"And here we have a Greek pithos, on loan to Fawcett City from the private collection of Ms. Diana Prince, a noted antiquities collector and an expert at their restoration. She's contributed a great number of items to this exhibit, and we are beyond thankful that they had not yet arrived before the… incident a few weeks ago. She believes that these artefacts should be connected to stories you may have heard, and has asked us to tell those stories. This item, in fact, is close to what anthropologists believe to be the proto-mythic "Pandora's Box" – a container that the myth says was possessed by the gods that had all of the evils of the world trapped within it. Now over here we have…"

"This curator lady could learn a thing or two about keeping a crowd entertained, that's for sure," Billy muttered to the nearly comatose Eddie. The curator's almost monotone had a large portion of the crowd nearly drifting off, despite their interest in the material. Billy was almost one of them, but was doing his best to stay conscious, not only because it was his job, but because the Wisdom of Solomon told him that knowledge of these myths might be useful someday. After all, just a month and a half ago he thought that ancient heroes and gods were less real than fairy tales.

As they walked around the expansive museum exhibit, gawping at the vast collection of artefacts and taking careful notes (his job was turning out to be fantastic cover for his other identity), he felt himself pulled inexorably towards an amphora, cracked and broken, but shimmering with an unseen power. None of the other guests seemed to notice it, and the curator paid it no special mind until after her presentation, when she wandered the floor, answering questions that the guests might have. Eddie had wandered off to get a drink of water and visit the gift shop, but Billy was still laser focused on the ancient jar, pulled to it like a magnet. The curator stood by him, looking at it, and broke the silence. "It's a nicely decorated amphora, isn't it? A shame it's broken."

Billy was startled out of his silence "Oh! Yes, it's… nice. Is there anything special about it?"

"Not particularly. It's a very old one, to be sure, and well made for its age, but nothing too special."

But Billy saw differently. Looking at it with the eyes of the gods, he could see a shimmering form, whole and unbroken, emanating power as if it had never been broken. There was magic at work here. Godly magic, he could feel it in his bones.

The curator's voice broke into his reverie. "There are some in much better shape, but less historically prominent. I see your press pass, let's see if we can get a volunteer to give you a tour of the rest of the collection. We wouldn't want you to lack a story!"

"Thanks ma'am. I appreciate it. This stuff is pretty cool."

Ten thousand miles away, a man directed his crew to start digging into the sand. He felt pulled towards an area of the desert just north of Egypt, drawn like a fish on a line. Some inaudible voice spoke to him, encouraging him, promising him everything he wanted.

Thaddeus Bodog Sivana was not a man to be crossed. He had built himself from nothing. The only son of poor parents, he had built an induction motor from scratch by the age of eleven, and only then enrolled in high school. He was quickly passed through classes, moving on to independent study in Chemistry, Physics, and Mathematics by his sophomore year. It was at this time that his parents died. His older sister, sickly from her youth, was diagnosed with a genetic disease, prompted by an unlucky double copy of an already lethal genetic condition. It was a death sentence for both of them.

His sister was only nineteen when she was consigned to hospice care. He swore to do everything he could to save her, but despite nearly living in the library and laboratory, there were limits to what he could do with the resources at hand. So he found better resources. He proposed a deal with a businessman who had recently invested in cutting-edge pharmacology and traded his breakthrough theories for access to technology on the very bleeding edge of science.

But it wasn't enough.

His sister passed away at the age of twenty-four.

And he was told that in a matter of years, he would too.

Thaddeus Bodog Sivana, honorary doctorate from two universities, was the driving force in curing four separate genetic diseases and saving thirteen hundred lives by his direct intervention. And there was nothing he could do to save himself, his sister, or his parents.

He worked feverishly until he collapsed at the age of twenty-seven, showing the same systemic autoimmune failure as his family did.

For all the life-extending treatments he had developed, he could only delay his own decline. It was hopeless, and with science failing him, he turned to the occult. He delved into the depths of magic, parsing legends and lore from true secrets. His secure laboratory was closed to him when a rising Lexcorp purchased the company he had worked at, adding it to the conglomerate bulk, but the small fortune that he had built from his research sustained him. He found that although the arcane secrets of magic were simple for him to learn and even extrapolate upon, he could not use magic himself. But the answers were out there. And he had devised a foolproof, scientific basis for finding them.

Then the world changed, and the dregs of magic that had been floating around were nothing compared to the power he could track and find now. He had a good feeling about this site. Ancient Sumerian texts mentioned a man beyond mortal strength; Egyptian myths called him a son of Ra, equivalent to the pharaohs. Teth-Adam. Black Adam. There was magic in his grave, and Sivana would find it.

So he had his men dig, deep into the sand that nearly buried the monument. They dealt with setback after setback, strong winds or shifting sands spilling over the protective walls they built, but eventually reached the goal – at the base of the monument, there was a sealed door, marked by a lightning bolt. He sent the workers off on a break, as a 'reward', while he looked at the doorway.

He was spurred on by something in the back of his mind, something that pushed him beyond caution or care. He brought his tools to the doorway, clearing out sand and grit that hadn't seen the light of day for millenia, and began to pry it open. It was surprisingly easy to move the door, despite the age of the stone, and Sivana rushed inside after opening it.

Only to find an empty tomb.

It was a small monument, and there were only a few items present. Dust clouded the air, making Sivana choke and cough as he searched frantically. He was so certain that the answer, or the start of one, would be here. He was sure of it. But there was nothing. Even now, he was still mindful of what he had found, and restrained his rage from lashing out while he was in this historical site. He lasted until he got just outside. He slammed the door shut and pounded the walls with his fists, crying as his hopes were dashed again.

He swung his fist once more, hitting the door – directly on the lightning bolt symbol, its faint glow choked by the grime that covered it. When it was struck, the ancient stone, already weakened by time and erosion, cracked, and the power intended to serve as a warning and symbol for visitors flashed out, crackling and sparking, directly into Sivana. It struck him in the face, very near his right eye, shocking and burning him.

His screams drew the workers back from their break, and they rushed to aid their benefactor. As Sivana writhed in pain, the workers saw the gruesome injury that he had sustained, and the foreman knew he had to be brought back to civilization for treatment. They rushed back to the city, using what little first aid they had available to treat the burns, but there was nothing they could do for his bleeding and sizzling right eye.