Splash page - P.O.V. from above. Strapped down on a make-shift gurney, like you would find in a mental hospital, there is a SURGEON. He is still dressed in his scrubs, but his head, hands, and feet are uncovered. He is completely strapped down at every possible joint or extremity, and he has a leather ball gag in his mouth. His eyes are bloodshot, tears stream down his face. We also see that every one of his fingers and toes have been shot off. There are gunshot wounds at the elbows and knees, ankles and wrists, shoulders and hips, and blood is pooling at the crotch. One ear has also been sheared off by a bullet. Walking around the gurney is a Hispanic woman, BLANCA, 45 years of age, slightly overweight, long salt-and-peeper hair, dressed in the uniform of a fast-food worker; she is slamming the clip back into the gun with the heel of her hand. In one area of the panel, we see a folding card table, the open attache case upon it, with a photo of the SURGEON and an open box of untraceable ammo.
Captions are laid out in the same positions as the pockets of a billiard table.
CAPTION 1: My first-born was supposed to be a routine C-section.
CAPTION 2: Mi hijo, strangling itself with the umbilical cord.
CAPTION 3: In his haste, the doctor nicked my gall bladder, my abdomen filling with shit. Little Angél, his brain so long without air, dead by the end of the month.
CAPTION 4: The doctor and his nurses hurried to clean me out. In a rush to avoid malpractice, put me back together all wrong.
CAPTION 5: I can never bear anymore children. And now, ten years later, my body weakens from the core and out.
CAPTION 6: But my resolve is strong. I have 65 more bullets. They will not be enough.