RPM
Captain Uni
xVampire3go
Antlers
Master Bruce
Eddie Brock
Sep
Moon Child
CabbageAngel
Marlene Alraune carefully crept out from her hiding place to check on the fallen man. He was bleeding from two places; he had a deep stab wound to the chest and a head wound from the fall into the temple. She looked around for something to slow the bleeding. There was a first aid kit in the car, but the man may not make it until she could get there. There was a white shroud hanging over the statue in the temple; but that, first, seemed like an artifact and, second, had thousands of years to accrue bacteria, dust and everything you didn’t want around an open wound.
Instead she tore strips off his shirt, was immediately thankful for what this choice revealed, and wasn’t too harsh in chastising herself for sneaking a quick peek. This man came with the one who killed her father, but when she stood stunned from the sand dune she could also see how he’d raised the firearm at the other one. How it led to him getting stabbed. Then she had the wherewithal to get in the car and drive, before the other mercenaries could descend upon her. to She could ask him questions as to what he was doing with this “Bushman” when he came to, after all, by the looks of the injuries he sustained he wouldn’t be going anywhere fast…
“KHONSHUUU!” He didn’t so much regain consciousness as explode into it, launching himself into a seated position.
Marlene stepped back, shocked at the sudden outburst. He was staring at the large statue standing before him.
“Yes. That’s Khonshu. Who are you?”
The man was still breathing heavily, but seemed to take a moment to consider the question.
“I--I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? So I suppose you don’t know why you came in and shot at our camp? Our workers?”
“I--I did??”
“What were you doing here?”
“Where’s here?”
She arched one eyebrow in consideration. On the one hand, he personally had never shot at anyone and made no effort to deny doing so. On the oher hand, could this guy really expect her to believe he didn’t remember who he was, where he was or what he was doing here? Seemed a tad convenient.
“Is that-- is that why I’m bleeding? Did you shoot me back?” He grabbed his chest at the stab wound. “No. That was a knife, not a bullet.”
She ignored how he could distinguish between how it felt to be stabbed and how it felt to be shot and asked the more pressing question at hand. “If you don’t remember who you are, how do you know that’s Khonshu?”
“Dream.”
“You saw him in a dream? When? Just now?”
“Yes.”
Curiouser and curiouser.
“What happened in the dream?”
“He spoke to me. He told me there was work to be done, to don his robes and do it in his name. He said there was a woman here who would seek our help. That she was in need of Khonshu’s blade - That was his name for me - and he just kept repeating … and ...”
“What did you just say?”
Spector repeated. “It means ‘It is time’ and ‘The time is now’.”
“How could you even know that’s what it meant? I think… I think you may have just heard Ancient Egyptian. It certainly wasn’t arabic, coptic, or any local tribal language. But nobody even knows what it sounds like. It’s been a dead language for thousands of years. How could you possibly know what it meant?”
“I don’t know. When he said it the meaning carried through. It was very clear.”
Spector gingerly got himself up, despite the blonde woman’s protestations. He took one knee, then stabilized himself on the statue, using it as his crutch, before getting to his feet. Standing face to face, he pulled the shroud off the statue and swirled it around his back and over his head.
“I was told something precious was taken from you. It was broken, and recompense is impossible. What little restitution remains comes under Khonshu’s purview. Vengeance, most pure.”
“You can barely stand…”
“Yet I stand.”
The man was refilled with new purpose, even if he didn’t know his own name. Even if that purpose was liable to lead him to a bloody end, he seemed to care very little. From an altar the man who shrouded himself in white grabbed two ornate daggers and pulled them within the white shroud, pocketing them in his own clothes within.
“Lead us out, and see the man who wronged you pay in full.”
Marlene sighed to herself, why are the hot ones always crazy? If nothing else, he could probably do with water which she had in the car. He’d been staggering around the desert for God knows how long before the temple. She led him through the temple to the other exit, and back topside to the partially submerged car. She told him all about what had happened, about her father’s plans for the dig. About how her research had helped pinpoint this area as the probable location, about her father’s saving and work finding grants had managed to raise just enough to get the dig started if they could find profitable artefacts in the first excavation. How they had done so, but a local group of mercenary raiders led by Bushman who was infamous for sweeping across the region and bringing terror as he stole and killed with impunity in the name of his rabble army and their efforts to conquor local tribal lands.
She told him how she knows that he was with Bushman, and that was how he came to be here. Pangs of guiilt washed over the man staining him with a sense of shame. Then she mentioned how Bushman murdered her father and cut a swathe through the workers. Then that she saw him stand up to Bushman before, but found himself on the sharp end of Bushman’s combat knife.
Softly at first, the distant sounds of rotors caught both of their attention.
“That’s coming from Luxor! Maybe someone managed to get a signal out for help!” Marlene enthusiastically called.
“It’s a military helicopter. Get behind the car!”
“Military? But how could you--?”
“Sound of the engine. It’s a Hind. Flying light though. Since we’re in Egypt I’m guessing the mercs bought Russian surplus somewhere along the line. Forget the car, get behind the sand. It’s light but it may still have cannons, they open fire on the car and you’d be toast.”
The chopper soared in, dropped a spotlight on the scene and lowered to the ground.
The man in white reached within his shroud and wrapped his hands around the helms of the two daggers.
A man with a pencil-thin moustache and immaculately kept pilot’s jacket alighted from the helicopter.
“Marc! Sacre bleu! At last I find you!” he exalted with a tone that clearly marked him as a friend.
But a friend to whom? To this Mercenary Marc, or to decent folk?
“Did you find the girl? Is she alright?”
Marc unsheathed both daggers but kept them hidden within the white shroud.
“The girl?”
“Oui Marc! The last I saw you, you were staggering off after the Alraune woman. I circled around and turned the rest of Bushman’s men with the cannon, but I had not seen you since! I knew you’d keep going thou--”
“Stop! Don’t! He’s telling the truth!” Marlene ran out from the sand dunes waving her arms.
Marc sheathed the daggers. The Frenchman looked confused.
“I saw someone shooting at the cars that were chasing me from a helicopter. That was you?”
“That was me.” The Frenchman confirmed. “Ms Alraune, I presume?” He removed his hat and gave a quick bow, his eyes never leaving hers. “Jean Paul DuChamp. I see you are already familiar with my friend Marc Spector.”
“We’re more familiar than he is, I’m afraid…”
“Eh? What do you mean?”
Marc stepped forward and shook DuChamp by the hand. A strong, warm handshake, but lacking in familiarity. He was through letting people speak on his behalf.
“She means I took a head wound and can’t remember who I am.”
Frenchie looked Marc up and down and saw spots of blood seeping through the white shroud at the head and chest.
“Ah! Je vois! You need a hospital. And you Ms Alraune, do you need care as well? I will have us at at Luxor International Hospital en vitesse!”
Already Marc was getting the sense that his French came through thicker as he got excited.
“No, I’m fine.” said Marlene.
“Wait.” Marc halted Frenchie with a bark. “What about Bushman?”
“Marc? You’ve been here for hours. Raoul and his men left long ago.”
“The chopper.”
“He brought RPGs. Even if we could find which way he went, he’d hear us coming and blow us out of the sky before we could launch any kind of offensive.”
Marc dropped to his knees and rested the daggers in front of him in the sand. He gazed up at the moon.
“Marc, you look very pale. Get in the chopper.”
His eyes dropped from the moon to his old friend, whom he barely knew.
“Yes. I think you’re going to have a lot to tell me about myself…”
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