[b]The Afterlife:[/b]

The temple is an enclave built into the exhibition hall. The audience stands in shadowed darkness, hidden under the buried tomb. Hot humid air fills the buried bronze mastaba, and otherworldly light reflects off the copper sigils embedded in these walls - some are the polish shine of fresh copper, others the dull sea green patina of old observatory rooves. New patterns emerge through this, new sigils made of the sigils. And a sound net kills any sound coming from outside. While watching the trials there is no outside world to escape to.

Anubis stands with a hand resting on a bronze khopesh while the bird headed Horus leans over the heads of the crowd and selects the next volunteer. Underneath that gaze, the head darts finch-like, peering down out of the flickering corner of an eye. It makes you feel like a worm about to be pecked. There is no line, there is no ordered waiting. The Gods must deem you worthy of their judgement. Then Horus walks alongside you to a copper stool before Anubis, who reads you your rites - The only rights you have here are what the Gods decide, for their word is the only justice you need. 

This path leads around the crowd, not away from them. It’s a winding slope up to a chest-high platform on the other side. The long walk is necessary to build tension, and this twist of staging lets you see that tension from every angle. 

And now Horus has descended and found Pope 7-09 in the crowd - and in the darkness, he hasn’t seen November yet. He sees nothing but Horus when he takes the long, winding slope up. 

Pope wears that straight cut tuxedo with a hand-knotted bowtie which makes him look like an oversized ventriloquist dummy. He sits in the copper stool in front of Anubis with a curious and expectant look, fingers itching against his knees. It seems he knows, least of all, how this will go. His eyes are locked on Anubis, and he shows the sincere terror of true belief. Like a child on a rollercoaster who has forgotten his restraints and remembered his fear of gravity. 

A clay jug is raised to his mouth, and he drinks from it. There’s a buzzing, and Pope’s eyes widen in horror as Anubis fingers curl into a beckoning gesture. The long-clawed black fingertip draws upward along Pope’s shirt, up his neck, tilts his chin up…

And a buzzing golden scarab crawls out of his mouth, jewelled and irridescent. Its contours are solid gold, its shelled wings thin slices of opal with streaks of blue lightning rippling just beneath the surface. The bug flies from Pope’s yawning mouth, and lands on the scales of judgement that Horus holds. 

“This is your heart.” Horus says, and Pope nods with his mouth still hanging open. His eyes dart from Horus to the scarab on the scale. “When I release my thumb, we will know if your heart is heavier than the feather of Maat. Pope 7-09, in your life, were you committed to Truth?” 

Pope dry-swallows and nods breathlessly. “Yes,” he says with the last of the air in his synthetic lungs. He forgets how to breathe in again. 

“Did you uphold Justice?” 

Pope’s eyes go wide. He opens his mouth, but cannot say anything. He starts to give a short, unconvincing nod of his head, but then his eyes dart to his heart on the scales and he freezes.

“Maat will reveal.” Horus breaks the silence. “Were you Honourable, Pope 7-09? Honourable in the eyes of others? Did you trespass on the values you hold to yourself? Does this heart bear the weight from where you have stepped upon it?”

“I-I don’t know?” Pope stammers with only the breath drawn panicked through grit teeth. He tries to get out of the chair but his knees give out and he falls back down on the heavy copper stool. 

“Maat will reveal.” Horus repeats. He releases his feathered thumb from the scale, and the iridescent beetle rises, rises, and then takes flight over the crowd. 

And Pope falls forwards catches his face in his hands and sobs, once. Just once. Then he breathes, and composes himself, and looks at the scales, and those huge watering eyes - something dark breaks across them. All at once. It’s not just that the rollercoaster has come back into the station, no, as he stares at the scales in Horus' hand he looks more like a kid learning Santa Claus isn’t real. It’s not just a loss of belief, it’s that pained betrayal he was allowed to believe in the first place. 

He wipes his eyes. The illusion is gone, it’s just actors on a stage now. He wipes his eyes again and gives a very sincere clap. “That was a powerful performance,” he compliments them. “Thank you for it.”

When he walks off stage it’s the first time he sees White and Blue in the crowd, and from the cardboard smile and the absolute stiff-legged freeze, it’s pretty clear he’s really wishing nobody he knew had been here to see this. He would only see Black, too, if she wanted to be seen. 

Who does Horus choose next from the watching crowd? 

Also: Who’s in charge of checking in to your hotel room? Rooms? While this is happening. At the very least you can pick up the spare key for Crystal’s room she’s had the front desk put aside for you.