Questions

Panel 1:Splash page, Interior: A control room with banks of monitors. Swordfish, looking shellshocked, stands on one side of the room. Sue Archer stands nearby, and St George stands at a distance across the room, unmasked, all three surrounded by the technical hub of the Bulldog's HQ, The Kennel.

“Sue Archer: Where have you been? St George: You're supposed to be dead.”

Narrator:“QUESTIONS”

Panel 1:The debriefing room. Sue Archer sits across from Swordfish, a tablet in her hands. St George stands nearby in his red-and-white St George costume, his mask removed to reveal his unmasked face with no cables attached, arms crossed. Sharpe hovers in the background, observing.

“Sue Archer: We need to know what happened. The day the team vanished.”

Panel 2:Swordfish's fish-like eyes narrow. He leans back, his expression guarded.

“Swordfish: What we encountered... it is difficult to describe in human terms.”

Panel 3:St George, unmasked with no cables attached to his head, but still in his red-and-white costume, leans forward. His frustration is barely contained.

“St George: Try. Where's the original St George? Where's the rest of the team?”

Panel 4:Swordfish's gaze is distant, haunted by memory. His voice drops. St George stands nearby, unmasked with no cables, but in full costume, listening intently.

“Swordfish: They... We encountered... something. Something with a power we had no defence against. Boudica and Tom Swift were killed in moments. Mere moments. Their courage meant nothing.”

Panel 1:Sue Archer and St George exchange a look of shock. Swordfish sits rigidly, his fish-like eyes unfocused. St George wears his red-and-white costume with his mask removed.

“Sue Archer: Killed? Just like that?”

Panel 2:Swordfish's head tilts back. His voice is hollow.

“Swordfish: I managed to retreat. But not unscathed. The injuries... I needed time to heal. Time away from this place. Away from everyone.”

Panel 3:St George, unmasked but still in his red-and-white costume, leans close. His voice rises with urgency and barely-controlled anger.

“St George: And the original? St George? You're telling me he's dead too?”

Panel 4:Swordfish turns to face St George directly. His expression is grim, uncertain. For the first time, doubt crosses his alien features. St George, unmasked but in full costume, listens intently.

“Swordfish: I was retreating. I did not see what happened to him. But given what we were facing... I can only presume he did not survive.”

Panel 5:Wide shot of the debriefing room. Sue Archer sets down her tablet slowly. St George's shoulders tense, wearing his red-and-white costume with mask removed. Swordfish sits in the center of them both, a lone survivor of a vanished world, bearing the terrible burden of incomplete answers.

Narrator:“A team lost to the void. A mystery ten years old. And one cold, alien voice bringing fragments of the truth—but not all of it.”

Panel 1:Splash page, Interior: An ancient stone circle hidden in a misty moorland valley. Bathsheba- Hell's Gate stands at the center, wearing traditional Romany clothing—a full-length black skirt, red sash around her waist, a tight-fitting white blouse, and an Egyptian-style golden neck corset. Her eyes are closed. Around her, the air shimmers with barely-contained demonic energy. The sky above roils with unnatural darkness.

Narrator:“The Moors. Beyond the map. Beyond time.”

Panel 2:Bathsheba's eyes open slowly. Her gaze is fixed on something distant, something only she can see. Her lips curl into a smile—not kind, but anticipatory. Her hands are palms-up, fingers spread. She wears a full-length black skirt, red sash, tight white blouse, and golden Egyptian-style neck corset.

“Bathsheba- Hell's Gate: He comes. At last, he comes.”

Panel 3:The demonic energy around the stones intensifies. Shadows twist and writhe. Bathsheba's form is silhouetted against the roiling darkness, wearing her black skirt and red sash, her golden neck corset catching the infernal light.

“Bathsheba- Hell's Gate: Your Gate is ready. The way is clear.”

Panel 4:A wider view of the moorland. The stone circle is a focal point of unnatural activity. Dark clouds gather overhead, swirling in an unnatural spiral. The mist glows with sickly purple light.

Narrator:“Something ancient stirs. Something that should have remained forgotten.”

Panel 5:Back to Bathsheba. Her arms are raised now, her face tilted upward. Her expression is one of rapture and hunger. The energy around her crackles and snaps. Her white blouse and black skirt are illuminated by the infernal light, her red sash bright against the darkness.

“Bathsheba- Hell's Gate: Soon. So very soon.”

Panel 6:The stone circle glows with infernal light. Bathsheba stands at its center in her full-length black skirt, red sash, white blouse, and golden Egyptian neck corset, her silhouette sharp and dark against the energy. The camera pulls back to show the vast, empty moorland surrounding her, isolated and terrible.

Narrator:“And in the darkness, something waits. Something that has waited for millennia.”

Panel 1:Interior of Dark Star's Spacecraft - Medical Bay. Sleek, regal sci-fi design with soft blue lighting. Medical monitors line the walls. Minute Man's eyes flutter open. His vision blurs. Dark Star's purple form looms above him, her face identical to Light Star's—beautiful, sharp, dangerous. She wears sleek alien armor. Her eyes are fixed on him with cold intensity.

“Minute Man: Where... where am I? Dark Star: On my ship. I retrieved you from the wreckage four years ago.”

Panel 2:Dark Star leans closer. Her voice is controlled, measured. She speaks the next words with deliberate weight.

“Dark Star: Light Star sent a distress signal before they killed her. That's how I found you. Minute Man: What? No— Light Star, she's—”

Panel 3:Minute Man tries to sit up, panic flooding his face. He pulls against the restraints. Nothing moves below his waist. His eyes widen as understanding dawns—a slow, horrifying realization.

“Minute Man: I can't... I can't feel my legs.”

Panel 4:Dark Star's face is impassive. She states the facts without mercy.

“Dark Star: The bullet severed your spine. You've been in a coma since the attack. The paralysis is permanent.”

Panel 5:Dark Star straightens. Her hand rests on the edge of the medical bed. Her eyes lock with his.

“Dark Star: You're going to help me find who murdered my sister. And then, you're going to help me kill them.”

Panel 1:Minute Man's face twists with frustration and confusion as he strains against the restraints holding him to the medical bed. He looks down at his immobile legs, then back to Dark Star.

“Minute Man: Help you kill them? I can't even move. How am I supposed to—”

Panel 2:Dark Star's expression hardens. She steps back, her purple skin seeming to shimmer with alien technology.

“Dark Star: I said permanent—if you were left to your Earth doctors. But you're not on Earth anymore, Richard. My technology can restore what was taken from you.”

Panel 3:Minute Man's eyes widen from his position on the medical bed. The implications settle over him—freedom, power, and purpose—even as the restraints keep him pinned.

“Minute Man: Sharpe. It was Sharpe. The government man—he... Dark Star: Yes. I've confirmed it. He orchestrated everything. Light Star's death. Your paralysis. All of it.”

Panel 4:Dark Star leans in close over Minute Man on the medical bed, her voice dropping. Her alien eyes bore into his.

“Dark Star: And your son—he survived. He's still alive, Richard. Still fighting. Minute Man: What...? Our son... he's...”

Panel 1:St George stands alone in a corridor of the Kennel, still unmasked. His hand is against the wall. His face is a mixture of defiance and uncertainty. Around him, the military compound is quiet.

Narrator:“Yes. He's alive.”

Panel 2:A brief flash of memory: St George facing off against the Subjugator in combat. Young, reckless, confident.

Narrator:“My first real mission. I beat the Subjugator. Me. Without backup. Without hesitation.”

Panel 3:St George's jaw clenches. His eyes narrow with stubborn pride.

“St George: I'd still have beaten him even if Swordfish hadn't shown up.”

Panel 4:St George's expression hardens as the weight of Swordfish's testimony settles on him. The original team. Dead. Gone. For ten years.

Narrator:“But Swordfish... the original team... what if I had been there? What if I'm not ready?”

Panel 5:St George stares at his own hands as if seeing them for the first time. Whose hands are these? Whose legacy do I carry?

“St George: Who am I, really? Where did I come from? What truth have they been hiding from me?”

Panel 6:A wider shot of St George in the corridor, isolated and conflicted. His youth evident in his uncertainty, even as he tries to project confidence.

Narrator:“I won my first battle. But I'm winning blind. And now everything I thought I knew about myself might be a lie.”

Panel 1:Interior of Dark Star's Spacecraft - Command center. A sleek, alien war room with holographic displays. Dark Star stands at the head of a table, flanked by House, a bald alien with purple skin and a full goatee, muscular and imposing, and Cannon, a mysterious member shrouded in shadow. Both regard her with disciplined attention.

Narrator:“The pieces move into place. Across the void, allies gather.”

Panel 2:Dark Star's voice is measured and cold. Her eyes are fixed on the holographic star charts before them.

“Dark Star: Sharpe orchestrated Light Star's death. He will answer for it.”

Panel 3:House grins, his muscular frame seeming to expand with anticipation. His jovial but cruel demeanor is evident.

“House: And Minute Man? He will be ready?”

Panel 4:A holographic transmission crackles to life. Rex Mauler appears on the display, older with grey hair, wearing his brown trench coat over a blue bodysuit with pouches and holsters. He's on Earth, standing in a shadowed location. Cannon activates the comm relay.

“Dark Star: Rex. Are you ready? Rex Mauler: Always. Sharpe and I have... unfinished business.”

Panel 5:Rex's weathered face tightens. There's a cold determination in his eyes—the gaze of a mercenary with a personal stake.

“Rex Mauler: The Maulers are standing by. We move when you give the word.”

Panel 6:Back on the ship, Dark Star nods. The hologram fades. Her team exchanges glances—predators ready to hunt.

Narrator:“An alien seeking vengeance. Mercenaries with grudges. And a man seeking to reclaim his life. The stage is set.”

Panel 1:The ancient stone circle on the moors. Bathsheba- Hell's Gate stands at the center, wearing traditional Romany clothing—a full-length black skirt, red sash around her waist, a tight-fitting white blouse, and an Egyptian-style golden neck corset. Her eyes are closed. Around her, the air shimmers with barely-contained demonic energy. The sky above roils with unnatural darkness.

Narrator:“The Moors. Beyond the map. Beyond time.”

Panel 2:Bathsheba's eyes snap open. Her gaze is fixed on the sky. A dark shape descends through the clouds—a sleek Stasis Pod, otherworldly, trailing sparks and fire. It's not far from the stone circle, but distant enough to avoid a direct impact.

“Bathsheba- Hell's Gate: He is here!”

Panel 3:Bathsheba throws her arms skyward, her white blouse visible beneath the infernal energy, her red sash streaming. A scream tears from her throat—not human, something ancient and otherworldly. The air tears open. A massive portal rips into existence, glowing with sickly purple and crimson light. Shadowy forms—demons, aliens, entities from beyond—begin pouring through in a writhing, chaotic mass.

Narrator:“The Gate opens. And what waits beyond pours forth.”

Panel 1:Interior of The Kennel's tactical operations room. A Tactical Commander in her mid-40s with dark brown skin, sharp dark eyes, and short-cropped black hair stands before a wall of monitors, her right hand gesturing toward the screens. Alarms blare. Red warning lights pulse. On the screens, a radar ping shows an incoming object.

“Tactical Commander: We've got contact! Unidentified aircraft, entering our airspace. Energy signature is—”

Panel 2:The Tactical Commander's face goes pale. Her hand trembles as she stares at the data on the screen. Around her, technicians exchange nervous glances.

“Tactical Commander: It's the same. It's the exact same energy signature from ten years ago. The day the original Bulldogs disappeared.”

Panel 3:The Kennel's ready room. St George, now masked again, stands with Sue Archer, Swordfish, and P.O.R.T looming in the background. All are in combat stance, suited up and ready.

“Sue Archer: We're going. Now. Whatever this is, we need to know.”

Panel 4:Swordfish's fish-like eyes narrow. His scales seem to darken. He's breathing heavily, trying to mask his fear.

Narrator:“The same signature. If what he saw before is returning—if that thing is back—he can't face it again. He didn't just retreat last time. He ran. Terrified.”

Panel 1:The moorland crash site. Smoke billows from the wreckage of the Stasis Pod. Demonic forms swirl around it, their bodies translucent and wrong. St George, Swordfish, and P.O.R.T emerge from their transport and move toward the crash site, preparing for combat.

Narrator:“The crash site. The demons are already there.”

Panel 2:Swordfish's fish-like eyes are wide, fixed on the demonic swarm. His voice is a whisper, barely audible.

“Swordfish: We shouldn't be here. We can't—”

Panel 1:St George runs forward into the demonic swarm, his red-and-white costume bright against the chaotic mass of shadow and flame. His movements are reckless, joyful, almost childlike in their abandon.

“St George: Ha! Come on, then!”

Panel 2:The massive mechanoid trooper is engulfed by a writhing mass of demonic forms, clawing and clinging to his metal frame. His strength is barely enough to keep them from tearing him apart.

Narrator:“P.O.R.T overwhelmed. The demons cling to him like locusts.”

Panel 3:With a violent convulsion, P.O.R.T hurls his arms outward. Demons are thrown skyward, their forms dissipating into smoke and shadow as they scatter across the moorland.

Narrator:“But Bulldogs don't stay down.”

Panel 4:The Number, impossibly white and featureless, moves with precision through the demonic swarm. But a crimson blade materializes from the darkness, and it cuts him down. His white form collapses to the ground.

Narrator:“The Number falls. A single blow ends him.”

Panel 5:Moments later, a new form emerges from the white monolith at the edge of the battlefield. Fresh. Whole. Unmarked. The Number is back.

Narrator:“And then, he rises again.”

Panel 6:Sue Archer sits inside the transport vehicle, controlling P.O.R.T via her psionic control helmet. Her face is focused, intense. Around her, through the viewscreen, the battle rages on the moorland.

“Sue Archer: New range modifications holding. I've got him.”

Narrator:“Sue Archer drives the fight from afar. P.O.R.T, The Number, St George—a team forged in chaos.”

Panel 1:St George's form is a blur of red and white, moving through the swarm with seemingly endless energy. Demons dissipate around him. His laughter echoes across the moorland—young, fearless, utterly consumed by the joy of combat.

Narrator:“St George doesn’t question. He fights. Pure instinct. Pure joy.”

Panel 2:Despite his fear, Swordfish's cold alien rage erupts. His movements are precise, calculated, devastating. His bare fists and claws tear through the swarm. Each strike is economical and deadly. The demons fall before him.

Narrator:“Swordfish's terror transforms into something else—cold, methodical, alien fury.”

Panel 3:Wide shot of the moorland. The demonic swarm is thinning, dissipating. St George breathes heavily, his red-and-white costume marked with char and shadow. Swordfish stands bloodied but resolute, his alien features twisted with effort. P.O.R.T's metal frame is scarred and dented from the relentless assault. The Number stands unmarked but alert. The Bulldogs stand amid the chaos—battered, exhausted, but standing. Demons scatter and fade.

Narrator:“The swarm retreats. The Bulldogs prevail.”

Panel 1:At the stone circle, Bathsheba- Hell's Gate stands amid the fading traces of the portal. She wears her full-length black skirt, red sash, tight white blouse, and golden Egyptian-style neck corset. Her expression is one of reluctant retreat, even as her eyes burn with otherworldly fury.

Narrator:“The gate closes. But Bathsheba does not yield.”

Panel 2:Bathsheba's face is raised toward the sky. Her voice carries across the moorland, ancient and terrible.

“Bathsheba- Hell's Gate: They blocked the way. They bought themselves time. But He will return. His will cannot be stopped.”

Panel 3:Bathsheba's form seems to shimmer and fade, her presence dispersing like smoke, her black skirt and red sash still visible against the fading light. Her final words hang in the air.

“Bathsheba- Hell's Gate: And when He does, this world will kneel. All will kneel.”

Panel 4:The sickly purple and crimson light fades. The portal seals shut. The stone circle stands empty and ominous, the moors returning to their ancient silence.

Narrator:“But her words remain. A promise. A curse. A prophecy.”

Panel 1:The moorland around the crashed Stasis Pod. Smoke billows. Demonic forms have dissipated entirely. The new Bulldogs team stands victorious but winded, looking toward the wreckage.

Narrator:“The demons are gone. But what they were protecting—what crashed from the sky—that remains.”

Panel 2:St George moves toward the Stasis Pod, studying its sleek, otherworldly design. The hatch is sealed. His hand hovers near a control panel.

“St George: Stand back. We don't know what's inside.”

Panel 3:The Stasis Pod's hatch hisses open. Steam billows from within. The team tenses, weapons ready. Inside, something stirs.

Narrator:“The craft opens. And from within, a figure emerges.”

Panel 1:The hatch of the Stasis Pod hisses open fully. Steam billows from within. The team tenses. Inside the darkness, a silhouetted figure lies motionless and unconscious, shrouded in shadow.

Narrator:“The craft opens. And what lies within stops them cold.”

Panel 2:St George's masked face goes rigid. His eyes widen with disbelief.

“St George: It can't be.”

Panel 3:Swordfish's fish-like eyes go impossibly wide. His alien features twist with shock and dread.

“Swordfish: It's him. It's really him. Isn't it?”

Panel 4:The Number's pale form stands motionless. His blank face stares ahead. His complete stillness is remarkable.

Panel 5:Inside the transport vehicle, Sue Archer's face goes pale. She hears the team's reactions over comms.

“Sue Archer: What—what are you looking at? Report!”

Panel 6:At the Kennel, Sharpe stares into a monitor, watching events at the crash site unfold. His hand trembles.

Narrator:“Ten years of certainty. And now—everything resurfaces.”

Panel 1:St George's face goes rigid. His eyes widen beneath his mask.

“St George: It's him.”

Narrator:“Ten years lost to the void. And now—he returns.”

Panel 2:The Stasis Pod is fully open. Steam clears. Lying unconscious inside is St George (Original) in his red-and-white costume and full-face red mask. The new St George stares in disbelief.

“St George: St George.”

Narrator:“To Be Continued....”

Panel 1:CLASSIFIED BULLDOG PROJECT FILE — DOSSIER. Agent Name: Swordfish. Species: Aquatic Alien. Origin: Planet destroyed centuries ago; his people now inhabit Earth's oceans. First Contact: 1942, when German U-boats disrupted his underwater civilization. U-boat incursion forced First Contact with surface world. Allied governments negotiated his recruitment. Original Team Composition: Swordfish, St George (Original), Captain Grant McCloud. Status: Founding member and transformative asset. Before Swordfish's recruitment, the Bulldogs were a propaganda exercise — a symbolic gesture without genuine superhuman capability. Swordfish elevated the team into a legitimate super-powered force. He remained a mainstay through every incarnation of the Bulldogs, ten years ago, the entire team vanished during a classified operation. Current Status: RETURNED. Circumstances unknown. Whereabouts unknown for ten years. Psychological Assessment: Subject exhibits signs of severe trauma. Reticent regarding events of disappearance. Physical Capabilities: Superior strength and agility, amplified significantly when in aquatic environments. Documented underwater speed exceeds 200 knots. Hydrodynamic cutting capability confirmed — subject has severed ship hulls and submarine pressure vessels using pure velocity. Intelligence Assessment: Cold, methodical, alien perspective. Emotionally detached from human teammates, but combat effectiveness is without equal. Threat Level: HIGH (to enemy forces). Reliability: UNKNOWN. Recommendation: Monitor closely. His return raises more questions than answers.