Final fight

Panel 1:Wide shot inside a grim, dark warehouse. Creed Rivers and Slik stand ten feet apart,, fists raised. Broken crates and concrete pillars surround them. A single industrial lamp overhead casts a harsh cone of white light between the two men. Don’t have them shirtless have them in their usual outfits

Panel 2:Dynamic action panel. Creed and Slik collide in the center of the warehouse floor — both men's fists connect simultaneously, knuckles cracking against jaw and cheekbone. Their bodies are angled into each other, feet planted, neither giving ground. Dust kicks up from the concrete floor.

Panel 3:Medium shot. Creed blocks a straight punch from Slik,while simultaneously throwing a knee into Sliks ribs.

Panel 4:Close-up on Creed's eyes — the orange cybernetic glow narrows as his gaze drops to Slik's left side. Below, a partial view of Slik's torso shows him holding his left arm slightly inward, guarding his ribs without realizing it.

Panel 5:Explosive action panel. Drives a straight punch into Sliks gut. Slik is standing but reacting in pain to the gut punch

Panel 1:Slik is on one knee on the concrete floor, head bowed, one hand pressed to his ribs. To his left, slightly translucent and glowing with a sickly purple hue, the hallucinated figure of Momma Noche crouches beside him — her face split into a cold, wide smile, one finger pointing at Creed.

“Momma Noche: Let the monster out.”

Panel 2:Creed stands over Slik, fist still extended from the punch, a half-second of hesitation crossing his face as he reads the moment — deciding whether to press the advantage. His brow is slightly furrowed, posture just barely upright.

Panel 3:Explosive action panel. Slik launches off his knee and drives his forehead straight into Creed's nose and brow in a savage headbutt. Creed's head snaps backward, blood spraying from his nose, arms thrown wide as he stumbles.

Panel 4:Slik presses forward relentlessly. He drives his knee upward in a brutal strike into Creed's torso. Creed doubles over the knee, face twisted in agony, arms dropping to his sides.

Panel 5:Wide action panel. Slik pivots and swings his right leg in a full-arc soccer-style kick into the side of Creed's skull. Creed's body spins sideways and crashes flat onto the concrete floor, one arm splayed, the other pinned beneath him. Dust rises from the impact.

Panel 6:Slik stands over Creed's barely moving body. To his right, the Momma Noche hallucination stands fully upright, arms folded, expression imperious. Her lips are moving. Slik's eyes shift toward her — listening.

“Momma Noche: Finish him.”

Panel 1:Slik crouches and lifts the Samurai blade from the warehouse floor with one hand, rising back to full height. The blade catches the overhead light. He walks slowly toward Creed's prone body, his face blank and cold.

Panel 2:From the warehouse entrance, Aline Fonseca stands in a wide combat stance, pistol raised in a two-handed grip, aimed directly at Slik. Her jacket is torn at the shoulder, hair loose. Her expression is locked and fierce.

“Aline Fonseca: Hands in the air Slik!”

Panel 3:Slik spins and hurls the Samurai blade end-over-end at Aline in a single fluid motion. Aline fires — her shot tears through the air — but the spinning blade forces her to sidestep. The bullet punches into the far wall. The blade buries its tip in a wooden support beam inches from her head.

Panel 4:Slik closes the distance in two strides and drives a straight right punch into Aline's jaw. She crumples sideways and hits the concrete floor hard, one arm catching her fall. Her pistol skids away across the floor.

Panel 5:Ground-level close-up. Creed lies on the concrete floor, cheek pressed to the ground, one eye half-open. The image is blurred at the edges. Through the haze he can see Slik standing over Aline, lips moving — talking to himself, gesturing with one hand as if arguing with someone who isn't there.

“Slik: No, Ma… we don't have to do it that way.”

Panel 6:Slik turns away from Aline, one hand pressed to his temple, muttering. The Momma Noche hallucination stands directly beside him, leaning close to his ear, gesturing toward Aline on the ground.

“Momma Noche: Kill the girl in front of him. True vengeance, son. Slik: We just kill Creed. That's the end of it.”

Panel 1:Creed forces himself up from the concrete — one hand planted, one knee rising, teeth clenched. Blood runs from his nose across his lip. His orange cybernetic eyes glow through the haze. His face is set with cold determination.

Narrator:“Creed realizes what’s happening: Slik isn’t just talking to himself, he’s arguing with his dead mother about Aline.”

Panel 2:Medium shot. Creed stands fully upright now. His expression is cold and deliberate. He speaks quietly — barely above a whisper — each word chosen like a blade. Don’t have Slik showing in the panel. Creed should be battle bruised

“Creed Rivers: She's right, Slik. You are weak.”

Panel 3:Wide shot lateral view showing Creed and slik speaking facing each other but several feet apart. Slik's face — jaw tight, eyes bloodshot, veins visible at his temple. Sweat and blood on his brow. His expression is cracking — rage and anguish fighting for control. Make sure creeds speech bubble is pointing towards him Make sure creed is not carrying his gun.

“Creed Rivers: Your mom told the Chief what a disappointment you are. Slik: That's not true!”

Panel 4:lateral view showing Creed and slik speaking facing each other but several feet apart. Slik's face — jaw tight, eyes bloodshot, veins visible at his temple. Sweat and blood on his brow. His expression is cracking — rage and anguish fighting for control. Make sure creeds speech bubble is pointing towards him

“Creed Rivers: She said she'd never put you in charge. She wishes you died instead of Joker. Slik: NO!”

Panel 5:Creed steps forward one pace, pointing past Slik's shoulder, his face utterly composed and cold. His orange eyes glow with calculated intensity.

“Creed Rivers: Then why is she laughing — right behind you?”

Panel 1:From Slik's POV — he has turned around. The full hallucinated figure of Momma Noche stands before him in the empty warehouse, rendered in vivid detail only he can see. She is smiling — cold and absolute. Her arms are folded. She speaks.

“Momma Noche: It's true, Slik. I do wish you died instead of Joker. You'll never lead Club Noche.”

Panel 2:Action panel. Slik drives his Samurai blade forward with both hands — straight through the hallucinated Momma Noche's chest. She collapses. Slik's face is angry and screaming rageful.

Panel 3:Close up of Slik on his knees looking sad with a tear coming from his eye

“Slik: I'm sorry, Ma… You made me do it again.”

Panel 4:Insert panel — low angle, ground level. Creed's hand closes around the grip of the magnum blaster revolver, lifting it from the concrete floor while Slik is still kneeling, facing away, head bowed.

Panel 5:Frontal view of Slik on his knees but looking angry. Creed is not in this panel.

“Slik: You did this, Creed! None of this happens without you!”

Panel 6:Wide shot lateral view- both Slik and Creed are standing facing towards each other but far apart. Slik is standing straight holding his samurai blade. Creed is pointing his gun towards Slik.

Narrator:“And then the world went silent.”

Panel 7:Wide shot lateral view- Slik runs toward Creed but Creed pulls the trigger shooting Slik through the head mid run.

Panel 8:Creed stands motionless over Slik's body, revolver lowered to his side. He stares down at the fallen man. His expression is not triumph — it is heavy, exhausted, and hollow. Behind him, through a gap in the warehouse wall, the faintest grey-blue of pre-dawn light begins to bleed in.

Narrator:“On that final night of the Noche gang…I didn’t see victory.”

Panel 9:Wide establishing shot. Outside the warehouse, Creed and Aline Fonseca sit side by side on a concrete step at the building's entrance. Creed's elbows rest on his knees, head slightly bowed. Aline sits close, with her head against creeds chest and his arm around her. Ahead of them, the Vena City skyline is silhouetted against a pale orange-pink sunrise just beginning to crest the horizon. The street is empty. Completely still.

Narrator:“I saw a man who was pushed into violence by his own family. A man who’d kill for his brother. A man broken by this city….and that felt all too relatable.”