If you had to choose
a slow searing ride on Satan's carousel
or watching helplessly by
as your best friend got it on with your lover,
what choice would you make?
I’m Todd McFarlane, creator of "Spawn."
A crude scenario I’ve just painted?
Possibly. But Hell isn’t subtle, folks.
And it’s a situation like this
that's Hell's little way of showing Spawn
that Hell isn’t just a place but a state of mind.
And fire, while painful,
isn’t the only way Malebolgia can burn him.
Yes, Spawn is learning,
but all the while, the black tentacles of Evil
are starting to spread. And as you'll see,
Hell is alive and well on Earth.
There s a war on
between Heaven and Hell.
You're gonna tell Tony to keep his goons out of these alleys.
Find out who whacked my men, or you're gonna need a priest.
Twist doesn't like getting spanked this hard.
Christ, if we ain't careful, there's gonna be a friggin' war down here
unless we can figure out what the hell's going on.
Rumor has it they are tracking someone high up.
I am a United States senator.
Sorry for the inconvenience, senator.
Jesus, Wynn, what the hell's this all about?
It’s about us, senator, our relationship.
I want to put you in the White House, senator.
- And if I refuse? - Who's going to protect
your little bastard son Billy from New York's finest?
I hear the cons on Rikers despise child killers.
What seems to be the problem?
I want the piece of shit responsible.
Bring me his bones in one bag, and his organs in another.
And now, "Spawn." So turn off your lights.
Please, I didn't see nothing.
Shut up.
I’m looking for someone who very recently
killed a handful of greasy wise guys.
Are you aware of such a person?
Don't kill me, please. I’m not worth it.
I’m nothing. I’m less than nothing.
- I keep to myself. - Are you aware of such a person?
Yeah yeah yeah, I’ve seen him.
Scary guy. He's been hanging around down in Rat City.
Nobody goes back there.
It’s a pit.
You're sure this is the person who killed my employer's men?
Yeah, ripped them apart. He seemed to enjoy it a little, you know?
I do know.
- Can I-- can I go? - In a moment.
First I need to...
- borrow something. - No no no!
They all pick a place to call home.
In most instances,
those places have a hidden power.
For this warrior,
the alleys are no different.
He's drawn back again and again
and doesn't know why.
"Hero. Midnight. Be waiting."
What the hell does that mean?
Look at the shit you brought us, man.
I hope you're happy.
It was horrible. We couldn't stop him,
just watch as he tore him apart.
Just one?
Yeah, he was a big son of a bitch.
Had, like, weapons and other crap coming out his arms,
and this eye...
...Glowing red like blood.
He was looking for the person who whacked some big shot's hit man.
Even when he told him everything, he still killed him.
What are we gonna do?
It’s exactly 12:00 midnight
in Nairobi.
Tell me you're not the guy who took out Tony's men.
Tell me it’s somebody with some balls
and not some no-talent asshole in a faggy outfit.
When threatened,
Spawn resorts to what he knows--
his ingrained instinct to survive.
Though the uniform will often protect him,
a Spawn is not invincible.
Each battle drains his strength,
propelling him toward the inevitable--
his final descent into Hell.
Ew, what a mess.
Al, Al!
Hey, don't waste your breath.
Al!
Al.
Trying to hide from emotional torment,
new warriors always seek
their old ways first.
This latest Spawn
is no exception--
a killer in need of his tools.
Welcome home, Al.
Nice to see you again.
This is the Central Intelligence Agency
security shift commander.
You have entered a restricted ordnance storage facility.
Come out hands high or we will open fire.
Team, this is Papa. Go hot as soon as you have target acquisition.
Fire!
The first teleportation is the worst,
coming as unexpectedly
as having the host's uniform save them
in the first place.
If he's dead, just leave him. Probably better off.
Cops gonna find drugs, dead bodies everywhere.
Hey, Al, you okay?
Just need a second.
Come back to do some more damage? We ain't got enough dead and wounded?
Hey, come on, Bobby. Can't you see he's laid up?
He ain't the only one. See the North alley lately?
It’s like friggin' Beirut.
Look at him now.
Man's got more guns than the National Guard.
What are you, some kind of psycho?
I’m just protecting myself.
Oh, yeah? Who's gonna protect us from you?
- What the hell you looking at? - You.
You're starting to sound like the outside.
Well, I can get your thermals back up
and your full U.V. specs, but you're going to experience
a significant red shift in your fast scan.
This is patchwork at best.
Can I use the eye? Yes or no?
Yes, but no extended night vision or close-up reading.
Knock knock.
I want someone monitoring the phones all day.
If Overkill doesn't call, I want him found and brought to me.
What is this shit? I hire people-- they get killed,
they disappear.
Find out where my horoscope is for this month.
- Overkill. - Son of a bitch.
That he was.
But then again, so are you.
What the fuck?
Who are you? What do you want?
Anything, anything at all.
I want you to stay out of the alleys, Tony.
Your business there is done, understand?
Whatever wild hair you had up your ass
about that place is officially plucked.
You-- you slaughtered my men.
I'll let you in on a little secret:
they were doing bad things.
But relax, I’m through killing your men.
Next time, if I see one of your brain-dead thugs
so much as spit in the direction of those alleys,
I’m gonna come back and pay you a little visit, Tony.
And believe me, it won't be as pleasant
as the visit I paid your hired Cyborg.
So here's how it goes:
as of now you work for me,
and your job is very simple--
give me my space. Understand?
All I want is a little peace and quiet.
- Got it, fat boy? - Yes.
- Say it. - I work for you,
and you want peace and quiet.
- And who am I? - I don't know.
That's right. You don't know.
Let that little mystery keep you up at night.
Fuck!
Faced with a stark reality
that every battle can't be won,
the Hellspawns then crave an emotional refuge
to soothe their physical pain.
- Good morning. - Good morning.
Morning, Donna. Messages, coffee, please.
You're an angel.
Now give me the bad news.
Two depositions out of Rikers
on your pro-bono rotation.
One is Kyle Watson.
Sorry, I couldn't put it off.
It’s okay. Even an accused child killer needs a good defense, right?
Well, not too good. This guy's supposed to be a real monster.
They found the last three little girls without any fingers--
oh, Wanda.
Forget it. This whole thing just bothers me.
- Anyway, When's my next one? - 3:30.
See if you can move that one to county.
Okay.
Hey, don't you just love pro-bono work?
Funny. Get out.
All right, mr. Watson, my name is Wanda Blake,
and I'll be taking over your defense.
We're gonna need some general information during these proceedings,
and I'll be recording this as we go along.
You're gonna have to slow it down for him, ma am.
You see, Kyle here is a bit slow.
His daddy used to beat him something awful.
And the doctors say that it did something
to his... "snaps" and whatnot.
But he does understand why he is here.
I didn't do nothing. I’ve been a good boy.
I’ve been very good.
Kyle, you're accused of murdering eight children.
You have a history of deviant and abusive behavior.
Well, that's all over and done with, ma'am.
Kyle's been on his medicine now for 2 1/2 years.
I’ve been a good boy. I don't hurt nobody no more.
I can't and I won't. I got pills now every day.
According to his medical records, the pills are castrators.
They keep him impotent.
I can't diddle myself no more or nothing.
I’m a good boy.
Kyle, you were given a toxicology test
when you were arrested, correct?
- The police tested you for drugs? - Uh-huh.
I’m no doctor, but based on what I’ve heard,
this castrator drug has a cumulative effect
and takes up to two months to work its way out of the user's system.
What are you saying?
Well, looking at the crime lab reports on the children,
they were all sexually assaulted.
Then again, the police found conclusive evidence
in Kyle's room, on his clothes, in his car.
Blood and tissue matches. Semen matches.
DNA prelims are positive.
With this solid a case against Kyle, the best I can do is try
to keep him off death row.
Don't let 'em kill my baby, please, ma'am.
I already done lost my husband and my little girl.
My poor Kyle here is all I got left.
Kyle, look at me.
Did you hurt any of those children?
I don't hurt nobody.
I’m a good boy.
The media spokesperson
for the New York City Police Department had no comment
concerning the inexplicable upswing in violence
in a specific low-income area of Lower Manhattan.
Asked to possibly reopen the Kyle Watson child-killer case,
in light of what was termed "a blatant oversight by the police,"
defense attorney Wanda Blake
is responsible for this latest revelation...
if I see that news footage one more time...
But you look so good.
Someone buried that toxicology report on purpose,
planted evidence.
I just hope I’m doing the right thing.
Don't worry.
If you screw up, we can always move.
Stop it, you.
When are you coming to bed?
As soon as I solve this puzzle.
What is it?
Monthly housekeeping check of CIA ordnance catalogs.
Code numbers don't match.
Just doesn't make sense.
- Wanna know what makes sense? - What?
I'll have to show you.
I love you, Wanda.
Yeah.
Having a good time, I trust.
Yeah, whatever.
You really should learn how to relax, Chapel.
Blood helps me relax.
Got any for me?
A weapons shipment going to North Korea.
You accompany it with our compliments.
And?
Wait nine hours, then obliterate the shipment
and give them a bloody nose.
Who takes the fall?
Peruvian terrorists.
After that, I'll have something for you closer to home.
- When's the hop? - Tomorrow morning.
Usual pickup and delivery. What?
I don't like a lot of downtime. You know that.
So get a hobby.
You're coming with me.
Hey, asshole, you got a fucking problem?
No,Al!
Hey, Chapel, we're partners, right?
I’m sorry!
Sorry, Al.
I’m sorry.
And in local news, it looks like police
are gonna cut child killer Kyle Watson loose after all.
Thanks to his attorney Wanda Blake,
independent investigators have found that evidence in the case
may actually have been planted. Wow!
Somebody check and see if those cops ever worked for the LAPD.
Okay.
And now back to our all big-band sound.
"Golden lads and girls all must
as chimney sweepers come to dust."
Oh, yeah. Who says I ain't cultured?
Bill Shakespeare, meet Billy Kincaid--
both great artists whose works will live on forever.