Issue 5 part 1

Panel 1:Exterior wide shot of Club Noche in daylight. The neon signs are off but the building looms large, its brutalist facade casting long morning shadows across the empty street. A single unmarked black police sedan is parked at the curb. The Chief steps out, dressed in his charcoal service shirt, tie loosened, gold watch catching the pale sun. Two uniformed officers wait by the car. The Chief straightens his jacket and stares up at the club entrance with a hard, closed expression.

Narrator:“The next morning. Club Noche.”

Panel 2:Interior of Club Noche's main hall, reconfigured for a formal meeting. A long table dominates the center, flanked by armed Noche guards in dark clothing. Momma Noche sits at the head, her expression composed and imperious. On the table in front of her sits a thick document folder. The Chief stands at the far end, hands at his sides, jaw tight.

Panel 3:Close on Momma Noche's hands sliding the document folder across the polished table toward the Chief. Her fingers are adorned with a single heavy gold ring. The folder is thick, stamped with no official seal—just a handwritten title on the cover.

“Momma Noche: Read it. Then sign it.”

Panel 4:The Chief stands over the open folder, scanning the pages. His eyes move quickly down the text. His jaw is clenched so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek. His hands grip the table edge. Momma Noche watches him from her chair, perfectly still, a thin smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Chief: This gives you everything. Momma Noche: Yes. It does.”

Panel 5:The Chief picks up a pen. His hand hovers over the signature line for a beat. His eyes are downcast, defeated. He signs. Momma Noche watches him, her smile widening fractionally—cold and satisfied.

Panel 6:Wide shot from behind Momma Noche as the Chief walks toward the exit, his back to her, head slightly bowed. Momma Noche remains seated, watching his retreating figure, the cold smile still fixed on her face. The armed guards are motionless along the walls.

Narrator:“She let him leave but now his balls are in her purse.”

Panel 1:Slik stands near the table, arms at his sides, dressed in dark clothing, his expression focused. He faces Momma Noche, who has risen from her chair and turned toward him. The empty hall stretches behind them both.

“Slik : Let me go tonight. I'll take out Creed Rivers.”

Panel 2:Momma Noche raises one hand, palm out—a gesture of pause. Her expression is calm, deliberate. She looks at Slik with the patient authority of someone who has already decided everything.

“Momma Noche: Not tonight. Tonight we celebrate the treaty first.”

Panel 3:Momma Noche turns slightly away, her voice carrying a deliberate weight. Her profile is sharp and elegant in the gold light. She gestures with two fingers held up.

“Momma Noche: I'll send four of my best men after Creed. The same odds he gave my son.”

Panel 4:Momma Noche turns back to Slik, her eyes dropping to study him with an amused, probing look. One eyebrow rises fractionally. Slik's posture stiffens slightly under her gaze.

“Momma Noche: And you — are you bringing your little girlfriend to dinner? Slik : ….I don't have a girlfriend.”

Panel 5:Momma Noche smirks—a slow, curling expression that doesn't reach her eyes. She tilts her head slightly.

“Momma Noche: I've seen you with that club girl enough. Don't be boring, son. Bring her.”

Panel 1:Exterior of a mid-rise apartment building in a dense urban block. Afternoon light. Creed Rivers' door — a plain metal door in a dim corridor — is the focus. A figure in a dark jacket stands at the door, knuckles raised to knock. It is Aline Fonseca, her expression set with fury, eyes sharp, jaw tight.

Narrator:“Later. Creed's apartment.”

Panel 2:Interior. Creed Rivers stands in the doorway, his expression neutral but watchful. Aline Fonseca pushes past him into the apartment, her body language electric with barely contained anger. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean. Creed is not shirtless

“Aline Fonseca: What the hell is going on, Creed?”

Panel 3:Aline stands in the middle of the apartment, arms out at her sides, voice raised. Behind her, the window shows the city skyline in afternoon haze. Her badge glints on her belt. Her eyes are blazing. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.

“Aline Fonseca: Joker is dead. The precinct was attacked. And you're on paid leave? You’re part of this aren’t you?!”

Panel 4:Creed stands still, arms at his sides, meeting her gaze without flinching. His expression is flat, certain. One word. He is not shirtless.

“Creed Rivers: I am..I killed Joker.”

Panel 5:Aline's face shifts—anger spiking into something raw and wounded. She takes a half-step back, her hand rising to press flat against her sternum. Her voice drops, cutting. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.

“Aline Fonseca: I brought you onto this force to do good. Not to be the chief's personal hitman.”

Panel 6:Aline begins to turn away, her profile to Creed, shoulders rigid. Creed steps forward and reaches out, his hand stopping just short of touching her arm—not grabbing, just present in the frame between them. Creed is not shirtless. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.

“Creed Rivers: He threatened you, Aline. Said he'd use your vouching for me against you.”

Panel 1:Aline has frozen mid-turn. Her profile is taut, eyes wide, staring at nothing. The word 'threatened' hangs in the air between them. Her fist is clenched at her side. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.

“Aline Fonseca: That pig… He's going to pay for this.”

Panel 2:Aline turns back to face Creed fully. Her expression has shifted—still hard, but the fury is redirected. She points at him, her finger leveled at his chest. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.

“Aline Fonseca: But that doesn't excuse what you did. You're a detective now. Not a killer. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.”

Panel 3:Creed lowers his gaze to the floor. His posture folds slightly—not collapse, but the weight of the words landing on him. His jaw is set, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Creed Rivers: I know. I regret it. Killing Joker never felt right….nothing ever has….killing for Frank, killing for the military, now killing for the chief….”

Panel 4:Aline steps closer to Creed. Her posture softens—shoulders dropping, the aggression bleeding out. She lifts her hand and places it gently against the side of his face. Creed raises his eyes to meet hers. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.

“Aline Fonseca: You don't have to be stuck in your past. Break free. Stop repeating it.”

Panel 5:Close on Creed's eyes meeting Aline's. His expression is open—not broken, but genuinely present. Her hand is still at his jaw. Between them, a beat of stillness. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.

“Aline Fonseca: Get away from all of this. No more wars.”

Panel 1:Wide establishing shot of an outdoor ramen stand at night. The stand is a long open counter with wooden stools, chefs working behind a steaming stove, neon kanji signs glowing red and orange above. The wet pavement reflects neon light in rippling pools. Creed Rivers sits alone at the end of the counter, hunched over a bowl of ramen.

Narrator:“Late night. Unable to sleep, Creed heads to a ramen bar”

Panel 1:Full-panel action shot: Creed pulls the trigger. A massive bolt of blue-white lightning erupts from the arc induction lance's barrel, filling the alley with blinding electric light. The last Noche assassin is caught in the center of the blast, his silhouette dissolving in the arc. The alley walls are lit stark white.

Panel 2:Creed stands alone in the alley. The arc induction lance hangs at his side. Smoke rises from the weapon's barrel. Four bodies lie at various points down the alley and inside the ramen stand behind him. Creed's chest rises and falls visibly—breathing hard. The neon of the ramen stand still glows in the background.

Narrator:“Flawless victory ”

Panel 3:Close on Creed's face as he presses his phone to his ear. His expression is urgent, controlled. His eyes scan the alley while he speaks.

“Creed Rivers: Aline. The Noches made a move. I'm leaving the city. You won't see me for a while.”

Panel 4:Wide interior shot of Club Noche's private dining room. A long dark wood table is set with candles and food. Momma Noche sits at the head, Slik to her right, Kaleen beside Slik, several Noche lieutenants filling the remaining seats. The atmosphere is stiff—no one eats. Candle flames are the only warm light.

Narrator:“Meanwhile. Club Noche.”

Panel 5:Momma Noche raises a crystal glass toward the table. Her posture is regal, her expression composed but sharp. The candlelight catches the glass.

“Momma Noche: Tonight we celebrate our victory over the police of Night City. Even in tragedy — something to be gained.”

Panel 1:Momma Noche's gaze slides sideways down the table toward Kaleen. Kaleen sits straight, hands in her lap, expression carefully neutral. The candle between them throws long shadows.

“Momma Noche: So, Kaleen… when did you decide this was the life you wanted?”

Panel 2:Slik's jaw tightens. He sets his fork down on the plate with a quiet, deliberate click. His eyes cut to Momma Noche.

“Slik : Ma. Don't start.”

Panel 3:Momma Noche smiles thinly, not looking at Slik. She leans back in her chair and turns the glass slowly in her fingers. Her voice is conversational, almost cheerful.

“Momma Noche: Women don't need their bodies to control men. Look at me — I command an entire organization.”

Panel 4:Momma Noche's eyes settle back on Kaleen. Her smile sharpens. The table is completely silent — no one moves, no one eats. She speaks with the casual tone of someone commenting on the weather.

“Momma Noche: You must be clever. You got close to my son, after all….I know how good he can be in bed. His brother Joker though? Ugh Now he use to rock me. such a shame he’s gone.”

Panel 5:Close on Slik's face. His jaw is clenched hard, a muscle flexing at the corner. His eyes are fixed on the table in front of him—not at Momma Noche, not at Kaleen. Controlled fury, held perfectly still.

Panel 6:A Noche henchman enters through the dining room door at a quick stride. He leans down beside Momma Noche and whispers in her ear. Momma Noche's expression shifts—the thin smile fading, her eyes going cold and flat. Her hand slowly lowers her glass to the table.

“Henchmen 1: Creed Rivers survived. He killed all four men.”

Panel 1:Slik rises from his chair, hands flat on the table. He leans forward toward Momma Noche, his expression locked in cold determination. Around him, the lieutenants are motionless.

“Slik : Ma. Let me go after him. One on one.”

Panel 2:Momma Noche rises from her chair slowly. She is a full head shorter than Slik but fills the room. Her voice is low and precise, each word placed like a blade.

“Momma Noche: Fine. Go. But let the monster out. Find his family. Kill them first. Make him suffer.”

Panel 3:Slik's eyes drop slightly. His posture changes—a slight tension entering his shoulders. He speaks carefully.

“Slik : He doesn't have a family. Closest thing is mob boss Frank. You don't want me starting a war with Frank too.”

Panel 4:Momma Noche slams her open hand down on the table. Glasses shudder. Candle flames flicker. Every person at the table flinches except Slik. Her eyes are fixed on him, then they drift—deliberately—to Kaleen.

“Momma Noche: Everyone has someone! Even you have this damn prostitute! ”

Panel 5:Slik exhales—a slow, controlled breath. His eyes move to Momma Noche. His voice is quiet and flat.

“Slik : …..The cops mentioned a girl. They said he did all of this for her.”

Panel 6:Momma Noche's lips curl into a slow, satisfied smile. She leans in toward Slik across the table, close enough that only he can hear her clearly. Her eyes are bright with cold pleasure.

“Momma Noche: Good. Now you're thinking. Kill her. Make sure he sees it. Then kill him.”

Panel 1:Interior of the police precinct — the Chief's office. The Chief sits behind his desk in his charcoal service shirt, tie loosened, heavy-browed face lined with exhaustion. Officer Vargas stands to one side, arms crossed, in his black-and-blue tactical armor. The door bursts open. Aline Fonseca strides in, badge on her belt, face blazing with anger. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean. Have her under shirt he white crop top that shows belly a bit

Narrator:“The precinct.”

Panel 2:Aline stands in the center of the office, pointing at the Chief. Her voice fills the room. The Chief watches her from behind the desk, expression guarded. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.

“Aline Fonseca: Are you out of your mind? You sold him out. You used him.”

Panel 3:The Chief leans forward, both forearms on the desk, hands clasped. He meets Aline's gaze steadily. His voice is measured but tired.

“Chief: Deals had to be made. Painful ones. This was the option with the least bloodshed.”

Panel 4:Aline steps closer to the desk, her posture squared. Her voice drops—not softer, but more precise and cutting. Make sure Aline is not battle damage no blood or dirt on her, she looks clean.

“Aline Fonseca: Least bloodshed? You turned a detective into a sacrifice. When did we stop being the good guys?”

Panel 5:Aline reaches to her belt, unclips her badge, and slaps it flat onto the Chief's desk. The badge lands with a sharp metallic sound. She straightens up, jaw set.

“Aline Fonseca: Forget treaties. We're cops. I'm done. I won't be part of this corrupt bullshit.”

Panel 6:Aline turns and walks out. The door shuts behind her with a definitive click. The Chief stares at the badge on his desk. Officer Vargas stands with his arms uncrossed now, watching the closed door. A long silence.

“Officer Vargas: She's right.”

Panel 1:Officer Vargas steps forward toward the Chief's desk. His posture is no longer rigid with deference — he stands straight, but his expression carries weight rather than obedience.

“Officer Vargas: When did we start making treaties with criminals? We're supposed to stop them. Not negotiate their schedules.”

Panel 2:Vargas pauses, his jaw tight. His eyes are fixed on the Chief.

“Officer Vargas: Creed did the job for Aline sure. But she’s one of us….that counts for something. That’s loyalty!”

Panel 3:Vargas turns and walks toward the door. He doesn't look back.

“Officer Vargas: Not only did we give up Creed — we just let our best officer walk out that door. I think we're the traitors here.”

Panel 4:The Chief sits alone. The door is closed. Aline's badge sits on the desk in front of him. He leans back in his chair, raises both hands, and buries his face in them. His shoulders sag completely.

Panel 1:Exterior of Aline Fonseca's apartment building at night. She approaches the entrance, keys in hand. She pauses — her hand on the door frame. The apartment door is slightly ajar, a thin line of interior light visible. Make sure Aline is not battle damaged, no blood or dirt on her.

Narrator:“Aline's apartment. The door is already open.”

Panel 2:Aline draws her pistol from her hip holster in one practiced motion. She steps through the door in a low stance, back against the wall, scanning the hallway ahead. The apartment is dark and silent. Make sure Aline is not battle damaged, no blood or dirt on her.

Panel 3:Wide shot of the apartment hallway from above. Aline moves carefully along one wall, gun raised. In the deep shadow of the room beyond, a dark figure is visible — barely — pressed against the far wall. Slik, dressed entirely in black, is motionless in the darkness, watching her from behind. Make sure Aline is not battle damaged, no blood or dirt on her.

Panel 4:Aline stops. Her head turns sharply — she senses something. She begins to spin around. Slik is already moving. His Samurai blade flashes in a single diagonal arc, slicing Aline's pistol cleanly in half. The two halves of the gun drop to the floor.

Panel 5:Slik grabs Aline by the front of her jacket. Aline reacts instantly — she twists her wrist into a lock against his grip, bends his arm, and drives her knee hard into his stomach. He grunts and she shoves him backward.

Panel 6:Aline grabs a ceramic vase from a side table and brings it down across Slik's head with both hands. It shatters. Blood trickles down the side of Slik's face. He barely moves — his head turns back forward slowly, eyes steady and flat, looking at her.

Narrator:“Aline fights as hard as she can, but Slik barely reacts to the damage. ”