Scene Five and Six. The end of Issue One.
That’s thirty-six pages down. “Improv” feels like the right name for this one — not just for Rom, who’s surviving by making it up as he goes, but also because Rom himself is an actor, on his way to an improv gig in Inverness when everything goes to hell.
By the time I hit these last few spreads, fatigue had properly set in. That point where your eyes glaze over, and instead of composing panels, you’re just describing them — chasing the finish line more than shaping the flow. It happens. Every artist knows it. The trick is to recognize it early enough to course-correct later.
I’ll be coming back to rework these last few pages — to let the rhythm breathe again, find the weight in the pauses, the balance between movement and silence. Because the story’s there. It just needs the same care and attention as the first pages got.
Scene Five drops us into the hotel — garish, grotesque, a Scottish-western fever dream. Frank’s rage explodes into violence, and Rom’s hesitation finally breaks. Then Scene Six: aftermath and escape. The smoke clears, the floor’s slick with blood, and Rom meets Ellie — the survivor, the catalyst, the one who’ll drag him into the next act whether he’s ready or not.
Looking back, I changed quite a few elements between the script and final storyboard. The hotel room evolved, the pacing tightened, and the ending — Ellie and Rom leaving into the mist — found a darker, quieter note than I’d first imagined.
But that’s the beauty of working like this: the story starts to tell you what it wants. You improvise, you listen, and you keep moving forward.
Next: Issue Two.
We’re heading north. Towards the island. Towards whatever waits there.
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