195X. Fourside.

Typical G-Man look. Alden Strong prided himself on it, the downturned fedora, the nice suit, the trenchcoat. He adjusted the fedora a little to do a better job of blocking the rain that fell as he leaned against the Fourside tower, that art deco jewel of the city. Cutting quite a figure, Strong, he thought to himself as he saw a few girls--students at the college, looked like--glance at him from across the street and giggle.

The taxi pulled up a few seconds later. He tipped his hat to see if the girls were still looking at him--they were, and after this acknowledgement they ducked quickly into a nearby building--and then got in. "Fourside Museum."

The taxi driver, a squat, dark man who didn't seem well versed in the usual cabbie/fare small talk, nodded his head once and put the lurching old car into motion. Strong lit a cigarette.

"So..." Strong couldn't bear the silence any longer. "You like driving a cab?"

"Oh, it's just the highlight of my day."

Strong murmured an "Alright, then," and closed his eyes, as though that somehow made the silence less awkward.

The cab's tires squealed against the saturated streets as it pulled up to the Museum. The frazzled curator stood at the top of the marble stairs under an umbrella.

Strong got out of the cab, tipped the man with a glare, and climbed the steps of the great Romanesque at Fourside's center.

"You... you're late." The curator's glasses shook as he did, and when the learned man extended his hand in greeting it was everything Strong could do to catch it before it oscillated once more away.

"I couldn't get my usual cab driver. Why... why'd you call us again, Sam? You can tell me, Sam, but if you don't and I find out you've gotten involved with the wrong crowd again I won't hesitate to... ah, go through the proper channels this time." Having exchanged the expected pleasantries they moved through the grand façade, behind the velvet rope, and into Sam Agerate's private office.

"No, no, it's nothing like that." The curator sat down in a firm leather chair behind a massive oak desk, conspicuously assuming the same position as his father, who was staring sternly down over the proceedings from a dusty-looking portrait. "We've had something stolen from us... this time." His eyes stayed focused on the yellowed globe next to where his hands fell on the desk, away from Strong.

"This... You know this is a police matter, right?" Strong lit a cigarette and leaned back.

"Yes." Agerate looked through a desk drawer for a moment; his hand, still trembling, came up with a bottle of prescription tranquilizers. "I just think there are some extenuating circumstances. Secrecy would be... beneficial."

Strong got up and moved for his coat, hanging beside the door. The curator pushed himself out of the chair and raised a hand.

"No, wait! It could mean the end of the world."

The trenchcoat stayed on, but Strong set his hat back down. "What're you telling me?"

Agerate went back into his desk, this time pulling a telegram from the mess. "A few hours ago I received this from someone. The name is obviously a pseudonym, but I called the Escargo Express boy who was at the counter and he told me he saw a strange man come in to send somet--" Strong grabbed it out of his hand.

"Say, what artifact are we talking about?"

"The Image of En-Nungal."

"Right, it was in the newspaper a while ago. But what does this have to do with the feds, or the world? I get the feeling you're playing me for something, Sam."

"There's something we didn't say about the E. Image for the papers, Alden. It's said that, in antiquity, it granted the Scarabians... certain powers. T... telekinetic, I mean."

"Powers?" The hat went on. "Powers? You send for me--on my off day--for magical powers?"

Agerate looked down at his desk, more nervous than before, and shut his eyes. "Alden, make sure the door is locked."

"I swear, if I get up one more time..."

"Lock the door."

"Yes, yes, for Pete's sake."

"You remember the electrocution, from a few months back?"

"Right, that was in between when we investigated you for grave-robbing in Scaraba and when we arrested you for illegal archeological practices in the Deep Darkness."

"Yes, yes. Well, the Image was the reason we were in Scaraba in the first place, the grave-robbing was just to throw you off.

"En-Nungal was a mystic nomad, said to have lived thousands of years ago in the deserts of Scaraba. So long as the Scarabians had him or his image on their side, they were unstoppable; contemporary accounts have their enemies' shields exploding, lightning coming down from the sky... amazing things.

"You don't need to know the whole story, but at some point in the last few months the Image... came into our possession. While we were moving it from our warehouse... well, you saw the crime scene."

Strong rose from his seat. "Yes, more charred flesh than I enjoy in a typical day's work. Well, I'll take a look, but let's keep this out of the press, shall we? It's a stolen artifact, that's all."

Agerate gave him the Escargo Express address and the agent stalked out the door. Sam Agerate, third-generation curator of the Fourside Museum, vowed to get into a less-stressful business once his contract was up.