Static covers the screen as a Play ► symbol appears in the bottom right-hand corner.
In a very secret location, The Butcher sits on what looks to be an extremely comfortable bed, looking aimlessly at the door. He wants out. He wants back to OSW, but something – or someone, is stopping him. Very rarely has he been a man that hasn’t been able to come and go as he pleases.
That’s when the monitor on the wall flickers, startling him.
The ominous and darkened figure of his captor then appears – his voice altered and his entire body covered in darkness.
“Have you changed your mind, yet?” He asks hopefully. The Butcher folds his arms, disinterested. “Once you tell me what I need to know about The Guild, this can all be over.”
He says nothing – which we’ve come to expect.
“Colin, you’re running out of time. You must know that history often tends to repeat itself. The world works in cycles. What was will eventually be again and so forth. You can’t run from it; you can’t deny it.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” The Butcher asks, looking a mite confused.
“Well, The Guild can’t stop what’s coming. Invasion will be the dawn of a very different day in OSW.”
That makes Butch think. He looks up, swirling his tongue inside his mouth.
“I see,” he muses. “And you think this changes anything?”
“Everyone is going to look at Invasion as exciting, but they won’t see the truth behind it; not like you and I. There’s more to it than meets the eye, isn’t there?”
Again, he says nothing.
That suddenly gets the attention of The Butcher; his eyes widen and his ears perk.
“That isn’t how you prefer to know him, but he’s infiltrating your empire – making decisions and impacting the order of things.”
Colin’s face screws up. He’s angry.
“You’re telling me that he’s here in Old School Wrestling again?” Butcher demands to know.
The shadowy figure nods.
“You need to let me out of here,” He yells. “Right now.”
“I can do that,” the figure agrees. “But first you need to give me answers.”
The Butcher sighs, laying down on his bed.
“It’s a long story,” he says solemnly. “And it started when my wife died.”
WAR NEVER CHANGES
In Gorilla position.
Just behind the curtain.
There stands The War Machine, geared up for their tag team match against Anonymous and Alton Whitlock.
Major Thom stands with them.
Is this their one last hurrah before it all goes to shit tomorrow night?
“Men,” Thom begins. “Tonight is the perfect opportunity to remember exactly who we are.”
Malice and Bishop take a hard look at each other before turning to their leader.
“Tonight’s about more than going out there and reminding some computer nerd and bureaucrat who the best team in OSW is. It’s about more than showing the entire world just what The War Machine is all about.”
Thom looks both Malice and Bishop in the eye as he takes a half smoked cigar from behind his ear and lights it.
“It’s about remembering who the fuck we are. It’s about remembering why we joined forces as The War Machine in the first place.”
Malice and Bishop aren’t exactly thrilled for another pep talk, but they respect their leader and they show him that with their full attention.
Thom continues, “We are warriors. More importantly, we are brothers. And win or lose, boys, we remain brothers. Whether that’s in the ring or on the battlefield. Our brotherhood is bound by blood, in arms, with the sacrifices we make for one another.”
“Nothing comes between those bonds. Not women,” Thom looks Malice in the eyes.
“And not championships,” he tosses a look at Bishop.
“War? War never changes. And as long as there’s war, The War Machine continues on. Hoo rah!”
Major Thom sticks his fist out.
Malice and Bishop look at each other, nod.
All three bump fists. “HOO RAH!”
Thom grins. “Now let’s go kick some ass.”
WHITLOCK & ANONYMOUS VS. WAR MACHINE
TAG TEAM MATCH
Will the rebel and the establishment throw a wrench in the war machine?
Despite Anon’s protests, Whitlock dictates that he start the match – ladder match wounds be damned.
Malice cracks his fingers, envisaging doing the same to Alton’s bones.
Malice narrowly misses an immediate lariat from hell!
Whitlock kicks Malice’s hamstring, exploiting his chronic injuries.
Alton wants to end this early with the overdrive—
But The Michigan Mauler snaps him into a powerslam!
Alton writhes in pain, his back shot after capturing the Double Feature Championship.
Malice dismantles him with suplex after suplex, then cripples him with a powerbomb!
ANONYMOUS MAKES THE SAVE!
The referee ushers him out.
Malice retaliates, dragging Whitlock over to tease a tag—
The marine decapitates the politician in front of his partner.
Malice tags in the 6’10” Bishop!
The Outlaw picks Alton’s carcass clean with methodical strikes. He hoists him onto his shoulder…
HERE COMES THE BOOT…
BISHOP GETS HUNG UP ON THE ROPES!
HOT TAG TO ANONYMOUS!
The hacktivist takes Bishop for a ride, then slingshots him to the mat.
Bishop grabs Anon’s boot—
The Last Gunslinger falls to one knee…
FAMOUSER – THE GUNPOWDER PLOT!
BISHOP POPS OUT OF IT!
Anon spins round—
THE TEXAN LIFTS HIM UP INTO THE TOMBSTONE…
Bishop covers Anonymous.
WHITLOCK DARTS IN!
BUCKSHOT! MALICE GORES ALTON!
The War Machine mulches its would-be saboteurs!
We’re back with The Butcher inside his captivity. He’s still led on his bed, his eyes now focused on the cieling.
There’s an eerie silence.
“I was desperate to find a way to speak with her. I was desperate to have her back. I went searching for anything I could find to let me do that. I searched the dark arts; black magic and spells. I did anything and everything I could.”
He pauses for a moment.
“That’s when The Guild found me,” he admits. “My purchase of Old School Wrestling was no coincidence.”
“I knew it!” The voice proudly announces. “I was led to believe that The Skull Order convinced you to buy it, but that isn’t true, is it?”
The Butcher shakes his head.
“No, I had to do something much worse for them,” he admits. “I had to sacrifice something I love.”
There’s another pause as that brings great sadness to Colin.
“I need to know why.”
“The Skull Order protect the world,” he confirms. “But their inception is no-where near as old as they’d like you to believe. “And their mission is far more complex than you’d care to understand. They needed someone willing and I could provide that.”
“Where do The Guild and Mr. House fit in?” The figure questions.
“I can’t tell you that,” Colin says firmly. “You know they’ll kill me if I do. All I can tell you is that it’s a race to the finish line and no-one is as far in the lead as they think they are.”
“What happens at the finish line?”
Colin pauses for a moment. He thinks about his answer, knowing it’ll make all the difference.
The eyes of Reaper remain blank, soulless. Not the eyes of a man who has lost everything he ever held dear, not the eyes of a man who swore vengeance on whoever was responsible for his pain. No. His eyes are cold, predatory. Uncaring eyes, exactly what The Blood Shark wants of him.
He shows not a flicker of recognition of his actual name being uttered. But he sniffs the air and turns to meet the source of the voice. The very man he had come to hunt steps out before him. His own tag team partner, Redwing.
“Adam, I know you’re in there. Deep down somewhere beneath the mist.”
Redwing approaches cautiously, staring into those eyes.
“Reach in, find yourself. Fight it. I need you… Your family’s memory needs the real you.”
Reaper looks back. For a moment, his eyes flicker. For a brief second or two he pauses, tilting his head as if listening to Redwing’s words. Then he breaks free of the hesitation, reaches out to Redwing’s neck with both hands. Lifting him off the ground, he slams Redwing’s head into the concrete wall behind him.
Redwing crumbles to the ground, out cold. Reaper, in turn, slinks off without so much as a second thought.
Moments later, two figures emerge from the shadows.
“Do you see now?” The Judge addresses his ally, the Blood Shark. “I have been observing for weeks now. Watching. It appears you have somewhat of a… Problem.”
They step forward, standing over Redwing’s body. The Shark snarls a short of derision.
“What I see is Redwing lying unconscious and Reaper being the one who put him there. You cannot tell me the mist is failing when I have the proof I need. Reaper will aid us, as he is supposed to do. Then, and only then, will you get your precious answers and I can feed on Redwing’s jugular.”
The Blood Shark snarls a laugh and kicks Redwing’s carcass for his troubles before he and the Judge are engulfed in a bright light then vanish.
Earlier this week…
The cautious faces of Jessie Williams and Brent Kersh greet us as they walk down a pristine sidewalk in the model of suburbia. Similarly built homes. Meticulously cared-for lawns. Children playing freely.
The Prince nods ahead of them, at the larger house at the end of the cul-de-sac.
“Mia Allen had the book. I don’t know what happened in your cabin, but it led her to Lucid Falls. I know she met with Sandy Rogers. All roads point to Rogers and this place as having answers.”
The Enforcer shrugs, and the pair approach the house. As they do, a woman in a wheelchair scoots out to the end of her driveway.
“Welcome back, sonny!” She greets.
“Mrs. Ducksworth.” Jessie returns. “I guess I couldn’t stay away. Is Mr. Rogers home?”
She shakes her head, reaching out to grasp Brent’s hand.
“Mr. Kersh, it’s so good to see you again.” She says. “Sandy will be sad to have missed you. There’s some kind of disturbance downtown it seems.”
Jessie smirks at Brent, but Kersh has an odd look on his face.
“Have we met?”
She just smiles and begins to turn around. As she does so, Brent’s face turns white for a moment. He looks over at Jessie.
“We need to get in his house. Now.”
They pair quickly make their way to Sandy’s house. The door is, of course, unlocked.
Inside the house, it’s eerily perfect. Not even a mite of dust. Picturesque. Kersh turns to Jessie immediately.
“Kid, that woman…”
A voice calls from beside the pair.
“You boys are so predictable.”
Kersh and Williams seem ready for a fight. Fate regards them with a smile, turning to Kersh first.
“Fate has smiled on you many times, Brent. Why do you tempt me so?”
“Can’t help it.” Kersh tightly replies. “You here to stir the pot more?”
“There’s nothing for you to find here.” She turns to Jessie. “You keep looking in the wrong places to answer this mystery. You’ve had the answer from the very beginning, but you are unable to see it’s value.”
Williams shakes his head.
“I guess it’s a fight then.”
Before anyone can square up, the sound of an explosion rocks the house at its foundations. The three of them all run out to the front porch just in time to see Junkrat skipping like a schoolgirl down the road with a mob behind him.
“Time to leave?” Kersh says.
Jessie nods, running down to lead Junkrat down a side road as Kersh jogs behind. All while Moirai watches with a grin from Sandy Rogers front porch under the curious gaze of Mrs. Ducksworth.
BANZAN VS. THE JUDGE
Who will be sentenced to suffer!?
The official holds up Banzan’s Rewind Championship.
Will it still be his when this is over?
The monk unsheathes his claws – bear stance!
Bear, tiger, dragon – all that matters to The Judge is balance.
Order locks horns with Banzan! The ring quakes under the stampeding superheavyweights. Banzan huffs Judge into the corner!
Indestructible Mountain hits a splash. Judge drops down, becoming the lucky winner of a hip attack. Banzan pulls him to his feet and sends him into the ropes… Hip toss! The axe-wielding justice gets back up – right into a savate kick!
WILL BANZAN RETAIN!?
Banzan looks to remind Judge that suffering exists – DUKKHA SAITO SUPLEX!
THE 380-POUND JUDGE LANDS ON HIS FEET!
The surprisingly nimble metallic arbiter ducks a TIGER CLAW five-point palm strike—
And delivers THE VERDICT Sparta kick!
Banzan is sent reeling into the corner.
Gold glistens in the eyes of The Judge; he looks longingly at the Rewind Championship sitting at ringside.
He climbs the ropes with the 343-POUND Banzan on his shoulders…
PERFECT BALANCE ELECTRIC CHAIR DROP!
NO – KICKOUT!
Judge hoists Banzan up—
TIGER CLAW OUTTA NOWHERE!
Banzan hits the palm-strike while straddling Judge’s shoulders. Order drops him and falls to his knees…
THE CHAMPION RETAINS!
Banzan ends Judge’s eternal suffering!
IN PLAIN SIGHT
When we return to the Butcher and his captor, The Butcher is now pacing back and forth inside the room. Their conversation has clearly continued in our absence and things appear to be a little more tense.
“Why do you want to know?” Butcher queries. “What does any of this mean to you?”
“I have a vested interest in the outcome of this,” the captor admits honestly. “I always have.”
That stops The Butcher in his tracks momentarily.
“I just wasn’t sure if I was looking at it through the right lens. I will have an involvement in the outcome of this race, I can assure you.”
“You?” Colin questions with a chuckle.
“You don’t know who I am or what I’ve done,” he replies. “I wouldn’t be so fast to assume that you have all the answers.”
That brings about a brief pause as both men consider their positions.
“Are you a player?” Butch asks honestly.
“I’m a player,” is the response. “I lead a faction equally as interested in observing the final outcome of this. There’s many people with a vested interest. We want what’s best for everyone; not for an individual or for self.”
“That’s why you’ve kept me hostage?” Colin says with frustration. “You want to know the players on the field. You’ve acted like you have certain answers but the truth is, you’re trying to find the lay of the land.”
There’s no response.
“We knew of The Guild and of The Skull Order. We knew of House and his intentions. What we didn’t know is where you fit. I think that now we do, our interests are more greatly aligned than ever before.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Tell me Colin, why do you really want to get back to OSW? Is it because you need to stop him from finding…”
“Enough,” he interrupts. “Is he close?”
“Not yet. What he seeks is in plain sight and the longer it remains that way, the more chance remains that he may not see it.”
Alton Whitlock’s foot contacts the cabin’s door with a startling force. It flies open.
He steps inside the cabin. The room is dimly lit and quiet.
Then, abruptly–a groan.
Whitlock flicks on the overhead lights.
Something stirs next to an old leather recliner.
There’s the sound of bottles clanging off each other.
And then, haggard and drunken, Berkshire Ellison Green stands up and squints against the light.
It takes him a split second to realize what’s going on.
To process who’s standing before him.
But when he realizes, BEG moves–and does it faster than his weary appearance would suggest possible.
A green bottle comes flying at Whitlock’s head. He only barely dodges it.
“What the fuck,” BEG hisses, coming closer to Whitlock, “do you want?”
“What do I want, Berkshire?” Whitlock pounces, undeterred. He sends a powerful right hand at his opponents jaw, but BEG skillfully ducks the blow.
“”I want you to admit that you can’t stomach seeing me get the glory,” Whitlock continues. “I want you to tell me what I already know. That it’s you beneath that mask. Not so Anonymous after all, Green.”
“Alton,” BEG says, suddenly laughing like a maniac, “I’ve been at the bottle of several bottles since the day you beat me. And even to me, you’re not making any sense.”
Whitlock charges forward. He’s just about to wrap his hands around BEG’s laughing throat…
When the lights cut out.
In the moonlight, a black shape comes flying through the cabin’s window, tackling both BEG and Whitlock to the floor.
Shattered glass falls everywhere.
Then Anonymous rises without an instant of hesitation.
From his cloak, he produces a black baseball bat.
Then he goes to work: first Whitlock, then BEG. He doesn’t give them a chance to get up. His hits are precise and powerful: the sound they make in the quiet country night is disgusting.
When Anonymous leaves through the front door, the two men are left bruised and bloody, but not yet broken.
As BEG dozes off into a drunken sleep, Whitlock slowly pulls himself up off the floor.
He almost doesn’t even feel the pain.
SWEET ALICE VS. REDWING
Who will become the #1 Contender to the OSW Championship!?
What in the hell are we looking at!?
Make no mistake: there’s nothing fun about this.
Rusted chainlink walls; climbing nets made of barbed wire; ball pits filled with thumb tacks & oh, so much more…
Even SeeSaw would think twice about playing here!
Sweet Alice and Redwing lock eyes from opposite ends of a tunnel.
“I know what’s at stake, but we might still be able to escape.” Redwing bargains. “Don’t give these sadists what they want.”
“I bet your Queen told you I’d fall for that, Redwing.” Alice retorts. “I need the OSW Championship. I cannot sit on my throne without a crown.”
The Dreamer darts down the hallway towards Redwing, who flicks his cape back…
A TRIO OF REDBLADES SLICE THROUGH THE AIR!
ALICE CORKSCREWS BETWEEN THEM!
The vigilante stands his ground as she closes the distance. Redwing throws lefts and rights at her, but Alice ducks and weaves. She slinks behind him…
SWEET ALICE WRAPS REDWING’S CAPE AROUND HIS HEAD!
The Gotham City resident forgot the “No capes!” policy. Alice repeatedly decks her blinded opponent. She tears the cape back—
AND SLAMS HIS HEAD INTO THE CAGE WALL!
The Wonderland inhabitant angles Redwing’s cowl…
SHE GRATES HIS EXPOSED JAW AGAINST THE MESH!
Bleeding from the mouth, Redwing elbows her in the gut – buying just enough time to stagger round the corner.
Cylindrical rollers line the next section, from the floor to the ceiling, like those at a drive-through car wash.
They look unassuming…
Alice catches up. Seeing no sign of her opponent, she cautiously winds her way through the rollers. Given how they wound up here in the first place, she takes care not to touch them—
REDWING POUNCES ON HER!
Using the environment to his advantage, The Red Knight kicks out Alice’s leg. Grabbing a headlock, he runs at one of the rollers—
THE KILLING JOKE!
RUNNING BULLDOG INTO THE ROLLER—
ALICE CONVULSES AS SPARKS SHOOT OUT!
HOLY SHIT, THEY’RE ELECTRIFIED!
LIVE CURRENT IS RUNNING THROUGH THEM!
Redwing shakes his head in disbelief.
“What is this!?” He yells at their unseen captors.
Alice gets to her feet, her blonde hair now frizzy and smouldering.
Redwing hooks her arms…
RETURN TO ARKHAM!
SHE BLOCKS THE DDT—
ALICE CHARGES REDWING INTO THE ELECTRIFIED ROLLERS!
SHE FORCES THEM BOTH THROUGH THE CHARGED FIELD!
CAN ANY TITLE BE WORTH THIS BARBARISM!?
They emerge on the other side, much worse for wear.
Redwing’s armour is melted in places, as smoke creeps up from it. It appears to be conductive, in a design oversight the crimefighter will surely remedy. Alice’s clothing is similarly tattered, her exposed skin burnt and raw.
Both competitors struggle onto their hands and knees.
Alice looks up – and smiles. Is that a—
“We’re late, Mr. Redwing.” She announces, standing over him.
She kneels down, drapes his arms behind her legs, then wraps her hands round his face—
ALICE HAS INVITED REDWING TO THE TEA PARTY!
“Let’s not keep them waiting!” Alice sing-songs.
She kicks off from the lip of a cylindrical tunnel…
SWEET ALICE IS RIDING REDWING DOWN A FUCKING SLIDE!
THE CAMEL CLUTCH IS STILL LOCKED IN!
Wait a minute…
HOLY SHIT – THERE ARE PANES OF GLASS INSIDE THE SLIDE!
GRUNTS AND BREAKING GLASS REVERBERATE IN THE TUNNEL!
Their silhouettes can be tracked down its translucent, steep descent. Hey—
THE SLIDE TERMINATES IN A JUMP!
ALICE AND REDWING SHOOT OUT AND UP INTO THE AIR…
THROUGH A RING OF FUCKING FIRE—
BEFORE LANDING IN THE BALL PIT… OF THUMBTACKS!
DID FREDDY KRUEGER DESIGN THIS FUNHOUSE!?
Redwing writhes in agony. His armour has taken the brunt of the punishment, though there isn’t much left of it. Thumbtacks pierce his flesh between the joins.
Pain is the real fantasy in Alice’s mind. She can’t pretend not to bleed from the dozens of oozing cuts on her pincushion body, though!
They scramble to their feet. Alice throws a fistful of tacks at Redwing’s face. As he recoils, she grabs his head with both hands—
REDWING GOES DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE – OR DOES HE!?
HE BLOCKS THE SITOUT FACEBUSTER!
Gripping Alice’s arm, he pulls her into him—
RIPCORD KNEE – THE GODWATCH!
The skull-splitting knee sends Alice reeling backwards—
RIGHT INTO THE BARBED WIRE CARGO NET!
The barbs snag her clothes and tear her flesh.
She doesn’t believe in the agony, but the predicament in which she finds herself is all too real.
REDWING UNSHEATHES ANOTHER REDBLADE—
ALICE UNHOOKS HERSELF AND STARTS CLIMBING THE NET!
THE TEETH BITE INTO HER HANDS, BUT IT DOESN’T FAZE HER!
SHE’S TEN FEET OFF THE GROUND…
CRIMSON JUSTICE WINGS A REDBLADE HER WAY—
IT MISSES AND PINGS OFF OF THE BARBS!
HE CLIMBS AFTER ALICE!
The anti-hero grits his teeth as his gauntlets are compromised.
THEY ARE TWENTY FEET IN THE AIR!
ALICE KICKS DOWN AT HIM…
HE GRABS HOLD OF HER ANKLE!
REDWING TRIES TO SHAKE HER LOOSE—
SOMETHING’S GOTTA GIVE HERE…
Wait a minute – where did Alice pull that from!?
ALICE BRANDISHES HER WHITE STORYBOOK!
Redwing closes his eyes, as if accepting what’s about to happen—
SHE SMACKS HIM IN THE HEAD WITH THE HEAVY TOME!
FORGET GOTHAM – WELCOME TO WONDERLAND, REDWING!
HE FALLS THROUGH THE AIR…
REDWING DISAPPEARS INTO THE DEPTHS OF THE THUMBTACK BALL-PIT!
Hundreds, thousands—tens of thousands—of razor–sharp tacks swallow the vigilante whole.
IS IT OVER!?
Alice waits with bated breath…
REDWING’S HAND BURSTS OUT OF THE TACKS!
He breaches the metallic surface.
His crimson-and-black, melted armour glitters with silver tacks.
Redwing looks up at Alice, who checks an imaginary wristwatch!
SHE HOPS LIKE A RABBIT ON THE BARBED WIRE – IMPALING HER OWN DAMN FEET!
ALICE LEAPS OFF—
TWENTY FEET IN THE AIR—
INTO THE TACKS!
REDWING ROLLS OUT OF HARM’S WAY!
Well, sort of – thumbtacks have to beat a twenty-foot leg drop, right?
ALICE REALLY IS TERRIBLY LATE!
She lands on her tailbone, sticking her entire lower extremities!
Alice tries to stay afloat on the rising tide of tacks—
REDWING LEAPS UP…
HE CURB STOMPS ALICE INTO THE GODDAMN TACKS!
MERCIFUL CHRIST, LET THIS BE OVER…
ALICE SLOWLY SINKS HEADFIRST INTO A POINTED GRAVE!
Redwing keeps his guard up…
But there’s no sign of her!
REDWING WINS THE FUNHOUSE MATCH!
The Red Knight secures a future OSW Championship match!
PLEASE, HELP ME!
The Candy Shop.
Black and white.
In the office of Candy Kane, our titular hero is sat behind a desk, smoking a cigarette. She sits forward and begins rustling through some files when there’s a sudden knock on the door.
As her eyes rise from the paperwork to the door, she’s surprised by who she see’s waiting before her.
“What can I do for you?” She asks with a stern expression.
“I need your help,” Banzan replies honestly, refusing to move from the door way. His giant figure ominously covering the whole door. “Someone killed Aesop and Gabriel Drake; the latter, they almost convinced me that I did it.”
“Are you sure you didn’t?” She says with a puff of the cigarette.
“Look, I promised my fallen brother that I’d find out who murdered him. I thought it was Drake but then he ended up dead too. Something is going on; it’s a conspiracy. I need your help to investigate it.”
Candy stands up and walks around her desk, fearlessly sitting on it before The Mountain.
“Why should I help you?” She queries with a shrug. “You’re just as likely to be guilty as anyone else. What evidence do you have that this is a conspiracy?”
Banzan reaches inside his belt and pulls out an envelope. He hands it to Kane who takes a look, her eyebrows raised.
“Hm,” she concludes. “When did you receive this?”
“Today,” he quickly replies. “We don’t have long to find out what’s going on.”
She immediately gets off the desk and grabs her jacket, walking towards Banzan with authority.
“Let’s get to it then.”
The Butcher sits on the edge of his bed, contemplating everything he’s learned and said here tonight.
The monitor is still on; his captor still nearby.
“It’s too late to stop some of it,” the captor says mindfully. “But not all of it.”
Suddenly, smoke pours into view as rubble and concrete explode across our screens.
That ginormous explosion sends shockwaves throughout the room The Butcher was being held and he was thrust across it at high speed, crashing into the wall with a thud.
A large figure enters, wearing a gas mask that covers his face.
He reaches down, pulling Colin back to his feet and helping him to dust off.
“What the fuck is going on?” The Butcher says with a cough and splutter, trying to catch his breath.
He looks towards the monitor that is now shattered and broken.
“I’m the rescue party,” an ominous voice replies. “The Guild sent me.”
“It’s too late, I shared information with whoever this guy is,” Colin grumbles. “I’m a dead man.”
The rescuer shakes his head.
“Negative,” he sternly and gruffly replies. “The Guild need you. There’s too many moving parts and they need you to help eliminate them.”
“House?” Butcher asks.
“For a start,” is the response as they begin walking towards the door, stumbling over rubble and dirt. “But The Skull Order, Sigil, The War Machine and whoever your captor was.”
“This is bigger than any one man,” Colin says with a groan, hurt after the explosion. “And I don’t have the means to stop any of them.”
“You will,” he retorts. “You will.”