Storytelling on the page is never one-to-one. The script is a guide, but when I sit down to draw, the visuals start to argue back. Sometimes I stay strict, but more often, I lean into the interpretation. Scene 3 and Scene 4 of Bloodbath on Unholy Island are a perfect case study.
What’s written in the script doesn’t always translate directly. The beats shift. A panel gets compressed or stretched. Maybe I linger on a moment longer than planned, or skip ahead visually because the art tells it cleaner. This is the balance: keeping faith with the script while letting the drawings carry the emotional weight.
Scene 3: The Crucible
This scene plays out in the fluorescent buzz of a late-night garage shop. It’s Rom’s chance—maybe his only chance—to cry for help. On paper, it’s written as a tense whisper between him and the shop assistant. But once I started sketching, I realized the visual story needed more pause, more silence in the panels themselves.
The tension remains the whispers, yes—but it’s layered with what the reader already knows: Frank has a gun. That knowledge hums under every line. The hunched shoulders, the darting eyes, the flickering lights—everything feels on the edge of snapping.
And when Frank walks in? Things start to unravel. His suspicion isn’t just cold; it blooms into a monologue, his words spiraling, his menace stretching across the panels until it locks into inevitability. By the time he raises the gun, the reader already senses the collapse coming.
This is the crucible for Rom—pressure, heat, and no clean exit. The whispers, the waiting, the unraveling—it all fuses into the story’s first real plunge into horror.
Scene 4: The Hotel
If Scene 3 is about whispers, Scene 4 is all about Frank. The road through the highlands, the gothic hotel glowing faint in the mist—it’s his stage.
The script notes Rom as silent, a mask of panic, but in drawing it I realized this sequence belongs almost entirely to Frank. His voice, his grin, his madness spilling into the car like fumes. The focus is tight on him, loading the shotgun, striding into the scene as though the hotel massacre is inevitable, already written.
Rom is still there—his fear flickers, his silence weighs heavy—but he’s almost backgrounded. The frame belongs to Frank. It’s his spotlight, his theatre. The visuals push the reader toward what’s coming, toward the violence he’s promising with every gesture.
Process and Next Steps
Scenes 3 and 4 together bring the page count to sixteen—halfway to the thirty-two-page rough draft I’m building. At this stage, it’s still about exploration. The script is a roadmap, but the sketches are the journey. Deviations aren’t mistakes; they’re the story breathing on the page.
From here, the pressure will only build. The vice turns tighter. Every panel will count as the story grinds toward its explosive heart.
For reference, below you’ll find the raw script for both scenes—how it was first written before the visuals bent it into something new.
Scene Three: The Crucible
PANEL 1: Interior, garage shop. Harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Rom steps inside, stiff, shoulders hunched. Through the window behind him, Frank’s car waits at the pump.
PANEL 2: Rom leans over the counter, voice low but urgent.
ROM: “Listen—see that bloke outside? Mohawk, army jacket. Looks like he’s cosplaying De Niro from Taxi Driver?”
PANEL 3: The shop assistant—early twenties, pale, spots Rom’s nerves. He squints past him.
SHOP ASSISTANT: “Uh… yeah?”
ROM (snapping, hissing): “Don’t bloody look! Just listen.”
PANEL 4: Rom leans in closer, whispering fast.
ROM: “You got a mobile? Landline? Anything? He’s a psycho—just threatened to murder his ex. We need the police now.”
PANEL 5: Tight on the shop assistant’s face. His eyes widen. Sweat beads.
SHOP ASSISTANT (whispering): “Jesus Christ…”
PANEL 6: Ding of the door. Frank strides in, drying his hands on his fatigues. No grin now—just cold suspicion.
FRANK: “What’s this then, Rom?”
PANEL 7: Rom straightens, forcing a weak smile.
ROM: “Nothin’. Just askin’ about tyres.”
FRANK (flat): “Yeah? ‘Cause your mate here’s sweatin’ like a nonce in a playground.”
PANEL 8: Close on Frank. He tilts his head, mock sympathy.
FRANK: “You’ve gone and forced my fuckin’ hand, mate.”
PANEL 9: Frank pulls the handgun from his lap. The strip light gleams across the barrel.
FRANK: “This here? This ain’t just a piece. This is my divining rod. Tells me who’s full of shit.”
PANEL 10: Rom holds his hands up, trembling.
ROM: “Frank, please—it’s fine. Nothin’s goin’ on here.”
SHOP ASSISTANT (blurting, terrified): “Please, sir—”
PANEL 11: Frank sneers, slipping into mock-philosophy.
FRANK: “I’m a man of my word, Rom. Straight up. But you? You make things difficult. And that—” (raises gun) “—means someone’s gotta pay.”
PANEL 12: BLAM! The gun erupts. The shop assistant is thrown back, chest bursting red.
PANEL 13: Rom drops to his knees beside the body, horrified.
ROM: “Christ, Frank… he was just a boy…”
PANEL 14: Frank crouches beside him, voice cold, eyes dead.
FRANK: “Nah, mate. That’s on you. You played me. If you’d kept shtum, he’d still be breathin’. His blood’s on your fuckin’ hands.”
PANEL 15: Frank yanks Rom to his feet, shoving him hard toward the door.
FRANK: “We’re brothers now, Rom. You owe me. Boy’s death bound us. You and me, Thelma and fuckin’ Louise, bruv!”
PANEL 16: Exterior. Frank pushes Rom into the car, climbs in laughing, slamming the door.
FRANK: “First we deal with my slag ex. Then we go treasure huntin’. You and me, ride or die!”
PANEL 17: Wide shot. The car peels out of the forecourt, swallowed by the forest.
CAPTION (Rom, internal): Hold it together. Just hold it together.
Scene Four: The Hotel
PANEL 1: Wide shot. A winding highland road. Frank’s car slices through the foggy dark.
CAPTION (Rom, internal): No way out. No good way, anyway.
PANEL 2: Interior, car. Frank leans close to the wheel, eyes gleaming, grin wide.
FRANK: “You feel it, Rom? Meant to be. Like fate, bruv. You and me on the road to destiny.”
PANEL 3: Close on Frank’s lips as he speaks, the gun grip visible tucked in his belt.
FRANK: “That bitch thought she could play me. Betray me. Nah. Tonight I put her in the ground.”
PANEL 4: Wide shot through the windshield. A looming building in the distance: half The Shining hotel, half Scottish manor. Lights glow faint and eerie through the mist.
PANEL 5: Exterior. The car rolls into a half-empty car park, puddles reflecting the glowing facade.
PANEL 6: Frank leaps out, teeth bared in a manic grin. He strides to the boot, throwing it open.
PANEL 7: Inside the boot: a shotgun and an ammo belt crammed with shells.
PANEL 8: Frank hefts the shotgun, loading it with ease, humming tunelessly.
FRANK: “Yeah… now the night really starts.”
PANEL 9: Interior car. Rom sits rigid, palms pressed into his knees, chest tight. His face is a mask of silent panic.
PANEL 10: Frank leans into the passenger window, shotgun across his shoulder.
FRANK: “You comin’, Rom?”
PANEL 11: Close on Rom’s face—he stares forward, lips tight, doesn’t answer.
PANEL 12: Frank straightens, grin sharper.
FRANK: “No? Thought so.”
He turns and strides toward the lobby doors.
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