Karaoke Kabuki!

Panel 1:Chaotic WereHouse loading dock. Roy crouches under a teetering stack of black road cases about to topple, arms out trying to brace them. A mummy client walks past in the background with a big contract in his bandaged arms. A road case flies through the upper corner of the frame.

Narrator:“Another Chaotic Week at the Werehouse! ”

Panel 2:Jennifurr, grease smeared across her cheek and forearms, torques a massive hex bolt on a speaker cabinet with her bare hands. Her knuckles are white, biceps flexed. Behind her a vampire in a tuxedo gestures furiously at two speaker columns placed in the wrong position.

Panel 3:Axel stands at a monitor console pointing at a screen, mouth open mid-lecture, one finger raised. Behind them, a rack of gear explodes in a shower of sparks and smoke. Axel does not look back at the explosion.

“Axel: In 5 seconds Roy’s bad patching will cause an explosion!”

Panel 4:Cadillac leans back against a road case, arms crossed, toothpick in his mouth, completely relaxed. He watches a road case sail over his head without flinching. A second later another case LANDS squarely on his foot. His expression cracks — eyes wide, toothpick still miraculously in place. He’s completely unharmed

“Cadillac : Sounds like someone else's shift.”

Panel 5:Gary floats enthusiastically through a wall, arms outstretched to grab a large road case. His ghostly hands pass straight through the handles. He looks down at his translucent palms with cheerful puzzlement. The road case sits unmoved.

“Gary : I got it! I got it!”

Panel 6:A biblically accurate angel is floating in a warehouse full of chaos and action. Forklift just observed as an interloper

“Evil Forklift : This shift is crazy!”

Narrator:“An angel client!”

Panel 1:Frank fills the WereHouse loading dock doorway — massive, heavyset, aviator sunglasses on, one meaty arm braced on the door frame. He leans out with the ease of a man who has not lifted a single piece of gear all week.

“Frank: Anyone need a drink?”

Narrator:“At the end of the week, Frank brings the crew together. ”

Panel 2:Extreme close-up on Roy's face. He is a disaster — hair matted, a coil of XLR cable draped around his neck like a scarf, a smear of road grime across his forehead. His eyes are flat with exhaustion.

“Roy : Yep.”

Panel 3:Extreme close-up on Jennifurr's face. Grease on her cheek, a wrench still gripped in her hand visible at frame bottom. Her expression is dead-level calm exhaustion.

“Jennifurr: Yep.”

Panel 4:Extreme close-up on Axel's face. Their fur is frazzled at the edges, a smudge of dry-erase marker on their snout, but their expression holds its signature smug tilt — eyebrow raised, chin up — even through the visible exhaustion.

“Axel: Actually… Yep!”

Panel 5:Extreme close-up on Cadillac's face. The toothpick is still perfectly centered in his mouth. Not a hair out of place. One eye is slightly squinted from the road case impact earlier. Completely deadpan.

“Cadillac : Yep.”

Panel 6:Wide exterior shot. Frank's large pickup truck idles at the dock. Roy, Jennifurr, Axel, and Cadillac pile into the cab and bed in various states of exhaustion. Evil Forklift rolls himself up the truck ramp onto the truck bed, uninvited, green smoke trailing. Gary sits in the cab passenger seat, already buckled into a translucent ghost seatbelt, phasing slightly through the seat.

“Gary : Shotgun!”

Panel 1:Wide establishing shot of the Howling Pint interior. The bar is packed with monsters — a mummy at the karaoke mic, arms raised, bandages unraveling dramatically. Neon signs glow behind the bar. Booths are filled with zombies, werewolves, and creatures of various kinds. Mil the Bartender stands behind the bar, her purple glow lighting up the bottles around her, six shot glasses floating in the air in front of her, each filling with liquid mid-pour. Her bust is enormous and gleaming. The WereHouse crew occupies a cluster of barstools.

Narrator:“Karaoke Night At The Howling Pint!”

Panel 2:Center stage. Evil Forklift is positioned under a spotlight, a microphone duct-taped to his forks. His green eyes are enormous and lit up with genuine delight. His Gadsden flag sticker gleams under the stage light. His exhaust pipe puffs a happy green cloud upward. His forks are raised as if conducting himself.

“Evil Forklift : WEE WOO! BeeeeP! ¥£€€£! SKREEEE HONK HONK!”

Narrator:“Inspiring! ”

Panel 3:Behind the bar, Gremlin hunches and scrambles — he is simultaneously hauling a keg with both arms, a stack of dirty glasses balanced on his head, a mop handle tucked under one armpit, and a food plate balanced on his tail. His smock is soaked and filthy. His face is a grimace of pure strain.

Panel 4:Roy sits on a barstool, elbows on the bar, watching Gremlin scramble. His expression is open and concerned — eyebrows drawn together, mouth slightly open. A small, genuine frown forms. He watches Gremlin like a man watching something he can't look away from.

“Roy : That little guy hasn't stopped moving all night.”

Panel 1:Gremlin presses his back against the bar for one second — eyes closed, mouth open in a tiny exhale of relief. His arms hang at his sides. The dirty rag on his waist is soaked through. He is completely still for the first time.

Narrator:“Gremlin the Bar Back Takes His First Break! ”

Panel 2:Mil the Bartender's eyes flash bright purple. She does not turn her head. Her hand continues mid-pour on a drink. A bar rag lifts off the counter behind her on its own, hovering in the air, coiled like a whip.

Panel 3:The bar rag SNAPS across Gremlin with a violent crack — a motion-blur line across the panel. Gremlin's eyes shoot open, his whole body jolts upright, and he is instantly back in motion — grabbing the mop with both hands. A sharp CRACK sound effect fills the panel.

“Gremlin : YIPE!”

Narrator:“If you have time to lean, you have time to feel brutal pain! ”

Panel 4:Roy GASPS — he nearly topples off his barstool, one hand grabbing the bar edge. His eyes are wide, mouth open in visible shock. He stares at the bar back area with his whole body turned.

“Roy : What the—! Did you just—?!”

Panel 5:Mil the Bartender faces Roy across the bar, completely composed. She sets a shot glass down in front of him with one hand. Her purple glow is calm and steady. Her expression is matter-of-fact — the face of someone explaining the weather.

“Mil the Bartender : Gremlins are bar backs by nature. They need punishment. Otherwise they get lazy”

Panel 6:Close-up on Roy's face. He stares at the untouched shot glass on the bar in front of him. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed, looking past the shot toward Gremlin still scrambling in the background. His hands are flat on the bar. He does not pick up the drink.

“Roy : This isn’t right! ”

Narrator:“Roy Decides To Take Action! ”

Panel 1:Exterior of the Howling Pint parking lot, night. Roy stands behind a folding card table covered in handmade poster-board signs. One reads 'GREMLIN LIVES MATTER' in thick marker. Another reads 'BAR BACK RIGHTS NOW.' A third reads 'LET HIM LEAN.' Roy stands behind the table with his chin up and his chest out, a stack of photocopied fliers in one hand.

Panel 2:Roy steps forward and holds a flier out toward a zombie couple shuffling past. The zombie couple walks straight through him — phasing through his torso without stopping or acknowledging him. Roy stands there, flier still extended, eyes wide.

“Roy : Excuse me, can I interest you in—”

Panel 3:A banshee in a tattered white gown opens her mouth and releases a full-volume shriek directly at Roy. The force of the scream blows his entire stack of fliers out of his hands and into the air — paper everywhere, some landing in the gutter.

Panel 4:A cyclops in a business suit and briefcase stops. It looks down at the flier Roy has handed it. It blinks its single enormous eye once, slowly. Then it holds the flier back out to Roy with two fingers.

Panel 5:Wide shot. Roy stands alone in the parking lot. Fliers blow around his sneakers. The card table is slightly askew. He looks at the remaining stack of fliers in his hand, expression set and stubborn rather than defeated. His eyes drift to a telephone pole nearby.

Panel 6:INSERT shot: a hand-stapled flier on a telephone pole, lit by a nearby streetlight. It reads 'GREMLIN RIGHTS GROUP — MEETING TONIGHT' with an address at the bottom. Roy's hand reaches into frame, pointing at it. His eyes — visible at the edge of frame — go wide and bright.

“Roy : Oh. Oh yeah.”

Panel 1:A dingy back room — bare cinderblock walls, a single flickering bare bulb overhead, folding chairs arranged in a loose circle on a cracked linoleum floor. Five Gremlins sit hunched in the chairs, arms crossed, grumbling at each other. Roy enters through a door in the background, holding his stack of fliers, eyes bright with hope.

Narrator:“MEANWHILE, AT THE LOCAL CHAPTER OF THE NATIONAL ASSOCIATION FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF GREMLIN RIGHTS….”

Panel 2:Roy sits in a folding chair in the circle, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, nodding vigorously. Across from him, a Gremlin with a crumpled paper in its lap speaks, one clawed hand pressed to its chest.

“Gremlin : I'm treated like a monster everywhere I go.”

Panel 3:Roy's face in close-up — eyes glistening, nodding hard, one fist clenched in solidarity on his knee.

“Roy : Yes! That's exactly what I'm talking about!”

Panel 4:A second Gremlin leans forward in its chair, jabbing a claw in the air for emphasis. Its face is scrunched in grievance. Roy watches from the side of the frame, expression still open and supportive.

“Gremlin : Yeah — it's not like we're Blacks or Asians. They at least get sympathy.”

Panel 5:Close-up on Roy's face. His nod has stopped. His mouth has closed. His eyes have gone flat and still. He stares straight ahead.

Narrator:“Oh No! Was Roy Wrong Again?”

Panel 6:A third Gremlin — the most agitated of the group — stands up from its folding chair, pointing at the floor with one claw. Its face is contorted with indignation. The other gremlins nod along.

“Gremlin : I was born here. I died here. I was cursed here. It's not like I just jumped a fence and started killing people!”

Panel 7:Full-width panel. Roy sits in his folding chair, completely still. The gremlins argue around him in a blur of claws and grimaces. Roy stares forward. His face is hollow — empty eyes, slack jaw, the look of a man whose entire worldview just deflated.

Narrator:“Roy Faces The Nuance Of Blue Collar Politics Head On!”

Panel 1:Exterior of the meeting room building. Roy sits on the curb under a streetlight, elbows on his knees, face buried in both hands. His stack of 'BAR BACK RIGHTS' fliers sits on the sidewalk beside him, slightly crumpled.

Panel 2:Roy lifts his face from his hands and looks at the stack of fliers beside him. He picks them up slowly, holds them for a beat, then sets them down gently next to a trash can. He does not drop them in. He just sets them beside it.

Panel 3:Wide shot. Roy sits under the streetlight, head tilted back, looking up at the night sky. The city hums around him — a werewolf couple strolls past on the far sidewalk, a ghost drifts overhead. Roy is small in the frame, alone in a pool of light.

Narrator:“Roy had wanted to fight for something. Equal rights for all, not just white gremlins. He just wasn't sure what anymore. Maybe it’s time for a beverage. ”

Panel 1:Exterior City Hall steps, daytime. Crime Fighting Cadillac stands in his tiny cowl — a small domino mask perched on his snout, his toothpick tucked under the edge of it perfectly. He extends one hand for a handshake. The Mayor looms over him — tall, slicked silver hair, wide toothy smile that does not reach his predatory eyes, tailored charcoal suit, black ring on his left hand. The Mayor's long thin fingers close around Crime Fighting Cadillac's hand.

Narrator:“Cadillac’s B Plot Returns! ”

Panel 2:The Mayor leans in close to Crime Fighting Cadillac's ear. His unsettling wide smile stretches even further. His pale eyes are bright and predatory. His black ring catches the light.

“Mayor: You know the deal, Cadillac.”

Panel 3:Crime Fighting Cadillac gives a single stiff nod. His tiny cowl is straight. His toothpick is perfect. His expression is locked — no chill, no swagger. Pure compliance. Narration text is at the bottom of the panel

“Crime fighting Cadillac : I Am The Deal”

Narrator:“Oh, YES HE IS ”

Panel 4:Street-level exterior. A Gremlin stands on the sidewalk holding a hand-painted sign reading 'GREMLIN RIGHTS ARE SUPERNATURAL RIGHTS.' The Gremlin's hunched posture is defiant for once — chin up, sign held high. In the background, Crime Fighting Cadillac rounds the corner, baseball bat resting on his shoulder, tiny cowl straight, toothpick in place.

Panel 5:Crime Fighting Cadillac winds up the baseball bat in a full two-handed grip over his shoulder. His tiny cowl stays perfectly straight. His toothpick does not move.

“Crime fighting Cadillac : I PROTEST YOUR RIGHT TO PROTEST MF’ER!”

Narrator:“STREET JUSTICE!”

Panel 6:WHAM — the bat connects. Bold impact lines radiate from the hit. The Gremlin's sign flies out of its hands. Motion blur on the bat.

“Crime fighting Cadillac : GET BACK TO WORK HIPPIE”

Narrator:“Wham!”

Panel 1:CRACK — a second swing connects. The Gremlin stumbles sideways, arms out. The broken sign spins in the air above.

“Crime fighting Cadillac : DRAFT DODGER!”

Panel 2:THWACK — third swing, full exaggerated comic-violence impact. The Gremlin is sent skidding across the sidewalk, landing in a heap. The broken sign lands on top of it.

“Crime fighting Cadillac : I LOVE AMERICA!”

Narrator:“Ironic Patriotism! ”

Panel 3:Crime Fighting Cadillac stands over the Gremlin, bat resting on his shoulder. His tiny cowl is still perfectly straight. His toothpick has not moved. He adjusts the cowl with one finger — a small, precise gesture.

Panel 4:The Mayor steps forward from the background, his unsettling wide smile at full width. He extends one hand — in it, a glowing bag of money, radiating a sickly golden light. His long thin fingers curl around the bag handle. His black ring gleams.

“Mayor: Thanks, pal. You're a real supernatural American hero.”

Panel 5:Crime Fighting Cadillac accepts the glowing bag of money. His expression doesn't change — stone-faced, toothpick perfect, tiny cowl straight. He holds the bag at his side. The Gremlin's broken sign is visible in the background on the ground.

“Crime fighting Cadillac : Crime Fighting Cadillac: No need for thanks, that’s what the illegal bribes are for!”

Panel 1:Interior Howling Pint. The front door swings open and Roy shuffles in — shoulders slumped, eyes downcast, flierless hands at his sides. The bar is exactly as he left it — loud, warm, chaotic. The crew is all there, waiting for Roy. They knew he would be back

Narrator:“A defeated man searches for meaning in the best of places…. A disgusting evil bar ”

Panel 2:Evil Forklift is parked on a raised platform beside the bar the size of a barstool riser. His green eyes are half-lidded with bliss. A glowing green joint the size of a traffic cone smolders between his forks, green smoke curling up toward the ceiling in a thick lazy column. He has two shots on his forks

“Evil Forklift : Hey Roy! Still Woke or ready to get wasted?”

Panel 3:Gary floats beside Roy, clipboard in hand. He holds the clipboard out toward Roy with a cheerful, helpful expression — completely misreading the situation.

“Gary : Roy! You owe us $450 in printing fees! Dont worry, you got the employee discount and we’ll take it out of your check! Roy : That sounds like an employee miscount….”

Panel 4:Axel swivels on their barstool toward Roy, one finger raised, eyebrow arched, already mid-lecture. Their expression is smug and knowing.

“Axel: Well, Roy, it could be worse. You could be a filthy bar back”

Panel 5:Jenifurr slides shots down the bar and says “relax guys… we can talk about how cringe Roy’s performative allyship was tomorrow when we’re on the clock!” Axel shrugs and reaches for the shot. Roy does the same.

“Jennifurr: “relax guys… we can talk about how cringe Roy’s performative allyship was tomorrow when we’re on the clock!””

Panel 6:Cadillac walks in with his evil bag of bribe money. He looks smug, and is happy the gang is all there waiting for him

“Cadillac : I had a feeling you freaks would be here!”

Narrator:“The Gangs All Here! ”

Panel 1:A wide panoramic shot of the entire WereHouse crew lined up at the Howling Pint bar. From left to right: Evil Forklift parked on his raised platform, green eyes crinkled with bliss, glowing green smoke curling from his exhaust pipe, Gadsden flag sticker gleaming; Jennifurr on a barstool, arms crossed, a rare relaxed grin on her face; Axel perched primly on their stool, chin up; Roy slouched on his stool with a tired but genuine half-smile; Gary floating just above his barstool in a translucent seated pose, ghost seatbelt still buckled; Frank taking up a stool and a half, aviator sunglasses on, a drink already in his massive hand; and Cadillac at the far end, still dripping slightly from earlier, toothpick perfectly centered, expression stone-faced. Mil the Bartender stands behind the bar, purple glow illuminating the bottles behind her. The bar is warm and chaotic, neon signs reflected in the liquor bottles.

Narrator:“Back at the Home Front! Libations! ”

Panel 2:Medium shot on Mil the Bartender behind the bar, her purple eyes locked on Gremlin. A full drink glass rises off the bar surface, hovering in the air beside her, surrounded by a halo of purple telekinetic light. Her expression is completely deadpan — no anger, no amusement, just flat certainty.

Panel 3:The drink dumps directly onto Gremlin’s head from above — liquid splashing in all directions, soaking his slimy skin, running down his faceC dripping off his His expression does not change by a single degree. He stares straight ahead, completely drenched.

“Mil the Bartender : Forking loser. We know what you did last night!”

Panel 4:Wide shot of the entire crew reacting at once. Roy throws his head back, mouth wide open in a full laugh, slapping the bar with one hand. Jennifurr's shoulders shake, a rare full grin splitting her face — she covers her mouth with one fist. Axel's smug composure collapses entirely into a helpless wheeze, head tilted forward. Gary laughs so hard he phases halfway through the bar top, his translucent legs vanishing into the wood. Frank's enormous frame shakes, aviator sunglasses trembling on his nose, drink sloshing. Evil Forklift's green eyes crinkle into upturned crescents of pure joy, his exhaust pipe shooting a celebratory puff of bright green smoke toward the ceiling.

Panel 1:The whole crew raises shot glasses in a line across the bar. Roy holds his up with a tired grin. Jennifurr raises hers with a firm, straight arm. Axel extends theirs with a pinched, dignified gesture. Cadillac holds his up, still cool, toothpick unwavering. Frank raises a glass that looks tiny in his massive hand. Gary holds his shot glass up proudly — it phases halfway through his translucent fingers but he keeps it raised with beaming determination. Evil Forklift balances a shot glass on the flat of his forks, green eyes wide and solemn as if this is a sacred moment. Mil the Bartender stands behind the bar, both hands raised, purple glow radiating outward as seven more shot glasses float into position, filling simultaneously with a warm amber liquid.

“Frank: To another week we didn't die. Roy : Barely.”

Panel 2:Close-up row of four faces in a tight horizontal strip — Roy, Jennifurr, Cadillac, and Gary — all mid-shot, heads tilted back, shot glasses at their lips. Roy squints with effort. Jennifurr drinks without flinching. Cadillac tilts the glass back with the toothpick somehow migrated to the corner of his mouth. Gary tips his glass but the liquid phases straight through his translucent throat — he grins anyway.

Panel 3:Wide shot of the entire crew, arms cocked back, empty shot glasses gripped in their hands or balanced on forks, all aimed at the far end of the bar where Gremlin is hunched over a bus tub, scrubbing glasses, completely unaware. Gremlin's filthy smock is soaked, his rag still tucked at his waist, his posture a permanent hunch of unrelenting labor. Every crew member's arm is drawn back — Roy, Jennifurr, Axel, Cadillac, Frank, Gary, and Evil Forklift's forks tilted forward like a catapult.

Panel 4:A volley of empty shot glasses rains down on Gremlin from off-panel. He takes every single one — one bounces off his head, one hits his shoulder, one clatters off his bus tub. He stumbles sideways, arms windmilling, the bus tub tipping but not falling. He rights himself, adjusts his smock rag, grabs the bus tub handle again, and keeps moving. He does not look up. He does not stop. He never stops.

Narrator:“Sometimes the story has no moral! We just go to the bar after work and get white ghost wasted!”