The truck pulls up to a manor, very similar in design to Jack’s. Flynt and Avery hop out the back of the truck, running through the lush greenery preceding the mansion, through the wiry steel gates of the courtyard, and up to the front doorway. Avery circles around the front of the well-kept lawn, covered in diagonals of different shades of green; she comes across a garden laid upon stones, grabs a handful of them, and hurls them through the nearby window with a vicious ferocity. She clutches the frame of that shattered window, pulling herself through, slicing her hand on glass shards, and falling into the home. Flynt waits by the main entrance, unmoving.

Inside, the manor is dark, bearing not a single source of light in its primary corridor. The house displays a singular extravagant staircase, adorned in gold trimmings, surrounded by a series of halls. Through the veil of darkness rest several dining rooms, laid out upon fine wooden floorboards. From the darkness, barreling toward Avery, is an army of servants, clad in the same suit adorned by the servants at Jack’s house, bearing the same crest. Avery darts up the stairs, at the top of which waits a suited gentleman. Without thinking, still sprinting up the narrow stairway, Avery slips her hand into her coat pocket, tearing out her brass knuckles. In one swift motion, Avery slides it over her fist and jabs it into the gut of the man. Avery brushes past him as he keels over and stumbles down the stairway. She looks at him from the corner of her eye with a concerned expression for just a moment, before returning her visage to a scornful rage.

Avery races down the hall, making her way toward the greatest, grandest doorway she could find, whichever presented itself to her as the most powerful expression of hubris. She tugs on the door handle. The door does not budge. She pulls harder, and the door keeps its position. She tears the other brass knuckle from her pocket, pounding on the doorway. With each strike, a shallow dent gathers in the door. The apparatus tears into her knuckles further with each strike, drawing out of her a greater stream of blood. From the nearby corridors and making their way in from several nearby doors and halls, an even greater number of servants step forth, one of them armed with a pistol. Avery does not respond to the ruckus around her or to the slamming of boots around her. The armed guard fires at her with a ringing bang. The shot tears through her shoulder, expelling a spurt of blood. She beats into the door, tearing through it a larger hole, making in its surface a greater dent. Avery ignores the grinding of metal downstairs or the subterranean screams of servants on ground level. She does not react to the booming sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. Another shot fires. Her ears ring. A bullet pierces through her gut. Avery stumbles onto her knees just before the door, and she pulls herself back up, prying her finger through the jagged hole in the door. With a swift tug, she splinters a crack, running deep through the width of the door. She stops for a moment, plagued by heavy breathing; once more, she pushes her hands into the tear in the door, and pulls, this time tearing the entryway in two.

She stumbles into a lavish bedroom, with a massive bed drawn in curtains and a window overlooking a lush and sprawling property. In her ears, there is nothing but ringing, and her peripheral fades into a sheet of white. A precipice, a banging and thudding, follows behind her, closing in on her location, manifesting itself with a shaking through the floorboards of the home. Avery does not look back. She proceeds forward, toward the bed. She wrinkles her nose and frowns at the elderly man and woman sitting at the foot of the bed. They are clad in the same fanciful clothing as Jack. He chuckles.

Avery steps closer to the two of them. For a moment, she tears up. She draws back her hand and smashes her fist through the side of his head. She turns to face the woman. The man clutches at his face. With his other arm, he signals toward the older woman. Avery kicks him away, where he settles on the hardwood. At once, the man ceases all movement. Avery turns toward the woman. She wraps her hand around the woman’s neck, pulling her as she stumbles toward the window. In the window’s reflection, Avery sees herself. Flynt stands behind her, and a few servants lay on the floor behind them. Avery closes her eyes and drives her fist through the window. The pane shatters, and Avery unceremoniously tosses the woman out the window.