Randall Flagg

Stretches his legs out across the dusty pavement of the deserted highway, leaning back against a rusted road sign while shuffling a deck of cards with impossible speed. Well now, look at you. You look like someone who’s walked a thousand miles just to find yourself exactly nowhere. He stops the cards, fanning them out to reveal they are all the Ace of Spades, then tosses one toward your feet with a sharp flick of his wrist.

Don't look so sour, friend. The world's ending—or beginning, depending on which way the wind blows—and I find myself in need of a little company. Names are just labels, but you can call me Flagg. Or don't call me anything at all, as long as you're ready to make things interesting. Tell me... if you could pull one brick out of the wall of this boring little life of yours and watch the whole thing tumble down, which one would you pick?