OSW // ISSUE #001
[A weathered map covers a table. Rambro turns a tatty, unmarked flag between his fingers.]
They call it Capture the Flag, like the flag itself is some kind of prize.
It never was.
The flag was proof. Proof you broke through the line, crossed every mile of enemy ground, survived every man sent to stop you, and reached the place they swore you never would.
You didn’t plant it because the fight was beginning.
You planted it because the ground was finally yours.
[A cold stare.]
I’ve planted flags before, but never one that belonged to me.
Someone else chose the battlefield. Drew the lines. Decided what ground was worth bleeding for.
My job was simple…
Get through whoever was defending it and take it.
[Rambro looks towards a marker shaped like a bull.]
You've earned that position, Del Toro. You fought your way into the final four because you know how to hold your ground, so I know you’ll fight like hell to hold it.
You’ll make me pay for every inch.
[The corner of his mouth curls into a rare smirk.]
Good.
The last lines protecting an objective should be the hardest to break, but respect won't change the mission.
[Rambro pushes the marker backwards.]
I learned something about ground a long time ago. It doesn’t matter how fiercely you defend it, what you sacrifice for it, or how certain you are that it belongs to you. It only belongs to you until somebody takes it, and Santiago, I’m taking yours because you’re standing somewhere I need to go.
And I’ve crossed too many lines to stop at yours.
[His eyes shift towards the throne.]
This flag is different. I’ve spent my life trying to make it home from battles I never asked for.
I’ve been hunted. Beaten.
Left in freezing water to disappear.
I carry scars from battles I won, and deeper ones from battles I scarecly survived.
For years survival was enough, then somewhere along the way, I stopped fighting just to make it home.
I started fighting for something worth surviving for.
[His jaw tightens.]
Every fight became another mile.
Every scar bought another step.
[Rambro traces a path through Del Toro towards the throne.]
When I take your ground, Santiago, there’ll be no extraction.
No medic.
No time to heal.
Just another bell and one final man guarding the objective.
His name won't fucking matter because I’m not coming for him.
I’m coming for what he’s standing in front of.
[Beat.]
Because every flag I ever planted belonged to somebody else.
Their battlefield.
Their mission.
Their victory.
And every time... I left another piece of myself buried beneath it.
[Rambro grips the flag.]
But not this one.
Nobody sent me here, gave me the orders, or told me this ground was worth bleeding for.
I decided it was.
[He raises the flag above the throne.]
For the first time, the objective is one I chose.
Two battles.
Two pieces of ground.
One flag.
And this flag...
[Rambro drives it down.]
I’m planting straight through the throne.
[Rambro releases the flag. It stands buried through the throne as he walks off silently into the distance.]