Issue 3 part 2

Panel 1:The precinct's bullpen interior, fluorescent overhead lights casting cold white glare across metal desks and filing cabinets. Creed Rivers stands in the center of the room, shoulders squared, his posture alert and focused. Officer Vargas leans against a nearby desk with arms crossed, his tactical armor gleaming under the harsh light. Both men face toward a closed door to the Chief's private office in the background. The space is sterile and institutional—gray walls, worn linoleum, the ambient hum of the precinct's machinery audible in the silence.

Narrator:“The precinct. Morning.”

Panel 2:Inside the Chief's private office. The Chief sits behind a heavy wooden desk, his slicked-back graying hair and weathered face catching the lamplight from his desk. He wears his charcoal service dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, a loosened dark silk tie, his gold watch and signet ring visible on his resting hands. Creed Rivers stands on the opposite side of the desk, leaning slightly forward, his body language tense but controlled. The office is dim except for the desk lamp—file cabinets and bookshelves visible in shadow behind him.

“Creed Rivers: I've confirmed Joker's routines. His schedule is predictable.”

Panel 3:Tighter on the Chief's face. His dark, recessed eyes narrow slightly as he listens. His jaw is set, his expression skeptical but attentive. The lamplight emphasizes the deep lines etched into his weathered face. His hands remain flat on the desk surface.

“Creed Rivers: But I can't do this alone. I need a squad—military experience, disciplined.”

Panel 4:The Chief leans back in his chair, his broad shoulders settling into the leather. His expression hardens. His right hand moves to his mouth as he considers Creed's request. Behind him, a window shows the gray morning light of the precinct parking lot.

“Chief: No. This stays contained. You work alone.”

Panel 5:Creed's face tightens. His jaw clenches. His eyes lock on the Chief with intensity. His hands are at his sides, fingers curled slightly.

“Creed Rivers: With respect, sir—this won't work alone. I need men who can move quietly, stay calm under fire.”

Panel 6:Long pause. The Chief stares at Creed across the desk. His heavy brows are lowered. His expression is unreadable—a moment of internal calculation. The office is silent except for the faint hum of the building's electrical system.

Narrator:“The silence stretches. A test.”

Panel 1:The Chief's hands press flat against the desk surface. His gold signet ring catches the lamplight. He leans forward slightly, his tired dark eyes fixed on Creed. His mouth opens.

“Chief: Fine, you'll have a team by tomorrow. But this stays deniable.”

Panel 2:Creed nods once, a sharp, controlled gesture. His posture straightens slightly. His expression shows no triumph—only grim acknowledgment. He turns toward the office door.

“Creed Rivers: Thank you, Chief.”

Panel 3:Creed's hand reaches for the door handle. His silhouette is framed in the doorway, the bullpen visible behind him through the glass office walls. Officer Vargas is visible in the background, still waiting.

Panel 4:The door closes behind Creed. The Chief remains seated at his desk, his hands still flat on the surface. His expression is hard, unreadable. Officer Vargas appears in the open doorway, his crisp military fade and intense dark eyes catching the lamplight. His tactical armor is spotless, his posture rigid.

“Officer Vargas: Do you trust him?”

Panel 5:Tight on the Chief's face. His dark, recessed eyes stare forward. His jaw is set. He speaks without looking at Vargas.

“Chief: I don't trust him. But I trust his ability.”

Panel 6:Vargas nods once, his angular jawline tightening slightly. His crossed arms remain locked across his tactical armor. His expression shows understanding and agreement. Behind him, the precinct bullpen is visible through the office glass.

“Chief: No. you and Steel are too valuable. I’m not risking your lives on a suicide mission. I’ll give him the next best thing. Officer Vargas: I’ll admit the plan's sound. Let Steel and I go in with him. We’re the best you have.”

Panel 1:Club Noche. A private room washed in shifting neon colors—deep purples, electric blues, and hot pinks flicker across the walls and the faces of the two occupants. Slik sits in a low chair, his muscular frame sinking into the leather. Kaleen sits beside him, her body angled toward his, her expression curious and concerned. The room is dimly lit except for the neon glow, creating sharp shadows and vibrant color shifts. A small table with glasses sits to one side.

“Kaleen: So…what happened in that fight earlier….why did you lose control like that?”

Narrator:“Hours later. Club Noche.”

Panel 2:Slik's face in profile, lit by a wash of electric blue neon. His jaw is clenched. His dark eyes are focused on the wall ahead, not on Kaleen. His hand rests on his knee, fingers slightly curled. The neon light catches the sharp angle of his cheekbone.

“Slik: The way he treated you. I won't allow it.”

Panel 3:Slik's expression darkens. His eyes shift down. His voice drops lower. The neon light shifts to deep purple, casting his face in shadow with a thin line of light along his profile. His hand tightens on his knee.

“Slik: It reminded me of how my father treated my mother. When he ran the Noches.”

Panel 4:Kaleen's hand moves across the space between them. Her palm rests gently over Slik's hand on his knee. Her expression is soft, compassionate. The neon light flickers across both their hands—blue shifting to pink. The moment is quiet and intimate.

“Kaleen: It's sweet that you worry about me. But I can handle myself. And you know, I can take care of you too.”

Panel 5:Slik's gaze drifts away from her hand. His eyes become unfocused, staring into the middle distance. His jaw tightens visibly. A shadow crosses his face—the ghost of a memory surfacing. His hand remains still under hers, but his body language shifts, becoming withdrawn and distant. The neon light flickers red across his features, casting him in a hellish glow.

Narrator:“Suddenly A room. A voice. Eighteen years ago. Something he's spent years trying not to remember. ”

Panel 6:A scene of a memory. Slik as young man sitting on a couch. A voice in the distance. “Tonight you become a man.” The POV is directly behind the couch and Slik. An older woman wearing and a shadow covering her face stands in front of him

“Slik: Voice in distance: tonight you become a man.”

Narrator:“Slik fades into a memory.”

Panel 1:Kaleen's expression softens further. She speaks gently, her voice low and reassuring. She remains seated beside Slik, her body angled toward him with open, caring posture. The neon light shifts to a warm purple, casting her in a gentle glow.

“Kaleen: one of those nights again? ”

Panel 2:Slik's gaze remains drifted, unfocused, staring at nothing. His face is blank, frozen. His hands rest motionless on his knees. The neon light cycles from blue to red to purple across his still face, but his eyes don't track the color changes. He is trapped inside his own mind. Kaleen watches him with concern visible in her eyes.

Panel 3:Kaleen rises slowly from the chair beside Slik. Her hand touches his shoulder gently—a gesture of comfort and understanding. Her expression is sad but accepting. She moves toward the doorway of the private room, her silhouette framed against the neon-lit hallway beyond. The room behind her is cast in shadow.

“Kaleen: It's okay if you can't perform. You can just watch me again tonight”

Panel 4:Kaleen's hand leaves Slik's shoulder as she moves into the hallway. A security guard—a large, muscular figure in dark clothing with a stoic expression—appears beside her in the neon-lit corridor. Kaleen pulls him into the room and touches his arms.

Panel 5:The private room, now empty except for Slik. He remains seated in the low chair, his muscular frame motionless. His head is slightly bowed, his gaze still unfocused and distant. The neon lights cycle through colors—blue, purple, red—casting shifting shadows across his face and body. The room is silent. His hands rest on his knees, palms down. His expression is completely unreadable—a mask of stone.

Narrator:“We all are haunted by our past.”

Panel 6:Kaleen and security guard hug as Slik is sitting in chair.