9:59 a.m.
The time colon flashes, the blinking red dots ensnaring the wide-opened eyes of Erik Larsen and Chris Eliopoulos.

Sitting side by side at a pair of adjoining drawing tables in the studio above Eliopoulos' garage, the duo is getting antsy. One more turn of the clock, and the artists will be thrown headlong into one of the most ambitious (and most exhausting) days of their respective lives, 24 hours spent working toward one mind-boggling goal: the creation of a complete, 24-page comic book.

It's all part of a plan — a dare, actually — put forth by comic guru Scott McCloud on his Website, a challenge (not limited to comic professionals) to create their own funnybook, start to finish, within the span of a day. The clock changes. 10:00. Hands clutch at pencils, and as the tips touch paper, the challenge begins...

"Here we go," Eliopoulos says with a smile. "We are crazy, you know that, don't you?"

10:01 a.m.
The guys attack their blank first pages enthusiastically, tossing back and forth as they etch out the initial lines of their comic quickies.

"The challenge here is to make it not suck completely," Larsen says. "Impossible," Eliopoulos replies. "You look at some of the stuff that's been done before and you go, 'Oh God. That took 24 hours?'"

Larsen's tale follows the plight of two brothers. As they debate the benefits of marriage (the younger sibling's contemplating a wedding, his divorced older brother's trying to talk him out of it), their dialogue overlays a battle between two super-powered titans taking place in a bank across the street.

In Eliopoulos' story, a young boy receives a magic crayon for his birthday, one that has the power to bring its drawings to life. "It's 24 pages of crudely drawn characters terrorizing a neighborhood," he says. "It makes it easier for me — I get to draw like a kid."

10:34 a.m.
Larsen begins sketching his superhero and super-villainess. "I'm just jumping in," he says. "I design every character on the page anyway, so this is no different."

11:17 a.m.
It's "Simpsons" time. Their hit CD, "Songs in the Key of Springfield," begins to spin in the CD player, spurring more than a bit of laughter. The artists seem to laugh as much as humanly possible, probably because they know just how long the road ahead of them is. "We're working without plots," Eliopoulos says. There's a pause before the Desperate Times creator continues, doing his best impersonation of Ren from "Ren and Stimpy": "We don't need no stinking plots."

11:50 a.m.
Larsen's penciling his hero's initial appearance — the caped crusader's soaring down toward the besieged bank. "I'm feeling really productive here," he says. "But I know I'm gonna hit a wall. I've got to keep the costumes simple, or I'm screwed."

"Screwed?" Chris chimes in, looking over at his partner's splash page. "I'm the idiot with six panels on every page."

12:09 p.m.
Larsen's working his eighth page (rough outlines); Eliopoulos is on his sixth.

"God, what am I doing?" Larsen jokes. "This is such a bad idea. Don't ever encourage anyone to do this."

12:42 p.m.
Eliopoulos runs over to his house to get some cold sodas — a Diet Coke for Larsen, a Dr. Pepper for himself. Meanwhile, Larsen's moved onto inking an early splash page, adding more and more lines.

"Markers are the way to go," the Savage Dragon creator says, scribbling with a Sharpie. "I just want to get a page done so I can feel like I had something accomplished."

12:53 p.m.
Larsen sighs. "This is getting old quick, huh?" Eliopoulos asks in response. "Yes," Larsen replies. "Yes, it is."

1:00 p.m.
Larsen puts down his pencil and eyes his handiwork. "If people like this style, I'm just going to do all my comics this way — in one day. I'll just spend the rest of the month goofing off."

1:18 p.m.
"It's time for chocolate," Eliopoulos says, pulling out a bag of assorted Hershey's candies. "What do you like?" Larsen smiles slyly. "I like long walks on the beach...."

2:11 p.m.
Four hours in, and Larsen comes to the grim realization he doesn't have four pages completed. "Suddenly I don't feel too good about all this," he says, popping a mini-Mr. Goodbar into his mouth. "It seemed like such a good idea at the time."

2:21 p.m.
Eliopoulos has seven pages penciled, and has already begun lettering them. Larsen's working on his eleventh penciled page.

2:54 p.m.
The studio phone rings for the umpteenth time. Eliopoulos' voice blares over the speaker. "Hi, this is Chris. Leave your name, phone number and favorite vegetable...."

3:06 p.m.
"When do we realize we're completely insane?" Eliopoulos wonders aloud. He looks over at Larsen's table in shock. "Another splash page?"

"Hey," Larsen says. "I've got 24 pages to do."

"So do I, and I'm doing, like, six panels a page."

"Well... you're stupid."

4:37 p.m.
The guys start to talk about dinner. Apart from the snacks they've been munching on here and there, they haven't eaten since 9 a.m. When they did eat, though, they ate well — Larsen chowed down on a meal of steak and eggs.

"Hey," Eliopoulos says, remembering the contents of his partner's breakfast plate. "Isn't it time for your heart attack yet?"

5:29 p.m.
"Hey, is this supposed to have a title?" Larsen inquires, staring into the white hole on his otherwise fully penciled first page.

5:30 p.m.
Still staring.

5:31 p.m.
"Oh, well," Larsen concludes, sliding page one out of his immediate line of sight. "I've got plenty of time to figure it out."

6:02 p.m.
Following a flurry of activity, no doubt spurred on by the rousing cinematic sounds of Eliopoulos' John Williams orchestral CD, both creators have finished the rough pencils on all of their pages.

"I can't see us finishing before 10 a.m.," Larsen says. "We've both got too much left to do."

"Think I've been too ambitious," Eliopoulos admits. "I didn't make it simple for myself, drawing panels upon panels — what a fool."

"We'll do it," Larsen says. "I just don't know if it's going to be good. My concern is it's going to get crappier as time goes on."

6:58 p.m.
The guys break for dinner, a meal consisting of a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy. The fine cuisine's accompanied by business talk — Larsen and Eliopoulos debate whether someone would pay $2.95 for a 48-page comic book created in 24 hours.

7:11 p.m.
Back to work. "Dear God, why did we do this?" Eliopoulos asks out loud. "That'll be our mantra for the night."

7:29 p.m.
Larsen sums up the situation simply: "When does the pain end?"

7:51 p.m.
Larsen completes another inked and lettered page. "Well, I've got two done... it definitely helps to keep faces to a minimum."

8:05 p.m.
Eliopoulos takes a moment's break from his inking chores and rubs his eyes. "Who can we get to put a hit out on Scott McCloud for coming up with this?" he says. "For putting us through this hell!"

9:22 p.m.
Larsen runs over to the Eliopoulos residence for a pit stop. He returns quickly, giving Chris the news that his wife's expecting him to crash at about 2 a.m.

9:31 p.m.
The duo loosens up — Larsen kicks off his sneakers and Eliopoulos crosses his legs underneath him — then settles in for the second half of their ordeal.

"It's 24 pages," Larsen says. "I don't care how simple your style is. It's still 24 pages."

9:46 p.m.
Eliopoulos begins filling in his story's "crayon creatures." Appropriately enough, he uses a red crayon.

10:14 p.m.
Larsen has yet to finalize the name for his story. "It's 'Girl Trouble' right now, but that'll probably change."

11:46 p.m.
Silence.

"We started off so lively," Eliopoulos observes. "What the hell happened?"

12:19 a.m.
Larsen rolls his hand around in an effort to stretch his muscles. "I'm never gonna want to draw again."

2:00 a.m.
Despite his wife's prognostication, Eliopoulos is still awake — though not necessarily wide-eyed.

2:20 a.m.
Larsen decides on a title — "Guy Talk".

3:33 a.m.
The boys pose for some pictures, and learn that after staring at comic pages for 18 hours straight flashing light bulbs are most definitely hazardous to your health.

5:08 a.m.
"I am so tired," Eliopoulos offers. "I can no longer control my drool."

"I need sleep," Larsen adds.

5:42 a.m.
Eliopoulos' completed pages sit, neatly stacked, on a nearby light box. Larsen's litter the floor. "God," Eliopoulos announces. "This art is getting worse by the second."

6:13 a.m.
The early rays of the sun reveal the stubble on the faces of both artists. Eliopoulos continues to ink his pages, Larsen's full into the lettering.

6:30 a.m.
Howard Stern's voice emanates from the stereo speakers, breaking the comic creators from what can only be described as a zombie-like trance.

"I think I fell asleep while I was drawing," Eliopoulos says. "You heard me snoring?" Larsen nods. "It looked like you were awake, though."

7:23 a.m.
Larsen begins to recite "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas." Eliopoulos turns slowly, glaring at his partner. Larsen continues, and eventually breaks out into laughter.

"Wow," Eliopoulos says. "The fact your mind still works that well is impressive."

7:50 a.m.
The jokes have long since become sparse. Grunts and mumbles predominate — the guys know they're embroiled in a race against the clock.

8:06 a.m.
Eliopoulos stands, yawns and stretches. "Oh God," he exhales.

8:13 a.m.
Larsen looks over his work. "I think I can do... oh, no," he says, pulling out some unanticipated incomplete pages from his pile. "There's these two, too?" He turns to his colleague. "Would you hand me a pistol? I can end it now."

8:26 a.m.
Larsen's turn to stretch. "Did you put a title on your story yet?" he asks.

"Nope," Eliopoulos says. "I think I'll call it 'Why I Hate Erik Larsen for Making Me Do This'."

"Hey," Larsen responds. "When the mind no longer works, when the pen no longer functions, my ideas are brilliant."

8:31 a.m.
Eliopoulos begins his last page. "I'm so tired," Larsen admits. "My fingers are numb."

8:53 a.m.
Using his red crayon to scribble a title — "The Present" — on the top of his first page, Eliopoulos officially finishes his comic. He's completed McCloud's dare in 22 hours, 53 minutes.

"Oh, God," he says, exhaustion overwhelming any feelings of exhilaration as he walks around the studio. "Zero sleep. We got zero sleep."

8:54 a.m.
Larsen stretches out his arms, then lowers his head for the final push. He's got six pages in different degrees of completion, and by now, he's running on sheer willpower alone.

9:12 a.m.
Four pages left.

9:27 a.m.
Another one down.

9:40 a.m.
One left. Larsen's furious pace continues....

9:59 a.m.
One minute left, and the clock's flashing time colon once again becomes important. Larsen glances up at the red numbers, then back at his page. Adding one more line, he lays down his pen....

Curious to see how their comics turned out? Both stories are available in their entirety in Image Comics' 48-page Image Two-in-One #1 featuring Herculian and Duncan, which hits stores on March 28th and retails for $2.95! On the Web, visit Eliopoulos at www.desperatetimes.com and Larsen at www.savagedragon.com.

— Wizard Magazine staff writer Christopher Lawrence stayed up all night to write this story. Last night.
— Photographer Paul Schiraldi would stay up all night and do stuff like this all the time, but he's too smart.