Three men, silhouetted against the dawn, obscured by the spinning remnants of burnt comics and cassette tape march steadily forward through the ruins of a once pristine world. Their feet fall on torn Batman tees and broken bottles, red and blue labels strewn amidst the shards. Here, now, in a land stripped of its beauty, abused by over-exposure and the bottom line, they wander, nay, they seek to find that which is hidden behind the veil. 

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They walk in limbo, between past and future, analog and digital, Tron and Avatar, Spielberg and the bastard child Michael Bay, to find that awe-inspiring and elusive paradise. A place they can call home, where a Netflix account still includes unlimited streaming and physical copies under one fixed fee. A land where the dance party never ends and Obi Wan never died. These men are I, Colossus and they march fearlessly toward Oblivion. They march... to glory.