Greece, 1941

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A faint humming sound filled the air as soon as the archaeologist creaked open the door to the large, ancient temple. It was quite simple, the temple: A few booby traps there, a few spiders and crawlies here, if anything, this was a walk in the park for the man.

Just like any other temple-maker, are we now, Greeks?

The man's looks were quite intimidating at a distance- a top-heavy man with short brown hair and a noticeable stubble amongst his chin. He was wearing a leather jacket along with an out-of-place fedora, and carried two notable weapons around his waist- His bullwhip, and his time saving revolver.

At the moment, he had been embarked on an adventure, like all adventures he had gotten himself into, this one was simply to retrieve notable historical items from a Nazi guarded (and destroyed) temple from the Ancient Greeks.

The man opened his journal. "Alright, Greeks... What've you got for the teacher..." He muttered to himself, flipping through the pages while eyeing the Facists down below his perch on a top entrance- there were three guards to the stolen artifacts, all looking outward with guns at the ready.

The man's journal read:

The Instruments of Doom

3 instruments- all with unique abilities. MUST NOT USE! NEVER USE!

"Let's see, let's see..." He murmured to himself, catching glances at his notes and picture references while glancing at the Ancient yet shiny artifacts that he had to snatch back from the power hungry Nazis.

Flute of Sound- \Banquet_Euaion_Louvre_G467_n2_croppedA slightly bambooed flute rumored to mute sound itself... And restore it.

A glance at the artifacts. A double-flute concoction was in the middle of the three.

"Flute. Check."

The Pipe of Wit-

\690A pan pipe rumored with the power to take someone's intelligence.

"Intelligence. Pheh." The man rolled his eyes. Just some Hocus pocus folklore- nothing short of what he had seen over his years in the field.

A glance. A pan pip to the right of the double-flute.

"Check..."

The Gong of Strength-

\antiker-gong-tor-1024x695A gong rumored to take physical strength.

"Right..." He raised his eyebrows in fast wanting as he looked back at the items- a gong on the other side of the flute, all three placed on a red fancy velvet case, as if almost being removed from the temple in some way. "A gong, that's a gong all right..." He then looked back at his notes, and couldn't help but comment. "Quite strange for ancient Greeks to have a hold of gongs, but... It's a mystery."

Now for a distraction.

The man crouched down, being unseen by the shield the nearby boulder gave him as his brown eyes focused on his prize- er, the museum's prize.

Marshall would love this.

"Aufmerksamkeit!" A German official shouted, causing the man to arch back into his place of hiding, hand moving to his whip in case he was spotted. The voice continued, "Es gibt eine Störung am Eingang."

There's a disturbance at the entrance.

The man's brows furrowed as he translated the German words for himself. Seems like they refused to let any Italians in this. Must be a grand day for the Führer.

"Wir müssen von unserem Fund ablenken, Männer."

We must distract from our find, men.

"Ohhh, no you don't." The man chuckled under his breath. Footsteps echoed as soon as the order was given, the Nazis walking away. Time for action.

The Archaeologist watched as the guards left their post, grabbing the bullwhip at his belt and cracking it at an open vine. He swung down, landing somewhat gracefully at the case's end. There they were.

"The Instruments of Doom." The man smirked, "Don't look too dangerous, now, don't they?" He smirked to himself as he placed his two careful hands on the double-flute, holding it up to his eyes to get a closer look. "Oh, you're all coming with me." He muttered to the instruments as he opened his satchel. "Too bad you don't fit in there, Flute."

As he placed his satchel on the floor, he grabbed the pan pipe, stuffing it into the satchel along with his journal. He then picked up the Gong, which had no mallet to hit it.

"Gongs have a mallet, don't they?" He muttered as he stuffed the heavy gong inside his satchel, "This better be worth it, I'm gonna have to lug you out."

But just as he reached for the pan flute, his fingers slipped on his belt. Instead of grabbing his whip, he had discharged his gun.

BOOM!

"Damn-!"

German voices flooded the halls around the temple, footsteps echoing and getting closer.

"Jemand ist hier!"

"Hol ihn dir!"

"Was war das?"

"Shit-!" The man muttered again, carrying the satchel to the ledge he had hopped down on. Grabbing his whip while balancing the prized flute in the other hand, he cracked it at the upwards vine, which gave out as another gunshot was heard.

BOOM!

Lowering his gaze to see who had shot down his only means of whip climbing, the troubled Archaeologist was face-to-face... From a distance... With one of his old rivals ever since the beginning of his Golden Years, before the Stones, before the Ark, before the Grail... Dr. Bernard Müller.

"Dr. Jones..." He smirked, smug even in his thick German accent, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Can't anyone take a stroll nowadays?" Jones's eyes narrowed as he chuckled despite himself, clutching the satchel close and recoiling his whip to be back on his belt. There had to be a way out of this situation with the Instruments. There had to.

"Hmmm." Müller's eyes squinted in a "I-know-your-ways" kind of way. He nodded to the other Nazis. "Durchsuche ihn."

The Nazis immediately marched over to the helpless Archaeologist, confiscating the satchel from his hands and grabbing the flute from his already tight enough grip. They took out a rope and tied his hands, leading him to be even closer to Müller.

"A lot of help for someone who's last name is 'Man.'" Dr. Jones nodded at his rival. Müller laughed.

"At least I wasn't seeking inspiration from my hund, Jones. Indiana."

Dr. Jones didn't flinch at the name drop coming from the German. It was his persona, this "Indiana Jones" that he had adopted on his adventures. At home, he was Professor Henry Jones, Jr, but on the field... He was Indiana. He liked that name.

"Seems you've gotten a hold of my old toys, Dr. Jones..." Müller presented the three finds as soon as he was presented to them. "I wouldn't want them to get scratched..."

"Then you wouldn't have your men leave your post." Indiana smirked, "Not a really good look for your leader, is it, Müller? Letting some little man take back your stolen artifacts?"

"Oh, Jones." Müller laughed for a moment, "Who in their right mind would approach a guarded temple, hmmm? Who in their right mind, hmm? Dr. Jones?"

It took Indiana a second to realize what an idiot he was. Of course. It was too easy.

"You knew I was coming." He raised his chin.

"Genau, Dr. Jones!" Müller clapped mockingly, "See how it all... Neatly ties together?" He clasped his hands together, interweaving them, "A perfect plan, Jones, a perfect plan."

"They belong in a museum."

"As if I haven't heard all your words already, Jones, don't waste your breath..." Müller then gracefully took the Flute of Sound from one of the Nazis, turning back to the archaeologist, "You'll miss it too much."

"What."

"I mean, Dr. Jones, is that your words are your only... Fang-Shield... And... Possibly your greatest strength. But wouldn't it be a breath of fresh air if it just went..." Müller searched for the right word, "Poof...?"

"What are you talking about?" Something in Indiana's mind traced back to his journal, which was strewn about, forgotten on the floor next to his empty satchel. The Flute of Sound was rumored to mute sound itself... Was it literal? "Is this some kind of folklore tale?"

"No, Dr. Jones... It's the beginning of your downfall..." Müller seemed like he wanted to cackle in Victor right then and there, "Your voice... Your..." He made a flexing motion, "Strength, your..." He approached the tied up man and flicked his hat a bit, "Mind. They're all you. And, apologies, Indiana, but..." He made a tsk, tsk, tsk sound. "I don't like you."

"Not everyone does." Indiana's gaze deadpanned.

"And so!" Müller interrupted Indiana, "I have decided to make you an aide in history... The Third Reich will become so... Powerful! Because of you, Dr. Jones! Don't you see your place in this?"

"In what?"

"Oh, tsk, tsk tsk, Dr. Jones." Müller held the flute up, snapping his fingers so the other Nazis stationed around Indiana would immediately grab the back of his neck, tilting his head back and beckoning his jaw to open. Indiana struggled, as these were significantly bigger men than him. "You'll feel so useful once we drain out everything that makes you Indiana, ja, ja, and that starts with what it takes to scream..."

"Nngh!"

The flute's ends were then inserted into Indiana's mouth as other Nazis rushed to stabilize the grip on the flute.

"What it takes speak..."

"Ack-!"

"And what it takes for you to holler for help..." Müller reached out and fastened Indiana's mouth onto the flute, "Μια φωνή, μια φωνή πολύ δυνατή για να την κρατήσω!" He spoke in Greek.

Suddenly, a pain shot through Indiana's mouth as the flute glowed a deep purple, hissing into Indiana's throat as the pain soared there. "URK!" His screams were... Muffled. Purple smoky mist then filed out from his mouth, coughing, hacking, until the mist that was once "his" in a way filed into the open holes of the flute, the shiny instrument shining brighter, as if it had just been given life.

Müller quickly ripped the flute out of the hazed Indiana's mouth, "All done!" He announced, as if he was a Doctor giving a child a quick flu shot, dismissively.

Indiana coughed, swallowing in his confusion as he glared at Müller, his expression that of fuming rage.

"You-"

He couldn't hear a sound his lips planned to make.

His gaze strayed away from Müller's smug expression, trying again to speak.

"I-"

He couldn't make a sound.

His voice was hopelessly, suddenly, and magically gone.

* * * *

"Cat got your tounge, Dr. Jones?" Müller smirked, placing the flute into the case just to the left of Indiana's vision. The Archaeologist's jaw was agape, confused and surprised and... Scared, perhaps.

"My voice!" Indiana mouthed, glaring Müller down.

"You're lucky I'm an excellent lip-reader, Dr. Jones." The Nazi smirked, walking back to Indiana and patting him on the tensed shoulder, "Although, you won't feel much need to speak anymore when you don't know how to?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Indiana mouthed again, trying to talk louder with each word, still testing to see if his current reality was real.

"Your brain, Dr. Jones, your brain. Your knowledge. Your intelligence, you little... Laune der Natur!"

Freak of Nature...?

"This is dangerous, Müller." Indiana mouthed again, tugging on the hold that the men had on his arms, "You have no idea what these Instruments can do."

"I know they can shut you up, can't they, Dr. Jones?"

Indiana was fuming. He took one look at his forgotten satchel and journal, and again at Müller, and-

WAP!

Swept the two guarding men from under their feet with his foot.

"Hol ihn dir!" Müller shouted as Indiana pulled out his whip, stunning some Nazi fists with his weapon as he crouched towards his satchel and journal, putting them sling around his shoulder as he took out his revolver, BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!

He was in a fit of rage. Pushing and shooting through the Nazis, missing hold of the flute as he reached to grab it, he ran out of the temple with his whip and revolver in each hand, knocking over literally everyone who came his way.

Until he got back to an alleyway, regrouping and sitting against the wall as Nazis rushed past in calculated, marched steps.

Panting, huffing, catching his breath, he raised a shaky hand up to his throat, fear in his eyes.

I can't teach. I can't talk. I can't speak.

Silence.

"Shit." He mouthed, squinting his eyes shut in reluctant agony, even though nobody- not even him- could hear.