Wide low-angle of the New Vegas skyline at dusk, 2260. The Strip is unrecognizable from today: matte-white spires, holographic ad surfaces playing silent footage of smiling people listening to nothing, the DeciCorp Spire dominant — taller than every other building, capped with a glowing circle-and-bar logo that looks like a sealed mouth. The sky is a peach-to-electric-purple gradient. No people in frame. The city is beautiful and dead. Alex Ross / Cosmic Allred register — establish that this world is the cathedral DeciCorp built. Bottom-right of the panel: a tiny figure on an elevated tram platform, alone, looking out. We won't know it for a few pages but that's Jesse waiting for the eastbound 6:15.
Page 1 / 16 — Splash· 1 panel
Splash
#1 · splash
[art pending]
Wide low-angle of the New Vegas skyline at dusk, 2260. The Strip is unrecognizable from today: matte-white spires, holographic ad surfaces playing silent footage of smiling people listening to nothing, the DeciCorp Spire dominant — taller than every other building, capped with a glowing circle-and-bar logo that looks like a sealed mouth. The sky is a peach-to-electric-purple gradient. No people in frame. The city is beautiful and dead. Alex Ross / Cosmic Allred register — establish that this world is the cathedral DeciCorp built. Bottom-right of the panel: a tiny figure on an elevated tram platform, alone, looking out. We won't know it for a few pages but that's Jesse waiting for the eastbound 6:15.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 2
Grid · 6 panels
Page 2/ 16
Layout — 6 panels — grid of 6 equal rectangles, two rows of three
[art pending]
A young woman on a moving sidewalk, eyes glazed, mouthing along to something only she can hear. The Beat Pad on her wrist pulses faintly.
[art pending]
A businessman in a tram, head back against the window, asleep with the Beat Pad still on.
[art pending]
A kid in a stroller. Beat Pad on the tiny wrist. Eyes unfocused. Mother on her own Beat Pad, pushing the stroller, not looking down.
[art pending]
An old man at a café table, alone. Beat Pad blinking. He smiles at nothing.
[art pending]
A teenager on a bench. Beat Pad on. Mouth slightly open. A pigeon on the bench beside her. She does not see the pigeon.
[art pending]
A wide shot — a public plaza, hundreds of people, every single one of them moving in silence, mouths slack, no music audible anywhere. The plaza is beautiful. The plaza is empty of people in any way that matters.
Page 2 / 16 — Grid· 6 panels
6 panels — grid of 6 equal rectangles, two rows of three
#1
[art pending]
A young woman on a moving sidewalk, eyes glazed, mouthing along to something only she can hear. The Beat Pad on her wrist pulses faintly.
#2
[art pending]
A businessman in a tram, head back against the window, asleep with the Beat Pad still on.
#3
[art pending]
A kid in a stroller. Beat Pad on the tiny wrist. Eyes unfocused. Mother on her own Beat Pad, pushing the stroller, not looking down.
#4
[art pending]
An old man at a café table, alone. Beat Pad blinking. He smiles at nothing.
#5
[art pending]
A teenager on a bench. Beat Pad on. Mouth slightly open. A pigeon on the bench beside her. She does not see the pigeon.
#6
[art pending]
A wide shot — a public plaza, hundreds of people, every single one of them moving in silence, mouths slack, no music audible anywhere. The plaza is beautiful. The plaza is empty of people in any way that matters.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 3
Page · 4 panels
Page 3/ 16
Layout — 4 panels — vertical stack of widescreens
[art pending]
Pull back, much wider. Above the plaza floats a holographic billboard — a smiling family wearing matching Beat Pads, the DeciCorp logo, and the slogan in elegant sans-serif: EVERY SOUND, LICENSED.™
[art pending]
The Spire. Dawn light hitting the matte-white tower. The DeciCorp logo at the apex. Holographic news ticker around the base: "DECICORP Q4 EARNINGS BEAT EST… SOUND COMPLIANCE ENFORCEMENT UP 14% YoY… AI COMPOSER ACQUISITION TALKS CONTINUE…"
[art pending]
A montage panel — abstracted, almost wallpaper-like — silhouettes of guitars, amplifiers, drum kits, pianos, all fading from left to right into the silhouette of a single sleek wristband: the Beat Pad. Allred — design this like a vintage Saul Bass title sequence.
[art pending]
Close on a factory worker's badge clipped to a coat: DECICORP MANUFACTURING — EMPLOYEE 4471. The badge is dented. Behind the badge, out of focus, a faint photo of a younger man in a workshop apron, guitar pick behind his ear, holding the badge wearer who is then a baby. The baby is Jesse.
Page 3 / 16 — Page· 4 panels
4 panels — vertical stack of widescreens
#1
[art pending]
Pull back, much wider. Above the plaza floats a holographic billboard — a smiling family wearing matching Beat Pads, the DeciCorp logo, and the slogan in elegant sans-serif: EVERY SOUND, LICENSED.™
#2
[art pending]
The Spire. Dawn light hitting the matte-white tower. The DeciCorp logo at the apex. Holographic news ticker around the base: "DECICORP Q4 EARNINGS BEAT EST… SOUND COMPLIANCE ENFORCEMENT UP 14% YoY… AI COMPOSER ACQUISITION TALKS CONTINUE…"
#3
[art pending]
A montage panel — abstracted, almost wallpaper-like — silhouettes of guitars, amplifiers, drum kits, pianos, all fading from left to right into the silhouette of a single sleek wristband: the Beat Pad. Allred — design this like a vintage Saul Bass title sequence.
#4
[art pending]
Close on a factory worker's badge clipped to a coat: DECICORP MANUFACTURING — EMPLOYEE 4471. The badge is dented. Behind the badge, out of focus, a faint photo of a younger man in a workshop apron, guitar pick behind his ear, holding the badge wearer who is then a baby. The baby is Jesse.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 4
Page · 5 panels
Page 4/ 16
Layout — 5 panels
[art pending]
Interior. A featureless beige cubicle, one of hundreds in an open-plan floor. A small workstation, a chair, a frosted partition with a holographic placard: LICENSING COMPLIANCE ANALYST II. JESSE sits at the desk. Same dark fitted jacket from the cover. Beat Pad on his wrist. Eyes on a screen. He looks, in this panel, like everyone else in New Vegas. Allred — let him almost disappear into the row of cubicles behind him.
[art pending]
Closer. Jesse's hand on the desk. His fingers are moving — drumming a precise, complicated pattern on the laminate. Not nervous tapping. A rhythm. A song nobody else can hear, and nobody else would recognize if they did.
[art pending]
Closer still. Jesse's eyes flick down at his moving hand. He stops the hand. He looks up — checks if anyone noticed. Nobody noticed. Nobody ever notices anyone here.
[art pending]
Wide. The cubicle floor at lunchtime. Workers eat at their desks, silent, Beat Pads pulsing. Jesse stands, alone, walking toward the bathroom.
[art pending]
Bathroom. Jesse alone at the sink. He pulls off his Beat Pad and sets it on the edge of the basin. The pad keeps pulsing faintly. The silence in the room is so total it has weight. Jesse looks at himself in the mirror. He does not look at himself like that anywhere else.
Page 4 / 16 — Page· 5 panels
5 panels
#1
[art pending]
Interior. A featureless beige cubicle, one of hundreds in an open-plan floor. A small workstation, a chair, a frosted partition with a holographic placard: LICENSING COMPLIANCE ANALYST II. JESSE sits at the desk. Same dark fitted jacket from the cover. Beat Pad on his wrist. Eyes on a screen. He looks, in this panel, like everyone else in New Vegas. Allred — let him almost disappear into the row of cubicles behind him.
#2
[art pending]
Closer. Jesse's hand on the desk. His fingers are moving — drumming a precise, complicated pattern on the laminate. Not nervous tapping. A rhythm. A song nobody else can hear, and nobody else would recognize if they did.
#3
[art pending]
Closer still. Jesse's eyes flick down at his moving hand. He stops the hand. He looks up — checks if anyone noticed. Nobody noticed. Nobody ever notices anyone here.
#4
[art pending]
Wide. The cubicle floor at lunchtime. Workers eat at their desks, silent, Beat Pads pulsing. Jesse stands, alone, walking toward the bathroom.
#5
[art pending]
Bathroom. Jesse alone at the sink. He pulls off his Beat Pad and sets it on the edge of the basin. The pad keeps pulsing faintly. The silence in the room is so total it has weight. Jesse looks at himself in the mirror. He does not look at himself like that anywhere else.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 5
Page · 3 panels
Page 5/ 16
Layout — 3 panels — widescreens
[art pending]
Close on the mirror. Jesse's reflection. Behind his head — out of focus — a stencil sprayed in DeciCorp-blue paint on the tile: a tiny, deliberate wave symbol, three quick strokes. Most readers will miss it. We'll see it again.
[art pending]
Jesse puts the Beat Pad back on. The silence ends. His face goes slack. Allred — give us the exact half-second of grief before the pad takes him.
No copy.
[art pending]
Jesse walks back into the cubicle floor. Just another worker. Just another face.
Page 5 / 16 — Page· 3 panels
3 panels — widescreens
#1
[art pending]
Close on the mirror. Jesse's reflection. Behind his head — out of focus — a stencil sprayed in DeciCorp-blue paint on the tile: a tiny, deliberate wave symbol, three quick strokes. Most readers will miss it. We'll see it again.
#2
[art pending]
Jesse puts the Beat Pad back on. The silence ends. His face goes slack. Allred — give us the exact half-second of grief before the pad takes him.
No copy.
#3
[art pending]
Jesse walks back into the cubicle floor. Just another worker. Just another face.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 6
Page · 5 panels
Page 6/ 16
Layout — 5 panels
[art pending]
End of the workday. A tram station above the city, dusk light. Jesse boards a tram alone. The tram is packed and silent. Everyone on a Beat Pad. Allred Standard register.
[art pending]
The tram passes over an industrial yard at the edge of the residential zone — stacks of shipping containers, scrap metal piles, a few salvage cranes. Jesse looks out the window. His face, for the first time in the issue, changes.
[art pending]
What Jesse sees, framed through the tram window: in the middle of the yard, on top of a stack of shipping containers, a single figure has set up a kit of mismatched objects — an oil drum, a hubcap, a length of pipe, a metal bucket inverted as a snare — and is drumming on them with two sticks. DEV. Even from a distance, he is unmistakable: planted, broad-shouldered, head down, completely absorbed.
[art pending]
Close on Jesse at the window. He smiles. The smile is small and private and it is the first real expression on a human face in this entire issue.
[art pending]
The tram moves on. Dev recedes into the distance. Jesse watches him until the salvage yard is gone.
No copy.
Page 6 / 16 — Page· 5 panels
5 panels
#1
[art pending]
End of the workday. A tram station above the city, dusk light. Jesse boards a tram alone. The tram is packed and silent. Everyone on a Beat Pad. Allred Standard register.
#2
[art pending]
The tram passes over an industrial yard at the edge of the residential zone — stacks of shipping containers, scrap metal piles, a few salvage cranes. Jesse looks out the window. His face, for the first time in the issue, changes.
#3
[art pending]
What Jesse sees, framed through the tram window: in the middle of the yard, on top of a stack of shipping containers, a single figure has set up a kit of mismatched objects — an oil drum, a hubcap, a length of pipe, a metal bucket inverted as a snare — and is drumming on them with two sticks. DEV. Even from a distance, he is unmistakable: planted, broad-shouldered, head down, completely absorbed.
#4
[art pending]
Close on Jesse at the window. He smiles. The smile is small and private and it is the first real expression on a human face in this entire issue.
#5
[art pending]
The tram moves on. Dev recedes into the distance. Jesse watches him until the salvage yard is gone.
No copy.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 7
Page · 4 panels
Page 7/ 16
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
Jesse exits the tram at a residential platform. Modest housing block, mid-density, beige and white. The neighborhood is quiet — children outside but each child wearing a Beat Pad, nobody speaking. Jesse walks past them toward a small house with a separate garage.
[art pending]
Jesse approaches the front door. A small ornamental tile beside the doorbell, painted by hand, shows three abstract waves curling into each other. Same symbol as the bathroom stencil. Allred — make it look like a kid painted it.
[art pending]
Door opens. MOM fills the doorway. Apron, reading glasses on a chain, dark hair pinned up. She does not wear a Beat Pad. Her wrist is bare. She is the first bare wrist we have seen in the book.
MOMYou're early.
JESSETram was empty.
[art pending]
Kitchen interior. Warm yellow light. The window is open — actually open, with actual outside air coming in. A pot of something on the stove. A small radio on the counter — not playing — its dial taped down to prevent accidental activation. Dev is already there, drumsticks tucked into his belt, helping Mom fold laundry. He looks up.
DEVHey.
JESSEHey.
MOMWash up. Both of you. Twenty minutes.
Page 7 / 16 — Page· 4 panels
4 panels
#1
[art pending]
Jesse exits the tram at a residential platform. Modest housing block, mid-density, beige and white. The neighborhood is quiet — children outside but each child wearing a Beat Pad, nobody speaking. Jesse walks past them toward a small house with a separate garage.
#2
[art pending]
Jesse approaches the front door. A small ornamental tile beside the doorbell, painted by hand, shows three abstract waves curling into each other. Same symbol as the bathroom stencil. Allred — make it look like a kid painted it.
#3
[art pending]
Door opens. MOM fills the doorway. Apron, reading glasses on a chain, dark hair pinned up. She does not wear a Beat Pad. Her wrist is bare. She is the first bare wrist we have seen in the book.
MOMYou're early.
JESSETram was empty.
#4
[art pending]
Kitchen interior. Warm yellow light. The window is open — actually open, with actual outside air coming in. A pot of something on the stove. A small radio on the counter — not playing — its dial taped down to prevent accidental activation. Dev is already there, drumsticks tucked into his belt, helping Mom fold laundry. He looks up.
DEVHey.
JESSEHey.
MOMWash up. Both of you. Twenty minutes.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 8
Grid · 6 panels
Page 8/ 16
Layout — 6 panels — small grid
[art pending]
Wide shot of the table. Three plates. A pitcher of water. A small bowl of salt. The conversation is unhurried. Allred — this is the most peaceful panel in the issue. Linger in the composition.
MOMMrs. Anand asked about you today.
JESSEWhy.
MOMBecause she's lonely and her son moved to Phoenix and she remembers when you used to mow her yard.
[art pending]
Dev, eating, deadpan.
DEVI'll mow her yard.
MOMYou don't mow yards, mijo. You hit things with sticks.
DEVI could hit her yard with sticks.
[art pending]
Jesse, half a smile.
JESSEDon't encourage him.
MOMI never encourage him. He doesn't need it.
[art pending]
Mom sets down her fork. The mood shifts — gently, but it shifts. She looks at Jesse.
MOMTomorrow's the fourteenth.
[art pending]
Close on Jesse. He knows what that means. The half-smile is gone. He looks down at his plate.
[art pending]
Close on Dev. He has stopped eating too. He is looking at Jesse, not at Mom. He knows what Jesse needs to hear and he is waiting to see if Mom will say it. Mom's hand reaches into the panel and squeezes Dev's wrist.
MOM(off-panel)Both of my boys.
Page 8 / 16 — Grid· 6 panels
6 panels — small grid
#1
[art pending]
Wide shot of the table. Three plates. A pitcher of water. A small bowl of salt. The conversation is unhurried. Allred — this is the most peaceful panel in the issue. Linger in the composition.
MOMMrs. Anand asked about you today.
JESSEWhy.
MOMBecause she's lonely and her son moved to Phoenix and she remembers when you used to mow her yard.
#2
[art pending]
Dev, eating, deadpan.
DEVI'll mow her yard.
MOMYou don't mow yards, mijo. You hit things with sticks.
DEVI could hit her yard with sticks.
#3
[art pending]
Jesse, half a smile.
JESSEDon't encourage him.
MOMI never encourage him. He doesn't need it.
#4
[art pending]
Mom sets down her fork. The mood shifts — gently, but it shifts. She looks at Jesse.
MOMTomorrow's the fourteenth.
#5
[art pending]
Close on Jesse. He knows what that means. The half-smile is gone. He looks down at his plate.
#6
[art pending]
Close on Dev. He has stopped eating too. He is looking at Jesse, not at Mom. He knows what Jesse needs to hear and he is waiting to see if Mom will say it. Mom's hand reaches into the panel and squeezes Dev's wrist.
MOM(off-panel)Both of my boys.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 9
Page · 4 panels
Page 9/ 16
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
After dinner. Mom at the sink, washing dishes. Jesse drying. Dev putting plates away. The choreography of a family that has done this thousands of times.
MOMI want to move the boxes out of the garage this weekend.
JESSEWhat boxes.
MOMYour father's.
[art pending]
Jesse stops drying. Just for a second. He looks at her. She doesn't look back — she keeps washing.
JESSEAll of them?
MOMAll of them. It's time.
[art pending]
Dev, quietly, putting a plate on a high shelf.
DEVI'll help.
MOMI know you will.
[art pending]
Close on Mom's hands in the soapy water. They are shaking, very slightly. She does not let them stop.
MOMI should have done it years ago.
Page 9 / 16 — Page· 4 panels
4 panels
#1
[art pending]
After dinner. Mom at the sink, washing dishes. Jesse drying. Dev putting plates away. The choreography of a family that has done this thousands of times.
MOMI want to move the boxes out of the garage this weekend.
JESSEWhat boxes.
MOMYour father's.
#2
[art pending]
Jesse stops drying. Just for a second. He looks at her. She doesn't look back — she keeps washing.
JESSEAll of them?
MOMAll of them. It's time.
#3
[art pending]
Dev, quietly, putting a plate on a high shelf.
DEVI'll help.
MOMI know you will.
#4
[art pending]
Close on Mom's hands in the soapy water. They are shaking, very slightly. She does not let them stop.
MOMI should have done it years ago.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 10
Page · 3 panels
Page 10/ 16
Layout — 3 panels — widescreens
[art pending]
After dishes. Jesse and Dev walk out the kitchen door, across the small yard, toward the garage — a low cinder-block structure detached from the house. The exterior is unremarkable. A sliding metal door. A keypad. The keypad is custom-built; Dev built it.
DEV(quiet)You okay.
JESSEYeah.
DEVYou're not.
JESSEI'm okay enough to play. That's enough.
[art pending]
Dev keys in a sequence. The lock clicks. The garage door slides up — slowly, deliberately, with a small mechanical satisfaction that should remind the reader of an old vinyl turntable lid. Allred — this is the panel where the comic shifts gears. Treat it like the curtain going up.
[art pending]
Reveal — the garage interior. Warm tungsten work-lights overhead. A wall of hand-drawn diagrams and pinned-up photographs (a young Alex with a guitar; a 1960s magazine clipping of a band; a hand-drawn map of the city with the salvage yard circled). A workbench covered in soldering equipment. Coils of wire. A homemade audio interface labeled in marker: AMP-SIM BOX MK III — DEV. And, propped on a guitar stand at the center of the bench: the Simulated Guitar — Jesse's hand-built electric, made from salvaged parts, a Frankenstein of pickups and pickup-rings, wood from a thrift-store chair, fretwire he hammered straight himself. It is ugly. It is beautiful. It is the most personal object in the book so far.
No copy.
Page 10 / 16 — Page· 3 panels
3 panels — widescreens
#1
[art pending]
After dishes. Jesse and Dev walk out the kitchen door, across the small yard, toward the garage — a low cinder-block structure detached from the house. The exterior is unremarkable. A sliding metal door. A keypad. The keypad is custom-built; Dev built it.
DEV(quiet)You okay.
JESSEYeah.
DEVYou're not.
JESSEI'm okay enough to play. That's enough.
#2
[art pending]
Dev keys in a sequence. The lock clicks. The garage door slides up — slowly, deliberately, with a small mechanical satisfaction that should remind the reader of an old vinyl turntable lid. Allred — this is the panel where the comic shifts gears. Treat it like the curtain going up.
#3
[art pending]
Reveal — the garage interior. Warm tungsten work-lights overhead. A wall of hand-drawn diagrams and pinned-up photographs (a young Alex with a guitar; a 1960s magazine clipping of a band; a hand-drawn map of the city with the salvage yard circled). A workbench covered in soldering equipment. Coils of wire. A homemade audio interface labeled in marker: AMP-SIM BOX MK III — DEV. And, propped on a guitar stand at the center of the bench: the Simulated Guitar — Jesse's hand-built electric, made from salvaged parts, a Frankenstein of pickups and pickup-rings, wood from a thrift-store chair, fretwire he hammered straight himself. It is ugly. It is beautiful. It is the most personal object in the book so far.
No copy.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 11
Page · 5 panels
Page 11/ 16
Layout — 5 panels
[art pending]
Dev at his industrial-junk drum kit set up in the back of the garage — oil drum, hubcap, bucket, length of copper pipe suspended from a rope as a hi-hat substitute. He sits down behind it, drumsticks already in his hands. He looks, in this kit, like a king on a throne. Allred — this is the comic-book version of a press photo. Iconic posing.
DEVMom knows.
JESSEYeah.
DEVShe's always known.
JESSEYeah.
[art pending]
Jesse at the workbench, lifting the Simulated Guitar onto his shoulder. Strap on. He plugs into the Amp-Sim Box. A small green LED comes on. He stands at center stage — which is to say, in the middle of a cinder-block garage — facing Dev.
JESSETonight a new one?
DEVTonight a new one.
[art pending]
Close on Jesse's left hand on the fretboard, his fingers finding a chord. Fluorescent green LED reflected in the lacquer of the body. Hands telling the story.
[art pending]
Close on Dev. Sticks raised. Eyes closed. A small smile.
[art pending]
Wide — the two of them, framed center, ready. The garage is dark except for the work-light over the band. There is no audience. There has never been an audience.
Page 11 / 16 — Page· 5 panels
5 panels
#1
[art pending]
Dev at his industrial-junk drum kit set up in the back of the garage — oil drum, hubcap, bucket, length of copper pipe suspended from a rope as a hi-hat substitute. He sits down behind it, drumsticks already in his hands. He looks, in this kit, like a king on a throne. Allred — this is the comic-book version of a press photo. Iconic posing.
DEVMom knows.
JESSEYeah.
DEVShe's always known.
JESSEYeah.
#2
[art pending]
Jesse at the workbench, lifting the Simulated Guitar onto his shoulder. Strap on. He plugs into the Amp-Sim Box. A small green LED comes on. He stands at center stage — which is to say, in the middle of a cinder-block garage — facing Dev.
JESSETonight a new one?
DEVTonight a new one.
#3
[art pending]
Close on Jesse's left hand on the fretboard, his fingers finding a chord. Fluorescent green LED reflected in the lacquer of the body. Hands telling the story.
#4
[art pending]
Close on Dev. Sticks raised. Eyes closed. A small smile.
#5
[art pending]
Wide — the two of them, framed center, ready. The garage is dark except for the work-light over the band. There is no audience. There has never been an audience.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 12
Splash · 1 panel
Page 12/ 16
Layout — Splash
[art pending]
The opening chord. A full-page splash of Jesse mid-strum, body twisting into the downstroke. Dev's sticks coming down. The Simulated Guitar lit from within — green-tinted under the work-light. Behind them, a wall of hand-drawn diagrams and old photographs blurring into motion. The musical-staff motif in the page margin — empty until now — explodes into a chord across the staff. Sound effect lettering arcs across the page like a banner.
Allred — this is your splash. Make it the panel an editor flips to first.
SFXK — RANGGGG(lettered like a banner)
Page 12 / 16 — Splash· 1 panel
Splash
#1 · splash
[art pending]
The opening chord. A full-page splash of Jesse mid-strum, body twisting into the downstroke. Dev's sticks coming down. The Simulated Guitar lit from within — green-tinted under the work-light. Behind them, a wall of hand-drawn diagrams and old photographs blurring into motion. The musical-staff motif in the page margin — empty until now — explodes into a chord across the staff. Sound effect lettering arcs across the page like a banner.
Allred — this is your splash. Make it the panel an editor flips to first.
SFXK — RANGGGG(lettered like a banner)
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 13
Page · 4 panels
Page 13/ 16
Layout — 4 panels — widescreens
[art pending]
Jesse, eyes closed, singing into a microphone clipped to a mic stand he welded himself.
[art pending]
Dev, in motion, hitting the oil drum.
[art pending]
A close-up of a framed photo on the wall — Alejandro, smiling, guitar pick behind his ear, holding a baby Jesse. The light from the playing reflects off the glass.
[art pending]
Wide. The garage glowing from inside. Outside the small window, the dark night of New Vegas, silent.
Page 13 / 16 — Page· 4 panels
4 panels — widescreens
#1
[art pending]
Jesse, eyes closed, singing into a microphone clipped to a mic stand he welded himself.
#2
[art pending]
Dev, in motion, hitting the oil drum.
#3
[art pending]
A close-up of a framed photo on the wall — Alejandro, smiling, guitar pick behind his ear, holding a baby Jesse. The light from the playing reflects off the glass.
#4
[art pending]
Wide. The garage glowing from inside. Outside the small window, the dark night of New Vegas, silent.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 14
Page · 5 panels
Page 14/ 16
Layout — 5 panels
[art pending]
The song ends. Jesse breathes out. Dev rests his sticks across the snare-bucket. Silence in the garage — but a different silence than the one in the city. A used silence. A silence with something in it.
No copy.
[art pending]
A small surveillance drone — baseball-sized, matte white, DeciCorp blue accents, two tiny audio mics extended like antennae — hovers outside the garage window. The reader sees it. Jesse and Dev do not. The musical-staff motif in the margin: an empty staff with a single, tiny notation: a small red "REC" indicator.
[art pending]
The drone's audio analysis HUD (a small inset panel) — green bars climbing, then a red flag: UNAUTHORIZED HARMONIC CONTENT — SOURCE: SECTOR 7-E — INVESTIGATION QUEUED.
[art pending]
The drone drifts away into the night. Jesse and Dev, inside, unaware. They are laughing about something — a missed cue, a joke we can't hear.
No copy.
[art pending]
Close on the photograph on the wall. Alejandro smiling. The work-light overhead flickers once.
Page 14 / 16 — Page· 5 panels
5 panels
#1
[art pending]
The song ends. Jesse breathes out. Dev rests his sticks across the snare-bucket. Silence in the garage — but a different silence than the one in the city. A used silence. A silence with something in it.
No copy.
#2
[art pending]
A small surveillance drone — baseball-sized, matte white, DeciCorp blue accents, two tiny audio mics extended like antennae — hovers outside the garage window. The reader sees it. Jesse and Dev do not. The musical-staff motif in the margin: an empty staff with a single, tiny notation: a small red "REC" indicator.
#3
[art pending]
The drone's audio analysis HUD (a small inset panel) — green bars climbing, then a red flag: UNAUTHORIZED HARMONIC CONTENT — SOURCE: SECTOR 7-E — INVESTIGATION QUEUED.
#4
[art pending]
The drone drifts away into the night. Jesse and Dev, inside, unaware. They are laughing about something — a missed cue, a joke we can't hear.
No copy.
#5
[art pending]
Close on the photograph on the wall. Alejandro smiling. The work-light overhead flickers once.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 15
Page · 4 panels
Page 15/ 16
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
Later that night. Jesse and Dev walking back from the garage to the house. Garage door closing behind them. Mom watches from the kitchen window, the silhouette of her shoulders unmistakable.
MOM(off-panel, through screen door)Brush your teeth. Both of you.
[art pending]
Jesse stops in the yard. Looks up at the sky. The light pollution of New Vegas drowns most of the stars but a few of the brightest are visible.
JESSEHey.
DEVYeah.
JESSETomorrow.
DEVTomorrow.
[art pending]
Jesse, looking at Dev.
JESSEDo you think she actually wants help with the boxes?
[art pending]
Close on Dev. His face is thoughtful. He's just had a small realization, but he doesn't say what.
DEVI think she wants us in the garage tomorrow.
DEVI think she's been waiting for tomorrow for a long time.
Page 15 / 16 — Page· 4 panels
4 panels
#1
[art pending]
Later that night. Jesse and Dev walking back from the garage to the house. Garage door closing behind them. Mom watches from the kitchen window, the silhouette of her shoulders unmistakable.
MOM(off-panel, through screen door)Brush your teeth. Both of you.
#2
[art pending]
Jesse stops in the yard. Looks up at the sky. The light pollution of New Vegas drowns most of the stars but a few of the brightest are visible.
JESSEHey.
DEVYeah.
JESSETomorrow.
DEVTomorrow.
#3
[art pending]
Jesse, looking at Dev.
JESSEDo you think she actually wants help with the boxes?
#4
[art pending]
Close on Dev. His face is thoughtful. He's just had a small realization, but he doesn't say what.
DEVI think she wants us in the garage tomorrow.
DEVI think she's been waiting for tomorrow for a long time.
Time Traveler — Issue 1 — Page 16
Splash · 1 panel
Page 16/ 16
Layout — Splash — the final page
[art pending]
Wide aerial of the house at night. The garage glows faintly from a sliver of light under the door. Beyond the house, the silent neighborhood. Beyond the neighborhood, the silent city. Beyond the city, the silent desert. And rising over all of it like a tombstone — the DeciCorp Spire, its logo glowing at the apex, a single closed mouth lighting the sky for a hundred miles.
The same surveillance drone from page 14 hangs at the upper-right corner of the panel, a tiny silhouette against the city glow, transmitting.
Page 16 / 16 — Splash· 1 panel
Splash — the final page
#1 · splash
[art pending]
Wide aerial of the house at night. The garage glows faintly from a sliver of light under the door. Beyond the house, the silent neighborhood. Beyond the neighborhood, the silent city. Beyond the city, the silent desert. And rising over all of it like a tombstone — the DeciCorp Spire, its logo glowing at the apex, a single closed mouth lighting the sky for a hundred miles.
The same surveillance drone from page 14 hangs at the upper-right corner of the panel, a tiny silhouette against the city glow, transmitting.