The dim yellow light fell onto the polished porcelain tile floor, casting a warm shadow reminiscent of the evening sun. A leather shoe stepped onto this shadow, its black silhouette cutting through the halo of the setting sun, as if severing the light of the sun itself.
Coming to a halt, turning around, and standing still in place, through the legs clad in suit pants, one could see the glass cabinets of the museum, inside of which were placed so slightly worn pieces of paper covered in intricate ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs.
At this mont, heavy footsteps approached from the side. Marc hurriedly carried a box and walked over, while the figure in front of the glass display case continued to keep their head down, attentively observing the exhibits within.
Marc voiced his exasperation, "Why are you still here? We've got the stuff, let's go."
Saying this, he lowered his head, looking at the box he held in his hands. It contained a beetle model that resembled a gift. From the appearance, it didn't differ much from the commorative items sold in the museum.
Marc looked at Schiller, who was silently engrossed in the exhibition, and said, "Are you really from the KGB? Can you act more professionally? We're on a mission here. Is it ti to be looking at exhibits?"
Schiller turned his head, in a mont, his eyes lit up with a white light, as if a cluster of white fire had ignited within his pupils. Marc instinctively took a step back, suddenly realizing. He said, "Isn't it the power of the Moon God? I have it too. Stop playing around and let's get out of here!"
Marc turned and began to leave, and Schiller didn't say anything but followed behind him.
As they just left the museum, a car erged from the darkness and ca to a stop in the light in front of the museum entrance. Marc struck a cautious pose in the light, touching the gun at his waist, sensing the power of the moonlight once again. After confirming everything was in order, he descended the steps.
The car stopped in front of the museum entrance, and a long-haired man carrying a cane got out. Seeing two people in front of the museum, this man seed quite surprised, but he imdiately said, "Have you seen Deputy Curator Pietro? He invited to take a look at the items up for auction..."
Marc squinted his eyes and said, "You're lying. The mont you saw us, you straightened your spine and tensed your arms. You were on alert. Moreover, you hesitated for a second before ntioning that na. You were fabricating a false identity..."
"And who are you? Why do you seem like a jittery security guard?" The long-haired man remained unfazed. He said, "I'm Arthur Harrow, a general practitioner. I have an arrangent with Deputy Curator Pietro. This museum has an item up for auction. I needed to see it beforehand to decide if I want to buy it..."
"You don't need to explain so much to us." Marc remained vigilant without relaxing his guard. He said, "You're trying to justify your actions, but it's precisely the behavior of soone feeling guilty..."
Seeing Marc reaching for his gun, Arthur raised his hands and said sowhat helplessly, "Alright, if you don't believe , let's go together and find Deputy Curator. Is that okay?"
Marc loaded a round into his handgun but didn't aim it at Arthur. He just held the gun in his hand and asked Arthur, "Where are you from?"
"Nearby neighborhood, I've rented an apartnt there," Arthur assessed Marc briefly and then said, "You're Arican, right? Is this your first ti in Austria? This museum is indeed worth a visit, it's one of the rare Austrian museums that preserves artifacts from ancient Egypt civilization..."
As Arthur and Marc engaged in conversation, Schiller stood within the glow of light spilling from the museum door. He remained backlit, his expression unreadable, and Arthur occasionally glanced at Schiller beneath the steps, seemingly cautious of Marc's companion.
Seeing that things weren't progressing, Marc inadvertently revealed the box he had stashed within his inner coat pocket. The box contained the preserved beetle, packaged in the common way of museum souvenirs, with a diamond-shaped opening on its lid that allowed one to see what was inside.
Upon catching sight of the beetle for a mont, Arthur took two steps back. Just as he was about to raise his cane, Schiller finally descended from the steps. He tapped Marc's arm, signaling him to put the box away, and then said to Arthur, "Find a place, and we'll talk."
Marc slightly widened his eyes, turning his head to Schiller. Not because of what he said, but because of his voice.
Schiller's voice, just now, was completely different from the one in the interrogation room. It was extrely dry, with heavy swallowing sounds. Marc didn't even know that a human's vocal cords could produce such a sound, like a strange and awkward imitation of a child who's just learning to talk.
Fortunately, Arthur understood Schiller's intention. He glanced cautiously around, noticing that quite a few windows in the nearby buildings were lit. He seed wary as well. He turned back and opened the car door. Schiller followed him into the car and took the passenger seat.
Marc hesitated for a mont, tightened his grip on the handgun in his hand, and then got into the car as well.
The atmosphere inside the car was extrely silent. Arthur sensed that Schiller's attitude might be swayed, so he spoke, "Both of you must be from the U.S., and I am too, though I've been here a bit earlier..."
"I haven't lied to you. The deputy curator here possesses an artifact that has caught my interest. He showcased this piece online before, and it intrigued . So, I ca here to strike a deal with him."
"But I didn't expect that he would break our agreent and sell this artifact to you first..."
Arthur sighed and continued, "I'm dedicated to researching the civilization and culture of ancient Egypt. The item you have in your possession is important to . I'd like to buy it. How much did you buy it for? I can offer a higher price..."
"Your lies are far from convincing," Marc comnted, "Full of contradictions and loopholes. Earlier, you ntioned it's an auction item, but now you say you had a private arrangent with the deputy curator. You claid to be a general practitioner, yet now you ntion leaving your position and living here for a while..."
"Is your friend always like this?" Arthur asked while driving and looking at Schiller in the passenger seat. He added, "Could he be ntally ill? Suffering from paranoid delusions, perhaps?"
As the car took a few turns and gradually left the well-lit streets, the surroundings grew darker, and the car's speed decreased. Marc had raised his handgun and was now aiming it at Arthur's head.
And at this mont, Schiller pushed open the door and got out of the car, standing in front of the car's hood, seemingly waiting for the two people inside to step out...
Seeing this, Marc held his handgun steady, his other hand pushed the car door open as he continued aiming the gun at Arthur's head. Arthur opened the car door and walked out. He wasn't panicked by the gun pointed at him, instead, he held his cane with one hand and leaned against the car's engine hood with the other.
He turned his head, surveying the surroundings here, facing Marc, his eyes flashed with an eerie light. He said, "I see it, you're a criminal filled with chaos, sins almost beyond redemption. I can see that wicked fire within your soul..."
Faced with these words, Marc hesitated. He didn't know what was influencing his mind, but suddenly, the darkness in front of him began to blink. The massive and ominous silhouette of Khonshu was flickering in the darkness, appearing and disappearing repeatedly...
Suddenly, Arthur heard the sound of tapping on the engine hood. He turned his head and saw Schiller, dressed in a suit, lightly tapping the car's engine hood with an umbrella in hand.
The tallic sound of the tapping was sowhat vexing. Arthur turned his head, his eyes glowing. All of a sudden, his figure stiffened.
Marc didn't know what Schiller saw on him with that mysterious vision of his, but in the mont Arthur turned his head to face Schiller, the light in his eyes blinked twice, then extinguished.
Arthur took two steps back, his face turning pale. He pointed his cane at Schiller and stamred, "You, you..."
He swung his cane, and an eerie light emanated from the tip of the cane. But just then, with a "bang," Schiller captured the umbrella with both hands, lifted it upward, sending Arthur's cane flying. Following this, he thrust forward, hitting Arthur squarely in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
Arthur had just tried to struggle to stand up when a leather shoe pressed onto his chest. The umbrella in Schiller's hands twirled, its tip pointing downwards. With a "clang," a sharp knife appeared at the tip of the umbrella, and with a "thud," the umbrella blade pierced Arthur's throat.
Schiller raised his hand, and in a mont of splattering blood, the umbrella "popped" open. Not a drop of blood stained him.
As the blood splattered onto Marc, he didn't even have ti to react. Everything happened too quickly, a series of precise, elegant, and fatal movents.
Marc stood there in a daze. Suddenly, he saw Schiller turn his head, locking his gaze onto him, and a flash of white light ignited in Schiller's eyes.
Marc suddenly rembered that he was a Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) agent, and just a few hours ago, Schiller had claid to be from the KGB.
Marc swallowed hard, took a step back, and said, "No, wait, we're in a cooperative relationship now..."
The last thing that appeared in his field of vision was the gradually enlarging umbrella handle.
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