#put weirdo little brains and desires are too complex for that

[bulldog-butch]

i’m gonna say something controversial yet brave: sexuality labels are a convenient tool we use to define something that is undefinable

[parasite-core]

I have been given the go ahead to info dump about my OCs by @the-ethereal-god so now it’s story time with Sky, featuring those weirdos who live in my brain.

So since they’re all Pathfinder characters they’re all heroes. Technically. Some more than others. Some a lot more than others.

On a sliding scale of ‘goodness’

At the top is Umbrolus, he is a pure cinnamon roll. Too good for this world. Ignore the fact that he’d beat a man to death with their own severed limbs if they so much as considered hurting his SO or his friends. He has a teeny tiny huge temper. It’s fine we all have flaws. But other than that he’s just a big puppy.

After Umber is probably Kiyo. They have been the local doctor for the poor district of Korvosa for about 50 years, and they’ve lived in the city for over a century. They care about the city and its people and want to protect them and see them become something better than the crime filled hovel it currently is. As such, they’ve recently taken up the mantle of the vigilante Blackjack from the previous wielder, to help protect the people and give them hope. So they use their talents to protect the city they love in two forms: as a doctor caring for the sick and injured who cannot afford care elsewhere, and as a vigilante protecting the powerless and the innocent.

I think next is probably Draven. She has a bit of a hero complex. Just a little. Just ‘throw myself in front of enemy attacks and use my body as a shield to protect the innocents or my friends, with no regard for my own health and safety’ levels of self destructive hero complex. She is basically indestructible though so she can get away with it. Literally. It took a demi-god level powerful Demon Lord and three balors multiple rounds focusing all their attacks on trying to kill her to take her down, and it was her only death the entire campaign (it was the final battle). She did one thing and that was tank and she did it well.

I think next would be Roland. He was not a good person in his past, but he’s long since moved beyond that. He’s generally a good person, the quintessential stressed healer wrangling a chaotic party. He believes strongly in the ideal of redemption and that most people have the ability to become better versions of themselves, they just have to be willing to choose to put in the work to become that better self. If someone is remorseful of their actions and shows the desire to change Roland will fight for them and do everything in his power to help them see their new path through. He feels sympathy especially for those who were turned undead unwillingly and have to fight against an innate evil nature—given that he is himself an undead known as a Graveheart—and he respects those who choose to try to do good. He has helped to set up a place within the Valoria faith for these undead who want to turn towards the light.

Next would be Ileark. He’s generally a good person and does his best to always act in peoples’ best interests. He is a follower of Desna and is a strong believer in freedom, not feeling comfortable with most governing bodies or other rigid social constructs that restrict peoples’ personal freedoms. He is deeply against slavery, and slavers are one of the few things that make him truly seethingly angry. He is widely travelled and has seen every corner of the continent Avistan, and some parts of the neighboring continents. His breadth of experience makes him very personable with people from all walks of life. Ileark has healer envy for the party’s paladin, who is better at healing than him (he is a cleric with a prestige class who lost a lot of his healing abilities due to the prestige class), and he is self conscious and feels like he is a bad person because he is better at doing harm than that healing. The only character death the party has had was caused by Ileark, as he accidentally killed the party psychic—who is basically Ileark’s surrogate brother—because he’d had an infection that required using negative energy to knock him out to cure, and Ileark’s negative energy spell ended up being too powerful and flat out killed him. So he has a lot of guilt over that. Oh and also his birth mother is the goddess of night hags (and said psychic’s former goddess before he told her to fuck off and threw his unholy symbol into the ocean), and she wants Ileark to give in to her power and come to the dark side to become a night hag like her.

Next up is Lucien. He is also a Desna worshipper, but he’s less concerned with freedom and travel and more concerned with luck. He’s a gambler and an adrenaline junkie and he bases much of his philosophy off the idea that any test of luck is showing faith in Desna. Lucien doesn’t necessarily avoid doing the right thing or actively do harm (usually), but he doesn’t necessarily go out of his way to do good deeds like a lot of the people above either. He mostly just goes with the flow, lets a coin flip determine his fate, helps if there’s someone right in front of him obviously needing help, but can also oblivious to people needing his help if it isn’t directly asked of him. He isn’t always a particularly smart man, he mostly acts on his own whims with very little forethought—in fact he actively avoids thinking as much as possible because self reflection just makes him depressed and he doesn’t want to feel those things, he wants to ignore them and pretend everything is alright.

Sai is…where things start getting morally grey. Sai believes she is doing good. Her goal is to punish bad people and to protect good people. But she is very black and white in her thinking about ‘bad people’ and ‘good people’, and her methods of punishment for ‘bad people’ can range from what you’d expect from a regular adventurer to exceptionally cruel things. For example she turned a gargoyle into an insect permanently with his mind still intact and then released him into the wild to live out what he could of his inevitably short and terrified life after he killed one of the other members of the party—despite the fact that said party member came back to life afterwards.

Kaius will do anything to protect his family. And that’s a sweet nice thing that you’d expect from a hero right? Except no—he will do *anything* to protect his family. If aiding a villain is what it takes to protect his wife and daughter, he’d do it without hesitation and feel no guilt over it or any repercussions from it so long as it didn’t harm said family. He was a hair’s breath away from betraying his party when the group’s cleric turned out to be a cultist and she told him to join her and shoot one of the others. If she hadn’t shown her hand and revealed how her plans were going to affect his daughter, he would have done it, because she was the one member of the party he’d actually opened up to. As it was, he ended up fighting for the heroes side—but only because that’s what benefitted his wife and daughter the most, and because he felt betrayed by Gabby, not because it was the right thing to do, or because he had any moral objections to a cult subjugating everyone in the world and killing every deity but their own. Although he would have some objections to *himself* being subjugated so he’d probably fight against them on that alone.

Calio is my most morally bad character. He is, at his core, selfish. He doesn’t do anything for altruistic reasons, ever. There’s always an angle. However that being said, he is better than he used to be. His selfishness extends to the people close to him now—so if there’s something one of the other party members wants, he’ll want that for them as well. Unless their wants directly contradict one of his wants, in which case his wants still take precedent. Calio has been getting better ever since he met Greta. Before her, he wasn’t close to anyone and he didn’t take anyone’s thoughts or feelings into consideration ever. Since meeting her, he’s mellowed out a little and had began actively considering the people he cares about. However this consideration does not extend past the bubble of people he cares about—everyone else can go die in a hole for all he cares. He talked a man out of committing suicide recently—and if the other members of the party hadn’t been there he wouldn’t have bothered and would have just let the man die. Because he only did it because the others were the ones who would care if the man died. So, to reiterate, Calio might do good things sometimes, but he is not a good person.

[darkromanceblackburn]

Chromeskull x Ghostface!Reader- “Playing with the bad boys“

CHAPTER 1: Looks can be deceiving

CHAPTER 2: One cut of information (You are here)

A smile was on your face as you exited work, finally, it was weekend, your free weekend and you couldn't wait to get home. You just parked into the driveway of your apartment complex, walking upstairs to the third floor and opened the door to your apartment, getting inside and letting your bag fall on the floor, too lazy to put it on its place. You stretched your arms above your head, your muscles sore from sitting down on a chair into an office 8 hours.

You really needed some workout; a smirk plastering on your face at the thought of it, your steps moving towards the closet where your killing gear was. Yes, tonight would be just perfect.

You had tracked down two girls that lived together, they were probably from the local college, the usual dumb bimbos who begged their daddy dearest for money, so they could buy more drugs or use the money for cheap botox. It was still earlier, so you made yourself some fast dinner, before going hunting.

Later 11:25 AM....

It was a suburban neighboorhood, the kind where nothing interesting happened, a good reason for why you choosed it for your next game. The two girls lived in a two story modern home, the other neighboors were either away because of the weekend, probably on vacation or a trip, alas, you liked when none was around. You weren't fond of witnesses, only when they find the dead bodies. That was always the fun part, imagining the people finding the dead bodies, all mutilated and guts falling out.

The two girls were, Angelina and Fionna, you remembered seeing them at the coffee shop, talking about the Ghostface murderers and how they could beat him, that they aren't scared of a weirdo in a costume. You raised an eyebrow at that statement.

Oh, really? Let's see when they feel it on their own skin.

You were hiding in the shadows, behind trees and bushes, a perfect view of the kitchen and the girls. That's a reason you loved modern homes, nowdays they used more wall glasses, giving no privacy, meaning anyone could see what they were doing if they so desired.

In one hand you were grasping the mobile phone, while the other one had the hunting knife, the grip on the handle of the blade getting tight, imagining how you could end their lifes; maybe pull their eyeballs out? Or hanging them from the tree with their intestines out?

Hey, a girl needs a hobby.

It was time; you dialed the number of Fionnas phone, waiting for her to answer, your eyes always on them.

Into the house...

Angelica and Fionna were ready for a movie marathon, preparing popcorn and getting the sodas out of the fridge.

"I can't believe she colored her hair red, she looks like the nose of a clown." Angelica said, looking over her manicured nails.

"Ughh....You tell me. She's like so overrated." Fionna said, rolling her eyes, then her phone ringed, the called been unknown.

"It's probably Tony, he sometime calls me with unknown number just so he can hear my voice." Fionna said with an arrogant smirk, answering the phone.

"Hello. Who's there?" she asked, putting the cans of soda on the kitchen counter.

"I don't know. Who's this?" the raspy manly voice spoke.

"Look Tony. If you wanna jerk off to my voice at least record it, will ya?"

"This is no Tony." the stranger on the other line answered, making Fionna furrow her eyebrows.

"I got to take more ice from the freezer in the garage and stop talking with that weirdo." Angelica said, a disgusted look on her face as she went out, leaving Fionna in the kitchen.

"Look. I am busy. I have to go." Fionna said, her voice wasn't so confident anymore, then she hung up. The nerve of that bitch. You will take care of Fionna later. Right now, Angelica was into the garage and the oportunity was too good.

With stealthy moves, you went over there, and you couldn't believe how easy this was. She had her back turned to you, earbuds in, listening to music. Gripping the knife tightly you stabbed her right between her shoulderblades, making her gasp and tremble, the blood pouring out as you took the knife from her flesh.

She turned around, her eyeballs big and full of fear. Another stab, right into her stomach, your hand dragging the blade up until it reached her chest, then you pulled out, blood dripping on the cement ground of the garage, her body falling on the cold ground, shaking a little as she gave her last breath.

You took your phone out and dialed Fionnas number. One down, one more to go.

Fionna was on the couch, the movie had started and she was waiting for Angelica, when her phone was ringing. She looked up and saw it was Angelica.

"What happened? Got your head stuck into the freezer?" she asked in a sassy tone.

"Something like that." the raspy voice spoke, making Fionna stand up fast, the bowl of popcorn falling on the floor.

"Who's this? What did you do to Angelica?" she asked, her breathing picking up as she went into the kitchen.

"So many questions at the time. The important question is...Will you make it to the sequel?" the voice taunted, Fionna whimpered as she slumped down against the kitchen counter.

"Hey, hey! Stop whining like a little bitch. With that attitude you won't make it past half the movie."

"T-This isn't funny." she said in a shaky voice, the deep voice chuckling.

"Of course is not. It's a horror movie, altough I find myself laughing at guts spilling."

"W-What do you want?"

"To see what your insides look like. I bet they're way prettier than you caked down face." the raspy voice hissed.

"I-I know you're here! Y-You killed Angie!" Fionna screamed, more tears running down her face.

"Looks like you're not all silicone and paint. Maybe you got some brains floating inside that skull of yours."

"Where are you?"

"Above you." the answer made Fionnas eyes widen as she looked up.

You were dressed in all the Ghostface costume, right on the kitchen counter, then your gloved hand grasped Fionna by her hair, throwing her across the floor and before she knew it, she was stabbed three times into her back. Still, she crawled on the floor, trying to get away.

"You got some fight into you." you said, the voice modulator inside the mask, making you sound like a male.

You were ready to go over to her and finish her up, but a blur of black and silver knocked you down, making you stumbled on the floor. Your eyes from behind the mask looked up from polished black shoes to a pair of long legs clad in black slacks to build form in a black coat and finally settled on a silver skull mask and a bald scalp.

"You got to be fucking kidding me." you said, getting up, knife in hand.

In all your life as a killer you meet all kinds of possibilities of getting screwed over. You almost got shot by the boyfriend of one of your victims, another victim who had a black belt in martial arts. You dealt with them, but nothing could prepare you for coming mask to mask with the infamous Chromeskull. Still, you weren't going to back out.

"Screw over, GhostRider! This is my movie." you snarled, the camera on his broad shoulder filming your every action.

You lunged at him, knife in hand, only for him to pick your body up and throw you against the kitchen cabinets, making you fall on the hard tiles, a groan leaving your lips. You saw how he went over to the crawling girl, the knife he held much larger than yours and you saw how he pretty much decapitated her, fisting her hair and dangling her head, mocking you.

Quickly, you got up onto your feet and you saw how he lunged at you, swinging his knife at your form with expertise moves. You managed to dodge his hits, until he slashed across your chest. It wasn't a deep wound, but it stung like a bitch.

You knew you were powerless and you weren't ready to lose or be caught, especially by a killer, so you did the only thing you could, you run, straight out the glass walls, your body hitting the porch, but getting up and sprinted into the shadows.

Jesse huffed in annoyance. The small killer managed to get away, but unlike Ghostface, Chromeskull has much up his sleeve. This was just a first meeting and he managed to cut Ghostface. It was a 1-0 in Jesse's point of view.

Back at your place...

You groaned as you started to patch yourself up, the dezinfectant making you hiss at the paint, it surely would leave an ugly scar. This was bad, very bad in your opinion; you never would have guessed that you would challenge Chromeskull, at last he didn't knew your identity.

The thought of crossing him again settled an unpleasant feeling into your gut, knowing damn well that he had more skills than you, way more advanced technology and he was way smarter than you. You felt pretty much humiliated, but you were glad he didn't cut you somewhere else, more visible. You didn't particulary were up to explaining to work what happened.

After finishing up to stitching your wound, you poured yourself a glass of wine, feeling so stressed and tiered, you almost gulped down the whole wine. You had to be more carefull, because if the universe arranged the things so you would meet up with Chromeskull again, you didn't knew if you would make it out alive.

Your mind assured you that there was nothing to be afraid. Everyone thought Ghostface was a male and nothing would pull on the pieces together that there is a small chance you are Ghostface.

Your idenity was safe.

Somewhere else in Jacksonville...

The huge black desk was thrown across the room, the strength behind the action conducted by pure anger. Jesse was huffing harshly, single brown eye filled with rage that the organization hadn't gattered any other information about Ghostface.

Spann and Preston were looking at their boss, used to his brutal anger. Angry Jesse wasn't pretty, but they knew better than to try to calm him down, unless they wanted to fall victims to his blinded carnage.

The meeting with Ghostface hasn't got the way he exactly wanted, the single wound hadn't done justice to that rookie killer and to think Jesse almost had his hands wrapped around that neck. He wished he could have snapped his neck, that would have been a pretty scene for his collection of tapes.

A knock was heard on the door of the office, one of the medics from the organization entered, large frammed glasses perked on his nose as he cleared his throat.

"The results of the blood from Mr. Cromeans knife have arrived." he simple said, handing the file to Spann, then leaving without another word. Spann looked over the files, her eyes widening a little, but she quickly pulled on the emotionless facade.

"Sir, I think you wanna see this." Spann said, Jesse was looking out the window, his hands in tight fists, then he turned to look at Spann, taking the files from her hands and dismissing both her and Preston, who just huffed in annoyance, but didn't said anything.

The last thing Preston needed was to end up with a black eye from Jesse, so he followed after Spann, closing the door.

Jesse pulled up his armchair that he threw across the office five minutes ago and slumped down on the comfy leather, taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a drag. He was stressed, and anyone who knew Jesse on a more personal level could tell by his posture.

His gaze moved to the file in hand and read over the results; the blood type, the antibodies in plasma, the antigens in red blood cells and finally the gender.

His scarred lips parted as he read over the gender one more time, making sure he wasn't hallucinating.

Female.

Quickly, all the tension flew out of Jesse and a smirk that could make anyone shake in fear formed on his disfigured face, a silent chuckle rumbling deep within his chest.

Oh, this changed a lot of things.

So, the infamous Ghostface who tauned his victims on the phone with menancing and horror trivia question was actually a SHE?

Oh, Ghostie, when I will get my hands on you...

To be continued...

[belphegor1982]

As of now, I can officially say this is chapter 8 of a total of 24 because I finished writing the damn thing. I promise I’ll shut up about it, but it just feels so damn good!!

FAIRY TALES AND HOKUM

Summary: 1937: Two years after the events of Ahm Shere, the O’Connells are “required” by the British Government to bring the Diamond taken there from Egypt to England. In Cairo, while Evelyn deals with the negotiations and Rick waits for doom to strike again, Jonathan bumps into an old friend of his from university, Tom Ferguson. Things start to go awry when the Diamond is stolen from the Museum and old loyalties are tested...

Chapter 8: One Long Night (on AO3 here)

“If I knew where we’re being forced to stay, I’d complain to a responsible person. The service leaves much to be desired if you ask me, and I’ve never drunk such a godawful tea.”

“That might be ‘cause this is supposed to be coffee, Jonathan.”

A pause, long enough for Rick to lift his eyes from his cup and raise an eyebrow at his brother-in-law. The Englishman was squinting at his cup the way someone would at a particularly complex mathematical equation. When he finally looked back at Rick, there was something in his slightly slanted eyes that could be interpreted as a wry smile.

“That explains it, then.”

Rick downed the last remnants of his cup in one gulp, refraining from shaking his head. Those Brits. Never happy without their sacrosanct cup of tea after a meal. And before. And every time someone knocked on the door. For eleven years now he had been living in England, but no matter how hard he’d tried this weird habit, if only for Evy’s sake, he could never, ever get used to it.

Unfortunately, for him English coffee was simply a disgrace to the name.

Still, he and Jonathan were pretty lucky that whoever was keeping them locked up had thought to send them food and drink. Although Rick really had to admit that he had seldom tasted anything as insipid as this stuff. Even back in England.

At least the smell of the now-empty plates was gone, as one anonymous goon had come a few minutes earlier to take the empty trays away, leaving only the yet-unfinished ‘coffee’ cups.

A full stomach was always good news. Between leaving the orphanage and meeting Evelyn, Rick had had a taste of a couple of prisons. Very few wardens had ever sent him a tray of basic but decent food. Usually, if they ever did, the food looked as if it had been there for over a week. Or more.

“You shouldn’t complain about the food, really,” he called over his shoulder to Jonathan, all the while making himself as comfortable as possible on the floor and crossing his arms behind his head. “Be happy they bothered to send us some. Even if it was lousy.”

The noise he got as an answer was halfway between a sniff and a snort, but he didn’t hear Jonathan change position. His brother-in-law had not moved from his spot against the wall since Ferguson left, and even if he seemed to be reverting back to his old self, there was still something on his face that bothered Rick. It was like a remnant of the haunted sort of look he’d gotten when Ferguson had pointed that gun at him in the afternoon, and Rick could not help the peculiar feeling that this was completely out-of-place. As he’d said to Evy, he and Jonathan weren’t the best of friends, but, as he’d said to Jonathan, the man was family. When all the family you’d ever had only had five people altogether, including yourself, you did everything to keep it as is. Besides, for all his faults, his brother-in-law was a pretty decent guy. Anyway, nobody should ever get that look on their face. Nobody. Ever.

Although Rick was never good at voicing concern or suchlike to anyone that wasn’t Evy, he had tried, earlier, to ask Jonathan if he was okay.

“Oh, don’t worry, Rick, old chap,” had come the reply. “I’ll be fine. I’m an Englishman, remember – Ye Olde stiff upper lip and everything.”

And that had been about all Rick had to make do with.

Every now and then, it occurred to him that while Jonathan talked a lot, there was also a lot he didn’t talk about. Not without a bottle of good single malt on hand, anyway.

Jonathan did not, for once, seem keen on making conversation, and Rick was left to his own grim thoughts. This could either be taken as a good thing – no risk of boredom – or a bad thing – as if the situation wasn’t glum enough – but anyway, he had much to think about. Like who the hell were those men and why they had taken the two of them.

He didn’t know exactly what had been Ferguson’s part in this, but it sure looked like he was in it up to his neck. In, but not at the head of things. Even if Rick had seen him give orders earlier to the gunman, the chief Oddball from the black Lincoln had not spoken about him the way an inferior in rank would.

One thing was certain, though. If Ferguson belonged to the real British Antique Research Department, then Rick O’Connell was a six year old ballerina girl.

Then again, according to what Evy had told him, Ferguson had been knocked out cold in the diamond’s room just as Jonathan had.

Rick shook his head. The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. Even if he could not explain it, he had a feeling that this damn diamond was at the heart of things. Everything bad that had happened since they arrived in Egypt had come right after the robbery at the Museum.

If the diamond heist and their kidnapping were linked, as Rick was starting to believe, then there had to be some kind of organisation behind both deeds that used the British Antique Research Department as a front. He didn’t know who was behind this bunch of spooky weirdos in black, but it was not Ferguson. The American’s gut instincts had very rarely deceived him, and he had a hunch that the means displayed meant a great influence, which Ferguson didn’t seem to have. A great influence always meant great power. And Rick had long ago noticed that the more power some people had, the more power they sought.

According to what he knew about the guy, and what he had seen of him so far, Ferguson did not seem to be this kind of man.

Rick had been fairly surprised at Ferguson’s reaction when that Oddball had cocked his gun against Jonathan’s temple. It had all happened very quickly: the punch, his own amused blink, Ferguson’s bewildered look from the ground… Then there had been something that had felt like an icy hand grasping at his guts as the black-clad man’s gun flew to Jonathan’s head. The look on the gunman’s face had sent a chill – a slight one, but a chill all the same – up Rick’s spine. He knew the kind, having met a few like this in the Legion. This was a man who was just doing his job. His gesture had been a hundred percent professional. And Rick knew for certain that he would have pulled the trigger in perfect cold blood had Ferguson not leapt on his feet and pushed the gun away in a heartbeat.

Either Ferguson had received very strict orders, or else there was still a part of the lousy traitor that cared about his old buddy’s – or rather ‘mate’s’, as those damn Brits ever seemed to make a point of doing nothing like everybody else, least of all talk – life.

Part of Rick – a pretty small one, his cautious, often battered sense of optimism – preferred the second option. But if you asked the realistic part of his brain and what logical rationality had rubbed off on him from Evy, both were possible, the first surely more so than the last.

Rick blinked at the blank ceiling, wondering what to make of all of this. One thing was for sure: he wouldn’t want for all the world to be in his brother-in-law’s shoes right now. He’d been pretty pissed each time Beni had let him down, even if in the long run he had grown rather used to it. At least the little scumbag had never played the ‘best of buddies’ act convincingly. Sure, they’d had a few good times in the Legion, and a few good scares too, but there was never anything personal involved. Rick had known the only thing he could count on the guy for was an eventual stab in the back, and it had worked out. More or less.

Funny how things turned out eventually. From the first second he had seen Ferguson, Rick had had a feeling that the two Brits weren’t friends for nothing. They were as different as can be physically, but they did share not only a whole bunch of memories and the same nationality but also the same sense of humour, a certain ironical take on life… And a fondness for that undrinkable British beverage that could only be explained by blood legacy. That, plus Scotch.

Well, with everything they had in common, Rick would have thought that whatever friendship united them would last. At least a bit.

Guess I was wrong.

Rick shifted slightly on the floor. Beside the fact that he didn’t like silence all that much, he was slowly but surely getting bored. And tired.

“Hey, Jonathan?” he called over his shoulder. As nobody answered, he said with a crooked grin, “Lazy bum. Sleepin’ already, are ya?”

He got no reply, and propped himself up on his elbows to see if everything was all right behind him. It appeared so, he noted with a smile that was not entirely a smirk: Jonathan was sound asleep, still sitting with his back against the wall, his chin resting on his chest. He was even snoring slightly.

“Right,” Rick mumbled with a small laugh. “Thanks for the company.” Unsurprisingly, his brother-in-law didn’t bother to reply. The American put his head back on the floor, and went back to staring at the ceiling. “Well, even if you’re out of it, I’m sure you’ll agree with me when I say we really are screwed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rick gave a jump, quite a feat considering the fact that he was lying flat with his back on the ground. There was a reason for that. The voice he’d just heard had absolutely nothing to do with his brother-in-law’s. He didn’t know where it had come from, or who.

Only that it belonged to a woman.

“Who are you? And where the hell are you?” asked Rick, sitting straight and alert, now fully awake. He peered across the room, his eyes squinting and his brows furrowing. Nothing. It still appeared that he and Jonathan were the only occupants of the cell.

He used to believe in ghosts when he was a kid, because the older kids at the orphanage always liked to scare the younger ones with stories. Then he’d grown out of it. Sure, there were things in this world nobody could explain yet, but dead people generally stayed dead.

Of course, his first encounter with the actual undead had made him revise his judgement. After his first trip to Hamunaptra, having seen what he’d seen, he had kept his eye out for anything – anything – unlike Evelyn, who used to reject every irrational theory outright.

Rick’s opinion about strange phenomenons had been last updated at Ahm Shere. Walking, talking mummies existed, as did green little murder pygmies, and Jonathan’s common sense – though this last one was occasional.

Ghosts do not. That he knew of.

“There’s no need to be rude, sir,” came the voice. It had a British – make that English – accent, and there was something sad in it, like a sigh. What on Earth could an English ghost possibly be doing down there? “I’m just an accidental neighbour. I’m talking to you through this little air vent down the wall. Can you see it?”

So much for ghosts. Rick looked past the sleeping Jonathan, spotted the vent, and walked over to it. “Yeah, got it.”

The vent was so small that he was not surprised he had missed it at first. Rather happy to see that rationality was kicking back in – and trying not to think about Evy’s triumphant ‘I told you so!’ if she’d been there –, Rick sat in front of it, trying to make out something on the other side of the wall. His attempt failed. The vent was too tiny, and the room was definitely too dark. “Who are you, and what are you doin’ here?”

“Is this your way of introducing yourself?” The woman’s words were stuck-up, but her tone wasn’t. Evy had something like that in her voice on early mornings. “Well, I suppose I should introduce myself first. I’m Elizabeth Ferguson, and –”

“Ferguson? Wait –” Rick frowned, every internal alarm bell blaring in his mind. “Is Tom Ferguson your husband or brother or –”

“Tom is my husband, yes. Have you seen him recently? Is he all right?”

Mrs Ferguson’s voice had shifted from tired to laced with fear and concern. But you could easily fake fear and concern. In fact, Rick was torn between lashing out at the woman and asking her again what the hell she was doing there while her husband was the one that got the two of them in a cell for no apparent reason, and sympathising with her for having married such a jerk. He picked neither and forced his voice into an even tone.

“Oh, he’s fine, all right… and yes, I saw him recently. Look, this may come as a shock to you, but –”

“How do you know him, anyway? I certainly don’t know you.” Mistrust was suddenly plain in Mrs Ferguson’s low voice. Pushing back his impatience, Rick rolled his eyes and bent closer to the air vent.

“Of course you don’t know me – I didn’t know your husband a week ago. But my brother-in-law did. Now may I –”

“Who are you? What’s your name?”

Now the woman was really ticking him off. Wishing she would let him finish his sentence this time, Rick snapped, “Right. I’m O’Connell – Rick O’Connell. Got locked up in here by men with guns for a couple of hours, and your husband’s the reason why I’m here and not at home with my wife and kid. How’s that for an answer?”

There was silence on the other side of the wall, long enough to make Rick feel a little bad about his somewhat harsh reply. If what this woman had been saying so far was the truth, she apparently did not wish to be there any more than he did, and he’d just gone and thrown this piece of news right into her face. After all, she couldn’t really help it if her husband was a two-faced bastard.

Ah, well. Evelyn teased him on his somewhat rough manners often enough.

“Look, Mrs Ferguson, I didn’t mean to go off on you. I’m just pretty angry. I mean, your husband’s a friend of my brother-in-law’s. The two of them went to the Museum and they were in the Diamond of Ahm Shere’s room when it was stolen –”

“Hold – hold on, Mr O’Connell,” cut in Mrs Ferguson, in a rather subdued voice. “Do you mean the Cairo Museum? And what is this diamond you’re referring to?”

Once more, Rick was sorely tempted not to trust her. She could very well be faking ignorance to draw information from him. Then again, she was the only person he could talk to at this very moment. He knew better than to lose time trying to wake Jonathan. The man could sleep like a log at the best of times and looked like death warmed over anyway.

“There was this big diamond from Ancient Egypt in the Museum of Antiquities, and Jonathan and your Tom got knocked on the head while it was stolen –”

“I take it that this Jonathan is your brother-in-law?”

Rick rolled his eyes. “Do you ever let people finish their sentences? Yes, he’s my wife’s brother.”

“I’m so sorry, Mr O’Connell,” came Mrs Ferguson’s sheepish voice. “I’m not usually so rude, I swear, but I do tend to be rather short when I’m afraid.” A pause. “And I must confess I’m somewhat afraid right now.”

All right. So maybe she was being sincere after all.

“I used to know a Jonathan, you know,” she continued, and if Rick’s ears weren’t deceiving him yet, she was smiling slightly. “When I was in university. Tom and him were rather close friends at the time, and we used to meet in an Oxford pub for chats and drinks… I have very fond memories of those times. What’s your brother-in-law’s surname?”

“Carnahan.” He heard a tired, but happy little laugh. “Is he the Jonathan you were talking about?”

“Yes, the very same. How is he now?”

“Well, he’s…” Rick glanced behind him. “He’s asleep.”

There was silence on the other side of the wall, followed by a slight shuffle as Mrs Ferguson came closer to the air vent. “Jonathan Carnahan is here? In the same room as you?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s… asleep?”

“That’s right.”

For a few seconds Mrs Ferguson was silent, then she asked, sounding utterly confused, “Would you be so kind as to tell me exactly what happened to land the both of you in here?”

Rick pondered answering her for a little while. He looked into the space in front of him, then at the sleeping form of his brother-in-law, then at the air vent. Finally, he scratched the back of his neck and edged closer to the vent. “Okay. I’ll try to make it short, but I have a feeling it’s gonna take a while. Just warn me when you start to fall asleep.”

.⅋.

“Alex, dear, are you sure you’re not sleepy?”

“No, Mum, I’m not. Please, stop asking me that.” Alex shook his head conspicuously for effect, and his mother squeezed his hand briefly, not slowing down her pace.

It was not entirely true. Alex was aware that he was blinking a little too much than he should, and he was forced to admit that his head felt a bit heavy. But there was no way he’d admit this to his mum. Even at this hour in the evening, he had his pride. Besides, concern for his dad and uncle mingled with the beginning of excitement. He had not had a proper adventure in ages, and this sure looked like the start of a hell of one.

Although Cairo by night was certainly quite some adventure by itself. It was different, much creepier than in the dazzle of the day. Everything appeared to be a threat: the drop in temperatures, the small white houses all turned a similar dark grey, the pavements only lit by the little pools of bleak yellow light falling down from the street lamps, the lengthened shadows stretching over the walls and the streets… And you had to be extra careful to avoid the heaps of camel droppings when they were a little too close to the pavements.

Alex O’Connell had found himself looking into the newly-acquired eyes of the mummy Imhotep. He had faced a fierce red-clad warrior who would have taken sheer delight in strangling him. He had resurrected his mother at the Pyramid of Ahm Shere. Without exaggerating too much, he could consider himself a fairly brave boy of ten.

Yet he was perfectly content to cling at his mum’s hand and not let go as the both of them trotted along the darkened, colder streets.

“Don’t worry, Alex.” His mum’s voice made him look from the dark in front of him up to her face. “There’s nothing to fear.”

How could she possibly…? Alex shrugged and shook his head. Maybe this thing about mums knowing everything was true, after all.

“What are we gonna do exactly, Mum?” he asked, keeping his voice as low as possible. “Are we just going over to Dr Hakim’s and throw pebbles at his windows till he opens the door?”

She slowed down and looked at him, the expression on her face difficult to tell for sure in the dark. “Now where did you get this idea from?”

Alex hoped that his innocent smile was as efficiently lit by dim street lamps as it was in the light of day. Over the years, he had observed both his dad and uncle getting away with a lot with his mum on charm alone. As the two of them were quite different, Alex would only have to pick which tactic would be best for the occasion. Now, at the ripe age of ten years and one month, he had fairly well mastered a get-away smile of his own, something which he was rather proud of. And the best thing was that it worked with all three members of his family, most of the time.

It was his mother’s turn to shake her head, and Alex knew he had won this one when he saw a smile on her face. No matter what happened, his mum always smiled in the end, and this was one of the things that he loved most about her. Not all the other mums were like that.

“Bah. I don’t want to know.”

They had left the outskirts for Downtown Cairo, and were now walking along better-lit streets of smoother pavements. The light made the tall buildings appear taller, and you could actually see fifty feet ahead of you. It didn’t feel very different from London. Clearly the neighbourhood was wealthier and better-kept than the ones they’d seen so far, even if it still felt spooky and very eerie to be there by night.

As they walked past houses, Evelyn counted the numbers on the façades, finally stopping in front of a rather elegant-looking two-story house and heading decidedly to the door.

“I hope he’s not gone to bed already, or he won’t be in a good mood, I’m afraid,” Alex heard her mutter, before she rapped at the door. “Dr Hakim? It’s me, Evelyn O’Connell. I apologise for coming over so late, but the matter is important. Would you please let me in?” Nobody answered, and Evelyn came closer to the closed door, looking hesitant. “Dr Hakim? Are you awake at all? I swear this is serious –”

The door opened on her last word, and both she and Alex opened their mouths in surprise.

“The matter must be important indeed, to make you come here at this hour of the night, and with young Alexander, no less,” came the deep, gently lilting voice of Ardeth Bay.

“It’s good to see you, Ardeth,” eventually said Evelyn after she recovered from her surprise. The Medjai leader’s smile mirrored her own.

“It is always good to see you too, no matter the circumstances. Please come in.”

Evelyn did so, followed by Alex who, even if he wasn’t going to admit it, was rather happy to leave the dark streets.

They walked up a flight of narrow stairs to find themselves on the threshold of an old-fashioned door, which Ardeth opened for them before slipping quietly behind them. The first thing Alex did was, as his dad had taught him, to scan the room for ways out and possible dangers. Most of the time, when they were on a dig, Mum and Dad left Alex in the entrance room of a pyramid, where he did not risk heat-stroke. However, upon crossing a threshold, Rick never failed to check out a room before setting a foot in it, something Alex had taken on quickly after seeing what could happen if one was not careful enough in a pyramid.

The room was flooded with warm amber light, quite unlike the cold street lamps, and looked quite cosy with the thick carpet on the floor, the deep armchairs around a low table, and the exposed beams along the ceiling. Sure enough – this was the Cairo Museum curator’s house, after all – an imposing library full of old-looking books covered an entire wall, and further in the room stood a big desk covered in maps, stationary, and an impressive collection of pen holders.

But the comparison with any ordinary house stopped here. There was Ancient Egyptian stuff all over the room, going from framed pieces of parchments hung on the walls, to canopic jars neatly arranged on a chest of drawers, through various-sized statuettes on the bookshelves, and chests around the coffee table like footstools. There was even a small sarcophagus against one wall. Looking at it, and at the various items filling the room, Alex wondered how it was possible that none of these remains had caused any catastrophe at the time of their removal. Like waking up an evil mummy, for example.

Dr Hakim rose from his armchair to greet Evelyn and Alex as Ardeth closed the door behind him. “Good evening, Dr O’Connell, please do take a seat. You are welcome to do so as well, young Master O’Connell.”

“Thanks,” said Alex with a quick, rather uncertain glance at the severe-looking man. He watched as Ardeth sat in the armchair beside him with a slight rustle of black robes. The man caught his gaze, and a small smile pulled at one corner of his lips. Alex slightly relaxed into his armchair. He couldn’t tell why, but this smile somehow always managed to make him feel better, no matter the occasion.

“I’m truly sorry to disturb you at this hour in the evening, Doctor,” his mum was saying to Hakim. “But my husband and my brother have disappeared, and I think it might be linked to the theft of the Diamond of Ahm Shere.”

Alex’s eyes were back on Hakim as he leaned back in his armchair and nodded. “Ah… yes. We are already aware of Messrs O’Connell’ and Carnahan’s disappearance.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened. “What do you mean, ‘aware’? What happened? Where are they?”

“Evelyn, please,” said Ardeth, and he didn’t so much as flinch as Alex’s mum turned one of her fiercest gazes on him. Alex’s respect for the Medjai leader increased. Even Dad would sometimes be wary of that Look. “Almost everything we know has been gathered this afternoon by word of mouth. We haven’t had time to do anything else yet.”

“When exactly were you planning to tell me?” Evelyn’s voice was edging dangerously close to anger. Alex had more mixed feelings. For the moment, the most prominent was curiosity. He was dying to hear what the two men had to say.

“Just before you knocked on the door, we were discussing the hour in the morning when we could go to your house without waking you up and tell you everything.”

“You could even turn up at midnight, or five, I wouldn’t have minded,” said Evelyn, not much calmer. “Now what do you know, exactly?”

They told her and Alex pretty much the same story Satiah had, up until the point where Rick, Jonathan and Mr Ferguson had driven off in someone else’s. Alex smirked at that. Despite everything his mum said about how a respectable citizen should be law-abiding and honest, his uncle’s little skills had come in handy more often than she cared to admit. Not to mention that she often conveniently forgot that, whenever she entered a tomb, it was because she had broken into it in the first place.

“But if they did escape, why haven’t they returned yet? What happened to them?” The question his mother had just asked had been running in Alex’s mind for a while, and he had a hunch that it had been the same for his mum.

Hakim frowned a little at that, looking grim. “Well, according to eyewitnesses, they drove all the way to Dr Wittgenstein’s excavation camp near Giza, and the car stopped in the middle of the tents.”

“Why would they stop?” Mum’s voice was suddenly much lower.

“The men pursuing them – we do not know who they were, but it appears that they looked quite the professionals – were shooting at them. One must have hit a target.”

Alex’s insides turned abruptly into ice, and his mum’s face went pale. “Oh, my God… You mean…?”

“Nobody was hurt, it seems,” added Ardeth quickly. “But when I went there to investigate a few hours ago, I found that the car had fallen from a height of six or seven feet, and one of the tyres had been perforated by a bullet.”

Evelyn was silent for a minute, long enough for Alex to chime in. “And…” he asked, rather hesitant and uncertain all of a sudden as Hakim’s beady eyes fell on him. “What happened? After they stopped, I mean?”

He was almost afraid to hear the answer. And when Ardeth looked at him with something on his face that was hard to tell, he got not a little bit scared.

“Well,” said Ardeth, shifting his gaze from son to mother, “the man called Ferguson drew a gun and pointed it at Jonathan.”

Silence fell like a slab of solid lead. Alex was vaguely aware that he had his mouth open and was probably looking like an idiot, but he didn’t give a damn right now. Beside him, Mum had also her mouth slightly open, her eyes showing sad surprise. She blinked, then shook her head slowly. “Oh, dear… Something like this had to happen. I saw something like this coming, but…”

“What a jerk!” Alex burst, startling his mother. “Stinking turncoat! We saw him the other day at the bazaar, and he acted all friendly-like, the damn git –”

It was a mark of how shocked his mum had been that she only stopped him there with a sharp “Alex! Language!”

Alex cast her the most sheepish glance he could, still quite angry. The guy had been so nice and funny whenever he’d met him, and that had been all an act? Lousy traitor. Not for the first time, Alex wished he would grow faster. That way he’d be able to punch the wind out of that goddamn two-faced scumbag who had betrayed his uncle and kidnapped his dad.

“I hope Dad punches his head off,” he muttered, and his mother threw a warning glance at him, but nothing else. When he slipped a glance to Ardeth, though, he thought he saw something like amusement flash briefly on his face.

“So Tom Ferguson was working with those men…” Evelyn had recovered from her surprise and was now back to musing out loud, as she often did when she thought about something. “They must have been well organised to set up such a stunt. Who were they? What did they look like?”

“They were described as a handful of Englishmen, dressed in black and wearing felt hats,” answered Ardeth. “About six of them, looking as if they were quite trained for this sort of thing.”

That reminded Alex of some bad guys in some gangster films he’d seen, the ones with the big guns, big scars and smooth, shiny cars. Of course, his mum was never too keen on him seeing those sorts of movies, insisting that it was surely too scary for him. He hadn’t told her yet that some stuff that had happened to him in real life was much, much scarier than everything he had seen on a screen so far.

A silence followed Ardeth’s words, then Evelyn shook her head, frowning. “This doesn’t make any sense. Who would kidnap Rick and Jonathan? Why them?”

“You told us earlier that you thought this had some kind of link with the Diamond of Ahm Shere,” Dr Hakim said, his eyes keener than ever. “This happens to be our opinion as well. What could motivate such an action, unless it be the need for information?”

“Hang on,” interrupted Alex, who had a hard time keeping up with Hakim’s elaborate phrasing. “That means that whoever’s taken Dad and Uncle Jon wanted some information about the diamond, doesn’t it? But if they have the diamond now, what’s the use?”

“This is what we were wondering as well,” said Ardeth with a slight smile of his own, and Alex felt a mix of pride and annoyance that this was not getting them very far.

And then, at this point, Mum’s eyes began to shine with the funny glint that meant things were about to get interesting. “Tell me, Ardeth… Just how far does the link between the Diamond and the Oasis of Ahm Shere go?”

Ardeth and Hakim shared an equally appreciative glance; then the Medjai leader looked at Evelyn, his warm black eyes smiling at her. “So you remember, after all. I might have known.” His eyes took on an intense look, as they did whenever he was telling a story of the ancient times. “The link between the two is powerful. Without the Diamond the Oasis cannot exist. And of course, without the Oasis, the Diamond is pointless, just an ordinary gem.”

“Don’t you need the Bracelet of Anubis to find the Oasis?” Alex piped in, feeling that as long as the Pyramid and especially the Bracelet was being discussed he could have a word in. After all, he was the one who’d got almost killed by it last time. Besides, his mum didn’t seem to mind very much.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” explained Ardeth, apparently ignoring Dr Hakim’s annoyed frown at Alex. “The Bracelet was indeed a guide, a precious one, and as such it was protected fiercely by each succeeding Pharaoh’s best guards.” There he glanced quickly at Evelyn, and Alex remembered what his mum had told him about her past life as Nefertiri, Pharaoh Seti’s daughter. An actual princess from Ancient Egypt, a fighter trained to protect precious artefacts. Alex still had trouble wrapping his head around that. It seemed impossibly cool. “But the Diamond and the Oasis are very intricately linked. For millennia people have believed that the Oasis hid an entire pyramid made of gold, and when the knowledge about the resting place of the Army of Anubis faded from memories, it was what lured many men into seeking the Oasis. You may remember that quite a number of men found their way there, and we saw what became of them.”

While Ardeth talked, Alex picked up a thick paper clip from Hakim’s desk nearby to keep his hands busy as he listened. He always loved exciting stories. That – coupled with his parents’ passion, of course – had been what drew him to Egyptian history.

“Some of these men must have come near enough to see the Diamond gleaming at the top of the pyramid in the distance, but not dared to come closer, thus spreading the word that the whole pyramid was made of gold, inside and out.

“As time passed, history became legend, and the Oasis disappeared from popular memory. However, there were always men foolish or greedy enough to attempt the pursuit of the Oasis of Ahm Shere. Legends involving gold are often those that last longest.

“But nobody ever unveiled the secret of Ahm Shere… until the last Year of the Scorpion, when the Bracelet of Anubis was uncovered by you, Evelyn, and your family. We all know what ensued.”

Alex listened raptly, still fiddling with the paper clip. At Ardeth’s last words, he straightened in his chair and blurted out, “When I was with Imhotep down in that oasis, he told Hafez something about the Bracelet being some sort of key to the Scorpion King… What did he mean by that?”

“Young man, did nobody teach you to listen to your elders and keep quiet whilst they speak?” said Hakim severely. Alex just stared back at him, undeterred. Of course the rules of proper conduct demanded silence from kids. But he had never been one to keep silent when he had a question.

Besides, from the look on his mum’s face, it seemed that she had Thoughts on the matter.

“Dr Hakim,” she said, her voice quite polite and cool – a little too much so, “I have the greatest respect for you and your work, but Alex is my son, and I believe I should be the one to decide whether to tell him off or not if he misbehaves. And I do not think that asking questions that are relevant to this conversation can be considered as misbehaving.”

Wham. Way to go, Mum. Alex refrained from beaming at his mum – perhaps that would have been a little too much. She did not often defend him this fiercely; when she did, it was always very effective.

There was a rather awkward pause, as Hakim stared at Evelyn, his black eyebrows raised in surprise; and as a grinning Alex turned his eyes to Ardeth Bay, he saw that the Medjai, by his own distinctive standards, seemed to be trying hard to force down a smile.

“So,” Alex asked, as if nothing had happened, “what did Imhotep mean?”

“Exactly what he said. Not only was the Bracelet a guide, showing its bearer the way to Ahm Shere by means of visions and clues, it was also the key to revive the Scorpion King.”

“Can the pyramid – and the oasis – exist after the death of the Scorpion King, then?” asked Evelyn, her eyes shining with curiosity again.

“The Scorpion King and his army have been kept five thousand years while the Oasis and the pyramid were never hidden from human eyes,” said Ardeth. “Despite what happened after Rick O’Connell killed the Scorpion King, it is my opinion that the Pyramid is still there as we speak, buried under the sands, dead as a house abandoned by its only master for millennia.”

A heavy silence followed these words. Evelyn had noticed Alex fingering the large paper clip and motioned discreetly at him to put it back where he had picked it up. Alex absently put it in his pocket instead. Nobody would miss one when there were dozens just like it on the desk, and it could always come in handy sometime.

“It doesn’t tell us,” Evelyn said after a little while, frowning, “what the men who have taken my husband and my brother have in mind.”

“No, it does not,” Hakim agreed in his low-pitched, gently accented voice. “Whatever their purpose may be, if they manage to find a way inside the Pyramid, they will find nothing but dead stones �� just an empty shell.”

Silence filled the room once more, while Alex’s mind was filled with fresh questions. The one he turned and turned again in his head was what the hell those guys, whoever they may be, had taken Dad and Uncle Jon for. The one he wanted to dwell upon was what these same guys would do if Hakim’s words proved true. No, he definitely didn’t want to think about that.

The two Medjai started to elaborate theories which would explain the weird men’s hidden purpose, while Evelyn kept silent, her face still sombre. Alex looked past Hakim at the window in front of him. The curtains were open, and he could see a patch of ink-black sky, where he looked in vain for stars. Clouds must be darkening the sky and making it impossible to see anything.

It wasn’t lost on Alex that this reflected their current predicament perfectly.

.⅋.

The ground was shaking. Not just shaking, but rattling and rolling too. Rick was aware of regularly bumping against something that felt like a wall, and that made his whole left side hurt from shoulder to hip. Now that was something new. He sure could recall times when he had gone through far worse and not been really bothered by bruises afterwards. Mmh. Guess I’m getting a little old for this shit.

“Um. Are you awake?” came a tentative voice he quickly identified as Jonathan’s.

“More or less,” Rick muttered, rolling onto his right side and trying to get a bit steadier on the ground. Then he noticed the rising heat that he had blissfully been unaware of in his sleep. “What’s the time?”

“Come on now, Rick,” came Jonathan’s voice again behind him, sounding kind of relieved, “that’s hardly the proper question one would usually ask in circumstances like these.”

Yeah, sure. Damn this elaborate phrasing first thing in the morning. But Rick had a hunch that wherever all this crazy stuff was heading to, it was not going to be quite ‘usual’. Hell, he was almost glad to hear the slight touch of sarcasm in his brother-in-law’s voice. How could things get more unusual after that?

“So what would be the proper question, then?” he drawled, opening his eyes to assess their surroundings.

“Why, I might be wrong, of course, but I do think that ‘Where are we?’ would be more accurate.”

Rick sat up and looked at Jonathan. “Well you are wrong. It’s pretty obvious where we are. We’re in some kinda truck, and it’s driving off to God knows where. Oh, and it’s a pretty bad road. But I’m sure you knew that already,” he added with a smirk.

A particularly nasty jolt of the truck followed, as if to back his words. There was a pause, and Rick almost snorted at his brother-in-law’s miffed expression, almost a pout. This was one of those rare times he could observe genuinely close similarities between Evy and Jonathan. Sister and brother were such polar opposites that it was almost easy to forget that the two were siblings at all.

“To answer your first question, old boy,” Jonathan said after a while, a little stiffly, “it’s about half past eight in the morning.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I’ve just woken up myself a few minutes ago. And I didn’t want you to get cranky from lack of sleep. You did look like you needed it.”

“I’m never cranky.”

It was Jonathan’s turn to smirk. Rick ignored him and ran a hand in his hair to scratch the back of his head, careful of the lump from the day before. He had just remembered something.

“Hey, there was a woman on the other side of the wall, last night. Said she was Ferguson’s wife.”

Jonathan’s slightly slanted eyes went suddenly as round as saucers. “What, Lizzie? You mean Elizabeth Ferguson was here?!”

“Yep. So it’s true you two knew each other, huh?”

A slight smile somehow made its way on the Englishman’s bemused face. “Y—yes… We used to hang around together at university. With Tom. So,” he added a little too quickly, “what the hell was she doing down there?”

“Well, it seems that whatever Ferguson’s been messing with, it’s pretty serious. She said she’d been taken from her house someplace in England and brought here for guarantee. You know, blackmail. Sounds like she’s really scared for her husband, and that those guys have given her every reason to be.”

“They didn’t… hurt her or anything, did they?” said Jonathan, alarmed. Rick shook his head.

“No, they didn’t. I mean, she thinks they drugged her, because she only started to hear us last night, but otherwise she sounded fine to me.”

Jonathan nodded. “Good.” Then he rested his chin on his knees and fixed a point somewhere near Rick, frowning slightly. “That’s good.” Something flickered over his face, and the frown deepened. “So that was the ‘choice’ he was talking about, then.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Nothing.”

After half a second of thinking, though, Rick knew what he meant. Ferguson did have a choice: betrayal or widowerhood. Tough one. With a very slight wince, Rick realised that if himself had been forced to deliver a former school buddy – or orphanage buddy, as it were – to odd guys to save his wife, he sure as hell would have done it without even thinking.

On the other hand, what Ferguson had done had really been dirty, even with the best excuses. He had manipulated and fooled nearly everybody, gained their relative trust, only to two purposes: getting his hands on the Diamond of Ahm Shere and bringing the two of them to his bosses.

Nearly everybody. Rick felt a surge of pride about his wife – Evy’s misgivings had been justified, and Ferguson had not managed to twist her around his little finger like that – mingled with annoyance. He was none too pleased with himself for not having seen that there was something shifty about that guy too eager to please.

Then something peculiar crossed his mind. “Lizzie? Gee, you guys must’ve been pretty close if you got so familiar with a girl. And I thought you Brits were supposed to be gentlemen.”

Jonathan’s right eyebrow shot up, his face set in marble. “I’ll have you know that there was never anything improper between us, O’Connell, if that’s what you were talking about. And Englishmen are not ‘supposed’ to be gentlemen. They are.”

Rick couldn’t help but grin impishly. “That’s what I meant, kind of. So there was definitely something, then.”

One single brown eyebrow crept up even higher as Jonathan cocked his head forward and said, his voice even, “Pray tell, what exactly makes you say that?”

Rick’s sly grin widened. Despite the bumps and holes in the road, this was getting funnier and funnier. “Because usually, when you speak of somebody ‘belonging to the fairer sex’, as Evy would put it, you brag endlessly for a while and then forget the girl in the following month. You still haven’t forgotten her after several years, so… well, no need to be Sherlock Holmes to see that it’s unusual with you.”

“How very astute,” deadpanned Jonathan, probably painfully aware that his ears were turning a delicate shade of pink.

It was hard enough for Rick to keep a straight face, but as he pictured Evy’s face had she been there to see her brother so embarrassed about a woman, he had to look down and pretend to take a great interest in his shoes to hide his laughter.

When he finally felt safe enough, Rick looked up again, to find a pair of dead serious blue eyes narrowed at him. “I completely fail to see the funny side of this.”

Whoa. One odd thing with Jonathan was that, the more embarrassed he was, the more stuck-up his phrasing would get. Rick eventually cracked and let out a loud guffaw, while his brother-in-law rolled his eyes.

“Oh, bugger off,” he muttered, the corners of his mouth finally pulled in a reluctant grin.

Rick was still in pretty high spirits when the truck slowed to a stop and the back doors were pulled open. Blinding white light rushed in, along with the dust and heat of the outside.

“Gentlemen, I will ask you to get down,” came a smug voice Rick knew only too well. Sure enough, when his sight adjusted to the change in brightness, Oddball Number One was standing in the open doors, his black suit a hole in a rectangle of light. As Jonathan got up behind him, looking uncertain, Rick stared at the newcomer, his eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t say the magic word,” he drawled.

Three gunmen seemed to appear out of thin air behind Number One, and aimed guns at the two of them. Number One smirked. “If you please.”

Rick shrugged and started to make his way down, followed by Jonathan who cast a swift glare in passing at Number One from narrowed blue eyes. The latter looked back at him just as coldly.

To Rick’s surprise, they seemed to be in a town – in Giza, more specifically, as he just had the time to realise before the goons who were holding him at gunpoint made him enter a house very close to where the truck had been parked. He didn’t know this part of the city very well, but he had been there a few times before and had a good memory.

They crossed a couple of rooms, which looked like any local house’s would, then the guys in black made them walk a small flight of stairs down to a sort of basement or cave, which looked a lot like the one they had left earlier.

“Again?!” Rick stared at the four men in disbelief. “You guys never heard of a little something called originality?” Number One stared at him, his eyes narrowed behind his small glasses, and his mouth set.

“And whatever were you expecting, Mr O’Connell?” he asked, his voice just as soft as his eyes were cold. “A stone dungeon? Or a bullet in the back of your neck, perhaps?”

“Ah, I don’t mean to interrupt or anything,” said Jonathan behind Rick, his voice steadier than the American would have thought it to be in circumstances like those, “but if you bothered to keep us alive so far, I reckon it’s not for art’s sake, now, is it?”

Good point. Except that if they keep sending us what they call coffee, we’ll drop dead before we know it.

“Although you seem to have a peculiar conception of art, Mr Carnahan, there is something in what you’re saying,” Number One said, sounding remarkably like a hungry toad that had a fly in sight. “But it’s not for you to know. Now, if you would step in, please.”

No matter how childish it surely was, Rick sorely wanted to stomp on the guy’s feet as he walked in the room – but he restrained himself, thinking instead of the moment when he would get his hands on a gun and have a little fun with him. Or even just punch his teeth in. Oh yeah. No matter how long it would take, this guy would get what was coming to him.

This shiny, warming thought in mind, Rick turned back toward Jonathan and Number One, who was about to close the door with a falsely polite bow of his head.

“Gentlemen, till our next meeting.”

Rick gnashed his teeth. Sarcasm and kidnapping aside, there was something animal-like in him that hated the guy. Something visceral. Like a physical thing.

And then something rather unexpected happened. Or not that unexpected, all things considered.

Jonathan walked a step or two back toward Number One.

“I say, er, What’s-your-name?” he piped up. Rick could see the quiet sort of smirk that was right at home on his brother-in-law’s face, though it looked a little bit subdued right now. “Think you’ve dropped this.”

And he threw a worn leather wallet at Number One, whose expression turned rather dirty as he caught it in mid-air.

Rick grinned widely.

The situation hadn’t changed one iota, the two of them were still as weaponless as they had been twelve hours ago, and he still didn’t fully know why they had been brought there in the first place…

But the look on the guy’s face was hilarious.

.⅋.

Wish we could have seen more of Jon’s skills as a pickpocket in the 2nd film, because honestly, for a dilettante, the bloke is top notch. Stealing from a guy on fire? And later in the midst of being strangled? My hero :P

Also, it’s funny how a decade can change your outlook on things. When I started writing this story, my idea was (as stated in the 2nd chapter) that they were friends, flirted a lot, but it never went that much further. Now, though? Bit different. And I’m like “Okay, readers, what do YOU think happened? What are your headcanons and interpretations?” :3