Rivers of blood. Franks intro

Panel 1:Exterior wide shot of Mesa Nightclub at night — a sleek glass-and-steel building with glowing neon signage, luxury cars parked out front, a velvet rope line, and a large bouncer at the door. The club pulses with light from within.

Panel 2:Inside the club: a wide shot of the main floor. Polished floors reflect colored lights. Bartenders pour expensive liquor. Groups of well-dressed people mingle. The whole space radiates money and controlled menace. A long hallway at the back leads to a velvet-curtained VIP section.

Panel 3:Medium shot: Creed Rivers walks toward the VIP section. A large bouncer in a black suit steps directly into his path, one hand raised, blocking the way. Creed stops, jaw tight, eyes steady.

“Henchmen 1: Hold it.”

Panel 4:Over-the-shoulder shot from behind Creed: past the bouncer, deeper in the VIP section, Frank sits on a wide leather couch. He is well-dressed, relaxed, a whiskey glass in hand. He spots Creed and raises one hand in a casual wave, signaling the bouncer.

“Frank: Let him through.”

Panel 1:Wide shot of the VIP section: Creed walks into the space. Frank is sprawled on the leather couch, drinks on the table beside him, expensive décor surrounding him. He grins broadly, arms open in theatrical welcome.

“Frank: Creed, my boy. Holy hell. What a pleasant surprise.”

Panel 2:Medium close-up: Creed stands with his arms at his sides, face flat and unimpressed, staring down at Frank.

“Creed Rivers: Cut the crap, Frank. You know why I'm here.”

Panel 3:Medium shot: Frank leans back into the leather couch, one arm draped along the back, head tilted with a long-suffering expression. He raises his whiskey glass and takes a slow sip.

“Frank: Yeah, I do. But can't we have a normal conversation first?”

Panel 4:Close-up on Frank's face — nostalgic, almost wounded. He shakes his head slowly, eyes distant, the whiskey glass resting on his knee.

“Frank: It broke my heart when you left. You were like a son to me. And now you're a cop. Not even a dirty cop.”

Panel 5:Medium close-up: Creed Rivers, arms crossed, expression unmoved — he has heard this speech before. He stares at Frank with flat, tired eyes.

“Creed Rivers: Frank. I earned a life outside of this. You said so yourself.”

Panel 6:Two-shot: Frank points a finger upward from his couch, leaning forward slightly. Creed stands opposite him, posture rigid.

“Frank: And I've honored that deal. You came back here. I didn't ask you to. Creed Rivers: I'm here for my brother. That's all.”

Panel 1:Medium shot: Frank swirls the ice in his whiskey glass, a knowing smirk on his face. He looks up at Creed from under his brow.

“Frank: Ah. Cody. I figured being your brother, he'd turn out more like you. Unfortunately, he’s not.”

Panel 2:Medium close-up: Creed, jaw set, stares straight at Frank. His arms drop to his sides — a controlled, deliberate posture.

“Creed Rivers: As far as I'm concerned, that's a good thing. Frank: As far as I'm concerned, that's dog shit.”

Panel 3:Wide shot of the VIP area: Frank leans forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, whiskey glass in both hands, his expression shifting from theatrical warmth to something harder and more honest. Creed stands across from him, still.

“Frank: I'm in the middle of something big. I need my money. If Cody can't pay, I'll find another form of compensation. You haven’t forgotten how this works while up on your high horse have you?”

Panel 4:Medium shot: Creed leans forward toward Frank, hands gripping the back of a chair between them, eyes sharp and direct.

“Creed Rivers: I know exactly how it works. Which is why I've got a proposition for you.”

Panel 5:Close-up on Frank's face: one eyebrow raised, the corner of his mouth curling upward — genuinely intrigued for the first time. He holds the glass still, listening.

Panel 1:Medium shot: Creed stands with arms at his sides, voice flat and businesslike, eyes locked on Frank.

“Creed Rivers: One more job.. No cut for me. Every dollar goes towards Cody’s debt.”

Panel 2:Wide shot: Frank leans back into the leather couch, slowly rolling the ice in his glass. A slow smile spreads across his face as he considers.

“Frank: Hmmm. You know what — I think I might have something for you.”

Panel 3:Medium shot: Frank points one finger toward Creed, his posture easy and confident. He speaks like a man laying out a business plan.

“Frank: There's a punk trying to make a name for himself. Operating too close to my territory. I don't like it.”

Panel 4:Medium close-up: Frank leans forward again, voice dropping, expression turning precise and cold beneath the charm.

“Frank: Id go after him myself, but if I seemed threatened, the Family sees weakness. Or worse, If they’re interested in the kid I get a bad rap for taking him out. Thing is I know where he’s got a big pile of cash.”

Panel 5:Two-shot: Frank grins across the table at Creed, spreading his hands wide — a showman delivering his punchline. Creed watches him with stone-faced attention.

“Frank: Rob him. Take the money. Put the fear of death in him. Make it look like a random gang hit. Clean and quiet. My guys in the family don’t know about, I get my money, Cody clears his debt, everyone wins.”

Panel 6:Medium close-up: Creed narrows his eyes at Frank, jaw tight, voice low and direct.

“Creed Rivers: You're not setting me up, are you, Frank?”

Panel 1:Medium shot: Frank throws his head back and laughs loudly, gesturing with his whiskey glass. His expression is theatrical and mocking.

“Frank: Oh, absolutely. I orchestrated your brother's screwup just for this moment. Please, Creed. You came to me, remember?”

Panel 2:Close-up: Creed's face — still, calculating, reading Frank for a long beat. Then a single small nod.

“Creed Rivers: Fine. I'll do it.”

Panel 3:Medium shot: Creed stands and turns to leave, then stops mid-step. He glances back over his shoulder at Frank, voice flat.

“Creed Rivers: But after this — no more jobs for Cody.”

Panel 4:Wide noir shot: Frank sits back on his leather couch, pressing one hand to his chest in a mock oath. His smile is wide and satisfied. Behind him, the glittering club stretches into the dark background. Creed stands at the edge of the frame, back half-turned, already walking away.

“Frank: You have my word. I'll send you the details.”