Page · 4 panels
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Layout — 4 panels
[art pending]
The last chord. Jesse holds it, hand on the neck, vibration sustained. Dev rides the cymbal until it dies. The room erupts — screams, applause, somebody yelling "FUCKING YES."
No copy.
[art pending]
At the back of the room, the DeciBot stops clapping. It pushes off the doorway. It begins walking, calmly, politely, toward the stage. The crowd parts around it — confused but obliging. People assume it's part of the show. Some are taking videos.
- DECIBOT(clear, polite, mid-Atlantic)Pardon me. Excuse me. Pardon me. Coming through.
[art pending]
Close on Jesse. Sweat. Breathing hard. Watching the DeciBot approach through the crowd.
- JESSE(off-mic, to Dev)Dev.
- DEV(off-mic)I see him.
- JESSEWhat do we do.
[art pending]
Dev, behind the kit, sticks in his hands.
- DEVWe can't run.
- DEVHe'll chase us. He'll catch one of us alone.
- DEVWe have to hit him here. In the room. While people are watching. He won't go full violence with phones up.
- DEVHe'll try to do it quietly.
- DEVWe make it loud.