Raven's Nest

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            (Y/N) and Marc ran across the roofs of Cairo, anxious to reach the one follower of Harrow that was ready to give up where he was. Unfortunately, the moment they pulled themselves onto the roof, two other men were stabbing him, and a third was keeping watch.

            “Oh, shit. You killed him?” said Marc. “We needed to talk to that guy. About a dig site. Guess we’re gonna have to talk with you instead.”

            “You’re two late,” said one man. “You’re never gonna find Harrow.”

            “Really? Kid, what do you think the truth of that statement is?” asked Marc.

            (Y/N) shrugged. “It’s opinion, but I think we’ll find him.”

            The man took out his knife and flipped it around, showing off his skills.

            Marc watched him and moved between him and (Y/N). “Oh. What, are we dancin’? We fightin’? What are we gonna do?”

            The first man leapt to the side, and the second attacked Marc. He blocked them and threw them into the wall while kicking another back. The third, a teenager, ran up to attack (Y/N), and they jumped back, dodging his knife attacks. Marc grabbed him and forced him to his knees. He raised his fist to punch the younger boy, but when he flinched, Marc relaxed and just struck him with his palm.

            (Y/N) blinked as they saw it. Something about it made them feel…safer around Marc. They’d seen what he was capable of, and to know that he knew when to held back meant (Y/N) could feel alright near him. (Which was strange in itself since (Y/N) never had an adult to trust after their parents)

            Another man came at them with his knife, and (Y/N) dodged, scrambling onto another section of the roof. The man slashed at them, but (Y/N) kicked him back into Marc’s waiting arms to disarm him.

            The teenage boy grabbed the knife as it fell to the ground and spat at Marc in Arabic, “in your face, foreigners!”

            He threw the knife at Marc’s face, and it barely missed. By this point, the first man had gotten back up, too, and it was three versus two again. The first licked his knife dramatically. Marc punched him before he could try anything. As he slumped backwards, the second man grabbed Marc and pulled him away. (Y/N) leapt onto his back and struck his head over-and-over until he let go and fell to the ground. (Y/N) stood between the teenage boy and Marc, panting but refusing to give up. Marc had helped them, and they weren’t going to let that go unrepaid.

            The teenager attacked (Y/N), and they blocked, hissing as the blade cut through the outside of their forearm. Still, they didn’t let up and kicked the boy back. Marc quickly got up and tripped him, effectively taking him down without causing much harm.

            The second man stabbed at (Y/N), and they rolled to the side to dodge, but he advanced again. Marc grabbed him and fought him back, pinning him to a wall and pushing his knife against his throat.

            “Marc. Stop it,” said Steven softly, afraid, from the reflection of the knife.

            Marc paused, and (Y/N) watched, glancing between him, the teenager, and the man he had trapped.

            “Marc?” asked (Y/N).

            Marc slammed the man’s head against the wall. “Where’s Harrow?” he hissed. He slammed his head against the stone again to make a bone.

            (Y/N) frowned and took a step back. Not Marc? The accent was all wrong, but (Y/N) wasn’t sure what to do. This felt stranger than Steven and Marc.

            “I-I don’t—” the man coughed, his airway constricted. “I-I won’t—”

            Not(?) Marc smashed his head against the stone and let him slump to the ground. “Inútil.”

            Useless, translated (Y/N)’s mind.

            Not(?) Marc tossed the man to the side and turned away. Without another word, he turned away and walked towards the exit of the roof. He passed (Y/N), paused, and grabbed their wrist, pulling them with him.

            (Y/N) had a feeling they shouldn’t fight Not(?) Marc and let themself be pulled down and out onto the street where Not(?) Marc called a cab. He looked around surreptitiously before pushing (Y/N) in first. Then, he slipped in.

            “Marc? What’s going on?” asked (Y/N) hesitantly, shifting away from the man beside them slightly.

            “Airport,” he said to the cab driver.

            “Marc?”

            Not(?) Marc groaned, and his eyes rolled back before settling. He looked around in confusion.

            “What…?” he trailed off as he saw they were in a cab. “Stop, please!” he said in Arabic to the driver.

            “You’re speaking Arabic, eh?” said the driver. “Why are you acting like a foreigner?”

            Marc looked at (Y/N). “Where were we going?”

            “You said the airport,” said (Y/N) cautiously.

            “I—no, I didn’t, I couldn’t…” He paused as he saw the teenage boy and man he’d fought exiting a nearby building. He opened the door of the cab and got out to speak to them. “Let me talk to you.”

            The two stepped back nervously.

            “Just let us go, man,” said the teenager.

            “That wasn’t me!” cried Marc.

            The teenager and the man made a run for it, and Marc took off after them.

            “My money!” shouted the driver.

            (Y/N) pulled out a couple bills, paid, and ran after Marc.

            They ended up in a marketplace, and the four continued their game of cat-and-mouse through the people and stalls, heedless of any obstacles in their way. Finally, Marc got his hands on the man and threw him to the ground to slow him down. He grabbed his coat and pushed him against the wall.

            He punched him in the stomach, and (Y/N) frowned as they saw it. They had seen terrible things in their life, but they were still getting used to it. They still disliked violence fundamentally, but they knew that when it came to Ammit, it was going to be unavoidable.

            “Where’s Harrow?” questioned Marc. “Where’s Harrow? Tell me!”

            “Marc,” said (Y/N), and Marc paused. “He’s not going to tell you. We already know that—Ah!”

            The first man from the fight on the roof appeared and struck them in the back of the head. (Y/N) stumbled forward, and Marc was distracted long enough to get hit by the man he had pinned, and he fell backwards.

            “Marc!”

            Marc’s unconscious body suddenly awoke, eyes bright and awake. In an instant, he was upon the men, attacking with reckless abandon. It was far more intense than anything else (Y/N) had seen yet. This was once again not Marc. This was violent, and it scared (Y/N). They took a step back, and the moment Not Marc sunk the man’s knife into his own side, (Y/N) made their decision.

            They couldn’t watch this violence.

            (Y/N) turned and ran. They ran until they felt safe, until it was quiet, until they had found an alley to curl up in and control their breathing.

            I can do this. I can do this. I can handle this, thought (Y/N), tapping their fingers rhythmically.

            “What are you doing?”

            (Y/N) looked up to find Ma’at standing over them. “I-I can’t do the killing. I can’t.”

            “It is your job to see the ugliness of the world so that others may be protected,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) flinched. “I know. I just-I couldn’t.”

            “You will have to learn to handle this,” said Ma’at. “Ammit will not hesitate to kill, and neither will Harrow. You must be prepared.”

            “I-I will be. I won’t run away again. I promise,” said (Y/N).

            “Good.”

            (Y/N) knew Ma’at was gone after she spoke, but the deity’s disappointment in her Avatar remained a burden on (Y/N)’s shoulders whether she was there or not.

l

            Marc looked around in confusion as the man’s body he had stabbed fell to the ground. He had blood on him, and he stood on a cliff overlooking Cairo. It was just him and the men he was fighting. Well, not anymore. The two men were both dead, killing by their own weapon by…Marc?

            He shook his head. “What…? Oh, god. Steven, what did you do?”

            Steven glared out from the blade. “I swear, that wasn’t me!”

            “Then who was it?” said Marc. His eyes widened. “And where’s the kid?” (Y/N) was nowhere to be seen, and an unexpected amount of fear flashed through him.

            “I don’t know,” said Steven, shaking his head.

            Before Marc could reply, the teenage boy from before moved, still alive. His leg was broken, though, and he could only drag himself back.

            Marc swallowed. “Where’s the kid I was with?”

            “Ask him about the tomb,” said Khonshu’s voice, and Marc straightened. “Take him to the ledge.”

            “He’s just a kid,” said Marc.

            “He’ll talk,” said Khonshu.

            Marc obeyed and picked up the teenager, holding him up near the ledge, careful not to let him drop. Marc had never been one to harm kids, but all of a sudden, the boy’s face because (Y/N)’s for a sickening moment, and Marc held onto his scarf all the tighter.

            “Where is Harrow?” he demanded, wanting this to be over with quickly.

            The boy looked down and back at Marc. “Praise Ammit.”

            “No, kid—”

            The boy cut his scarf with his knife before Marc could do anything, and he plummeted to his death. Marc’s eyes widened in horror.

            “Mm.” Khonshu barely reacted. “I thought he’d talk.”

            Marc nearly snapped and asked whether or not (Y/N) would think that was a lie. He swallowed his anger, though, and directed it on Steven—and himself.

            “What the hell’s wrong with you, Steven?” he questioned.

            “Me?” Steven’s reflection shone out of the side mirror of a car. “You’re the one going on a killing spree and scaring (Y/N)!”

            “I didn’t do any of this,” snapped Marc.

            “Me neither. Listen, if you’ve got a problem with the high body count, I suggest you stop listening to that bloody pigeon,” retorted Steven.

            “Stay out of my way,” said Marc, turning away. He cleared his throat. “Well, if we can’t find Harrow’s digging crew, we’re gonna have to stop ‘em another way.” He looked around. “I need to find (Y/N) first, though.”

            “Ma’at has an eye on them. You have no need to concern yourself,” said Khonshu dismissively.

            “Oh, yeah, because the gods seem so kind and worried,” muttered Steven in the reflection, and Marc was inclined to agree.

            He looked at Khonshu. “What about the other gods?” he asked. “Are they just going to stand by and allow somebody to unleash Ammit?”

            “To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath,” said Khonshu.

            “Why? What’s the worst that could happen?” asked Marc.

            “Anger them enough, and they’ll imprison Ma’at and me in stone,” said Khonshu.

            Marc tsked. “That doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

            “See how you fare against Harrow without the protection of my healing armor or Ma’at’s strength,” said Khonshu.

            Marc threw up his hands. “Alright. So what? Do you have any good ideas? If not, I’m going to find (Y/N), Ma’at’s ‘concern’ be damned.” He turned away.

            “I have a bad idea.” Khonshu disappeared.

            “Khonshu?” Even for the bird, that was unusual. Marc looked around, and his eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

            A dark shadow was crossing over the sun, blocking out its light in a sudden eclipse.

            “Sending the gods a message they can’t ignore.”

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            (Y/N) felt the shadows rush over them before they saw the eclipse. They looked up in awe as the sun was blocked out.

            “Ma’at?” they asked. “What’s going on?”

            “Khonshu is risking the wrath of the gods,” said Ma’at. “There is to be a meeting of the Ennead.”

            “Can’t they help with Ammit and Harrow?”

            “They could. Or…” Ma’at’s eyes narrowed. “They could imprison Khonshu and I in stone.”

            “Have you two done something wrong?”

            “According to their nonsensical rules.”

            (Y/N) frowned. Ma’at never avoided speaking matter-of-factly, so to avoid speaking truthfully and twisting her words meant something significant. Still, there wasn’t much (Y/N) could do, and as a doorway opened beside them, (Y/N) knew that they had bigger problems at hand.

            (Y/N) stood, squared their shoulders, and stepped through the door.

            It was time to face the gods.

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            Strength and power they’d never felt before thrummed through them.

            (Y/N) jumped from the edge of the window and landed on the street below. They felt no pain from the landing, and their strength felt unencumbered.

            Poor Steven was thrown into the side of a car by the jackal, and (Y/N) ran towards him. They were a little surprised that he had a suit—literally a formal suit of white—but if that helped him fight and survive, they weren’t complaining.

            “Steven!” called (Y/N). “Move!”

            Steven ducked, and (Y/N) punched the jackal. It went flying and crashed into a wall.

            Behind them, Layla scrambled down a ladder and watched them. She furrowed her brow as she looked at Steven.

            “You look…different,” said Layla.

            Steven brightened, but before he could respond, the jackal grabbed him and dragged him back. (Y/N) grabbed him and pulled him back, but the jackal clawed at them. (Y/N) yelped and ducked, but they were thrown to the side. Their inexperience was, unfortunately, showing.

            Steven ran to help, but the jackal roared and threw him back. Layla ran up and helped him to his feet, but the jackal lunged at her. She couldn’t see it, so (Y/N) pulled her to safety while Steven tried to distract the jackal. It grabbed him and throttled him against a car, and Layla grabbed a broken bottle. She stabbed the jackal in the back, but it didn’t show any pain. In fact, it just turned on her and grabbed her throat alongside Steven’s. The jackal slammed them into the wall, and they fell to the ground. (Y/N) ran at the jackal and punched it back. It slid to a stop before growling and charging again. (Y/N) ducked, but the jackal grabbed their leg and swung them into the wall.

            Steven groaned and pulled himself to his feet. In the metal of the car he’d fallen on, Marc stared out at them.

            “Give me control, Steven,” said Marc. “You can’t handle this.”

            “I think I can.” Steven turned on the jackal as it stalked Layla and (Y/N). “Get away from them, you,” he cried, putting up his fists. “Yeah, I see you, you plug-ugly coyote. You’re in the wrong ends, mate. You’re in my yard now. Yeah. Come on. Come on. That’s right. Come on. Ooh, lookie here, lookie here. Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a ‘V!’ ”

            The jackal charged, and Steven punched it. It flew to the side, and Steven stared at his fist in surprise. He laughed and cheered.

            “I did it! You got planted!” said Steven. “Did you see tha—”

            The jackal kicked him, and Steven hit a double-decker bus. The jackal continued to attack him. The two continued to grapple in their fight, and even as Steven struggled valiantly, the jackal threw him in front of a car. Steven was thrown backwards and hit the ground hard, his mask knocked off.

            “That was a hell of a punch back there,” said Marc sarcastically as Steven dragged himself to his feet. “Look around. Someone’s gonna get hurt if you don’t let me help.”

            Steven swallowed hard. “Alright. Do it. Take control. For now.”

            His eyes rolled back into his head, and he leaned back. His eyes glowed silver as Steven’s suit transformed into Marc’s mummy-themed outfit.

            Layla stared in surprise before taking charge. “Get it out of here!”

            Marc jumped onto the roofs of London to draw the jackal after him. It growled and hesitated to stare at (Y/N). They sighed and leapt up after Marc to not divert the jackal’s attention. It growled and ran after them.

            “Stay back, kid,” shouted Marc.

            “It’s following both of us,” called (Y/N).

            The pair continued to run, and the jackal leapt after them. As they went, the jackal began to catch up. (Y/N) and Marc leapt across a street, crossing the shining moon. Marc landed smoothly, and (Y/N) stumbled. They were used to parkour and gymnastics from their nights of thieving, but with new strength, their balance felt off. This would take some getting used to (and (Y/N) was annoyed at never having been given a suit before).

            They reached the edge of a clocktower, and the jackal grabbed (Y/N). They yelped and twisted to get out, but the jackal threw them to the side. Marc moved instantly and caught them as he leapt from the tower. The jackal pounced, and Marc twisted midair. He kept (Y/N) tucked close to him while kicking the jackal back. His aim was true. The jackal landed on a spire, stabbed through its heart. It wheezed for a moment before disintegrating into the sand from where it came.

            Marc put down (Y/N), and their suits retracted. Marc breathed heavily, having exerted a lot of his strength.

            “Thank you,” said (Y/N) quietly.

            Marc nodded shortly. “It wasn’t a big deal.” He patted his pockets. He frowned in panic. “No, no. Where is it? Where is it?”

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened. “Did we lose the scarab?”

            “Shit, it’s gone!” cursed Marc, confirming it.

            “What do we do?” asked (Y/N). They weren’t a fool. By this time, Harrow had likely found the scarab. They’d failed their mission.

            “I don’t know,” said Marc, staring up into the sky.

            Silence descended on them as the two Avatars contemplated their situation and failure.

            “Is this what it’s like?”

            Steven’s voice broke the quiet, and (Y/N) and Marc turned to the statue behind them. The sides were mirrors, and Steven looked out from within.

            “Being on the inside?”

            Marc glanced at (Y/N), but he was too tired to be ashamed of his condition (which he shouldn’t need to be, anyways), so he just nodded. “Yeah,” he said to Steven.

            “It’s horrible,” said Steven nervously.

            “It’s alright. You’re alright,” said Marc, trying to calm Steven.

            “I feel like I can scarcely move,” said Steven.

            “Breathe,” said (Y/N), sitting down. “That’s what I’m doing.” They’d never messed up a job, and now they’d put the world at risk. That was enough to trigger their own mental-health issues (when it came to working for a god, they were bound to develop, and (Y/N) did see their parents die, so trauma + work pressure = mental illness).

            Marc and Steven looked at them.

            “You can hear us?” said Marc.

            “I hear the truth,” said (Y/N), sighing and wrapping their arms around their knees. They were too tired for it.

            “…Thank you, then, for not saying anything to Layla,” said Marc.

            “It’s not my place,” said (Y/N), closing their eyes and focusing on their breathing. They tried not to think of how Ma’at was going to react to their failure.

            “C-Can I have my body back?” said Steven, having tried to breathe but not being able to handle it.

            “I can’t do that right now, Steven,” said Marc.

            “Please,” said Steven.

            “I’m taking it back!” said Steven. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus, but nothing happened.

            “Sorry,” said Marc. “We’ve always managed to keep a wall between us, but something’s changed. The one who controls the body has become stronger. The reflections help, but most of the time, it’ll take all your willpower just to be a fly on the wall.”

            “You can’t do this, keeping me trapped in here. You have no right,” said Steven. “My whole life. I can’t go on a bloody date. I can barely keep a goldfish alive. I lost my job. It’s been you. It’s always been you, eating away at parts of my life like a parasite.”

            “Look, when I am done, when I have repaid my debt, I swear to you, you will never see me or hear from me again,” said Marc. “I promise you, we wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Khonshu. And my…servitude is the price that I pay.”

            “What kind of servitude?” said Steven.

            “The kind that leaves me covered in blood,” said Marc.

            “Yeah, well, that blood is on my hands,” snapped Steven. “You ruin people’s lives! Everything you touch, you ruin!”

            Marc threw up his hands and turned away.

            “You hurt people. You abandoned your wife. You left her stranded,” said Steven.

            Marc turned on Steven. “I did not. I am protecting her. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “Yes you did, I saw!” said Steven.

            “Khonshu has his eyes on her,” snapped Marc. “He wants her as my replacement. I’m never gonna let that happen.”

            “You’re a liar! I don’t believe you! I don’t trust you!” said Steven. “You hurt people!”

            “Just shut up!” said Marc.

            “I won’t let you hurt anyone again! I will never give you a moment of peace, I promise!”

            “Shut! Up!”

            Marc slammed his foot into the mirror. Over and over he stomped on it until the shards were so small that Steven’s face couldn’t appear anywhere.

            Silence.

            Marc glanced at (Y/N), but the teenager hadn’t moved, still breathing and trying to calm themself. They hadn’t listened at all to what was going on with him. Before either Avatar could calm down properly, though, the wind whipped around them, and two gods revealed themselves to both parties.

            “You failed to keep the scarab safe,” said Ma’at. “You should not have entrusted it to that man.”

            “He is a fool,” said Khonshu angrily.

            “I’m sorry,” said (Y/N), looking up at Ma’at, so small compared to her towering stature.

            “I’ll retrieve the scarab,” said Marc.

            “Too late, Harrow has it,” said Khonshu.

            “Then we’ll find another way. We’ll get to Ammit’s tomb first,” said Marc.

            “Ma’at and I have decided that this is…enough of an issue that working together is necessary,” said Khonshu.

            (Y/N) and Marc looked at each other. That meant they would be working together.

            “Harrow has many allies. We have few. We must use the resources we have at our disposal,” said Ma’at.

            “I understand,” said (Y/N).

            “I’ll do whatever it takes,” said Marc. “Where are we going?”

            “Where the hell do you think?” said Khonshu scornfully.

            “Cairo, the home of the gods,” said Ma’at.

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@oscarissac2099

@amberforest08

@kyalov

@yyourmotherr

@im-making-an-effort

            “You don’t have to listen to them,” assured Harrow benevolently. “Khonshu often throws temper-tantrums, like a two-year-old. None of the gods respect him.” Steven was handed lentil soup. “What is Ma’at like?”

            “She is fair,” said (Y/N).

            “Is she? Strange, then, that she took such a young Avatar. It hardly seems fair to you,” remarked Harrow.

            (Y/N) frowned.

            “Do not listen to him,” said Ma’at.

            “Do you not know? Avatars are supposed to be adults,” continued Harrow. “But you must not have met others. Ah, well, it can’t be too bad, of course. She hasn’t been banished, unlike Khonshu.”

            “I only punish those who have already done harm,” said Khonshu. “I am real justice!”

            “I have done nothing but uphold justice,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) was left wondering what other Avatars were like. It was clear Khonshu and Ma’at’s choices were…singular. Was there more to being an Avatar that they didn’t know about? Were there rules? Did deities have a culture and rules? (Y/N)’s mind whirled with questions.

            “What’s Khonshu saying now? ‘I am real justice?’ ” said Harrow.

            “Can you hear him?” asked Steven quietly.

            “Not anymore.” Harrow smiled. “Though I suspect (Y/N) can.”

            (Y/N) didn’t see a reason to hide what he knew. “I can.”

            “Another ‘truth,’ ” chuckled Harrow.

            “How do you know what he says, then?” asked Steven.

            “I was his former Avatar,” said Harrow. “Before you, I was the fist of vengeance.”

            What a title, thought (Y/N).

            “That’s the little American man living inside of me,” said Steven quietly.

            “And that’s, uh, that’s Marc?” said Harrow carefully.

            Steven looked down at his plate and avoided the question. “Soup’s…Yeah, that’s very good. It’s ace. Yeah, it’s lovely.”

            “Khonshu punishes those who have already walked an evil path,” said Harrow, looking at Steven intently. “His retribution comes too late.” He looked at (Y/N). “As does any action Ma’at takes. By the time any fist of vengeance or defender of truth arrives, people have already suffered. Ammit knows this too well. She tears up evil from the root, casting her judgement before any evil’s done. That’s why we must resurrect her.”

            “Right…but isn’t that a bit dodgy?” said Steven. “Like, trusting the judgement of a weird crocodile lady?”

            “You don’t need to doubt her judgement,” said Harrow, smiling. “Ammit will light the path to good by eradicating the choice of evil, which brings us to the scarab.”

            (Y/N)’s pocket felt all the heavier. Around the room, people got up and began to circle from different vantage points, ready for a fight.

            “That scarab functions as a kind of compass, leading us to Ammit’s tomb,” explained Harrow. His people began to converge. “She’s out there, waiting, longing to be freed. While the cruel masses deserve to face her punishment. And in the wake of their screams, evil eradicated. Steven, (Y/N)…to exist at that moment? Heaven on Earth.” He leaned back. “So, the scarab.”

            “Oh, I don’t have it,” said Steven. He wasn’t going to give up (Y/N), a kid, so that was all he said.

            “No?” Harrow raised a brow.

            “Honestly, I don’t have it,” said Steven.

            Harrow looked at (Y/N), and they cursed their inability to lie. Still, they had to say something.

            “Marc took it from me in the Alps. I came to Steven’s flat to find it,” said (Y/N). Hopefully, that would be enough for Harrow to not directly ask “do you have it?” At some point, they wouldn’t be able to dance around the answer “yes.”

            “Well, maybe you know someone who does?” said Harrow, looking between (Y/N) and Steven. “Maybe Marc hid it and you know where?”

            “Don’t you do it.” Marc spoke from Steven’s reflection in the bowl. “Don’t you give it up. He’ll kill you and the kid.”

            (Y/N) blinked. They were unused to having people consider their safety. Ma’at couldn’t due to their job, so this was…new. Since their parents, no adults had looked twice at them. Steven and Marc weren’t exactly people (Y/N) knew or could be sure they could trust, but they at least didn’t want to throw (Y/N) to the wolves. That was…nice.

            “Just give me the body,” said Marc.

            “No, I don’t know who could have it or where,” lied Steven.

            Harrow looked at (Y/N).

            “Marc hid it somewhere. It wasn’t in the flat when I got there.” Two truths. Marc had hidden the scarab, and Steven had brought the duffel bag into the flat after (Y/N) got there.

            “May I speak with Marc?” asked Harrow.

            “Um…uh,” Steven shifted uncomfortably.

            “Marc, what has Khonshu promised you?” said Harrow. “That this is your last mission? Then you’ll be free?” He looked at Steven. “Trust me when I tell you Khonshu is a liar, as are all the gods.” He glanced pointedly at (Y/N). “There is always one last thing.”

            (Y/N) decided to intercede to save Steven from the interrogation. They owed him. “If Ammit judges people before they do anything, isn’t she judging an innocent person?”

            Harrow’s eyes flicked to them, and they continued.

            “It goes against the idea we have the ability to make choices. It says that there’s only one path for us and we have no self-determination,” said (Y/N). Everyone was staring at them, but now that their thoughts were in the air, they weren’t stopping. “And what counts as ‘evil’ to her? If it’s action, she’s admitting to judging someone for what they might do. But if it’s thought, then that makes no sense, since thoughts becoming actions is what is harmful. The thought in itself could be ignored.”

            Harrow sighed. “(Y/N), you’re a child. You may be an Avatar, but you do not understand the scope—”

            “Oh, what about children?” said (Y/N), eyes widening. “Would Ammit kill a child for something they might think or do in thirty years?”

            Steven’s eyes widened in horror at the idea.

            Harrow sighed and collected himself. “I’m glad you mentioned that. Sometimes…the cure is a little taste of the disease. The difference between medicine and poison sometimes is only dosage. Considered a diseased limb. Amputation, horrific and grotesque, is necessary for the overall health.”

            “A child isn’t a diseased limb,” said (Y/N). They looked around at everyone. “Is that what everyone here thinks? That killing—a terrible thing—a child is fine because that child might do something bad in the future? You’re just as bad as the child’s hypothetical future.”

            Steven nodded emphatically. “Sorry, yeah, but…I kind of draw the line there at child murder.”

            Harrow looked away from them in disappointment. Then, he lifted up his cane. “Do you know what this is?”

            “Yep, it’s a cane, yeah,” said Steven.

            “This is—” Harrow stood and held out the cane “—Ammit’s gift to her first Avatar.”

            “Alright…” said Steven.

            (Y/N) eyed it warily as it glowed purple. The followers of Ammit took steps back as Harrow held it up.

            “It contains in it a tiny sliver of her power,” continued Harrow.

            Not good, thought (Y/N). They and Steven stood up from the table and took a careful step back.

            “I don’t want to use it,” said Harrow. That was the truth, but that wouldn’t stop him from indeed using it. “I don’t.”

            “Then don’t,” said Steven, laughing nervously. He and (Y/N) continued to back away. “We can’t help you.”

            “Yes, you can,” said Harrow. “I need to know, where is the scarab?” Steven and (Y/N) were silent. “Where is the scarab?” repeated Harrow, raising the cane towards Steven. “Where is the scarab?”

            “No,” said Steven, shaking his head.

            “Where’s the scarab?” Harrow lifted the cane.

            “Don’t hurt him.” (Y/N) pulled the scarab from their pocket and held it above their head.

            All eyes snapped to them, and (Y/N)’s body went hot with anxiety at the attention. They knew this was stupid and risky, but they couldn’t just stand by while someone was threatened. It wasn’t who they were.

            Harrow stared at it. “You have no idea the value of what you’re holding.” He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

            (Y/N) shook their head. “I can’t let you release Ammit.”

            Harrow sighed. “I’d really prefer to do this the easy way, but I have to make sacrifices for a better world.”

            Steven’s eyes widened in alarm, and (Y/N)’s grip on the scarab tightened. They needed a way out.

            “There is no deal in this, Marc. Fix this! Fix this!” shouted Khonshu.

            “Do not give it to him, (Y/N). Get out of there!” said Ma’at.

            “Don’t touch them.”

            A woman pushed out of the crowd and stood by Steven and (Y/N)’s side. Layla. She, too, wanted to keep the scarab safe, and seeing Steven (who she still thought was Marc) and (Y/N) threatened was unacceptable.

            Layla glanced at Steven. “Summon the suit.”

            “Sorry, what?” said Steven.

            “Summon the suit,” urged Layla.

            Oh, boy, thought (Y/N), still looking around themself warily.

            “ ‘Summon the soup?’ What are you saying?” asked Steven.

            “The suit. Summon it,” repeated Layla urgently.

            “The suit?” said Steven.

            Layla groaned. “So be it.”

            She grabbed Steven and (Y/N)’s wrists and pulled them after her. A man grabbed for them, but Steven shoved him back.

            “Up!” shouted (Y/N), racing towards the stairs with Layla and Steven on their heels.

            Harrow sighed. It seemed he’d have to use the cane. He slammed it against the ground. The building shook, and purple light erupted from cracks spiderwebbing through the floor and walls.

            (Y/N) paused in front of Victor as he emerged from a side hall, knife in hand. They pushed the scarab into Steven’s hands. It seemed they were going to have to fight.

            Fine.

            To protect innocents, (Y/N) would.

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@kyalov

            “We need a statement about your whereabouts,” said Kennedy in a “friendly” manner.

            The lie made (Y/N)’s skin prickle. No getting out of it, though. They couldn’t fight their way out. “…Alright.”

            “And we’ll need your ID,” said Kennedy.

            (Y/N) looked nervously between her and Fitzgerald. “I don’t have it with me.” Truth.

            “Don’t lie to us,” said Fitzgerald.

            “I’m not.” I can’t.

            “It’s fine. We don’t need an ID,” said Kennedy. “But we need a name.”

            “…(Y/N).”

            This was the worst.

l

            “Wow, lookie, lookie. Guess what we’ve got here, Billy,” said Kennedy, looking through Marc’s passport information online.

            “Go on, tell me,” said Fitzgerald.

            “We’ve only got ourselves a full- blown international fugitive,” said Kennedy.

            “It’s not-It’s a mistake. That’s not me,” said Steven.

            “Marc Spector was part of a team of mercenaries that hit a dig site in Egypt. Here’s what they did to the archaeologists,” said Kennedy. “Zip-tied and shot in the back of the head, execution-style.”

            “That’s dark, man,” said Fitzgerald.

            (Y/N)’s blood chilled. Archaeologists. That’s what their parents had been, and Marc was capable of killing those people. They felt the desire to curl in on themself build. But there was nowhere for (Y/N) to go. They were stuck in the car with two DCs they couldn’t trust and a man who’s alter wouldn’t hesitate to kill.

            And (Y/N) had no idea how to deal with it. Ever since 2018, they’d followed Ma’at’s instruction. Strange? Yes. A terrible decision? Probably. Unexpected? No. (Y/N) had been ten and lost their parents. How else were they going to survive?

            How am I going to survive this?

            That was the real question.

            “(Y/N) (L/N).” Kennedy flipped to the information on (Y/N). “Presumed dead in accidents following the Blip.”

            “Wonder what you were up to until now,” said Fitzgerald.

            (Y/N) didn’t respond, too tired to put together anything that was truthful enough to be spoken but omitted anything to be used against them. They knew they’d been declared dead. Part of them was.

            Whatever life they’d been meant for before the Blip had died with their parents.

l

            The car rolled to a stop in a back street. Steven frowned.

            “I thought we were going to the police station,” he said.

            Fitzgerald adjusted the rearview mirror. “Now why would you think that?”

            (Y/N)’s blood ran cold as they saw the scales tattoo on his wrist. They’d been right. These two worked for Harrow.

            “Sit tight, yeah?” said Kennedy, getting out of the car without listening to a response. Fitzgerald exited with her.

            “What do we do?” said Steven, panicking. “They’re not real officers!”

            “They’re real, but they don’t have any loyalty to true law or justice,” said (Y/N), frowning.

            “How do you know so much?” said Steven, looking at them.

            “You saw me in the Alps. I’ve dealt with…people like this before,” said (Y/N). That was enough truth.

            “Then you know a way out?” said Steven hopefully.

            “I’m a thief, not a fighter,” said (Y/N). And now that Harrow has my face and name, I’m ruined…

            Panic grasped at their lungs and stole their breath. They had never been so exposed, never. They had always kept their privacy, their identity. Now that had been stolen from them, too. Their one bit of safety was gone.

            A football (“soccer”) rolled to the side of the car, and a girl picked it up. Instantly, Steven knocked his head against the window.

            “Hello. Hello! Excuse me! Could you help us?” he called. “Help, please, we’ve been kidnapped—”

            “Steven,” said (Y/N), eyes trained on the girl’s tattoo of scales. She was part a follower of Ammit. “She’s one of them.”

            The girl barely glanced at them before walking away.

            “Oh my god—Agh!” Steven squeezed his eyes shut as his head pounded.

            “You don’t need to fight me, Steven,” said Marc, and Steven’s eyes went to his reflection in the window. “Surrender control.”

            “No. No, I saw what you did to those people,” said Steven, not even caring he was in front of someone else. He needed speak back to Marc. He refused to be pushed around.

            “It’s not what you think,” said Marc.

            Can’t tell if that’s a lie or not. The phrasing was too ambiguous.

            “Just give me control. I can get you, the kid, and the scarab out of here,” said Marc.

            “I am never giving you control again,” said Steven, slowly, firmly. “Ever? Do you hear me?”

            They really need to talk this out, thought (Y/N), though it was hardly a helpful thought at the moment. (They also wanted to tell Marc and Steven that they could hear them both, but they really weren’t in the right place to do so).

            “I hear you loud and clear, Steven Grant of the gift shop.”

            (Y/N) and Steven’s eyes flicked to the radio on the car’s dashboard. Harrow’s voice hung in the air.

            The door of the car opened, and Steven tumbled out. (Y/N) stepped out a bit more gracefully. Waiting for them in a white linen outfit was Harrow himself, his crocodile cane in hand.

            “I’m sorry for the wait,” said Harrow, as gracious as ever. “We just needed a chance to better understand your situation.” He smiled at (Y/N). “My apologies. We will get to you.”

            Anything that (Y/N) could say which was truthful was also rude, so they opted to remain quiet.

            “Do you have the keys?” said Harrow, glancing at Kennedy. She handed them to him. “Let’s get you out of those cuffs.” Harrow undid Steven’s restraints. “There you go.” He nodded to Kennedy and Fitzgerald. “Thank you both.” He guided Steven to his feet and smiled at him and (Y/N). “Aren’t they terrific?”

            “Yeah, they’re lovely,” said Steven.

            “Efficient,” said (Y/N).

            “Well, it’s no wonder your scales don’t balance, Steven,” said Harrow. “It must be very difficult having all those voices inside one head. Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Khonshu…I’m curious, do you think that Khonshu chose you as his Avatar because your mind would be so easy to break or because it was broken already?”

            “No, I-I’m not broken,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) didn’t need their senses to know that was the truth.

            “Just need some help, maybe,” added Steven.

            That was also true, but (Y/N) was inclined to believe the “help” needed was just some communication.

            “That’s right. That’s why I’m here. To help,” said Harrow.

            Lie. (Y/N) shivered at the intensity of their senses.

            “And you. (Y/N) (L/N),” said Harrow. “I wonder what voice you have in your mind.”

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes warily.

            “Oh, yes, I know you’re an Avatar,” said Harrow, smiling. “I recognize the signs. Listening for what others can’t hear. Trying to hide from attention. Hollow eyes.” Harrow continued to gaze at (Y/N) with a benevolent look. “So, who is it?”

            “Be careful,” warned Ma’at.

            (Y/N) raised their eyes to see Ma’at standing, a story tall, behind Harrow.

            “Ah. They’re here. Don’t worry. You don’t need to be afraid,” said Harrow.

            Lie.

            “I understand how you feel. I was once an Avatar,” said Harrow. He chuckled kindly, and (Y/N)’s hairs stood on end as he tried to make them relax with him. “When I was younger. Perhaps, though, not as young as you. Your age is quite…unusual. Maybe that’s why they chose you. Easy to mold.”

            “I was chosen by Ma’at because of my heart,” said (Y/N). Because truth and lies are a part of me.

            “Ah. Ma’at,” said Harrow, and (Y/N) frowned. “Another deity devoted to justice like Ammit.” He looked at Steven. “Like Khonshu. We’re all so similar. We all serve the same ideals.”

            “Kill him!” Khonshu materialized, shouting, and Steven gasped.

            “Oh, is he here now?” said Harrow. He hardly seemed concerned. “What’s he saying, huh? Is he telling you to kill me?”

            “Break his windpipe!” ordered Khonshu.

            “Get away with the scarab,” said Ma’at. “Escape before Harrow does any harm.”

            (Y/N) absolutely wanted to, but one quick glance around said that they were surrounded by Harrow’s people.

            “Yeah, he’s saying that,” said Steven nervously.

            “Well, just remember, neither of you have to do everything your deity asks for,” said Harrow kindly. “So, Steven, before you get excited and put on the cape, and (Y/N), before you try to run, I’d love to take this opportunity to show you around.”

            “We can’t just walk away,” said (Y/N). Truth. They were stuck.

            “You can after we have a brief talk,” said Harrow.

            It didn’t register as a lie, but (Y/N) knew he was omitting that he wanted to scarab in order to let them go.

            Khonshu kicked a trashcan across the alley in anger. Steven jumped, and (Y/N) flinched.

            “Khonshu, do not act rashly,” said Ma’at harshly.

            “Do not think to order me,” retorted Khonshu.

            “It’s alright, it’s alright. Listen to me, not them,” said Harrow. “That’s all either of them can do without your help. Come.” Harrow guided them further into his neighborhood.

            (Y/N) felt like a fly walking farther into the spider’s web.

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@amberforest08

@kyalov

            “Get her out of here, Steven. You’re way out of your depth,” said Marc.

            “Uh, is this your flat, Marc?” said the woman.

            “Um, I’m Steven,” said Steven.

            “Are you living here with someone else?” asked the woman, staring at the cuffs on the bed.

            “No, no, no,” said Steven.

            “Okay, so you guys are talking again?” said the woman.

            Steven nodded, clearly having no idea what he was talking about.

            The woman picked up a book. “Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?”

            “Yep,” said Steven. He cleared his throat and spoke one of the poems in French. “I am sad, I want my light put out.”

            “Summers in your absence are as dark as a room,” finished the woman and Steven together.

            This is extremely awkward and weird, thought (Y/N), really wishing they knew where the scarab was so they could take it and leave.

            “She’s my favorite poet,” said Steven.

            “Um, no, she’s my favorite,” said the woman, frowning.

            And they’re both being honest, thought (Y/N)

            “That’s mental,” said Steven.

            The woman frowned and crossed to the desk (Y/N) was hiding under.

            Shit, shit, shit.

            “So you’re learning French and hieroglyphics?” said the woman.

            “Yeah, well, that’s not that impressive, really,” said Steven. “It’s not like hieroglyphs are a whole language. It’s more like an—”

            “An alphabet,” finished the woman.

            “Yeah, and well, you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it,” said Steven.

            “Sure,” said the woman, humoring him but clearly irritated.

            (Y/N) was really, really not enjoying this.

            “For example, like this one here, right?” said Steven.

            “Funeral rites,” said the woman.

            “Well, someone knows their unilaterals. You,” said Steven, attempting to tease and stumbling over it terribly. “That’s amazing.”

            “Yeah…” The woman stared at Steven.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean that in a creepy way,” said Steven.

            “No, I’m sorry. I’m not buying this, Marc,” said the woman. “Use whatever accent you want. Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.” She strolled over to the duffel bag and backpack they’d put down. “You sent these papers, but you never signed them.”

            (Y/N) peeked out from beneath the desk. The backpack is hers—the woman was going through it with a sense of ownership—so that duffel bag… (Y/N) looked at it. A part of them—their gut, almost never wrong—told them it was Marc’s. The woman thinking Steven was Marc, knowing him, and bringing him back to his (Steven’s) flat supported that. Which means Marc probably hid the scarab in there.

            “Did I? Uh…” Steven trailed off as he looked at the papers.

            “This is what you wanted,” said the woman. “After everything, you told me that we needed to move on.”

            I think Steven is dealing with Marc’s marital issues…

            “Divorce…?” said Steven.

            “Yeah, we doing this or not?” said the woman.

            “I would never divorce you,” said Steven.

            Yeah, but you aren’t Marc, thought (Y/N). They pushed that out of their mind and focused. They needed to get over to the duffel bag.

            Luckily, marital disputes made for good distractions, so while the woman and Steven spoke, (Y/N) moved from their hiding spot to behind the large bookcase.

            “Marc, what are you doing?” said the woman, sighing tiredly.

            “Look, you seem absolutely lovely,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) looked between them and the duffel bag. So close.

            “This Marc, on the other hand, is a right twit. Yeah?” said Steven.

            Marc scoffed in the mirror.

            Damn, he’s going to see me. (Y/N) frowned. But unless he has control of the body, Steeven isn’t that much of a threat. The woman is an unknown, but if I’m fast enough, I’ll be on the roofs in a moment.

            Steven took a step back and sighed. “I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening.”

            “Steven,” said Marc in warning.

            He’s also distracted, realized (Y/N).

            They felt bad taking advantage of emotional distress—they’re felt enough of it themself—but they needed the scarab so that Harrow wouldn’t know where to find it.

            “I don’t expect you to believe me,” said Steven, basically pacing.

            “Steven, listen to me,” said Marc.

            “I honestly don’t really believe myself,” said Steven.

            (Y/N) slipped towards the table.

            “All I can do is try to show you what I found.”

            “Steven, don’t, listen to me,” begged Marc.

            “I found a bag of stuff,” said Steven.

            “Don’t you dare. You’re gonna get her killed, you hear me?” said Marc.

            “What’s in it?” said the woman.

            “Don’t say anything,” said Marc.

            Steven couldn’t even look back at the woman, he was so nervous.

            “If you show Layla that scarab, then you’re when they come after her,” said Marc.

            “What’s in it?” repeated Layla.

            “Nothing,” said Steven, keeping his face turned from her.

            “I’ll just look for myself.”

            “Wait, no,” said Steven, panicked, and he turned to grab Layla as she turned to head towards the bag.

            Steven froze. Layla froze. (Y/N) froze.

            “…Hi.” (Y/N) held the scarab tightly.

            “You?!” said Steven, eyes wide.

            “You!” said Marc.

            “Who?” said Layla.

            “Y-You were there—in the village! You were in the van,” said Steven

            “Is that the scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti?” said Layla, narrowing her eyes.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N), moving towards the window slowly.

            “Steven, you can’t let them take that. I have to keep it safe,” said Marc.

            (Y/N) glanced at him, but Layla moved between them and the window before anything else could happen.

            “Marc and I fought side-by-side for that,” said Layla. “I’m not letting you take it, even if he’s trying to do a whole one-man-show thing and keep it to himself.”

            (Y/N) liked her spirit, but they had a job to do. “Sorry, but I need to keep this safe, and I don’t think it is with…Marc.”

            The woman glanced at Steven.

            “I don’t want it!” he said, raising his hands. He was exhausted with it all. “I don’t want it! I swear. Either one of you can have it! I am not Marc Spector, and I want nothing to do with this! I’m just Steven Grant, and I used to work in a gift shop. All I want to is to get help because I’m in trouble.”

            (Y/N) felt bad for him. Unlike Marc, he had clearly not been previously aware of the alter, and discovering that and all of the Egyptian-deity stuff was a lot.

            “…Fine,” said Layla. “I believe you.” She looked at (Y/N). “But I’m sorry, I can’t let you walk away, either. I need to know it’s safe.”

            “We all want the same thing,” said (Y/N), holding the scarab closer. “But I—I have a duty to justice. I can’t leave this here.”

            “Steven, take it from them, just take it, it’s dangerous, and Harrow will come and become their problem as well as mine,” said Marc.

            A knock sounded at the door.

            Everyone fell silent and stared at it.

            “Steven Grant? Can we have a word?” said a woman’s voice.

            “See? They’ve come for me,” said Steven.

            “Why?” said Layla.

            “I vandalized the toilet…” said Steven.

            The knocking continued.

            Steven cleared his throat. “Yeah, just a minute.” He crept towards it and opened it a crack. “Yeah?”

            “DC Fitzgerald and DC Kennedy here,” said the woman, showing her ID.

            Truth. Even though (Y/N) was certain they were telling the truth, they took a wary step away from the door. They still didn’t trust the scenario. This felt too much like Harrow interceding with his many connections.

            “Yeah, one second.”

            Layla ran for the window, and (Y/N) went with her after slipping the scarab into their pocket.

            “Yeah, sorry, I’m having a bit of a day,” said Steven.

            “Mind if we come in, Mr. Grant?” Kennedy didn’t wait for an answer. “Appreciate it.” She pushed in.

            (Y/N) didn’t have a chance to escape with Layla and was left in Kennedy and Fitzgerald’s lines of sight.

            Oh, no.

            For the first time in their life, (Y/N) was caught.

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@oscarissac2099

@amberforest08

@kyalov

            “I’ve been good my entire life,” said the woman desperately, unable to understand the results of her judgement.

            “I believe you,” said Harrow. Truth. “But the scales see everything. Perhaps it’s something that lies ahead. He sighed. “Well, I wish you could live to see the world we make. Yet, Ammit has decided.”

            The woman gave a gasp that died in her throat. Her body froze before collapsing, dead.

            (Y/N)’s stomach twisted, and they grimaced as every part of them surged angrily at the injustice of these people being given no chance, even for their future. It went against the proper order of life. It was just wrong, and (Y/N) could feel it.

            Harrow knelt sadly beside her body before it was carried away. One of his men walked up and crouched, holding his gun tightly.

            “I’m sorry. There was a problem with the exchange,” he said in German.

            Someone already took the scarab? thought (Y/N). Their eyes went to Khonshu’s Avatar.

            “We got ambushed. Someone killed two of our men,” continued the man.

            It was definitely Khonshu’s Avatar’s doing.

            Harrow stood. “Is he still here?”

            “We think so, yes,” said the guard.

            They know his face, thought (Y/N), glancing at him again.

            Harrow looked out over the crowd. “Bow to Ammit!” he said in Ancient Egyptian.

            The entire crowd knelt ((Y/N), too, to blend in). Khonshu’s Avatar was late, having no idea what the order was and not being part of the cult.

            “Oh, bollocks,” cursed Khonshu’s avatar.

            (Y/N) frowned. That was a totally different accent, English (weird English, too) instead of American. What was going on?

            “You,” said Harrow, looking at him. “I know you.”

            “Me? Hi, uh…” The avatar stood up nervously.

            “Mercenary,” said Harrow coldly, and all eyes went to Khonshu’s avatar.

            “ ‘Mercenary?’ ” repeated the man nervously as the crowd stood up again. “No, no. I’m not a mercenary. No, I’m a gift shop-ist. I work at a gift shop. My name’s Steven Grant.”

            No lies at all, thought (Y/N). He really was Steven Grant and worked at a gift shop. Which, incidentally, made the whole situation more complicated because Harrow was also telling the truth. A regular job as cover? But what about the accents?

            “I’m trying to get back home. To London,” said Steven nervously as Harrow approached. “London? I dunno why I’m saying it like that.”

            “Well, Steven Grant of the gift shop,” said Harrow.

            “Yeah?” said Steven.

            “Will you return to the scarab?” said Harrow, holding out his hands.

            Shit, can’t let him have it, thought (Y/N). Now that they’d seen Harrow judge people and kill them, they knew that even beyond Ma’at’s instructions they needed to stop him. (Y/N) refused to let innocent people get hurt.

            “The…The what?” said Steven, confused. “Oh, alright.” He patted his pockets nervously. “Yeah, the…Oh, you mean…” He pulled the scarab out of his pocket. He stared at in, not having expected it to be there.

            “You will give him nothing.”

            Khonshu’s voice echoed over the street, and Steven looked around for it wildly. He swallowed and held out the scarab to Harrow anyways.

            No! thought (Y/N). They took a step forward.

            Harrow reached out. Steven’s fingers closed suddenly over the scarab. He looked at them in confusion.

            “I strongly encourage you to return that,” said Harrow.

            “I’m not-I’m…” Steven stammered, perplexed. He glared at his fingers, willing them to open. “I’m try—” He hit his hand with his other. “Come on, now. It’s like my fingers froze.” He tried to peel open his fingers. “But here’s some of that…I don’t know, maybe it’s part of the high altitude or something.” He managed to open his hand and grabbed the scarab. “Aha! There, take it, so strange. Sorry, but—” Steven’s hand swiveled behind him, again unbidden.

            “I will not ask again,” said Harrow firmly.

            “I didn’t do that on purpose,” said Steven. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

            Completely truthful, thought (Y/N). This whole thing was proving strange.

            Steven turned his whole body in an attempt to his hand nearer to Harrow. “There, take it, take it.”

            (Y/N) couldn’t let that happen. They darted out and snatched the scarab. Steven and Harrow’s eyes widened, but (Y/N) didn’t wait around to find out their other reactions. They turned and made a run for it.

            “Grab them,” ordered Harrow.

            Several adults emerged from the ground and grabbed for (Y/N). They dodged through a few, but two snagged their arms. (Y/N) yelped and pulled to get away. It didn’t work, so they just curled their fist closed around the scarab, refusing to let go.

            “Who are you?” said Harrow, tilting his head in confusion as his people tried to pry their hand open.

            “Hey, wait, mate, you can’t hurt a kid,” said Steven, brow creasing in concern.

            “Stay out of this, worm,” said Khonshu’s voice.

            Ma’at remained silent, apparently uninterested in getting near Khonshu again.

            The people holding (Y/N) twisted their arm, and they cried out, straining to keep control of their arm. They couldn’t let Harrow get the scarab, not when he was going to hurt people.

            Steven’s eyes rolled into his head for a moment before returning to glare at Harrow and Ammit’s followers. The entire body language had changed.

            “Finally,” said Khonshu.

            Not-Steven—this wasn’t Steven—surged forwards and attacked the people trying to take the scarab for Harrow. He pulled them off of (Y/N) and punched them violently. One tried to attack him in return, but he kicked him to the ground and stomped on his head. (Y/N) stumbled back as their attacker let go, and Not-Steven swung for his head, catching the scarab as it fell. Another grabbed for (Y/N) again, and Not-Steven hit them in the face with the scarab. All the people fell to the ground against Not-Steven, left with bloody knuckles from no wounds on himself.

            (Y/N) stared in surprise, as did Harrow and the crowd. Not-Steven turned to face Harrow, and then his eyes rolled into his head once more. He blinked furiously and looked around in confusion.

            “No, the idiots back,” grumbled Khonshu’s voice.

            Oh. (Y/N) put it together. Dissociative Identity Disorder. Steven and Not-Steven were alters, and one was clearly more of Khonshu’s avatar than the other. (Y/N) had met Not-Steven a year ago, and now they had encountered Steven.

            Steven cleared his throat uncomfortably as he stared at his bloody hands. “S-Sorry…” He put his hands up and glanced at (Y/N). “A-Are you alright?”

            (Y/N) nodded sharply, but they warily eyed the crowd backing off. They needed to get out of that village now. They had been seen by Harrow, which made them a target. If they didn’t leave with the scarab, (Y/N) was going to be killed. Or at least judged, which may end in death.

            “We need to go,” said (Y/N), taking a step back as Harrow and the crowd approached again.

            “Right, right…” Even Steven knew that was the best course of action now. He looked at Harrow warily. “I’m just gonna…we’re gonna go, alright? Yeah.”

            Steven and (Y/N) ran around the crowd, dodging behind tractors and barrels before they could be grabbed. The only escape route they could see was the cupcake-truck. But, seeing as they were desperate, (Y/N) and Steven jumped on.

            “Don’t you dare drop that scarab,” said Khonshu.

            “Alright, alright, alright!” shouted Steven, starting the vehicle.

            “Go, go, go!” said (Y/N), kicking away someone trying to open their door and locking it tightly.

            “We’re going!” cried Steven, stepping on the gas and speeding out of the village onto the roads beyond. “What am I doing, what am I doing?! I don’t even have my license.”

            “Just don’t crash,” said (Y/N), as encouraging as they could be considering the circumstances. They looked behind them. “We’ve got a lot of company.”

            “This has to be a dream,” said Steven nervously.

            “It’s not, Steven,” said (Y/N), grimacing as they saw Harrow’s men catching up. The cupcake van wasn’t going to outrun them.

            “They’re gonna kill us!” cried Steven as he wound around the curves of the roads.

            He tried to speed up, but a chicken-transportation truck appeared in front of them, and he had to slow down. The followers of Ammit rammed into them from the back.

            (Y/N) grit their teeth and squeezed their eyes shut. This isn’t 2018. This isn’t 2018. They weren’t going to die in a car accident. They weren’t.

            Steven honked and swerved around the truck of chickens. “Come on, move your ass!” he grimaced as he saw the old lady glaring at him. “Thank you. So sorry. Thank you.”

            Shots rang out, and a guard jumped from the front of his car to the back the cupcake van. He pulled at the doors, letting them swing wildly in the wind.

            (Y/N) scrambled into the back of the van and kicked him back. The guard fell onto the road, and they grimaced as the cars hit him and kept going. No sooner was he down, though, then another man jumped towards the open back. This time, he kept his gun raised, and (Y/N) dodged to the side. He grabbed for Steven and the scarab, and (Y/N) grabbed his ankle, tripping him. He stumbled and aimed downwards at him with his gun. Alongside them, another car was pulling up with a man with his gun trained on Steven.

            “Wait, no!” shouted Steven, and (Y/N) pushed back to try to avoid being shot.

            In the next moment, Steven—No, Not-Steven—grabbed the man aiming for (Y/N) and smashed his head into the steering wheel. He jerked back, and Not-Steven grabbed his gun. In one fluid motion, he shot the driver of the other car, sending it careening off into the mountain, and he shot the man aiming for (Y/N), letting his body fall back and out of the van.

            No sooner was it done than his eyes rolled again, and Steven dropped the gun in shock and disgust. “I don’t understand what’s happening!” cried Steven.

            “Truck!” shouted (Y/N), grabbing the seat they were behind as Steven screamed and swerved violently around a log truck. It tipped over and crushed a pursuing car.

            Two others pulled up on either side of the van and tried to hit the sides of the cupcake truck. A man on either side raised a gun and aimed.

            (Y/N) ducked and prepared to take the wheel if Steven got shot.

            His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and Not-Steven’s eyes focused. He glanced at (Y/N) before spinning the wheel. (Y/N) held onto the seat as the van spun around, hit one car, and ended up backwards. The car crashed off the side of the mountain, and now the cupcake truck faced the final car pursuing them.

            Not-Steven’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, and Steven focused again.

            “I’m driving backwards!” he cried.

            “Watch out!” said (Y/N), bracing as the car behind(?) them tried to hit them.

            Steven threw the gun at the car, and (Y/N) groaned.

            “Did he just throw the gun?!”

            “I don’t know what I’m doing!” said Steven.

            “Then leave us be, parasite!”

            Steven panicked and turned the wheel, spinning the car around again. They sped towards the forest in the valley, and then…the engine died.

            They coasted to a stop, and the car behind them pulled up to block the road in front. The men got out, readied their guns, and headed towards them.

            “Come on,” said (Y/N), pulling Steven towards the back of the van to escape.

            At the perfect moment, the logs that had come off the truck from earlier landed on the road and crushed the men.

            “Oh, shit!” cried Steven.

            “Oh, god,” said (Y/N), eyes widening. What an unfortunate way to go. Still…it meant they were alive.

            “We need to go.”

            (Y/N) glanced at the man beside them. It was Not-Steven again.

            “Do you still have the scarab?” said (Y/N), following Not-Steven.

            “Yeah,” said Not-Steven. They headed into the woods and walked along the road towards the next town over.

            “What’s your name?” asked (Y/N).

            “Marc,” said Not-Steven. He glanced back at them. “You’re Ma’at’s avatar.”

            (Y/N) nodded. “You’re Khonshu’s.”

            Marc narrowed his eyes. “Yeah.”

            “…I’m (Y/N),” said (Y/N). They realized they should have introduced themself earlier.

            Marc nodded. “Do you have a way back to…wherever you live?”

            “Ma’at will tell me where I need to go next,” said (Y/N). “I’ll figure it out from there.”

            Marc frowned. “You don’t live anywhere?”

            “No?” said (Y/N).

            Marc looked at them and furrowed his brow before turning back to the front. “Be careful.”

            “I know,” said (Y/N). They were the avatar of a god and took back (stole) relics from criminals regularly. They wouldn’t be alive if they didn’t know to be careful.

            But, still, there was something nice about someone saying it instead of (Y/N) having to just take care of themself.

l

            “You were filming our judgement, correct?” Harrow smiled at a young woman.

            She nodded. “Yes, Mr. Harrow.”

            “Please, call me Arthur,” said Harrow. “Would you mind if I took a look?”

            “Of course, Mr-Arthur,” said the young woman.

            “Thank you,” said Harrow, smiling.

            “Mr. Harrow,” said one of his guards, walking up to him. “They got away with the scarab, but we’re already tracking down ‘Steven Grant.’ ”

            “Good,” said Harrow. He held up the phone with a still of the crowd from the video. “And I need you to figure out who this is.” (Y/N)’s face stared out of the crowd.

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l

2023…

            (Y/N) crouched on the roof and dropped onto the balcony below them. The house around them was quiet. The security guards were clueless to their approach, which was just fine. They didn’t want any attention.

            (Y/N) opened the sliding door of the balcony and slipped into the display room. They glanced around themself in distaste. None of the artifacts in glass cases belonged to the owner of this house. He’d “acquired” them in the aftermath of the Blip left countries in disarray, just so like many others.

            After the return of the Blipped, the problem of stolen artifacts had only gotten worse since the chaos had begun again, letting more people profit off the displaced people and their possessions.

            (Y/N) had spent years repatriating the stolen relics from the aftermath of the Blip. This man, Mr. Medrano, was among the worst offenders. He lied about his findings as an “archaeologist” and stole what he needed for glory. And along the way, he removed any competition. A thief, a liar, and a killer. Medrano was a man who brought injustice of all kinds to the world.

            And that was precisely what (Y/N) stood against—what Ma’at stood against.

            (Y/N) stopped in front of a case of Egyptian artifacts. Their eyes scanned the contents for the relic they were supposed to bring back to Egypt (send back, really, by way of another person. (Y/N) was still just a teenager, so they couldn’t send it back themself without raising suspicions. Luckily, putting something in a hidden box and not showing their face did the trick).

            (Y/N) frowned. The hieroglyphic tablet of Tethering wasn’t on the wall. It seemed they were later than expected, and Medrano had begun to work on translation.

            Which means it’ll be in his office.

            (Y/N) went to the door of the display room and peeked outside. No light, no movement. They moved into the hall and crept down towards the room at the other side of the house. Making sure their gloves were on—no sense leaving fingerprints—(Y/N) reached out and felt the door handle.

            The door was unlocked.

            Gently, (Y/N) opened it.

            Shick!

            (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they took a step back. A man in a white, bandage-like suit stood above Medrano. He pulled two crescent-shaped blades from his chest, and Medrano’s body slumped to the ground. The man paused and looked towards the door, the moon sighting the crescent-illusion in his hood and the symbol on the forehead and chest.

            “There wasn’t supposed to be anyone here,” said the man, but (Y/N) felt in their heart that he wasn’t speaking to them.

            “Does it matter? Your job is to punish the wrongdoers in this mansion.”

            (Y/N) blinked as they heard a voice echo from behind them. It was a god’s voice. Not Ma’at, no, but most definitely a deity.

            “I won’t hurt a kid, Khonshu,” snapped the avatar, and his hood folded back.

            (Y/N) turned around and found themself staring up (really up) at a half-man, half-bird skeleton in white wrappings. This was Khonshu.

            “I’m not a wrongdoer,” said (Y/N) to Khonshu, holding up their hands. “I’m, uh, an Avatar.”

            At that, Khonshu and man stopped.

            “You can see him?” said the man, frowning warily.

            “I’m the Avatar of Ma’at,” said (Y/N). They shifted. They weren’t used to saying that. “She’s the goddess of truth.” They could see the “truth” of the world more than others, and that included the gods that walked among them.

            “That ostrich is interfering with my work,” said Khonshu, irritated.

            “You are the one who is not supposed to interfere with human business,” said Ma’at’s calm voice, and (Y/N) glanced at the office’s large window to find her sitting on the sill.

            Khonshu’s avatar looked at the window but saw nothing. “Is another god here?”

            (Y/N) nodded sharply. This was a little too much. They were used to working by themself.

            “You are doing the exact same thing,” said Khonshu.

            “I am returning artifacts to our people,” said Ma’at. “I am not interfering in human life more than that.” She glanced at Medrano’s body. “Unlike some.”

            Khonshu tsked. “I am delivering justice.”

            “A type, yes,” said Ma’at.

            “Ma’at,” said (Y/N) quietly. “I’m going to take the tablet..”

            “Go ahead, (Y/N),” said Ma’at. “Khonshu will not harm you. You have done no wrong.”

            “They interfered with my work,” said Khonshu.

            “Irritating is not wrongdoing,” said Ma’at.

            (Y/N) decided to leave before the gods continued to argue. It made them uncomfortable. Then again, a lot of interaction did. (Y/N) hadn’t really gotten to slow down and make friends after 2018, so they’d grown used to their own company (or Ma’at’s). Everything else was business, and anything more was out of their realm of understanding.

            (Y/N) opened their bag and slipped the wrapped tablet carefully from the table inside. They looked decidedly away from Medrano’s body, glanced at Khonshu’s avatar, and left the room.

            If that’s what Avatars and gods outside of themself and Ma’at were like, (Y/N) didn’t want to meet them.

l

2025…

            “(Y/N).”

            The now-seventeen-year-old raised their eyes from the book they were reading. “Yes, Ma’at?”

            “I have an important job for you.”

            (Y/N) frowned. Ma’at never described anything as “important.” Necessary? Yes. Important? No. Everything was equally pertinent to upholding justice and order to Ma’at.

            “I need you to retrieve a scarab.”

            “Who stole it?” asked (Y/N).

            “You are.”

            (Y/N) looked at Ma’at in surprise. “What?” Ma’at disliked any injustice or unlawful actions.

            “You are stealing the scarab of Ammit,” said Ma’at.

            Ammit.

            Ammit ruled the scales in the Judgement of the Dead. Ma’at was the Feather of Truth against which human hearts were weighed. One had abandoned true justice; one continued to defend it.

            And (Y/N) was stuck in the middle with the burden to protect the truth of it all.

Taglist:

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@severussimp

@dmitrytherat

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@grippleback-galaxy

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