The sun was glaring heavily upon the dunes of Cairo, creating waves of brown and beige that rippled in the light breezes that blew occasionally, but not enough to give satisfactory oasis from the triple-digit gauged temperature. Deep in the desert lands, virtually untouched by human civilization for thousands of years, rested three pyramids and a deteriorating sphinx.
At the base of the biggest pyramid rested a woman of intermediate age. Her dull green shirt tucked into a pair of high-waisted khaki shorts. Expedition boots laced up tight, giving the slightest hint of a pair of white socks peeking out from atop the shoes. Her tanned legs hung off of the edge of the massive base of the pyramid, where she had taken a rest.
On top of her head was a wide brimmed pith helmet, peeking out from under the helmet was locks of bright blonde hair, streaked with shades of grey. She wore mirrored aviators, accenting her bright red lipstick and pursed expression. She glugged from a hefty canteen that hung at her side, letting the cool water drip down her chin, only to quickly evaporate before it hit the stone slab. This was the life.
She rummaged through her napsack and pulled out a papyrus scroll. This was the reason she came to Egypt, this particular artifact. She unrolled the parchment, revealing rust-red hieroglyphics and metallic gold accents. Fully unrolled, the parchment contained a scene depicting what would be a sacrificial ritual to a god that resembled Osiris, but was painted in dark, nightmare-esque blacks and reds.
Back at the academy, she must have looked at this picture a thousand times, reading though the symbols and looking through the picture closer than a hawk observes his meal. She knew this picture better than she knew herself. And this was the place it lead her. To the great pyramids of Giza.
The Osirian man that was in the painting weilded unusual instruments for an Egyptian entity, for it was not the usual crook and flail. In one had his fist was clenched at his side, the other pointing outwards at a man who was convulsing on the ground. Out of his fingers shot blue light, which apparently hurt the man.
Lost in her thoughts, Irene never heard the voice calling out to her. The ever so faint voice in the wind that seemed almost like a warning...