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EDITOR'S NOTE:
Many years ago, Zuda Comics creator David Gallaher was having an instant message conversation with Hannibal Tabu, and noted that the latter's logo seemed like it should have a story of its own. Shrugging, Hannibal kind of ignored it but the seed of an idea was planted and Hannibal started running the idea around in his head. A lot of the idea ended up on the cutting room floor, but some of it ended up as "The Operative," a planned self-published mini-series that would take place in the same fictional universe as Hannibal's novel The Crown: Ascension (available on Amazon.com). With artwork by Allen Gladfelter (who worked with Benjamin Raab on The Lost Tribe for Comiculture Magazine) this is about as far as the production on the work got (the script is included below ... hh, never bothered to get it lettered, although it is better to have gone with original concepts instead of laying over the lyrics to "Overkill" by Colin Hay as originally planned) outside of the expanded outline for the entire mini, which remains classified for the time being. It may have big implications for that fictional continuity, or it may just be interesting background information. Time will tell whether this will be considered too meta and self-involved for actual development or not.
It should be noted that an original instruction that the gunman's sunglasses would be too dark to see through never got completed, but oh well. Anyway, here we go ...
The sun beat down on the bustling sidewalks of lunchtime downtown Los Angeles like broad hands on conga drums, as tired mothers with their hair wrapped in thrift store scarves were brushed aside by cell-phone wielding hucksters in open-collared shirts and smartly dressed young account executives with Americanized names and Asian pasts.
In the bustle, nobody seemed to take much notice of the tall Black man dressed in all black -- an odd choice for a sunny July afternoon, swaddled in concrete. But there he stood, unbothered by the streams of humanity flowing past him in every direction, his fedora pulled low over jet black wayfarer sunglasses.
He raised his hand to his right ear, as if listening for some unheard signal, and nodded slowly. He began to walk towards the front door of the Library Tower (once called the First Interstate Building, back when there was a First Interstate Bank, and probably the most recognizable sight in the city's lackluster skyline), and stepped on a discarded front page from that morning's Los Angeles Times. The headline, "Diplomat Implicated in Hit and Run: Little Girl Clings To Life" screamed out to no one in particular.
The Black man in black walked purposefully towards a scene where black suited bodyguards were clearing a path from the front door to a waiting limousine. Two middle aged Black women eyed his sturdy build with the kind of shameless appreciation only available to married women who've left their wild days in the half-remembered past. He nodded and tipped the brim of his hat towards them as he walked by, and they turned to remark at him as he passed.
From the front door of the building emerged Basil Pansington, the very diplomat from the front page of the Times, flanked by secret service-style goons in Her Majesty's Service. His balding pate shone with perspiration and he spoke brashly into a cell phone as he went towards the open door of the limo. "... yes, yes, dreadful business, that," he said pompously, his stout body clearly affected by the heat, "but really, the little ragamuffin should have known her place ... you see my point exactly, who am I to be blamed for her chasing a ball into the street?"
As Pansington was ushered towards the car, the Black man in black held out his hands, and suddenly two black matte Colt M1911A1 .45 caliber pistols appeared, as if from nowhere. One of the security guards saw, and tried to get bodies between the diplomat and the newly-seen assailant ...
... far too late.
With speed belying his muscular six foot six frame, the Black man in black opened fire, dispatching not only all of the earpiece-wearing security guards but the portly diplomat as well with fourteen flawlessly placed shots. As he remarked on his handiwork, with bodies lying broken all around the car and shocked people looking on, the Library Tower's security guards rushed out, weapons ready, and surrounded the Black man in black.
"Throw your weapons down," one shouted, "or we will fire."
The Black man in black grinned slowly at them, and tossed the pistol in his left hand high into the air. It began to shine brightly, as did he, until they were both gone in a huge flash of illumination, with only twinkling to mark his passing. Everywhere, the scene descended into pandemonium, as some guards rushed in different directions trying to find a route of escape, while onlookers discussed, horrified, the scene.
About half a block east, and across the street, another Black man in a black fedora, this one wearing a 3/4 length linen jacket and blue jeans, flipped closed the PDA he'd been feverishly working with as he leaned against the wall. Turning away from the scene as police cruisers rushed towards it, he calmly made his way through the throngs of people craning their necks at the commotion. He slid the PDA into a sheath on the left side of his belt, briefly letting the lightning bolt logo on his t-shirt show, and reached up to tap the glowing earpiece in his left ear as he turned the corner and disappeared from view.
SCRIPT FOR COMIC BOOK ADAPTATION
PAGE ONE: One Panel
Panel 1 - Scene is 5th Street, near the Library Tower (formerly known as the First Interstate Building). Busy, lots of people walking to and fro, mostly suited business types, some janitorial workers, some teens (grunge, latino and urban), some old people walking for bus stop. Standing in the middle of the sidewalk, looking out at the reader and smiling slightly, is the Operative, hands in his trenchcoat pockets. He should be fully visible, with an inexplicable space leaving his visible to the reader, even in the really congested sidewalk. On page 5 it'll be revealed that he was smiling at his Controller, Dajan Damu. Title of issue and credits are across the top of the page. It's 11AM on a cloudy but warm day, no chance of rain but just really pleasant.
Dialogue:
TITLE: (smaller typeface, first two words in adobe garamond bold italic) THE OPERATIVE: OPENLY AND NOTORIOUSLY
TITLE: (larger typeface) PART ONE: THE ANGER OF ANGELS
CAPTION: DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES, 11:08 AM
1 - CAPTION: "I AM THE SMARTEST PERSON I'VE EVER MET ..."
PAGE TWO: Nine Panel Grid
Panel 1 - All panels are identical size and shape. Panel shows Operative, turning to walk towards the front door of Library Tower, reaching up and pulling his hat low, nice swooshy effect on his trenchcoat as he goes. Busy rush of people still moving around him. At least one woman in the shot should be overweight, in a business blazer and skirt, and wearing white sneakers.
Dialogue:
1 - CAPTION (spans panel 1 and 2): "BY THE TIME I WAS TWELVE, I DECIDED THAT IMPORTANT DECISIONS -- LIFE AND DEATH, AND WHAT HAVE YOU -- SHOULD BE HANDLED BY SOMEBODY MORE LIKE ME ..."
Panel 2 - Panel looks over the top and back of the Operative's hat as he heads towards the front door of the building, where a group of suited men in sunglasses and earpieces are walking out -- two holding the door, several looking around cautiously, some walking and acting as human shields for a fat, balding European man (British, pocketwatch with chain and vest). They're a security detail for him, and he's a foreign diplomat who's getting the hell out of LA after a scandal involving hitting a schoolgirl with his car (of course he can't be convicted of that, diplomatic immunity and all). A newspaper is fluttering by, and you can make out the fat guy's photo on the cover, with a headline like "British Diplomat Cleared Of Hit & Run."
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
Panel 3 - An older Black woman, also dressed conservatively, has salt-and-pepper hair with a dark colored business wear (blouse, slacks) is walking towards the Operative on his left, passing. She's on her lunch, gossiping with a co worker walking with her, but you can't see the second woman, just kind of the edge of her. Older Black lady puts her hand to her chest and leans towards her friend, as if saying "Ooh, girl," since the Operative looks like a big, handsome Black guy.
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
Panel 4 - As older Black woman walks by, this shot is from her right, with her friends slightly behind and to her right. Operative uses his right hand to tip his hat to her and smiles, and she is clearly flattered by his attention. His left hand is still in his pocket as he marches more than walks towards the front door.
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
Panel 5 - From in front of Operative, older Black woman looks over her shoulder, hand to mouth, still watching him (this will be on his left side, right side of panel) as he has his mouth set grimly, his hat low over his eyes (looking a lot like the logo). The shot should crop half of the right eye of the Operative, kind of like an evil close-up, and the bottom of both eyes should either not be visible at all or just barely peek out from under the banded brim of his fedora (high teardrop crown, if you need to know the technical term for it). He should have his hands out to his side, palms outwards, because in a a few panels, guns (.45 caliber colt M1911A1 pistols) will appear there. The curb kind of curves inwards, away from traffic, allowing the limo to be parked without screwing up oncoming traffic. The limo, of course, is a new rounded stretch Lincoln Continental, black. None of that Navigator bull, or those old angular bastards.
Dialogue:
2 - CAPTION (spans panel 5 and 6): "... AND WHO IS MORE LIKE ME THAN ME? WELL ... THAT'S A FUNNY STORY ..."
Panel 6 - Kind of an angled shot, where you can see from Operative's left that he's closer to the door, the security guys are moving the fat British diplomat towards a waiting limousine, his hands remain open and empty. The security guys are tense, but smart. Security guys are ushering people away from their protectee, the diplomat is carrying a briefcase in his left hand, lifting that arm to look at his watch, the earbud of a cell phone in his ear, and he's yammering away.
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
Panel 7 - The Operative is perhaps a step closer, suddenly the pistols are in his hand, nobody has noticed him yet, and the diplomat is maybe four steps away from the limo. The security guys towards panel right are closing in, no longer as close to the building. That's the direction our guy is ultimately gonna dive, as he gets busy on the next page.
Dialogue:
3 - CAPTION (spans panel 7 and 8): "WE'LL GET TO THAT PRESENTLY. RIGHT NOW, JUST KNOW THIS ..."
Panel 8 - Close up on one of the security guys directly facing the Operative. Conservative brown hair, cut stylishly but crisply, normal complexion. The Operative is reflected in his mirrored aviator sunglasses, pistols in hands, arms half way up, breaking into a run. The expression on the security guy's face is slowly realizing the fit is about to hit the shan, and he's just opening his mouth to sound the alarm.
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
Panel 9 - Shot of the diplomat turning towards the action, guards reaching for pistols. It's important to convey that this is happening on the leading edge of chaos -- normal people are being shoved out of the way, some of the security guys are "calling in" by speaking into their sleeves, holding earpieces with their free hand, and so on. Most importantly, in the lower left hand corner, there should be a kind of blur of black motion, which is the Operative moving into position, faster than any human could. Everything he does is like a special effect in a movie -- fast motion, slow motion, etc. -- since the laws of physics are just amusing concepts to him.
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
PAGE THREE: Three panels
Panel 1 - Large rectangular panel in upper left corner of page which should take up 2/3 of page. There will be some white space around it. Panel shows Operative, diving to his right (panel left) both pistols blazing, his trenchcoat fluttering upwards and to the right like the Matrix, shell casings flying everywhere. Behind him, rent-a-cops should be coming out of the rotating doors of the building (there are three, but two should be visible in this shot) and regular people are scattering, ducking, looking on in dumbfounded awe.
Dialogue:
1 - CAPTION: "WHEN I DECIDE THAT SOMETHING IS IMPORTANT ... WELL, IT'S LIKE SEX WITH KOBE BRYANT ..."
Panel 2 - Smaller rectangular panel in lower left, showing the diplomat and his security team getting riddled with bullets, with bullets penetrating the doors and windows of the limo, with glass and men falling everywhere. The diplomat's briefcase should fall delicately from his hand, in this shot his grip should have just released it, and he should be pushed backwards from several shots hitting his torso, kind of like a human jackknife. A security guy should be falling forwards, caught charging the Operative, both hands aloft, a 9MM Beretta in one, almost like a supplicant in prayer. Others dying around them, falling straight down, sideways, what have you. I'd love to describe each guy dying, but I have to leave you some fun.
Dialogue:
2 - CAPTION: "YOU CAN KICK, YOU CAN SCREAM, BUT IT'S _GONNA_ HAPPEN!"
Panel 3 - Panel of identical size to Panel 2, in lower right side of page. Shot from overhead, Operative shrugging off bullets fired at him from multiple directions. He's rolled and stood up feet shoulder width apart, guns level (as in not that dumb sideways angle, but perpendicular to the ground), flare of the pistols illuminating his face, shell casings flying.
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
PAGE FOUR: Five panels
Panel 1 - Panel shows what amounts to a pile of corpses. The security guys, the diplomat, all dead and crumpled. The briefcase should have fallen by the wayside, and blown open, documents flittering on the breeze. The limo should have both right side tires flat, all the windows shattered, a glimpse of the driver (a burly white guy, ex-marine type), also dead, literally dozens of bullet holes in the doors and side of the car. Smoking pistols should lie, fallen, all around.
Dialogue:
1 - CAPTION: "ADD TO THAT MY FATHER'S SAYING, 'IT AIN'T WRONG 'TIL I CATCH YOU, BOY ...'"
Panel 2 - Shot from above and slightly to the Operative's right (which is west, FYI, aiming the camera northeast), rent-a-cops, en masse, start to surround the Operative, and you can just barely see, far in the distance, between the skyscrapers, the first glimmers of police car lights approaching. The rent-a-cops aim crappy .38 revolvers at the Operative, now standing with guns hanging down by his side, smoke wafting up from the barrels, glancing down towards his left shoulder, the same smirk from the first page on his face. The rent-a-cops are shouting like he should freeze, but no one can hear them.
Dialogue:
Empty speech balloons should spring forth from the mouths of at least three rent-a-cops here.
2 - CAPTION: "... WELL, IT SHOULD BE EASY TO SEE HOW I BECAME A MAN OF SUCH REMARKABLE FOCUS."
Panel 3 - The Operative, clearly laughing, tosses the right hand pistol high in the air, watching it as it ascends. Several of the rent-a-cops follow the pistol with their eyes, while others keep their eyes on him, hammers cocked back on pistols. Almost every normal person around watches the gun, which they can now see is pearl handled (but black matte otherwise) fly and spin.
Dialogue:
There should be two empty speech balloons here, untethered to any one person, but clear that speech is happening, it's just so unimportant that no one hears.
Panel 4 - This panel is, basically, one huge flash of light where the Operative was standing. Shot from above and to his left (panel right) you should be able to just barely see rent-a-cops covering their eyes, their knees going weak from surprise and dropping them groundwards, and all the normal people throwing arms over their eyes. If it was a picture, I'd take the photo and then just do a big honking lens flare effect in Photoshop, but it's not a picture, so your drawing skills are called to duty!
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
Panel 5 - The Operative, the shell casings -- completely gone. Amazed and dumbfounded looks from some of the rent-a-cops, three start glaring around, looking for anybody taking escape routes (such as the steps in the photo). Nothing is clearly visible, nobody is moving fast anywhere, and nobody looks remotely like him (it's a warm day, nobody has on a coat) and a mystery is created.
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
PAGE FIVE: Five panels
Panel 1 - Vertical rectangular panel dominating upper left quarter of page. Same shot from page 1, but from a farther back angle (see photo marked "farthesteast"), as Dajan Damu is leaned up against a building down the block and across the street from the ensuing melee, where people are walking around confused and a huge concentration of people stands directly in front of the Library Tower. He's closing the lid on a black Palm handheld, and looking grimly at the scene. The shot should show him in profile, from his left, one foot resting on the wall of the building, the melee in perspective down the street from him. There's also a slight incline to the street, which you should be aware of, no more than perhaps 3 degrees.
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
Panel 2 - Small square panel at top right of page. Same shot but smaller, Damu is tucking handheld into a waist pouch on his left side and walking away from the Library Tower, as he passes people nervously and curiously approaching. The first police car (LAPD uses Ford Crown Victorias) should rush by him on his right (panel left).
Dialogue:
1 - CAPTION: "I AM EVERYTHING THIS WORLD DESERVES, THE RAGE OF MILLIONS CONCENTRATED IN SKINNY BLACK MASCULINITY ..."
Panel 3 - Shot looking slightly east, from above, shows him walking, hands in pockets, fedora tilted slightly upwards, whistling (little musical notes over his head are apropos) calmly away from the scene as more people -- an attractive Black woman in a flowing red sunddress with long hair in black Shirley Temple curls, and a middle-aged white man in a gray suit, in particular -- start moving past faster past him, towards the scene of the crime. Another police car should zip by.
Dialogue:
2 - CAPTION: "... BUT NO NATION OF MILLIONS CAN HOLD THIS IDEA BACK."
Panel 4 - Shot looking directly east level to human height, showing Damu's back, walking further away, still whistling, as anguished face of woman in sundress is very close to the camera (as she's passing it). Ambulance and two more police cars are heading towards the scene of the crime.
Dialogue:
NO DIALOGUE
Panel 5 - Exact same shot, but now Dajan is all the way down the block and turning the corner, left, out of sight.
Dialogue:
3 - CAPTION: "HH. REALLY, 'THERE'LL BE NO ONE TO STOP US THIS TIME.' NOT HAVING A NEMESIS SAVES SO MUCH TIME ..."
What the heck is this assignment again?
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