Zou's Betrayal

A couple days ago far across the desert in the city of Cairo, the capital of modern Egypt, a middle aged Asian man is rolling up a cigarette. He is looking over the roofs of the city from his hotel room window and licks the paper. Somewhere past the buildings and the vast desert Monica and the rest are continuing their project. The man lights the blunt and swipes his forehead. It’s just past noon, and the air is still hot and sultry. He swears in Chinese and reaches for the fan and puts more power into it, but it’s then that his phone rings.

He gets up and walks over to the phone and picks it up, not sure what to expect. “Open the radio.” The call ends and Zou puts the phone back slowly and feels sweat dripping from his jaw. He turns to the radio he got from the men who work with the Collective. He turns it on the correct channel and waits for just a moment and then a broadcast starts: “Hello, my name is Manny Zou, I am an investor and a talent manager. I am from Hong Kong, and I own multiple large shares in many substantial businesses. And I am fortunate enough to be granted membership with the Collectors’ Collective by the administrative office. I wish my contributions will help in our great discoveries as we explore the freshly discovered mysteries of the valley of king Nuhkmut. You may have heard that I was earlier affiliated with Fathi Ahmed and his dig operation. But I assure you, that I’m now on the side of the collective firmly and thoroughly. I am grateful for the chance to give you my support, from the bottom of my heart. Let us revel in the culture we discover and the findings we make!”

Zou sighs and shuts the radio off and hears the phone again and picks it up, hitting his blunt before picking up: “This marks the first day of your participation. Five million US dollars have been transferred to your account as a welcoming gift.” The voice in the phone is altered and anonymous – it sounds as much of an old man as it does a young girl: “Onto more pressing issues, mr. Zou. We are still suffering from the defeat in the desert. While your intel was invaluable to the operation, the end result was still… sub par. Our operatives are being handled accordingly and punishment is being dealt. What I wish you to pursue, is taking back the treasure the scum stole from the crypt. Witnesses say they carried at least one bag of loot out of the crypt, in addition to apparently resurrecting the prophet herself. My current theory is, with 96% confidence, that the bag in question contains the ankhs, the artifacts of life. I wish you to bring them to the Collective as your first mission, before they manage to use the rest of them. An operative will arrive at your door shortly. The task’s success will determine our trust in you.” The call ends and Zou hears the doorbell. These people are insane. He swipes his forehead and walks to the door.

He opens it and looks up. There’s a large, towering man standing before him. The figure is wearing a black trench coat and gloves. there’s a balaclava on his head with no eye or mouth holes and he’s wearing a bowler hat. He steps in, ducking the doorway and walks past the much shorter Asian man and stands in the living room. His arms are long and his hands large and tense.

“Ehh… I was told… you would deal with the problem, yes?” Zou asks and the man turns without saying a word. He wears a collector’s collective pin on his coat and a full three piece suit under the coat. “Not too hot in that, I hope. I don’t have any pants under this robe and I’m burning, hehe…” Zou tries to lift the mood but the man doesn’t even flinch.

It’s obvious Zou has entered the professional criminal world and there was no other reality than to be straight. He takes a picture from his wallet and looks at it. There he is, proudly standing next to Monica after her doctorate graduation. He was always so proud of Monica, she was like a real daughter to him. “Here. This woman has the ankhs. You know what ankhs are?” Zou shows the operative the picture. The tall man makes a circle with his fingers and slams the other hand parallel to it, which makes Zou jump a little.

“R-right…you know where to find them, r-right? Probably in the storage tent…” He tries but the man walks past him and out of the door, pulling it locked behind him. Zou falls on his knees and looks at the picture again. “Monica… stop this nonsense.” He notices his blunt went out and burned up in his hand.