The office was dark, only a faint desk lamp lighting a small portion of the enormous redwood desk. The walls were blood red, the carpet black. Everything else in the room was shiny chrome and steel, hard, cold, unforgiving. Just like the man that sat at the desk with his red Tony Lama rattlesnake skin boots propped on one corner, the Cuban cigar sticking out of one corner of his mouth. In this world he was known as Seth Richards. But in the Duat and the realm of the gods, he was simply known as Set.

“What do you mean you can’t motherfuckin’ get the well to work?” Set growled in a deep bass voice. He took the cigar from his mouth, tucking it between the forefinger and middle finger of his right hand and pointed to the man before him. “I am not payin’ you to tell me the well won’t work. I’m payin’ you to fix it. Now get the hell outta my office!” He watched as the man rushed to the door, reminding Set of a rat scurrying. In annoyance, Set flicked his finger towards the man and smiled coldly as the thin, hairless tail appeared.

It had been a long week and winter in Dallas was not one of Set’s favorite times of year. He yearned for the sand of Egypt, wished Naqada was still on the map. That was where he longed to be. ( Maybe it was time for a vacation. He would’ve considered Vegas, except the city actually had snow. Snow! In Vegas! What was up with that? )