By the time Steven's in control of the body, he's on the bus and lets out a whimpering cry, for the last thing he remembers is being face to face with a God. He eyes his surroundings as he lets out one little cry, and realizes one very important thing.

Cleo is not with him.

The bystanders look at him as if he's losing his mind in the middle of their commute, and perhaps, he may be. His mind is fractured, split in multiple pieces, and he feels as if he's losing control. Or, as if he's never had control to begin with.

Steven does his best to avoid any form of eye contact, already feeling on edge as it is and doesn't need to see dozens of eyes staring at him. His head turns to look out the window, and in the middle of the street he sees the same creature from last night, standing out in broad daylight. Another bus passes by and the figure disappears, and Steven can't quite figure out if he's dreaming or not.

He quickly shuffles off the bus, and as he steps onto the sidewalk, the doors close. The bus begins to drive off, but not before Steven's eyes meet with the cult leader from the Alps.

Which means... it's real. Or at least, it very well could be. Which means, maybe Steven isn't mad afterall.

Steven strides up the front steps of the museum and makes a sharp turn to the security booth to meet with the distracted security guard.

"Hey, JB, how you doin', mate?" Steven asks nearly breathless.

" How's it going, Scott? Alright, mate," JB responds without so much as lifting his eyes.

" It's Steven," Steven mumbles, " Are you watching otter videos again?"

" They're adorable, mate," JB confirms, briefly bringing his head up and then going back down to watch his video.

" Great, yeah. Cool," Steven utters as he nervously looks around the room," Listen, man. I need you to keep an eye out, cause I'm being followed."

" Really, mate?"

" Yeah, will you just, like, not let anyone in, yeah?"

" It's a museum. That'll be difficult," JB says wearily,

" Obviously, obviously," Steven says as he speeds through his words, " I just mean, like, anyone dodgy."

" Anyone who wants to come in can, it's free," JB shrugs.

Steven tries to argue, but unfortunately gets interrupted by Donna walking up to him with a box of toys.

" Can you take these downstairs?" She asks, her unpleasant and nasally voice trying to disrupt his conversation.

He gives Donna the one minute finger as he continues to plead JB as if his life depends on it, but Donna doesn't give up. She continues to nag Steven until he's nearly on the brink of finally telling her off.

" Will you... please. Just give me a minute?" Steven asks as he claps his hands together.

Over her shoulder, his eyes find a man who rode the same bus with him, just sauntering into the museum. Couldn't possibly be a coincidence. Too many things aren't adding up. There's no way it's a coincidence.

Steven walks away from Donna, ignoring whatever insult she has loaded to follow the man from the bus in the blue blazer. He wearily follows him, each of his steps more careful than the last, fearful that he could activate some sort of booby-trap. He finds himself in a more secluded part of the museum, the exhibits standing tall and all alone. Steven seems to have lost the man, but someone else has found him.

" So, you really do work here."

The voice makes Steven jump and turn around to be met with the long haired man with a cane who seems to be circling him like he's prey.

" I'd assumed Steven Grant was an alias. Imagine my surprise to find you here," Arthur says.

Steven turns around and finds a security guard and instantly waves him over.

" Excuse me, Ronnie. This man right here has been following me--"

His words are cut short by Ronnie rolling up his sleeve to reveal the tattoo identical to the cult leader's on his forearm. Steven stares in disbelief, but then turns back around to face the leader.

" Mate, I don't have your bloody beetle. I swear, I--" Steven stutters.

" Oh, no. The scarab doesn't belong to me. It belongs to her," Arthur says as his brings his hand up to gently pet the painting of Ammit on the old and broken slab, " Do you know Ammit?"

" Do I know Ammit?... No, not personally," Steven replies, finding himself walking backwards as the man walks forward, " Egyptian deity, right? World's first boogeyman."

" She was only the boogeyman for evildoers," Arthur says as Steven accidentally bumps into a bin, " She grew weary of having to wait for sinners to commit their crimes before punishing them. Would you wait to weed a garden till after the roses were dead?"

" I wouldn't do that," Steven stutters, finding his breath getting stuck in his throat.

" The justice of Ammit surveys the whole of our lives. Past, present, future. She knows what we've done, and what we will do," Arthur says as if he's reciting from a religious text.

" Great, okay. Well, the books must have left that part out," Steven says, attempting to turn around to escape, only to be met with a follower of Ammit shutting the door before he even has the chance.

" Consider this..." Arthur says as Steven faces him once more, " Had Ammit been free, she would have prevented Hitler and the destruction he wrought, Nero, the Armenian Genocide, Pol Pot."

" Not nice people."

" But she was betrayed."

" Was she?"

" By indolent fellow gods."

Steven sighs in disgust in response, simply trying to play along with his words.

" By even her own Avatar," Arthur continues.

" Avatars... blue people. Love that film."

" By Avatar, what I mean--"

" You mean the anime?"

" Steven..." Arthur says, his patience wearing thin, " Stop it."

" Are you going to kill me?" Steven asks, unable to keep the thought in his head for any longer.

The lights around them suddenly begin to flicker, echoing the idea that they are not alone in this room, and that an unearthly presence is near. Arthur looks around, as if seeing something familiar and catches on to what could be going on inside Steven's funny little head.

" It's maddening, isn't it. The voice in your head," Arthur says, speaking ever so softly as he steps closer, " Relentless, forever unsatisfied, no matter how hard you try to please, it devours you until there's nothing left," he rolls up his sleeve to reveal his tattoo," but a hollow shell," his hands grip Steven's arms and bring his hands closer to his, " And the more you ask for help, the more you begin to sound like the boy who cried wolf."

Steven's breath and heart drastically increase their speed as pure fear floods his veins and a thin layer of sweat developing on his skin.

" I can't help you," Steven says breathlessly.

" I am trying to help you," Arthur whispers as he leans in closer.

" I saw what you did to that woman in the Alps," Steven utters as the cane gets placed on his wrists.

" I only told her what millions more will soon learn," Arthur says, then brings his eyes up to meet Steven's, " Do you wanna know the truth?"

Steven hates to admit it, but he does. He wants to know the truth. He wants to know if he's a good person or if he's mad. He gives a quick nod, and the cane begins to swing back and forth as the scales on Arthur's forearm sway, trying to find the right balance, the right outcome... but it never does. It never balances. It never finds its way. Arthur's head slowly tilts up to look at Steven once more.

" There's chaos in you."

The loud boom of the large wooden doors opening brings their encounter to a halt. It allows Steven to pull his arms away from the strange man and escape. He walks towards the open door where visitors pool out of, but his walk soon turns into a sprint, trying to get as far away from that man as he possibly can.

And while Cleo remains in her flat, her mind still races. Her mind obsesses over the previous night, desperately trying to come up with some short of an explanation.

What the hell is going on?

The creature from last night seems so, eerily familiar. It's an itch in her mind she can't quite scratch. A puzzle piece that she can't find.

She's combing through her various books, knowing for certain one of them will have at least some answers. The various books have helped her gain her vast knowledge, and she depends on them now to shed some light.

Cleo opens one of her books on Egyptian Mythology and flips through the pages until she's met with a name that sends a shiver down her spine.

Khonshu.

The God of the Moon.

Protector of the traveler's of the night.

The book shows him with an alive bird's head, quite polar to the fractured skull and bones she was met with last night. Her eyes run over the words on the pages, absorbing in all of the information in and trying to use it to solve the puzzle.

But, it only brings her more questions.

Such as, why could Steven see it, too?

What would the God possibly want with the two of them?

A cold, solemn breeze blows by, causing goosebumps to form on Cleo's arm, despite the windows in the room being closed. Her head slowly leaves the book and tilts up, her eyes fidgeting around as if to identify the source. She feels a stark breath on the back of her head, its somehow freezing cold and calmingly warm all at once. It instills fear in her heart, but draws curious thoughts out of her head.

Cleo snaps her head back, but it only met with an empty hallway. And yet, she doesn't believe it. She doesn't believe her own eyes. All she sees is an empty hallway, but she knows there's something there. She knows her eyes are deceiving her. She knows she's looking at something.

A deep, dark, bone chilling chuckle erupts from the empty hallway as Cleo's eyes never falter.

" CLEOPATRA."

The voice is loud, and yet, oddly softspoken. It's gritty and worn, it's torn and aged.

Cleo's eyes stay still, and her due diligence pays off, for she catches a glimpse of the towering God with his back turned to her walking away, the thudding sound of his staff echoing through her ears, until, out of nowhere, he simply vanishes.

And while she should be fearing for her own safety and her own sanity, her thoughts have no concern for herself, but are racing and obsessing over someone else entirely.

Steven.

She needs to go to Steven. She needs to see him. She needs to make sure he's okay. She has to.

Cleo is quick to get on her feet and exits the flat, leaving Ana to fend for herself. She hurriedly hails a cab and has the driver take her to the front steps of the museum where she nearly runs to get inside. Her eyes make good work of scanning through the sea of stranger to find her man, and yet an unexpected voice comes crawling back to draw her away.

" Cleopatra," The voice says with a smile so wide it can be heard from the basement, " It's good to see you again."

Cleo's head swings around to be met with the same crunchy long blonde hair and leathered skin of the man she once bought coffee for.

" Arthur," She observes, " Are you here for a tour?"

" I'm here for you."

Her eyes narrow at the man with the cane, truly in no mood for coincidences or games.

" My apologizes, but I no longer work here," Cleo states, " I could direct you to a lovely tour guide--"

" No, no. You misunderstand me," He says with a chuckle, " I'm here to talk to you," he steps closer with a short lived thud of his cane, " Let's take a walk."

" I really don't have that much time--"

" It'll be quick," He smiles, " I promise."

With a sigh and a constant chewing of the skin inside her mouth, she agrees. But only if it's quick.

Arthur guides the woman through the museum, purposely avoiding the part where poor Steven had ran to. At first, they walk in silence, just enjoying he exhibits and this slightly awkward encounter, but soon, Arthur makes his thoughts heard.

" Would you say that you are a person of logic, or a person of faith?" Arthur questions.

And Cleo doesn't know how to respond.

" A bit of both, I suppose," She sighs.

" Do you believe that there is a higher power? Not specific to one religion... but rather just in general?" He questions once more as they continue their stroll.

" I, uh... I think so."

" You think so," Arthur repeats with a chuckle, " Well, then let me ask you this... if you could rid the world of all evil, create a safe heaven, so no one could ever cause pain and suffering to others again... would you do it?"

A loaded question for sure, but a question meant more for a philosophy class than a discussion between two people who have only met one other time.

" Well... it's not really that simple," Cleo responds, " Obviously nobody wants others to suffer... but there isn't really a logical or feasible way to make it all go away. Many justice systems across the world have tried multiple tactics... and yet the bad people just keep coming."

" And what if I told you there was a way to make it all... feasible," He says, purposely using her own word.

In that moment, Cleo's eyes travel down to the man's forearm and catch a glimpse of his tattoo and he uses his cane to balance.

" Ammit," She says as her eyes travel back up to his, " Is that your plan?"

" Oh, I can't take all the credit," Arthur smiles as he tilts his head to look at her, " I am simply a pawn in the grand scheme of things."

Her eyes narrow even further. She understands what he's saying, she hears it, but she doesn't agree with it. How could being a pawn for a God's plan possibly end well?

" And so, Cleopatra... I now must ask if you want to be part of something bigger... and make the world a better place?"

Just then, Cleo's legs stop moving. She stops walking entirely, finding his words to be all too familiar. She's definitely heard them before.

" Something wrong?" Arthur asks as he turns back around to face her.

" Where exactly would we be going?" She asks, slowly catching on to the bigger picture.

" Cairo."

And there it is. Directly in the middle of her vision, there it is. That's what Baahir has been talking about this entire time. Arthur is the leader that he referred to... and for whatever reason Arthur is set on having her join them.

" I'm afraid my passport's expired," Cleo says simply, hoping that he won't press any further.

" That won't be a problem."

Arthur steps closer to Cleo, to the point where she can nearly feel the metal head of his cane on her wrist. He gazes down at her, attempting to sway her his way, but it does the exact opposite.

" I'm sorry, Arthur... but I can't help you."

The man lets out a deep sigh, letting his head drop slightly, as if to show his disappointment.

" Oh, it's alright," He says as he lifts his head, " You will see the light soon enough..." he begins to walk away, but not before leaning in close to whisper in her ear, " Cleopatra."

As he walks away, the thud of his cane echoes through the marbled halls as Cleo stands still in her place. The further Arthur gets, the louder the sound of his cane rings through Cleo's ears, until she finally turns around to see the stark, empty, dark museum.

Impossible... it was just light out... she didn't even see the sunset.

She pulls her phone out from her pocket, and sure enough, it is time for the night sky to be out. With her head tilted down, she sees something beige pooling by her feet, but doesn't have enough light to see what it is.

A squeal breaks her confusion enough for her to lift her head, but it wasn't a human squeal. She's certain it's an animal, and why it would be in the museum remains a mystery.

Slowly, but steadily, Cleo wanders through the museum halls, already on edge as it is, and the dark and lonely ambiance of the closed museum doesn't bring her any sense of comfort. One by one, her legs take her as her eyes methodically scan the rooms. They seem to be empty, but the sound of poor whimpers tell her otherwise.

She stops dead in her tracks, she hears a large nose sniffing heavily behind her. With a deep breath, Cleo slowly turns her body around to see what kind of animal is behind her, and it's only one she's read about. She's never seen it up close. A large, pitch black Egyptian jackal with glowing eyes looms behind her, sniffing the floor as if it contained a heavenly scent. Her eyes travel down to follow its nose, and she sees that the jackal is sniffing a trail of tan sand. Her eyes follow the trail of sand to find its origin, but it only leads her to the bottoms of her shoes, that are now drenched in the grainy sand. She stifles a gasp and swallows her fear, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head. As silently and quickly as she possibly can, Cleo darts in the opposite direction, desperately trying to find an exit, until she sees a familiar curly black bundle of hair sauntering through the museum as well.

Steven, being completely unaware of the situation at hand, continues to call out and whistle throughout the museum, thinking someone could have accidentally left their dog behind.

A deep growl rumbles through the room as Steven catches a glimpse of the large, terrifying shadow. He quickly turns around, only to have Cleo roughly grab him and force him to hide with her behind a pillar.

" What are you--" Steven starts, before she smacks his chest with the back of her hand.

She curls her fingers, brings them to her chin and out towards Steven, then she brings her middle finger and thumb together while waving her pointer finger, signing to him the words 'evil' and 'dog'. Steven understands her, but his confusion is still ever so present as he tilts his head. Fear floods his veins as his heart starts to beat like a rock and roll drum solo, but he still has absolutely no idea what in the world is going on.

Just then, the loudspeaker chimes, signalling that someone is about to speak.

" Steven Grant of the gift shop."

Cleo's eyes narrow as she recognizes the voice. It's Arthur.

" Give me the scarab and you won't be torn apart."

" Scarab? What scarab?" Cleo whispers.

" Shh!" He whisper yells, " I thought we weren't talking."

" What is he talking about?"

" I don't bloody know!"

" Stop screaming!"

" You started it!"

The jackal's growls momentarily stops their banter, which gives Steven enough time to act quickly. He throws his bag over to the right, far enough for the jackal to run after it, then grabs Cleo's hand as they stand up. Steven can't help but watch as the jackal tears through his bag, he's stuck. He continues to aimlessly walk backwards until his back bumps into a vase. He would have knocked it over if Cleo hadn't acted even quicker and grabbed it.

The jackal lets out a hungry cry, and both of their necks snap in it's direction. The jackal is swift with its movements, doing its best to hunt both of them down. Steven lets out cries of pure terror as Cleo grabs him and drags him far away from the inhumane beast. The jackal jumps and grabs Steven's ankle, causing him to fall down to the floor. Cleo instantly kicks the beast with her heel, giving Steven enough time to get back on his feet and continue to run for his life.

They take a sharp right down the hall in a desperate attempt to fool the beast, but it's not enough. Cleo busts through the metal doors to take them to the back rooms, but the beast is hot on their trail.

" Key card," Cleo commands.

" What?" Steven asks as he whips his head to her.

" Steven..." She starts, but gets cut off by the jackal growling a mere few feet behind them, " Use your damn key card!"

" Alright! Alright!"

As Steven attempts to open a door, any door, Cleo turns around and shoves a metal shelf down on the beast, giving them a few more seconds at best. Finally, Steven opens a door and grasps Cleo as tight as he can as he pulls her in the room with him.

The silence only last for a few seconds before the jackal begins to bang and claw against the door. Steven jumps with each thud on the door, slowly walking backwards in the restroom until his back nearly touches the glass mirror while Cleo hunches over and attempts to catch her breath.

Steven hears the voice in his head, he ignores it at first, but it keeps coming back.

" Steven... I can save us."

His reflection in the mirror walks all on its own, regardless of the movements Steven makes.

" But I can't have you fighting me this time."

Steven turns around to face another mirror as the voice appears in a different reflection.

" You need to give me control. You understand?"

" No, what... control of what? What are you talking about?"

Cleo lifts her head to see Steven frantically talking to himself in the mirror, a sight she would have more questions about if her body wasn't filled with adrenaline and fear.

" That thing's about to break through the door. We're out of time."

Steven continues to let out cries with each thud of the door that's nearly about to break.

" Alright, hey. Listen to me."

" Stop it! No! Stop it!"

" Look at me!"

" No!" Steven exclaims as he slaps his face, " You're not real!"

" This is real. I'm real."

" No! You're not real. None of this is real."

In this moment, Steven is so trapped in his own head that he doesn't see Cleo slowly approaching him.

" Yes, Steven. You gotta give me control. It's the only way."

Realization soon hits his face.

" Oh, god. I'm gonna die."

He keeps repeating it over and over until the voice in the mirror commands him to look. Cleo follows his eyes, but only sees Steven's reflection. She doesn't see Marc, and she doesn't hear their conversation. She figures that Steven is in no state to fight, so she lets out a deep breath and turns around.

" You're not gonna die... Let me save us... Let me save Cleo."

Those words serve as Steven's biggest motivation. He can't let Cleo die, he can't let her get hurt. As Steven prepares to hand over control of his body, Cleo stands facing the door, watching as the jackal is nearly through it.

She steadies her breath, her hands balling into fists at her side. She doesn't notice the lights flickering up above or how Steven's eyes roll back into his head as he transforms into a warrior, no... her eyes stay on the door.

The moment the jackal breaks through, Cleo thrusts her hands forwards, and instead of crashing into her body, the jackal is met with a wall of sand. It acts weightless, as if independent from gravity, and confuses the beast long enough for two bandaged arms to wrap around Cleo's waist and draw her to the back of the bathroom.

" Stay back," Marc grumbles through the mask, before turning around to fight the beast.

Cleo stares in disbelief as the man she knows as Steven begins to wrestle with the jackal in a suit similar to a mummy with a hood and cloak. She watches as he lands punch after punch on the beast. It tries to get away, but he drags it back till it's on the floor and he's laying out punches until the jackal lays flat and unmoving. He turns his head to Cleo, who's sat on the floor with her back against the wall, her brain attempting to process what her eyes just saw. He makes his way to her, grabs her forearm and lifts her to her feet with impressive strength.

" Let's go," He grumbles through the mask once more.

As he guides her out of the restroom, his suit soon disappears, revealing a face the same as Steven's. He walks out into the museum and notices a camera looking directly at them. He stares it down for a moment before he continues to guide Cleo out of the museum and out of harms way. It's not until they reach the front steps does Cleo's mind seem to start responding to the influx of information, and so she pulls her arm away from him.

" We have to keep moving," He says as he grabs her arm once more.

" Who's we?" Cleo asks as she pulls her arm away once more, " Steven... or somebody else."

Marc draws in a deep breath. He wants to tell her the truth... but he just can't.

" I'll explain everything," He says, " Later," he grabs her arm, " But we need to go."

Cleo fights every nerve in her body telling her to fight back, telling her to question everything. She fights it. She keeps it buried beneath the surface, for she gets the impression that it's not a subject Steven-- or whoever this is, wants to talk about. Cleo lets him take her back to the building, and she half expected him to leave her in the elevator, but he doesn't. He takes her all the way up to the 6th floor, right in front of her door. He turns around to leave, without so much as a goodbye, but that's not good enough for her.

" What's your name?" Cleo asks, just as he's about to leave.

He stops in his tracks. He knows he shouldn't, he knows he really shouldn't. He knows she'll only be in danger... but he can't help it. He's sick of lying... he's sick of lying to her. He can't take it anymore.

" Marc... my name is Marc."

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