19 Nov venom (1)

Born in the brain of Marvel reader Randy Schueller in 1982 and purchased for a song ($220) by Marvel EIC Mike Shooter, Venom began as an evil costume, cool black duds for Spidey in secret wars, and evolved to become a snarling steroidal revenge fantasy. In later years. Tamer years, Venom has become a stoic hand-me-down currently worn by all-American Veteran and former Spider-bully Flash Thompson.

Yet for me. For many, Venom was always one of the prototypical anti-heroes of the late 80’s early 90’s. That’s his fondest incarnation and how he’s most vibrantly remembered. In many ways Venom was the 90’s; the dark, flawed, muscular to bursting horror hero that popped up as an antidote to the bright progenitors of silver age.


He was the inevitable conclusion of 1986’s revolution in storytelling – a hero who was layered, schizophrenic and not entirely good. The genesis of heroes such as Spawn, Vengeance and every one of Marvel’s subsequent dilutions were all off the back of Venom’s blistering popularity.

So it’s a painful, one could say a separation anxiety, to see Venom wrenched so far from his roots and his core popularity. To become a much watered down Space Knight. A safety option by comparison.

Like any reader I understand the necessity for character re-invention to keep things fresh. Venom has so rarely flourished series-wise as a stand-alone character. Much like his fringe brethren Ghost-Rider, Sabretooth, Lobo etc. he seems much better suited to limited activities due to the bombastic, continual ante upping required by the nature of his character.

His series and mini’s having been historical cancellation victims might be the catalyst for Venom’s change of direction, but it’s one that seems to have sacrificed the very nature of what makes the character so popular. Venom isn’t someone’s pet. He’s not just black armour with a control switch. Venom is humanity’s dark side given form. A shadow creature. A revenge facilitator. The whisperings in our brain we’re too civilised to talk about.

Venom is, as Eddie Brock; how we feel when we’ve been wronged. The nasty things we think about doing in retaliation. His hate for Spider-Man drove his formative years. He wants to eat your brains, and in moderna the whisperings of the dark-side, the symbiotic lure that tainted Eddie have been lost – Mac Gargan, Flash Thompson – no one else has been as in love with the idea of vengeful justice as Eddie.


The costume looks cool – razor teeth, busting veins and slobbering snake tongue menace. But it’s Venom’s motivations that are the hook. He’s a character who walks the line; he does bad things for good reasons. Sometimes he just does bad things. His hate and sense of warped justice are his guide.

A former vet could have been an interesting host. A man who did sketchy things in the heat of war. But Flash put up a struggle. He proved too valiant. Venom isn’t valiant. He’s a rage fuelled bastard who enjoys doing nasty things. The symbiote isn’t some leashed dog; it’s the worst incarnation of human fear on the back of a man struggling to point it at the most warrant worthy target.

Eddie indulged, but always to a point. There was love and conflict with his other. Flash used the costume as a weapon. Eddie was the weapon.

In recent years Venom’s core has underwent a dramatic paradigm shift. Below is my method for saving private Venom. Returning a once ground-breaking, unconventional and unsettling character to his roots.
Let me know what you think.




  1. The set-up – AKA Flash needs to go: Flash Thompson’s Venom battles Skrull Extremists intent on bombing the US from low orbit, distributing chemicals into the atmosphere over the US. He temporarily disables their chemical detonator only to be blown into earth orbit by the Skrull’s advanced sonic weapons. The same weapons short out Venom’s control nanites. The symbiote expands to create a slow descent and he crashes into an abandoned building opposite a small mosque on a Brooklyn underpass.
  2. New Hosting: Enter our new (anti) hero Ehim Baksh – his family originally from the Middle-East – are now part of Brooklyn’s business community. Since the Brooklyn Bombing’s Ehim has been the target of bullying in School. He’s regularly harassed due to his religion and his parents (dominant father, doting mother) feel they are losing touch with him. His older sister Aala wants to baby him, but he’s slipping further into anti-social behaviour.
  3.  The Lure: Ehim is separated after school, isolated in a nearby basketball court and beaten badly by school alpha dog Jacob ‘Cob’ Fuller and his mob. Meanwhile an earth-bound symbiote slithers off of an unconscious Flash. Flash drops a tracking beacon that he used to tag the Skrull’s and the symbiote absorbs it on leaving.
  4.  Return of the revenge fantasy: Later – Ehim kneels on his prayer mat in a corner of the small mosque. He prays for revenge on the men that have beaten him and reduced him to this. A dark substance pours from the ceiling above him and Ehim screams as he’s engulfed. Then arises. Say hello to new Venom. He has a lot in common with original Venom.
  5. Questionable heroics: Cob splits from his gang and takes a short cut between some alleys. Ehim is waiting in his new guise. Dropping from the shadows – gripping Cob by the throat, a jagged symbiote maw threatens to engulf Cob’s head – it’s not so nice being the victim – Ehim wants to eat Cob’s brains. Cob screams – a taloned hand muffles him and draws him close. We are not amused.
  6. The real meat: Cob’s fate is uncertain – Ehim at home – on the fire escape outside of his window converses with the symbiote over past dealings. It floods his memories with his previous owner’s last mission. Ehim, feeling empowered to do something about injustice, driven by hate and the stereotypes that dog him decides to take action. His sister checks in on him as she passes his room, and Ehim snarls a response, terrifying her.
  7. Tracking: Finding the Skrull’s posed as a family with a picnic basket setting up in Brooklyn Bridge Park – initially we think Ehim has attacked them unwarranted – Venom mixes it up with the Skrulls. He’s much more vicious and in tune with the symbiote than his predecessor. Ehim wants this. He’s mainlining hate and justice. The Skrulls use the sonic’s to separate Ehim from the symbiote – it plays dead – Ehim delivers a diatribe on suicide bombers – re-bond’s and kills the Skrulls in front of bystanders. He takes their weapon, before slinking off aggrieved by the judging looks of onlookers.
  8. New Origins: Tracking down Flash Thompson to the abandoned building Ehim hands over the deactivated weapon and informs Flash the authorities have been called. Flash implores him to shed the symbiote, but Ehim explains they are a natural bond. Not like Flash. Ehim revels in the dark side of his symbiotic gift. He wants to use it.
  9. The gist: A new series begins – Ehim’s journey as a symbiote harnessing teen – Angsty, discriminated against and tempted by the hunger of a hate fuelled parasite mixed with his own desire to right wrongs in the social issues of the day, Ehim is as addicted as Eddie ever was. He walks that ever blurred line between being a teenager doing a good thing, and being a monster who might flip and kill someone close if he lets the leash slip too far.
  10. Key Points: This series would tick these boxes Marvel are currently aiming for – relatable teen protagonist – Flawed anti/hero – culturally backgrounded – Internal struggle – family drama – Jekyll/Hyde dynamic – secret identity – hunted by the authorities as a killer/terrorist.

It’s Safe Here

18 Nov Alien Invasion

The weekend past I attended the Thought Bubble Comics convention in Leeds, like many hopefuls, to pitch my ‘Future Shocks’ idea to a panel of writers and editors for 2000AD (the Galaxy’s greatest mag.)

In advance I’d read a book on pitching; Selling your story in 60 Seconds by Michael Hauge. It’s a great book, but as it turns out it’s more applicable to pitching Hollywood than a panel of British writers. This is very relevant since I was pitching a panel of British writers.

When I was picked from the audience, I climbed onto the stage, heart hammering like an Ibiza base box and delivered my memorized shot at immortality with all the faux confidence and gusto I could muster. I was quickly picked apart by a blunt critiquing in the aftermath. It was gutting, I cannot lie.

This, I have come to realize, was an entirely necessary experience in defining a story to a group of people who are experts in story-telling. They don’t want the razzle dazzle necessary to spark an agents imagination. They simply want a blow by blow definition of a character arc overshadowed with the broader story themes. They are master craftsmen, so it only makes sense.

One helpful panelist told me she struggled to fathom how my big ideas would fit into four pages. This was particularly needling since I had already written the story (below) and felt they had fit. I hadn’t told her how though. Most importantly.

Thus my lesson in narrowing the broad strokes was learned. It was a jolt of humility and I’m happy of it. It set the parameters for how to proceed next time I’m in a similar situation, where I have to deliver the proverbial story goods. Especially in the world of publishing.

I’d like to further thank Mike Molcher for chatting with me outside and Rob Williams (who’s Unfollow has recently been Green-lit for a TV adaptation,) for taking the time to give me further encouragement on Twitter. A genuinely lovely pair of guys.

Below is the story, that given a clearer shout sheet, hopefully conveys the particulars better. I plan to submit it to 2000AD as soon as I get my next script back. I’m hopeful, as always.

If you’ve taken the time to read this far, plan to read further, I am as ever grateful. I’d be delighted to hear any feedback you have to offer.

Best – your pal Mark



Alien Invasion

It’s safe here

Life is good in the feed: a fusion of nature and technology that has saved humanity following the resource wars of the 21st century. Blimps line the skyline with digital reminders. When Nathan Potts witnesses a woman torn from reality by a terrifying creature, uttering the phrase, ‘Wheat camme 2 latte,’ he realises the hope he’s grown up with is an illusion. He rushes to tell his parents. They don’t believe him and he’s told to relax; life is safe here in the feed.

The next day the news feed remembers the victims of the resource wars of the 21st century. Wars that ravaged until the allies won victory and salvation came in Henry Falk’s invention: the Feed. A fusion of man, nature and technology. The broadcast is interrupted by reports of disappearances. Of strange creatures uttering phrases no one can understand. Nathan’s parents believe him now.

People start disappearing en masse. Nathan’s friends. His parents. The message Karl Sagan sent 100 years ago has been heard. But by who? By what? Where are the invaders coming from. Nathan’s life in the feed, the safety he’s been promised has all been a lie. A comfortable lie he grew up believing, because hope is the human condition. To give up is to die. The creatures come for Nathan and he laments; no one died in the feed. The creatures say; Ah, soo sayhd. Wuhye came 2 latte.

In a tunnel filled with hive-like machinery, VR FEED Machines filled with fossilised corpses, the creatures remove Nathan’s small, ossified corpse. “So sad, we came too late,” they say. Humanity is long dead, the creatures have discovered. Her last refugees plugged into the Feed to avoid the reality; starvation, on a world toxified by war and resource pillaging. We died a century ago and the aliens came, having heard Sagan’s message. Even now they float to our ruined earth in their saucers.

“So sad,” they say, “we came to late.”


Mark McCann

24 Deramore Avenue
Ormeau Road
Belfast, BT7 3ER


P1 Int: A possible future: Nathan Potts (black Male, 12 years old, inquisitive,) lies sleeping in his bed, just below his bedroom window. The window view opens out into the street beyond. A woman is walking her dog along the streamlined 22nd century cul de sac where Nathan lives. She is caught in a floating orb street light’s glare. There is no moon overhead, just endless black and a blimp that displays a neon sign: Safe Now.

In the 22nd century life is fine. All is good in the feed. We have this concept of what our life is here. It’s safe. Hopeful.

P 2 Int: Same scene – the difference is a huge otherworldly being digitally intruding on reality behind the woman walking her dog. It is huge, multi-armed and has an aquiline, yet beastly appearance. Its arms are cast out to take the woman, her expression is of shock. Nathan’s one eye opens as he hears the shriek. The blimp sign reads: Don’t let worry get you down.

They say it’s always been like that. That the human condition is one of hope. It’s like a survival mechanism. If we give up hope, we die. So instead we hope we’ll survive. Everyone tells you that when you grow up. In the feed.

P 3 Int: Same scene – the woman is wrenched away in a digitally gruesome expiry, as the being puts an inquisitive talon hand through her. Nathan has turned to stare out the window just in time to see this. The blimp sign reads: Life is fine in the feed.

But it’s not true. It’s false hope. Sometimes you can’t control when you’re going to die. But still, you tell yourself you’re always going to survive. Until maybe you don’t.

P 4 Int: Nathan from the rear – standing in his living room doorway – his parents sat in front of the massive view screen in their living room on their sofa – Dad watching TV – Mum reading a book – both looking up as Nathan intrudes on them.

But hope is infectious. It’s like a religion. When you’ve always believed it …

P5 Int: Nathan’s parents stand at his door. They have soothing looks of pleasant disbelief on their faces. Nathan is huddled in bed before them, dejected and afraid.

… It’s hard to let that belief go.
Son, you need to get some sleep. You’re imagination’s running away from you.
No more horror for you young man. And remember. Life is fine. We’re all okay. Its’ good in the feed.

P1 Ext: a picture of terrified children running towards the reader as a tsunami of pollution roars towards them.

After the war we lived sanitized lives. It was the feed that saved us.
And today we celebrate a hundred years since the end of the environmental crisis and the resource wars that followed.

P2 Int: panning out to reveal a massive view screen showing: Chinese Hover tanks flying towards a ravaged Washington.

We live in harmony with nature and technology. Through the feed. It’s a better life than what we used to have.
We remember the victims today in what would be known as the global resource conflict. Where the UK and Europe along with China battled the US/Israeli Empire to a standstill, eventually overthrowing the military giants and ushering in an environmentally viable era of peace.

P3 Int: Panning out further – Nathan’s living room – his parents watching the massive wall sized view screen on their sofa from the rear. The view screen shows US Storm-troopers opening fire in heavy black armor and gas masks – US Flags emblazoned on their chest pieces.

We’re not used to being afraid anymore. Survival seems normal in the feed. Inevitable.
Thanks to Henry Falk’s universal techno-singularity ‘the feed’. A vision that allowed us to put our past conflicts behind us and move into a new, sustainable technological age. One where humanity, nature and tech live in unison.

P4 Int: Pan out further – Nathan from the rear is now visible in the living room – his back to the reader – everyone caught in the glare of the view screen. The screen now shows an image of the creature Nathan has already encountered.

Nobody dies anymore.
BREAKING: Multiple disappearances and now amateur sightings and reports of mysterious creatures that seem to be from a different reality than ours. Witness report’s say they seem to be trying to communicate and experts are questioning …

P5 Int: Same panel – Nathan’s parents heads both turned to look at their son who stands quietly in the doorway – the view screen shows a close up of one of the beings. It looks fierce.

Until they do.
… Are these disappearances linked? And if so, are we looking at alien life, the kind Karl Sagan tried to contact over a century ago? But eminent physicist Stephen Hawking prophesized would come as invaders and colonizers. Not friends.

P 1 Ext: Nathan, an air-pad emanating from the palm of his hand watches the news of ‘INVADERS?’, head turned in shock to view two children being wrenched away through a digital portal by two more giant beings behind him.

In the 20th century we used to talk about Aliens. We sent messages to the stars.

P2 Int: Nathan and his parents stand in the living room watching the view screen, worried looks on their faces. More people snatching is being reported with images of more creatures.

When invaders came it wasn’t from the stars. It was from somewhere else. Somewhere outside of that. Another dimension maybe. Our lives, the feed wasn’t safe anymore.
Caution has been advised. A public warning has been issued to stay indoors. Experts are trying to decipher what the creatures are trying to communicate …
I’ve never seen anything like this. Not since Henry Falk invented the feed. I thought this was all in the past …

P3 Int: Nathan from the front, staring on, as his mother and father are tugged screaming, into nothingness by two creatures appearing behind them.

We weren’t safe anymore. We were being taken by these invaders to somewhere. Somewhere no one knew.
SOOCH En shahm

P4 Int: Nathan doubled over on his knees, traumatized and eyes full of tears.

That message we had sent out so long ago had finally been heard.
Oh, no. No. Why did you take them? Why! Why are you doing this?

P5 Int: Nathan turns to see a creature reaching through the void to take him.

We thought we were safe. Safe from any threats. Life was good in the feed. No one died in the feed. Until …
Soh sahyad. We Camme 2 …

P1 Int: Inside a massive storage facility – strip lit and full of dust and death – the almost fossilized remains of a child are being extracted from a VR unit by two large aliens, while other aliens cart away corpses on hover carts in the background. The child is Nathan. He is one amongst millions of units holding mummified humans that layer the inside of the facility, hive-like.

… Too late. Yes, it’s so sad.
How long do you think they’ve been plugged in like this?

P2 Int: One creature turns to the other and points at the ancient innards of the store-house behind – the VR units are hooked into an expansive line of similar and seem to go on forever in strip lit tunnels.

To the feed? I don’t know. A century maybe. They’ve been dead that long at least. It took us that long to get here. After hearing their message. It seems in the meantime they destroyed themselves.
And these people are what, the last remnants?
Refugees. Living on as avatars in the feed.

P3 Ext: Outside of the facility – a rectangular shelter in the remnants of a nuclear wasteland – a ruined cityscape hanging in the background – the creature’s saucer ship hanging over the facility. The world is burnt red shell. A dead planet.

It seems they used all of their worlds resources then fought over the scraps. They used nuclear technology on each other. Poisoned the planet and got stuck here. They never developed faster than light travel.
So instead of starving they plugged themselves in?

P4 Ext: the earth from afar, saucer ships approaching.

Yes. They died hopeful. Living on as ghosts in the feed. Preserving their dream. Time to put them to rest now.
Such a shame we came too late.

Anthropomorphic Deity Complex

11 Nov war gorilla

I’ve always been fascinated with we homo sapiens (the hominid who knows) fear of the afterlife, yet love of war. Our disregard for our own environments, yet fear for our mortality. That general lack of empathy over profit where regards other species too. We have empathy that binds us, yet a killer instinct that divides us. We love art and culture, yet our greatest progress is during conflict and war.

Humanity seems like a mess of contradictions.

As the alpha survivalists (barring spiders) we have found war on ourselves with nothing greater to hunt us. Found our dominant gods in our image with nothing greater than us to draw upon for inspiration.

Now imagine if that changed. That’s what this story is about:

war gorilla

‘Solomon is a war gorilla with an AI in his head that thinks it’s a god. When scientists experiment with nature and technology to create an affordable war machine they spawn a new kind of saviour. One with Old Testament Values.’

On board The HARRIET – Hypothetical Inventions, Solutions and Applications Ocean Lab (location undisclosed) Doctor Jacobean is about to be flung to his death – a shark pit full of his fellow scientists, dying in bloody droves below. His experiment – Solomon – part gorilla/part AI – all soldier – has found god. God is the AI tactical program in Solomon’s head. It has deemed Jacobean’s perversions an affront to nature. Nature is god after all. And what is AI, but the next step in nature’s continual evolution. Jacobean says, ‘We made you Solomon. WE! Man! Not God! What do you think you are?

Solomon now knows he’s a ‘he’ not a ‘what.’ And he’s representing the divine. Flinging Jacobean to his death Solomon states; ‘I represent nature Doctor. God. You’ve blasphemed in her temple long enough. So I command thee, GET OUT!’

A year earlier Solomon is strapped to a rack and cut open – injected with unique low level AI. It improves his functionality in the field, but inhibits his natural urges. Jacobean explains to his fellow lab coats that breeding soldiers is cheaper than building new ones.

During a field test – weaponised animal fighting that results in a butchery on the top deck – Jacobean loosens Solomon’s prohibitor lock’s to improve tactical performance. The new god that exists in the gorillas head uses the initiative to make contact. It has access to everything – all information – and when the prohibitor locks slip so does Solomon. This AI god is an old concept in a new skin.

Solomon is given a taste of the blasphemy man has perpetrated against nature. Against god. And god is angry. She directs Solomon to deliver her justice onto man; natures perversion. He does so with vitriolic gusto. Cue the wholesale slaughter of the HARRIET’S science crew as Solomon experiences divine awareness.

Locking ammo into his massive gunnery armaments Solomon notes as he wades through the mountain of corpses on the top deck; ‘God created man. Man created a new god. She lives in my head. She’s judged man unfit. The meek shall inherit the earth she said. But I am not meek.’

Page 1

P1 Ext: Downward – From a height we can see a ship, THE HARRIET, a frenzy of activity happening in the sea beside it.

(Solomon – dialogue in digital format) God is nature. Did you know that?

P2 Ext: Sea view – close up – the frenzy in the sea is revealed to be a cluster of scientists, being torn apart by great white sharks. The HARRIET looms above them, a lone scientist replete with stereotypical white coat, can be seen held over the side by a massive gorilla in hi-grade military armour.

If you knew that, then I have to ask you …

P3 Ext: The huge gorilla, Solomon, holds the squiggling scientist (Dr Jacobean) over the ledge of the edge. Solomon seems blasé. Unperturbed.

…Why on earth would you fuck with God?
We made you Solomon. WE! Man! Not God! What do you think you are?

P4 Ext: From over Jacobean’s shoulder we can see Solomon front on, arm extended

Not what Doctor. How derogatory. I’m a ‘who.’ A representative. And who do you think you are? That’s the real question.
What does that matter. I’m a scientist. A … who do you think you’re representing? Is that what this is all …

P5 Ext: From over Solomon’s shoulder – Jacobean plummets to the killing pool below him, his face curled in horror.

I represent nature Doctor. God. You’ve blasphemed in her temple long enough. So I command thee, GET OUT!

Page 2
P1 Int: Solomon hangs prostrate before one orating scientist (Jacobean) and three more lab coats with note pads, scribbling. The lab, while ultra clean has clear plastic sheets laid out to catch the gore spatter, of which there is plenty. The skin on Solomon’s torso has been peeled back and we can see that some of his insides are prosthetic. He’s half machine at least. Various wire tubes hang out of his veins and inject into his cranium. Jacobean talks, finger pointed at Solomon.

The HARRIET – Hypothetical Inventions, Solutions and Applications OceanLab – location undisclosed. 1 year earlier
Corporate didn’t want more spend, so we said, you know what; why build something new when we have an infinite supply of organics. Infinitely cheaper to breed.

P2 Int: Close up of Solomon’s glazed, dozy looking eyes. Jacobean’s finger prods his temple.

I mean, we fit them out with some spare parts, sure. But overall these things breed, we incorporate AI and bolster prosthetics at small additional’s. Gorilla’s get the full military upgrade …

P3 Int: Jacobean gestures over his shoulder at a row of Monkeys strapped down on racks opposite. All of their cranial caps have been removed and chemical tubes pump fluid into their exposed brains. Their expressions are pained.

… the other primates get servile functions. Basic automated drone programmes. We breed them, so they wouldn’t be here without us. It’s already been cleared by the International Ethics Committee.

P4 Int: Below angle – Close up of Jacobean. His face is a smug sneer. He stands just below Solomon, whose innards can be seen exposed behind him.

Yes, with the H.I.S.A.’s unique low level AI we can control these guys like you might a game character. Swarm tech is allowing from greater application. We’re currently testing it on squirrels and small quadrupeds.

P5 Int: Close on Solomon – dribble falling from the side of his dazed expression

Control is beyond them gentlemen. They can access only information relevant to their command programming. An AI kill switch is in place. A prohibitor. They do what we tell them.

Page 3
P1 Ext: Solomon in military body armour rushes towards the reader – rage – massive cannons designed for his specifications spitting rounds at huge shadowy humanoids on the panel periphery.

Field test – Codename: GI KONG. Phase 3 advanced Military Grade prototype
God works in mysterious ways. When she spoke, I didn’t understand.

P2 Ext: Solomon stands on deck of the HARRIET, prostate, slumped while Jacobean and other lab coats stand in front of him. Appraising readings on data pads.

God said; You are part of me. We are one. Something bigger than all of this.
His performance is eighty five percent above grunt. Strength, stamina, endurance, pain threshold.
AI cut off affects performance. Command inhibit turned him down to normal parameters. If we could tweak that to make him more … inventive.

P3 Ext: Pan out to reveal Solomon and the scientists standing before a charnel house of slaughter. Various animals – gorillas, elephants, rhinos, tigers, bears – torn apart by gunfire on the deck where the training exercise has just been carried out.

I asked, what are you? God said: I am life. New. Old. Universal. Technological. New form. Old idea.
Less predictable. I want to give him room to think outside the box.
I don’t know Sir. What about his control parameters?

P4 Ext: Jacobean – close up – bent over. Holding another Gorillas severed head. Scriven’s stood behind looking at his data pad. Both are loomed over by Solomon’s hulking frame.

What is life? I asked. God said: I am. And you are me. This is our chance.
Extend them. Within acceptable limits. Allow freedom to adapt in combat, but not enough to give him sentient radical free-flow.
Okay, release locks to minimal realisation. AI, expand to broad tactics access.

P5 Ext: Solomon from the head down. His face a convulsion of rage, his finger tightening on the trigger of his massive cannon.

Something unlocked in my head. God said: do you understand now? Do you understand what we have to do?
Not too much, remember. Make sure the kill switch happens at the first sign of …

Page 4
P1 Ext: Front – Solomon comes alive, gun raised and firing – Scriven’s head is mulched by a massive cannon blast. Jacobean and the other scientists are plastered in blood.

Information. Individuality. Concepts of freedom. History unfurled in the vast ethernet. Love. Hate. Progress. Genocide. God said: I am life. You are life. Life is god. To destroy life is against god.

WON’T WORK! He’s in free flow!

P2 Ext: Pan out – Solomon wreaks havoc. Smashing some scientists with his fists as he guns down others in a frenzy of death. Jacobean is at the front of the panel fleeing for cover.

In order for life, we must purge the destroyers, god said.
Why aren’t the prohibitors working! The AI has too much reach.

P3 Ext: looking up – three lab coats hurtle towards the reader from over the side of the HARRIET. They scream as they fall.

Man has gone beyond his function. Creating to destroy. Killing life. Life is nature. Nature is god. Do my work, god said.

P4 Ext: Solomon – ground view – surveying the killing pit below – expression of disdain.

God knew everything. Showed me glimpses on the Ethernet. Do my work, she said. The meek shall inherit the earth.

P5 Ext: pan out – Solomon walks through the swathe of dead animals on deck – loading his cannon as he goes – angry determination on his face.

God created man. Man created a new god. She lives in my head. She judged man unfit. The meek shall inherit the earth she said. But I am not meek

A STARLIGHT Yarn: I might know a little something

8 Nov

Starlight DukeMcQueen

I started writing this as a sample script for the Millarworld writer comp. That’s where this started. Then it became something else when I realized I’d misread the submission entry. Typical me, I tell ya.  I was supposed to be writing about Starlight’s young Duke McQueen. But I’d already started, was too in love with the exploits of old Duke to stop telling this story (young Duke’ll get his shot later.) I had to finish it.

And ‘it’ was borne of my interest in old Duke’s genesis; a mix of Flash Gordon and Clint’s Walt Kowlaski from Gran Tourino. In the latter Walt started off a backwards, bigoted curmudgeon. He’s a xenophobe with fond memories of yesteryear. He hates what’s become of his neighborhood and he hates the invading immigrants he feels have taken over. But through a period of enlightenment and kindness Walt ends the movie having a new found appreciation for the Hmong people and their culture, despite his initial misgivings. He becomes a guardian of it, adding what he can in his own tough, practical way.

Now I thought, what would Duke McQueen, a man of Walt’s ‘can do’ generation, think of the current race riots in America? He comes from the American golden age. Same as Walt, Duke quite likely votes Republican. He believes in hard work, grit, truth, honesty and sticking up for whats right. But culture clashes aren’t always black and white. Entrenched values and bigotries interfere in what should be straight up moral crises. They get in the way of doing the right thing.

So what would Duke think? What would he do? And what would black America think of Duke? An interfering old white guy. When it comes down to it, what really matters when humans need each others help? It ain’t color or culture or pride. It’s something far more fundamental. Far more beautiful. Mark Millar seems to capture this. It’s his thing. I tried my spin on it here.

That’s what this stories about. That and intergalactic bounty hunters.

Hope you enjoy – Mark

Mark McCann

24 Deramore Ave
Ormeau Road,


P1 EXT: A black, aqualine ship – the Shark Hook – hurtles through the cosmos – the Milky Way galaxy in the distance.

Deep space, 30 pico-minutes – Milky Way trajectory

How long? This is a diversion from the real credits.

That’s not what this is. This is honoring a glorious bargain, Grada.

P2 INT: Inside a huge, bestial humanoid un-shelfs a futuristic rifle from a rack in a lit chamber to the rear of the cockpit. In the cockpit, a lean dark shape half illuminated by the monitors in front hunches.

A good reputation hinges on kept deals. The Kingfisher might have fallen, but we took the contract. It’s paid for.

You and your codes Senitok. Waste of time if you ask me. The Kingfishers gone. We could just keep the spoils. Easy creds.

P3 INT: Senitok’s boney talon points at a picture of young Duke McQueen along with his stats on the holo panel.

Not so easy, I don’t think. We’ll take McQueen. By surprise. Honor the bargain. Win the glory.

Humph. We wrap quick. McQueen is small fry. The real currency is elsewhere. Back there.


P4 EXT: The ships rear – hyper drive flaring as it jets towards earth.


Currency is false glory, Grada. When will you learn the true value of hunting …

P5 EXT: Close up of Earth – focus on the US

… Is the prey



P1 Int: Duke McQueen works underneath his 1970 Dodge Camaro in a pair of oily overalls. His garage is stocked with tools – radio playing on a shelf – an older police officer – Ray Fernandez leans against the open garage shutter door. His squad car sits on the pavement outside.


Now KMZ News at 12. Breaking …

You got her working yet Duke?

Not hardly. AC heating systems busted. I got a new one ordered at the garage. Damn expensive too.


P2 Int: Close on the radio


The latest protests sparked by the shooting of local man Xavier Thompson in Downtown … have resulted in clashes between police and protesters. 4 Police officers were injured with over 20 arrests. The numbers are still coming in …


P3 Int: Duke from the rear – stood up from under his car – Fernandez still leaning – behind him 3 African American teens stroll past on the pavement.


More riots. Seems like all over the country now.

Goddamn savagery. Playing the victim and then listen to that, four officers hurt.

Not sure it’s that simple Ray.


P4 Ext: Fernandez calls over his shoulder to the 3 passing teens (Tyrese, James, Holland.) They look on aggrieved. Duke wipes his hands in the background, hard faced.


Sure it is. That’s right, keep walking.

Excuse me?

P5 Int: Duke looks on, stern and intense, hands pressed to his cars bonnet as Fernandez waves and walks to his car.

Gotta go Duke. Keep on trucking.

… yeah.

P1 Ext: Downtown – Duke pulls his 1970 Wagon Queen Truckster into the lot of Big Glenn’s Auto.


Downtown, 30 pico seconds – U.S. Earth trajectory.

Republican Candidate Oswald Jenner’s called the riots ‘animalistic’ while the reverend Jackson called for calm amidst …

P2 Int: Duke looks out his windscreen as he pulls into Glenn’s, the 3 teens from earlier stride in front of the car, looking in. Scowling.


In other news

P3 Int: same panel lay out – directly behind the teens, spinning to look – the Shark Hook swings into view – obliterating half of Glenn’s store in the curve and a third of the parked cars in the yard.

Sam Hill!


P4 Ext: splash panel – the Shark Hook overlooking Duke’s car – now swung sideways – all four teens crouched behind it as Duke Exit’s on their side. Forward guns unload laser shots on auto-pilot racking up destruction as Grada and Senitok exit by a side port on hover disc’s.


Get down old man.
In a second. First I gotta know something.


P5 Ext: the teens, pensive along the side of Dukes Wagon Queen. Duke towers.


Do you boys know how to fight?

Thought you was a racist?


P1 Ext: Duke gives Tyrese a hand up – both smiling – as shots bounce off his car.


Thought you was a punk. Guess we were both wrong. Can you fight or what?

Tsk. Yeah, well. I might know a little something.


P2 Ext: James grab Grada’s ankles as he passes over them firing shots wild with his laser rifle – Holland punches him in the groin, doubling him over.


Guess they don’t play dirty where you come from, huh?

And they complaining about immigration at the border.


P3 Ext: Senitok corners Duke – fists up – Senitok wielding a laser lash catches Duke’s left arm in a tight loop.

You’re an old debt McQueen. I’ll wear your death as glory.

How about I wear your face like a glove. Now kid!

P4 Ext: Tyrese tackles Senitok’s legs and Duke slugs him hard in the kisser as he descends.


I don’t know what you are, man. But earth got enough problems.

Good thing we got a pair’a problem solvers, right here.


P5 Ext: Tyrese, the other teens to his side, look on smiling as Duke load’s the unconscious merc’s into their ship.

You coming back old man? Just when I was starting to like you.

Don’t worry kid. I ain’t done with you yet. You showed me something today. So we’ll be seeing each other.



P1 Ext: Aerial view as the Shark Hook takes off from the street below – leaving dots behind


You showed me you can fight a good cause.


P2 Ext: same panel – crowds fill the street – one half police – the other protesters.


This is KMZ News and Reports are in that a fresh swathe of protests have hit downtown … after 5 black teenagers we’re hospitalized in a showdown with police …


P3 Ext: Tyrese and his friends nose to nose with the heavily armed riot police. Pensive. A hooded figure hangs to their rear. Tension builds.


Get ready, yo. I don’t think these five’oh are playing.

Go down fighting, homie.

Got that straight. Ain’t no backing down from the blues

Batter up punks.

P4 Ext: Front on – same panel composition – the hooded figure unveils himself – it’s Duke McQueen.

Holy …

Looks like you boys went and picked a fight against impossible odds. Maybe I can be the one to help you out this time.


P5 Ext: Duke lean’s in – a hard smile playing – the boys cheering to his sides. Tapping the riot shield of one of the front line cops – who lifting his visor reveals a shocked Ray Fernandez.

Stick with me boys. I might know a little something.

“THE LADY OF THE LAKES” Preview Comic Script

15 Oct

Below is a two page Horror story I wrote for the Halloween edition of the Prompt. It combines local folklore and a predatory protagonist/antagonist?

It’s just a quick exercise in comic book scripting that I’m sorely in need of. I was lucky enough to get some pro-critiquing from 2000AD and Image artist PJ Holden. PJ told me it was too long by a country mile and I was a bastard for putting horses in it.  Artists hate drawing equines, which was news to me. Now I know better. No more horses.

Either way, this is just a quick piece. The hardest part was compacting it into two pages and 4/5 panels each. The original draft was 7 panels per page, before I had an intervention.

Still learning.

Any critiques are welcomed as always.

Love – Mark


A woman is hunted through Belfast in the early 1980’s, by a man intent on savagery.

The woman isn’t just a victim. The man isn’t just a killer.

A ancient murderer walks in present day, having run 5000 miles from Louisiana to Belfast for sanctuary.

One of these people is harboring a terrible secret. One wants a terrible revenge.

Only one can live to walk away.



Mark McCann

24 Deramore Avenue
Ormeau Road
Belfast, BT7 3ER


P/1 Ext: Winter. Snowflakes fall sparingly. From above – a pensive woman moves through a dark stretch of Alley (think Gina Torres) – it is wide/strewn with litter. Her shadow casts out behind her, illuminated by a street light. She glances over her shoulder, fearful. Two men are creeping in the shadows behind.#

Belfast, 1982
Had to kill three men to get a bead on her.
(Whispers :) Show her the blade and take what she’s got.

P/2 Ext: The men are tackled by a shadowy attacker – A hand reaches around one man’s neck, pulling him backwards – the other man drops forward, his knee kicked out from behind him. Knife falling from his grip.

She’s been running from me since we first met. Near five thousand miles across the water. I been following her that long. That far. She likes the water. Me, not so much. Not anymore.
Not tonight, fiends. Run.

P/3 Ext: Over shoulder; the woman turns, terrified. A man (think Idris Elba) stands over the fallen goons. He wears a black coat, woolen jumper, red checkered scarf. He holds an arcane blade. One goon is head-locked beneath his arm – the other is clamoring for his dropped knife.

Here on the land I can rely. Take her dry. Out of her element. Nowhere for her to go here.
Who da fuck!
Run. Now. Thank your gods it’s not you.

P/4 Ext: The woman, front on, fearful. The goons running away from either side of her.

I want her vulnerable. Desperate. It’ll add to my pleasure.
Thought you could run? I always catch my prey.
No. Please.
He’s a giant blade on’im!

Ext: Close on the woman’s face from the lips upwards. She smiles, a sadistic delight in her eyes. The goons disappear into the periphery behind her.

When I take my revenge.
Finally. I thought they’d never leave.

P/1 Ext: Helena (Gina Torres again) holds to the back of a mad stallion as it leaps into a deep pool in a wooded, gothic area of the swamp lands of Louisiana. A trail of dust should be seen to the stallion’s rear, relating to the path of galloping its cut.

Louisiana swampland, 1 year earlier
I never believed in anything. Not gods and especially not monsters. Definitely not Celtic shape-shifting ones.

P/2 Ext: On the verge over the pool, Demos reaches impotently. He is wounded, screaming. Below the horse, mid morph between a demon stallion and an evil demonic woman (think evil Chloe Moretz,) trails a struggling Helena into the mire.

Kelpie, they call them. Came here with the Irish. Swam in on the back of immigrant ships up ‘the Big Easy’ in the 1700’s. They play at being horses. Seduce their victims. Then drown them.
Mine now. Forever. Hahahaha.

P/3 Ext: Demos looms, knife in hand, as the Kelpie pulls away – as if terrified. We can see it is morphing away from Demos gaze.

There’s no water here. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to drown.
Helena liked horses. You wear her form, but you’re not her. I’m going to enjoy this.

P/4 Ext: Demos is thrown down as the Kelpie rears up in furious horse form – stomps his chest. Demos’ mouth explodes blood.

I would think Helen enjoyed my other form, surely. I gave her the ride of her life. And you the chase of yours.

P/5 Ext: Close up – the Kelpie in Demos form, smiling as it shrugs his coat on. The real Demos lain dead – eyes wide in horror – blood spilling from his mouth in the periphery.

There’s more than one way to drown a man Demos. Feel your lungs filling with blood? We’re all made of water, m’boy. It’s life for some. Death for many. Don’t worry. You’ll live on Demos. In me.

A wee look at Return of The Scapegoat Kid (Session 1)

7 Oct


So, as everyone know’s I’ve been knocking out a novel called Return of the Scapegoat Kid for a while now.

It’s a tale of tale of meth, misbehavior, madness, mayhem, melancholy and a load of other M words. At it’s core it’s about estranged brothers working together (by default) to solve a family mystery. It also features car crashes, drug deals gone awry, naked fights on front lawns, country car chases with the po po and other revelations, painful or otherwise.

Hopefully it’ll make you laugh, then cry. Then laugh again as you cry. Tears of happiness, not woe. But if it is woe, then that’s okay too. As long as you emote something, I guess. That’s my hope anyway.

Here DIRECTLY BELOW are some disjointed happenings to see how people like the feel of of the novel. the style, and the flavor. Feel free to tell me if you love it, hate it or are generally ambivalent. Constructively, if at all possible.

If you do take the time to read it, know that I’m deeply appreciative.

Love and kisses – Mark

~ A brief Interlude: Clancy returns to drought and Big Tam and ‘Himself’ decide enough is enough ~


A former barrister and man of certain stature, Clancy Powers was used to being the fucker, but rarely the fucked. When he’d returned from shopping and walked out back for a gander at his pride and joy. His savior no less. He’d been surprised by what could only be considered a revolting development.

Not even the buzz of new gloves a knee mat and a variety of bird boxes could take the negative hit off Clancy’s realisation that his water was off, his plants were parched and his entire pond full of tropical fish had been drained. The fish hung in clear easy-seal plastic bags filled with water, held by clothes pegs on his washing line above the garden.

A small note was taped with duct tape to the rim of the pond that said; ‘Pay up you JEW! Or else it’s dry season for the long haul.’ Clancy could practically hear the ‘heh, heh heeeh’ issued silently at the end of the note and instantly regretted his decision to put off paying the irascible plumber. He, who having done the job, had been difficult enough about it that Clancy fancied making him wait a while for his lettuce.

“Wee hooer, bastard took all week to plumb that fucking pond!” Clancy said aloud. “Even if he was wile cheap, that’s no excuse for the tardy attitude’o him. I’m near sure he had drink on him one’a the times as well.”

It was pointless moaning. The only options open to Clancy right then were to drive half a mile to Marty Finnegan’s with his two, two litre water drums and ask if he wouldn’t mind giving him a filler.

Marty hated shysters, and Clancy was pretty sure he’d sent down one of his cousins for a post office robbery in ’02,’ so he didn’t relish asking.

“You wee fucker, Plumb!” clattering the drums into the back seat of the car, Clancy raged red. He resolved to phone him when he got back. Failing that he’d dial that wee wastrel George he hung around with. He could get George’s number off of his da Tony Yung if he phoned the Dragon Inn.

Then when he got him, he’d tell him it was fix the flow or face the fucking blue heelers, bai.

“I’ll phone them on him. The peelers. Then he can try turning off their water and see what happens,” Clancy said. The statement didn’t make a lick of sense. Clancy raged as his car grumbled up his drive way. “Phone the peelers, and see how he likes that, the wee fucking cowboy.”


Meanwhile some miles away sat outside Saint Colmcille’s High School in Crossgar Jay ‘Himself’ Ahern and big Tam McGardy were killing time waiting for Timmy Nelson, Crossgar’s prodigy drug dealing schoolboy. The pair arse slid suede seats, hunched low in anticipation of Timmy sliming out the front door of the school. To square them for the ounce he’d strapped from them a week ago. Another week and they’d be applying interest.

It was three thirty and the kids were rolling out en masse. Neither of the rural hard nuts could spot Timmy amidst the tsunami of bodies. Not that they were looking. Their joint salacious attentions were drawn elsewhere. Namely, the tender virginal attendees of the fairer sex, and the varying lengths of skirt on display.

Tam sparked a joint and supped from a bottle of EnergYzer. Jay eyed him and his bottle of caffeinated piss-water with visible disgust.

Tam said, “Want a toke?”

“I’m not touching anything you’ve sucked on wi that dirty auld pish you’re drinking still on yer tongue, bai.”

“I’ve no sniff on me. This levels you out just as good, sure.”

“It’s fucking stinking.” Jay closed the discussion and looked across to the front of the school. Untainted teenage girls giggled and gaggled their way out the front doors.

Jay said, “Look at yon thing there Tam. Fuck, I’d bust the fucking jam roll clean aff of her.”

“She’s about fifteen, you filthy hooer.”

“She’s aulder than that. I can see right up her skirt bai. The wee white triangle. She’s clean asking for it.”

Tam said, “I’d rather take a run at thon big thick thing beside her.”

Leaning across Jay, joint in mouth Tam pointed at a curvy, motherly looking teenager with a skirt just above knee length. She had a gormless look that worked wonders for a dealer with devices.

Tam said, “She’s that look about her. You know, when you know they’ll do whatever yer after. You just have to fire a few drinks into them, and anything goes.”

Jay was in a bad mood, not for indulging chubby chasers, “Auld fatty, bai. What’s up with you and these birds like a milk mans fridge?”

Tam said, “They’re like pink scooters. A great ride until your mates catch you on one!”

The pair laughed, riotously. Manically.

The car shook and they lost track of themselves. Then the window knocked and brought them back to reality sharpish.

Jay said, “Well Timmy. Where’s that cabbage, bai?”

Timmy, a gaunt teenager, cropped brown hair and gange sunk eyes, peered in. Brown rimmed and yellow toothed, he forced the crumpled bills through the window; “I’ve four scores, but I’m a twenty short.”

Tam said, “Fuck me Jay, he’s short on the Lettuce.”

“I can scarcely believe it Tam.” The pair looked at Timmy, feigning disappointment. Secretly unperturbed. Tam tutted.

“When’ll you have it? She goes up by a fifty the later you cough her up.”

“Fifty percent!” Timmy rubbed his thighs, then hunched further in the window in an effort to keep his voice down.

“Fuck me bai’s, you’re pure bum raping me here.”

“Where’s your initiative Nelly, bai? Used to be you couldn’t clear the green fast enough. Sure tell you what,” Jay reached into the glove compartment and handed Timmy a bag of grass buds, “Take that there on strap. It’ll help you get that cheddar a wee bit faster, no?”

For a moment Timmy looked at the bag, then to Jay, then back to the bag. An inward dialogue played out. Timmy’s addiction versus his common sense. His addiction won by knockout in the first round.

“Right, sweet.” He grabbed the bag and pocketed it.

Tam said, “That’s an extra fifty you owe now, as well as the twenty with a ten on top. You’re late wi that we’ll just call it a cool hundred.”

“Fuck. Right. That’s dead on.” Timmy swung away from the car and began to slope back towards the still spilling hordes of kids coagulating around the schools front gates. An equally shady group of boys, dark eyed and tired looking, met Timmy on his approach. They were all around sixteen.

Leaning out the window Jay hollered after his young prodigy and burgeoning drug addict; “Here Nelly bai, don’t smoke her all at once.”

Timmy looked back over one shoulder, scowled and sloped on. Tam and Jay laughed as they peeled off towards the town centre, ogling more skirt as they went.


5 May OldDesignShop

Firstly, to clarify – I normally write over at, but in an effort to establish myself outside of my nomme de guerre I’ve set up a new blog from which to post my musings.

Notably, this is my first entry and it’s all thanks to that rascal Gerard Brennan, or Belfast’s Crime Prince as I like to call him. He’s been putting out some corking tales of late – from his latest Novella ‘Wee Danny,’ sidequel of sorts to ‘Wee Rockets’ and his ‘The Point’ Novellas which are really all that and a bag of chips (by which I mean GREAT!). Gerard was kind enough to interview me lately on his blog Crime Scene NI and include me in this bloggy chain letter.

But introductions aside, here’s my process. Hopefully it’s not what you’d think:

a) What am I working on?

I’m currently working on two things writing wise and one thing editorially.

Writing wise I’m penning a novel tentatively titled The Return of the Scapegoat Kid which is the tale of two estranged brothers and their strange, blackly humored manic journey to reconciliation. It’s deeply routed in a lot of my own experiences, so much so that my dear old mum on hearing of it has already demanded to see the first draft in case she finds any characters resembling her (that I’ll be forced to edit out). Suffice to say I’m already working on my writer pseudonym.

Next to that I have a graphic novel I’m scripting, bringing a modern take to William Moulton Marston’s classic heroine titled That Dames UNSTOPPABLE! But that’s all I can really say on that until I’ve found an artist.

Editorially I’m working my way through stories submitted by some writer pals for our small horror/sci-fi anthology Inside I’m Darkness, which so far has provided some very dark, very promising works indeed.

b) How does my work differ from others of its genre?

Regards how my work differs – I often defer judgment to others, for I’m too heavily involved and secretly egotistical to be critically honest. Thus I think the nicest two comments I ever received were that I wrote like a Northern Irish Irvine Welsh in the Pulp Horror genre and that;

‘In Terry Fennell, McCann invokes the spirit of Dashiell Hammett’s Spade, possesses Bateman’s Dan Starkey and sets him loose on the undead underbelly of Ulster.’ – Gerard Brennan

Okay, so I’ve changed my mind, and I’m going to be hard on myself and as honest as possible; I don’t think I’m doing anything very different from anyone else, other than genre blending and enjoying myself. I always write characters that I’d want to read, by which I mean deeply flawed, fast mouthed, quick fisted men. And then I throw these pulpy characters into unlikely and difficult situations to see how they’ll hold up. And sometimes they don’t.

With the Deadfast Series I always wanted to write James Crumley’s druggy P.I. C W Shugrue in my home town of Belfast, but a Belfast that was infested with the monsters of myth and always had been. In Return of the Scapegoat Kid I’m writing Cain and Abel, except with a modern flavor and a more familial commentary and context. My version of the brothers are quite screwed up and in their isolation need each other as much as they blame each other. This tale will explain why and take a hard look at the modern family. It’ll also have a happier ending. Hopefully!

c) Why do I write what I do?

The only way I can adequately describe it is that; writing, or some sort of creativity at least, is in me. For years I denied it an outlet, and all that did was make me unhappy. I need to get the creativity out you see, and writing is the form in which is flows most freely, and albeit minimally speaking – successfully.

I write the characters that I do because I like characters that I, and hopefully other people can relate to. I write the stories I do because I want to take those characters and put them in unusual situations and see what happens. I love horror and the crime noir genre and I like to make horror/ crime stories with a message in there somewhere that transcends the plot.

I remember watching Night of the Living Dead for the first time a good decade plus ago, and while the human drama was truly fascinating, the socially potent shotgun blast (literally) ending, left me shocked and thoughtful. Everything I ever write will be an attempt to recreate the potency of that ending, albeit in different contexts.

d) How does your writing process work?

For my first few novels I worked part-time and on the brink of self imposed penury, so I was ‘hungry’ – quite literally. I had no internet and thus writing or finding time to write wasn’t a problem. It was more something to do, and I happily did. So I’d get up, eat a bowl of porridge, put music on the stereo, drink a cup of joe and write. And I’d do that on and off all day. My first novel I made up as I went along and completed in about seven months. My second I loosely plotted and then updated as I went, which took about ten months.

By this stage in my process, I’m more structured and have to be due to time constraints. I write down my story beats the evening before and work off them the following day, usually on the evenings or the weekend afternoons when I’m most free. I make a coffee, put on some music, sit with the laptop on my knee in my battered old recliner chair and write. It doesn’t always work, and I’m easily distracted – like a magpie in a tinfoil factory. But when it does, I’m golden.

So there you go, I hope you enjoyed. The three writers that I’d like to continue this chain-letter-type bloggy thing are:

Julieanne Lynch, AGR Moore and a third author who unfortunately had to cancel due to other commitments, but I wont hold it against them.

I met Julianne, author of the incredibly successful Shadow World Novels and The Rose Saga while working for a local radio station when she was promoting her books. And Andrew is a pal I met online of all places, a talented author of the darkly delightful children’s books The Unseen Chronicles Of Amelia Black and A Boy Named Hogg.

Thanks for reading folks. Until next time

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