Issue 11 · Print view
14 pages · 48 panels
Recap Splash · 1 panel
Layout — Recap splash
[art pending]
Inside the green tunnel. Jesse mid-flight, new green guitar in his hands, Dev beside him mid-shuffle. They are smiling. They are laughing — for the first time in the book they are riding the tunnel like it's a roller coaster, not a wound.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
The brothers in the tunnel, mid-flight. Dev is laughing. The tunnel is green and clean.
[art pending]
Jesse, in the tunnel, looking at his new green guitar. His face — Allred, slow it. The kid who's been clenched since Issue 1 is open.
[art pending]
Mid-tunnel, the green starts to pulse. Not its normal pulse — a wrong pulse, off-frequency, yellow-tinted on the upbeat. Allred — small detail. Most readers won't catch it on first pass. The astute will.
No copy.
[art pending]
Dev, mid-shuffle, frowning. He has felt the change.
Page · 5 panels
Layout — 5 panels
[art pending]
Dev — engineer mode under fire — drops a beat from the shuffle. Listens. The tunnel responds — the wrong-pulse gets stronger.
[art pending]
Jesse, in the tunnel, alarmed.
[art pending]
Jesse, processing fast.
[art pending]
Jesse, looking down at the new green guitar in his hands.
[art pending]
Close on Dev — calm even now. Allred — his steadiness in motion.
Splash · 1 panel
Layout — Splash
[art pending]
Reroute. The tunnel yanks — the green tube of light visibly bending sideways, the brothers' bodies pulled with it. The clean green pulse goes yellow-green. Outside the tunnel walls, where they were sliding past suburban Vegas neighborhoods, they now slide past industrial silhouettes — a long unbroken corridor of warehouses, blank-walled, windowless. The tunnel's destination has been commandeered. Jesse mid-strum, hand still on the chord, eyes wide. Dev mid-shuffle, sticks still locked into the beat. They are doing everything right and they are being taken. Allred — Cosmic register wrenched into Brutal register. The clean green of the tunnel polluted by a hostile signal. Op-art bends sideways.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
The brothers fall out of the tunnel and into a black room. Concrete floor. They land hard — Jesse on his side, the new green guitar across his chest; Dev on hands and knees, sticks bouncing away across the floor. There is no light. Just the faintest amber glow from somewhere far above — an emergency exit sign, maybe.
No copy.
[art pending]
Jesse, breathing hard, sitting up. The new green guitar still strapped on. Pickups faintly glowing green — the only light in the panel besides the distant amber.
[art pending]
Their eyes adjusting. The reader sees — slowly — that they are in a vast space. The faint shapes of catwalks high above. Steel girders. Stacked pallets. A few crates near the walls. A warehouse. A cold warehouse.
No copy.
[art pending]
Dev, finding his feet, picking up his sticks.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
A single clack of a shoe heel on concrete. Echoing. Somewhere in the dark.
[art pending]
The brothers freeze. Heads turning. The amber emergency light barely picks out anything.
[art pending]
Another clack. Closer.
[art pending]
A voice in the dark. Calm. Quiet. Almost gentle. The first new character in seven issues.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
A bank of overhead lights — slowly, with an industrial whuff — clicks on, one row at a time, from the far end of the warehouse to the near. Each row reveals more of the space. The reader sees: rows of stacked equipment — old amps, old guitars, old drum kits, all in shipping crates, all confiscated.
[art pending]
Closer on the equipment. A 1958 Fender Precision bass in a clear case, mounted to the wall like a hunting trophy. A row of acoustic guitars hanging by their headstocks from steel hooks. A complete drum kit, vintage, on a pallet with a "DO NOT ASSEMBLE" tag. A cemetery of music.
[art pending]
The lights have reached the brothers' end of the warehouse now. Jesse, walking slowly between crates, stops. He has seen something. A Gibson SG, 1962, in a sealed case. A tag wired to the case: PROPERTY OF ALEJANDRO CRUZ. RECOVERED 2244. RETAIN INDEFINITELY.
No copy.
[art pending]
Close on Jesse's face. He has not put his hand on the case. He just stares at it.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
Dev arrives beside Jesse. Hand on Jesse's shoulder.
[art pending]
Jesse turns from the SG. Sets his jaw. He starts walking — slowly, deliberately — toward the open center of the warehouse. The new green guitar still over his shoulder. Dev follows.
No copy.
[art pending]
Halfway across the warehouse floor. The brothers stop. Look around. Try to read the room.
[art pending]
They search. Walking the perimeter. Crates of cymbals. Boxes of broken pedals. A wall of confiscated keyboards. Dev's eyes scanning. He stops. Points.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
Across the warehouse — against the far wall — a piece of equipment the size of a refrigerator. Stencil on the chassis: AMP BOX 5000 — DECICORP ACOUSTIC PROCESSING — DO NOT SHIP. A volume dial labeled 1 to 10. A small brass plate underneath: PROTOTYPE — DECOMMISSIONED 2247.
[art pending]
The brothers cross to the Amp Box 5000. They examine it. The pilot light is amber — standby. The plug is in the wall.
[art pending]
Dev, with a small wry smile, reaches into his pocket and pulls out the USB. Holds it up.
[art pending]
Jesse, beginning to smile.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
A single clack of a shoe heel on concrete. From across the warehouse. Echoing.
[art pending]
The brothers freeze. Heads turning slowly toward the sound.
No copy.
[art pending]
Another clack. Closer.
No copy.
[art pending]
A voice from the far end of the warehouse. Calm. Quiet. Almost gentle. The first new character in seven issues.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
Jesse and Dev, at the Amp Box 5000, frozen. Dev's hand halfway to the USB port. Jesse's hand on the green guitar's strap.
[art pending]
A figure walking out from between two rows of confiscated equipment at the far end of the warehouse. Tailored grey three-piece suit. Hands folded behind their back. Ash-blonde. Bone-thin. The Operative. A small silver muted-speaker pin on the lapel. They are perfectly composed. They are not in a hurry.
[art pending]
Jesse, behind the green guitar, slowly turning to face them.
[art pending]
The Operative pauses. Tilts their head fractionally. Allred — the head-tilt of a cat that has cornered something interesting.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
Jesse and Dev exchange a look. Neither moves.
[art pending]
The Operative slowly brings their hands from behind their back. In their right hand — a small, sleek device, palm-sized. The same kind of handheld sonic-pulse weapon the DeciBots carry, but smaller, more elegant, more lethal.
[art pending]
Jesse, slowly, raises his hands. Dev, behind him, mirrors.
[art pending]
The brothers sit on a low stack of crates near the Amp Box. The Operative — still thirty feet away — does not sit. They are framed perfectly between two rows of confiscated guitars hanging from the wall behind them.
Page · 4 panels
Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
Close on Dev. He is processing the threat in real time — calculating distance, weapon range, the location of the Amp Box, the location of the cable, the location of the USB in his pocket, the timing. Allred — Dev's thinking face. The reader knows this expression by now. This is the face of a man building something invisible.
No copy.
[art pending]
Close on Jesse. He is calculating something different — the Operative's body language, the small smile, the silver pin, the kind of person they are. Jesse spent four years at DeciCorp. He has dealt with people like this. He is reading them.
No copy.
[art pending]
The Operative, taking a breath. Settling in. They have been waiting years for this audience.
[art pending]
Jesse, quiet.
Splash · 1 panel
Layout — Splash — final page
[art pending]
The full warehouse, wide shot. The brothers seated on the stack of crates, small in the frame. The Operative across the floor, perfectly framed between two rows of hanging guitars, weapon at their side, the small smile of a person about to enjoy themselves. Behind the brothers — looming over their shoulder, visible to the reader but not to them — the Amp Box 5000, pilot light amber. The volume dial visible. The unplugged cable coiled on top. The musical-staff motif in the margin: the staff is empty. No notes. The room is too quiet. The reader knows what has to fill that staff before the issue ends. The issue is ending without it. Allred — Brutal register. Hold the panel. The composition is the cliffhanger.