Fight

Panel 1:Interior of a dimly lit apartment. Creed Rivers sits at a small kitchen table, phone pressed to his ear, jacket still on, a half-drunk glass of water in front of him. His expression is flat and businesslike. The room behind him is sparse — bare walls, a single overhead bulb.

“Creed Rivers: Cody. Frank wants a job done. One night, clean and quiet.”

Panel 2:Close on Creed's face, phone at his ear, jaw tightening slightly as he listens to the response. His eyes cut to the side.

“Creed Rivers: No. I go alone. You stay clear of it.”

Panel 3:Creed pulls the phone slightly away from his ear, staring at it for a beat. His free hand presses flat on the table. He exhales slowly through his nose.

“Creed Rivers: ...Fine. But you do what I say when I say it.”

Panel 4:Wide shot of the apartment exterior — a narrow city street at night, Creed's building dark against a glowing urban skyline. A single lit window on the second floor. The street below is empty. Neon signs from nearby storefronts reflect in puddles on the asphalt.

Narrator:“Vena City's industrial district. The kind of place where police response time is measured in days.”

Panel 1:Wide establishing shot. A massive corrugated-metal warehouse in Vena City's rundown industrial district. Floodlights mounted above the loading dock doors cast harsh white cones of light. Silhouettes of armed guards are visible at three separate positions around the perimeter. Chain-link fencing lines the lot. Creed's futuristic red Pontiac GTO Judge is parked to the left; Cody's battered but well-maintained black Mustang is parked to the right. Both brothers stand between the two vehicles, studying the building.

Panel 2:Medium shot of Cody Rivers standing with arms crossed, staring at the warehouse. He's lean, sharp-eyed, wearing a worn jacket. His black Mustang is visible behind him. He tilts his head toward Creed beside him without fully looking away from the building.

“Cody Rivers: Uh… I hate to say it, but this looks like more than a few guards.”

Panel 3:Creed Rivers stands beside his red GTO, arms at his sides, eyes moving slowly across the warehouse entrance. His expression is calm and calculating. He speaks without looking at Cody.

“Creed Rivers: Yeah. Frank tends to bend some details.”

Panel 4:Cody turns to face Creed directly, a wry look on his face, one eyebrow raised. Arms still crossed.

“Cody Rivers: So what's the plan, military man?”

Panel 5:Creed turns and scans the lot — minimal cover, open concrete ground between them and the entrance. He looks back at Cody, expression flat.

“Creed Rivers: Usually I'd sneak through. But there's not much cover here.”

Panel 1:Cody reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and produces a compact mechanical tool — roughly the size of a thick flashlight, matte black with small folded components visible along its body. He holds it up between two fingers with a satisfied expression.

“Cody Rivers: Good thing I brought this.”

Panel 2:Insert panel — close on Cody's thumb pressing a recessed button on the device. The tool snaps and unfolds mechanically, segments extending outward. A blade of glowing heat-orange energy crackles to life along the axe head, casting warm amber light across Cody's knuckles.

Panel 3:Creed stares at the glowing Heatwave axe with one eyebrow slightly raised, arms loosely at his sides. Cody grins beside him, holding the weapon casually.

“Creed Rivers: Not exactly subtle. Cody Rivers: You saying it isn't cool?”

Panel 4:Creed moves to the driver's door of his red GTO and pulls it open wide. Samsung — a German Shepherd with one fully organic side and one side of gleaming chrome robot plating, a sniper rifle mounted across his back — steps out of the car and sits at attention. Samsung's one organic eye and one glowing mechanical eye look up at Creed. Samsung holds an S-Grade smoke grenade in his mechanical jaw, offering it upward.

“Creed Rivers: I brought something too. Samsung: Am I a good boy?”

Panel 5:Creed crouches down to Samsung's level and gives him a firm pat on the chrome side of his head. He takes the smoke grenade with his other hand. His expression is the closest it gets to warm.

“Creed Rivers: The best, Samsung.”

Panel 6:Wide shot. Creed stands upright, smoke grenade in one hand. He looks at Cody. Cody has the glowing Heatwave axe at his side. Samsung stands between them, alert. All three face the warehouse.

“Creed Rivers: How fast are you with that thing? Cody Rivers: With the axe? Fast.”

Panel 1:Extreme close-up on Creed's eyes as his cyberware activates — irises flaring from dark brown to a vivid glowing orange. Faint digital overlay lines appear across his pupils.

Panel 2:Creed's POV — the warehouse entrance rendered in heat-signature overlay. Five guard silhouettes glow in thermal orange-red at different positions around the loading dock and side entrance. The rest of the environment is cool blue-grey.

Panel 3:Creed pulls his arm back and hurls the smoke grenade in a hard overhand throw toward the warehouse entrance. The grenade spins through the air, trailing a thin arc. Guards in the background begin to react with confusion.

Panel 4:Wide action panel. The smoke grenade detonates at the warehouse entrance — a thick white cloud erupts outward, swallowing the guards in dense fog. Through the cloud, the orange glow of Cody's Heatwave axe is visible as a streak of light. Cody charges into the smoke at full sprint, axe raised. Creed moves in from the opposite side, Creeds magnum blaster pistol drawn, low and controlled. Samsung runs between them, sniper rifle on his back, mechanical eye glowing through the fog.

Panel 5:Action sequence panel divided by motion — left half: Cody Rivers swings the Heatwave axe in a wide horizontal arc through the smoke, a guard's silhouette flying backward. Right half: Creed's silenced Creeds magnum blaster pistol fires a suppressed energy round — a tight blue-white burst — dropping another guard silhouette to the ground. Samsung's chrome frame is visible in the background, rifle barrel raised toward a third figure.

Panel 1:The smoke has thinned to wisps at the warehouse entrance. The loading dock is clear — multiple guards are down on the ground, unconscious or incapacitated. No alarm lights are flashing. Creed stands at the threshold, Creeds magnum blaster pistol lowered, scanning the area. Cody is beside him, Heatwave axe deactivated and held at his side. Samsung sits at attention behind them. The entrance is secured.

Panel 2:Creed looks at the deactivated Heatwave axe in Cody's hand, then back up at Cody's face. His expression is flat but there's a flicker of curiosity.

“Creed Rivers: Where'd you get that thing? Cody Rivers: I know a guy.”

Panel 3:Creed's eyes narrow slightly. He holsters his weapon. Cody's face is deadpan — completely serious.

“Creed Rivers: You're introducing me. Cody Rivers: No chance. He doesn't like cops.”

Panel 4:Wide shot. Both brothers grin briefly — a rare, shared moment of levity. It lasts only a second. Then they both turn and face the dark warehouse interior ahead, the grin fading back into focus. Samsung pads forward between them into the darkness.

Panel 1:Inside the warehouse — a vast industrial floor with stacked crates, metal catwalks above, and harsh overhead cage lights. Creed and Cody move in a tight two-man formation through a row of crates, low and quiet. Creed leads with his Creeds magnum blaster pistol. Cody follows with the Heatwave axe deactivated, watching their rear. Their movement is fluid and instinctive.

Panel 2:High-angle shot from a catwalk above. Creed and Cody press against a wall below as a single warehouse guard passes in the aisle ahead of them, oblivious. Creed holds up a fist — stop signal. Cody freezes immediately.

Panel 3:The guard has passed. Creed points two fingers toward a metal staircase at the far end of the warehouse floor leading up to a reinforced office door with a small frosted window. Light bleeds from under the door. Cody nods.

Panel 4:Close on Creed's boot connecting with the reinforced office door — the door flies inward with a violent crack, frame splintering. Light from inside floods outward.

Panel 5:Inside the office. The Money holder — a heavyset man in his forties, expensive watch, shirt collar open, seated behind a cluttered desk — jerks upright in shock. Beside him, the Security guy stands with one hand already reaching for his holster. Creed's Creeds magnum blaster pistol is already raised and firing — a single energy round punches through the Security guy's head. Cody Rivers moves fast around the desk, grabbing the Money holder by the collar before he can react, pinning him against the chair.

Panel 6:Close on the Money holder's face — wide-eyed with shock and rage,

“Money holder: Who the hell are you?! You're fucking dead for this!”

Panel 1:Creed Rivers stands across the desk from the pinned Money holder, Creeds magnum blaster pistol lowered but in hand. His voice is flat and businesslike. Cody holds the man firmly in the chair.

“Creed Rivers: We know there's a safe in here. Open it. You get to go home tonight.”

Panel 2:The Money holder bares his teeth, red-faced with fury despite being pinned. Spit flecks at the corner of his mouth.

“Money holder: You fuckers leave NOW and MAYBE you'll get to go home!”

Panel 3:Cody Rivers delivers a hard punch across the Money holder's face — snapping his head to the side.

“Cody Rivers: Just open the damn safe, choom.”

Panel 4:The Money holder opens the cyber-tech hidden safe; Cody Rivers begins loading the cash.

Panel 5:View under the desk. You see the money holders hand reaching for a gun that is taped under the desk.

“Creed Rivers: Hey. Back away from it.”

Panel 6:The Money holder's hand comes up from under the desk gripping a compact pistol — already swinging toward Cody's back. Creed's Creeds magnum blaster pistol fires in the same instant. The energy round punches into the Money holder's belly. He folds backward against the wall, the pistol dropping from his hand, clutching his stomach.

Panel 7:The Money holder is on the floor, back against the wall, hand pressed to the wound in his gut. His face twists — not just pain, but something else. He begins to laugh. It starts low and builds. Creed steps forward and crouches down directly in front of him, Creeds magnum blaster pistol pointed at the floor. Cody stands back, the cash bag in his hand, staring.

“Money holder: Arghh — you won't last a week once he finds out the money is gone! Creed Rivers: When who finds out?”

Panel 8:Close on the Money holder's face — bloodstained, laughing harder now, eyes wide and wet, looking up at Creed with disbelief and dark amusement. His voice is fading but the laugh doesn't stop.

“Money holder: Wait… you don't even know who you’re robbing!? By the time you shits figure it out, you'll already be dead!”

Panel 9:Wide shot. The office is silent. The Money holder slumped dead against the wall. The Security guy's body on the floor near the door. The open safe, empty. The duffel bag of cash at Cody's feet. Creed stands slowly and turns to face Cody. Both brothers stare at each other across the room. Neither speaks. The silence is absolute.

Narrator:“At that moment the brothers look at each other and come to a realization: They’ve just stumbled into a mob war Frank is about to ignite. ”