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The first issue, "Crossed #1", was released in 2008. The story revolves around a group of survivors of a worldwide pandemic that causes people to see and act on their deepest desires, leading to chaos and destruction.
Would you like to know more about the plot, characters, or perhaps the creators behind this comic series?
Crossed #1 comic book, published by Avatar Press , is a standard 32-page full-color
single issue originally released in late 2008. While there is no specific "full paper" edition by name, the series is available in several physical formats: Single Issues : The original release featured standard glossy comic paper
with various cover variants, including a "Black & White" variant and "Wraparound" editions. Trade Paperback (TPB) crossed 1 comic
: This edition collects all 10 chapters of the first arc (240 pages total) on standard trade paper Special Edition Hardcovers : Avatar Press released a limited hardcover edition
(limited to 2,000 units) and a signed version (limited to 1,000 units) which typically use higher-quality, heavier paper stock for durability. Leather Editions : For high-end collectors, some Avatar Press issues like Crossed +100 #1 were released as CGC-numbered leather editions with high-grade white pages. The story, written by Garth Ennis
and illustrated by Jacen Burrows, focuses on a small band of survivors navigating a world overrun by homicidal maniacs infected with a cross-shaped facial rash. digital scan
of the full paper comic, or are you trying to buy a specific hardcover edition The first issue, "Crossed #1", was released in 2008
The central plot follows a historian named Future Taylor, part of a small community living in the ruins of the American South. They possess a holy grail: a rumored “cure” for the Crossed infection, hidden in a time capsule left by a pre-Surfacing scientist. The mission is a classic quest narrative. But Moore subverts it brutally.
When they find the cure, it’s not a vaccine. It’s a lobotomy.
The “treatment” doesn’t kill the Crossed virus; it kills the higher brain functions that make empathy possible. A “cured” Crossed becomes docile, but also utterly blank—a living vegetable. The choice presented to humanity is monstrous: die screaming at the hands of the sadists, or live in a silent, empty peace next to them. This is Moore at his most cynical, and most profound. He argues that the real horror of the Crossed isn't the violence—it's that the only logical response to their world is to stop being human.
The issue is intentionally transgressive; its explicitness functions as critique and provocation. Ethical questions arise about the necessity and impact of graphic violence in fiction. Ennis seems to argue that horror at extremes reveals truths about human nature, but the work risks desensitization and may alienate readers who view the depiction as gratuitous. The Cure is Worse Than the Disease The
The genius of Crossed +100 (set, as the title suggests, 100 years after "Crossed +1"—the day the first infected appeared) is its language. Moore, working with artist Gabriel Andrade, introduces a future dialect of English. Characters speak in a compressed, linguistic shorthand born from isolation and the loss of media, education, and context. “Future” becomes “futch.” “Probably” is “probly.” They refer to the original Crossed outbreak as “the surfacing.”
This isn’t a gimmick. It’s archaeology. The fractured grammar reveals a fractured psyche. These are people who have never known a world without the Crossed. The horror of the original comics—the visceral, screaming terror of being eaten alive—is for them history. Legend. The survivors in Crossed +100 don’t flinch at gore; they’re bored by it. Their horror is existential: they fear losing the memory of what sanity was.
Gabriel Andrade’s art is the perfect foil to Moore’s dense script. Where previous Crossed artists leaned into hyper-detailed viscera, Andrade draws a world that is less bloody and more decayed. His panels are dominated by rust, kudzu vines strangling skyscrapers, and the faded logos of defunct corporations. The violence, when it comes, is quick and stark—a single panel of a hammer meeting a skull, without the splash-page fanfare. This restraint makes the cruelty heavier. It feels real, not operatic.