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You woke up suddenly, feeling of being dropped on something startling you awake.
Wincing at the bright light, you sat up and looked around, finding your ankles and wrists bound by thick rope. And surrounding you, the men in red robes began chanting, bowing and sitting up in unison.
The corner was where the curator of the British Museum stood, reading from the Book of the Dead.
Wait...the Book of the Dead?
Ice shot through your veins at the realization, the haze of your splitting headache evaporating as your head turned to the center of the room. The corpse of Imhotep sat there patiently, encased in what looked be amber.
"They found him," you exhaled, your stomach lurching.
Almost immediately, the battered, un-dead mummy you'd fought seven years ago burst from his encasing, his roar shaking the entire building.
"This is bad," you mumbled to yourself, frantically yanking at the ropes.
He took a few steps forward, snapping his head around the room suspiciously.
"What year is it?" He asked, the depth of his voice making the Egyptian nearly inaudible.
"My Lord, it is the Year of the Scorpion," the curator answered, respectfully.
"Truly?" Imhotep asked, eyes wide.
"Yes," he nodded.
Imhotep turned around and let out a deep, sinister laugh, rubbing his hands together almost cartoonishly.
You glanced over at Lock-Nah, who was opening the chest, and watched him intently.
He carefully lifted the lid, only to find a baseball player statuette, not the bracelet.
Alex...
The memory of him stuffing something behind his back flashed in your mind, and your shoulders sank with relief.
"Thank you, Alex, for not listening to me," you sighed, smiling.
"Lord Imhotep, we brought you a gift," the curator chimed, pointing to you.
Imhotep turned around with a growl, his face immediately twisting into one of anger.
"Her!" He shouted.
You swallowed thickly, fear sinking into your pores, as you shut your eyes and prayed to Hathor for protection.
"We knew it would please you to see her die," the curator smiled, turning to his workers with a clap.
The men in red robes made their circle close in and grab the board you were sitting on, picking it up and carrying you towards a large fire.
You struggled, frantically trying to pull your hands out of their binds, but it did nothing.
