Blah 101

Anxiety. I'm tired of it. You're tired of it. We're all tired of it.

I'm working really hard on trying to be more of a personable person and stuff but I don't feel like a person. I feel like people are afraid of me and that I'm a massive burden.

My head is spinning with every thought I've ever thought and the ambition behind action that prevents actual action from occurring.

Everything is kind of hazy. I don't have anything specific to write but I feel like I probably should.

This is that writing.

More will come soon. I promise. I deserve that much.

I don't have much else to say so I'm stopping.

Stand by for more soon.

Thanks for reading!

Lesson over.

p.s.
Things are all bad! It just absolutely feels like things are bad. I'll turn it around. By sheer force of will if nothing else.

I bought a Journal (Stream of consciousness experiment)

Sept. 11, 2015

"Always write."
"Don't Start a story you don't know the end to."
"Writing has no rules."

I bought a journal tonight. I will probably write in it once. I INTEND to write in it often but I know me.
I'm not mad.

I bought a cheap one.
I bought a purple pen.

Technically, I bought two because that's how it was packaged. The sign at Walgreens said I could get another two-pack with my card for 50% off. Thanks, but no. I really only wanted one.

Plus I don't have a card; nor do I want one.

The pretty girl behind the makeup counter range me up, put my purple pens and chocolate peanuts and coke bottle (sorry, Fernando, I'm not sharing) in a bag and bid me a good evening. She did not, to my delight, say "be well".

I am not well.

I don't need sympathy. I don't need words of encouragement. I just need you to know.
You.
I wrote this for you.
I bought this journal for you.
I bought this purple pen for you.
You can't have them.

These are the vessels I'm using to communicate with you because the traditional ways aren't working.

I love you.
Maybe I don't know you.
Maybe you're my mom, who reads all of my posts.
Maybe you're my friend who reads this out of curiosity or sympathy or genuine interest.

Maybe you just click a link or found my book a thousand years from now and are snickering at my pretension and scribbles and purple ink.

Writers (mostly) are pretentious. Who do we think we are? Why are our thoughts so important that we have to get them out?

We... no. I am not more or less important. What I have to say doesn't matter.

Except it does.
To me.

I live in my head. I've written about that before. When I meet a person, we've lived a dozen lifetimes before the first handshake. Maybe everyone does this.
Maybe it's just me.

I said "I love you" earlier and that came out sounding dumb, but I do. I love you for reading this (even if you're laughing at me). You reading my words means that my job is done. Now that you know that, you can stop, but I've already won.

I feel defeated. I don't think I HAVE been defeated, I just feel that way.

Depression is like sitting in the bottom of a deep hole. You sit and you exist and you wallow in the thoughts and experiences of everything you did to get here. Mostly the bad things. Okay ONLY the bad things.
"I'm pretty sure everyone I knew in 2nd grade hated me."
"The first girl I ever asked out told me 'no' flat out."
"I have debt."
"I'm fat."
"I'm alone."
Depression is an asshole...

Now look, I'm a cheery guy! I like stuff! I do! It's just that my brain over-processes and over-analyzes.

If depression is sitting in a hole then anxiety is shooting yourself out of the hole and tearing through the sky...

...only instead of of wind whipping by and smacking you in the face it's those same thoughts you had down in that hole, only now they swarm you instead of creeping in. It's the emotional equivalent of being in the deep end of the pool with only the knowledge that floating is a thing that exists. Like a million dollars or the ability to tap dance. I believe they're real, but I don't have access to them... This is why I don't swim!

PTSD is the ribbon that holds my little box of crazy together. Have you ever been startled? You know the apex of that? Right when your heart starts racing and you remember what breathing is?
That's my whole day.

Don't feel bad for me. Don't try to help me. Just understand.

I need to go to the V.A. Yes. When I do go there, I face my literal nightmare.
I'm scared of being one of those drooling guys who rocks back and forth.
I'm scared that my friends don't like me but won't say anything because they're wonderful people.
I'm scared of letting down my family.

It feels like the worst-case scenario is always happening, but you know what? I'm a smart dude.

I know everything isn't terrible. I know that I have flaws.
Everyone doesn't like me, but everyone doesn't hate me either.

I love you.
I bought you a notebook.
I bought you a purple pen.

Don't touch my pen.

Kickstarter, Crowd Funding, and Famous People

*I ORIGINALLY WROTE THIS AS A NOTE ON FACEBOOK, BUT I WANT TO KEEP MY WRITING ALL IN THE SAME PLACE SO I'M RE-POSTING IT HERE*
I love kickstarter.com. I've used it to back a few projects in the past, and I'm really excited and proud to be a part of the projects that have been successful. When you listen to a CD that you had some (albeit tiny) hand in helping bring about, or you hold a comic in your hand that might not have made it without your help, there's a sense of pride and ownership in the enjoyment.

For those of you who might not know, Kickstarter is all about "crowd funding" and that's basically what it sounds like. You create a project and you ask anyone with an internet connection for money. You don't do this arbitrarily, you offer them incentives in return. You say something like "For every $15 you give us, we'll send you and autographed T-Shirt" or something like that. It's a fun way to make money and get your fans involved.

Quick side note; there are other sites than Kickstarter, but I've not personally used them so I have no grounds to speak on their behalf.

Recently, there was a successful campaign to fund a feature film based on the Veronica Mars TV show. They more than made their goal, and for fans of this show, this is the greatest idea possible. On the comics side of things, creators like Gail Simone, Greg Rucka, and Greg Pak have all utilized kickstarter to get their creator owned comics funded and sent directly to their fans before hitting store shelves. Even on the music scene, bands like The Classic Crime (one of my favorites) have used the site to fully fund albums, using the remaining funds to pay for touring costs.

I love all of these ideas.

So do Bjork, and Zach Braff.

Suddenly... celebrities and semi-famous people want to use crowd funding. And there's a certain amount of the internet who thinks this is wrong. There's arguments being thrown around saying things like "they're rich, so why don't they just pay for it themselves", or "why doesn't (Braff) just make more movies and earn creative control?"

Because, clearly, you have no idea how the film industry works.

Crowd funding is there to raise funds for projects that people are interested in. If you're not interested in Zach Braff's new movie, or Bjork's new album, or Randy Everyman's comic, then don't give them your money. But to say "Here's a great tool that anyone can use, EXCEPT THAT GUY!" Is ludicrous.

Can Zach Braff afford to fund his movie himself? Maybe, I have no idea what his financial situation is. Maybe he's a billionaire with all his Scrubs money. I hope he is. Does that mean that he has to pay for his next movie out of pocket? No! Congratulations, Mr. Braff, on being successful. Part of that success comes from talent and a sense of humor that is marketable and can make money. Mr. Braff is saying "Here's a project I'm thinking about doing. What do you guys think? If I can raise so much money here's exactly how I'm going to do and here's some cool stuff you guys will get for helping me out" 
I think it's a travesty to not fund something because you think the person behind it is rich. Crowd funding is an excellent resource and one that I think has untapped potential for the future.

For further reading on the subject, and for a far more elegant writer than myself, check out Amanda Palmer's blog. She uses adult language so if you're sensitive to profanity, maybe you should skip it, but I think it's an excellent argument. http://amandapalmer.net/blog/20130213/

My goal with this "note" or post or whatever is not to start a flame war or internet argument, but I totally welcome opposing opinions that are thought out so maybe we can engage in some adult conversation. If you don't agree with me, that's totally fine. If you want to talk about it, leave a comment and let's have a discussion!

I may have gone too far...

Sometimes I panic. A lot. That's not meant to be contradictory, it doesn't mean that sometimes I often panic or anything, it means that sometimes I panic in large volumes. This isn't something that I know how to handle and I'm going to attempt to explain what happens in my crazy, cracked brain.

I can handle little things and I can handle big things. When there are excesses of things to worry about, though, I can't focus my attention. I worry about all of the things simultaneously and I can't pick through what's happening. My heart begins to race and I can't function properly. I over-analyze just about everything that's happening and everything anyone does affects me personally regardless of intent.

This is not who I am. This is not how I like to act.

In the course of the last week or so, I've been dealing with a massive amount of "little things". Not insignificant things, but things that aren't big issues yet. My parents have stuff they're dealing with and I feel guilty (no reason why I SHOULD feel guilty, but I do). My roommate is moving away soon and he's spending time with some of his co-workers before he leaves. I have been thinking a lot about writing professionally and how I'm not doing it yet so I went to school to talk to career advisers.

And the thing that's been effecting me the most is that one of my best friends is hanging out with a new group of people. She's a fantastic young woman with a bright future. I miss her, and I need somebody around. She's spending time with them and not me. This is the most childish of my "little things" and its the thing that I most want to let go of. I'm not mad at her for spending time with other people, I'm upset that she isn't here sitting with me while I'm upset (that doesn't even make sense and it's true).

The way it works is like this: Each issue feels like a weight on my shoulders. Each issue presses down on me and squeezes my head. If you've ever been stressed out over a test, it's like that but heavier. It's also like when you're startled, just the apex of it when you feel lightheaded, only it lasts for days instead of milli-seconds. I feel confined in my own skin. My heart races and I sweat like I've been running a few miles. I take deep breaths and try to settle down and find my mind only going to the negative aspects of things that are happening. The more negative I feel, the heavier the weight, the faster my heart pumps, the more I sweat, until I feel sick.

The 4th of July is the one Holiday where I feel like a fool. Fireworks make me nervous. While I was asleep last night, I was jerked from sleep by loud explosions and cackles. My heart was racing and I called my friend (who is usually awake til all hours anyway). She answered and explained to me that she was hanging out with her group of friends. With the fireworks putting me on edge and me slipping into worrying about all of the little things, and my jealously that she was with them and not me (I recognize this is bad and it's the whole reason I'm writing this), I overreacted. I texted her a flurry of accusatory things that I had no right to say. She understands that I'm having some anxiety issues, but I over-stepped. I went too far and I offended one of my best friends in the world. My guilt over this is the heaviest weight I've had to deal with this last week and now I need it to stop.

I will be digging up a copy of my DD214 so I can go to the V.A. Hospital to get treated for possible PTSD. This is another layer. It freaks me out that I'm a little bit "crazy". I really need help and support from my friends and family. With the way I've been feeling lately (whether it's true or not) is that many people don't really care about me right now. I know I'm loved by many people, but I'm not feeling it. I feel isolated and alone (similar words but I think they're different enough to work) and all I'm looking for is a sympathetic shoulder from time to time. Just a "it's gonna be alright" or "I'm sorry" or just someone to listen.

I've been focusing on my own issues, I've been panicking over my panic attacks, I've been selfish and rude and unwilling to listen to others. This is me saying that I need help. This is me saying that I don't want to be this way. This is me saying that I can't do this by myself and I'm scared.

Professional Action Plan

So, I'm almost done and I have to create a "Professional Action Plan Summary"

I had no idea what this was but I moved forward with it anyway.

Here's what I ended up writing for that summary.

Field of Dreams is a great movie. Ray had no concept of what it was he was trying to do he just knew that he had to do it. He had a passion, and a voice, telling him to move forward and with that, came the belief that what he was doing had a purpose and that purpose moved him to greatness.

I don’t know what to summarize here. I honestly don’t know what’s expected of me. I don’t work well with plans traditionally. Since my time in The Marine Corps and even before then, I’ve worked well just “winging it” I have to restructure my entire outlook in order to do this kind of thing professionally and it terrifies me. I should be excited to take the next step, to move boldly in a new and exciting profession, instead I find myself on the precipice, too scared to take that fateful step away from the baseball diamond into obscurity.

I don’t know how best to describe my plan, I don’t know how to articulate clearly what I intend, nor has that ever been my strength. My best stories have never come out of planning but out of a passion to get it out of me. Words pour from my brain easily enough, it’s the marketing and selling and packaging that I’m no good at. In a perfect world, I’d scribble my drivel on a piece of paper and hand it to a person far more qualified than myself to market it. I’d be happy sitting in a dark corner with a cup of coffee and a stack of comic books, scrawling out my nonsense for my own eyes, but that kind of jazz doesn’t bring home the bacon.

What I can tell you is that I’m a hard worker. I don’t always do it the right way but I get the work done. I’m trying, and I’m trying hard, to it all correctly and to dot every “I” and cross every “t” but there is just no way I can aptly summarize my plan for profession.

The best I can say is that I’m going to do my thing to the best of my ability. I’m going to ask for help from those that can give it. What follows is a road map, a guideline that shows me some of the key points to look for when I ask for help. I can only hope that those along the way will be as passionate as I am. This collection of my work makes it easier to move past those little white rocks into Iowa.

Obstacles

I had to write a discussion board post for class. This post was on specific obstacles I've found as I've written these last few months. This is me writing honestly. I'm sure it's grammatically incorrect and there's probably many spelling errors. I don't care. Here's my raw opinion of myself and my writing.

I want to write comics.

Hands down.

It's a medium I love and it's a medium I admire. I'm more than intimidated by the output I see from the authors of comics. I struggle to find stories, and when I do find a story, I'm never 100% confident on where to take it. I see names like Nick Spencer, Joshua Hale Fialkov, Kurtis J. Wiebe and not only the volume of stories they put out, but the quality of those stories and I can't help but be intimidated. Then there are the comics "superstars" names like Brian Michael Bendis, Geoff Johns, Ron Marz. I see them as a standard I can only hope to mirror and admire.

I see myself as a competant writer. I'm not the best, but I can hold my own. I understand story structure and what is needed to make a bad story mediocre, or a good story better. The most difficult thing I have as a writer are my own imposed restrictions and expectations. I don't know where it came from but there's a saying: "You're your own worst critic." and I find that to be more than true.

Any time I get a grade in any of my classes that's lower than a "B" I chastise myself and force myself to be better. Not "try to be better" to actually be better. If I want to be truly successful, I need to set aside my own ego and just write. I can't stand mediocrity (percieved or real) and to perpetuate it is my greatest fear.

I don't want to be the guy who is almost good. I have to be good. I have to be better than good.

And I will be, soon.

Crestfall Act 3

INT. NEON CITY POLICE STATION - SAME EVENING


It’s a typical night in the city’s police station. People are being ushered around in an organized yet chaotic manner. The station is filled with police, some undesirable people, and other random citizens filling out reports. Sitting behind her desk, Marie is filling out paperwork. Next to her is OFFICER ALOYO. He’s trying to convince her to go back home.

ALOYO
Seriously, Briggs. Your fiance just died! What are you even doing here? Get home. Rest.

MARIE
You think I wouldn’t love to do that? When I’m at home, all I can think about is Kent. At least when I’m here I can take my mind off of him for a while.

ALOYO
I can appreciate that, really I can. I just don’t know that it’s the smartest thing to have you here while you’re... emotionally compromised.

Marie’s phone RINGS.

MARIE
Okay, Aloyo. I hear you. Let me wrap up some of this stuff and I’ll head home for the rest of the day. I won’t even call in tomorrow.

The phone RINGING seems obnoxious.

ALOYO
Thanks, Marie. We’re all just worried about you. You better answer that.

Aloyo leaves while Marie answers her phone.

MARIE
Hello?

It’s loud in the station and very hard for Marie to hear who’s on the other line.

MARIE (CONT’D)
What? What do you mean? That doesn’t make any sense. She strains to hear. Suddenly a horrified look crosses her face.

MARIE (CONT’D)
Yes. That was me on the news.

She stands now with a resolve that shows the inner strength of this woman who’s reaching the end of what is possibly the worst day of her entire life.

MARIE (CONT’D)
If this is some kind of prank I will find you and I will make you pay.

She SLAMS the phone down and grabs her jacket as she walks past Aloyo and a few others.

ALOYO
Briggs, what’s going on?

MARIE
I need you and possibly another unit to come with me.

ALOYO
Alright, but you still haven’t answered my question.

MARIE
I just got a tip on that beast who killed Kent and dragged that woman away.

ALOYO
What? Really? Where?

MARIE
Sinecorp tower. Let’s move.


INT. SUITE 12 - SLIGHTLY LATER

Crestfall is still slumped to the chair. Blood is dripping from a wound on her face. She’s only semi-conscious as she hears the door CREAK to life as it STRAINS to open. Doctor Waters enters, flanked by two fully armed GUARDS.

WATERS
Thank you gentlemen I can handle everything from here.

GUARD 1
I’m sorry, Doctor. We’re under strict orders to never leave the prisoner alone with anyone.

WATERS
And why is that? Do you think she might hurt me? Is that it?

GUARD 2
Uh, no ma’am. It’s nothing personal, we’re just under orders to stand here and make sure nothing goes wrong.

WATERS
Oh, so now you’re here to tell me how to do my job. Well if that’s the case then I’m sure you can tend to her wounds. I’ll alert Quitlove to your medical abilities. I’m sure he will be pleased.

Waters turns to leave. The guards panic.

GUARD 1
I’m sorry ma’am. I’m sure Mr. Quitlove wouldn’t have a problem with the way you do your job. We’ll be right outside.

WATERS
You boys irritate me. Maybe you should find a vending machine or something. Just be gone for a while.

GUARD 2
Yes ma’am. We’ll stay out of your hair.

They leave and the heavy door SEALS behind them. Waters runs over to Crestfall. She examines the wound on Crestfall’s face then proceeds to give a quick, cursory examination to ensure that Crestfall is okay. She pulls out a rolled up pouch and as she opens it and prepares its contents, she speaks to Crestfall.

WATERS
I was wrong. I can admit that. Bob tried to convince me and I wouldn’t listen. You were my greatest achievement and I let success go to my head.

She’s holding a syringe and mixing up some compounds in tiny jars. She works furiously fast as she’s explaining.

WATERS (CONT’D)
After you left, Bob was killed. It took his death for me to see exactly what it was we were dealing with. I’ve been trying to figure out how to bring The Facility and everyone involved down. You have given me my chance.

She takes Crestfall’s arm and inserts the syringe. As she pushes down on the plunger, Crestfall’s head snaps and her eyes come to life. She doesn’t scream.

CRESTFALL
What?

WATERS
Give it a second. You’re dazed.

CRESTFALL
What did you do to me?

WATERS
I woke you up. Did you really think I could have tested you as long as I did and NOT find a way to kick start your system? This concoction is going to simulate the effects of a full three course meal. The effects will last you the entire night. In a few moments, you will be stronger than you’ve ever been.

Crestfall smiles.

CUT TO:

INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE OF SUITE 12 - IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING


The two guards are standing outside of the door, jittery. They are uncomfortable with leaving Waters alone with Crestfall. It’s been too long and they’ve heard nothing.

GUARD 1
Alright. I’m going to let the doctor know that we need to be updated on what’s going on.

He walks over to the door. As he reaches for it, the door EXPLODES outward, knocking him unconscious. Crestfall stands there, wings stretched out. Waters is behind her. The second guard is on his radio.

GUARD 2
She’s out! Repeat: She’s out! Everyone get to Suite 12 now!

She punches him in the face and he’s out cold. Around the corner, a hand full of guards show up and OPEN FIRE. Crestfall turns around and shields Waters with her bulletproof wings.

WATERS
Get out of here! I’ve got a plan. Try to get Quitlove out in the open. We’re going to take him down.

Crestfall wordlessly acknowledges Waters. Crestfall turns to face the onslaught.

CRESTFALL
Hello, boys.

She lunges forward, flying down the hallway. The guards panic as their bullets fall harmlessly to the ground. Crestfall barrels past them. Her wings extended with such force, as she moves by them, the guards are knocked unconscious by their impact. Crestfall turns a corner at the end of the hallway. She’s met with more GUNFIRE.
Waters waits by the rubble of Suite 12’s door to ensure that Crestfall has cleared the way. She pulls out her cellphone.


CUT TO:


INT. GARBAZ’S APT.

It’s dark in his apartment. Garbaz believes that he sent Crestfall to her death. He’s sitting in a chair with a sealed bottle of whisky in hand. He just stares at it. The silence is interrupted by the sound of his phone RINGING. Garbaz is startled and drops the bottle. It SHATTERS. He clumsily answers the phone.

GARBAZ
Yes?

WATERS (O.S.)
It’s me. Our girl is okay.

GARBAZ
Our girl?

WATERS (O.S.)
You know who I’m talking about. She’s fine. She’s better than fine actually. We might be able to bring this whole thing down.

GARBAZ
Why should I believe you?

WATERS (O.S.)
There’s nothing I can say that will convince you to trust me. I just need you to do it. She’ll want you there. Besides, with your notes and my research we can stop everything Quitlove is doing through Sinecorp with The Facility.

GARBAZ
What about the police?

WATERS
I’ve already called the best person to handle this. Our girl is going to bring everything to a head. Meet me at the tower. Bring your notes.

He hangs up the phone.


INT. QUITLOVE’S OFFICE - SAME TIME


Quitlove is unhappy. He’s pacing back and forth. He’s alone in his office but he’s speaking like he has an audience.

QUITLOVE
How long have we been at this? How long? All I’ve been trying to do is genetically engineer a perfect human so that I can sell it to the highest bidder, make a boatload of cash, and retire to Tahiti with loads of hookers and cocaine! Is that too much? Now because of one stupid woman, all of my plans are down the crapper!

The intercom BUZZES.

THERESA (O.S.)
Sir, it sounds like you’re yelling. Is there a problem?

QUITLOVE
A problem? Yes, Theresa! There’s a big problem! I hinged my entire life plan on the shoulders of one easily manipulated little girl and she’s making it extremely difficult for me!

He throws random things around his office. This whatever a psychopath’s answer to a temper tantrum is. He’s pulling things off the walls and just overall making a mess.

THERESA (O.S.)
Sir, what would you like done about it?

Quitlove stands in the shambles of what was only a short time ago, his office. He catches his breath and composes himself.

QUITLOVE
Theresa, would you please send in The Brute.

THERESA (O.S.)
Yes, sir.

QUITLOVE
Thank you.

THERESA (O.S.)
One other thing sir.

QUITLOVE
What is it.

Her voice trembles. Her voice has never trembled before.

THERESA (O.S.)
Well, sir. It appears she may have broken out.

QUITLOVE
Ah. Well, let’s find out where in my tower she is and we’ll just send The Brute there.

THERESA (O.S.)
Very good, sir. I’ll handle this.

QUITLOVE
Yes, see that you do.

He calmly walks over to his overturned chair and picks it up, and throws it out of his multi stories high window.


INT. SINECORP TOWER HALLWAY - MEANWHILE


GUNSHOTS ring out through the entire building. None of the guards seem to understand that Crestfall is bulletproof. She also isn’t tiring. There’s a line of unconscious guards stretching back through the twisty caverns. If a person wanted to, they could follow the trail of pain back to her cell, but this is clearly in a different part of the building.

Crestfall makes her way through the crowd of guards. Quickly taking them all out. Equally as quickly, she becomes very bored. The hallway ends in a large corridor. There are no more guards. She stops and shakes herself off. She’s not tired, she’s just adjusting to the adrenalin rush.

Standing across from her with a vicious grin on his face is The Brute.

BRUTE
Brute.

CRESTFALL
Oh shut up already!

They charge at each other. Crestfall PUNCHES him in the face and he SLUMPS to the ground.

Crestfall continues running down the hallway on the opposite end. There’s a sign above the hallway that says “EXECUTIVE OFFICES”

The Brute GROANS and twitches.


CUT TO:


INT. QUITLOVE’S OFFICE


Crestfall is a little shocked to see the entire office in tatters. The only thing that hasn’t been destroyed is his desk and the only thing on the desk is a syringe.

QUITLOVE
You remember Doctor Waters right? She came to see me recently with this concoction of hers. She said that when I inject myself with it, it will give me powers not unlike your own.

He picks up the syringe and looks at it. He tosses it out of the giant hole in the window that his chair left behind.

QUITLOVE (CONT’D)
I think that we both know which side Waters likes to butter her toast.
Crestfall begins to lunge forward.

QUITLOVE (CONT’D)
Ah! I wouldn’t do that. This is the part where I tell you exactly what’s going on. You see. I did know your father. He was a true genius. Maybe too much so. If he wouldn’t work for me then he wasn’t going to work for anyone. I have a lot of pull here in my ivory tower. I’ve been watching you for a long, long time.

He walks over to a hidden panel. It WOOSHES open. Inside are vials of blood with Jessica Crest’s name and ages attached.

QUITLOVE (CONT’D)
Every blood draw you’ve ever had. I have them all right here. I’ve been studying your blood for a long long time.

He pulls out the most recent vial.

QUITLOVE (CONT’D)
This one should do.

He walks over to another panel. This one has the purple goo inside.

QUITLOVE (CONT’D)
Oh, science. I’ve been tampering with this particular compound for a while. It started with your father. He found a way to unlock the potential for super powers within his own DNA structure. We could never figure out why it wouldn’t work on anyone else, but that seemed a moot point. It worked on your dad, it worked on you.

He snaps both vials into an injector.

QUITLOVE (CONT’D)
And now. It will work on me.

CRESTFALL
No!

Her reaction is just a tad too late. He’s already injected himself. Before her eyes his muscles ripple and grow. He turns into a beast that looks a lot like The Brute.

Crestfall can’t bring herself to do anything except look on in horror.

He lurches forward. His back ripples and he SCREAMS out in agony as two jet black wings jut out of his back. They look black and leathery, like a bat or a demon. He regains his composure and stands tall. He’s much bigger than he was. He shakes his wings and they make a heavy WOOSH sound. His laugh is DEEP.

Crestfall snaps back to reality. Looking out the window down below she can see red an blue lights in the streets below. She charges at Quitlove and tackles him through the window SHATTERING the glass.


CUT TO:


EXT. SKIES ABOVE NEON CITY


They fight.

In the air they keep pushing each other away then using their wings to bash each other. Despite the difference in size, they are fairly equally matched.

Quitlove lunges at her and tackles her to the rooftop of a nearby building. He sits atop her and begins to pummel her with his fists.

QUITLOVE
You’ve ruined everything you stupid girl! All you had to do was everything I told you! You could be a general! You could be a goddess!

He punches her in the face. He’s suddenly overcome with pain. He rolls onto his side. Crestfall stands, bloody but not out of the game.

CRESTFALL
What’s the matter Q.L.? Am I too much woman for you to handle?

He sneers and grabs her again, launching into the air. They struggle a bit and he’s struggling against the pain again. He’s becoming noticeably smaller. He swings away at her. She grabs him by the shoulders and does a nose dive straight towards the ground. The force of the fall knocks him out. Just before IMPACT she rotates herself around to take the brunt of the hit.


CUT TO:


EXT. STREETS OUTSIDE OF SINECORPS TOWER


The impact left a small indent in the streets below. Marie is there with Aloyo. Both are shocked to see the two people who were just fighting in the air, now climbing out of a hole in the ground.

Quitlove is dazed. He’s back to his normal size, he still has the black wings but they are almost comically small now. He tries to reason with the police.

QUITLOVE
Officers! Arrest this woman! She’s accosted me. Broke into my building, tore apart my office. It’s awful!

MARIE
Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down.

She slaps handcuffs on Quitlove and puts him in the cruiser.

QUITLOVE
What’s the meaning of all this?

MARIE
We got a tip that you’ve been up to some naughty things Mr. Quitlove. I might have a bone or two to pick with you myself.

Garbaz and Doctor Waters are helping Crestfall to her feet.

WATERS
How are the effects of the serum?

CRESTFALL
They started wearing off around the time he started screaming in pain. What happened there?

WATERS
The stuff that your father affectionately referred to as “The Goo” really only does work on your DNA. The only other subject it’s gotten close to working on is The Brute and I’m sure we’ll find he’s somehow related to you or some crazy clone, or something. Quitlove had the right idea mixing your blood with The Goo, I had hoped it would wear off. I’m glad to see it has.

CRESTFALL
So, the vile you gave him wasn’t a fake?

WATERS
No. Why? Didn’t he use it?

CRESTFALL
No, he tossed it out of the window. He had his own stash up in his office.

WATERS
Out the window? I’ll see if we can get a team to make sure it’s nothing.

Garbaz gives her a big hug.

GARBAZ
What’s next for you now Jessica?

CRESTFALL
Next? Now I stay here. Protect my city.

GARBAZ
That sounds like an amazing idea to me.


EXT. NEON CITY ROOFTOPS - NIGHT - WEEKS LATER


Crestfall sits perched atop a gargoyle. She’s in a new jumpsuit from The Facility. Her blood red wings pulled back as she surveys her city.

CRESTFALL (V.O.)
It’s warm tonight in Neon City. The skies are clear. Everything seems to be at peace.

In the distance, a woman SCREAMS.

CRESTFALL
Finally!

She jumps off of the gargoyle into the night.


FADE OUT.