Supernatural Success

Panel 1:A cramped kitchen in a Baltimore rowhouse. Dim, sickly light from a single flickering bulb overhead casts sharp shadows across worn countertops. LJ stands at the counter, his lean frame hunched over a stained surface. Scattered coins—pennies, nickels, dimes—are spread across the counter beside an empty hotdog bun package. His camera bag hangs from a peg on the wall behind him. The walls are bare, the refrigerator old and dented. His expression is focused but weary.

Narrator:“My name is LJ. In my head, I'm the greatest hybrid shooter in Baltimore. A visual architect. I've traveled the world, captured icons, and lived the high life.”

Panel 2:Extreme close-up on LJ's hands as he gathers the coins into a small pile. His fingers are calloused from camera work. The coins catch the flickering light. His face looms in soft focus above, jaw tight.

Narrator:“Sike. I'm a starving artist in a city that's eating me alive. Gas is a luxury. Groceries are a myth.”

Panel 3:LJ looks up from the coins, his wide eyes glancing at a wall-mounted poster of a high-end Nikon camera. His expression is wistful, almost mocking himself. He whispers to the empty room, his mouth moving.

“LJ: Focus, LJ. The kids can't eat megapixels.”

Panel 4:LJ reaches for his cracked cell phone on the counter. The screen glows with an advertisement: 'SUPERNATURAL SUCCESS – WE TURN TALENT INTO GOLD.' His finger hovers over a 'Sign Up' button. His eyes are wide with desperate hope.

Panel 5:Close-up of the phone screen as LJ scrolls through a sign-up form. Text fields appear: 'Name... Address... Portfolio link...' His thumb hovers over a field labeled 'Blood Type?' His brow furrows. Confusion and suspicion cross his face.

“LJ: Blood type? What kind of marketing firm needs that?”

Panel 6:LJ's hand moves across the phone screen. He leaves the blood type field blank and taps 'SUBMIT.' The phone vibrates noticeably in his grip. A low, digital hum seems to emanate from the device itself—not a normal notification sound, something deeper and more ominous. His expression shifts from hesitation to determination.

Narrator:“He left it blank and hit SUBMIT.”

Panel 7:The phone screen displays: 'APPLICATION PENDING.' Seconds pass. Then the screen flashes. A high-pitched alert screams from the speaker. LJ's eyes go wide—shock, disbelief, then exhilaration flooding his face. His mouth opens in a silent shout.

“LJ: Yes! I'm in!”

Panel 8:LJ spins around in the cramped kitchen, his arms spread wide, his lean body moving with uncontrolled energy. His camera bag swings from the wall peg behind him. The coins scatter across the counter in his exuberance. His face is radiant with hope.

“LJ: We eating steak tonight! No more hot dogs!!!!”

Panel 1:Close-up on the phone screen. The caller ID displays only a string of zeros: '0000000000.' The phone rings, the vibration visible in LJ's hand as he holds it. His grin is wide, confident, ready.

“LJ: Talk to me!”

Panel 2:LJ's face fills the panel. His expression is still eager, but the first hint of uncertainty crosses his features. His ear is pressed to the phone. Behind him, the kitchen is dark and quiet.

Narrator:“A wet, visceral growling sound. Something tearing meat.”

Panel 3:LJ's smile fades. His wide eyes narrow. His mouth tightens. He pulls the phone slightly away from his ear, staring at the device with dawning dread and confusion.

“LJ: Hello? Yo, stop playing. This isn't funny.”

Panel 4:A split panel or visual representation of Drac: a shadowy silhouette in a sharp suit, visible only as a dark outline or reflection on a digital screen or in shadows. His face is obscured by darkness, digital static, or a deliberately shadowed angle. Only the smooth contour of his jaw and the sharp lines of his suit are visible. The background is black or filled with static.

“Drac: Apologies, LJ. The connection here is... primal. I'm Drac. Your Success Specialist.”

Narrator:“Voice smooth, like crushed velvet and glass.”

Panel 5:LJ is back in the kitchen, the phone pressed to his ear. His body language has shifted—less confident, more wary. His free hand gestures slightly as he speaks. The flickering bulb casts his face in alternating light and shadow.

“LJ: Oh. Uh, hey Drac. That was fast.”

Panel 6:A shadowy representation of Drac again—perhaps a silhouette in a monitor or reflection, sharp suit visible, face still obscured. Static or darkness surrounds him. His presence feels omniscient, watching.

“Drac: We've been watching your work for a long time. You have a gift for capturing... life.”

Panel 7:Back to LJ in his kitchen. His expression shifts—flattered for a moment, then guarded. The compliment unsettles him as much as it pleases him. His eyes dart toward the counter where the sign-up form was.

Narrator:“LJ's chest tightens.”

Panel 8:Drac's shadowy silhouette leans forward slightly, his sharp suit catching a glimmer of light. His face remains obscured, but the posture is predatory, focused. Static crackles around him.

“Drac: But you left a field blank. Your blood type, LJ. Why?”

Panel 9:Back to LJ. His hand holding the phone trembles slightly. His eyes widen. His mouth opens slightly, as if to answer, but he hesitates. The kitchen suddenly feels smaller, colder. The flickering bulb casts his shadow on the wall behind him—a dark silhouette that mirrors his growing unease.

“LJ: Uh...”