In the early 90s, at the start of the Rwandan Civil War, a treasure hunter, world-class smuggler, and master assassin fight not only for their lives, but for the priceless "Blood Chicken."
"This is where we part," the captain says. "Take the raft below deck to the beachhead, I can go no further."
"Oh yeah?" Ben pulls out a stick of gum, chewing it. "And why's that?"
The captain rests on the wheel, looking at Ben genuinely.
"There is great evil in those trees. Evil which no man; no 'ting should ever experience."
"You hear that Riley?" Ben says, making his way down towards the raft. "You're going first."
Riley sighs, packing up his stuff before following suit.
"Do I have to..?"
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"Yes." Ben says, pointing to a tree from their raft. "That's definitely a Barbet, look at it's colors."
"Thought so." Said Riley, pulling from his backpack a large camera. "This'll make a fine Facebook phot--" Suddenly, as if on cue, the Barbet flew away. "Oh, come on," he exclaimed, lowering his camera.
"Ah, well, you win some you lose some, right Riley?"
"I guess that's one way to put it..." The raft slowly comes to a stop on the beach. "Wow... This is beautiful."
"Yeah, no kidding." Ben takes out his notebook, looking at the coordinates on the letter. "Say, Riley..." He says aloud. "You don't happen to have that fancy GPS on you, do you?"
"Actually..." Riley digs in his vest pockets. "I do." He pulls out a fONE Nav 1000 GPS, turning it on.
"Good, I need you to put these coordinates in for me." Ben fixes his shades, and clears his throat. " 8° 4' 33.9852'' S 39° 42' 53.6436'' E."
Riley looks at Ben, quizzically.
"Okay, what?"
"8° 4' 33.9852'' S 39° 42' 53.6436'' E."
Riley types it into the GPS, and it makes a satisfying tone.
"Alright, I've got it." Riley points into the jungle, gaze affixed to the device. "Should be right..."
Ben takes off his shades as he walks past Riley and into a clearing.
"... There." He says, drawing Riley's attention to the huge, conveniently obvious temple before them.
"That's uh..." Riley lowers his hand, "yeah, that'd be it."
Ben makes his way to an etching at its side, running his hand along the intricate, weathered carvings and patterns cut into the stone.
"Marvelous..." He whispers, "Ancient Ha'Ji'ba'nn architecture..."
Riley pulls out his fONE camera, snapping a couple amateur shots at the craftsmanship.
"Ha'Ji'Boo what now?"
"Ha'Ji'ba'nn," he repeats. "Natives to this island around 340 AD, it's not a time nor people fondly studied."
"You have no life." Riley tells Ben.
"Didn't that insult die in the nineties? Let's keep it like that."
Ben walks into an opening at the base of the temple, taking out a flashlight. Riley follows behind slowly, silently attempting to mock Ben. "Your haircut died in the nineties..." He whispers.
