Yo. I've tried tons of places, but none of them has seemed to do anything for me... hopefully this will be my lucky day... As with most aspiring webcomic-makers who need a collaborator, I am a writer, looking for a competent artist. And as with most people in this situation, I have nothing to offer, except the fun of getting to work with ME!... what, is that not good enough? Well, I guess I have a good story, too...
The plot is subtley sci-fi. For the most part, everything takes place on Earth. Aliens are subtley invading, and they've placed several spies, disguised as humans, on the planet to implement their ultimate goal of turning all humans into their own kind. They start off with a virus, disguised as the avian flu, which eventually manifests itself as an agent to transform the unwitting human who contracted it into one of the aliens.
The story follows several different individuals whose stories slowly become intertwined as the plot develops, and eventually, they all have to band together to destroy the aliens. Each person will see some of their closest friends die, or be transformed into an alien, and maybe even some of the main characters will die as well...
So anyway, that's the basic plot. There will be plenty of unexpected twists and turns, and action sequences, to make it really interesting.
Here's the first bit of writing that I've done for it; it's in novel-style, but I can easily adapt it for a webcomic.
A storm grew on the horizon, the dark clouds churning, and the rumbling in the distance growing louder. A wind picked up, blowing across the valley, in such a way that a casual observer might believe that he could see the air currents creating furrows over the plains.
In this valley, there were several trees. One tree, however, was different. There was nothing special about it, nothing to make it stand out among the others; nothing, that is, except the metal door that could be seen if one brushed the leaves away from the roots.
Beneath this door lived a hermit. On a regular day, he would be bustling around his quiet dwelling, cleaning the dust off his belongings, which consisted of a chair, a table, and an old wind-up radio. But not today; today was not a regular day for the hermit.
He sat motionless on his chair, staring straight ahead, almost cadaver-like in his rigidness. He had not eaten in several days. It was not that he had no food, plenty was available in the city on the other side of the valley.
No, this hermit was sick. With what, he did not know; he had never experienced anything like this before. His muscles did not respond to his commands. His brain would not work properly, and as such, he was disoriented. A sickly gray pallor had come to his skin, and his eyeballs were dry and unseeing.
For three days the hermit had sat in his little dwelling in silent agony. But today was to be the last day of his torture. Today, he would be set free.
The hermit flinched, his lower eyelids flicking up and slowly relaxing. His pupils began to expand, growing far beyond a normal size. They grew and grew until they almost covered his entire eyes. Then, suddenly, they winked out of existence, leaving only pure white.
A gasp escaped the hermit's throat. His limbs began to shake, his arms rising from his sides, twitching, bending, flexing. His legs did the same. The hermit fell off his chair onto the floor, his whole body now in spasms, flecks of froth appearing at the sides of his mouth and nostrils, his white eyes wide in fear.
The hermit began to scream.
28 days, 21 hours, 54 minutes
Darkness. Why do we fear it? Is it because of its dramatic effect upon our visual sense, leaving us vulnerable? Is it because an unseen enemy could use the darkness as a cover, to stalk us, to prey upon us? Or is it simply because darkness has always been intrinsically evil, inherently dangerous, as long as humankind can remember?
These questions may have entered Ben's mind at some point, but right now, his mind was frozen in terror.
Someone, or something, was coming for him. He felt it in his bones. He had his blankets over his head, letting none of his body show on the outside, lest the unknown intruder see him and kill him.
Crreeeeaaak. The floor moaned as something moved into his room, drawing ever closer to Ben's bed. His heartbeat quickened, as the realization of his impending doom gre heavier on his mind. He feared that he might suffocate under his covers, it was so hot. He needed to breathe. But the fear was welling up inside of him. He needed to breath. Raw terror coursed through his veins. He needed to breath. But he would die. He needed to breath!
He flipped the blankets off, and sucked in the cool air. Then he opened his eyes. Hovering in the air above him was a pair of glowing red orbs. Ben opened his mouth to scream, but a vise-like grip, cold as death, closed around his face.
The grip tightened, and lifted him off the bed, until he was suspended in mid-air. He tried once more to scream, but no sound would come. His eyes widened, his pupils dilating as he stared into the glowing orbs. The grip clenched, and once more Ben tried to scream, but it was too late. The grip passed through his skull like it was butter, and blood spattered the walls.
Ben bolted upright in his bed. Then the screams came.
28 days, 7 hours, 3 minutes
Justin flopped onto the couch, opening a can of Coke as he did so. He had just arrived back at his apartment after a long day of work at 7/11, and felt he deserved a break. Grabbing the remote, he flicked on the TV.
Buh. News. Boooring. He changed channels. News again? What, is everything news or something? Flicking through the channels, Justin saw that this was, indeed, the case. He sighed, and walked over to the fridge to make a sandwich, half-listening to the droning voice of the news anchor.
"...in this urgent report from the Department of Health, all American citizens are advised to be on their guard. A new variation of the avian flu virus has been identified in Nevada. Doctors are unsure of how the virus is transferred yet, but they are currently working around the clock to manufacture a vaccine, and to determine how to avoid contracting the disease. Symptoms include disorientation, lack of responsiveness to stimuli, and catatonia. If you witness anyone with this disease, please report it to the nearest hospital. We now return to your regularly scheduled program."
Justin was no longer interested in his sandwich.
28 days, 1 hour, 36 minutes
The man sat at a table with three others in a small room, lit only by a single light illuminating the table surface. He glanced at the five objects in his hand and smiled. He had the others right where he wanted them. They would never see it coming.
"Sir?" the female asked. "We are waiting."
He spread his cards out onto the table. "Royal flush."
Everyone sighed. "Unbelieveable," one man said. "That is the fourth straight game you've won."
The winner smirked. "Yeah, well, I'm a lucky guy."
"Whatever," said another. "I still think you're a cheater."
"You want to fight about it?" the man said, jumping up from his chair, his eyes flashing.
"Settle down," said the other. "We are all on the same side here. We don't need any fights."
The two men sat down slowly, still glaring at each other.
"Now then," said the second man. "Has the first stage of the Plan been implemented?"
"Yes," said the woman. "I successfully activated the Omegasis
"Excellent. No doubt it has already taken effect."
"It has... it is slower than I would prefer, but it is working nonetheless."
"Very well," the man replied. "When can we expect to implement the second stage?"
The woman smiled, flashing some teeth. "Right on schedule."
I can layout the pages however you want; script style, storyboard style, or you can interpret it however you like. It's up to you as the artist.
As for drawing style, anything is good; preferably realistic, but anything will do.
So, if you're interested, you can e-mail me at firstname.lastname@example.org
I look forward to working with you!