The-X-Species-Graphic-Novel-Sample

The X Species 

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PROLOGUE 

PREHISTORIC NORTH AMERICA 

MIDDLE PALEOLITHIC, 40,000 YEARS AGO 

Heavy snow blows across the prehistoric Nepalese 

landscape. An eerie silence between the violent 

flurries. 

Shadows from the hearth flame dance on the cave 

wall of the ancient dwelling as the shaky hand of an 

elderly Neanderthal, the family patriarch, carefully 

etches images into a stone wall. A vignette of his 

people, a historic footprint to serve as witness to 

their time here. Nearby, mothers and children of his 

clan scuttle busily about as they carry out assumed 

day-to-day chores. 

Just East of the village, and far removed from 

the warmth and tranquility of the prehistoric den, a 

group of Neanderthal men trudge slowly through the 

blinding snow storm. It is obvious from their 

organized efforts they are searching for someone. The 

blizzard bares down on them mercilessly, making the 

blanketed terrain increasingly difficult to navigate. 

Reluctantly they call off the search and reverse 

course head on into the storm. A lone Neanderthal, 

NALU, remains behind. He surveys the snow ridden 

landscape one last time. Regret, sorrow, and pain 

collide simultaneously to visibly carve themselves out 

among his rugged, weather beaten features. His heart 

cries, but he will not, for here, tears freeze and the 

will to live follows. He turns, heads off to catch up 

with the group. 

Several of the clan women are huddled over the 

hearth preparing food. Others are cleaning, and still 

others are readying animal hides for wear. A young 

clan boy rushes into the cave. He is GRUNTING 

excitedly, incomprehensibly, as he motions toward the 

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cave entrance. A sense of excitement fills the 

prehistoric den as male members of the clan slowly 

begin to file in. Covered in snow, they seem to bring 

the cold of the blizzard in with them. Their mood is 

solemn. Soon, excitement gives way to silence as 

anxious clan women search for their mates, brothers, 

sons, and fathers. There are many joyous embraces as 

long separated families reunite. 

A guttural CRY rises among the commotion. 

Nalu tries to console his grieving mate, KAL. He 

takes her head into his hands, his thick forefingers 

stroking her face, his eyes beg for hers to meet his. 

And for a brief, passing moment they do. But there is 

no hope there, she sees through his crumbling manly 

facade. Momentarily, she feels feint, her legs become 

weak, limp. She collapses into Nalu’s arms. As the 

blackness lifts, she again finds her eyes locked with 

Nalu’s. Only hopelessness mirrors back at her. His 

thick, powerful limbs envelop her, she sobs 

uncontrollably. 

Failing to maintain his own faltering composure, 

Nalu struggles to fight back tears and in a single 

swift motion he pulls himself from Kal, retrieves his 

weaponry and heads for the cave entrance. A young 

Neanderthal, Etiuk, watches Nalu’s departure from an 

adjacent corner, his pregnant mate, Maka, is at his 

side. Etiuk glances to Maka, his eyes searches hers 

for some type of consent to join his old friend, none 

is forthcoming. He glances down at her protruding 

stomach, then back up to her. Immediately she 

understands, Nalu, without hesitance, would do the 

same for their firstborn. 

Etiuk turns and rushes to Nalu’s side. Two other 

clan members soon follow. The Neanderthal men 

disappear into the snowy abyss. 

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The intense blizzard bares down on a sole 

Neanderthal boy. Slowly, painstakingly, he makes his 

way through the knee high snow. His trek is further 

hampered by the opposing wind and bitter cold. He 

CALLS out into the nothingness of the blizzard, no one 

can hear him. Not here. Panic in his eyes, he scans 

the desolate tundra for any sign of his clan. Nothing. 

A muffled ROAR is heard beyond the howling of the 

arctic wind. Apprehensive of its origin the boy 

retreats into a nearby crevice. His brief experience 

has taught him that bad things tend to follow the 

distant calls of the wild. Concealed in the shadows, 

he surveys the seemingly vacant landscape. 

Simultaneous ROARS. Closer now. 

Clearly shaken, the boy instinctively lowers 

himself behind protruding rock formations bordering 

the snowy incline just beneath him. His trembling hand 

grips the spear at his side tightly. His eagerness to 

be recognized as a man among his elders and peers has 

brought him to this most undesirable fate. Manhood is 

forced upon him this day. 

The ground swells to a TREMBLE beneath his feet. 

The continual ROARING is upon him now. He tells 

himself he must not fear for the men of his clan are 

known for their prowess, he is kin to the bravest 

warriors of the land. He will do what he must, as a 

man, as a warrior. Slowly, he backs further into the 

crevice to secure a more advantageous position in the 

event the unthinkable occurs. Momentarily, he loses 

his footing in the uneven snow. As he struggles to 

regain his balance, he gazes out in amazement at the 

scene unfolding in front of him... 

A herd of Mastodons stampede across the frozen 

terrain. They move swiftly, frantically, exerting all 

possible effort in a futile attempt to avoid becoming 

prey. The saber-tooth tigers are upon them. 

During the chase a trailing Mastodon is mortally 

wounded and hopelessly surrounded. No hope for escape, 

the Mastodon is viciously attacked. Flesh, skin, and 

entrails are gorged upon. Bloody, foot long canines 

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are bared and used upon both pack and prey as they 

feast. 

Pungent steam rises into the frigid air, as heat 

escapes the mangled flesh of the once mighty beast. 

Taking deep shallow breaths to mantain his composure, 

the boy remains motionless in the sparsely lit cave. 

So distracted by the horrific scene unfolding before 

him, the young Neanderthal fails to recognize the 

shadow that has now eclipsed him. 

Across the valley, perched on a distant ridge, 

Nalu and his search party watch the vicious mauling of 

the lone Mastodon. 

Senses on high alert, a peculiar smell captures 

the boy’s attention. Nostrils flared, he turns his 

nose skyward. Immediately he recognizes the stench, 

sheer terror in his eyes. He senses something behind 

him, he can feel its odoriferous breath on his nape. 

This ancient beast that his clan both hunts and 

fears will surely diminish their numbers by one this 

wintery day. The boy readies his spear at his side and 

turns slowly... his horrid SCREAM is met by a deep 

ferocious GROWL. A single vicious blow brings 

instantaneous silence. The sheer velocity of claws 

tearing through flesh sends a massive swath of blood 

across the dirt cave floor. The boy’s lifeless body 

falls to the ground. 

Eyes fixed open, parallel gashes intertwined with 

gaping flesh are visible to the bone. The Neanderthal 

boy - en route to manhood - is no more. A fierce ROAR 

emerges from the boy’s slayer, echoing from the mouth 

of the cave to the farthest reaches of this ancient 

land. 

At the moment of the boy’s passing, across the 

vast snowy landscape, Nalu and his search party hear 

the distant ROAR of the beast. They move with a 

unified sense of urgency descending from atop the 

ridge. 

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The blowing snow has reduced visibility to near 

zero, still the Neanderthals press on. In the 

distance, they catch a glimpse of a dark silhouette 

against the backdrop of the pristine snow. It is 

hunched over, tugging at something in the snow. Still 

unable to make out who, or what it is, they cry out in 

a series of threatening HOWLS to alert the distant 

being of their presence. Alerted to the group, it 

stands and faces them before disappearing into the 

storm. The group presses forward. 

The group is closer now. They can see the body of 

the bloodied Neanderthal boy laying prone in the snow. 

Complete carnage. Nalu rushes forward, stopping 

several feet from his son, he stares. He fights the 

wave of nausea that passes over him, his knees nearly 

give beneath him. What manner of beast could do this 

to his son, now reduced to an amalgamation of steaming 

flesh and bone pressed into the crimson snow 

He steps forward, oscillating fits of anger and 

disbelief both propel him, and give him pause, as he 

takes his son’s limp body into his arms. He CRIES out 

in agony. 

The body of Nalu’s son is suspended over an open 

fire pit. Constructed of carefully placed wood struts 

and stretched animal hides the makeshift crematory is 

the boys passing place. Mother, Father, and elder 

clansman stand solemnly over the body as they are 

offered condolences by passing members of the clan. 

In a procession that seems to last forever to the 

boy’s kin, the last members of the clan have passed. 

The elder clansman leans over the boy’s body UTTERING 

several indecipherable words as he dips his arthritic 

forefinger into the frayed animal hide medicine bag 

hanging from his neck. He strategically dusts the 

deceased boy’s brow with the powdery white substance. 

Placing a reassuring hand on Nalu’s shoulder he 

turns to leave. The grief stricken couple briefly 

embrace before Nalu breaks away. Grasping a nearby 

torch, he reluctantly lights the pit beneath his son. 

The couple grieves as the flames engulf their son's 

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body. 

Kal stares blankly into the dancing flames of the 

hearth. The pain of her loss is reflected in her worn 

face. In a show of companionship, Maka gingerly makes 

her way over and places an animal hide over Kal’s 

exposed shoulders. She eases to her grieving friend’s 

side, the two women embrace. 

After several seconds, Kal pulls back from Maka 

and places an open hand on Maka’s jutting stomach. The 

inference is immediate, a soul freed, a life gained, 

so goes the circle of life. 

Several feet away the male members of the clan 

surround the elder clansman. They watch intently as 

the elder clansman paces before them, a makeshift cane 

of hand carved, antiquated wood, aids each carefully 

placed step. He pauses on unsteady legs and leans 

forward, his jagged cane tip meticulously pushing 

loose earth into segmented fissures. A plan of attack. 

He lifts his eyes from the dirt and glances 

around the ancient den, all eyes are on him. He points 

to several members of the clan, gestures aggressively, 

pointedly. His eyes come to rest on Nalu, a momentary 

pause as their eyes lock. Nalu turns over his shoulder 

to Kal, near tears she nods. He turns back to the 

elder clansman and after a moment of contemplation, he 

thrusts his spear skyward. The clan erupts as battle 

cries echo throughout the cave. Both victory, and more 

importantly revenge, will be theirs. 

That intoxicating fusion of adrenaline and 

purpose that accompanies a call to arms, and 

subsequently gives rise to bravado, is unfortunately 

for them short lived. Fear permeates the Neanderthal 

dwelling as the opposing battle cry of their ancient 

foe emanates from just beyond the cave entrance. An 

uneasy, collective silence, they wait… 

There enemy is among them. 

Closer, and more ferocious than the first, a 

second primitive bellow soon follows. The inhuman HOWL 

bursts forth from the beast’s powerful lungs, echoing 

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throughout the cave. Pandemonium. 

In hushed, barely audible GRUNTS, the elder 

Neanderthal orders the clan to take cover. Swiftly, 

they extinguish all fires and take refuge in the 

shadows. Smoke from the smoldering embers fill the 

room. Visibility limited to slivers of moonlight 

carried on plumes of swirling dirt and smoke, they 

wait. 

Several anxious moments pass and still no sign of 

the beast. A single entrance in, a single exit out, 

just beyond the darkness the beast awaits them. Long 

known to navigate these archaic catacombs, surely it 

too knows that passage without bloodshed is an 

impossibility. 

Hominids have long encroached on the territory of 

the ancient beasts, driving them further into the 

darkness where evolution has nullified their once 

great eyesight. Their numbers have dwindled and seldom 

do they freely roam the fertile land outside as they 

once did, before the dawn of the ice age, before the 

rise of the hominid hunters, before fire. 

A long, uneasy silence. 

Etiuk, is huddled in the corner with Maka. 

Clutching her stomach, she wenches in pain. Maka is 

clearly in labor and makes every attempt to suppress 

the involuntary vocal wails associated with every 

increasingly intense contraction. Bad timing. Unsure 

of what to do Etiuk braves the darkness and crawls 

over to the elder Neanderthal. 

They argue intensely in hushed GRUNT laden 

voices. Etiuk glances over to Maka who is breathing in 

and out rapidly in an attempt to slow her 

contractions. Her eyes meet his, a nauseating mixture 

of disbelief, sorrow, and inevitability is momentarily 

shared between them. He will not stand idly by as the 

cruel intentions of fate unfold. Etiuk turns to leave, 

the elder Neanderthal reaches out clutching his 

forearm. Etiuk stops mid-step turning to the elder 

clansman. Their eyes lock, each pleading with the 

other. 

The two Neanderthals are joined by Nalu. More 

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ARGUING. Again, Etiuk looks to his pregnant mate. 

Maka, now joined by Kal and several other clan women, 

is in unbearable pain. It’s now, or never. His mind 

made up, Etiuk turns and rushes to his cherished mate 

and unborn child. He does this despite the objections 

of the elder...and his longtime friend. 

Back at Maka’s side, Etiuk helps her to her feet. 

Cautiously, the couple make their way to the 

smoldering hearth. Etiuk sticks the charred end of a 

recently extinguished torch into the embers. Fire 

illuminates the cave. 

Still no sign of the beast. 

Fellow clansmen watch from the shadows as the 

couple exits the cave. After hurriedly gathering some 

of their belongings Nalu and Kal soon follow. Nalu 

abruptly stops, turns over his shoulder to take one 

last look back at his fellow clan members dispersed in 

the scattered recesses of darkness. Uncertainty and 

regret visible on his harshly shadowed features, he 

disappears through the cave opening into the darkness… 

Several seconds pass. Nothing. 

Soon, other members of the clan begin to follow 

suit, the elder clansman is helpless to stop the mass 

exodus. During the commotion, Nalu has stumbled 

undetected back into the cave. He is bloodied and 

badly wounded. The others do not follow. 

Claw marks, like those made by the talons of a 

giant eagle, streak his broad sternum. He presses 

firmly, instinctively, on the shards of crimson soaked 

animal hide and loose flesh jutting from his chest. 

Blood flows freely through his fingers, down his 

forearm to the cave floor. He’s lost too much blood. 

Darkness sets in on his periphery, enveloping 

him. Nalu opens his mouth in an attempt to warn his 

people, but nothing emerges. A portion of his severed 

vocal cords exposed, his once strong voice fails him. 

Again, he opens his mouth and speaks, only an 

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unrecognizable whimper emerges. It’s too little, too 

late…the enemy has entered behind him. 

Utter pandemonium. 

The clan is viciously attacked. Gruesome shadows 

of violence dance on the cave walls. Splattered blood 

runs down the hand carved rendition of the clan. 

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SARAH 

WESTERN UNIVERSITY, PRESENT DAY 

“Long considered brutish cave dwellers,” Dr. Sarah 

Parker surmised as she strode confidently across the 

dimly lit stage. A slide of a life-like Neanderthal 

with piercing eyes is projected on the screen behind 

her. 

Oft regarded as a faculty outcast, Sarah revels 

in the euphoria of holding center stage as the packed 

room of her fellow Archaeologists, and most abhorrent 

critics, hang on to her every word. 

Sarah pauses mid-step and turns examining the 

Neanderthal on the screen to her rear. Briefly, her 

eyes trace the primitive features of this early 

hominid that has brought her much publicized academic 

accolades as well as professional condemnation. 

She turns back to the audience, an illustration 

of a cartoon Neanderthal dragging his mate by her hair 

appears next. Sarah offers the audience a slight 

smile. “...and evolutionary challenged step-cousins.” 

Slight laughter from the audience. Again she turns her 

attention back to the slide. “We've come a long ways 

girls.” More laughter. 

A third slide materializes, this one depicting an 

illustrated evolutionary time lapse from Ape to 

Neanderthal to Modern Man. “Neanderthals were believed 

to be bred out of existence by modern Homo Sapiens,” 

Sarah continues in a tone that conveys her skepticism. 

“In 1921, influential Geneticist and Military 

Strategist, Colonel Nikalov Sarkowsky, chronicled his 

team's experience while on an Everest Reconnaissance 

Expedition for the Russian government,” An aged black 

and white photo of Sarkowsky and his team from atop a 

snowy ridge on Mt. Everest emerges on screen. 

“In his writings, Sarkowsky maintained his team 

was attacked by, and I quote, 'An unknown hominid, 

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half-man and half-beast that outmaneuvered us at every 

turn. In these ungodly conditions we - despite our 

specialized military training - became easy prey at 

the hands of the beast.' End quote.” 

Another image materializes behind her. This one 

of a bespectacled man, with a scholarly air, 

delicately palming a partial skull. Workers at various 

stages of the excavation process are visible to his 

rear. “Ahminhar Cave, Eastern Nepal,” Sarah pauses 

momentarily, part for dramatic effect, part due to 

nerves. “Ahminhar Cave was Discovered in 1925 by 

exiled Russian scientist Dr. Mikhail Ivanhoff,” Again 

the slide changes, this time unveiling an antiquated 

map on frayed, aged paper. Details of the planned 

expedition route, topographical landmarks, and 

Sarkowsky's faded scrawling are still visible. 

“Ahminhar Cave sits just a quarter of a mile to 

the East of where the Sarkowsky team went missing.” 

Murmuring amongst the audience members. 

“Intrigued by the encounters of Sarkowsky, as 

well as Darwin's writings in The Origin of Species, 

Dr. Ivanhoff began his foray into a series of highly 

confidential genetic engineering experiments based on 

his expedition finds. He did so, I might add, with the 

blessing of the Polit Bureau of Moscow, and it is 

rumored Stalin himself...” 

Within a stones throw of the Kremlin, Dr. 

Ivanhoff's clustered early twentieth century lab 

fosters the perfect environment for hoped for advances 

in human genetic engineering. Windowless, sparsely 

decorated and heavily guarded, Ivanoff can work in 

complete autonomy here. At this moment, Inga, a twenty 

two year old pheasant from a neighboring village 

cowers in the corner of the dingy laboratory. A 

perfect specimen. Weary, and somewhat catatonic she 

watches Ivanhoff from the shadows. Not even the smell 

of feces from her neighboring primate cellmates, nor 

her own vomit dried and caked beneath her, is enough 

to rouse her drug inhibited senses. Her wrists and 

ankles scarred and bruised from her cast iron 

constraints, she has learned from times past that 

escape is futile. 

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She stares long and hard at her distorted 

reflection in the tin plate, from what seems days ago 

from which she ate. Her blue eyes sunken and listless, 

her once youthful skin ashen and gaunt, she mourns the 

loss of her beauty. And a youth long gone. Ivanhoff 

lifts his eyes from the antiquated microscope 

viewfinder and levels his indifferent gaze on Inga. 

Mustering all her strength and resolve, she stares 

back. 

Still seated, he roles his chair over to a test 

tube rack, carefully removes a single tube and raises 

it to the light examining it. A feint smile crosses 

his thin, chapped lips as he stands and moves 

purposely toward a bank of uniform metal cabinets at 

the far end of the tiny lab. En route, he stops 

standing first in front of the caged primates, then in 

front of Inga. Though a tiny, slightly frail man in 

his late fifties he is gifted at the art of 

intimidation. He stares at her, this time she dare not 

stare back. Her defiance and resolve now replaced by 

unadulterated fear, she can no longer lift her eyes to 

meet his. 

Now shuffling through the multiple vials in the 

medicine cabinet he removes one, plunges an inch long 

syringe into its rubber top, and slowly extracts the 

milky white substance emptying the vial. Ivanhoff 

theatrically sprays the excess into the putrid air for 

all to see. 

“The end goal -- a form of biological warfare. A 

super soldier combining human intelligence with 

superior primate physical agility and strength.” 

Dr. Ivanhoff moves slowly, menacingly, towards 

Inga. The syringe protruding from his fingertips... 

“A last ditch effort to boost Stalin's faltering 

troops, turn the tide of the war.” 

Inhuman primate cries as Ivanhoff approaches the 

cages. The deafening clanking of fearful primates 

violently rattling their cages. Trapped. Inga 

unleashes a horrific scream. She screams for her life. 

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Sarah scans the audience letting her impromptu 

history lesson settle in. “When the politically 

influential Russian Orthodox Church caught wind of Dr. 

Ivanhoff's forays into interspecies breeding, he was 

admonished by his political backers and imprisoned.” 

Curled in a fetal position, as if to rekindle the 

primordial security of the womb, Dr. Ivanhoff shifts 

unconsciously on the dusty cell floor. Manageable 

comfort was not among his captor's priorities. A 

circular grotto, far too cramped for a grown man, the 

abutting stone walls and low ceiling further add to 

the inescapable sensation of claustrophobia. Except 

for the scant swathes of light from an adjoining 

corridor there is only darkness. A desolate space 

reeking of rot and mildew he is not alone. 

At this moment as he drifts between dream and 

semi-consciousness he watches in the distance as an 

insect he can't quite make out hastens up an adjacent 

wall, followed shortly by a mangy rodent who too 

thought it the ideal time to emerge from the bordering 

shadows. As it emerges from the recess it levels but a 

cautionary glance to the human before him. Stilling 

himself, Ivanhoff watches the rodent crossing mere 

inches from his bound feet. Aware of the abundance of 

diseases carried by creatures such as these, Ivanhoff 

jerks reflexively startling the rodent and sending it 

scurrying back into the darkness. 

Malnourished, his physical condition has 

deteriorated to a point beyond recognition. Matted 

gray hair, bruised skin caked with dirt and dried 

blood, and a thick beard hiding his once dignified 

features, hopeless and dying he is a mere shell of the 

man he once was. 

“So impressed with Dr. Ivanhoff's pioneering 

discoveries in the fields of genetic engineering and 

human and primate reproduction...” Sarah continues. 

Blood is everywhere. Inga cries out in pain as 

she gives birth. The doctors gaze down in disbelief at 

the newly delivered infant. It's body partially 

covered in deep brown fur, an inhuman cry escapes its 

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part human, part primate lungs. 

“...that the political powers to be secretly released 

him from prison.” 

A soldier kicks Dr. Ivanhoff to rouse him. 

“Helping him to flee his native Russia and 

continue his controversial experiments far from the 

watchful eye of the Russian Orthodox Church.” 

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