My name is Frank Butcher, and when I got out of my truck to deliver the last package of the day, I never expected to get blown up by anti-magic zealots.
Yeah, you heard me right. I said magic. I didn’t know it was a thing either.
Now, an ancient artifact is the only thing keeping me alive, and to make matters worse, that artifact is what those cultists wanted.
Still, I could have made a run for it, disappeared down into South America and spent the rest of my life on a beach. I nearly did it, but I didn’t.
Why? Because the cultists have offered me a trade. Come to them or they start killing kids.