The Justice Authority
Issue #1: When Non-Ideologically Threatening Enemies Attack!
EXT. NIGHT. CITY.
Various establishment shorts of a generic CITY. It’s dark, and raining, and aesthetically dreary; you know the type.
Follow WOMAN IN RED DRESS -- tall, pretty, black -- as she stumbles drunkenly through streets and alleys. Prostitute? Socialite? Who cares, ‘cause we all know what’s coming…
NARRATION:
The city. Like a wounded beast it lies bleeding in its own filth. A Godless sprawl of looming towers and leering alleyways. And, like a beast… it is hungry.
More panels of WOMAN IN RED DRESS. Oops, see how she stumbles down this dark alley full of ominously THUG-SIZED SHAPES; what a silly girl.
NARRATION:
And tonight… tonight the city feeds.
WOMAN IN RED DRESS trips.
WOMAN IN RED DRESS:
(Quietly)
Oof! Damnit…
Three sets of BOOTS materialise around her.
THUG #1:
Better watch where you’re going, miss. You never know…
THUG #2 and THUG #3 grab WOMAN IN RED DRESS and haul her to her feet.
WOMAN IN RED DRESS:
G-get’cha hands off--
Shot slightly above the group, where a fourth DARK SHAPE watches.
NARRATION:
(Following on from THUG #1)
… Who’s watching.
WOMAN IN RED DRESS struggles weakly against the THUGS. They rough her up a little bit; you know where this is heading, don’t you?
Wait for it…
Now.
THUG #2 drops out of panel, screaming and accompanied with appropriate ‘whoosh!’ sound effects. The other THUGS drop WOMAN IN RED DRESS and turn to look.
THUG #1:
What the--?
THUG #3:
Harry?
THUG #2 is on the ground, screaming and clutching his face. There is a weird, crescent-shaped throwing-star embedded in his eye (but no blood).
With a leathery FWOOMPH, the DARK SHAPE lands behind the group.
REACTION SHOT FROM THUGS AND WOMAN IN RED DRESS.
“DARK SHAPE”:
I’m watching.
It is, of course, MIDNIGHTER.
Art Note: While doing ‘JAA stuff’, MIDNIGHTER should be drawn primarily in silhouette -- all cowl and cap-- er, coat -- with hollow white-slit eyes. You know what I’m talking about. While ‘off duty’ he should be drawn as normal.
THUG #1:
(Pulling his gun.)
Who the @#$% are you?
The other THUGS follow suit.
MIDNIGHTER:
(Still unmoving.)
What children see when they imagine Death.
Cue fight-scene. Should be conducted mostly off-panel with a few appropriate action shots, as well as WOMAN IN RED DRESS looking on in horror.
POST-FIGHT SHOT OF MIDNIGHTER LOOMING ABOVE THE -- STILL LIVING BUT DISABLED -- THUGS. OOH, IMPRESSIVE.
WOMAN IN RED DRESS:
(Getting shakily to her feet.)
T-thank… you…
MIDNIGHTER ignores her, instead crouches down to examine something on the ground.
SHOT OF A HAND WEARING A HEAVY GOLD RING ENGRAVED WITH A SWASTIKA.
WOMAN IN RED DRESS:
(Hesitantly approaches, reaches out slightly)
Um, I-I’ve never… uh… is there something…?
MIDNIGHTER:
(Studying ring.)
Go home.
He’s gone; implied from WOMAN IN RED DRESS’ reaction that he’s jumped straight up and vanished faster than she can follow.
CUT TO…
EXT. DAY. MORRIS GROVE HIGH SCHOOL.
Just your average American high-school on your average bright, sunny day. Don’t ask how it was night in the last panel and suddenly day now; your puny concepts of human time are irrelevant in comic-book-land!
Establishing shot of 14 year-old teenage heartthrob ‘HARVEY KENT’ getting mobbed by GIRLS. No-one cares what they want (they’re only girls); pretend they’re all asking him to prom or something. He has that sweat-drop anime face. Yeah, I said anime; it’s a big market.
HARVEY’s pocket starts making bringing sounds.
HARVEY:
(Thinking.)
Uh-oh, that’s the Authorisignal!
He escapes the girls by ducking into the boys’ toilets. In a stall, he pulls a cute-looking communications device out of his pocket and flips it open. Don’t talk to me about radio-telepathy. Can you merchandise radio-telepathy? I thought not.
SHOT OF HARVEY READING THE SCREEN, GASPING.
HARVEY:
(Thinking.)
School can wait. This is a job for… Apollo!
SHOT OF OUTSIDE THE STALL. A FLASH OF BLUE LIGHT IS COMING FROM BEHIND THE CLOSED DOOR.
NARRATOR:
And so they assemble…
CUT TO…
INT. SCIENCE LAB.
Generic science lab. Go nuts on the test-tubes. There are about FOUR MEN standing around, wearing lab coats.
DR. ANGELO SPICA in the foreground, pouring liquid from one beaker into another. He’s skinny and wears thick black-rimmed glasses. His pocket is full of pens.
It’s also bringing.
NARRATOR:
Brilliant scientist, Doctor Angelo Spica, a.k.a. The Engineer.
SHOT OF SPICA READING THE SCREEN OF HIS COMMUNICATOR.
SPICA:
My God!
CUT TO…
EXT. UNKNOWN. “GARDEN OF EDEN”.
A beautiful, dream-like garden. A young man, HABIB BEN HASSAN, is sitting amongst the giant mushrooms and crystal-trees. He is studying something on the ground, seemingly in animated discussion with the semitransparent form of JEROEN THORNEDIKE. We aren’t privy to their discussion.
NARRATOR:
Devout Catholic and Messenger of God, Habib En Hassan. The Violent Vicar!
HABIB stops mid-conversation, looking up.
HABIB:
They are gathering. I must go.
JEROEN:
Then go. Leave this with us; we’ll find something, don’t worry.
HABIB vanishes in a puff of purple Kirby dots.
CUT TO…
EXT. DAY. INFINITE CITY.
JENNY QUANTUM is standing at the centre of a large circle of JENNYS, including JENNY SPARKS. They are pulling at her miniskirt and bustier. She is blushing furiously.
NARRATOR:
The last Ellisan princess, Jenny Quantum.
JENNY QUANTUM:
--got the ‘Vicars’ looking into it, but…
Her wrist-guard starts chiming.
JENNY SPARKS:
Give ‘em hell, girl.
CUT TO…
EXT. THE CARRIER.
Establishment shot of THE CARRIER. It looks pretty much the same as always (lucky thing).
NARRATOR:
The Carrier. The JAA’s shiftship. Wherever evil goes, it follows.
CUT TO…
INT. THE CARRIER. MAP ROOM.
The JAA gather around their table for the mission-briefing. FALCONLADY and MIDNIGHTER are standing, the rest sitting.
Art Note: During these scenes, MIDNIGHTER always keeps at least two people between himself and APOLLO. APOLLO alternates from teenage disgust at being surrounded by (ew) adults, and hideous blushing embarrassment whenever he happens to look at MIDNIGHTER. The DO-- er, VIOLET VICAR and JENNY are constantly adjusting their costumes. No-one ever looks entirely comfortable, especially if the focus of the panel isn’t directly on them.
SHOT OF MIDNIGHTER THROWING THE SWASTIKA RING ONTO THE TABLE.
JENNY:
(Picking up ring.)
Bit of an ugly fashion accessory.
FALCONLADY:
It was recovered from a man named Hans Adler, a low-life from The City. Mostly small-time stuff. Petty theft, extortion, illicit drugs. Nothing that would have put them on the radar.
MIDNIGHTER:
Until now.
FALCONLADY:
The ring is the insignia from a secret society known as the Brotherhood of Tyr. See the writing on the inside of the band?
JENNY and the others crowd around the ring to peer into the band.
JENNY:
It’s gibberish!
VIOLET VICAR:
They’re runes. An ancient alphabet used by the Vikings.
FALCONLADY:
Right. It says ‘Tyrer einhandr ass’. “Tyr is the on-handed God.”
APOLLO:
(Looks nonplussed.)
Like, what’s that supposed to mean?
FALCONLADY:
We don’t know. We do know that the Brotherhood has a long history. It was founded in 1938 by Doctor Jürgen Kortig, one of the early proponents of the eugenics movement. He set-up the Brotherhood to test his… theories.
VIOLET VICAR:
That sounds ominous.
MIDNIGHTER:
It was a breeding program.
Everyone looks suitably horrified.
APOLLO & JENNY:
Ew!
THE ENGINEER:
For what purpose?
FALCONLADY:
Kortig believed he could perfect the Aryan race. By breeding out ‘imperfections’ he thought he could create a new type of human.
THE ENGINEER:
(Horrified as realisation dawns.)
He was breeding posthumans.
FALCONLADY:
He was trying to. He was killed in 1940 and the Brotherhood was never heard of again.
MIDNIGHTER:
Until now.
VIOLET VICAR:
But what does any of this have to do with a bunch of petty street thugs?
FALCONLADY:
Yes. I wonder.
CUT TO…
INT. THE CARRIER. ELSEWHERE.
MIDNIGHTER is standing in a rec-area. He has a pot of coffee in one hand and a cup in the other. He looks like it’s not his first.
The ENGINEER walks up.
ENGINEER:
(Holding out his own cup.)
Irish?
MIDNIGHTER:
No alcohol. It’s in the contract.
He pours ENGINEER out a cup. The ENGINEER takes a sip and makes a face. It’s definitely alcoholic.
ENGINEER:
Right. Jenny says she’s got the Doc--
MIDNIGHTER:
Don’t even talk about it. If you don’t talk about it, they can’t hear you.
THE ENGINEER looks at him sadly… and also inches away slightly.
ENGINEER:
(Gently.)
How are you holding up?
MIDNIGHTER:
Fine. I’m fine. My husband got turned into a teenager and by issue six I’ve started dating the girl who used to be my daughter but I’m fine. Abso-@#$%ing-lutely fine. It says so. In the script. I’m fine. You’re fine, everyone’s @#$%ing fine.
ENGINEER:
Yeah. I’m fine. Being a man’s not so bad, really. But I miss Jack.
MIDNIGHTER:
(Increasingly agitated.)
Jack? Who’s Jack? We’ve got no @#$%ing Jack here.
THE ENGINEER backs away a little more, looking nervous. He looks about to say something, when…
FALCONLADY:
(Via radio-telepathy.)
Look sharp people, we’ve got a location.
ENGINEER:
Well, this bit’s still the same, at least.
They begin to walk out.
MIDNIGHTER:
(Muttering to himself.)
Yeah. Right. The same. ‘Cept for the killing. Which we can’t do. ‘Cause it’s in the contract…
CUT TO…
EXT. NIGHT. THE CITY.
Just your standard ominous street-front. A large, gothic mansion-cum-abandoned-warehouse-cum-secret-hideout looms in the background.
A Door opens. The JAA emerge.
JENNY:
(Looking at the building.)
Ooh, creepy.
ENGINEER:
What is this place?
FALCONLADY:
I’ve been cross-checking against police records. The building is owned by a group called the Citizen’s Advancement Society. They’ve got suspected links to neo-Nazi organisations. Our friend Adler’s bank accounts show he’s been receiving regular payments from the CAS for the last eighteen months.
VIOLET VICAR:
(Thoughtful.)
Why would the police have records on any of--
MIDNIGHTER:
Ssh! The contract!
APOLLO and THE ENGINEER share worried glances.
JENNY:
Okay, people, let’s go kick some evil butt!
CUT TO…
INT. SUPER-SECRET NAZI HEADQUARTERS.
The room looks not dissimilar to a gentlemen’s club; antique chairs, opulent decor, mood lighting, a haze of pipe smoke. There are lots of BAD GUYS standing around, doing BAD GUY things like enjoying canapés. Evil ones. A fairly obvious Nazi motif abounds, though the more familiar ‘SS’ logo has been replace by the tiwaz rune (Google it).
BAD GUY:
--am Jew banker. So I said to him, ‘You can take your mortgage and shove it up your gas oven!’
MORE BAD GUYS:
(Evil laughter.)
Thankfully, we are spared more humorous neo-Nazi anecdotes when the doors go shooting off their hinges and into the room, taking out several BAD GUYS in their wake.
The JAA enter, posing dramatically.
MIDNIGHTER:
(Grinning nastily.)
Oh good. There are lots of them…
One BAD GUY is feeling particularly brave.
THE FIRST VICTIM:
Now look here! I don’t know who you’re supposed to be, but this is a private club! I demand you leave immediately.
JENNY:
(Hands on hips.)
Um, how ‘bout no.
THE FIRST VICTIM:
Then we’ll have to throw yo--
He is stopped abruptly when a coffee cup hits his head with substantive force. Everyone looks at MIDNIGHTER. He shrugs.
SOME OTHER DUDE:
Security! Someone call security!
MIDNIGHTER:
(Overly gleeful.)
Oh yes. Please do.
Various secret doors open up behind banners and whatnot and large, heavily armoured NAZI ATTACK DRONES pour into the room.
The JAA and the NAZI ATTACK DRONES leap into combat. It’s very dramatic and exciting. Because the NAZI ATTACK DRONES are robots, there is no blood or actual ‘violence’; all flesh-and-blood BAD GUYS spend the fight cowering in the corners.
Art Note: In all subsequent JAA fights, MIDNIGHTER users a variety of ridiculous and non-lethal household objects in place of weapons in an effort to avoid killing anyone (as per the contract). APOLLO spends most of the time simply looking surly and bored, only engaging enemies if they directly attack him, or if he gets an opportunity to show off to MIDNIGHTER. JENNY spends most of the time in fanservicey poses that look up her skirt. She is never shown actually harming or attacking anyone. This is also true for FALCONLADY. All the VIOLET VICAR’s powers are Bible-related; plagues of locusts, making people vomit ashes, causing stigmata and so forth.
At some point during the fight, FALCONLADY gets pinned by one NAZI ATTACK DRONE while another attempts to pummel her into the ground. APOLLO watches, bored.
FALCONLADY:
Apollo! A little help here maybe!
APOLLO:
(Aghast.)
Stop telling me what to do, fascist! What are you, my mom?
FALCONLADY:
(Baffled.)
Apollo!
APOLLO flies off in a huff, vanishing deeper into the building.
FALCONLADY is saved by THE ENGINEER.
FALCONLADY:
Thanks. What’s wrong with Apollo?
In the background, MIDNIGHTER goes flying past wielding a bread stick and a tasteful flower arrangement.
ENGINEER:
Puberty I think.
More fighting ensues. Bif! Bam! Kapow!
Eventually all NAZI ATTACK DRONES are lying on the floor in sparking heaps. The remaining JAA are standing around, being victorious.
JENNY:
(To the VICAR.)
Well, that wasn’t so bad. How’s being Catholic treating you?
VIOLET VICAR:
(Winces.)
I talked it over with Mohammed and Jesus in the Garden. They were sympathetic. Told me you get used to it.
JENNY:
What, being retconned out of all recognition?
VIOLET VICAR:
Yeah.
MIDNIGHTER appears in the background, stalking around still holding his half-broken bread stick and far less tasteful flower arrangement. He does not look… well. JENNY watches him.
JENNY:
(Whispering.)
To be honest, I’m mostly worried about dad.
The VIOLET VICAR nods sympathetically, looks like he’s about to say something when…
LOW-GROUND, THROUGH-LEGS SHOT OF APOLLO STUMBLING OUT OF A DOORWAY, WITH THE OTHERS TURNING.
SHOT OF APOLLO. HE IS A ASHEN-FACED.
APOLLO:
(Weakly.)
Uh, guys…?
CUT TO…
EXT. UNKNOWN. THE GARDEN.
JEROEN, JENNY SPARKS and a bunch of other DOCTORS -- including JESUS and MOHAMMED -- and JENNYS are clustered around reading through a large stack of paper. It’s apparent this is what JEROEN and HABIB were reading earlier, and though we’re still not explicitly told, hopefully by now it’s mostly obvious that it’s the AUTHORITY’s new contract.
JEROEN:
Here. I think… this might be it!
The DOCTORS and JENNYS all gather around.
CUT BACK TO…
INT. SUPER-SECRET NAZI HEADQUARTERS.
Right from where we left off.
FALCONLADY:
… Apollo?
APOLLO:
(Weakly.)
It’s… I-- Oh God…
He collapses. JENNY rushes to comfort him. MIDNIGHTER looks destroyed but unsure of what to do, FALCONLADY tries to console him. The VICAR and the ENGINEER peer through the doorway, into…
TRANSITION.
INT. SUPER-SECRET NAZI HEADQUARTERS. ROOM OF BADNESS.
A room much deeper within the building. We can’t really see much, apart from some ominous apparatus-shapes, except for what looks like an elevator door.
The elevator bings, the JAA step out.
APOLLO:
Here.
When he steps into the room it is lit up gold by the light of his corona.
SHOT OF EVERYONE REACTING IN HORROR.
The JAA explores the room, except for APOLLO who hangs about near the elevator. Honestly, this is a kids’ comic so it’s not really as bad as APOLLO’s melodrama suggests. It’s some kind of laboratory, and it’s obvious it has been used as a kind of human chop-shop.
In the background, FALCONLADY vanishes down a dark corridor.
THE ENGINEER studies a wall of glass tubes against one wall. Each one contains a large, buxom, blonde-haired-blue-eyes Aryan goddess. All are dressed in generic prostitute clothes.
THE ENGINEER:
(In awe.)
My God. It’s like being inside Frank Miller’s brain!
FALCONLADY is shown emerging from the corridor.
FALCONLADY:
Uh, guys? You might want to--
At that moment, JENNY accidentally bumps a switch on one of the walls (clumsy girl). With an ominous hiss, the test-tubes of ARYAN FEMBOTS open.
ARYAN FEMBOTS:
Seig Heil!
They approach the JAA sexily. Go nuts on the pornface.
Various shots of individual ARYAN FEMBOTS targeting each JAA member.
ARYAN FEMBOT #1:
(To the VIOLET VICAR.)
Target identified: raghead. Action: destroy!
ARYAN FEMBOT #2 & #3:
(To FALCONLADY and JENNY.)
Target identified: gook. Action: destroy!
ARYAN FEMBOT #4:
(To the ENGINEER.)
Target identified: kyke. Action: destroy!
ENGINEER:
What? You’ve got to be @#$%ing me!
ARYAN FEMBOT #5:
(To MIDNIGHTER.)
Target identified: Irish. Action: dest--
ARYAN FEMBOT #5 is dismembered before she can finish speaking. Alas, inside MIDNIGHTER finds not a robot -- like he was expecting -- but flesh and blood.
MIDNIGHTER:
(Horrified.)
@#$% me! They’re human!
ARYAN FEMBOT #6:
(To APOLLO.)
Target identified: Aryan. Action: protect!
ARYAN FEMBOT #6 assumes a defensive stance in front of APOLLO.
APOLLO:
(Annoyed.)
Oh come on! I don’t think so!
He grabs her hair and knees her in the back of the head. She goes down.
Commence more panels of exciting fighting. The ARYAN FEMBOTS aren’t particularly challenging, but the fight is made more difficult as the JAA try and avoid doing them serious, permanent injury (against the contract and all that).
Unluckily for him, MIDNIGHTER (who, let’s face it, is half drunk and not having a great day) is grabbed by TWO FEMBOTS while a THIRD FEMBOT manages to kiss him.
MIDNIGHTER:
(Not having fun.)
Mmmph!
APOLLO:
Hands off, @#$%!!
All THREE FEMBOTS explode from APOLLO’s eye laser. MIDNIGHTER immediately collapses and starts throwing up copious amounts of, erm, ‘coffee’.
THE OTHERS look baffled.
FALCONLADY:
Geeze, I didn’t think kissing girls was that ba--
MIDNIGHTER:
(Gasping.)
Poison! Saliva… is poisonous.
Everyone makes ‘Aaah!’ expressions.
More fighting. Et cetera, et cetera. Eventually the JAA emerge victorious, with most of the ARYAN FEMBOTS lying twitching in the corners (except for the four that have been killed, who are mysteriously absent).
JENNY:
What was all that about?
FALCONLADY:
(Gesturing down the corridor.)
Through here, look.
She takes the JAA down the corridor. Inside, it is lined with cages. Each cage features a COWERING WOMAN. All are black or Asian or have black hair or whatever. One is obviously disabled.
A stereotypically BUTCH DYKE with a black eye and a split lip is rattling the bars of her cage.
BUTCH DYKE:
Hey! Hey, whoever you are! Get us out of here!
FALCONLADY:
(Gestures.)
You heard the lady.
The JAA begin opening the cages in their various ways and helping the women out. Meanwhile, BUTCH DYKE helps FALCONLADY with the exposition.
BUTCH DYKE:
Thank you, whoever you are. First friendly face I’ve seen in months.
FALCONLADY:
What’s been going on here?
In the background, MIDNIGHTER has attracted a bevy of grateful ladies all wanting to show their appreciation. He looks like he’s waiting to wake up.
BUTCH DYKE:
Near as I can tell, some kind of whacko neo-Nazi plot. They kidnap women off the street and turn them into those things in the other room. Then they pimp them out to high-paying clients.
FALCONLADY:
Midnighter said their saliva in poisonous.
BUTCH DYKE:
Right. The take out people that don’t fit their crazy world-view. Jewish businessmen, African-American senators…
FALCONLADY:
Well, they won’t be any longer! The Justice Authority will see to that!
SHOT OF THE JAA STRIKING DRAMATIC POSES. EVERYONE LOOKS A LITTLE… TIRED.
BUTCH DYKE:
(Thinking.)
The Justice Au-- Hey, aren’t you those guys who--
CUT TO…
EXT. NIGHT. THE CITY.
Aerial shot of the outside of the secret headquarters. POLICE stand around arresting the BAD GUYS and talking to the JAA. Ambulance take away the injured and the freed women.
All is right with the world.
CUT TO…
EXT. UNKNOWN. THE GARDEN.
Back in the Garden, HABIB, JEROEN, JENNY QUANTUM and JENNY SPARKS are all standing around reading the large stack of papers which can finally be identified as ‘CONTRACT’.
NARRATOR:
Later, in the Garden…
JENNY SPARKS:
Kids, there’s good news and there’s bad news.
JEROEN:
The bad news is that the contract says you’re the property of DC Comics for the next twenty years, at which time they can automatically renew you under the same conditions. You’ve got no out clause. You do what they say or else.
JENNY QUANTUM:
That’s some pretty @#$%ing bad news right there.
JENNY SPARKS:
The good news is that DC can also drop you at any time, for any reason. You’ve got no recourse against that, either.
HABIB:
So, you’re saying we just have to get them to fire us?
JEROEN:
More-or-less. But it won’t be as easy as that. Remember they’ve got all the writers and all the artists. They can retcon as fast as you can cause problems.
JENNY QUANTUM:
But we have to do something. Something big.
WIDE-ANGLE SHOT FROM ABOVE THE GROUP.
JENNY QUANTUM:
Something they just can’t ignore.
CUT TO…
INT. THE CARRIER. REC ROOM.
THE ENGINEER and APOLLO sitting on a couch, watching TV and looking generally gloomy.
ENGINEER:
So… we won. I guess. Put a stop to the evils of Nazi pimps.
APOLLO:
Yeah.
ENGINEER:
It doesn’t feel right, does it? It feels too… small somehow. Like, what did we really achieve?
APOLLO:
A caution against, like, extra-marital sex?
ENGINEER:
Go us. (Pause) So how’ve you been holding up?
APOLLO:
(Suddenly surly.)
Why? What’s it to you?
APOLLO AND THE ENGINEER STARING AT EACH OTHER.
SECOND PANEL, SAME POSITIONS, WITH:
APOLLO:
That was the puberty talking again, wasn’t it?
ENGINEER:
Uh-huh.
BACK TO A MORE SYMPATHETIC ANGLE.
APOLLO:
(Sighs. Morose.)
Even that wouldn’t be so bad apart from the fact that, like, Midnighter won’t stand in the same room as me anymore. I don’t even blame him.
ENGINEER:
(Carefully.)
We’re all really worried about him…
APOLLO:
Me too. He’s been a bit… fragile since that whole thing with Bendix. Three years in the wilderness, then he comes back to find out it was for no reason. It’s like he’s lost something. And now it’s, like, happening all over again except this time it’s worse.
REACTION SHOT OF APOLLO LOOKING WORRIED.
APOLLO:
I keep thinking he’s just gonna, like, lose it. Walk up to the DC offices and just start shooting.
ENGINEER:
(Horrified.)
He’ll be retconned!
APOLLO:
Or worse.
They look glum.
ENGINEER:
This is ridiculous. We’ve got to do something.
Lo and behold, JENNY and HABIB choose that moment to walk in. JENNY is smoking.
JENNY:
You’re right. And now we know what…
CUT TO…
INT. THE CARRIER. SOMEWHERE EMO.
An out-of-uniform MIDNIGHTER is sitting on the ground, staring blanking into the Bleed. The room is dark except for the red light from outside.
Art Note: Let’s get this straight. MIDNIGHTER’s hair is red or reddish-brown. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and dark olive fatigues. Anyone who draws anything white will be fired.
MIDNIGHTER STARING.
SAME IMAGE, THIS TIME WITH A SLIGHT GOLD GLOW FROM HIS LEFT SIDE.
PANNED OUT SLIGHTLY. APOLLO SITTING DOWN NEXT TO HIM.
APOLLO is holding a cup of ‘coffee’, which he extends to MIDNIGHTER.
APOLLO:
No crap. Drink it.
THEY GLARE AT EACH OTHER.
MIDNIGHTER TAKES THE COFFEE.
MIDNIGHTER:
Let me guess. Everyone’s worried I’m gonna go storm DC on a kamikaze mission?
APOLLO:
Well, are you?
MIDNIGHTER:
… No. I was thinking about jumping into the sun. Except it’d be retconned.
APOLLO:
I’ve just spoken to Jenny and Habib. They think they’ve found a way out, they’re just working on the specifics.
MIDNIGHTER makes no particular reaction to the news.
APOLLO:
(More worried.)
This is the time for, ‘Yay! Escape plan!’.
MIDNIGHTER:
(Darkly.)
We’re dealing with people who can accidentally remake the universe just because they forgot to read one @#$%ing backissue. Who can undo twenty years of your life just because it’s no longer polling well with the audience. This isn’t like anything we’ve dealt with before. What’s the point of specifics if next month they will never have existed?
APOLLO:
(Gloomy.)
I liked, ‘Yay! Escape plan!’ better.
MIDNIGHTER:
You should go. We shouldn’t even be in the same room together. I can feel the editors now, screaming about having to fend off a torrent of letters from parents. ‘Blah blah your comic is making my son gay! Blah blah blah.’
APOLLO:
Heaven forbid a story about well-muscled men wearing brightly-coloured leotards ever give anyone the wrong idea.
APOLLO does not leave.
APOLLO:
(Thoughtful.)
It’d be worse, you know. You wouldn’t just get the usual suspects complaining. This time you’d get the P.C. liberals in on it, too. ‘This comic is promoting the stereotype of gay men as pedophiles!’ Et cetera, et cetera.
MIDNIGHTER:
(Chuckles darkly.)
It’d be Wertham all over again but this time everyone would be in on it.
APOLLO:
What a scandal! You can even retcon that sort of bad publicity!
They both laugh, and go back to staring out into the Bleed.
FRONT-ON SHOT OF THEM DOUBLE-TAKING AT THE SAME TIME.
SAME POSITIONS, BUT LOOKING AT EACH OTHER OUT OF THE CORNERS OF THEIR EYES.
Art Note: This should be the last panel on an odd page.
UH-OH…
EXT. DAY. EARTH-50 DC COMICS HEADQUARTERS.
Phew. An establishment shot of a building. Oh thank God.
NARRATION:
Twelve fanservice-filled hours later…
CUT TO…
INT. OFFICE.
The office of one of Earth-50’s DC EXECUTIVES.
MIDNIGHTER and APOLLO are sitting in front of a large desk, doing their best to look contrite. One gathers that they’ve been there for some time.
Art Note: DC EXECUTIVE is a pretty generic character. The audience should never see his face straight-on. Concentrate on his angry arm-waving and flying spittle or something.
DC EXECUTIVE:
--ver before in fifty years in the industry have I ever had to deal with something so outrageous! Do you two @#$%nuts have any idea what you’ve done? Do you think you’re not replaceable? I’ve got freaks in spandex panties lined up around the block for jobs like yours! What were you thinking!?
APOLLO:
We--
DC EXECUTIVE:
Not you, you pansy twink! (Points at MIDNIGHTER.) You! I know it’s difficult for meatheads like yourself, but surely even you can manage to understand small words. Like the small words in your contract that specify that Midnighter is not gay!
MIDNIGHTER:
(Outraged.)
I was holding a beer! It’s not gay if you’re holding a beer!
DC EXECUTIVE:
(Stunned.)
Words fail me to describe how incredibly stupid that is! Did Bendix drop you on your head when he made you? And with him! (Points at APOLLO.) He’s fourteen! He shouldn’t even be dating!
APOLLO:
Actually, I’m forty-three and it’s hardly dating when it’s your spouse…
The DC EXECUTIVE screams in frustration.
DC EXECUTIVE:
Shut up! Shut up shut up shut up! I hope you’re happy. Your little adventures have already gotten back to our head office. They’re threatening to shut down the whole of Earth-50 if we don’t clean this up! You’ve left me with no choice…
CUT TO…
INT. OUTSIDE THE OFFICE.
APOLLO and MIDNIGHTER walking out of the DC EXECUTIVE’s office.
APOLLO:
“It’s not gay if you’re holding a beer?”
MIDNIGHTER:
Kev Hawkins.
APOLLO shudders. A Door opens and they step through into…
OPEN SESAME!
INT. THE CARRIER. SOMEWHERE.
JENNY, HABIB, THE ENGINEER and ‘FALCONLADY’ are all hanging around looking nervous. JENNY is on her second pack of cigarettes.
The Door opens and MIDNIGHTER and APOLLO step through.
EVERYONE:
(Including the Carrier.)
Well?
MIDNIGHTER AND APOLLO GRINNING.
CUT TO…
INT. THE CARRIER. PARTY ROOM!
It’s a party on the Carrier and everyone’s invited! Except for you. You can come.
A large banner reads HAPPY UNEMPLOYMENT, AUTHORITY!!!
Art Note: Physical changes to the characters have not yet been reversed, however everyone is back to wearing what they’d normally be wearing.
APOLLO and MIDNIGHTER standing around watching the partygoers.
MIDNIGHTER:
Do you think this is better or worse than that time homophobia saved the universe?
APOLLO:
(Thoughtful.)
Hrm… tough call. Ask me again after more champagne.
MIDNIGHTER:
Oh no you don’t! You’re still fourteen!
APOLLO:
(Outraged.)
You’ve got to be @#$%ing--
He stops. Double-takes. Slams his fist hard against the edge of the word balloon. The ‘@#$%’ falls off with a broken-glass tinkle.
APOLLO:
(Cont.)
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! Jenny’s already off her face and technically she’s only eight!
MIDNIGHTER:
Well don’t blame me. You raised her.
APOLLO:
Only because someone was off being emo in Russia for three years!
They growl and glare at each other, then…
MIDNIGHTER & APOLLO:
Oh God I love you so much.
They leap at each other and fall off-panel, followed by the following sequence of near-identical panels:
THE EMPTY SPACE.
JACKSON KING WALKS CHEERFULLY INTO THE PANEL, HOLDING A MARTINI.
HE TRIPS.
HE LOOKS DOWN, DOUBLE-TAKES.
WALKING OFF PANEL SHOUTING:
JACKSON KING:
Jenny! Doctor! Hey, someone! We need a de-de-ageing over here! Stat!
SAME PANEL, NOW WITH BLUE AND PURPLE KIRBY DOTS AND APOLLO’S (PROPER-AGE) ARM GIVING A THUMBS-UP.
Art Note: Again, this should be the last panel on a page.
CUT.
EXT. NIGHT. CITY.
A final page or two-page spread. Should show a city, not-dissimilar to the one in the opening shot, with a silhouetted FIGURE with glowing red eyes. It’s Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Comic himself, JACK HAWKSMOOR!
Watch JACK as he does exciting Jack-like things such as jumping and posing dramatically.
Last panel should be a reasonably large glamour-shot of JACK in a crouching position on the edge of a building, lit just enough to show us that he’s a little bit bloodied up but seems to be having a ball.
Exciting text at the bottom of the screen proclaims:
NARRATION:
Next Issue: “Get. Back. Jack.”
FIN.