Field Manual · Wig Protocol
Will Smith wear wigs.
Name: Wig Smith. Ticker: WIGSMITH. Occupation: wear wigs like it's a mission.
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Name: Wig Smith. Ticker: WIGSMITH. Occupation: wear wigs like it's a mission.
Three tall panels, heavy gutters, radiating speed lines. The gutter carries a hard stamp: Wig Protocol. Everything straight-faced, like a field manual hung in a locker room. Black ink, screentone shadows, no color, no noise. You don't scroll it like a feed, you read it like an order.
Wig Smith meets the page head-on. Chin set, eyes level, no blink. Collar crisp. The background crackles with speed lines like a jet launch, but he doesn't move.
Margin note, Mission Scope: one head, infinite covers.
Numbered silhouettes flank him like an armory wall. Each slot absurd and deadpan, each sighted-in with its own dot-grid.
Over his crown: an empty hook with a neat placard. Beneath it, a status that only moves when you make it. This is not idle, this is a man between assignments.
Tap the status to flip it. Hit the toggle and the hair swaps in-place, a bold offset ripple pops like the punchline it is.