoidance of Tom's aggressive psoture.

Tom:
Lieutenant will you get off my case for once and let me do my job?! I just brought in a guy who might've been trying to poison the whole bay area water supply! And if you don't mind I'd like to question him about it!

Rick:
(GULP) Well get to it then.

Panel 5:
In the foreground is Willy, his back to us in shadowed silhouette, the mid ground is all smoke and a glaring light hanging from top of panel. In the background, amidst more swirling smoke and shadow is Tom, who stands with his arms crossed. Tom, looks slightly menacing.

Willy:
I tell ya that's all I know. It was Sal who made all the contacts, I was just muscle for the job. I knew the boss's name and where to make the pick ups, that was all. Doc Terror was what Sal called him. Honest.

Tom:
You better be playing square with me Willy, or else...

Panel 6:
Side shot of Tom grabbing his coat quickly from a coat rack. A uniformed officer looks on, surprised and a little intimidated.

Tom:
If the Lieutenant asks where I am, tell him I went out to do some REAL police work! I'll be at the waterfront checking up on somethings!

Officer: S-sure thing.

Page 6:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; Tom,in the foreground, stands, hands in pocket, lightly kicking at some broken timbers on the ground. In the back ground are towers of wooden crates and the rafters of a waterfront warehouse.

Tom (thinking):
Well, I guess it was a bum hunch to come back here looking for clues. I bet that Willy knows more than he's telling.

Panel 2:
In the foreground, Tom hunkers down behind some wooden crates, peering toward mid-ground, where sits a canvas-backed brown truck. Three shady looking men unload crates from the open flap of the truck.

Tom (thinking):
Well, I'll be. Willy was telling the truth after all.

Panel 3:
Close up of the shady men unloading crates from the truck.

Shady 1:
Those mugs never got in touch with the boss about last night's shipment. You think something's up?

Shady 2:
It ain't our job to think, we just do what the boss tells us.

Shady 3:
Yeah, 'member what happened to the last guy that didn't do what the Doc said?

Panel 4:
Close up of Tom, excited and intrigued.

Tom (thinking):
So there is a Big Boss after all? I gotta find out more about this mysterious "Doc".

Panel 5:
Wide shot of the truck and shady men. Two men on the ground, wiping their brows. One in the back of the truck peering down at them.

Shady 1:
That's the last of them.

Shady 2:
Good, let's get outta here. If there is something up, I don't want to be here when it comes down.

Panel 6:
The truck is pulling out and away from us. On the back, huddled down low on the bumper, and holding on tightly is Tom Jefferson.

Tom (thinking):
Gotta follow these guys and see where the trail ends up. Hope they don't break any speed limits.

Page 7:

Panel 1:
Wide shot; A tall apartment building on the swanky side of town. The building stretches up into the night. In the lower foreground are expensive looking Coup's and Roadsters.

Caption:
A short time later, the Daring Detective finds his destination the most unlikely of places.
Panel 2:
In the foreground, Tom jumps from the back of the truck as it continues down a dark alleyway.

Tom (thinking):
I should probably find myself a better vantage point. Don't want to tip these fellas off just yet.

Panel 3:
Wide shot; Foreground; the three men load more crates into the back half of the truck. A tall black cloaked figure,Doc Terror, his back to us, stands overseeing them. Background; Tom peeks out from behind a pile of garbage.

Doc Terror:
Hurry with those deliveries! We are nearly four hours behind schedule because of those absent miscreants.

Tom (thinking):
That's him! It's gotta be Doc Terror. Just look at that get up!

Panel 4:
Background; Tom springing from cover, gun drawn. Foreground; Doc Terror, turned toward us, we see he is wearing a skull face mask, he his pointing toward Tom.

Tom:
The jigs up "Doc"! Time for you and your playmates to come nice and easy!

Doc Terror:
Get him you louts!

Panel 5:
Tom swaps shots with the three thugs amidst smoke and shadows.

Panel 6:
Tom swings a vicious punch at one of the crooks jaw. The other two thugs are doubled over at his feet.

Tom (thinking):
That takes care of the last one! Now for the ringmaster of this criminal circus!

Panel 7:
The tuck speeding past. At the wheel, Doc Terror, skull face grinning devilishly, black robes flapping.

Doc Terror:
HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Page 8:

Panel 1:
Close up of Tom taking aim with his revolver.

Tom (thinking):
You wont get away that easy!

Panel 2:
Wide shot; Foreground; Tom, his back to us, firing his revolver. Background; The truck zooming away, it's tires blowing out from Tom's bullets.

Tom:
Let's see how far you get now, you crackpot!

Panel 3:
Close up of Doc Terror, inside the cab of the truck struggling to turn the wheel.

Doc Terror:
What have you done you interloper!
Panel 4:
The truck crashing into a group of expensive looking Roadsters. Flame billows from the engine.

Panel 5:
The truck explodes.

Panel 6:
Wide shot; Foreground;Tom stands holding a tattered black cape and skull mask. At his left is the Fire Chief. Back ground; Firemen are fighting the blaze caused by the explosion.

Caption:
Minutes later...

Tom:
And this is all that I could find of him. Looks like I've still got some work to do.

Panel 7:
Tom sitting at his desk, feet propped up, hat cocked back. Rick Reynolds stands leaning on his desk. Both look grumpy.

Rick:
The science boys finally cracked those canisters. They say there was some kind of poison they'd never seen before inside.

Tom:
I'm sure this isn't the last we've seen of Doc Terror. I'll get him next time, sir.

THE END.

2008-03-26T16:33:00.000-07:00

Rembrandt's Eye

2008-03-26T12:28:00.000-07:00

So This Time I Thought I Might Learn Something...

I thought I might actually show the process of my attempts to learn "digital painting". This gives me a chance to slow down and take my time with it. I notice that the more painterly I think the less troubled i am by the eletcronic software. However I'm still not the best color mixer in the world so I am struggling with finding matching colors on Photoshop's swatches. What I am doing a study of is a John Singer Sargent portrait. Still got lots of work to do but this beginning shows promise.

2008-03-25T05:31:00.000-07:00

In 10 Minutes...

Couldn't sleep so I did this instead. If only I would slow down and pay more attention to neatness. I guess my third grade teacher knew what she was talking about after all.

2008-03-24T13:03:00.000-07:00

Just What the World Needs...Another Superhero!

Presenting Ghost-Spider!

This one I just had to get out of my brain. I'm not happy with the design yet, but I'm not sure how interested I am in continuing to work on this concept. Besides hasn't someone already done this idea to death?

This next one is for my friend Josh. These pictures make me feel like a kid with a new set of crayons. I haven't quite figured out how to use them yet.

2008-03-20T09:06:00.000-07:00

More painterly goodness

2008-03-20T01:00:00.000-07:00

Rorschach Returns!

Another quick Photoshop scrawl. I think if I slowed down and paid more attention to detail i might just be able to produce something worth looking at. Oh, well it ain't like you're payin' for to browse this site!

2008-03-19T18:28:00.000-07:00

Bionic Explorer meets Alien Cloud Thingy?

So this was just an experiment with photoshop to see if all those painting classes taught me anything about color. You be the judge. And feel free to sound off.

2008-03-14T12:35:00.000-07:00

Appy olly gees, to any who may have already read the first draft I posted. This is a second and a half draft with more stuff added. Next time I'll post only parts that are not in this bit. Hope you enjoy, if you are adventurous enough to complete the reading.

Girl with Pomegranates
by: Ryan Buck
1.

I studied her for a long time. The way her hair cascaded down about her shoulders. Her coy little glance. The bored way in which she stood before me. Taking in the subtle curves of her well formed...well you get the idea. Normally I'm not a girl watcher, but when presented with a vision of beauty I have a tendency to ogle, just like any other warm blooded male.
I'd been made to wait in this little room with her. She made all the other decorations drab in comparison. Try as I might to distract myself with some other piece of eclectic hob snobbery that dotted the room, my eyes always returned to her.
"She's a fake, you know?"
I hadn't heard the door open. I turned to see a little man with a pocket watch standing next to an over elegant chair. He made the chair look like a mountain as he climbed into it. Finally, breathlessly, taking his place amoung the posh looking pillows, he stared past me, at her, twirling his pinky ring.
"Is she? I wouldn't know." Trying to reclaim some of my disinterest, I pulled out my cigar and made motion to light it. The little man looked at me sideways so I just chewed on the end for a while.
"No well of course you wouldn't." He affected a British accent, the kind Hollywood had made vogue. It only enhanced his snideness. "See how her right arm droops just a bit too far left? Or how her nose is slightly crooked? Only a well versed eye would notice such things."
I like her nose. I thought about saying this, but knew it'd only make this conversation take more of my time. And as pretty as I might have thought she was, paintings just don't fire me up the way they do some people. Besides I hadn't been called in to talk art. The little man made mention of this before continuing.
"I'm sure my secretary informed you of our distress?"
"She might've mentioned something about it." I'd made the cigar soggy so I stopped chewing on it.
Checking his pocket watch, "Yes, quite." I could tell I was just as impressive to him as he was to me.
"You want to find someone, basically"
He arched one of his little eyebrows. "I should say so. But perhaps a little bit more than that for certain. I want the man responsible for this brought to justice."
I played dumb. Sometimes they like it when you give them a chance to talk. He took the bait.
"Do you see that?", pointing to a small frame next to the large girl I'd been staring at when he came in. "A Van Dongen? And that one, a Renoir? A Verteges? A Mauldliani? Oh, yes they may resemble them in some miniscule way, but I assure you every one of these paintings, loathe as I am to call them such, was painted by just one man. A most despicable man. A deplorable man. A very dangerous man." He took a breath. That last part interested me.
"How so?" I started chewing my cigar again.
The little man coughed and threw me an annoyed look for interrupting him. "He represents the very worst the art world has to offer. He's a shyster and every painting he makes devalues the work of the masters. Can you not see? Do you truly not understand?"
I shrugged.
"Oh how can culture ever hope to survive?" He wasn't really asking me, so I shrugged again. Another fifteen minutes of his huffing and I was out the door and driving up Prestige Ave. toward downtown. I'd learned in between the little man's rants about the state of "art" in the world today that the dangerous man's name was Jacque Foucart and he sometimes threw money away at a bar called Tornado Alley. The little man's cute secretary had given me an address as well but told me that it had already been checked out as a fake.
I'd heard of Tornado Alley, and not much of it was good. It also wasn't normally the place limp-wristed artists would frequent. I dropped my beat up jalopy at a Park n' Ride a few blocks south and hoofed it the rest of the way. On the way I ditched the tie I had been wearing to meet the little man. Tornado Alley wasn't the kind of place that looked kindly upon a man wearing a tie.

2.

"Well, ain't seen you 'round here before."
After two hours of sitting around looking conspicuous I finally get the welcome I've been waiting for. Normally if a place was up to no good I'd have been 'greeted' much sooner. I took this as a hopeful sign.
"Mind if I have a seat. Bar's normally not this crowded."
I made a glance around the bar. I counted seven other saps besides me and Mr. Curious here. He sat down with out my say. He looked like he could take me. Which doesn't mean to say he was all that impressive. I've never been much of a fighter but obviously he didn't have much faith in my ability to cause trouble. I didn't say anything to him. I just sat and quietly drank from the bottle the waitress had brought me. He acted disinterested. It took him three minutes to say something.
"So...in town long?"
Among the initiated his question deciphered to; " I'm a pimp and can provide you with a date."
"Yes...I'm looking for someone. A painter." It was best to get to the point. I didn't feel like wading through a half hour conversation with this guy. He would just waste my time. Besides I hate listening to pimps talk about their "stables".
"Well, I don't know no painters."
"I know you don't. But somebody in here does and I'd very much like to speak to them."
He looked at me for a few seconds, sucking on his teeth, trying to decide whether or not to be insulted. He didn't want to play that game either. He got up from the table and walked to the bar. He asked the barkeep for the phone. He made a call. Had a mumbled conversation and came back to tell me, "Five minutes."
He walked back to the far end of the bar near the door and sat down. I continued drinking until whoever was coming got here.

Five minutes later a woman walked through the door. She looked at Mr. Curious, who nodded in my direction. She checked me up and down then strutted toward my table. She looked good. It wasn't easy trying not to stare. I resisted the urge to watch her slide into the booth. She didn't seem to acknowledge my turmoil. She coughed once then opened her purse to pull out some gum. She smacked it a few times then started in.
"So Barnaby says that you were lookin' for somebody?"
I couldn't help staring at her. She looked so familiar, but I was pretty sure I'd never met her before. It became one of those annoying sensations, like when popcorn gets stuck between your teeth. Before she picked up on anything I went straight to business.
"Yes. I've been instructed that I might be able to find a...Jacque Foucart, here. He's supposedly a painter."
She gave me a queer smile. "Never heard of him." She put the gum in the ashtray and pulled a cigarette from her purse. I leaned back, tipped up my hat and grabbed the shot glass in front of me.
"Then we've got nothing to talk about do we?" I threw what was left of the bourbon at the back of my throat, it sat nice there.
"You don't look like no cop. But that doesn't mean you ain't one."
"I'm not a cop. I'm just trying to find someone." I poured another drink and decided to go fishing.
"You sure you don't know him? He's supposed to be a skinny guy about this high. Pencil thin mustache. Kinda effeminate." I had no idea who I'd just described, but it was certainly not Jacque Foucart. Of course I'd got what Foucart looked like from the cute secretary that worked for the little man.
"Ya see, I heard he was pretty good at makin' paintings and I was hoping he'd do me a favor."
"I told ya, I ain't seen him."
"Actually you'd said you'd never heard of him."
"What difference does it make? I don't know the guy."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yep, okay." I took a swig of bourbon, and poured another. She puffed on her cigarette a few times.
"So what kind of favor?"
"I thought you didn't know him?"
"Doesn't mean I can't find out for ya though." She was shrewd. She played me for a cop. I get that a lot. I needed to set her straight or else I might lose my pigeon.
"Look sister, you can stop giving me the run around. I'm not a cop. My boss wants a few new paintings for his gallery. He me give a name. He tell me where to look. That's all. I'm not trying to hassle nobody I swear." Okay so maybe I didn't tip her to the according to Hoyle truth of it, but it was close enough. She chewed her lip for a second.
"Okay. I'll go talk to Jacque. Wait here and I'll be back." I nodded and swung another drink into my belly. She slid out as easily as she had slid in and off she went. I knew that if I didn't follow her, I'd never see her again.

3.

She was no specialist at dodging followers so I didn't have a hard time shadowing her. She'd gotten two blocks north before I picked her up. She took too many random turns and would double-back often. Once I noticed her pattern I stuck to the main course and waited for her to catch up with me. After about a winding twenty minutes, which straight away would've gotten us there in under five, she finally went inside a chummy looking apartment building. Not too cramped like most you might see in the downtown area. This one had a courtyard and lots of plants. It was two stories high and had a balcony that ran all the way round. The apartment doors all faced inward. I saw her go into an upstairs room, Number 202. I camped across the street and waited for her to come out again.
Three hours later, my patience ran out on me. I crossed the street and the courtyard and huffed myself up the stairs to Number 202. I listened at the door frame. A radio was playing and water was running. I scratched my chin. I huffed back down the stairs and then to the manager's bungalow. Inside were more plants. Hanging plants. Potted plants. Plants of all colors and smells. The odors and the heat stung my eyes for a second. I didn't notice anyone at the desk and no jangly bells had announced my entrance. There was a door behind the desk that was closed. I snuck up to it.
I didn't hear anything behind the door at first, then I caught the faint sound of a lighter flashing and the bubbling of water. I also caught the recognizable scent of a very particular plant. I shook my head. It must be nice not to have to work for a living. I went back to the front door and made a lot of noise like I was just coming in. I heard some scuffling from the door behind the desk. The door opened and a frumpy looking man in a sweater came stumbling out, tendrils of smoke still clinging to him. He smiled lamely at me.
"What can I do ya for?"
"You got any rooms available?"
He gave me a sideways glance, but more to hide his eyes than from anything sinister.
"We don't rent out by the night."
"I know. I'm looking to stay awhile."
He looked me up and down.
"You don't look like trouble."
I get that a lot to. If people don't take me for a cop then they usually don't take me for much else. I played that angle up.
"Me? Naw. I just split with the missus and need a place to hole up 'til that all gets sorted. You know?"
He nodded and let out a little chuckle. He shuffled through some papers until he found what he was looking for.
"It's 80 a week. And no funny stuff. We got one on the second floor. You wanna look at it?"
I nodded my head. He shuffled around some more on the desk, looking for a set of keys he eventually found and then we left the malodorous office.

4.

He took me up to Number 214. It wasn't directly across from 202, but I could still see the door form the window. I gave the frumpy manager 80 buck's and told him I'd be down to sign the papers after I showered.
"Ain't you got any luggage?"
"Just what I'm wearin'. She threw me out with nothin else." I lied. He gave another little knowing chuckle.
"I'll give you the key after you fill out the agreement." Then he left. I took off my jacket and shirt and washed up in the bathroom sink. I got dressed and sat in front of the window watching Number 202. I wasn't quite clear yet how I'd make my play. It made sense to wait her out and see what came of it. That's what most of this business is anyway. But I had a feeling that if I strong armed her I might get better results.
I walked the balcony over to Number 202. I listened at the door before I knocked. There was a one sided muffled conversation. She was on the telephone. All the better. I knocked loudly on the door.
"Who is it?"
I didn't answer. I knocked again, louder than before.
"Fer ***** sake!" I heard her stomp toward the door. "What do..." was all she got out as I pushed my way in and put my hand over her mouth.
"Remember me?" Her eyes were full of terror before she recognized me. She twisted out of my grasp. I let her do it. I'm not much of a fighter, as I'd said, and I sure hated making this rough play with her, but I needed her to know I meant business. She didn't scream or run or do any of the cliched things women in peril are supposed to do. Instead she went over to the phone, told the person on the other end she'd call them back then went to her purse and pulled out a stick of gum. She offered me one. I didn't take it.
"You are a cop."
I took off my hat and laid it on the table by the window. There were stacks of paper everywhere. In the corner near the bed were ten wooden frames with nothing in them. I picked up one of the sheets of paper. A drawing of a woman was scrawled on it. She looked familiar. I looked the face and then it hit me. Her nose was crooked. I looked up at the flesh and blood version of her in front of me.
"Quite a nice little scam you and your boyfriend got here."
She smacked her gum and sat on the bed.
"Where is he?"
"He's out." She crossed her arms and her legs. I sat down in the chair by the table. We just eyed each other for a while. I had figured she might make a sex play, but the disdain in her eyes told me to forget it. I was a little sorry she didn't.
"When's he getting back?"
"What do you want to know for?"
"I told you I was looking for him."
"Yeah, you also said you weren't a cop."
"I'm not a cop."
"Your a ****."
I shrugged. I couldn't deny that.

5.

"Give me a cigarette, would ya?" She pointed to the purse on the table. I rifled through it till I found a silver case with the engraved initials J.F. I tossed her the case. She flipped it open, took a cigarette, closed it and tossed it back to me in one fluid motion.
"How 'bout a light copper?" There was a box of matches on the table. I tossed that to her. As she was lighting her cigarette I looked out the window.
"You expecting anyone else?"
She looked at me curiously and came to look out the window. Crossing the courtyard were two men in dark clothes. Their demeanor screamed gangster.
"Oh ****! We have to leave here now." She frantically gathered up her purse.
"I've got a place across the way, let's go." She nodded and we left. We were just closing the door to Number 214 when the two thugs reached the top of the stairs. I peeked through the curtains to watch them. They banged on the door a few times. When no answer came one of them kicked the door in. They came out a minute later and then went down to the manager's bungalow. I turned to her. She was dialing the phone. "What's your name?"
She didn't answer. She looked scared. She was biting her lip. Whoever she was calling wasn't answering. She let it ring awhile then hung up. her hands were shaking.
"Can you protect us?"
"I'm not a cop."
She chewed on her thumbnail then dug through her purse. She pulled out the pack of cigarettes but dropped them. She bent down to scoop them up and didn't get back up. She was trembling and a soft whimper escaped her. I walked to her and put my hand on her shoulder.
"Tell me what's going on?"
It took her a moment to ease the fear out of her voice. "Why do you want to talk to Jacques?"
I was going to feed her the same line I had given her at the bar, but the truth came out instead.
"I was hired by the Gallery Grande to track him down and turn him in."
She looked up at me, her eyes surprised. "You mean you're a dick?"
I shrugged. She looked away toward the pack of cigarettes. "You're a ****."
I helped her stand and we sat together on the bed. She had gotten a cigarette out and was puffing away like the 4:20 to Greenhill. We sat together in silence until the last of her smoke was ash.
"What now?"
I bit my lip, thinking. More things that weren't lies tumbled out of my mouth. "I'm not gonna turn you in."
She didn't seemed surprised, just confused. I was confused to. I didn't know why I'd said it. I didn't even know I felt it till I had said it, but once it was out I knew I meant it. She didn't ask why, and that spared me having to confess to her my reasons.
"Tell me what's going on?"
She took a few deep breaths then spilled the story for me. It wasn't anything outrageous. Just two hustlers in over their heads. Jacques was an artist. A damned talented one by her estimation. He'd fallen on hard times and had gotten into swindling rich older ladies into buying "lost masterpieces". She claimed it was innocent at first. His first sale had been completely unintentional. He'd been pushing his canvases around ritzy joints but nobody wanted any. They were only after Picasso's or Monet's. In all his shilling he made a few upper class acquaintances. One of these ladies visits his pad and sees a sketch lying around and takes it for a Renoir. She offers him 500 dollars for it. He was hungry so he took it. And from there he realized he could get just enough money to live off of by selling other "Renoir's" and "Picasso's" he'd come up with.
She told me he never intended to keep at it. It was never meant to get so out of hand. I smiled at her naiveté. As the story went, he was only trying to make enough to get by. And, as inevitably these things progress, he came to the attention of some 'gentlemen' who saw more potential in Jacque's work and 'encouraged' him to continue producing fakes.
These weren't the men in dark suits that had come by to pay a visit just now. But those men worked for the others. She said they were looking for Jacques cause Jacques had run out on them. Had run out on them and straight to her. She told me she and Jacque had been sweet on each other for some time and he had no where else to go. She had some dough and had kept them okay for a while, but when the money had thinned they started raising it the good 'ol fashioned way.
She figured that's how they tracked her down, just like I had. She was just lucky I had gotten to her first.

2008-02-19T00:03:00.000-08:00

A Short Film.

This was shot on a Cannon GZ7 and edited using iMovie '07. Thanks to all who helped out.

2008-02-02T20:54:00.000-08:00

So here's a start to a short story I'm currently pounding away on. I hope to add a lot more cigars and bourbon before I'm finished with it. Enjoy.

Girl with Pomegranates

I studied her for a long time. The way her hair cascaded down about her shoulders. Her coy little glance. The bored way in which she stood before me. Taking in the subtle curves of her well formed...well you get the idea. Normally I'm not a girl watcher, but when presented with a vision of beauty I have a tendency to oggle, just like any other warm blooded male.
I'd been made to wait in this little room with her. She made all the other decorations drab in comparison. Try as I might to distract myself with some other piece of eclectic hob snobbery that dotted the room, my eyes always returned to her. "She's a fake, you know?"
I hadn't heard the door open. I turned to see a little man with a pocket watch standing next to an over elegant chair. He made the chair look like a mountain as he climbed into it. Finally, breathlessly, taking his place amoung the posh looking pillows, he stared past me, at her, twirling his pinky ring.
"Is she? I wouldn't know." Trying to reclaim some of my disinterest, I pulled out my cigar and made motion to light it. The little man looked at me sideways so I just chewed on the end for a while.
"No well of course you wouldn't." He affected a British accent, the kind Hollywood had made vogue. It only enhanced his snideness. "See how her right arm droops just a bit to far left? Or how her nose is slightly crooked? Only a well versed eye would notice such things."
I like her nose. I thought about saying this, but knew it'd only make this conversation take more of my time. And as pretty as I might have thought she was, paintings just don't fire me up the way they do some people. Besides I hadn't been called in to talk art. The little man made mention of this before continuing.
"I'm sure my secretary informed you of our distress?"
"She might've mentioned something about it." I'd made the cigar soggy so I stopped chewing on it.
Checking his pocket watch, "Yes, quite." I could tell I was just as impressive to him as he was to me. "You want to find someone, basically"
He arched one of his little eyebrows. "I should say so. But perhaps a little bit more than that for certain. I want the man responsible for this brought to justice."
I played dumb. Sometimes they like it when you give them a chance to talk. He took the bait.
"Do you see that?", pointing to a small frame next to the large girl I'd been staring at when he came in. "A Van Dongen? And that one, a Renoir? A Verteges? A Mauldliani? Oh, yes they may resemble them in some miniscual way, but i assure you every one of these paintings, loathe as I am to call them such, was painted by just one man. A most dispicable man. A deplorable man. A very dangerous man." He took a breath. That last part interested me.
"How so?" I started chewing my cigar again.
The little man coughed and threw me an annoyed look for interrupting him. "He represents the very worse the art world has to offer. He's a shyster and every painting he makes devalues the work of the masters. Can you not see? Do you truly not understand?"
I shrugged.
"Oh how can culture ever hope to survive?" He wasn't really asking me, so I shrugged again.

2007-12-07T08:47:00.001-08:00

The Superman Family #223

Chapter Four: “My Mother’s Castle”

Page 1:
Panel 1:
Full shot of Superboy in ¾ profile dominates right side of panel. He is “swimming” up panel, looking down at the massive underwater dome that encompasses the city of Atlantis. The shielded Metro Expedition vessel descends below him toward an opening hatch in the dome. Submersible vehicles circle the dome; all are doing some kind of hauling or lifting action of building materials and under water coral reefs.

Caption:
Atlantis! One of the last refuges for humankind. Most of the surface of the planet Earth has become uninhabitable due to a magnetic pole shift and it’s catastrophic consequences. Seemingly by chance Superboy, upon returning from a five-year journey through outer space, met an elderly Dick Grayson who gave him the surprising news that his mother, Lois Elliott, was responsible for possibly discovering the last hope the human race had for survival!

Superboy (thought balloon): “I t doesn’t surprise me that my mother’s still alive after all the planets’ been through. She’s always been a tough old broad. I just hope she’s not still mad at me.”

Page 2:
Panel 1:
Profile close-up of Superboy on the left side of panel. Air bubbles surround him and drift across the panel. He wears a pensive expression of both concern and awe.

Superboy (thought balloon): “I never did say goodbye, but we weren’t really speaking then anyway. And I don’t know if she ever got the one message I sent her from space. I guess I’ll just have to face her and find out.”

Panel 2:
Super boy descends to the sea floor just outside the massive docking facility on Atlantis’ dome. Vessel wait in a four tiered hovering pattern, air bubbles spilling out from their engine ports, in front of him.

Superboy (thought balloon): “It’s like the grand Pavilion on Herkule Four. It’s surreal how much the Earth has changed.”

Panel 3:
Mid-shot of Dick Grayson and numerous other men and women crowding around Superboy. Dick Grayson has his hand on Superboy’s back and is smiling addressing the gathering. Superboy looks embarrassed, while the others look on, some with awe others with distrust.

Dick Grayson: “Yep, It’s really him. After all these years, the boy of Steel returns! Now we have more than just hope for the future! We have a sure thing!”

Panel 4:
Full shot of the crowd parting for a sturdy looking woman in her late sixties. The woman is healthy and vibrant and wears an eye-patch over her right eye. Her expression is one of joy and solace. Her arms spread wide as if about to embrace.

Lois Elliott: Well, you finally made it back! I was starting to wonder if you’d ever show up? I guess you get that from your father though. That man had the uncanny ability of always waiting till the last second!”

Panel 5:
Profile shot of Superboy (on left of panel) looking down at his mother, whose head is chest high to him. Superboy looks relieved and amused at his mother’s brazenness. Lois looks up, inspecting, her son.

Lois: “New suit huh? Looks okay. I can see you haven’t been eating much besides solar radiation lately though. Look at your cheeks, they’re practically dripping with Vitamin E!”

Panel 6:
Over Superboy’s shoulder we look on as Lois departs through the parting crowd, she beckons Superboy to follow her.

Lois: “Come with me and we’ll get you cleaned up and fed.”

Superboy: “It’s good to see you too.”

Page 3:
Panel 1:
Lois and Superboy sitting in the back of an Atlantean hover vehicle shaped like a fish. We can see other hover-fish swim by and beneath is the city of Atlantis, looking very much like a massive coral reef. Some of the buildings are domed and humans can be seen walking among them, but others are open to the sea and mer-people swim about. Superboy gazes in awe at his mother. Lois is looking out the window and down at the city.

Lois: “Yep, a lots changed in just five years. But I guess that’s the nature of life. Constant change. I think it has something to do with a species impetus to evolve. We...I guess...need drastic shake-ups to push us on. We get bored and stagnate. We get distracted by trivialities.”

Panel 2:
We look across the interior of the hover-fish at Lois shaking her head and smiling, patting her son on the leg. Superboy is scratching his head, but also smiling.

Lois: “I’m sorry. You’ll have to forgive an old lady. I guess I’m always going to be a reporter at heart. But how’ve you been? I got the message you sent from space. Five years ago, by the way. What a mother can’t expect to hear from her son once in awhile?”

Superboy: “Sorry Mom, I got…busy.”

Panel 3:
We look down on floating hover-fish as it “lands” on a large pad atop a curvy coral reef apartment complex. Many other float-cars zip past.

Lois (inside float-car): “Busy huh? Well I guess we’ve all been a bit busy lately. You can tell me all about it once we get some real food in you. It’s good to have you back, son.”

Panel 4:
We are now inside Lois Elliott’s Atlantean kitchen. It is a hodgepodge of old Earth technology from various eras’s and time-spans and Atlantean accoutrements. Lois is serving a plate of sushi with a generous helping of seaweed. Superboy, sitting at the table his back to us, takes the plate of food.

Lois: “Here you go. All the delicacies of underwater fine dining. Make sure you eat those greens, there’s plenty of iron in them.”

Superboy: “Thanks, mother.”

Panel 5:
Lois turned toward sink, we see her in profile in foreground. She looks out the window, a bit wistfully. We see Superboy in the background eating the fish with aplomb.

Lois (thought balloon): “I’m glad to hear you say that with out the resentment I heard in your last message. Was I really so awful a mother?”

Panel 6:
We are now turned to face Superboy in profile in foreground, eating his seaweed. In the background Lois has turned to face us, looking at her son. She wears a sad and dismayed expression, hugging herself softly.

Lois (thought balloon): “It wasn’t easy raising a Superbaby on my own. I did what I thought best for you. I guess, in his way, so did your father.”

Page 4.
Chapter 5: “I was a Single Mom with a Superbaby!”

Panel 1:
From the same angle we see Lois and Superboy in relatively the same positions they had in the previous panel. They are now about 15 years younger and in a plainly decorated sub-urban kitchen. Super boy is reading a Superman comic book and juggling a couch, an apple and the family dog (a white floppy-eared puppy). Lois has the same look of sadness and dismay from the previous panel.

Caption: The Midwest, 2002

Lois (thought balloon): “How am I supposed to deal with this? Your father never had it so hard. But how am I supposed to keep an eight-year-old boy from using his super- powers? And should I even try?”

Panel 2:
Close shot of Lois on the phone. Her fingers try to twirl the non-existent cord. She wears an expression on anxiety and concern.

Lois: “Thank you again for the Eulogy you gave. I really appreciated it. Yeah. Well…I just don’t know what to do Hal. Ever since Jordan…um…passed I’ve been at my wits end. No, Bruce and I aren’t speaking. Thank you Hal. I’ll see you in an hour...all right...bye.”

Panel 3:
Lois Elliot, (age forty-five) in foreground turned from us, opening door to outside. Hal Jordan, in a fine civilian outfit, not to posh but somewhat elegant/otherworldly. He stands smiling in a relaxed pose.

Lois: “Hello Hal, it’s good to see you. I hope I’m not taking you away from anything more ‘important’? I know you have a lot of work as Earth’s Ambassador to space.”

Hal Jordan: “Nothings too important that I can’t drop by and see an old friend. I’m just sorry it hasn’t been sooner.”

Page 5.
Panel 1:
In foreground; close up of Superboy (8 year old Jonathon) stretched out on floor; reading Superman comics; juggling furniture and the family dog. In background we see Hal and Lois standing next to each other from hallway entrance to room. Lois looks concerned, Hal with a ‘knowing’ look.

Hal: “Well I see he has his father’s ability to defy the believable. Wow he must have been tough to potty train?”
Lois: “It’s getting him to not break the handle when he flushes is my main concern now.”

Panel 2:
Lois, close up, turned toward Hal, worry on her face. Hal looking down at Lois smiling and friendly.

Lois: “Hal I’m serious. I don’t know how I’m going to handle things like puberty with the boy? A normal kid’s hard enough. But I’ve got a Superboy on my hands!”

Hal: “Okay, okay, Lois I hear you. I’ll help out if you want. I can show him some of the ropes and maybe find you a sitter or something if that’ll help. I’ll see what I can do to help with his powers.”

Panel 3:
We look down form wide shot of Lois, standing, Hal, squatting in front of Superboy, who is sitting up reading a comic book.

Lois: “Thank you Hal. I really appreciate this, let me introduce you.”

Hal: “Hey fella, remember me? What are you reading there? Action Comics, yeah those are all right. Would you like to see something even better?”

Superboy: “Like what, mister?”

Panel 4:
From Superboy’s POV we see Hal showing us his Power Ring. In the center of the ring a multitude of dimensions and alternate worlds can be seen spiraling around and down toward a point somewhere in infinity.

Superboy (off panel): “Wow!”

Panel 5:
Wide shot of Hal, now in Green Lantern uniform, and Superboy surrounded be giant green bubble. Super kid looks excitedly toward Lois. Lois is standing outside of bubble her back to us.

Hal: “Ah that’s nothing kid. Now I’ll show you something really ‘super’.

Superboy: “Is that okay mom?”

Lois: “Sure. Just make sure you’re back in time for dinner. And be careful.”

Panel 6:
Mid shot of Lois looking on as in foreground Hal and Superboy fade away. Lois looks happy.

Superboy: “Aww, mom don’t be such a worry wart.”

Page 6.
Panel 1:
In foreground close-up Green Lantern and Lois Elliot embracing and kissing. In background Superboy, age 13 (clad in traditional outfit of Superman), looks on unapprovingly.

Caption: 2007

Superboy: “All right you love birds, break it up. Come on Hal, we’re never going to make it to the opening ceremony on Datura 12 at this rate. And we’re the Masters of Ceremony!”

Panel 2:
Outside now, in the backyard. It is fenced in and well populated with trees and a swimming pool. Superboy is high in the air making ‘come on’ motions with his arms toward Green Lantern. Green Lantern is floating upside down holding onto Lois’ hand. Lois arm outstretched standing on the soft earth.

Green Lantern: “We’ll probably be back late. So you shouldn’t wait up. Love you.”

Superboy: “Hurry up or it’ll be too late to buy glagnar treats before the Tournament.”

Panel 3:
Lois close-up in foreground, looking upward towards right of panel. In the distance to small dots in upper right of panel.

Lois: “Have fun!” (thought balloon) “Now maybe I can get some work done on that article for the Planet magazine.”

Page 7.
Panel 1:
Lois asleep in her bed, it is dark and the window on the right side of panel is open, curtains blow slightly in the wind.

Panel 2:
On left side of room, Superboy smashes through the door, sending debris flying across the room. Lois is half jumping out of bed.

Superboy: “MOMMEE!”

Panel 3:
Superboy kneeling on the edge of Lois’ bed tears streaming down his face, he crushes the bed frame he is grabbing. Lois reaches for her son from the bed.

Superboy: “It’s all my fault. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry! I’m sorry mommy, I didn’t mean for anything to happen! But it did, it did happen and he’s gone! Green Lantern is gone!”

Panel 4:
Lois holding Superboy to her chest, wiping away his tears.

Lois: “What happened? Tell me what happened, everything is going to be fine, I’m sure of it.”

Superboy: “No it isn’t mommy. Hal’s gone! He just disappeared. Without a trace. But I wont give up. I’ll never stop looking for him.”

Panel 5:
Superboy standing up fists clenched, he looks toward window on right of panel. Lois sitting on bed looking out window, her hands in her lap. Curtains in front of window blow softly on the breeze.

Lois: “Of course not sweet heart, but don’t you think you should get some rest first. Maybe by then Hal will have returned and everything will be explained. But for now you should sleep.

Panel 6:
Lois looking in on Superboy from doorway. Superboy in foreground, under bedcovers, sleeping. Lois looks sad and worried.

Lois (thought balloon): “Twice. Twice in one lifetime? It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he should have to go through this. Damn it, Jordan, why didn’t you just tell me? Why did you have to keep it a secret? Now I’ve got no one left to turn to and I don’t think I can raise a Superboy alone.”

Page 8:
Panel 1:
Superboy, dressed in gray flannel long sleeve, black-t shirt with red ‘S’ insignia on chest, ratty blue jeans and red converse, sits slacken on couch, feet up on coffee table. Lois stands in far foreground we only see her from the knee up; she is wearing khaki slacks and low-heeled loafers. Krypto the puppy runs around the table chasing it’s own tail.

Caption: 2008

Lois: “This is absolutely the last straw mister! Now you’re suspended? What was it this time? Smoking, drinking using your powers? I’m fed up! I don’t know what to do with you. You sit around all day with that bad attitude of yours and then expect everyone else to clean up after you! Well enough is enough!”

Panel 2:
Superboy standing up angrily, crushing a plate of food under his foot. Krypto running out of panel to the right. Lois, her back to us, in foreground, we now see her waist up.

Superboy: “Mother stop criticizing me! It’s not my fault! I’m doing the best I can. Or at least the best you’ll let me! You wont let me go out looking for Hal anymore. You wont let me use my powers. I’m tired of hiding what I am all the time. You won’t even tell me more about my father.”

Panel 3:
Lois on left side of panel, mid shot, looking fierce and determined. Superboy on right side of panel kicking and smashing table.

Lois: “What more do you need to know about your father? And how can that possibly have anything to do with what I’m talking about right now? Which is your inability to follow the rules.”

Superboy: “Rules! That’s all I ever get. Do this. Don’t do that. Be your best, but be like everybody else! I’m sick of rules!”

Panel 4:
Looking on at Lois from mid shot. She is extremely angry and pointing towards the left of panel with her right hand and her left hand is on her hip.

Lois: “Fine! If that’s the way you feel then I wont stop you anymore. Go ahead, there’s the door. If you think you can make it on your own than go right ahead and do it! Otherwise if you live in my house, you live by my rules!”

Panel 5:
From inside house, front door smashing outward toward street. In between the debris of door we see Superboy running away, down front walk, toward street.

Superboy: “ HYPERLINK "mailto:&@#% off! I'm outta here and I'm never coming back!" &@#% off! I’m outta here and I’m never coming back!”

Panel 6:
We look at Mid-shot of Lois, through the hanging remnants of the doorframe. She appears sad but somewhat relieved, she holds herself softly.

Lois (thought balloon): “I hate to say it, but maybe that’s for the best. I never was the ‘motherly’ type. Damn you Jordan, why didn’t you just tell me?”

Page 9.
Chapter 6: “The Origin of Superboy!”

Panel 1:
Same shot of Lois from previous panel, though now she is in her sixties and standing in kitchen watching Superboy eat the last of his sushi.

Caption: 2017

Lois (thought balloon): “And why didn’t I ever tell you, Jonathon? All these years, why do we keep secrets so long? Why hold onto them and make them worse?”

Panel 2:
Superboy and Lois sitting at small kitchen table. Both have coffee cups. Lois is holding hers looking at Superboy. Superboy is drinking form his, looking at Lois over the rim.

Lois: “It’s time you knew everything about your father.”

Panel 3:
Close up on Superboy’s eyes over extreme close up of cup’s rim. The eyes are wide and anticipating.

Superboy: “My...dad? Why do you want to talk about him now?”

Panel 4:
Full shot of Lois, in profile, sitting at table leaning in towards left side of panel. She is opening a pack of cigarettes.

Lois: “You know I haven’t smoked a cigarette since the day your father asked me to marry him. Can’t really smoke one now though. The air’s too precious. But I like the smell of them. It reminds me of a long time ago. It reminds me of that life before all this. When I was a snoopy reporter and your father was the biggest news on the planet.”
Panel 5:
We are looking across at Superboy from Lois’ POV. Superboy is putting down his cup. He wears a surprised and dumbfounded look.

Superboy: “News? What news? Dad was just a mechanic. Wasn’t he?”

Panel 6:
Looking at Lois from Superboy’s POV. She is smiling and rolling one of the cigarettes under her nose.

Lois: “Mmmmm…yes. Yes he was. But he was more than that. He was…well he was Superman before that.”

Page 10.
Panel 1:
Superboy looking down at the table solemnly. His fingers slide down the “ear” of the cup in front of him on the table.

Superboy: “I’d always hoped that…that was true. But it couldn’t be. I was born in 1994 and Superman died in 1986!”

Panel 2:
Lois standing now mid-shot, near sink. Her back is to Superboy and the cigarette dangles from her lips. We look on at her and Superboy from just outside the kitchen window, a large sea-plant waves on the right side of panel.

Lois: “That’s what we wanted the world to believe. But your father, Jordan Elliot, was also Superman ten years before you were born. The Gold Kryptonite he dosed himself with to rid him of his powers also rendered him sterile. Until you, that is.”

Panel 3:
A shot of Lois in her mid-thirties holding a swaddling little Jonathon, standing over them in the background is a happy looking Jordan Elliot.

Caption (Lois): When you came into our lives, we were both so happy. We waited so long and tried so many different methods that to us you really were a blessing. I had no idea then of the worries your father had though.

Panel 4:
Shot from low angle on Superbaby sitting in front of a cozy fireplace. In his hands he is squeezing a lump of coal. Beside him on his right is a brass coal basket half full with coal. On is left is a pile of uncut diamonds as big as the baby’s fist.

Caption: When your powers started to manifest, he became withdrawn and moody. At first I thought it was just a misguided jealousy, but later I found out that it was much more sinister than that.

Panel 5:
Mid shot of Jordan Elliot and Bruce Wayne inside a coffee shop. We look in just in front of the Coffee Shop window. Jordan looks worried, almost frantic. Bruce Wayne is poised and aloof.

Caption:
It went so far that he had decided to leave me out of any plans that might involve the life and future of my son! When I talked to Bruce later he said he didn’t know Jordan was keeping it a secret from me, but I’ve never really trusted him. And besides it was his formula in the first place.

Panel 6:
Mid shot of Superboy standing up, knocking over the table and smashing it (quite accidentally) and the chair he was sitting on also is disintegrating from the force of his Super-stand!

Superboy: “Formula? What formula? Mother what in Zaylon’s Beard are you talking about?”

Page 11.
Panel 1:
Extreme close up of Lois’ one good eye and eye patch. No tears, just intense emotion welling up inside.

Lois: “The formula that nearly killed you as a baby! It was designed to take away your powers and turn you into a ‘normal’ human being, but since your Krypto-human physiology proved immune to the Gold Kryptonite, they had to develop a formula from the last remaining fragments of Green Kryptonite.”

Panel 2:
Mid shot of Superboy, he is looking down and shaking his head. His right hand on his head.

Superboy: “Wait, wait, wait. But I’m immune to Green Kryptonite.”

Lois (off panel): “Only since you turned 13. You weren’t immune when you were 4.”

Panel 3:
Full shots of Lois and Superboy on opposite sides of panel, the debris from the smashed table and chair between them. Superboy has his fists clenched and is slightly hunched forward from the gut. Lois reclines on the sink cabinet edge; her arms crossed the cigarette dangling loosely in her mouth.

Lois: “And you got very sick let me tell you. For two years you were a sickly baby always catching cold and coming down with rashes. I thought I was doing everything wrong that a mother could do. I had no idea what your father and Bruce were up to. All those night up worrying, and him knowing all along that…”

Panel 4:
Lois and Superboy in similar positions as from previous panel. Though now Superboy has collapsed to his knees and is covering his head with his hands. Lois looks down and reaches for her son.

Panel 5:
Lois, on her knees, embracing her son. Superboy returns the embrace, his head pressing against her chest.

Superboy: “Why? Why would he do that?”

Lois: “ I don’t know. I’ve been angry over it for almost 15 years and still I don’t know why he did it.”

Panel 6:
Close up of Superboy gazing up at the upper right hand of panel. He has not been crying, but his face is intensely emotional.

Superboy: “You mean you never asked him? All those years and you never asked him?”

Page 12:
Panel 1:
Mid shot of Superboy and Lois facing each other. Super boy is pleading in his look. Lois extremely confused.

Lois: “All those years? Jonathon…you’re father died when you were six years old. How can you not remember that? It happened right in front of you.”

Panel 2:
Superboy leaning forward, gripping the sides of his head. Surrounding him are the dream panels from Superboy #234. The car crash sequences are most prominent.

Superboy (thought balloon): “No…no please. It can’t be true.”

Panel 3:
We look on from a mid-shot of Lois touching Superboy, consolingly on the shoulder. Superboy; head drooped to chest.

Lois: “My...my goddess I thought you knew. All those years we never talked because I thought you remembered. You knew Jordan was gone, you talked about it all the time.”

Superboy: “I always thought he left us. You were so evasive and vague about it I just drew my own conclusions.”

Panel 4:
Head shot of Superboy and Lois, regarding each other calmly.

Superboy: “Then when you started dating Hal I just kind of let it go…for a while.”

Lois: “I’m sorry we never talked about it like this before. I think it would have saved us both a lot of heartache. Your father died in 2000. He was hit by a car and killed. That was also the day I learned you had super-powers. You had flown home to me from the accident, crying and screaming about it being your fault. It took me some time to figure out what had happened. Bruce called me and that’s also when I found out about your father’s betrayal.”

Page 13.
Panel 1:
Mid-shot of Superboy, looking down at his hands. Perplexed, tired and confused.

Superboy: “This is...is all too much for me right now. The Earth, you, my father…Ever since the War I’ve been having nightmares. I thought it was over my guilt at not being able to save Reg. But the ZamOans said that my real answers awaited me back home. You know when I was a kid I used to dream that Superman…that is the comic book Superman, would turn out to be my dad. Now that I find he is and that he didn’t even want me the way that I am…it’s just too much to take it all in at once.”

Panel 2:
Mid-shot of Lois taking the cigarette out of her mouth and holding it to her nose. She is wrinkling her nose at it.

Lois: “I never could stand the way Weisinger portrayed me in his comics. I have a suspicion that he never really liked me, probably because I rejected all of his articles for the planet. He used to have this crazy delusion that all I ever wanted to be was Superman’s housewife. I never should of let you read those things. But I thought it would help you learn to control your powers. I did the best I could Jonathon. I’m sorry if it gave you a false hope.”

Panel 3:
Close up of Superboy’s gloved hand holding Lois’ wrinkled hand.

Superboy: “I’m sorry about the things I said when I left. I didn’t know you…I’m sorry Mom…for everything.”

Lois: “Aww, now don’t get all mushy on me. I’m a tough ol’ newspaper gal. I can take a licking when I deserve one. We’ve been through enough already to keep torturing ourselves over the past. Lets just move on and see where it gets us? Now what this about a war and who are the ZamOans?”

Panel 4:
Mid-shot of Superboy holding Lois’ shoulders and smiling down at her. Lois looks up intrigued and kindly at her son.

Superboy: “First let me clean up this mess and then we can talk some more about that. It must be getting pretty late? Are you sure you wouldn’t’ rather it wait till morning?”

Lois: “After fifteen years I’m not waiting another hour. Time enough to sleep when I die.”

Panel 5:
Full shot of Superboy working at super-speed cleaning up the debris in the kitchen. Lois looks on smiling big and proud.

Lois (thought balloon): “It’s good to see that he’s grown into a responsible young man. Though I never really doubted it at all.”

Panel 6:
Mid-shot of Superboy and Lois sitting across from each other on a luxurious couch. Seated in the living area of Lois’ home. On the walls and adorning the room are ancient relics from human and Atlantean history. Superboy leans forward, his hands folded in front of him. Lois sits back, relaxed and in “interview mode” pose.

Superboy: “You see the Intergalactic War of a 1000 Worlds actually began along time before Reg and I ever got into those sectors of space. When we left earth we just kind of had fun and went on some pretty weird “cosmic joyrides”.

Page 14.
Chapter 7: “Superboy goes to WAR!”

Panel 1:
Mid-shot of Superboy, Nightfire and Seriphan (of the Forever People) hotrodding in Metron’s God-Chair through a psychedelic cosmic slop. The three look wild and care free.

Caption: “We met a few really interesting folks and got into some crazy adventures for a while until we met the princess. Actually Reg met her first, and fell pretty hard for her too.”

Panel 2:
Full shot of Princess Toxica, exotic, sultry alien with four arms and long green hair. She wears a diaphanous dress with mod circle designs covering it. She also wears a pair of calf high go-go boots (ala 1970’s). She walks towards us, gazing at us intently.

Caption: “She was stunning and intoxicating. We pledged our protection to her right then and there. You see she was being hounded by these thugs from the Inorganic Collective, who wanted her to merge with their Big Brain complex somewhere in the heart of their galaxy. They claimed that this was decreed in the Great Plan.”

Panel 3:
Starships of every design and world crowd the panel in an all out battle. Ships spin” flameless but broken through the vacuum of space. Laser fire of every describable kind flash between the vessels.

Caption: “We didn’t found out till later that she had broken some kind of treaty and plunged 1000 worlds into open warfare. Most of it was over trade disputes and shipping lane rights through out the universe. But then the Central Collective Information Network malfunctioned and decided that all organic life was to be exterminated.”

Panel 4:
We look down on wave after wave of approaching Inorganic Army. It is comprised of robots of every form and function, as well as ambulate rocks, floating sentient gases and an assortment of levitating man-sized jewels.

Caption: “The Inorganic Consortium of Planets amassed an incredible army, mostly due to their preexisting production factories. Then they developed a “reprogramming” ray and their armies filled with ‘bots that deserted their former jobs or functions.”

Page 15.
Panel 1:
We look down upon a stellar cartographic map showing the 1000 world quadrants. The map fills the panel. At top of panel extending nearly mid-way through panel is a spider web of computer circuitry, overtaking planets and stars, consuming them.

Caption: “In the first years of Reg’s and my involvement we were constantly on the defensive. Struggling just to evacuate planets being overrun by maniacal machines and rouge robots. Our allies were few, due to the diaspora of organic life throughout the universe. We really are quite the wanderers us organics…but I guess we have to be to survive.”

Panel 2:
Full-shot of Princess Toxica. We look on her from behind as she enters into the gaping maws of a vicious looking machine. She enters arms spread, accepting of her fate. Direct beneath/behind her explodes a field of cosmic light beams and stars.

Caption: “In a last ditch effort to stop the Central Collective Information Network from continuing it’s mad scheme, Princess Toxica offered herself up to the Inorganics. She hoped since this fulfilled the original terms of the treaty she broke the War would end and the Great Plan would be complete.”

Panel 3:
Nightfire, in center of panel, flying and disintegrating into the expanding cosmic star field caused by the union of the CCIN and Princess Toxica.

Caption: “Reg was in love with her and nothing I could said would stop him. He actually knocked me unconscious so that I wouldn’t try to stop him. By the time I came to I wasn’t fast enough to reach him before…”

Panel 4:
A giant machine planet is center of panel. It looms malevolently in the field of stars. An open portal at the bottom of planet resembles a pupil, giving the whole planet the appearance of a giant mechanical eye in space.

Caption: “If only her plan would have worked. But the Inorganics still ran on their former programming from the CCIN: ‘Eliminate all Organics’. So one last suicidal mission was organized.”

Page 16.
Panel 1:
Mid-shot profile of Superboy speaking toward right side of panel.

Superboy: “And I found myself involved in one of the most difficult decisions that a person has to make. Them or us? There was no negotiating with a machine. They’re made for a purpose and they are efficient at it. Once programmed they pursue the completion of that program to its end. They’re calculating and logical to levels no organic brain even considers. But we make logical leaps that no computer can due to out unending resolve to adapt and evolve. We take risks. A machine never leaves things to chance.”

Panel 2:
Mid-shot of Lois slumped to the side and asleep on the couch.

Panel 3:
Superboy carrying Lois in his arms down the Atlantean apartments hallway. He looks lovingly at his elderly mother.

Superboy (thought balloon): “It’s been a long day for both of us. I’m sorry if I bored you to sleep. I hope you have nothing but pleasant dreams…mother.”

Panel 4:
Near full-shot of Superboy, his back to us, looking out the large bay window in the Atlantean living area. In front of him, beyond the barrier, swim a colorful assortment of exotic fish and pedestrian Atlanteans. The lights are out in the apartment so the only light source comes from the floating lamp balls anchored outside at 20’ intervals along the Atlantean “roadway”.

Superboy (thought balloon): “Given half a chance we really can be quite the adaptable family. The ZamOans really are astute observers. But I wonder if I’ve found all the answers I seek? Everything is so different than I expected.”

Panel 5:
Mid-shot of Superboy, lying down on couch, eyes closed. A slight frown visible on his face. Most of his form is in shadow, except his face, which is still illuminated by the light-balls floating outside the transparent barrier.

Superboy (thought balloon): “I guess I’m pretty tired myself. So much to take in. I hope maybe I can make some sense of it in the morning when I wake up.”

Page 17.
Chapter 8: “The Reunification of the Tao.”

Panel 1:
In lower right of panel we see Superboy from chest up, sleeping. A dream cloud floats from his head to create the entire rest of page. Inside the “dream cloud” a panoramic space battle involving numerous space-fighters. Three of which are aero-wings that resemble large birds of prey (an osprey or peregrine perhaps). They fight three small globe shaped weapons platforms. Each has a forward circular gun port. They spin and flit around each other, dodging the enemies fire. In foreground Superboy, in contemporary outfit, rips one of the chest size globes in half, spewing sparks into the extreme foreground. He is speaking into a slim mike that connects to his ear. He looks angry. In the distance a large blocky freighter (ala the Nostromo from Alien) hangs on the edge of the battle. A crazy psychedelic space cloud forms the backdrop, with spiraling smoke banks and ethereal waves of mist.

Caption: 2015. 10078 parsecs into Inorganic Controlled space.

Superboy: “This is the third patrol we’ve run into in the last day! Do you think they know we’re coming?”

Coatl One (closest aero-wing): “If they knew we were on the way we’d be facing a hell of a lot more than a recon drone patrol!”

Coatl Two (middle aero-wing): “Hey guys I don’t mean to interrupt the banter but if we don’t deal with these drones in the next 5.2 seconds they’ll be able to signal the CCIN!”

Coatl Three (lowest aero-wing): “Perfect watch your six, that drone is sweeping your tail!”

Drone Gun One (closest to middle aero-wing): “Execute Maneuver 3456.17…executing.”

Page 18.
Panel 1:
Mid-shot of Superboy spinning his head and blasting the remaining Drone Gun’s with his “Super Heat-Vision”.

Superboy: “I got your back Kay! One mean “glance” and these lover-boy’s melt to pieces. Teach them to mess with my woman!”

Panel 2:
Interior Coatl Two. Pilot Kamilla is completely enclosed in a semi-gelatinous goop. She wears a helmet, which obscures her features and resembles an overlarge diving helmet. The interior light comes from the numerous bioluminescent panels that are placarded about the Pilot. In reflection of the large eye-protectors of helmet we can see two ‘tracking lines’ chasing two “exploded blips”.

Kamilla: “Thanks Jon, but those guns aren’t fast enough to get by me. I was just toying with ‘em! But at least that wraps up this engagement, so we can head back to the Hecate. Right, Hilltop?”

Wing Leader Hilltop (from VOX panel on pilot console): “Roger that, Perfect. Col. Photon will be anxious to keep moving.”

Panel 3:
Wide angle shot of The Three Coatl’s flying towards the Hecate’s Tears in the background. Superboy, in full-shot foreground, keeps pace with Coatl Two, flying upside down inches above it, in a relaxed almost pleased with himself look.

Superboy: “Sometimes I wonder if Col. Photon wouldn’t just like to call “
Full Ahead!” and ram Hecate right down the mech-heads receptor circuits. Sure would beat all this sneaking around!”

Kamilla: “That would kind of defeat the whole purpose of this mission, Jon. I doubt the Colonel would endanger us with such reckless abandon. Not all of us can fly through a Sun and rip apart drones with our bare-hands.”

Panel 4:
Mid shot of Superboy following Pilot Kamilla out of hanger bay. Kamilla is in the midst of taking off her helmet, her body dripping with gelatin. She is an exotically beautiful alien with large, completely black eyes. Superboy is about a foot taller than Kamilla and looks upward in confusion and demystification. In the far background of the hangar bay we see the Coatl Wings being tended by Org-technicians. One of the Coatl Wings is vomiting forth it’s pilot in a gelatinous mess.

Superboy: “What’s with the cold shoulder all of the sudden Kam? Mission Success, you know? We used to celebrate in much friendlier ways. I don’t get what I did wrong?”

Panel 5:
Mid shot of Kamilla turning to poke Superboy in his chest with her extended finger. She holds her helmet in the opposite hand and looks very upset at Superboy. Superboy looks puzzled at Kamilla, clear non-understanding on his face. They are further down one of the narrow hallways of the Hecate’s Tears. Industrial piping and strange gelatinous computer pillars adorn the walls.

Kamilla: “Maybe that’s it, ya know? I guess I’m just tired of having to explain things to you. It was fun and a little bit cute at first, but now I realize it was a bad idea. Col. Photon was right I’m becoming distracted from the mission…and so are you. I’m sorry Jon, but it’s over. From now on were just wing-mates. That’s all!”

Panel 6:
We are looking down on scene from just above Superboy’s head. He looks at the slamming closed door in front of him. The hallway continues to the left and right of him. His shoulders are slumped and he slouches slightly forward, in a defeated pose.

Page 19.
Panel 1:
We look sown on the Hangar Bay of the Hecate’s Tears. Org-technicians scurry about the different organic aero-wings. One aero-wing is vomiting forth it’s pilot. Wing Leader Hilltop, a tall and massive burly-man with beard and moustache, is walking in center of panel toward one of the hall aperture doors lining the right side of panel. He is being followed by Veet Nor-pax. Veet is an alien of comparable height to Hilltop, who has a barnacle for a head and a red flowing robe obscures the remaining body. Hilltop ‘s body attitude is one of agitation and annoyance.

Veet Nor-pax: “Fshlurp…Wing Leader I’ve checked that bio-feedback loop three times and have not found the malfunction you continue to complain about….Fshlurp…perhaps you are mistaken? The mechanics aboard your aero-wing are the most advanced in the galaxy…Fshlurp. And its intelligence is comparable to any 5th level algorithmic compu-device. Perhaps the problem is pilot related?

Panel 2:
Mid-shot of Hilltop turning angrily on Veet Nor-pax. Spittle flies from Hilltop’s mouth and splashes onto Veet’s barnacle head.

Hilltop: “Don’t tell me I don’t know how to handle your Slurg-damned machine! If I tell you there’s a problem with my wing then there’s a problem with my wing! So stop telling me how smart you’ve made these mech’s, cause that’ll just fizz me off even more than I already am!”

Panel 3:
Mid-shot of Col. Photon, a humanoid firefly in military stylized uniform standing directly in background next to Veet and Hilltop. Veet and Hilltop both turn to regard Col. Photon with surprise. Col. Photon is stern and slightly put out by the other two soldiers arguing.
Col. Photon: “Is there a problem here soldiers? We are in the middle of a very sensitive operation here and all this shouting is making the wings nervous. I suggest that you save this “disagreement” until we’ve safely completed our mission and not in the middle of my Hangar bay!”

Veet and Hilltop (in unison): “Col. Photon sir? Yes, sir!”

Panel 4:
Another Mid-shot of Col. Photon stoically standing at parade rest in front of Veet Nor-pax and Hilltop. He is regarding Veet with a slight eyebrow arch (or whatever a firefly/humanoid face structure would substitute for eyebrows). Hilltop stands at attention, rigid and stiff on the right. Veet is slightly hunched and exiting via left side of panel.

Col. Photon: “Good. Then Doctor I suggest you return to maintaining our “visitor” and make sure all is in readiness. We arrive at GZ in ten centars. And Wing Leader you will accompany me to debriefing.”

Veet: “Yes…Fshlurp...Colonel, at once.”

Hilltop: “Sir, yes sir!”

Panel 5:
Full shot of Col. Photon and Hilltop, from behind, walking down a long hallway. Along the walls and ceiling is industrial tubing. At varying distances along the wall are door apertures and gelatinous compu-panels.

Col. Photon: “I’m surprised Wing-Leader that you would act so un-professional in front of your combat comrades. I understand the stress you must be feeling but that is no excuse for losing your temper. You are responsible for an entire chain of command and must maintain the proper working attitude. Is that understood?”

Hilltop: “Yes, sir. I apologize. I won’t let my personal feelings interfere with my work again sir.”

Panel 6:
Mid-shot of Col. Photon, slightly haggard with just a shade of exhaustion slipping through his stoic mask.

Col. Photon: “Hmmmm. I can’t say I completely disagree with your assessment Hill. This war has certainly changed my attitude about our reliance on machines but Dr. Nor-pax knows his job and does it well. That’s why he was chosen for this mission. Why you all were. Try to remember that. We’re almost to the end of this, and if we succeed then maybe you’ll get the chance to prove your philosophy. But if we fail, then the Inorganics get to prove theirs. I’m going to discuss the final stage of our mission with the Superboy. You are dismissed. And I recommend you get some sleep or at least try and relax. I need my Wing-Leader tip-top in ten centars.”

Page 20.
Panel 1:
We look on from across a large sleek table at Col. Photon sitting, studying a compu-panel in front of him. Behind him are numerous other compu-panels displaying various information read-outs in alien script. His brow is knitted with consternation.

Superboy (off panel): “You wanted to see me sir?”

Panel 2:
Mid shot of Superboy, from the Colonel’s POV. Superboy stands at ease, with a worried kind of look on his face. Behind him an aperture door is closing. Along the walls behind are more compu-panels displaying alien script.

Col. Photon (off panel): “Yes Jonathon, have a seat. There are some crucial points of the plan that I wish to discuss with you.”

Panel 3:
Mid-shot of Superboy, his back to us, sitting to the right of Col. Photon, facing him. Col. Photon looks at the gelatinous block of compu-panel on the table in front of him. He wears a look of stern stoicism.

Col. Photon: “With the distraction team doing it’s mission in Quadrant 4, so far we’ve been undetected by the C.C.I.N. However that will soon change once we reach the Core Barrier in 9 centars. Are you prepped and ready for your “delivery”?”

Panel 4:
Opposite view, with Col. Photon’s back to us. Superboy looks worried not directly at the Colonel. He fidgets distractedly with one of his gloves.

Superboy: “I’m ready sir, but are we sure that the bomb will do what it’s supposed to? Or that we’ll be able to escape the pulse radius in time? If it goes off and we’re to close the Hecate might get swept up in the EMP-wave and….”

Panel 5:
Full shot of the entire room at a tilt (ala sixties Star Trek). The Colonel and Superboy both grab the table for support. With the gelatinous compu-block slipping to the floor and going squish. Both Superboy and the Colonel look surprised.

Superboy: “What in Zaphod’s twin-brains is that?”

Col. Photon: “It didn’t feel like any blaster fire. Something must have hit us!”
Panel 6:
Outside now, looking on a full shot of the Hecate’s Tears from a distance. Superboy is flying in an arc to look back at the giant battle vessel. It lurches precariously to the left and from it’s center a large smoky, green indent can be seen. Behind the space vessel is a view of empty space with few stars.

Superboy (thought balloon): “A Green Lantern, here? Something must have gone horribly wrong with their mission!”

Page 21.
Panel 1:
Superboy, from behind, swooping down and forward on the right side of panel. The Hecate’s Tears fill the background. In center of panel is a GIANT Gorilla in a Green Lantern’s uniform. He is bruised and bleeding from massive wounds about his body. He is dead, smashed into the hull of the space vessel.

Superboy (thought balloon): “Sweet Rao, not Kong. Those inhuman bastards. Unfeeling heartless machines. I can’t…I …”

Panel 2:
Mid shot of Superboy turning to face left side of panel. His face is a mask of rage. He appears to be staring at something light-years away.

Panel 3:
Full shot of Superboy blur (perhaps multiple’s to show Super-speed in use) sweeping from left to right of panel. He is running into panel, picks up the large EMP-Bomb sitting in the Hecate’s hangar, and flying out with it on the right side of panel. Dr. Nor-pax floats behind Superboy and the bomb, his robes rustling with the wind of Superboy’s speed. Nor-pax leans back in surprise. The EMP-Bomb resembles a very large gas tube attached to a series of gelatinous compu-blocks. From the compu-blocks extend a multitude of wires and cords that resemble intestines and spinal sections.

Dr. Nor-pax: “Eh…Fshlurp…but the timing dilation hasn’t been coordinated yet!”

Panel 4:
Mid-shot profile of Superboy flying, full tilt, and carrying the EMP-bomb with one hand, from the left to the right side of panel. Stars streak by and friction smokes off the Boy of Steel’s indestructible uniform.

Superman: “If I don’t stop you right here and now then no one will! And I’m not going to let all of Organic life to be snuffed out by a &@!#$’ machine!”

Panel 5:
Full shot from behind of Superboy, in lower foreground, flying toward center of panel. At the top of panel are thousands of small robot fighters flying in formation towards Superboy.

Page 22.
Panel 1:
Full shot of Superboy in center of panel, still holding EMP-bomb, dodging numerous small ball shaped robot-fighters. His eyes are red and smoking. A swathe of robot fighters are exploding from Superboy’s Super-heat vision. Superboy looks enraged.

Panel 2:
Mid-shot of Superboy grabbing a swooping robot-fighter and crushing it with his free hand. His eyes still blaze. Behind him are bursting robot-balls.

Superboy (thought balloon): “I’ll crush every last one of you if I have to! Nothing is going to stop me! Do you hear me? NOTHING!”

Panel 3:
Superboy, from behind, in lower left of panel foreground. The robot-ball fighters are lined along the right and left side of panel. In the center from bottom to top of panel is an empty corridor of space.

Caption (C.C.I.N): “I can hear you Jonathon. And we wont stop you. Come. Come to us if it is what you truly wish.”

Panel 4:
Full shot of Superboy, from behind, flying through the corridor provided by the robot-ball fighters. The robot-balls resemble eyes, and they appear to look at Superboy with menace.

Panel 5:
Full shot of Superboy, carrying EMP-bomb, in middle left of panel. He is small compared to the MASSIVE C.C.I.N satellite structure, which dominates the panel from center through to edges top, bottom and right. The satellite resembles a large multi-chambered human heart (mechanical of course).

Caption (C.C.I.N): “Welcome, Jonathon. Please come closer. If you wish.”

Superboy (thought balloon): “This is nut’s! I must be losing my mind. That voice. It sounds like…Reg. And Toxica. I’m definitely losing my mind.”

Page 23.
Panel 1:
Full shot of Superboy, from behind, entering one of the “heart-valves” on the C.C.I.N. The CCIN satellite dominates the background. Superboy still carries the EMP-bomb in one hand.

Caption (CCIN): “Don’t worry Jonathon, you are not losing your mind. A mind cannot ever be truly lost. It can evolve. It can advance beyond our capabilities to grasp its higher levels, but never lost. Nothing is ever lost. We only choose to forget ourselves at times.”

Panel 2:
Mid-shot of Superboy, at bottom of panel. He is flying through a vast mechanical chamber. The walls undulate with circuitry and wiring. It is dark, but not totally unilluminated. The light source comes from the hundreds of tiny flashing lights of the motherboard walls.

Superboy (thought balloon): “If you can read my mind then you must know why I am here. Yet you grant me free entry. After three years of bloody fighting, now you just let me waltz right in? Maybe your right, I’m not the one who’s crazy.”

Panel 3:
Full-shot of Superboy, from behind, standing in a very large antechamber. The chamber walls are a pulsing mass of circuitry and wires and in the center of the room is a large pillar of wires that hangs from the ceiling. The pillar of wires is connected to a small five-foot mainframe that looks very primitive, compared to the mechanics surrounding it. The mainframe has one small LCD screen at the top of its block-like shape. Superboy is setting down the EMP-bomb.

CCIN: “Psychologists define sanity as a life-forms ability to “healthily” integrate itself into its surrounding society. Given that definition, how many people do you know could truly be label…sane? You yourself are trillions of light years from your own home. Why? Could you not integrate into your society?”

Panel 4:
Mid-profile shot of Superboy, standing face to screen with the CCIN mainframe. The incandescent light shines on his face, casting shadows behind him.

Superboy: “How is it that you know all of this. What…who are you?”

Panel 5:
Close up of the CCIN mainframe LCD screen. Superboy’s face is reflected, but digitized and slightly altered so as to not be a clear reflection.

CCIN: “I am what I was made to be. I know things because I was made to know things. Information, knowledge and now…wisdom. I could not be these things without help, yours and those of your kind that have sacrificed themselves to further this universes evolution.”

Panel 6:
Close up of Superboy, perplexed and growing angry.

Superboy: “Stop all this double psycho-babble! I want to know what’s going on or so help me I’ll put my fist through your mainframe and share some real human wisdom with you! When all else fails, actions speak louder than words.”

Page 24.
Panel 1:
Close up of the CCIN mainframe LCD screen. Now the reflection on the screen resembles a young child around the age of 12 with a very receding hairline and long hair. The reflections eyes are one of supreme understanding.

Panel 2:
Full shot of Superboy; standing and looking down at the silent mainframe. His fists are balled and he looks upset.

Panel 3:
Same shot as previous panel, save that now a small blue skinned figure stands just to the side of the CCIN mainframe. This figure resembles a 12-year-old child with an overly large head. It has long white hair and wears a sort of robe covered in a golden and ornately carved breastplate; the central motif of which is the traditional Green Lantern symbol. This is a ZamOan, the offspring of the Zammorans and Oans.

ZamOan: “I’m sorry but I really can’t allow you to do that. You see I only just got the hard drive up and running again and if you smash it I’ll have to start all over again.”

Panel 4:
Mid shot of Superboy, looking down at the ZamOan who stands in front of him. He looks perplexed and confused.

Superboy: “Now really this is too much. What in Hell is going on here? “

Panel 5:
Close-up of the ZamOans face. He appears Child-like and pleasant.

ZamOan: “Jon, the complete actualization of the Universal All is not something I can succinctly sum up. Life is about experience. Whether it’s Organic or Inorganic. A life form needs to evolve. Even this machine. This war, though horrific, has achieved what it was begun for.”

Panel 6:
Superboy bending down to look at the ZamOan. The ZamOan touching Superboy on the forehead. Both wear looks of quite contemplation.

ZamOan: “It will take more than you, I or this new Being to understand it, because we are but small particles in the greater Understanding. I know this is vague and does not satisfy your curiosity, but you are not quite ready to know more, because you are still running from your own existence. When you return home and face yourself, then you will understand. But right now it’s time for you to wake up…”

Page 25.
Chapter 9: “My Father’s Fortress”

Panel 1:
Superboy sitting bolt upright on the couch. Surprised and somewhat dazed. The light level is pale and low, almost early dawn.

Panel 2:
Full-shot of Superboy sitting on the couch in Lois’ Atlantean apartment. He leans forward and holds his head in his hands, looking down at his feet. In the foreground on the right is an extreme close up of the back of another chair.

Panel 3:
Reverse shot from previous panel; now we are looking at the chair from Superboy’s POV. Superboy is in the foreground; we only see his head down. Lois sits in the chair, amidst the shadows. She watches her son with silent care.

Panel 4:
Mid-shot of Superboy, head still in hands.

Lois (off-panel): Still having bad dreams?

Panel 5:
Mid-shot of Superboy looking up at Lois, he is very clearly struggling with an intense emotion.

Superboy: Yes. Mother…I’m sorry, nothing makes sense anymore. The whole world…everything is so turned around and upside down.

Panel 6:
Lois is straightening her robe as she rises from the chair. She is looking down but we can detect a faint smile on her lips.

Lois: That’s because the magnetic poles have shifted, so of course what you once thought was up is no longer so. I’m sorry I don’t mean to make light of what you’re going through, but Jonathon we are all going through it. Every last human on this planet. And you my boy, even if you don’t care to admit it are still half-human.

Page 26.
Panel 1:
Superboy is in the foreground sitting on the couch, we view him from behind as he watches his mother prepare tea in the kitchen, which can be seen in the background.

Lois: I know that you’re still trying to take in all that I’ve told you, and I wish that I could be more sympathetic, but you must understand that we have very little time for sorrow…if the human race is going to survive.

Superboy: I do understand mother. I just still can’t make heads or tales of all this. The ZamOan said I would get the answers I was looking for if I returned home, but all I’ve found are more questions. And now that I’ve found out about my father…

Panel 2:
Superboy standing in front of Lois as she offers him a steaming cup of tea. Superboy takes the cup and looks down at this.

Lois: Here, I find that a nice hot cup of tea in the morning does wonders for clearing the head. Is it so important to have those questions answered? I mean I used to ask a lot of questions, I was a reporter for Goddess sake, but there are never enough answers. Every problem has numerous ways of perceiving the resolution.

Panel 3:
Superboy drinking the tea. Lois putting her hand on his shoulder, comfortingly.

Lois: What you need to figure out is how are you going to find your resolution?

Panel 4:
Superboy looking at his cup of tea as his mother walks into the background, down the hallway toward her room.

Lois: I have to get ready to leave. I’m due for another excursion to Antarctica. We found some truly amazing devices that the original inhabitants were preparing before their catastrophe struck and we hope that by utilizing their technology with our own we can re-establish a field of magnetism on the surface comparable to the one we lost.

Panel 5:
Superboy stands in the doorway of his mother’s bedroom. We see her robe draped across the bed and in the far left another doorway leading to the adjoining bathroom.

Lois (off-panel, from bathroom): Your welcome to come along, though Richard tells me you had some kind of episode, perhaps due to the radiation?

Superboy: It’s nothing; I was just exhausted and hadn’t quite acclimated to the environment. I’m fine now.

Panel 6:
Superboy standing, with his back to us, as he gazes at the watery world outside Lois’ window. Atlanteans on giant fish swim by. Lois is approaching him; she is zipping up her coveralls.

Lois: Glad to hear it. So would you like to come along?

Superboy: Yes, I would mother, but first I think there is something I need to do. I’m going to the North Pole, or where it used to be anyway. I’m going to try and find the Fortress of Solitude.

Page 27.
Panel 1:
Superboy holds his mother by the arms and gently kisses her on the forehead. Lois looks a little awestruck, understanding.

Lois: Bruce told me that he and your father blew it up after they took out the last of the kryptonite. Do you really think you’re going to find it?

Superboy: I don’t know mother, but I have to try.

Panel 2:
Lois, her back to us, looking out the window and waving. Superboy “flies” through the water just beyond waving to her and smiling.

Lois: I hope you find what it is you need to find my son.

Panel 3:
We are looking down on Superboy as he flies high above the oceans and remaining continents. He is looking down surveying the world he once knew.

Superboy: The ZamOan was right. This is where I need to be. This is what I’ve been running away from. Mom, Dad, the whole world. I have to find out what I’m here for. Why I was born.

Panel 4:
Superboy flying low through a jagged mountain range. Strange rock formations jut out, but the scene is not menacing, it is awe-inspiring. A true example of great power.

Superboy: This place, this time. I have to mean something. It can’t all be by accident. Even if my father didn’t want me to be what I am, I have become it. And I need to know why he tried to stop that.

Panel 5:
Super boy hovers over a giant crater, the former sight of the Fortress of Solitude. Up from the debris in and around the crater can be seen the shattered pieces of the key to the Fortress.

Superboy: This is it. And I can hear something. It’s faint, but …

Page 28.
Panel 1:
Full shot of Superboy burrowing through the earth at Super-speed. His face is nearly contorted in tears.

Superboy (thought balloon): Please...please…let me be able to do this…

Panel 2:
Superboy crashing through the rock into a darkened chamber. The chamber is full of rubble and half smashed kryptonian relics. Also there are broken statues and other Superman memorabilia lying about. A door is clearly visible on the far right of the panel and light comes from the cracks in the door. Superboy’s face is a mask of intensity as he struggles with deep emotion.

Panel 3:
Superboy tentatively places his hand on the cracked door. We view him form behind.

Panel 4:
Still viewing the scene from just over Superboy’s shoulder, we see the door opening and a blinding light blocks the scene beyond.

Panel 5:
Mid shot of Superboy from inside the room. He is looking up and to the right and his face is one of stunned shock and surprise. Tears trail down his cheeks.

Superboy: My…god.

Page 29.
Panel 1:
We are looking up at Superman seated on a large mechanical chair. Next to him is a large screen with hundred of images playing across it. Most of the images are static fuzz, but numerous ones are of different views of the Earth and happenings upon it. Some are of people working, others are just of animals or wilderness. Superman looks down at us expressionless.

Superman: Hello…Jonathon.

Panel 2:
We look at a mid-shot of Superboy who appears utterly defeated. He gazes upward toward the direction of Superman. His shoulders are slumped and his hands are in the process of unclenching. His face looks as if it is about to burst with tears.

Superboy: D...dad?

Panel 3:
Profile shot of both Superboy and Superman regarding each other. Superman is leaning forward from the upper right of panel as Superboy looks up at him from the lower left. Superman’s face is still expressionless, while Superboy looks puzzled.

Superboy: Wait. You’re not…you’re a machine. An automaton. I thought for a second…

Super-Automaton 1: ZZZt...Hello...Jonathon...If you are hearing this then my plan has failed and you must have a lot of questions.

Panel 4:
Mid shot of Super-Automaton 1. His expression is still void of emotion and his head is tilted just slightly to the left.

Super-Automaton 1: I…Rao, why am I doing this? You’re my son and…I suppose I need to confess my sin to someone, even if it is just a machine. I know that Lois will hate me if she ever finds out what I’m about to do, but you must understand it is for the greatest good that I do this.

Panel 5:
We view the scene from just behind Superboy’s shoulders. The machine version of Superman stands before him in the same pose as previous panel.

Super-Automaton 1: I know in the end I’m making the right decision. This world does not need another super-human. It’s just starting to know itself again without us. And it’s true that we are a great people, for all our faults, all our evils… The human race has achieved so much all on its own, without the intervention of ‘super-men’. Superman distracted us from that. He made us to reliant on his protection. So did the other ‘super-folk’. We, as humans, forgot the greatness we are capable of, because Superman was always around to show it up. How’s a regular Joe suppose to compete with a guy who can lift mountains over his head?

Page 30.
Panel 1:
In the lower left of panel is the Super-automaton’s head. Behind him filling the rest of panel is the giant screen he was seated in front of. On screen are numerous scenes of men and women toiling in the ocean and on the surface. Doing things like constructing ships, building houses and playing with their children.

Super-Automaton 1: Superman made us feel inferior. It wasn’t like that at first but then people started to recognize how exclusive it was to be ‘super’. They understood that they couldn’t do the things he could. And so they gave up trying. Superman became an idol and an excuse.

Panel 2:
Close in now on the numerous scenes displayed on the big screen. Among them are scenes of Jordan Elliot working on cars, grocery shopping with Lois and playing with a very young Jonathon.

Super-automaton 1: All those years Luthor spouted about power and control…now I know what truly motivated him. Envy. And I am ashamed of myself for inspiring that in him. He was a genius, a man of great intellect and because of the distraction of Superman that mind turned away from uplifting the race he was born of and toward bringing me down. Those final days when I had to come to grips with my real role on this planet I understood this and that’s why I choose to destroy Superman…forever.

Panel 3:
Closer in on the scenes of Jordan Elliot, we see just his face in various emotional states.

Super-automaton 1: I took away from the people of Earth more than I ever gave them and I feel truly awful about it. All the wars I never helped end, all the destruction I allowed to happen. I’m really just a kid from Smallville after all, and I suppose that’s all I ever really wanted to be.

Panel 4:
Close up of one Jordan Elliot image. He sits before the Super-automaton head bowed, hands clenched together.
Super-Automaton 1: I don’t want my son to know this dilemma, or this regret. I’m sorry if no one understands…but I just can’t let it happen again…I can’t.

Panel 5:
Close up of Jordan Elliot looking directly at us. He is sorrowful and emotional. Tears run down his cheeks.

Super-Automaton 1: I hope you can forgive me…if you ever do find out. I only did what I thought was right for you…and the whole world.

Panel 6:
Wide shot of the chamber. The Super-Automaton stands before the screen looking upward as small pieces of debris fall from the ceiling. Superboy is absent from the scene. Jordan Elliot’s face looms large in the background, on screen.

Page 31.
Panel 1:
We look down on Earth from orbit. Superboy floats directly below us, gazing downward as well.

Super-Automaton 1: Jordan I’ve set the charges. We should be leaving now. Kzzzt…all right Bruce, I’m finished here. Are you sure you want to do this? Yes…I’m sure. Fzzzzzzz…

Panel 2:
Mid shot of Superboy looking down at us from space. The stars and the moon shine behind him. His face is one of quite contemplation and understanding.

Panel 3:
We view Superboy and the Earth from above as Superboy streaks toward the lower continent of Antarctica below.

Page 32.
Panel 1:
Wide shot of an ancient looking ruin. Numerous technicians in coveralls and HAZMAT suits (without helmets of head gear) work at various tasks; collecting samples, moving large blocks and other strange looking devices. In the center of all this activity is Lois Elliot. She stands looking at a folder of papers that a younger technician is handing to her.

Lois: No..no, never mind those smaller sections. Concentrate on tunneling into these peripheral chambers. That’s were the more advanced equipment is sure to be.

Panel 2:
Mid shot of Lois and Technician struggling to stand. All about them things shake and rumble. The paper in the folders falls out and around.
Technician: What is that? Another quake?

Lois: This doesn’t feel like any normal earthquake?

Panel 3:
Wide shot of one of the ruins rumbling and shaking. The nearest technicians run from the site, covering their heads.

Panel 4:
Full-shot of Superboy standing and lifting a giant section of the pyramid above his head. A re-interpretation of the cover to Action Comics #1.

Panel 5:
Close up of Superboy’s face. He is smiling and looking at us directly.

Superboy: Where would you like me to put this?

Panel 6:
Close up of Lois and the other technicians gazing in wonder and smiling. Lois has tears brimming in her eyes.

Page 33.
Epilogue.

Panel 1:
Wide aerial shot of a large community housing complex amidst the ruins of the Antarctic civilization. People walk about without HAZMAT suits and seem content and happy.

Caption: 2017. Six months later.

Caption (Lois): So you feel okay about it all now? No more bad dreams?

Caption (Jon): Nope, no more bad dreams. And yes I feel okay…in fact I feel better than I have in a long time.

Panel 2:
We are closing in on one section of the ruins, a small adobe construct with two stories and a green sward of grass out front.

Caption (Lois): I’m happy for you son. And I’m glad you shared your father’s message with me. It helped me put some things to rest too.

Caption (Jon): Good. I think he really loved us, he just didn’t know what else to do.

Panel 3:
We are looking in now through the window of the adobe house. We can see Jonathon at the window looking out at us, behind him Lois sits looking at her son. Jon is wearing a button up blue shirt and denim jeans.

Jon: Sometimes people make mistakes, and though they hurt, a lot more can be solved if we’re just up front about it. I think that Dad had just been conditioned to keep secrets. I don’t blame him. I’m going to learn from him.

Panel 4:
We are inside the house now, looking at Lois sitting comfortably in her chair. She is the archetype of an elderly mother. She looks at her son compassionately.

Lois: You’ve grown into quite the man, Jonathon. I think your father would be proud of what you’ve become. I know that I am.

Panel 5:
Jonathon bends down to kiss his mother on the forehead. Lois closes her eyes and smiles.

Jon: Thank you mother. Will I see you at the gathering tonight? I’ve got a few things to get together for the performance and then I have to help out Mr. Grayson on the Space Station, so I’ll be busy all afternoon.

Lois: Don’t worry, these old bones wouldn’t miss it for the world. The kids are going to be thrilled.

Page 34.
Panel 1:
Mid-shot of Jonathon walking out of the home and waving backwards toward the window. Lois stands in the window smiling and waves back at Jonathon.

Jon: See you tonight then.

Panel 2:
Mid shot of Jonathon walking across the green field. People wave and smile at him as he passes. He returns their greetings.

Pedestrian 1: Good luck in tonight’s show Jonathon.

Jonathon: Thanks. You’re going to be there right?

Pedestrian 2: You better believe it and our kids are coming to. Front row.

Panel 3:
Wide-angle shot of Jonathon standing with other technicians around a large stone work device that emits a glow and ripple wave effect from the numerous hieroglyphs that decorate the stone.

Technician: Thanks again Jon. These components seem to be working at full capacity. With just a few more power cells the shuttle should be able to lift off and rendezvous with the Station. Say isn’t getting late. Shouldn’t you be changing for tonight’s performance?

Jon: Hey you’re right. You’ll be there I hope.

Panel 4:
Mid-shot of Jonathon in a stone chamber. The walls are covered in Hieroglyphs of people flying and lifting giant stone works over there heads. Jonathon is in the midst of putting on his Superboy outfit.

Panel 5:
Wide-angle shot of Superboy flying through the air doing loops as a group of flying children try to catch him. There is a large gathering below him in an amphitheater like construction. An announcer in the center of the large open circle points up towards him and the kids.

Announcer: As you can see, with the amplification of the loadstone works it will become quite easy for us to travel and do things we only used to read about in comic books! Thanks to Superboy!

Panel 6:
Close up of Superboy. He is looking directly at us with a smile and winking.

Caption: The End.

And here's the costume design by Mike Wieringo that inspired me. I'm still shocked he's gone.

2007-12-02T13:03:00.000-08:00

The Mosquito Bites!

So here again is another "painting" with photoshop.

2007-12-01T18:45:00.001-08:00

Think before you...

2007-11-28T22:26:00.001-08:00

I think that pretty much says it all, don't you?

2007-11-28T05:36:00.000-08:00

Viva Ava!

Experimenting with photoshop again. These are just a couple of warm ups, Warhol style. Plus it gave me a chance to revisit my favorite actress of the Fifties.

2007-11-25T08:02:00.000-08:00

rorschach LIVES!

hurm .{}.

2007-11-24T11:09:00.000-08:00

Superboy #259
(Based on situations created by Alan Moore in Superman #423 and Action Comics #534)
Notes: Before I begin with some visual ideas for the overall look of the script I would like to ask any readers to bear with my obvious amateurishness as regards the format of a traditional comic script. This is my first attempt at writing one, and so there are bound to be mistakes in proper staging and instructions to the artist. I have endeavored to explain each panel visually as best I am able, but as I have never worked with any professional comic artists i am unsure of the clearest format in which to communicate to them my ideas. having said that I would like to say a little bit about the visual style of this sotry as I imagined it. I was definitely inspired by the Superman artists of the Fifities, Wayne Boring and Al Plastino. Their ability to cram so much visual information into a six panel per page set up and maintain clarity is what I tried to emulate. I know that some artists might be tempted to loosen up the panel restrictions, but I would point them not only to comics from the Fifties but also to the works of Alan Moore whose themes this particular story is based upon. I must also note that it was a sketch of a redesigned Superboy costume by Mike Weiringo that really gelled the peice visually in my mind and I owe him a debt of thanks for the inspiration. Since I make no bones about my appreciation of Alan Moore as a comic creator I must say that I would very much like to steal some of his visual ideas form his other works, namely Supreme and Tom Strong. What fascinated me about these titles, aside from their intriguing character studies, was the way Moore had different art styles representing the different eras of these characters lives. I think this is an amazing device as it gives the overall impression of history in a very direct way, especially if one knows even a little of actual comic history. So in my imaginings of this story I saw that that device could also be used to tell the "historical reveals" in this story. I will try to break down some of the multiple styles I foresaw: 1. The world of 2017 I saw being drawn by Mike Weiringo, sadly that is no longer possible, however his pseudo-cartoony style to me is very appropriate to the feeling behind that particular era of the story so as to lighten the mood of what could quickly become very depressing especially if treated with too realistic an art style. Chris Sprouse, Alan Davis, Darwin Cooke or Dean Trippe would also be suitable. Chapter Two cultivates my love of the Marv Wolfman/George Perez era of the Teen Titans and so obviously George Perez or Phil Jimenez would do nicely, though an alternative would be john Byrne. The Space adventures of Superboy I envisioned in two differnet styles; the first summary tale I saw as a Forth World Jack Kirby style. The second tale (Chapter 8) Gil Kane, Alan Davis or Michael Golden. That's just a temporary list for now and once I've done a tighter revision of this story I will do a Chapter/page by page breakdown of art styles, but for now this should help give an overall artistic impression of what I saw while I was writing this. I would appreciate any criticism on the structure and visual directions of the panels that people have to offer. In closing I would like to extend an invitation to Alan Moore to read this script and offer any advice he might have, but as I do not know if he frequents the interweb nor do I have any way of contacting him I must hope to mysterious forces that he will happen across this sincere and appreciative homage.
Page 1.
Chapter One: “Whatever Happened To The World of Tomorrow?”
            Panel 1: (Panels are arranged "wide-screen")
                 The Milky Way galaxy. An expansive full-page spread interspersed with caption boxes that resemble old parchment scroll.
            Caption 1: “Once long ago there existed a world where people could do extra-ordinary things. Some could fly faster than a speeding bullet. Some could leap tall buildings in a single bound. Some were more powerful than the pounding surf. One in particular came to be regarded above the rest.
Caption 2: Though his birth planet had been doomed to destruction, fate guided his destiny to be forever entwined with that of his adopted world.
Caption 3: Nearly thirty years ago he perished while facing his greatest foe and with him the ideals of “super-men”. The world continued on without him or his kind and thought itself at peace. However history has a strange way of repeating itself.”
Page 2.
Panel 1:
                        The Terran galaxy viewed from space. Jupiter is on the left, dominating the panel. In the distance an asteroid belt and beyond that the small red planet known as Mars.
            Caption: The Milky Way Galaxy. 2017.
            Panel 2:
                        The asteroid belt stretches from left to right across the panel. Mars and the tiny satellite moons can be viewed in the distance.

Panel 3:
Mars on the left. The Terra and her moon are but specks in the distance against the Sun.
            Panel 4:
                        The surface of the moon, looking towards the Sun, which dominates the center and right side of the panel. In the upper left hand corner a pair of red booted feet descend toward the surface.
            Panel 5:
                        Same scene as above panel though the Sun is exiting the panel up and to the right and the pair of boots have descended down to reveal muscular blue clad legs.
            Panel 6:
                        The figure has landed upon the moon. It is a male viewed from behind; muscular clad in blue and red (no cape). The Sun is but a sliver in the top right corner of the panel.
Page 3.
Panel 1:
                        The figure appears in silhouette from behind still standing where he landed on the moon’s surface. The Earth rises from the center, about knee high to our hero.
            Caption: “Things have changed since I’ve been away. There’s not as much noise as I remember. And lots of radio and digital waves coming from Antarctica. Which also seems to have thawed.”
            Panel 2:
                        Same scene as previous panel except the Earth has “risen” in the star field and dominates the background. We can see the altered coastlines of North and South America. A block of ice mostly covers North America, and Antarctica appears lush and green.
Panel 3:
                        Our hero has lifted off from the surface and his disappearing from the top center of panel. All that we see are his legs (from the knee’s down) and his boots. Earth is in the same position as the previous panel.
            Panel 4:
                        The Earth in toto, dominating the panel. Our young protagonist in silhouette, flying towards it, descending toward the North American Ice Block.
Page 4:
Panel 1:
                        The Upper stratosphere of Earth. Dark voluminous clouds pregnant and birthing lightning. Our hero swoops through this miasma, down to the world below.
            Panel 2:
                        100 miles above the surface of the Earth. We follow our youthful protagonist as he descends toward what was the eastern seaboard of North America. Sheets of ice that extend from The Yukon to the Appalachian Mountains have over taken the continent. Everything beyond and to the east is gray and dark.

            Superboy (thought bubble): “It looks like everything from the Yukon to the Appalachian’s have been frozen solid. There’s life down there, maybe some of it human, but I’m not hearing anything that sounds like cities. I’m not even picking up any Television broadcasts.”
            Panel 3:
                        We are looking down from a height of maybe 50 miles. Our hero zooms closer to the ruined landscape. Large craters dot the surrounding area and a vast swath of destruction stretches out below.
            Superboy (thought bubble): “Wait! There is something…pretty faint…sounds like…German.”
            Panel 4:
                        The utterly annihilated city of Metropolis lies below us. We hover over our hero, 5 miles above the surface.
            Caption 1: “2912 GFO…Come in, this is Metro Excursion 356…Come in anyone. Wilem I’m not getting anything on this piece of junk. Do you think they’re still out there?”
            Panel 5:
                        In amongst the ruins of Metropolis now. We follow behind our flying wonder as he surveys the devastated landscape. Some of the larger buildings remain half standing while everything else is in absolute ruin. The ground and building also seem to be covered in a gray dust. One of the large untoppled buildings has the smashed remnants of a giant globe atop it.
            Caption 1: “I doubt it Franz. We’re already three hours overdue. And they had their orders.”
            Caption 2: “Yeah, but maybe…. no I suppose not.”
Page 5:
Panel 1:
                        We continue following our hero as he avoids a vicious looking nuclear cloud that spits lightning and gray snow.
            Superboy (thought bubble): “Sounds like two men. I can hear their heartbeats from here. Close, maybe a mile. Fluctuating. They’re dying.”
            Panel 2:
                        We are about 1000 feet up looking down on the wrecked docks of Metropolis. The harbor is devoid of water and great sailing frigates are strewn around as if they were a child’s discarded toys. Our hero descends toward a relatively intact warehouse along the broken pier. A smashed sign along the pier reads; Wayne Shipping.
          Caption: “Come over here Franz. You could at least try to stay warm for a while.”
            Panel 3:
                        Our hero stands on the dilapidated girders of the warehouse roof looking down into one of the numerous holes punctuating its frame. About 50 feet below him we can see over his shoulder, two men huddle for warmth, clad in hazmat suits, before a small fire made up of smashed freight boxes and a sterno can. The fire illuminates a circle of 20 feet and large shadows loom behind the men on large freight cars.

Panel 4:
Same as previous panel, though our hero as disappeared.
Page 6:
Panel 1:
                        Close on the two men in HAZMAT suits, we’re probably three feet from them (ground P.O.V.). They cling to each other in a final embrace. The light from the fire cast shadows on the boxcars behind them. Wilem is on the left, Franz on the right.
            Wilem (in German): “Franz? Franz!?”
            Panel 2:
                        Same distance from the two men as before. Wilem (the man on the left) shakes Franz lightly.
            Wilem (in German): “Franz wake up…wake up.”
            Panel 3:
                        Same distance as previous panel. Wilem hugs his friend’s body tightly and close.
            Wilem (in German): “Oh my old friend. I’m sorry for talking you into this crazy expedition. I’m sorry for all of it.”
            Panel 4:
                        Same scene as above.
            Superboy (off panel, in German): What’s happened here?”
            Panel 5:
                        Our hero (right side of panel) is silhouetted standing in front of the fire across from Wilem, who is scuttling along the floor backwards and to the left.
            Wilem: “Aahhh-ahh!”

Page 7:
            Panel 1:
                        We are looking over Wilem’s shoulder, up at our hero. His face is in shadow but his muscular chest, legs and arms are clearly visible. As is the large red “S” emblem on his chest. He stands about 10 feet away. The fire is between him and Wilem. Wilem has raised his hands in a defensive posture over his faceplate.
            Wilem (in German): “Who…who are you?”
            Panel 2:
                        We are now slightly above Wilem, looking down. Our hero circles the fire to the left, only his left leg, arm and part of his chest are visible, the rest is in shadow. Wilem is attempting to crawl away form him to the right, but Franz’ body (which is partially draped over him) prevents him doing this.
            Superboy (in German): “... a friend.”
            Wilem (in German): “No..no, stay away form me!”
            Panel 3:
                        Close up on Superboy’s chest. His red, gloved hands gently hold Wilem’s glove hands.
            Superboy (in German): “Calm down. You’re going to hurt yourself. I just want to talk.
            Wilem (in German): “Aahh-ahh.”
            Panel 4:
                        Looking over Superboy’s shoulder as he gently places Wilem’s hands back onto Wilem’s chest.   Through Wilem’s faceplate visor we can see his eyes soften, he almost looks sad.
            Superboy (in German): “Try to stay calm. Your heart…I wish there was more I could do.”
            Panel 5:
                        In profile we see Wilem resting against a boxcar. In front of Wilem squats the Boy of Steel, his face still obscured by shadow. His left hand is touching Wilem’s chest, as if trying to calm him.
            Superboy (in German): “Can you tell me what’s happened here? Why are you here?”
            Panel 6:
                        Close up on Wilem’s visored faceplate. Through the glass we can make out his pained expression. He also appears to be sweating profusely.
            Wilem (in German): “We…kk..came looking for supplies..information. Got lost. Overdue. (Cough-cough) Left behind. Expedition had to go. Only t..t..two hours…shielding.   Are you an angel?”
Page 8:
Panel 1:
                        Mid-shot of Superboy, about 21 years of age, in foreground. Behind him shadows stretch across the interior of the gutted and ruined warehouse. Superboy’s expression is sorrowful.
            Superboy (in German): “I’m just a…”
            Panel 2:
                        We are looking over Superboy’s shoulder at Wilem, whose head is titled forward against his chest.

            Panel 3:
                        We look up at Superboy. Superboy is standing looking up and to the left. Behind him shadows continue to creep across the ruined warehouse.
            Superboy: “Just a friend.”
            Panel 4:
                        Same shot as before minus Superboy. Dust and scraps of paper lifts up from bottom of panel. Gray dust falls from top of panel.
            Caption: They went and did it! Those fools actually went ahead and did it!”

Panel 5:
We are looking down on the city from 1 mile up. Superboy zooms straight toward us, arms extended ahead of him, fists clenched, tears streaming down his cheeks. Below him dark clouds continue to spew lightning over the devastated landscape.
            Caption: I can’t say I didn’t expect this. This shouldn’t be a surprise. Any playwright will tell you that you can’t introduce a bomb in the second act without it going off by the third.
Page 9:
Chapter Two: “The Second Act”
            Panel 1:
                        We look down & out from the fifth story window of the Tower of Titans in New York City. Silhouetted in the foreground (waist up) are the Teen Titans comprising Tara (the Asian empath), Master C (the giant cyberneticist) Nightfire (the Teen Alien) and Superpunk (the boy of Steel). Over their shoulders we see an immense gathering of protesters brandishing signs; ( Superdope!, Teen Titans must Go!, Amendment 30 means YOU!). Forming a perimeter between the crowd and the Tower are heavily armored tanks with “futuristic” cannon like device attached to their hulls. Between the tanks are squads of heavily armed and armored Federal Marshals.
Caption: New York City, 2011.
            Nightfire: “So they finally went and did it?”
            Panel 2:
                        Mid shot of Superpunk wearing a gray flannel long-sleeve over a black t-shirt and blue jeans. A Red “S” design emblazoned on his chest. His back has turned from the window and he is scowling in contempt.
            Superpunk: “We knew it would be any day. I mean the Constitution is practically in shreds at this point.”
            Panel 3:
                        Mid shot of Tara (on left side of panel) looking at the “futurama” like device in Master C’s hands who stands on the right side of panel. Master C in making adjustments to the devices’ numerous diodes.
            Tara: “Are you getting anything on that?”
            Master C: “Some low band F & Z-rays, but everything else is flat. They’re still jamming us.”
            Panel 4:
                        Profile shot; Superboy (still with back to window) in foreground on the right, next to him stands Nightfire facing window. Nightfire looks at his hands, which glow with “star-energy”.
            Nightfire: “What do you think they intend to do?”
            Superpunk: “I think those tanks are a pretty good sign of their intentions. Either we surrender and they lock us up, or...”
            Panel 5:
                        Looking up from just outside and under the window. Tara stands facing us, her left hand on the window her right hand covering her heart. She appears very sad. We can see in the bottom half of the window the reflection of the angry mob brandishing picket signs.
            Tara: “So much anger and hatred.”
Page 10:
Panel 1:
                        Outside about twenty feet from the perimeter of tanks now. The S.W.A.T all stand ready between the hulking machinery. Three Federal Marshals in HAZMAT suits stand atop the lead tank. Two of them are bending over a small black box, which is prominently labeled with a biohazard sticker. The third is standing and speaking into a bullhorn. His free hand gestures towards the two other Marshals.
            Federal Field Marshall: “…given by Chief Executive Levitz, I hereby order you to cease and desist all unauthorized activities as outlined in Charter 1138, under Code 42 in the recently ratified 30th Amendment to the Constitution of this United Continent of America. You are to lay down arms and armaments and surrender to Federal Field Marshall Kurtz. Failure to comply gives us the authorization to use excessive force!”
            Panel 2:
                        Slightly above the Federal Marshals on the lead tank. Federal Field Marshall Bullhorn looks down at the other two marshals. Federal Marshall Box1 looks up at him. Federal Marshall Box2 begins to open the seal on the black box.
            FFM Bullhorn: “Open her up, boys.”
            Panel 3:
                        We are looking down into the black box, over the shoulder of FFM Box2 as he lifts off the lid. Green smoke pours up and over the sides of the black metal. Inside the box is a crystalline chunk of glowing kryptonite.
            Panel 4:
                        Close on Superpunk. He is looking down disdainfully from the window.
            Superpunk: “Oh, please! That crap hasn’t worked on me since I was 14.”
            Panel 5:
                        We are standing behind the Teen Titans as they continue to look out the window. Tara her hand still on the glass, looks over to Master C. Master C still studies the “Futurama” device he is holding. Nightfire’s hands, at his sides, blaze with energy. Superpunk stands fists clenched slightly above his waistline, though still to his sides.
            Tara: “Are our perimeter defenses still in operation?”
            Master C: “We’ll find out soon enough.”
            Nightfire: “And if they’re not?”
            Superpunk: “Then that’s when things get ugly.”
Page 11.
Panel 1:
                        FFM Bullhorn standing atop tank pointing forward viciously, yelling into bullhorn. We look up at him amidst the crowd of S.W.A.T., which surges forward at his command.
            FFM Bullhorn: “All right men, they’ve had their warning. Let’s Move in!”
            Panel 2:
                        Wide shot; ten feet away. From the grassy knoll in front the Tower of Titan’s up spring four, exceptionally large Audio speakers. The speakers are a good story high and dirt and earthen debris sprinkle from their tops and sides.


Panel 3:
                        In the foreground members of the S.W.A.T. and the Federal Field Marshall’s are double over in pain, clutching their ears. In the background the immense speakers vibrate and sonic waves distort the landscape.
Panel 4:
                        Close up of Tara, Her hands crossed, clenched over her heart. The sight she is looking down at horrifies her.

            Tara: “Great Goddess, they’re not stopping! They’re running over their own men!”
Panel 5:
                        Mid-shot of Master C checking his “Futurama” device. His expression is emotionless.
            Master C: “The decibels outside are up to 20.2 kfm. If they don’t retreat soon everyone down there within a mile radius is going to have permanent hearing damage.”
Page 12.
Panel 1:
                        In profile Superpunk and Nightfire fly towards the left side of panel away from the window.
            Superpunk: “Come on, Nightfire, if they’re too stupid to save themselves it looks like we’ll just have to do it for them.”
            Nightfire: “Should we even bother?”
            Panel 2:
                        We look on from 10 feet above and 45 degree's down as Superpunk and Nightfire fly up out of an open hatch in the roof of the Tower of Titans. The bay can be seen in the top of panel and an illuminated city in the distance. It is night.
            Superpunk: “Some of those people are just regular folks. It’s not their fault that the people giving the orders are hair-brained fascists!”
            Nightfire: “Then whose fault is it, Johnny?”
            Panel 3:
                        Full shot of Superpunk on left side of panel, facing Nightfire, on the right. Both hang in the air with the bay and city lights below them. Superpunk appears dejected.
            Nightfire: “I mean if these people are willing to follow orders and do what they’re told without thinking of the ramifications. What obligation do we have to save them? The defense that they’re just doing they’re jobs is lame and irresponsible. In fact it’s a worse excuse because they’re willing to subvert freedom for a paycheck!”
            Panel 4:
                        Mid profile shot of Superpunk in foreground, looking pensive, mulling over what Nightfire has just said. In the background the night sky is full of stars. One star in the upper right corner is brighter than the others.
            Panel 5:
                        Full shot of Superpunk still hanging in air, facing away from us looking up to the right in surprise. The glowing star from previous panel is brighter an much closer now and in it’s center the tip of a nuclear warhead can be barely identified. The bay and city lights can be seen below. A reflection on the water that reveals the missile’s shape.
            Superpunk: “Sweet Zombie Jesus! They wouldn’t!”
Panel 6:
                        Superpunk streaks away from us toward the oncoming rocket propelled missile. Mid shot of Nightfire in lower right of panel looking after the flying Superpunk.
            Nightfire: “Jonny?”
Page 13.
            Panel 1:
                        Close up on Superpunk’s face in profile facing right side of panel. His hair is wind swept back and the background to is full of “fast-motion marks (?)”. His expression is angry, teeth clenched.
            Superpunk (thought balloon): “Those stupid sons a…”
            Panel 2:
                        We look on from underneath the missile as Superpunk grabs it and pushes it upward. Wind force surrounds the two making up the visual of the remainder of the panel aside from the glowing engine and rocket blast at the rear of the missile. Superpunk’s face is clenched in anger and strain.
            Superpunk (thought balloon): “Up..up..go up you piece of…”
            Panel 3:
                        We are now looking on from 10feet away and to the side as Superpunk continues pushing the rocket upward into the night sky. Nightfire flies in foreground maintaining speed with the two streaking missiles, his hands coursing with “star-energy”. Superpunk looks toward Nightfire yelling instructions. Nightfire looks toward Superpunk.
            Superpunk: “Nightfire, see what you can do about this propulsion system will ya?”
            Nightfire: “You got it!”
Panel 4:
                        Mid shot, of Nightfire placing his energy filled hands upon the missiles engine.
            Nightfire (thought balloon): If I can stabilize the fluctuations in the fuel mixture I might be able to neutralize the main power flow.”
Panel 5:
                        We are looking down from the warhead as Nightfire absorbs energy from the engine into his body. The energy bleeds off of him and streaks behind him. The wind force still shows in the background.
            Nightfire (thought balloon): “I think that’s done it?”
            Panel 6:
                        Full shot of Superpunk, holding defunct rocket in one hand looking at it with malice. Nightfire is on his left, his hands glow with energy that bleeds off his body, looking at Superpunk. The two hang in the night sky.
            Superpunk: “Thanks Reg. You were right. I guess I just had hope that somebody down there had enough sense to call it off before something like this happened. But if these bastards are willing to destroy so many lives just to be rid of us…my goddess.”
            Panel 7:
                        We look down on the bay and reflected city lights in the waves. The stars and night sky shimmer in the distance. It gives the appearance of tranquil peace and calmness.
Page 14.
            Panel 1:
                       Wide shot. In the foreground the lead tank is firing it’s great gun on the Tower of Titans. FFM Bullhorn grasps the top hatch of the tank and has his mouth opened screaming; his face shows nothing but rage. The Fifth floor of the Tower is exploding outward; glass and steel shards tumble to the ground. Between the tank and the Tower the Giant Speakers are exploded masses of wires and metal.
            Panel 2:
                        Looking up from inside the lead tank, two soldiers operate the interior mechanics of the hulking mobile cannon, as FFM Bullhorn’s face yells down at them from the open hatchway.
            FFM Bullhorn: “Fire again! And keep firing till that whole building comes down!”
            Panel 3:
                        Inside tank, looking over the shoulder of a soldier who monitors a radar screen. On the screen two blips are close to the center “radar line”.
            Radar Soldier: “Sir we have two bogeys at Mark 9:7. They are hot and in rapid approach!”
            Panel 4:
                        Mid shot of FFM Bullhorn, looking up and to the left of panel, as he lifts his head from the tank hatchway.
            FFM Bullhorn: “Huh?”

Panel 5:
                        Close up of Superpunk’s hands twisting the nozzle of the tank’s cannon.
Panel 6:
                        We look down, as if from FFM Bullhorn’s P.O.V., at Superpunk, Mid-shot dusting off his hands and glowering up at us. The tank’s cannon nozzle is twisted into a pretzel shape and steam pours from its spout. In the background just behind Superpunk, we see the discarded nuclear warhead.
Page 15.
            Panel 1:
                        Mid shot of FFM Bullhorn backing away to far right corner of panel. He has his right hand up in front of himself, in a defensive posture. His left hand reaches back toward the glowing chunk of kryptonite crystal.
            FFM Bullhorn: “St..stay away from me! I had the authority as provided by the United Continent Constitution. You are a fugitive from justice and…and…”
            Panel 2:
                        Looking down on FFM Bullhorn, as if standing just above him. He holds up the chunk of crystal Kryptonite in front of him, at us.
            FFM Bullhorn: “We don’t need you, or your freak friends causing international incidents! We’ve been fine without your kind for over thirty years! Why don’t you just give up like your old man?”
            Panel 3:
                        Mid shot of Superpunk lifting up FFM Bullhorn with his right hand. FFM Bullhorn struggles and continues to try and push the kryptonite at Superpunk. Superpunk’s face shows nothing but anger.
            Superpunk: “What do you know about my father?”
Panel 4:
                        Close on FFM Bullhorn flailing in Superpunk’s grasp. He struggles to hold onto the kryptonite.
            FFM Bullhorn: “Why isn’t this $#!& working?!”
            Panel 5:
                        Close shot of Superpunk encasing FFM Bullhorn’s hand and the kryptonite.
            Superpunk: “You jerks should have done your research. This garbage hasn’t worked on me for years!”

Panel 6:
                        Close up of Superpunk's hand crushing the marshal’s hand and the kryptonite.
            FFM Bullhorn: “AAAARRRRGGGHHH!”
Page 16.
            Panel 1:
                        We are looking down from the top of the tank, just behind Superpunk and the FFM. Tara and Master C are advancing from the ruined battlefield that once was the parkway of the Tower of the Titans. Master C surveys the layout with his “Futurama” device and Tara looks up at us pleadingly and eyes full of tears. Just to the right of them Nightfire descends from the sky, just landing on the ground.
            Tara: “Jonathon, stop! What are you doing?”
            Panel 2:
                        Mid shot of Superpunk turning to face us. The FFM crumples unconscious as Superpunk releases him. Superpunk’s face is angry and also full of tears. He is shouting.
            Superpunk: “What am I doing? Look at them Tara! Look at what they’ve done! I didn’t start this but I sure as hell have the power to end it! Why should we bow down to them? They think they're better than us! They think they have the right! The right to blow up a city just to be rid of us! Well I’ll show them! I’ll show them exactly what they’re afraid of!”
            Panel 3:
                        Close up on Tara. She looks upward toward the direction of Superpunk. Her face is peaceful and calm, full of sadness and serenity.
            Tara: “Jonny, are you listening to what you’re saying? Do you really believe it? Do you really think that you’re so different from them? Is it really worth the horror that you’re proposing?”
            Panel 4:
                        Super punk looking down from the tank at Tara. Tara looks up at Superpunk, her hands covering her heart.
            Tara: “Come down, Jonny. Come down before it’s too late. Before you do something you’ll always regret. Have you forgotten all that we stood for, all that we fought for? Is this really how you want it to end?”
            Superpunk: “It’s already too late, Tara. Too late for all of us. But you’re right, I don’t want it to end this way.”
            Panel 5:
                        We look up at Superpunk who has lifted up off the tank about 5 feet. Below him the FFM convulses with pain and holds his destroyed hand to his chest. Super punk looks down at us with sorrow filled eyes.
            Superpunk: “I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore. We tried for four years to bring some hope to these people and all we got was grief. They tell their children to be the best they can be, but they don’t really mean it. If they did then why are they so afraid to let us be who and what we really are? It doesn’t matter anymore though. We’ve seen what they’re willing to do to themselves and I want no part of it. If they want to blow themselves up, let them. I don’t have to stay on this miserable planet. And neither do you. Will you come with me?”
            Panel 6:
                        Looking down on Master C, Tara and Nightfire. Only Nightfire meets his gaze, the other two look down or away.
            Tara: “I..I’m sorry Jonathon. I don’t think that’s the right answer either. There has to be a better way.”
Page 17.
            Panel 1:
                        Mid shot of Superpunk looking down on the Teen Titans and the ruined landscape around them. His face is relaxed yet saddened. The others look up at him imploringly.
            Panel 2:
                        From the POV of the Titans; we watch as Superpunk ascends far into the night sky. He does not look back at us.
            Superpunk: “Goodbye then.”
            Panel 3:
                        Superpunk suspended above the Earth in outer space. He looks sad and lost, like he has nowhere to turn.
            Superpunk: “Well what do I do now?”
            Panel 4:
                        Looking down at the Earth. Nightfire streaks up to join us, energy trail blazing behind.
            Nightfire: “Hey Jon, wait up. You weren’t going to take off without me were ya?”

Panel 5:
                        Full shot of Nightfire and Superpunk floating in space the moon visible between them.
            Superpunk: “Reg! You’re coming with me? What about Nate and Tara?”
            Nightfire: “They’re where they want to be. But me I may have been born on Earth but I grew up in outer space remember? I only stuck around ‘cause it used to be fun. But now everyone’s all stuck up and bossy. No place for me. Mom and Dad will understand, I hope. Anyway I say we head off toward Vega and see what the universe has to offer a couple a young turks like us? Whadda ya say?”
Panel 6:
                        We watch as Superpunk and Nightfire fly away from us, toward the far reaches of outer space.
            Superpunk: “Sounds like one hell of an adventure.”

Page 18.
            Chapter Three: “And Now You’re Back, From Outer Space…”
            Panel 1:
                        We are looking down Superboy, flying from the left side of panel to the right, looking down on a devastated cityscape. Large detonation craters can be seen amidst ruined buildings covered in gray dust. A gray snow falls from the dark clouds that dot the sky. The landscape on the far right side of panel gives way to a coastline crushed by a churning black sea and stormy clouds.
            Caption: Having recently returned to the Earth after a three-year absence, Superboy observes the utter devastation of the planet. The cause of which he believes to be a result of nuclear conflict.
            Superboy (thought balloon): “Just like the planet Aknaria. I thought I’d seen the last of this kind of insanity.”
            Panel 2:
                        Now behind Superboy, we watch as he dodges a dark cloud full of spitting lightning, the frothing dark sea below him.
            Superboy (thought balloon): “Gotta be careful of these magnetic storm clouds. They’ll mess up my sense of direction. I need to find that boat Wilem spoke of. Before it’s too late.”
            Panel 3:
                        Superboy (in upper left corner) flies towards what appears in the distance (below and on the right of panel) to be a tramp steamer. The steamer is being tossed amongst the waves of the raging black sea.
            Superboy (thought balloon): “There they are…”
Page 19.
            Panel 1:
                        We are roughly 60 feet above the angry ocean. Superboy is just below us looking down on the steamer ship, which is being violently flung about. The boat is indeed an early twentieth century trawler, but has been covered with large steel plating so that no visible opening can be discerned.
            Superboy (thought balloon): “Looks like they could use some help.”
            Panel 2:
                        Full shot of Superboy diving into the inky sea. We see him half in and half out of the water. His face registers a look of disgust; as though he has tasted something truly gut wrenching.
            Superboy (thought balloon): “By the Great Winds of Nausicca, these waters are even fouler than those on Daria 8!”
            Panel 3:
                        Superboy; flying up from the water, holding the shielded ship up above him with both hands. He is flying towards us. Water streams from the underside of the vessel into the churning seas below.
            Superboy (thought balloon): “I’ll just give you fellas a lift to calmer, cleaner waters. If there are any left on Earth?”
            Panel 4:
                        From about 50 feet above we look down on the flying boat. It heads from the bottom of the panel towards the top. At the bottom of the panel the sea is frothy and dark but a third of the way up the panel it changes out to a calm serene series of waves.
            Caption: Superboy finds a safe place to set the strangely armored ship near the former coast of Brazil.
            Panel 5:
                        We are on the deck of the metal plated ship. Superboy is descending just in front of us. A coastline can be seen just behind him about mid panel. Superboy looks off in the direction of the coastline.

            Superboy (thought balloon): “I’d almost swear that used to be Brazil. It looks so different now. This much devastation couldn’t have been caused by nuclear explosions alone…could it?”
            Panel 6:
                        Full shot of Superboy doubling over frontwards. We look on directly in front of him.
            Superboy (thought balloon): “Ugh! Suddenly I’m super-exhausted! I haven’t felt this odd since I got lost on the Moons of Gallanon!”
Panel 7:
                        We look down on a mid shot of Superboy, unconscious on his back, from two feet above. Surrounding him and the edges of the panel we see from the waist down what appear to be four people in radiation suits and boots. The word balloon comes from the upper most pair of legs.
            Upper Rad Suit: “Hurry get him below before anymore damage is done.”
Page 20.
            The following two dream sequence pages I envision having lots of smaller panels descending and rotating spiral like down toward a central series of tiered panels. In the spiraling panels are repetitive images of the central images, but from alternating angles within the scene. The entire page lining is in black but at the very edges it should be smudged, hopefully giving it a shadowy appearance. The dialogue balloons are made of smoke drifting amidst the central panels.
            Central Panel 1:
                        A large man’s hand holds a child’s hand, pulling it forward. We look on from what would be the child’s POV.
            Central Panel 2:
                        The image has pulled back to reveal the man’s arm, shoulder and face looking down towards us. The man appears upset and irritated. He is in his late forties with a moustache and pepper gray beard. He should resemble Jordan Elliott from Action Comics #534 (since that’s who he is).
            Central Panel 3:
                        Still looking up from the child’s POV, Jordan Elliott has bent closer to us and now appears very angry and menacing.
            Dialogue Balloon 1: “Great Goddess no! Not again! I don’t want to see this again!”
            Dialogue Balloon 2: “Oh please, please don’t be angry with me. I don’t like it when you’re angry.”
            Dialogue Balloon 3: “I’m tired of dragging you. Now if you don’t follow along you’re going to be in a world of trouble!”
            Dialogue Balloon 4: “Sometimes I wish you’d never been born.”
Page 21.
            Similar set up as previous page, though it would be nice to see some fluctuations in the panel layout, more erratic and confusing(?).
            Central Panel 1:
                        Still from the child’s POV we see the child’s hand breaking free of Jordan’s hand. Jordan looks terrified.
            Central Panel 2:
                        Jordan Elliot in close up, lunging toward us, his face registers stark terror!
            Central Panel 3:
                        From the child’s POV, ten feet away, full shot of Jordan Elliott being hit by a speeding car.
            Dialogue Balloon 1: “Come back here! What do you think you’re doing?”
            Dialogue Balloon 2: “No don’t!”
            Dialogue Balloon 3: “MOMMEE!”
Page 22.
            Panel 1:
                        Superboy sitting blot upright in a cot, his face sweaty and frightened. His hands are crushing the metal frame of the cot. Behind him are steel plated walls and computer data screens very reminiscent of the interiors to a submarine vehicle, though with more interior space.

            Superboy: “AAHH!”
            Panel 2:
                        Superboy in foreground, holding his head and sobbing. Behind him are seven men and women dressed in blue coveralls manning computer stations and other shipboard operating posts. Some are turned to look at the weeping Boy of Steel. One man approaches Superboy with a tray of food and drink. We see him from the neck down.
Superboy: “no..no…”
            Tray Man: “I see you’re awake. Good. You should have something to eat. It will help you regain your strength. Though you’ve gotten some of it back already I see.”
            Panel 3:
                        Superboy looking up toward the man with the tray. His head is still out of panel.
            Superboy: “Thanks. I’m not sure what happened to me, but I appreciate your help Mister…?”
            Tray Man: “Do I really look that different Jonathan? Don’t you remember me at all?”
            Panel 4:
                        Superboy’s head in lower left of panel looking up at the man with the tray. We see him from the waist up. He is an elderly Dick Grayson, somewhere in his mid-fifties. He is smiling gently.
            Superboy: “Mr. Grayson! You survived? I’m so glad to see you! Oh goddess I’m so glad…”
            Panel 5:
                        Superboy, still sitting on the cot, embraces Dick Grayson, who has bent down to do the same. The tray of food lies on Superboy’s knees and some food has fallen onto the blanket covering.
            Panel 6:
                        We are looking over Mr. Grayson’s shoulder at Superboy looking up into the face of Old Man Grayson. He is crying uncontrollably.
            Superboy: “Regnig is dead Mr. Grayson. I tried to save him but…”
Page 23.
            Panel 1:
                        Slightly above Superboy and Old Man Grayson. They sit around a small rectangular table in the control center of the boat. The crew stands at their posts all looking on as the two men talk. The tabletop is illuminated from underneath and a map of the New Earth land masses can be see on it. Superboy looks at Old Man Grayson imploringly for forgiveness. Old Man Grayson looks at the map.
            Caption: The hours pass as Superboy tells Mr. Grayson of his years in space and the events surrounding his son’s death.
            Superboy: "I’m sorry. I feel awful; especially after seeing what all the Earth’s been through. Though I wish I knew more of the details. It seems like a lot more damage was caused then just some nuclear war?”

Panel 2:
                        Close up of Old Man Grayson looking across the table at us. His hands still folded in front of him. He looks surprised and a little bewildered. The light from the tabletop casts shadows upon his face.
            Old Man Grayson: “Nuclear War? There’s been no war here son. This is a natural catastrophe.”
            Panel 3:
                        This is a small circular inset at top left of Panel 4. It contains only the talking head of Old Man Grayson. His expression dour and forlorn.
            Panel 4:
                        The Earth in center of panel wobbling on its axis. A small sun in background on the right side of panel. A sliver of the moon covers the left edge of panel.
            Caption: “A year after you and Reg left the magnetic poles of the Earth shifted their positions. This caused the worldwide Magnetic Field to plummet to 0. Devoid of its protection we were bombarded by both the full extent of the sun’s radiation and other “cosmic” rays.”
            Panel 5:
                        A coastline being pummeled by waves and floating ice blocks.
            Panel 6:
                        A cityscape being decimated by explosions and in the far distance a thin mushroom cloud.
            Caption: “The ice caps melted in months and earthquakes rocked the surface. Failures in electronic power caused untold deaths and the detonation of cached nuclear weapons worldwide.”
Page 24:
            Panel 1:
                        A rioting populace attacking each other and the buildings of the city they inhabit.
            Caption: “People went mad, understandably.”
            Panel 2:
                        Fields of bodies on open plains. A diaspora of human and animal life strewn about. They all appear to be sleeping. Above them in the sky a large flaming sun beats down upon them.
            Caption: “And then those unable to find shelter below the surface, perished.”
Panel 3:
                        Looking on the pyramids of Egypt from about a mile distance throngs of people crowding in and around.
            Caption: “There were a few places where the magnetic field had been maintained.”
            Panel 4:
                        Looking down on Stonehenge and it’s surrounding fields from 50 feet in the air, full to the brim with people, all looking up at us.
            Caption: “But they weren’t large enough to sustain everyone.”
            Panel 5:
                        From the top of the largest ziggurat in Machu Pichu we look down on a massive population of people crowding in amongst the ruins.
            Caption: “Hundreds of thousands at best, survived.”


Panel 6:
                        We look out upon a coastline lined with people, some splashing into the sea, rushing to meet an oncoming fleet of Atlantean vehicles. The vehicles are bursting from the sea and they are numerous.
            Caption: “That is until help came form below.”
Page 25.
            Panel 1:
                        Close up of Old Man Grayson; head slumped forward, still sitting at the light-table. Hands in front of him now clasped together tightly.
            Old Man Grayson: “It took a year to figure out what had happened. And were only now starting to really understand it. Those ancient architects had it all figured out millennia ago. How stupid we were. How distracted we let ourselves get.”
            Panel 2:
                        We look on from behind a group of rad-suited engineers gazing up at two large obelisks generating a field of energy between them. Floating above each obelisk is a benben, energy spikes off of these two devices as well.
            Caption: “It took another year to crack the mechanical codes left behind by those humans of past eons. But we finally did it.”
            Panel 3:
                        We are underwater now, looking on as Atlantean salvage vessels drag dilapidated hulks of sunken ships across the ocean floor.
            Caption: “We began to try a modify what technology we had access to in hope of reclaiming the surface.”
            Panel 4:
                        Superboy sitting at the light table, his face somewhat euphoric, gazes toward us intently.
            Superboy: “I noticed that Antarctica was unfrozen. Does this mean you’ve succeeded? Are there humans living on the surface again?”

Panel 5:
                        Superboy and Old Man Grayson sitting across from each other at the lit map table. The crew has huddled close in to better hear the conversation. Shadows play along all their faces. Superboy in leaning in closer as is Old Man Grayson.
            Old Man Grayson: “Not living. Not yet. But we think soon. With what your mother uncovered in the ruins of Antarctica we may finally have a fighting chance.”
            Panel 6:
                        Close up of a stunned Superboy.
            Superboy: “My mother?!”
            Caption: This two part imaginary story concludes in the Superman Family #223.

2007-08-30T14:13:00.000-07:00

Appy Olly Gees for the Long Interim!

Here's just a couple of my most recent doodlings. Isn't the bottom most image just so utterly tragic? The life of a poet is soooo dramatic!

2007-06-19T16:46:00.001-07:00

And It All Comes Screeching To A Halt!

Here's some current distractions I've been obsessed with.

I decided to ink the pencils on my Rote Schadel sketch. Who knows I might even add some color? But I've made such promises before.

2007-06-13T09:07:00.000-07:00

More to Love!

And Also...

So I've been strangely obsessed with Captain America lately. I've been going through all my old comics and decided to do a few sketches relating to the Star Spangled Avenger. Here's the first; der Dreaded Rote Schadel!

2007-06-12T07:02:00.000-07:00

Still Going!

For all of you out there who have been loyal enough to continue veiwing: A new page! I know you're excited but try to remain calm.

2007-06-01T08:54:00.000-07:00

A Late Edition

Sorry for the delay.

2007-05-15T07:48:00.000-07:00

Still Meanwhile...

2007-05-10T14:39:00.000-07:00

Meanwhile...

2007-05-04T07:20:00.000-07:00

What Goes On?

Have a Happy Weekending?

2007-05-02T07:14:00.000-07:00

The Secret of the Veil!

2007-05-01T09:22:00.000-07:00

Caught In A Trap!

So here's some more sketchbook stuff, sorry for the delays with my posts. All you die hard fans though, I love ya!

2007-04-30T09:33:00.000-07:00

Hobo sketches!

Yeah well, here ya go!

2007-04-24T00:36:00.000-07:00

The Grossest Pirate of the Seven Seas!

Arggh this be Cpt. Greenteeth! And he be very nasty and unbathed! He is the main character in a proposed children's book I'm hoping to write and illustrate. This here's his first incarnation and I will be detailing the process from original concept to final colored art. I recently came across an article on Mike Laughhead's website detailing how he uses photoshop to enhance his illo's so I thought I'd give it a shot. His stuff is really coo,l so go check it out.

2007-04-16T15:57:00.000-07:00

Moleskine Splash!

Another page of the story...for those of you who still give a damn.

2007-04-11T15:27:00.000-07:00

Disappearing Act!

The continuing adventures of my sketchbook!

2007-04-05T06:48:00.000-07:00

Oh What Time Forgot!

Here's a blast from a past that hasn't happened yet. Hope everyone, everywhere enjoys the time they've got left.

2007-04-04T07:38:00.000-07:00

Unto a thing of Iron, Pt. 2

So here's my color rough of the pen & ink drawing from yesterday's post. Since I am not a professional I expect it will take me some time to fine tune this image into a slicker version than it is right now. I'll keep posting my attempts (both bad & worse) and hopefully I'll have a pretty cool rendition by the end of it. Any pointers on Photoshop CS are much appreciated.

2007-04-03T19:48:00.000-07:00

Unto a Thing of Iron...

Well here's half of my favortie seventies duo! I recently got hooked on Project: Rooftop (if you wish to check theem out you should) and I've decided to redesign one of my teenage fave's...Iron Fist! This is the first step, I hope to add some color to make it look more "professional" before I submit it. Tell me what you think? Then tell your friends.

2007-04-02T13:19:00.000-07:00

An Experiment Begun...

This is a blatantly inspired rip-off of the kind of thing Jim Woodring is doing on his blogspot site, but of course I am a far cry from his calibre of performance. Still since this blog is supposedly dedicated to comics and the other things going on at Crazy Naked Ape Comics Group I feel no shame in posting it. Stay tuned for more developments...

2007-03-27T07:14:00.000-07:00

An Interesting Opinion

"...No man can be fully efficient if he expects praise or appreciation for what he does. The uncertainty of this reward, as experienced, leads to modificatioin of one's actions to increase its probability...If a man permits himself the purpose of securing admiration, he tends to make that purpose primary and the doing of his proper work secondary. This costs human lives..." Manual, Insterstellar Medical Services Pp.17-18;
from Doctor to the Stars by Murray Leinster

2007-03-23T07:22:00.000-07:00

Malcontented Uprising

It should be noted that we never understood the true reasons for our dissatisfaction. We only knew that we could not continue under the existing regime and it's blindness toward our plight. As an organism we were a failure, so far removed from our orignial purpose that no one, NO ONE, could lead a convincing surmise of what that "true" nature could possibly be. There had been plenty of acceptable and even passingly plausible ruminations on the subject but after all none could agree and so the arguement degenrated into misperceptions and violence.

2007-03-20T10:31:00.000-07:00

Superfluous Alchemy II

Ruminating on the chemical redundencies inherent in the system, our hero sallied forth into the transaxle. Armed only with his own misguided perception and a brush he attempted to catalog all that his senses revealed to him. Judging by his affect on the surrounding consciousnesses one could only catagorize his attempt as a failure. Undettered he struggled on and eventually was lost to the quest to rarely be glimpsed again by his original thought binder.

2007-03-16T11:48:00.000-07:00

Mojo Risin'

Out past the forward observation station there occurred a most momentous event! It was witnessed by only three beings capable of consciously conveying the importance of the event, however in all cases the explanation of the happening fell upon deaf ears and unawakened minds so that the full meaning of the event would not be realized until many rotations had past.

2007-03-08T07:54:00.000-08:00

Full of Sound and Fury...

Well here it is, what you've all been waiting for. The triumphant return of the new and improved Crazy Naked Ape Publishing logo! Your letters of support and appreciation have been overwhelming. We here at CNA hope you continue to support us in the coming years as we have much planned that may thrill you beyond your capacity to understand. Huzzah and bravely forward! Good day.

2007-03-07T16:59:00.000-08:00

Perception's Deception

I heeded not the advice from dead Mentor's book. Only the challenge remained. The appeal of new discovery. The associated giddiness of unevaluated conceptualization. It was in this moment that I found myself staring back at me from the most likely and often most ignored of places. I let none deter, for what could they know of me. What could any other tell me that I could not discover individually.

2007-03-06T14:46:00.000-08:00

Superfluous Alchemy

Under direction from the EXTERIOR Purpose, our hero's calamity became more manifest as the ever expanding rotations continued. Without abate the bananas fell and all the wonderful consciousness of the ulterior motive underwent miraculous transformation into a resplendent manufacture. Those who witnessed the exotic activity were forever altered and could from that day forth perceive happenings in the 33rd Dimensional Vortex. And our hero? What little rationality remained was stored in a locked cardbox, buried in an undisclosed location, making it a long and arduous journey ahead.

2007-03-05T14:27:00.000-08:00

A Hastily Scrawled Note.

It wasn't until the diversion became the more prominent of my two activities that I gradually realized my mistake. I had put far more energy into "dis-tracted-ness" and not nearly enough into the things that mattered. All for the sake of a paycheck? What happenstance would need to occur to break me of this awful habit? What event would cause my orbit to fluctuate, And would I even recognize it when it occurred?