Author's Note: So I've posted and re-posted this and Quick Thinking probably a dozen times, and this time I've decided it's time to give these clips an update. Seriously, I wrote these for the first time a LONG time ago, and (thank God) my writing's improved since then.

Disclaimer: Nope, Don't own it. I know, it's a bummer for me, too.

Pizskas Allat

"Coward: one who, in a perilous emergency, thinks with his legs." --Ambrose Bierce

When your life has taken the same courses and flipped the same turns as mine, you, also, will be able to just ... feel a bad situation about to happen. Somehow, things like footsteps (which used to only mean someone was walking) become grace periods just before a threat that didn't even have to be said is carried out. After all of my unfortunate experiences, I really, really should have known the minute the locked door groaned under the weight of a foot that I should get the hell out of there. But no, I froze like a damn first-time petty thief, and a moment later, that American-tinted English greeted me with one of those oh-so-clever remarks:

"Let me guess: spring cleaning."

Son of a bitch.

I didn't even have to think about it; I was running across the room -- aiming somewhat ambitiously for the window. Somehow, the thought that I was three floors above ground didn't even cross my mind. It is more than a little frightening to know my logic can disappear that quickly. But, really, this is O'Connell. I always had one up on the bastard: I could run faster. I wasn't so sure abou the boozing British loser he'd brought with him, but running's better than waiting to find out, eh?

I think I made it half-way across the room before something hit me, caught my leg, and had me on the hardwood floor pretty damn quick.

"Nice shot!" There is nothing I hate more than being outnumbered. Even when one of them is a drunk I could beat the shit out of in a ... almost-fair fight.

Before I could even begin to scramble up, I heard heavy footsteps coming quickly behind me.

"Ah, Beni, did you fall down?"

Oh, God.

"'Ere let me help you up."

O'Connell is not a clever man. But when you are big and tall and angry, you can say any dumbass thing that pops into your pathetic little mind. He pulled me off of the floor -- and, of course, then some. All I can say is Chamberlain has some of the sharpest damned bookends I've ever felt on my spine.

"You came back from the desert with a new friend, didn't you, Beni?"

O'Connell is also a secret-moralist -- a sucker who only wants to be reassured that he is still a good man. If giving him some false reassurance saves my ass, I am ready. Sometimes you have to go without your balls to keep them in the end. I gave him a Look, reminding him who was the small defenseless one, and topped it off with:

"What friend? You are my only friend!"

His eyes went dark, and I realized I was going to have to find an actual upperhand. I have something else to say: Chamberlain has some of the sharpest damned paper-weights I've ever felt on my shoulder-blade.

"Whatcha doin' with this creep, huh, Beni? What's in it for you?"

Oh, that friend.

"'Tis much better to be the righthand of the devil, than in his path" -- way over his head philosophy -- "As long as I serve him, I am immune."

Ah-hem. The upperhand.

I'd sparked his interest, because I was upright a foot or so higher than usual against Chamberlain's damned cast-iron wrought wall. If a razor-sharp piece of wall (of all things) hadn't been digging into one of my fresh bruises, I would have been wondering what kind of idiot thought that was a necessary room-element.

"Immune from what!"

Manners never meant much to O'Connell. He has to yell instead of actually ask a question.

"Pizskas allat."

Allah's fire irons: Hell. And worse things ... For now, we will allow pizskas allat to be Hungarian for Imhotep.

"What did you say?"

Well, truthfully, "I don't want to tell you; you'll just hurt me some more!"

"What are you looking for? And try not to lie to me!"

Who's been lying?

"The book! The black book they found at Hamunaptra! He wants it back! He says it will be worth its weight in gold!"

I am shit under pressure. And, besides, what is he going to do with that information? O'Connell may think he is a hero, but Imhotep can't die. I think I will stay on the winning side of this match. I let out a sigh: he lowered me from the swinging blades of the ceiling fan. I was almost out clear with just a few permanent bruises. But, no, that worthless Brit had to open his mouth. Do you see now why it is bad to be outnumbered -- even if the other guy looks harmless?

"What does he want the book for?"

As if I am going to explain Imhotep's Plan A for taking over the world.

I tried to act ignorant. "Oh, come on, how'm I supposed to --" Who invented the ceiling fan, anyway? I plan to find him and ... hire someone to really beat the hell out of him. "Something about bringing his dead girlfriend back to life! But that's all he wants, I swear! Just the book, I swear!"

Well, it's not as if those two could figure out a way to do something about it, anyway.

He must have believed me, because those death-black blades were no longer inches from my face. I may not have much for looks, but if they cannot be improved ... I would rather they not be changed. I was looking him in th eye, and that's safe. Relatively.

"And your sister -- but other than that!"

A scream caught our attention before O'Connell could do any further damage (to me). The two of them side-tracked, I used my advantage to break from my old Legionnaire buddy's grasp. My knee was at just the right height -- and, being outnumbered, it is not foul play to strike a man where he is weakest.

I was right about O'Connell.

He does have more balls than brains.