Turning 40

Panel 1:A modern apartment living room bathed in warm morning sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. A banner reading "HAPPY 40TH BIRTHDAY SIMON" hangs across the wall. A birthday cake sits on the dining table with 40 candles lit, casting flickering shadows. Simon, 160cm tall with a bright white perfect smile, stands in the center wearing casual clothes. Emma, a woman with kind eyes, stands beside him holding a wrapped gift. Evaleah, blonde-haired with her hair in pigtail ponies, sits on the couch smiling. A small fluffy white dog—Willow—sits near the cake, watching intently.

“Emma: Happy birthday, Simon! Forty looks good on you.”

Narrator:“Simon's fortieth birthday. A moment that should feel like a milestone.”

Panel 2:Close-up of Simon's face. His bright white smile has frozen slightly, eyes distant. A shadow flickers across his expression—not quite a grimace, but the smile no longer reaches his eyes. Sunlight catches the lines forming at the corners of his face.

“Simon: Thanks. Forty. Hard to believe.”

Panel 3:Evaleah leans forward on the couch, Willow in her lap. She points at the cake with enthusiasm. The candles flicker.

“Evaleah: Make a wish before they all burn down!”

Panel 4:Simon leans over the cake, the 40 candles illuminating his face from below. His eyes are wide, staring into the flames. For a moment, his expression shifts—something darker flashes across his features, a twist of mouth, a hardening of the jaw. Then it's gone. He takes a breath to blow out the candles.

Narrator:“But wishes are fragile things. They shatter easy.”

Panel 5:Simon's cheeks puff as he blows. The candles extinguish in a rush of wind. Wax splatters slightly. Emma and Evaleah clap. Willow's ears perk up at the sound.

“Emma: Congratulations!”

Panel 6:Wide shot of the apartment as Simon stands back from the cake. His smile is back, but his hands hang at his sides, fingers slightly curled. In the background through the window, the city sprawls—tall buildings, streets, the beginning of what will become a grim urban landscape. A single dark cloud drifts across the sky.

Narrator:“He doesn't know it yet. But the turning is already beginning.”

Panel 7:Extreme close-up of Simon's right hand. His knuckles are white, fingers gripping the edge of the table so hard the wood creaks audibly. A vein pulses visibly along his forearm.

Panel 1:Simon climbs up and into the crane. He makes himself comfortable and looks down at his crew mates wandering around like little bugs. The window behind him shows a sprawling cityscape in daylight. He rests his phone on the holder. A photo on his screen shows him, Emma, and Evaleah smiling at a beach. His boss, a stern man in high viz speaks into the radio.

“Boss: Simon, we need to talk about your performance.”

Narrator:“Three days after his birthday, work unravels.”

Panel 2:Simon's face as he listens. His jaw clenches. His eyes narrow. The bright white smile is completely gone—replaced by a thin, pressed line.

“Boss: You are slacking off as you are always on the phone.”

Panel 3:Simon grips the armrest of his chair. His knuckles are white again. The leather creaks under the pressure. Tiny cracks spider-web across the armrest where his hand presses.

“Simon: This is insane. I’m not on the phone that much!”

Panel 4:The boss tells Simon to climb down immediately. Simon gets to the ground and faces his boss who steps backwards.

“Boss: I... we'll discuss severance. Take the rest of the day.”

Panel 5:Simon looks around and realises all of the crew are nowhere to be seen and his boss is walking away very quickly. His hands are shaking. Sweat beads on his forehead. His teeth are gritted so hard the muscles in his jaw bulge. behind him, storm clouds gather over the city—dark, roiling, unnatural.

Narrator:“The rage comes without warning. No trigger, no buildup. Just... fury.”

Panel 6:Simon catches his reflection in the window glass of one of the panels. For just a moment, the reflection shows something wrong—a shadow beneath his skin, darker eyes, a twisted mouth that isn't quite his own. Then it flickers back to normal.

Narrator:“Something is waking up inside him.”

Panel 1:Simon walks down a crowded city street in the evening. Pedestrians move around him. A food cart vendor calls out. Neon signs flicker to life as dusk arrives. Simon's gait is rigid, shoulders hunched. His eyes are hard, scanning the crowd with an intensity that doesn't match his purpose—he's just going home.

Narrator:“The city feels different now. Smaller. Meaner.”

Panel 2:A young man in a dark hoodie bumps into Simon deliberately, reaching for his wallet. Simon's head snaps toward the thief. His eyes flash with something inhuman—pupils dilating, veins darkening at his temples.

“Thief: Watch it, old man!”

Panel 3:Close-up of Simon's face. His smile has returned—but it's feral, wrong. His teeth are bared. Veins pulse visibly down his neck and across his temples, dark and swollen. His eyes are no longer entirely his own—the whites have darkened, the pupils dilated to black pools.

“Simon: You picked the wrong day.”

Narrator:“The beast stirs. And Simon lets it.”

Panel 4:Simon grabs the thief's wrist. His hand is larger than it should be, fingers thick and powerful, nails darkened. The thief's face registers shock and pain. Simon lifts him one-handed with terrifying ease, the young man's feet leaving the ground.

“Thief: Let go! Let go!”

Panel 5:Simon holds the thief suspended. Pedestrians have stopped, phones out, recording. Some back away in fear. Simon's chest heaves with exertion and rage. His entire body has shifted—taller, broader, muscles straining against his shirt. But his face is still recognizably Simon, just twisted, feral.

Narrator:“For a moment, he is more than human. And he loves it.”

Panel 6:Simon's grip loosens. The thief drops to the pavement. Simon's hand falls to his side. His breathing slows. The transformation recedes—his body shrinks back to normal proportions, his face softens, the darkness in his eyes fades. But his expression is hollow, ashamed. He stares at his trembling hand as if it belongs to a stranger. Sirens wail in the distance, growing louder.

Narrator:“Then reality crashes back. And the horror of what he's done settles in.”

Panel 1:Simon and Emma’s house. Emma sits on the couch, arms crossed, worry etched across her face. The television plays news footage of the street incident—a blurry video of Simon lifting the thief. Emma's expression shows concern mixed with confusion. On the table, a laptop displays the same video from multiple angles. Willow lies at her feet, sensing the tension.

“Emma: Simon, what happened downtown? It's all over the news.”

Narrator:“Emma knows something is wrong. But how can he explain?”

Panel 2:Simon stands by the window, back to Emma. His reflection shows him staring out at the darkening city. His shoulders are tense, hunched. He wears fresh clothes, but his hands still tremble slightly.

“Simon: It wasn't me. Not... not really.”

Panel 3:Emma stands, moving toward Simon. Her face shows concern, not anger. She reaches out but stops short of touching him—as if afraid.

“Emma: What do you mean it wasn't you? You're scaring me.”

Panel 4:Simon turns to face Emma. His face is haggard, aged by stress and fear. Dark circles shadow his eyes. A thin line of sweat beads his upper lip. Behind him, the city skyline is dark except for scattered lights. A single dark cloud dominates the sky, unnatural and stationary.

“Simon: Something's happening to me. Since I turned forty. I can't control it.”

Panel 5:Emma's hand finally touches Simon's shoulder. Her expression is a mix of fear and compassion. Behind them, the house feels suddenly small and isolated.

“Emma: We'll figure this out. Together. I promise.”

Panel 6:Wide shot of the house. Simon and Emma stand together at the window, looking out at the darkening city. The storm cloud looms larger now, directly above the skyline. Lightning flickers silently within it. Willow watches them from the couch, sensing the gravity of the moment.

Narrator:“But promises are hard to keep when you're becoming a monster.”

Panel 1:A medical clinic interior. Simon sits on an examination table in a paper gown, looking vulnerable and small. A middle-aged female doctor in a white coat, Dr. Chen, stands reviewing a clipboard, her expression puzzled. Medical equipment and charts line the walls.

“Dr. Chen: Your vitals are... unusual. Heart rate through the roof, but no structural abnormalities.”

Narrator:“Three days of tests. No answers.”

Panel 2:Close-up of the doctor's face as she reviews the clipboard. Confusion, concern, and professional uncertainty are evident. She's never seen anything like this before.

“Dr. Chen: Have you experienced any trauma? Stress? Unusual physical symptoms?”

Panel 3:Simon sits on the table, hands clasped. His knuckles are white from tension. He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes. Sweat beads his forehead despite the cool clinic air.

“Simon: Stress, yeah. My job. My birthday. And these... episodes. Anger I can't control.”

Panel 4:The doctor's face shows professional concern. She leans forward slightly, studying Simon with clinical intensity.

“Dr. Chen: I want to run a few more tests. Blood work, imaging. This could be psychological, hormonal, or something else entirely.”

Panel 5:Simon's fist clenches involuntarily on the examination table. The paper crinkles loudly. His jaw tightens. For just a moment, his reflection in the metal medical tray beside him shows that twisted, dark version—the beast—before it vanishes.

Narrator:“But the doctors can't see what's really happening. It's not in his blood. It's deeper than that.”

Panel 6:Wide shot of the clinic room. Simon sits slumped on the table, defeated. Dr. Chen stands at the counter, already making notes for the next round of tests. The clinical, sterile environment feels cold and hopeless.

Narrator:“Something is growing inside him. And no amount of tests will stop it.”

Panel 1:A construction site at dusk. A massive white, blue, and red tower crane dominates the center, silhouetted against a darkening sky. The site is partially lit by work lights casting harsh shadows. A few workers pack up for the day. Crime scene tape cordons off one section where the thief from earlier lies in a hospital bed, guarded. The atmosphere is tense, foreboding.

Narrator:“Two weeks after his fortieth birthday, the city begins to break.”

Panel 2:Simon walks through the construction site, past the tower crane. His clothes are torn and dirty. His face is gaunt, haggard. His eyes scan the area with predatory intensity. Workers notice him and step back, afraid. This used to be his happy place.

Narrator:“He comes back to the site to find some inner balance.”

Panel 3:A group of armed gang members emerge from behind the smoko shed,confronting Simon. There are four of them, weapons visible. Simon's face twists into that feral smile. His hands clench. The transformation is beginning—his body shifts, muscles bulging, veins darkening.

“Gang Leader: You picked the wrong guy to mess with the other day ”

Panel 4:Simon's body is mid-transformation. He's taller now, broader, muscles straining against his shirt which tears. Veins pulse across his face and neck, dark and swollen. His skin is turning dark green. His eyes are completely black—pupils and whites merged into darkness. His smile is a rictus of fury and joy. He looks like a monster wearing Simon's face.

“Simon: You have no idea what I am.”

Panel 5:The gang members attack. Simon moves with inhuman speed and power, throwing one against the tower crane's metal framework with bone-crushing force. The impact dents the steel. Another gang member goes flying backward. The beast is unstoppable, overwhelming.

Narrator:“The beast wins. It always wins.”

Panel 6:The aftermath. Gang members lie scattered, unconscious or badly hurt. The tower crane looms behind them, now bearing the dents of violence. Simon stands in the center, breathing heavily. His transformation is receding—his body shrinking back to normal, the darkness fading from his eyes. But his expression is anguished, horrified at what he's done. His hands are shaking, covered in blood that isn't his own.

Narrator:“And Simon watches himself commit horrors he can't stop.”

Panel 1:Simon's and Emma’s house late night. He stands under a scalding shower, water running red with blood. His hands press against the shower wall, shoulders heaving with silent sobs. Through the translucent shower door, the bathroom beyond is dark except for the city lights streaming through the window. His body is covered in bruises and small wounds.

Narrator:“He tries to wash the blood away. But it never comes clean.”

Panel 2:Simon sits on the bathroom floor, wrapped in a towel, staring at his hands. They shake uncontrollably. His knuckles are white from tension. His reflection in the bathroom mirror shows a haunted, exhausted man barely recognizable as the person who celebrated his birthday three weeks ago.

Narrator:“Forty years old. And he's becoming a monster.”

Panel 3:Emma enters the bathroom, wearing a robe, her face showing concern and fear. She sees Simon on the floor and her expression crumples. She moves to him, kneeling down.

“Emma: Simon... what's happening to you?”

Panel 4:Simon looks up at Emma. His eyes are red from tears and exhaustion. His voice is broken, desperate.

“Simon: I hurt people. I can't stop it. The rage, the strength... it's not me. But it is. I don't know how to fix this.”

Panel 5:Emma pulls Simon close, wrapping her arms around him. His head rests against her shoulder. Both are crying now. Through the bathroom window, the city sprawls, dark and vast. The unnatural storm cloud looms larger, darker, almost directly above the city now.

Narrator:“He's losing the fight. And he knows it.”

Panel 6:Wide shot of the house and road from outside, at night. Lights glow in the windows. The storm cloud hangs massive and ominous above the city, lightning flickering silently within it. The cloud is directly above Simon's house now, as if drawn to him, or he to it.

Narrator:“The beast doesn't just want to destroy Simon. It wants to consume the city.”

Panel 1:Simon stands in his living room alone. Emma has left to stay with Evaleah, unable to watch him deteriorate further. The house is dark except for the street light streaming through the window. The storm cloud outside is massive, filling the entire sky above the street. Lightning illuminates Simon's face in strobes. He wears simple clothes, looking smaller than before, defeated.

“Simon: I have to end this. Before it gets worse.”

Narrator:“The final choice. The only choice left.”

Panel 2:Simon walks to the window, looking out at the street. The street is empty, lifeless. His hand presses against the glass. His jaw is set, resolved. His expression is calm, almost peaceful—a man who has made a terrible decision.

Narrator:“Forty years. It's enough.”

Panel 3:The window from inside. Simon's reflection shows the room behind him, empty and dark. But beneath his reflection, another face flickers—the beast, dark and monstrous, grinning. The two faces overlap in the glass, battling for dominance.

Narrator:“But the beast won't let him go. It never will.”

Panel 4:Simon heads to the front door handle. His fingers are trembling. Outside, the storm cloud flashes with massive lightning bolts. The wind howls against the houses and trees shaking them. The streets surrounding are dark —fires burning in distant neighborhoods, sirens wailing, chaos spreading like a disease.

Narrator:“And Somerville pays the price for his existence.”

Panel 5:The door opens. Wind rushes in, violent and cold. Simon steps forward, into the darkness. His body is silhouetted against the storm cloud and lightning. Behind him, the house is empty and dark. Suddenly there are headlights. This is the moment of climax—Simon at the edge, ready to sacrifice himself.

Narrator:“Forty was supposed to be the beginning of wisdom. Instead, it's the end.”

Panel 6:The final panel pulls back to a wide, aerial shot of the street at night. Simon's house seems so small. The storm cloud dominates the entire sky, lightning crackling across it. The streets below is a mix of light and darkness, order and chaos, life and death. The storm cloud is so large now it seems to encompass everything—as if it's not just weather, but a manifestation of Simon's inner struggle made physical. The image is apocalyptic, beautiful, and terrifying. No sign of Simon—he's lost to the darkness and the storm.

Narrator:“At forty, Simon discovered the truth: some monsters are born. Others are made. And some choose to become them, because the alternative is worse.”