Saturday, February 26, 2005

school on monday! yay!!!
as i said above, school on mon. i am soooooo happy! um...going to tournament tomorrow-skipping drama-bad kat, i know. constintine was good-did you know it was based on a comic? my dad collects comics-my basement+garage are filled with them. well, since my week was free, you lucky readers get more than one chapter of BomB and HPMI this week. so, here's BomB, and you know where to find HPMI

Chapter Two
It was not until Hathor was called away by other matters, that Set moved to strike. Osiris was holding a lavish banquet, and thought it only polite to invite his younger brother. Arriving at the party, Set put on a friendly face and circulated throughout the guests, bragging repeatedly about a beautifully decorated chest that he’d had built. He had it brought in, and all were impressed with it.
After everyone was thoroughly drunk, Set decided that it was time to finish what he came to do.
“I’d like to offer the following challenge,” he said, sweeping in everyone present with the wave of his rod. “Each of you can take turns lying down inside the chest, and the first person who fits perfectly within shall have it as a gift from myself.”
All were eager to own such a treasure, that no one thought twice of it. Each man took a turn, but none really fit within its contents. Then Osiris climbed within it, and it was perfect.
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “See, oh younger brother, how well I fit within! Your challenge has been met, and you once again lose to me!”
“To the contrary,” Set growled slamming the lid down. “I have not lost! It is yours, now and forever!”
“Set! How dare you!” Osiris clawed against the golden lid. “Release me now, or you will pay!”
“You will never be released,” Set spat back, sealing the lid with melted lead.
“How could you do this to your own brother!” Osiris cried, trying to sound pitiful. “How could you do this to your own blood!”
“You are no longer of my blood,” Set spat, looking to his attendants. “Throw that chest within the Nile, where none will find his dark, wicked soul.”
The men did as they were told, and the chest of Osiris sank into the darkness of the flooded waters.
Chapter Three
When Hathor returned, she learned of the tragedy of Osiris. She cried out in anguish at the injustice, and stormed to the waters to find the golden chest. After thirty days and nights of searching the riverbanks, she eventually found the chest, washed ashore by the floods. It took her three days to break the seal upon the gold. When she gazed once more upon the young man, he was as she had left him. He had no breath of life left within him. She caressed his soft, dark hair, but did not mourn; her kind could not be killed like this. Hathor slit her wrist wide open, and let the red life flow from her. She lifted the head of the still Osiris, and put his lips to the wound. She smiled, pleased, when started to drink.
“Drink my child, and all shall be well,” she crooned, then tried to make him release. When he would not, she grew panicked. “That is enough Osiris! Release me at once!”
But he did not comply. Now she tried to pull away, but what had once been limp arms, snatched at the life-giving wrist, and held it fast. Hathor cried out in anguish, and clawed at his face, trying to break free, but she then fell lifeless across the chest. Now Osiris’ eyes flashed open, and through the cascade of blood, darted to the lifeless lump. He pushed her aside, uncaring, and rose from what had been his coffin.
“Seems you have failed, brother of mine,” he snarled. “You shall pay one day, believe me of that fact.”
After that, Osiris journeyed to the Red Sands, to the underground city where his kind dwelled. In short time, he became their leader. He disappeared into the dark of the blooded sands, and Set forgot his brother.

Part Two: The Present (five years after HPMI, or six years after Battle City)
Chapter One
“Hey Tony, you got those specs on the stuff from Hungry yet?!”
“Yeah, wait a sec Moke!”
The two of them were working in the Museum together, cataloging the back room. Anthony “Tony” Urishima was an 18-year-old, green-eyed blonde. Mokuba, on the other hand, was a contrast to Tony; he had long, black hair, and purple eyes. The two had been friends since 7th grade, and were never that far apart. The two of them had gotten this after school job not but three months ago. Tony needed the money, but Mokuba was fascinated with ancient civilizations, especially that of Egypt.
“Time check Tony!” Mokuba yelled from across the back room.
“Uh…”
“The time is now 11:37 PM.”
The two of them turned around to find a woman, about 20ish, with long brown hair, and placid brown eyes. Now though, her brow was furrowed, and she scowled at the youngest Kaiba.
“Uh…Hi, Yura,” Mokuba offered meekly, rising from his computer chair as she’d spoken.
“Don’t “Hi Yura” me,” she scowled even more now. “You know very well your brother has set your curfew at 10 PM. I am not listing in my resume as the nurse maid to the Kaibas, thank you,” she turned sharply on her heel, signaling that he was to follow.
Mokuba sighed, then looked back to Tony.
“And I thought my dad was strict,” he laughed.
“Hey, can you finish up the Hungry stuff for me?” he tried.
Tony shrugged. “Hey, no prob. I got your back there bud.”
“Great,” he reached for his coat. “And don’t you dare open that box from Aswan with out me, got it.”
“Hey, no prob there bro,” Tony did the thumbs up. “You have my word. The red box stays closed.”
“Hurry up now!” Yura demanded.
Yura Kurai was not one to make impatient. Normally she was a calm woman, goes with the flow mostly, but when dealing with the Kaibas, she learned to toughen up. Seto Kaiba ran her raged most of the time; filing this and that, and keeping a tab on his brother. That was the price she paid for personal assistant pay. And Mokuba, he never stayed in one place for very long, and was always turning up in the strangest of places. But that was expected of an 18-year-old, she supposed. This was her lot in life, her personal hell; keeping the lives of these two in order.
“I said it was time to go,” she snapped again, heading for the limo waiting for her and the younger Kaiba. “Get a move on.”
“Gotta go Tony!”
“See ya ‘morrow Moke!”
Mokuba ran out the back door of the Museum, and quickly fell into step with Yura. They were silent as the driver opened the doors to the limo for each of them, and still silent as the car started into traffic. Finally, Yura broke the silence.
“You know your brother doesn’t like you working there.”
“So?”
“So, he worries about you.”
“He just doesn’t like it that he can’t control my work habits because he doesn’t own the Museum.”
“That’s not true,” she tried to defend.
“Yeah right,” he laughed slightly. “Yura, you can’t fool me. You know Seto almost as well as I do. He’s mad that there’s an aspect of my life that he can’t control.”
“You’re wrong about that,” she chided. “He doesn’t want to control you.”
“He always has. Even when I did something he couldn’t, he found a way to.”
“Mokuba,” she tried to be patient.
“Yura, don’t lie. Seto’s tried to buy the Museum, I know.”
“He…” she didn’t know how to answer; yes, the elder Kaiba had, but how did the younger know that?
Mokuba smiled his warm smile. “Yeah, can’t hide everything from me, ya know. Sorry, but I guess Seto’s not getting his moneys worth from you, after all.”
She scowled; another of her many jobs as Seto Kaiba’s personal assistant, was to keep the younger Kaiba out of company, and personal doings of her employer.
“That’s why he makes donations to the Museum,” he continued. “He couldn’t buy it, so he figures that if he can sway the curator enough, he’ll have his way. Same old Seto,” he laughed a bit.
“So?” she demanded. “Will conformation make you feel any better? Yes, he tried to buy the Museum and failed. Yes, he donates to the Museum frequently. Does that help you in any way?”
Mokuba just looked away from her, and out his window as the traffic sped past. Yura sighed, folding her hands into her lap.
“Mokuba, I’m sorry for my irrationality,” she began.
“Forget it,” he answered simply.
“No, I…”
“Seriously, just forget it,” he offered her. “I have.”
She sighed again; that was one of Mokuba’s traits; he was forgiving, always forgiving. She was content with it, and too looked out her window. Mokuba, on the other hand, was uncomfortable; she was right, did conformation make it any better? He shifted a bit uncomfortably in his leather seat, and sighed sadly; no, it didn’t, did it?
Chapter Two
Seto sat in his study, back towards the door, facing a fire. He was tapping his fingers restlessly upon the arm of his chair. A knocking came from the door and he paused momentarily.
“Enter!”
The mahogany door opened ever so slightly. The click came, and Seto waited.
“Well?” he finally demanded.
“Well what?” Mokuba’s airy, carefree voice responded.
“Well, what were you doing out so late again, hu?”
“I was working, sheesh,” Mokuba dug his hands into his pockets now, slouching. “That a crime?”
“I feel that I have set a perfectly good curfew for you,” he began calmly. “I would expect you to respect that.”
“Seto, if you haven’t noticed, I’m a big boy now, and don’t need you protecting me.”
“Clearly you do,” he looked at his younger brother from the corner of his eye. “If you cannot follow simple rules like be home at 10, then how do expect to survive in the real world?”
“Sheesh, I’m late once, and you act like I’m going to get killed by crossing the street because I didn’t look both ways.”
“Four times.”
“Wha?”
“Four times I have sent Ms. Kurai to find you because of a missed curfew. Four times this month.”
“You know, you keeping count is way scarier than me coming home late,” Mokuba tried to laugh it off.
Seto clenched his fist, but still did not look to his brother. “This is no laughing matter, Mokuba. I can’t have my little brother running wild in town.”
“Who said I was running wild? I told you, I was working late, that’s all. Go ask Tony. The two of us were sorting through the crates from the Middle East that came in two weeks ago.”
“Yes, about that Urishima boy…”
“What about Tony?”
“I don’t like you hanging around him.”
“Why, what’s wrong with him, hu?”
“Did you know he has a rap sheet?”
“You did a background check on him?!” now Mokuba was outraged. “I cannot believe you!”
“I did it only for your sake,” he said loftily. “I had a feeling about that boy, so I figured I’d check him out.”
“How could you Seto!” Mokuba nearly screamed, clenching his fists now out of his pockets.
“I did it only to protect you.”
“No, you did it to protect your company. If word ever got out that your little brother was hanging around an ex-con, that’d ruin your company’s image, and yours.”
“Mokuba, that’s not true,” he tried to keep the anger out of his tone.
“Oh, isn’t it?” he spat back. “Just admit it, you don’t think of me as a brother, but as a liability.”
Seto was silent; how could he answer such an accusation? Mokuba waited, but when no answer came, his eyes narrowed with a cold, flaming rage.
“Oh, I see how it is,” he turned away from the chair, and reached for the doorknob. “If you need me brother dearest, I’ll be in my room.”
“Mokuba,” Seto now tried. “I…”
But he didn’t finish; Mokuba closed the door, cutting him short. Now Seto sighed, resting his hand on his chin. Five years ago he’d thought raising a teenager would be the hardest thing, but the problem had only progressed. Here he was, a 22 year old, executive of his own company, and his brother was accusing him of not loving him. What could he do? He sighed again, and pressed the call button on the speaker on the side table to his chair.
“Yes Mr. Kaiba?” a female’s voice said over it.
“Cancel all my appointments for the rest of the night, will you Ms. Kurai?”
“Yes Mr. Kaiba,” she answered back. “Have another fight with Mokuba?”
“That is none of your business.”
“Oh Seto, you’re really too hard on him.”
“Did I ask for your commentary?” he snapped a bit. “I’m paying you to keep my life in check, not tell me how to raise my brother.”
“Aren’t the two the same?” she laughed a bit.
“Stick to the business half of my life Yura, or you’ll be in the unemployed line soon.”
“More like the five sixths of your life,” she mumbled, not knowing that she was leaning on the call button.
“What was that?”
“Yes Mr. Kaiba,” she said hastily. “I’ll get right to it. Good night sir.”
“Good night Yura,” he answered half mindedly, not even hitting the call button.
Yura was right, she always was right. That was why he’d hired her after all. But still…how could he respond to Mokuba’s accusation? He sighed again, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He’d deal with it in the morning; everything always looked better in the morning.
Chapter Three
“So, how hard did old Iron Heart come down on you this time?”
“Shut up Tony.”
The two of them were in the Museum’s cafeteria, getting dinner. The two of them left the line, and headed for a back table.
“C’mon Moke, what’d he do this time? He blow a gasket, or fire you or something?” the blonde laughed.
“Just lay off, okay Tony?” Mokuba sighed. “Why you find my personal life so interesting, I’ll never know.”
“Dude, it’s not your personal life, but your home life,” he bit into his bologna sandwich.
“Same thing.”
“Well, I’m a one and only. All I’ve ever had was my dad.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the lucky one,” Mokuba laughed. “Dirt poor, elementary school education, and a father you can leave at anytime.”
“I don’t need no education. And who said I was dirt poor,” he mock growled. “I have a good income, thank you.”
“Ah, I’m just playing with you,” they both laughed. “I know you have a high school diploma, hello, we went to school together.”
“Yeah, and I’m still regretting that.”
“Oh, you’re real nice.”
“It’s a gift,” they laughed again, Tony took another bite. “But seriously, did he fire you as his brother for being late for the fourth time?”
“Is everyone keeping count or something?” he exclaimed. “Sheesh!”
“Yo, sorry there bud, just a comment.”
“Yeah, well, he fired me as his brother a long time ago,” he sighed so softly, that Tony missed it. Now he looked back up. “C’mon, we’ve still got that Middle Eastern stuff to catalogue.”
“What, you given up on opening the red box now?”
“Tja right,” he laughed, getting up. “No way, I’m not leaving here before we open that thing.”
“Just remember that you have to be home before 10, Mr. Kaiba,” he laughed.
Mokuba gave one of his rare scowls. “Who do you think you are, Yura?”
“Now that’s a good one!” Tony laughed, slapping his knee. “Well, I’m gonna finish my supper, but you can start work with out me, kay bud?”
“Oh no, you’re not dumping it all on me again,” he grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “You’re coming too.”
“But I’m not d…” Mokuba wrenched him up, and dragged him along out of the cafeteria. “But I wasn’t done with my sandwich.”
“You are now,” Mokuba laughed impishly over his shoulder. “We go work to do!”
“I got work,” he sulked, crossing his arms, still being dragged by the black haired boy. “You’ve got a hobby.”
The two of them worked deep into the night. Tony spent much of the time shooting paper baskets, but Mokuba managed to get him to stop and get back to work. It was well past 11 PM when they finally finished cataloging the Middle Eastern stuff. Tony rolled back in his chair across the floor, hands behind his head.
“Well that’s the last of it, and you’ll only be an hour late for your curfew.”
“Hey, I said I was going to open the box from Aswan, and I am,” he got out of his seat.
“Moke, you do realize that your brother’ll kill you.”
“Says you,” he grabbed the back of Tony’s chair, and spun it.
“Hey!” he protested as he was thrown out of it. “What’re you doing?”
“I told you, I wanna open the Aswan box.”
“Sheesh, you’ve been bugging over that thing since five minutes before it was unloaded. What is it with your obsession over Egypt?”
“I just like ancient cultures, kay?” that wasn’t all true.
He’d grown up around the Millennium magics. Yugi and Bakura had ancient selves, and supposedly Seto did too. He figured if he could find out anything, it’d help them. No, that wasn’t the reason; he’d always felt a part of Egypt, like he was once there, or something. He knew Seto did too, though he’d never admit it. He’d once run a “rewind search” on his brother’s personal computer, and found that the past ten sites he’d frequented were Egyptian related.
Mokuba sometimes had dreams about being surrounded by red sand, and there was this girl by his side, sometimes with red hair, and others she was blonde with black forelocks, but he’d wrote it off as a hormone dream, but it’d seemed so much more then that. He’d once asked Seto if he had dreams like that too, but he’d scoffed it off, like always.
Tony was right; even before the box came, Mokuba had known that it was coming. And since it’d come, he’d wanted to open it so badly, that he couldn’t concentrate at school lately. But of course, his “work first” motto instilled in him by his brother, made him finish all his back work before he started something new.
He grabbed a crow bar, and headed over to the wooden crate. Tony got up, and followed. The two of them worked at the hinges, getting the clasps open. Mokuba lodged the tip of the metal rod under the tip of the wood. His eyes flashed up to the blonde.
“You ready, Tony?” his voice shook with the excitement of what lay within.
“Dude, I can never understand why you get of hyped up over dead stuff,” he laughed in response.
Sure, he was always excited when opening crates, but not like this; his blood was pounding in his ears; his heart leapt in his throat. His hands actually shook as he pried the crate open. It seemed to pulse to him; something was calling to him within the box.
The nails all came free, and the lid slid away. Both boys looked inside the crate, and their eyes went wide; everything was made of gold!
“Dude, whoever ran this dig must’ve gotten a huge Christmas bonus,” Tony surmised. “Where’d the box come from again?”
“Aswan, Egypt,” Mokuba breathed as his eyes scanned the artifacts. “The Red Sands of Upper Egypt.”
“Oh yeah,” he laughed. “Would you look at this stuff,” he reached for a set of gold bands embedded with rubies.
“Everything looks so new,” Mokuba noticed, talking out an old book, bound with stone. “So well preserved.”
“Du, the clean up crews, Moke. They had really good restorers,” he took out a headdress. “Dude, can you seriously see people wearing this sort of thing? I’ve got to see what the invoice list this as,” he took the papers from the lid out and scanned them.
Mokuba shook his head, and flipped through the papyrus pages carefully. He couldn’t read it, but the hieroglyphics were so crisp and clear, it was as if they were written yesterday. Actually, the way some of the straight lines were written, resembled his own handwriting, or his “chicken scratch” as Yura called it.
His eyes caught at one image though; it wasn’t like all the rest; it looked like a person. He turned the text upside-down, them to the left, then right, and there it was! The image printed there was one that resembled the carving of the Pharaoh and the Priest, but with out the Pharaoh. Instead, there was another man there, wearing a long cloak and he held a long staff with a curved tip.
“I’ve got “The Headdress of Isis”, and you’ve got “The Book of Osiris”,” Tony seemed to say that very far away.
Osiris, of course! The man was holding a crook, which was the sign of the Egyptian god of the underworld. It would make sense that he was with Set; the two were brothers, at least in lore, anyway.
“Dude, you do know that no matter how hard you stare at that thing, you won’t be able to read it, right?”
He was brought back to his senses now. Mokuba looked to Tony, and couldn’t surpress bursting out, laughing.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he laughed.
Tony was wearing the headdress, and the golden armbands.
“What, don’t I look like the queen of the Nile?” he said in a squeaky voice, pretending to bounce long hair on his shoulder.
“I’d rather take Nerfertari over you, any day,” the black haired boy mocked.
“Very funny. What’s so interesting about the picture book, Moke?”
“I’ve seen the character on the left before, but never the one on the right,” he handed the book over gingerly.
“Hey, the guy with the puffy hat looks like your brother,” he laughed. “That is, if he wore a puff hat.”
Mokuba only smiled; he knew that it was, but he wouldn’t tell Tony that. He pulled out a few more artifacts as Tony continued to look at the pictures.
“You know, if you cut your hair…”
“No!”
“I know, I know, but if you did, you’d look like the other guy in this picture.”
“No I wouldn’t,” he laughed, not looking back to his friend.
“Yeah you would,” Tony pressed. “Cut your hair, wear no shirt with a long cape. Have a big stick, and a scar down your right eye, you two could be twins.”
“Tony, that’s a 5000 year old picture,” he tried to be sensible. “It probably looks like the guy on the oatmeal box too, if he cut his hair and did all that stuff.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he shrugged, then turned to another page. “Still, it’s kinda cool, if you think about it. Maybe you’re the reincarnation of this guy in the picture.”
“Yeah right,” he laughed, but secretly he wished it was so.
He moved aside a tablet, and stopped. There, nestled nicely was a tarnished staff of gold. His blood quickened, then froze, then quickened again. His breath was short, and he was sweating, yet felt cold.
“Tony,” his voice shook.
“Yeah, what?” he didn’t look up from the book of papyrus.
“Check the invoice for any staffs, will you?”
“Uh…I’ve got a “Crook of Osiris”, why?” now he looked up.
He knew what it was before Tony had even said what it was; there was no doubt about it in his mind. He reached for the golden crook; it pulsed right under his fingertips. He touched it, and an electrifying bolt sprang through him.
“Moke, you alright?” Tony’s voice was far away, too far away, as if they weren’t even in the same room, let alone right next to each other.
Shadows leapt from the crook, and flew up his arm and surrounded the rest of his body. He wanted to scream out, but somehow, somehow this felt right. Only darkness came then; what seemed like a never-ending darkness that swallowed him whole.

so, there you go, we're in the presant (or future, i think...). so, what do ya think?
Comments (2)