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¦ Petty Crimes Part 2
From the pages
of Megazine
239 we bring you the original script to one of the best recieved
stories...
THE
SIMPING DETECTIVE in PETTY CRIMES (Part 2)
By Si Spurrier and Frazer Irving
PAGE ONE
Text Block
1:
Welcome
back. Let me bring you up to speed.
This is Angeltown.
The name thing, it’s supposed to be ironic
– like a calling a fattie “littlejohn” or a
firearm “unnecessary”. Funny, see?
Takes a rare
talent to see the funny side, this neighbourhood.
Then again, surviving Angeltown and talent go hand
in hand…
Panel 1:
Small. Close on POINT’s face – eyes wide, pushed back up against the
edge of the boat behind, awaiting to die. CLIQ’s shadow falls across him.
CAPTION: Case in
point. Me, I got a talent for getting into sticky
situations – and I don’t mean Han Joab’s
Massage joint.
Panel 2:
Small. Close on MRS STICKLE’s face – equally as terrified, standing
just beside POINT… though of course she still looks slightly eeevil.
CAPTION: Mrs Stickle
here, she’s got a talent for being poisonous
like Black Mamba Madras, ‘specially to undercover
jays with vicarious vices.
CAPTION: She’s
SJS, which is sort of like if Judas came back
with an official remit.
Panel 3:
Wide view of the scene, focusing on CLIQ. The insane RAPTAUR leers over POINT
and STICKLE, tentacles thrashing. He’s just about to mash them; claws raising
for the strike, drool drooling, all of that.
CAPTION: And this
here is Cliq. Up ‘til recently he had
a talent for keeping me alive, looking after my interests
and unstickifying them sticky situations.
CAPTION: Right
now he’s up there with chooglue and pass-me-down
porno.
DTP TITLE
AND CREDITS: SIMPING DETECTIVE in PETTY CRIMES, Part 2
CAPTION: Grud only
knows what’s got into him, but take it from me: he’s
a pussycat. Honestly.
Panel 4:
LARGE. ANNE THROPÉ comes bounding into the panel out of the shadows –
maybe leaping off a rooftop NINJA stylee, something like that. She has a gun in
each hand – both aimed at CLIQ. The first is a SONIC CANNON – which
spreads weird wibbly distortions directly at the RAPTAUR. The second is a small
flare-gun gizmo, which she’s firing once. Down below CLIQ is backing away,
avoiding the wibbly sonic-effect – interrupted in his murderous plans. A
small impact on his armour shows where the flare-gun thing has struck him. It’s
a TRACKER, adhering to his skin.
CAPTION: Speaking
of which…
THROPÉ:
HA!
FX: CHOOM! WOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO
[CONTINUED]
Panel 5:
Small. Close on POINT, standing in dumb bewilderment at all this. ANNE THROPÉ
is sprinting past him, not even looking at him as she goes. POINT – being
Point – is getting an eyeful of her boobs or her arse as she goes by. In
the background beyond her, CLIQ is racing off into the city.
THROPÉ:
GOT A TRACKER ON HIM!
LINK: LEAVE IT
TO ME!
Text Block
2:
Miss Anne Thropé.
Normal circumstances, I’d be wondering how the hell she
got here so quick. I’d be figuring she must’ve been
following me, and there’s something freaky
going down.
As it happens,
all I can think is—
Panel 6:
Small. Exactly the same as Panel 5, but THROPÉ is disappearing off in the
direction of CLIQ’s retreat. POINT stares after her with a misty expression.
POINT (quiet):
…SHE’S SO TALENTED…
PAGE TWO
Panel 1:
POINT makes to go after THROPÉ, but even as he goes STICKLE’s
hand snatches at his collar and yanks him back, waggling a finger at him.
POINT: I…
I SHOULD GO AFTER HER. SHE MIGHT KILL HI—
STICKLE: I DON’T
THINK SO, MR POINT. YOU’RE NOT OUT OF THE WOODS YET.
Panel 2:
POINT faces STICKLE, confused and annoyed. She’s crossing her arms,
eyes closed unconcernedly, face set.
POINT: BUT OUR
DEAL—
STICKLE: REQUIRED
YOU TO SAVE OUR LIVES. INSTEAD YOUR ILLEGAL
PET ALMOST SLAUGHTERED US.
LINK: THE ASSESSMENT
GOES ON.
Panel 3:
Close on POINT, retrieving a gun from one of the many ultra-pulped smugglers.
He’s having a minor tantrum, staring round at MRS STICKLE. She stands behind
him, poking him in the back with her stick, glaring nastily.
POINT: BUT I KNOW
WHO YOU ARE! WHAT’S THE DROKKING POINT?
STICKLE: THE POINT,
MR POINT – aha – IS THAT I’M NOT TAKING MY EYES
OFF YOU UNTIL I’M SATISFIED YOUR JUDICIAL PROCLIVITIES
ARE INTACT—
LINK: --AND YOUR
COVER IS FEASIBLE.
Panel 4:
Close on STICKLE, hobbling away from POINT. He stands glowering behind her (flipping
the bird).
STICKLE: YOU NEED
TO CONVINCE ME YOU’RE A SUCCESSFUL PRIVATE EYE. THOSE PIGEONFISH
WON’T FIND THEMSELVES.
LINK: SEVEN O’CLOCK,
OUTSIDE YOUR OFFICE. DON’T BE LATE.
Panel 5:
Close on POINT, standing alone amidst the carnage. STICKLE is just a tiny figure,
vanishing into the distance. There’s the quiet sound of engines from off-panel,
getting closer.
POINT: BUT WHY
CAN’T I FOLLOW CLIQ UNTIL THEN?
STICKLE: I SUSPECT
YOU’LL HAVE PLENTY TO KEEP YOU OCCUPIED,
JUDGE. REPORTS, PAPERWORK… THAT SORT OF THING.
LINK: AND JUST
REMEMBER: YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM.
FX: RRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Panel 6: LARGE.
Wide. A phalanx of street judges comes roaring up along the dockpath, bike-lights
illuminating the scene of horrific carnage, with POINT standing alone at its centre.
Either we’re looking past POINT towards the approaching helmets, or past
them towards him (or some other crazy composition, if you’d rather). His
hat-mic has flipped down again, and he looks grumpily resigned to his situation.
POINT: BUT…
BUT…
CONTROL(jag): POINT?
CONTROL. THAT BACKUP ARRIVED YET?
POINT (linked):
OH.
FX: RRRRRRRRRR
PAGE THREE
Text Block
1:
Time I get back
to the sweat-factory, it’s getting on for dawn.
You figure the helmets woulda quit the questions
around the fiftieth “I don’t know”,
but those guys are perceptive like how hyenas
are hygienic.
Panel 1:
Small. POINT steps in through the frosted-glass door of his office, expression
dripping with exhaustion. He has his hipflask in his spare hand, preparing for
a guilty swig. He’s looking up, spotting something just o.p – not
quite sure how to react yet…
CAPTION: Funny
thing, on the subject of scavengers…
Panel 2:
LARGE. We stare past POINT – gagging in guilty horror – at the interior
of his office. He has a GUEST, and she’s been waiting for him. It’s
an SJS officer in the full getup: black leathers, death’s-head insignia,
single-shoulder pad. She’s as sexy as hell, obviously, but very stern. S&M-tastic.
CAPTION: Already
I got this crazy cackling in my ears.
KOVACS: JUDGE POINT?
LINK: SJS JUDGE
KOVACS.
Panel 3:
Small. Focusing-in closer on KOVACS’ face (has she got a helmet on? Your
call). She’s holding up a sheaf of documents, covered in official-looking
eagle-stylee rubber stamps. She does not look happy.
KOVACS: I’VE BEEN
WAITING ALL NIGHT, MR POINT. RANDOMLY SCHEDULED ASSESSMENT.
LINK: YOU’LL FIND
THE PAPERWORK ALL IN ORDER.
LINK: SIT.
Text Block 2:
This is drokked
up. They never send out two Getapo-Goons
at once. Someone’s lying to me.
The way I see it, this
fem, she looks the part. She’s got the papers
and the poise. And yeah, it’d be just
swell to play good-cop-bad-cop with the leatherclad
lovely, but what’s more important right now is:
Panel 4:
Small. Wide on the office. POINT exits the way he came in, leaving KOVACS shouting
angrily after him.
POINT: SORRY, SUGAR –
GOTTA CHECK ON SOMETHING.
KOVACS: HEY!
Text Block 3:
I need to speak to Anne
Thropé. Truth be told, I kinda like
the idea of lying as far as she’s concerned
– but only in the horizontal sense. She told me the withered
witch is SJS, and if that ain’t the case
then who the drokk is she?
Panel 5:
Small. Dawn in Angeltown. POINT clambers down a manhole cover down some grotty
Angeltown back-alley. He looks suitably disgusted by the journey ahead.
CAPTION: Thropé went
after Cliq.
Next stop: stinksville,
population 1.
[CONTINUED]
Panel 6: Small, in the sewers
– similar to the stuff at the beginning of the previous episode: POINT walks
along the dark tunnel, torch in hand, peering into the gloom.
CAPTION: Usually.
POINT: CLIQ? YOU HERE?
PAGE FOUR
Panel 1:
The big intersection of sewer tunnels that serves as CLIQ’s lair. The floor
is covered with bones and massive heaps of dead rats, the walls are splattered
with weird resinous Stuff… Evidence of Cliq’s presence is everywhere,
but the monster ain’t there. POINT glances around with his torch, annoyed.
Some of the RATS – and there are simply hundreds of them, all with their
heads missing – are still alive, running round and round at POINT’s
feet.
POINT: DAMN.
FX: SQUEEE SQUEEE SQUEEE
Panel 2:
Close on a group of rats, lit-up by POINT’s torch. Some are running in circles
– one is in the process of dying of a heart attack. They all look insane:
eyes bulging unnaturally, drool pouring from their little mouths. Weeee-ird.
CAPTION: Rats.
FX: SQUEEE SQU--urk
CAPTION: You spend any time
living in Angeltown, you get to understand them
– same way a mosquito understands malaria.
Text Block 1:
Example: Given the choice,
a rat don’t just come sauntering into
the lair of a colossal carnivore.
It don’t tend to run
round and round in circles, then get a heart attack
and die.
It don’t tend to smell
quite so strongly of… of…
Panel 3:
Small. Close on POINT, gingerly picking-up a dead rat by its tail, sniffing it
curiously.
POINT: JOVUS…
FX: SNFF SNFF
LINK: THAT WHAT
I THINK IT IS?
CAPTION: The credcard
drops…
Panel 4:
Change of scene – let’s bleed it off the page to the left. POINT stands
in the street (it’s DAYtime – as much as it ever is in Angeltown)
outside a really horrible-looking decrepit building: windows boarded up, winos
and dying junkies propped-up around the base. POINT is wafting the dead rat towards
the building, like a zookeeper tempting a lion with a juicy steak.
CAPTION: One last
check. Scargill slum. More junkies
than a littertek landfill.
POINT: COME AND
GEEEEEET IT…
Panel 5:
Small. A disgusting ADDICT – quite young, but totally ghastly looking –
drifts over from the slum towards POINT, sniffing the air, eyes wide and hungry.
Let’s get the rat dangled in the extreme f/g, so we can tell this is the
target of the addict’s interest…
FX: SNFF SSSSNNFFFF
ADDICT: P-P-P-PRIIIIIMO…
A-DREN, MAN…
LINK: GIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMME
[CONTINUED]
Text Block
2: (Quite a biggie, this one)
“A-Dren”.
That’s adrenocorticotrophic hormone or bad drokking
juju, depending on your vocab.
Cliq’s a
silicate alien lifeform who drinks cerebral
soup. Some twisted motherdrokker’s been loading rodents
to the gills with junkie-juice, then sending them straight to
him.
Hormonal
Home Delivery. Pre-fab puberty. Jovus.
No wonder
he’s grown.
Panel 6:
Close on POINT, looking very, very grim. He’s stalking away from the slum,
arming the gun he took from the docks with a noisy retort. Behind him the ADDICT
tucks-into the rat revoltingly, dribble and blood all over his face, as other
junkies come and try to have their share.
FX: SCRUNCHRONCHGNASH
CAPTION: This is
starting to look like a big spugging setup.
POINT: RIGHT.
PAGE FIVE
My advice would
be to compose this page as a 3X3 grid, with panels 6 and 8 being text-blocks,
but do your own thang, geeza.
Panel 1:
Small. Close on MRS STICKLE, waiting just outside SPURIOUS HEIGHTS, Jack’s
officeblock. She’s staring up out of shot, at someone approaching.
STICKLE: THERE
YOU ARE. I WAS BEGINNING TO THINK YOU WEREN’T C—
Panel 2: Small.
Same shot, except miraculously a GUN BARREL has appeared in frame, and has jammed
itself up the old hag’s nostril. POINT leans into frame, angry.
FX: GLUMP
POINT: SPILL.
LINK: NOW.
Panel 3:
Small. Exactly the same. MRS STICKLE gibbers, eyes wide, scared. POINT just glares.
STICKLE: BUT…
BUT…
Panel 4:
Small. Exactly the same. MRS STICKLE has her eyes closed, concentrating. The whole
panel seems to be wobbling; weird bubbles of light flocking around the crone’s
head, changing her. She seems to be transforming into somebody else. This is all
PSI-shenanigans: up until now POINT (along with us) has been having his mind manipulated
by a PSI; forced to see her different to how she really is. Now, finally, the
glamour is being dropped.
POINT: …THE
DROKK?
Panel 5: Small.
Exactly the same. POINT looks astonished to find himself standing with his gun
pushed into the nostril of a fairly sexy young-ish woman, dressed similarly to
ANNE THROPÉ. If you’re going with the spot-colour idea (ie: each
member of the elite hit-assassin squad has their own personal hue), let’s
signify her with the colour BLUE. Her name, for the record, is RITA DELPHIN.
RITA: HI.
CAPTION: She says
her name’s Rita Delphin. She’s a Psi.
Text Block
1:
Up til three
months back she was the kinda psi with a badge
and a bike. The legal kind. Now?
She says she’s
been tampering with my perceptions since we met, so I see her
different. In Angeltown you get by on your talents,
remember, so I tell her: hey, neat trick. Then
I stick the gun even further up the little bitchdrokk’s
nostril and tell her again to fess. She looks
at the ground a minute, then she says: “Let’s get a cab.”
Panel 6:
POINT and DELPHIN sit side-by-side in a taxi (the robo-cabbie facing us in the
extreme f/g). POINT has his gun aimed discreetly at his companion, keeping it
out of the robo’s sight.
RITA: BABY RAPTAURS.
POINT: BABY RAPTAURS?
[CONTINUED]
Text Block
2:
Baby Raptaurs.
That’s what’ll drive a dame to such long
gruddam lengths.
She says
her job was to get me out of the office and into
the hot water. She says all them animals at
the docks last night were pumped-up like A-Dren balloons,
so when Cliq played the smorgasbord snatch he
went futsie.
Total hormone
overload. Out of control. Reproducing like a randy
rabbit.
Panel 7:
Staying in the CAB. POINT looks glum: annoyed at himself for taking so long to
realise what’s going on…
CAPTION: And who
directed us to the docks? Who showed-up
just in time to follow the fiend?
POINT (quiet):
ANNE THROPÉ. STOMM.
PAGE SIX
Panel 1:
Small. The CAB has pulled to a halt. POINT and RITA are exiting it: the latter
with one hand to her forehead, weird trippy psi-bubbles wibbling around her, and
her spare hand pointing towards a nearby alleyway. POINT is heading towards it,
jaw clenched.
RITA: THEY’RE
DOWN THERE.
LINK: I CAN SENSE
THEM.
Panel 2:
LARGE. Superdooper full-splash action o-rama. In the b/g POINT comes dashing into
the alleyway, gun in hand. The alleyway itself is a scene of insane action: CLIQ
dominates the panel, but rather than the vast thrashing unstoppable killing-machine
we know and love, he’s almost dead. He’s barely able to stand, tentacles
mostly shattered, claws blunted and cracked. He’s still snarling; trying
to get away, but it don’t look good. The hormone-spiking has reached its
peak: his skin is pulsing RED, and dozens of tiny little wormy embryos are hanging
off his head and neck. He has two attackers: ANNE THROPÉ and another black-suited
assassin-type: this one a MAN, wearing a face-concealing mask. (His primary colour,
by the way, is GREEN). These two are all over the place: leaping from dumpsters
and fire escapes, each wielding a SONIC CANNON, blasting CLIQ apart piece-by-piece.
THROPÉ:
IT’S WOUNDED! FINISH IT!
FX: WOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOooo
POINT: CLIQ!
Panel 3:
Small – inset?: Close on CLIQ, reaching out towards us (POINT) with a supplicating
“help me!” claw, bathed in the oscillating waves of a sonic cannon.
It’s curtains for the creature.
FX: oooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO
POINT (off): NO!
Panel 4:
Same image (perhaps a little larger). CLIQ splinters into a million pieces and
explodes under the onslaught. The little EMBRYOS are scattered like shrapnel,
flying in all directions.
FX: SKRAKKABOOM!
SPLUT!
Panel 5:
Close on ANNE THROPÉ and the GREEN ASSASSIN. They’re leaping down
to grab the wriggling larvae, which writhe all around the alleyway floor, but
POINT is right behind them and he’s not happy. His gun barks twice: the
first shot blasting THROPÉ’s sonic cannon out of her hands, the second
biting a big chunk out of the other guy’s shoulder (forcing him to also
drop his cannon).
THROPE: GET THE
LARVAE! GET THE LAAAAAA---
FX: KOOM! KOOM!
AAAH!
Text Block
1:
Ain’t it
always the way? There you are,
minding your own business, getting ready to shoot the holy spugging
bejovus out of the piston-perfect peach you
been coveting all week--
Panel 6:
Close on POINT. Out of nowhere the two PIGEONFISH swoop down on him yet again,
pecking and attacking.
CAPTION: …when
a pair of rare feathered barracuda try to chew off your head.
FX: AAAAA!
PAGE SEVEN
Text Block
1:
Times like this,
the mind gets real focused. Starts wondering.
Like: who could convince two edgy airborne icthyoids to attack
a seething simpo? Same subject, who could make
a hormonal rat take a voluntary zoom to its
own drokking doom?
Panel 1:
Seen through a haze of snapping, biting PIGEONFISH, this is a close on RITA, little
psychic bubbles popping around her head. She’s controlling the creatures.
CAPTION: Psi.
Text Block 2:
I make a rule
of never hitting a broad. Call me old fashioned.
Panel 2:
Still batting away the PIGEONFISH with his hands, POINT pulls off a pretty impressive
karate-kick to the PSI’s head, knocking her out cold.
FX: KRAK
CAPTION: Welcome
to Angeltown.
Panel 3:
LARGE. Freed from the psychic interference, the PIGEONFISH swoop down on the wriggling,
wormy little embryos littering the ground. Beyond them THROPÉ – on
her hands and knees, trying to get to the embryos herself – watches in horror
as they’re all gobbled.
FX: SKREEEEE-----!
CAPTION: Pets,
huh? Domesticate the little drokkers much as you want,
they still do what comes naturally.
THROPÉ:
NO! NO, YOU LITTLE BASTA--
Panel 4:
Close on THROPÉ’s face, eyes wide, as a big gun barrel abruptly hoves
into view on the left of the panel, up against her head. It’s POINT.
Panel 5:
Same view, but THROPÉ has turned slightly to face JACK. He still holds
the gun right up to her face, and he does not look happy.
THROPÉ:
HI JACK
POINT: HI TOOTS.
Text Block
3: (It’s a biggie…)
We stare at each
other a long time. I ain’t entirely sure why.
I tell her I trusted
her, and it comes out like the noise a mouse’d make right
before you trod on it. She doesn’t bother to answer.
I tell her she’s
responsible for the deaths of thirteen ScandeNavy smugglers,
and by all rights I should take her in. She
reminds me I owe her one.
We stare
some more.
[CONTINUED]
Panel 6: Exactly the same as 4 and 5, but JACK lowers the gun.
He looks grim, angry with himself. THROPÉ has a very subtle little half-smile.
POINT: DROKK OFF
OUT OF HERE.
CAPTION: That killer
smile. It’s quite a talent.
CAPTION: Maybe
I am going native.
PAGE EIGHT
Panel 1:
Wide view. Night time in ANGELTOWN. A slick, expensive looking block somewhere,
all in black, with very few lights showing.
FROM WITHIN(jagged):
…STRUGGLING TO… EXPRESS MYSELF. MY EXTREME
DISPLEASURE…
LINK: YOU CAN’T
EVEN STEAL PETS FOR ME…
Panel 2:
LARGE. Interior of a white, minimalist room. A black metal desk stands in the
foreground, with a small electronic voicebox set-up beside a camera. The camera
is staring at THREE FIGURES, side-by-side, in the foreground: like they’re
on parade. They are ANNE THROPÉ, RITA DELPHIN and CORVID PETE: dressed
identically in black assassin-style garb, with all the trimmings in colours RED,
BLUE and GREEN. PETE is closest to us – he’s recognisably the same
guy we saw on POINT’s TV screen, and has a bandage/arm-sling where POINT
shot him. The trio stand like soldiers, getting a dressing-down from their C.O.
VOICEBOX(jagged):
YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE MY ELITE, YES? ROGUE JUDGES!
YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE INVINCIBLE!
LINK: I’VE
DREAMED OF THIS… OF WHAT WE’RE PLANNING…
ALL MY LIFE…
LINK: WILL YOU
FAIL ME WHEN I NEED YOU MOST, MY LITTLE PRIMARIES?
WILL YOU LET ME DOWN AS YOU HAVE TODAY?
Panel 3:
Close on ANNE THROPÉ, staring straight ahead, towards the voicebox.
VOICEBOX(jagged):
HHHHH
LINK: PERHAPS…
PERHAPS I’M BEING UNFAIR. THERE’S ONLY THREE
OF YOU…
VOICEBOX(unlinked):
I TRUST YOU HAVE A CANDIDATE FOR THE FOURTH?
SOMEONE NEUTRAL?
THROPÉ:
YES, MASTER. VERY MUCH SO.
Panel 4: Another
exterior view of ANGELTOWN: this time the outside of POINT’s office in SPURIOUS
HEIGHTS.
CAPTION: “…AND
HE’S PRACTICALLY ROGUE ALREADY.”
FROM WITHIN: …WHERE
TO BEGIN?
LINK: LET’S
SEE… PERHAPS WITH YOU AVOIDING AND OBSTRUCTING
AN SJS INVESTIGATION? OR FILLING YOUR PREMISES
WITH ILLICIT LITERATURE? EVIDENCE OF ILLEGAL VICE?
[CONTINUED]
Panel 5:
Larger. Interior of POINT’s office. SJS JUDGE KOVACS sits in POINT’s
seat behind his desk, giving him a damn good talking-to. She’s referring
to notes from the huge sheaf of paper in front of her, gesturing vaguely with
her spare hand towards a little goldfish bowl on the desk between them containing
a single wriggly RAPTAUR embryo, counting-off offences on her fingers. A couple
of guilty porno mags are on prominent display on the desk, and POINT’s hipflask
and cigar-collection are laid-out like Exhibits at a court case. POINT is too
busy staring at her boobs to even listen. Lots of dialogue here, so leave loooads
of space.
KOVACS: YOU’VE
WILFULLY NEGLECTED POLICY, OWN AN UNLICENSED
PET OF UNKNOWN GENUS, AND – IF REPORTS ARE TO
BE BELIEVED – USED JUDICIAL AUTHORITY
TO DEMAND SURGICAL PROCEDURES FROM A CIVILIAN VETINARIAN.
LINK: THE MIND BOGGLES
AT WHY YOU SHOULD WANT ANY ITEM REMOVED
FROM THE BELLY OF A PIGEONFISH, LET ALONE WHY YOU SHOULD THEN
DEMAND THE POOR CREATURE’S DESTRUCTION, BUT—
LINK: JUDGE POINT?
LINK: JUDGE POINT,
ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?
Panel 6:
Close on POINT, ogling the divine leather-clad hillocks of Joy.
POINT: WH…?
LINK(quiet): H-HAS
ANYONE EVER TOLD YOU HOW TALENTED YOU ARE?
THE END
Thanks to Simon Spurrier
for providing the script and to Alan Barnes for letting us publish it on the site.
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