Deagon lays in the passenger’s seat of the rickety silver car, with the seat back, snoring. He chokes for a moment before waking up with a jump, rocking the entire vehicle. Deagon glances about his surroundings, at the cars in the Harleys’ parking lot, and at the manor through the front windshield. The entire house is ablaze, crossing Deagon’s gaze with a blinding light. He throws open the passenger side door, stomps out of the car, and wanders around to the back of the vehicle, staring in through the back window. There is nothing but a long iron bar with a cash register impaled on its end. Deagon huddles around toward that side door, tosses it open, yanks the pole out of the car, and slings it over his shoulder as he sprints toward the structure’s grand entryway

The front door slams itself open in a powerful gust, and a lanky figure steps outside, panting. Deagon tenses up, planting his feet in the mud. The figure treads through the lawn, toward Deagon and the car. Inches away from Deagon, he stops, placing his feet in a sunken patch of dirt and mud. Beads of sweat gather on Deagon’s face. His forehead wrinkles.

“It sure has been a while.”

The man rubs the back of his neck.

“Cervantes, it’s nice to see you.”

“Yeah, man. Hey, good job getting everybody here. You brought some strong ones over, eh?”

Cervantes breaks out into guttural laughter. He glances around Deagon, staring up toward him from time to time. like a beacon, the man shoots toward Deagon, driving his knee into Deagon’s gut. Deagon wheezes as the man steps backward onto the path.

“Oh. It’s this shit, huh?”

Cervantes reels back, staring down at the ground.

“Sorry, my friend. This is just how it has to be.”

“Sure, whatever you say, dumbass.”

Deagon regains his balance. He creeps up the gravel pathway once more, slinging the pole against his shoulder. Cervantes stares at Deagon for a moment, sweat pouring down his face. He looks back at the house, and he stares out into the surrounding neighborhood.

“You know, Degaon. Godfrey is going to be here in not too long.”

“Boss, eh?! Guess I better do this quickly.”

“Yeah, you’re fucked.”

Deagon walks toward the man up the gravel walkway. In an instant, Cervantes lurches toward Deagon, with a knife in hand. Deagon swings the register, bashing it against the side of Cervantes’ face in a bloody spew. Cervantes falls to the ground. The register flies off the pole behind him, where the pole snaps in two underneath the impact. Deagon grabs Cervantes by the collar, stares at his face for a moment, and launches him up the path against the side of the wall, where a short stream of blood follows him. Deagon grunts as he pulls himself up the steps before the grand entryway and steps inside. Flames engulf the staircase to his right. He stares about the room for a moment. Aside from the crackling of fire, the room remains silent as Deagon meanders toward the elevator at the base of the stairway.

“Oh, what the hell!”

He presses the button on the side of the immaculate elevator. After a moment, a grinding sound emanates up the elevator shaft, and the elevator doors screech open. The walls of the elevator are bloodstained. Avery and the pale attendant lie motionless overtop a pool of blood. Deagon creeps into the elevator, staring down at Avery, pressing the interior button.

“It’s okay, man. We still have time to fix you up. I can fix you.”

He stands still in the center of the elevator with his hands crossed against his chest. The elevator doors grind open as he sets foot into the concrete room. Near the steel doors in the back, Jack stands with his back against the wall, aiming a pistol up toward the elevator.

“Oh, Deagon! I am so glad to see you!”

“Jack, just who I wanted to see. we can fix all this shit right now.”

Deagon steps just before Jack, and he glances about the room and about the corpse of the beaked woman beside Jack. The lights flicker as Deagon approaches the doors, slides the flask from out of his pocket, and shoves it into Jack’s hands.

“It’s pretty damn simple. I already got all this shit ready for you on the ride here. I’m fucking pissed you assholes brought us to your house instead of mine, but I guess this will fucking work. If we’re quick, nobody has to stay dead.”

“What? I do not understand. Can you tell me what is going to happen?”

“We’re going to restart everything. Shit’s gonna be alright.”

Jack pauses for a moment, quivering against the back wall.

“What is this room? I have never been here.”

“You have been here. Too many times to count, really. Hey, we’ve gotta get this shit on the road.”

Deagon points past Jack, toward the monumental steel doors.

“That’s an observatory.”

“So, do you mean to tell me that you know how to use my soul? Are you sure this is going to work?”

“You bet your ass I do!”

Deagon chuckles

“I’m never sure this is going to work, but I’m sure as fuck gonna try.”

Jack crosses his arms, holding the pistol at his side. Deagon slides Jack away from the steel doors and slides his hands between them. Tugging them open. The doors separate from each other, and a faint static seems to overtake the room, a shallow fog that numbs the senses. The elevator doors open with a ding on the opposite side of the room, and Deagon drops the doors shut, turning to face the elevator. The elevator doors open with a whoosh, while Flynt steps past Avery and into the room.