Eleven years after Jax Teller wrapped his bike around that guardrail, the reaper’s still riding shotgun—and damn if this trailer doesn’t make the wait feel like a bad acid trip worth every scar.

Charlie Hunnam’s Jax is back from whatever purgatory the club buried him in: haunted hollows under those eyes, kutte patched with fresh blood and older ghosts, roaring through Charming’s fog like the highway’s his confessional. Katey Sagal’s Gemma? She’s the storm that never cleared, whispering venom and venomous love from beyond the grave—flashbacks that hit like shotgun blasts to the gut. Mark Boone Jr.’s Bobby Elvis anchors the chaos with that grizzled bear growl, patching together a fractured SAMCRO that’s more war council than family reunion.

The new blood? A cartel-cousin syndicate slithering in from the shadows, alliances cracking like pistons under pressure, and Jax’s kids—grown feral—dragging him into a legacy he tried to burn. Explosions light up backwoods deals gone south, knife fights in rain-slicked barns, and a mid-season standoff that had the preview crowd howling “Anarchy!” like a war cry. It’s rawer than ever: the brotherhood’s code fraying at the edges, every rev a reminder that blood doesn’t just bind—it betrays.

This isn’t resurrection. It’s reckoning. The sons rise, but the reaper never sleeps.

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