Steven beams as he eyes the ushabti, but his smile only grows once his head turns and his eyes lock on Cleo. He instantly runs down to her, bringing her into his embrace, his chest flushing against her newly acquired armor, something that makes him pull back and his eyes furrow.

" Where'd this come from?" He asks.

" Would you believe me if I told you that it came from a magic amulet?" Cleo asks.

And Steven considers it for a moment, but ultimately shrugs in agreement. He's heard crazier.

" Look," He says as he holds up the ushabti and shows it off proudly, " We won," he lets out a happy giggle, " And the ushabti goes to, us. I mean, I did have to go digging down Alexander the Great's gullet, but I found it."

Cleo smiles back at him, watching his pupils dilate in excitement and thrill. She reaches forward and grabs his hand, sending sparks up his spine and a blush to his cheeks as they lock eyes. Cleo's newfound confidence sends her stepping forward, closer to Steven, leaning in to connect their lips, but failing to do so just as their lips barely touch.

" Can he hear me?"

Their eyes move towards the voice, finding Layla with a clenched jaw and glossy eyes as she stalks into the grand tomb.

" What? Alexander?" Steven asks as he looks back at the sarcophagus, " I don't think so. God, I hope not."

" What happened to my father?" Layla urges as she approaches them both, " I'm talking to you. I'm talking to you, Marc!"

Layla lands a fist to Steven's chest, and his eyes instantly roll back into his head in order to make the switch, and in the blink of an eye, Marc takes control of the body.

" Come on, let's go," He hushes, " Cleo, come on."

He reaches out to take the hand of the archaeologist, but gets stopped by his ex-wife.

" No," Layla states.

" We have to go right now."

" Marc--"

" Layla, we have to go right now."

" Marc, no! What happened to my father?"

" Listen to me," Marc starts as he stands with her face to face, "We need to leave right now, I will explain everything I swear, but we have to go."

" Did you kill him?" Layla questions, her voice gruff and full of pain, " Did you kill Abdullah El Faouly?"

" Of course not!" He exclaims, " Of course, I didn't!"

And while his words may be true, more truth lingers behind them.

" But you were there," She adds as her voice trembles, " You were there."

" I was there," Marc sighs as he speaks honestly, " Yeah, I was there."

" And how did he die?" Layla questions.

Marc takes his time to regain his composure, and Cleo steps forward to place a hand on her friend's shoulder.

" Layla..." She says softly, " You don't need to--"

" I need to know," Layla rebuts as she brushes off her hand, " I need to know."

" My partner got greedy," Marc sighs, " He executed everyone at the dig site," and as Layla turns, Cleo's eyes are locked on him as the story grows increasingly familiar to her mind, " I tried to save your father, but I couldn't save him..."

" No... but you brought a killer right to him!" Layla shouts as she shoves his chest.

And Marc takes the anger from his ex-wife as Cleo begins to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

" Yeah, I did. He shot me too..." Marc breathes.

" Bushman," Cleo states, eyes locked on him as her throat grows dry, " That was your partner... wasn't it."

And as Marc stares into Cleo's pained eyes, he starts to complete the puzzle as well.

" How do you--"

" Because I'm the one who told him where to find it."

And there it is. The truth has finally come out.

The truth that shows both of the people Layla's fallen for were involved in the murder of her father, one way or another.

Cleo fights her tears as she turns to face the woman whose heart she once held.

" Layla..." Cleo starts, her chest heavy as she takes a step forward, " I am so, so--"

" Don't," Layla whispers, eyes full of tears and sorrow, " You sold out my father for, what? A few grand," she turns to Marc, " But you... you let him die."

" I was supposed to die that night," Marc sighs, " And I should have. I've tried to tell you since the moment we met."

" Oh my god!" Layla exclaims, mouth agape in disbelief, " That's the reason that we met. You just had a guilty conscious."

And as if their conversation couldn't end on a worse note, Harrow's men soon come closing into their location, so they must wipe away their tears in order to face their enemy.

" There must be another way out," Layla announces.

" Go, find it. I'll hold them off," Marc states as he picks up the axe from the sarcophagus.

And as Cleo goes to pull out her sword, she is stopped yet again.

" Go with Layla," He orders.

" Marc--"

" I said go!"

Once more she finds herself biting her tongue as she darts off to the ends of the room in search of an exit with her ex-lover as Marc must face off all by his lonesome.

Harrow's men surround him with their weapons, guns drawn as the leader comes out from the shadows.

" Just you?" Arthur asks as he slowly enters the room, " The rest is silence. I remember the first morning I woke up knowing that Khonshu was gone. The quiet was liberating. You're a free man, and of course with that freedom comes choice. And right now, you have a very important decision to make."

But the moment one of his men approaches, Marc instantly goes in for the attack. Using his axe to defend himself and the ushabti from harm, but most importantly, to prevent them from getting to his girl.

And if only it were that easy. If only it were that simple.

A gun fires and Cleo's head whips around instantly, eyeing Marc as the second bullet hits his chest. As he falls back into the pool of water, her heart sinks down with him, eyes unable to blink as the tears fall freely down her cheeks, mixing with sand as it rolls down her neck. She stands in shock, the sand in the room beginning to vibrate and quake as her heart breaks at the sight of losing the men she cares for the most.

Both Marc and Steven.

The shallow pool of water seems to grow deeper and deeper as the body sinks down into it, at first sinking and then starting to float up into the abyss as the bullet holes disappear and the blackness turns to light.

The light of a torch.

Behind a TV screen.

In a movie.

Staring Doctor Steven Grant.

The white walls of the asylum appear blinding, echoing bits and pieces of a life once thought to be real, but now the reality of which is in question.

Everything from the man calling out BINGO to the postcards on the white board, being pinned by a woman with curly hair, and once his eyes focus, he sees that it's Layla. She grabs his BINGO card and goes off to get the reward, and as she leaves she reveals the reflective surface on the wall, showing Marc his own reflection in return, void of Steven.

He can't believe it. He doesn't believe it, but as he gets up from his chair to further examine, the tether on his leg makes him fall down to the ground, face first. And in his hands, he finds a little figurine. In one he holds one that oddly resembles his garbs as the God's servant, but in the other lies a female figurine, that of Queen Cleopatra, making him further question the reality around him.

Marc sits in the chair of an office, questioning how he even got there in the first place but unable to truly focus on one thing. His vision is blurry and his thoughts are clouded, his body heavy and numb all at once.

" I know you're having a great deal of difficulty, being able to differentiate between what's real and what's in your head. I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of borrowing the film you brought. It was fun to see that my old VHS player still worked. How many times would you say you've seen that movie? Approximately? I liked the villain. No tree can ascend to the light of heaven if it doesn't descend to the depths of hell. That's a good line. The plot makes a real meal out of a lunar god. And didn't you say that you worked for one? What do you make out of that similarity? I mean given the production value of that film, I can't imagine that too many other people have seen it. What do you think? Is that a coincidence?"

His eyes slowly come into focus of the doctor in front of him, resembling the very enemy he thought he face, but he can't make sense of it. He can't make sense of anything.

" I don't... I think... I think someone... I think someone."

" I know. I'm sorry about that. But remember, you're only sedated because of your own behavior. And the effects will wear off soon. Marc, we do not live in a material world. We live in a psychic world. Right? And we're only able to make indirect inferences about the nature of reality. Like, take, for example, this pen, right? To me, this is a writing utensil. Right? To my dog, it's a chew toy. Both are correct. Right? It's just a question of context and perspective. All I'm asking you is an honest assessment of your situation."

But things are so starkly familiar. The cane, the sandals, the painting, the pyramids. Even as a fly lands on his hand, his mind is still numb to the truth.

" Everything reminds me... everything reminds me..."

" Reminds you of what? Of your past? Of Steven?"

Impossible.

" You know Steven? Of course, I know Steven. But, Marc, right now I wanna talk to you, and I have noticed in our sessions, a pattern developing every time I ask you direct questions, you are triggered, you are overwhelmed, and that's normal, alright? Many of us, when asked to look into our innermost experiences, into the nucleus of our personality, we close our eyes. It's understandable. I can't help you if you don't help yourself."

And then it clicks. It all clicks.

" You shot me. You shot me."

Marc desperately tries to escape, but due to the drugs in his system, it starts with a crawl on the floor, and a cry for help as he approaches the door and smashes the glass. He beats off the wardens and even bites one of their hands, anything in order to escape. And he doesn't think, he just runs, but as he approaches a hall, the lights on the ceiling twist and slide to one side as if gravity itself is changing. Nonetheless, Marc shakes it off and continues to flee, picking one random door to open and hiding behind the door as the wardens run past.

Only he's not alone in this room. A sarcophagus lay in the middle of the room, the lid banging and thumping as a voice inside cries and begs to be let out. Marc goes to open the sarcophagus and a man instantly jumps out, but their faces meet and their eyes go wide.

" Marc?"

" Steven!"

The two men embrace, enjoying a sense of familiarity for once, but then pull back and stare in disbelief.

" How is this possible?" Steven asks.

" I don't know," Marc responds, " What's the last thing that you remember?"

"Harrow shot us," Steven responds.

" Yes!" Marc exclaims excitedly as if it's proof that he's not crazy.

But the truth of their sanity is not so simple to explain.

The two met to exit the room, in search of finding a way out of whatever this place is, even passing by a room with another sarcophagus that rumbles about.

But the last thing they expect comes tumbling through the double doors, standing over six feet tall as a giant hippo and managing to scare the living hell out of them both with one simple word.

" Hi!"

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[ choo chooooooo all aboard the trauma train, next stop trauma town ]