Torque

Author's Notes: This was originally going to be a one-shot, but the moment it went over 10,000 words, I decided to break it up into three parts to make it easier on the eyes. This fic was meant to be a light read, so I'll space out my updates to reflect this.

With that said, I hope you all have as much fun reading this story as I did writing it.

Warnings: Underage drinking, some swearing, and one F-bomb.

Disclaimer: Yu-Gi-Oh! and its characters are copy-written to Kazuki Takahashi and Konami. I just come up with drawn-out hypothetical situations.

HEINEKEN OF KEMET

Their departure from the Land of the Rising Sun had been bittersweet. All the chaos of Battle City and Alcatraz shrank as they sailed for the horizon, and they left with just a little less weight on their shoulders. Yet not all the weight was gone. They still had the responsibility of guiding the Pharaoh to his tomb when the time came.

At the very least, they still had room to prepare and, most importantly, they could prepare as a family. They had an opportunity no other Ishtar had known before them: to build a new life in the light.

A new life based on Isis' status, they realized quickly, and the weight in their hearts increased as they thought of the new burden they placed on their sister. After she had already done so much...

"We'll find a place as soon as we can," Malik urged from the back seat of the spacious SUV. Rishid closed his eyes with a steady hum.

"Are you sick of me already?" Isis asked quietly from the front passenger seat, their ubiquitous chauffeur silent as he focused on the road. "Did I cry too much?"

Malik recoiled into the tan leather, rolling his fingertips at the memory. Isis had tried to keep her composure, but started shedding tears an hour into the trip, saying how happy she was they were together again and how lonely she had been. He remembered wiping her tears away and promising never to abandon her the way they had, his own voice quivering and vision blurring as he held her to his chest before Rishid encircled them both with his expansive arm span in a group hug.

And here I just said something that betrayed my promise no more than a week ago. Great progress, Malik Ishtar, he thought bitterly.

"Breathe, little brother," Isis tittered over her shoulder, "it was a joke."

Malik exhaled as he realized he really was holding his breath. Rishid placed his hand on his shoulder and squeezed with a reassuring smile.

"How much farther to your apartment, Lady Isis?"

"People only call me 'Lady Isis' or 'Miss Ishtar' when I'm working, Rishid," Isis laughed again. "I'd like it if you just called me 'Isis' or 'sister'."

"Of course, L— Isis," Rishid corrected himself, and Malik pursed his lips with another thought.

Even that was a change they needed to get used to.

Another bad habit to break.

- 0 – 0 – 0 -

"I know it's not Garden City, but..."

"You got a place in Heliopolis?!" Malik repeated, almost dropping his bags in front of a tidy gated apartment complex surrounded by date palms, sycamores, and papyrus plants.

"I didn't want to be far from the museum once I became Secretary General," she shrugged with an air of embarrassment. "It's only two bedrooms, so it might be a little cramped..."

What Malik expected was a cozy apartment with a refined aesthetic to reflect the elegant exterior of the oasis-like complex and his own sister's tastes, but when they stood inside, it was far sparser than she had implied. The ceiling was tall and the walls were bare, a hue so pale it reflected a blue glow in the low lighting. There was also a chill that made one's hair stand on end, not from the constant air conditioning in the building, but the sheer emptiness of the space itself. The only signs that a person had been living there was an Eye of Wdjat charm hanging above the door, a beige futon and small television in the living room, a table in the kitchen, and a coffee machine and a microwave on the counter. If anyone had dared to break in, they would have been severely disappointed, or they would have left a possession of their own out of sympathy.

"It's quite... minimalist," Rishid commented.

"I didn't see much use in keeping many things when I foresaw–" She stopped herself from saying anything further with the shake of her head and a tight smile as she lifted her luggage. "It's not important anymore. What matters is that you're here now. Let me show you to your room."

Malik's eyes trailed over the barren walls as they walked down the hallway, the shadows of guilt bubbling in his stomach. His sister had caught herself before saying too much, but the Spartan atmosphere spoke volumes.

Whatever is here is all she owns, he thought sadly. It was all she could assure herself she could own. She was living in Heliopolis and held the highest executive position in the Supreme Council of Antiquities, so he knew it wasn't a matter of finances. It was done out of personal philosophy, a provision for what she had foreseen before the path altered.

"This will be where you will stay," she opened the door to the second bedroom and Malik was relieved to find two beds. So she hadn't lost all hope back then...

"I used it more as my home office," she pointed to the desk in the corner with a hutch. It faced the window with a view of the pool and the meticulously landscaped garden. "But I can move into the living room quite easily so you can have your privacy. It's right across from the second bathroom."

Malik nodded half-heartedly as he focused on the only thing he had seen on the walls aside from the Eye of Wjdat: a line of black frames alongside the desk. Each piece bore an emblem of the god Thoth with "Cairo University" proudly emblazoned across the sheets of paper. His eyes flashed in acknowledgment and surprise, his focus scattered across the words Bachelor's, Master's, esteemed honors and an odd Latin phrase he didn't recognize.

Summa cum laude?

"Sister, you earned these?" Malik pointed to the degrees and certificates. "Where did you find the time?"

"Due diligence," Isis shrugged modestly, crossing her hands across her lap, "and a lot of Turkish coffee."

His thoughts wandered to the machine she had in the kitchen and wondered how many cups she had consumed in the last five years. How many consecutive days and nights had she spent on a caffeine binge to get those pieces of paper on her wall?

Another pang of guilt settled in his gut. She needed to go to the university to get the job, and the reason for getting the job was because–

"I had fun," Isis said suddenly with a warm smile. "As much as I allowed myself."

Malik furrowed his brow and tried to smile.

As much as the Torque would allow you.

"Why hang them here?" Rishid asked, holding his chin in his hand. "Would they not be more suited to your office at the Council building?"

"They are," Isis informed. "I had to file for multiple copies in order to provide the credentials to the Council. You wouldn't believe the paperwork involved."

Malik massaged his own chin at the words. Paperwork, another concern they had to think about if he and Rishid were to lead a normal life, the unavoidable bureaucratic element. How ironic it was that they had tried to break free of the darkness that came with their name. Yet it was Isis in the end who walked in the light of day with a clean slate, even as she clung so tightly to Gravekeeper tradition.

"I also put these here because there wasn't any space left in my bedroom," she added, an almost sheepish tone to the words.

This piqued Malik's interest and provided some relief. So there were walls that weren't completely bare.

"Can we see it?" Malik asked. There was a hesitant sound as Isis placed her knuckles to her lips, eyes averting to a corner in the floor.

"Ah, well..."

"Not that you have to!" Malik replied quickly, reaching out with stretched fingers. "Not if you don't want to. I was just trying..."

Trying to find some common ground.

"You don't have to show me. It's private. It's fine," he repeated.

"No, it's all right," Isis said with a small smile. "If we're going to live together for the time being, you'll have to poke your head in every now and again. I was just about to warn you I didn't clean it up before I left for Japan. Back this way..."

When Isis opened the door to her room, their senses were assaulted with the scent of fallen trees with an oxidized note of vanilla, and their eyes burned with the rich amber glow that bounced off the contents of her bedroom when she flipped on the light switch. Rishid lifted his brows in appreciation while Malik's jaw went slack.

It was at the moment Malik believed, quite avidly, that one of the greatest tragedies in history were naught more than a fabrication. The contents within the Library of Alexandria had never burned along with its building. Instead, what had really happened was that his sister tore open a portal in time and space with the Millennium Torque, rescued everything the library housed within, and shoved it all in her room for safekeeping from the rest of the world.

That was the only explanation he would accept. Otherwise, he was going to have to go along with the more mundane explanation in that his big sister was a filthy bibliophile who thought books were an acceptable placeholder for wallpaper and–

Dear Thoth, the cases were overflowing. Whatever wasn't on a shelf rested on top of a case, the literature stacked one on top of the other until they reached the ceiling. Save for the windows that framed her twin-sized bed, the only reason there was a space that lacked any books was because he was fairly certain the specifically door-shaped hole in the corner led to her bathroom.

"You always did like to read," Rishid said with raised brows, tracing the edges of the ceiling. He noted the subtle glow bouncing off the transparent Moroccan styled ceiling drapes, a complement to the mahogany toning of the room. "Small wonder you earned a Master's in such a short span of time."

"Small wonders still require great effort," Isis intoned. The darkness in Malik's stomach retreated as he saw her eyes go alight when she trailed her fingers over a row of thick volumes on the shelf next to the door. There was no doubt in Malik's mind that he could have lived ten lifetimes and still not have read the amount of content Isis had stored in her bedroom, let alone what she had read beforehand. When they were children, if Isis could not be found in her room, then he knew he could always find her hidden away in the archives.

She was named for the goddess of fate, but Malik had always felt the Scribe played a hand in her life. In that, the emblem of Thoth branding her academic conquests were quite suiting, and Malik smiled at the thought. He expected nothing less of his sister.

What he didn't expect, however, was what he and Rishid found in her refrigerator when they looked for something to drink right after.

Rishid only tilted his head in a questioning motion while Malik's eyes boggled at the repeating array of blue stars against a field of yellow and green labels, cans and bottles neatly arranged in rows and filling the shelves to capacity.

"Sis-sister?" Malik squeaked. "Why is there nothing but Stella in your fridge?"

As if on cue, Rishid turned his attention to a random cupboard out of curiosity and found untouched cases of the Egyptian beer lining the shelves. Thoth faded from Malik's mind and he beheld an image of the goddess Sekhmet hovering over his sister, claws drawn and salivating, whispering lurid things in Isis' ear in her times of loneliness. The guilt made itself known once more in Malik's gut and his hand went to his mouth at the conclusion.

His actions had caused his sister to develop a drinking problem.

Sister, I'm so sorry...

"It looks bad, doesn't it?" Isis asked with a titter as she entered the kitchen, placing her hand to the back of her neck. "I don't have guests over often, so it sits a while."

"Why so much if you rarely have guests?" Rishid asked genuinely, with no judgment or preconceptions, and Malik cursed his older brother for his purity of mind.

"Rishid, don't you see? It's because–"

"It's all gifted to me," Isis laughed. "I haven't had to pay for my own drinks in over a year."

Malik's eyes widened as his sister turned her palm upward in further explanation.

"Since I'm the executive head of the board, I have to attend monthly meetings with the Minister of Tourism. He always brings a case of Stella for myself and the Minister of Culture. The brewery has been under private label for quite some time now, but the Ministry of Tourism still has to conduct inspections, and the owners have always given away the newest batches for 'sampling purposes'. It's always been something of a tradition to do, and it's impolite to refuse a gift, so..."

Isis shrugged with another embarrassed smile.

"It would also be in bad taste for a representative of Egypt to pour the country's national beer down the drain," Isis concluded.

Rishid expressed himself with a small nod in understanding while Malik blinked rapidly. Well, he supposed that was a far better— far more preferable— explanation than his sister being a functioning alcoholic.

"I prefer Luxor myself, but I suppose one can't complain with it being free," Isis continued. "I just can't drink enough of it by myself to keep up."

Once more, Malik had to adjust to the thought. She had developed enough of a palate to know she had a preference? He had never pegged his big sister as someone who enjoyed drinking it to begin with. He always thought Isis would have been more of a wine spritzer type of person.

All right, then, he told himself. It wasn't that big of a deal. His big sister was a responsible, sensible adult who had been living on her own all this time. It wasn't far out of line for her to enjoy a cold one every now and again.

"Though I suppose much of it needs to be cleared out if we're going to be living together," Isis reasoned. "I assume you both would like something that isn't fermented, and I certainly can't expect you both to want to dine out all the time. I confess I am remiss on stocking groceries. I spend so much time at work, I've admittedly gotten lazy about my cooking."

Malik had to make another mental adjustment. So his sister didn't like to cook? But she made the best koshari growing up...

"How do you propose we clear it out?" Rishid asked, glancing back to the fridge. "I agree with you in that it does seem wasteful to pour it down the sink."

"We could line up a few six packs and have a shotgun contest," Isis joked.

Malik's neck slowly stretched forward and his mouth lost tension at the words. He must have heard her wrong. There was no way Isis of all people just said–

"Why would you want to shoot at the cans?"

Isis and Malik balked in unison as they stared at a baffled Rishid, before Isis placed a hand to her mouth and started snickering into her palm.

"Oh, Rishid," she giggled, "I've missed your candor."

Rishid could only stare in bewilderment as she folded over herself, placing a hand on her knee to keep herself stable as the other remained over her lips. Tears started forming in the corners of her eyes from laughing so hard.

Malik, meanwhile, was not as amused, his brow knitted and arms limp as he stared at her falling into hysterics.

"Sister," Malik uttered soberly, "just what did you do in college?"

- 0 – 0 – 0 -

Malik couldn't sleep.

He wondered if they should have taken her joke seriously and drank their fill instead of putting away their luggage and heading out for dinner. Perhaps then he wouldn't have had so much trouble drifting off. He thought, among the endless lines of Stella, he had seen a teapot and a canister of chamomile among her cupboards, and slowly got out of bed as not to wake Rishid.

He toed lightly through the apartment, thankful for the soft carpet quieting his movements, but stopped when he saw a blue glow spilling into the hallway.

It had taken all of five minutes to move the desk out of their room and into the main living area, and when he peered around the edge of the wall, he saw Isis sitting with her back turned to him. Her frame blocked the light of a laptop, leaning forward on her elbows and head bowed low, massaging her temples with a deep sigh.

"I don't want to do this," she murmured to herself. With several taps along the keyboard, she logged into her government email and made an uncomfortable sound, a pinging behind her forehead as the messages flooded her vision.

"Really?" she moaned. "I don't check it for two weeks and everything descends into chaos. It's going to be a long day tomorrow..."

Malik blinked and hugged the wall. Did Isis have a hard time sleeping often? Did she talk to herself a lot when she was alone? He supposed he couldn't blame her for either when all she had to keep her company prior were her thoughts and her books. Then he arched his brow when he registered a small cylindrical object resting on the right side of the desk in the blue light.

"I cannot deal with this right now," she moaned again, pinching her temples before reaching for the object. Malik realized it was a single can of Stella, and he didn't react. He supposed he couldn't blame her for that either. They had all just arrived, yet she was heading straight into work tomorrow. Malik and Rishid were transitioning to a new life altogether; Isis had to jump back into the one she already had.

"Malik?"

The young Egyptian jumped as Rishid touched his shoulder with the whisper.

"Damn it, Rishid, don't sneak up on me like that!" he flinched, mindful of his volume. The carpets hid sound too well, he decided.

"Are we spying?" he asked simply.

"No, we're not spying. She's our sister, not a gang lord," Malik whispered defensively.

"What is she doing with that letter opener?"

Malik was about to ask "What letter opener?" before his eyes followed Rishid's gaze back to Isis. She held the can horizontally in the air with her finger poised beneath the tab and in a swift, routine motion, poked a hole in the bottom. The sharp snap and hiss zinged through their ears as she popped the tab up and turned the can to a vertical orientation, drinking from the opening she had created with the small knife.

Malik's jaw clenched and his hand locked over his mouth to prevent himself from screaming at her.

Sister, what did you do in college?!

In a matter of seconds, Isis exhaled and pulled the now empty can away from her mouth, crunching the thin aluminum in her fist as she wiped her lip with the back of her hand.

"Now I can deal with this," she sighed to herself as she tossed the can into the small bin next to her desk.

Malik's right eye twitched.

No, no, no, no, no.

That was wrong. That was not what just happened. His sister was the kind of person who sat quietly in the back of the library reclined in a puffy beanbag chair and shooed away anyone who who dared to interrupt her self-imposed education on the military legacy of the Sea Peoples. His sister was the kind of person who studied diligently in her room about the artistic influence of the Hittites while the doomed generation enacted their debauchery elsewhere. His sister was an upstanding scholar of high moral character who did not shotgun her beers like some sort of degenerate frat boy from that really old college movie he saw that one time on late night television in the States.

He wouldn't, however, have put it past her to wear a toga. If anyone could pull it off in public, it would be his sister.

But he did not, not, not just see her poke a hole in her beer so she could drink it all in one sitting to deal with her government workload. The Isis he knew wasn't like that.

"Malik? Rishid?"

The hair bristled on the back of Malik's neck with the mention of their names, and Isis glanced over her shoulder with a tired smile.

"Are you both going to stand back there watching me go through emails all night or are you going to head into the kitchen and help me clear out some of the Stella?"

- 0 – 0 – 0 -

"I'm never drinking again."

Screw the Aussie international student who thought he was being clever by teaching a cute, single Egyptian girl the optimal way to stab a beer. Or did Isis tell him it was a British guy that taught her how to do it? Or was it a Bulgarian? Perhaps an American? Malik had a hard time staying coherent after the sixth one.

Whatever. It didn't matter. Regardless of nationality, Malik hated him for corrupting his sister and he hoped wherever that bastard was, he was laying in an alley somewhere drowning in his own piss. Fuck that guy.

His bloodshot eyes squinted at the bottle in his hands and was relieved to find the word "aspirin" on the label. He tried to ignore his disheveled reflection in the mirror as he popped the white tabs in his mouth and swallowed with a gulp of water. After he splashed some more on his face and turned off the faucet, Malik went to turn the lid back on the medication, taking careful consideration not to cross the threads.

The white tablets scattered across the counter top and all over the bathroom floor when he was startled by someone knocking on the apartment's door. It sounded as though the person on the other end was trying to break it down with their fists.

"I'll get it," Rishid shouted diligently. He had only partaken in two drinks last night. Though truthfully, he only had one. The first was a complete loss when Isis tried to show him how the physics of it all worked and the stream was too fast to keep up with. The second was a leisurely imbibement and he decided that was all he had wanted before he politely dismissed himself for bed. He had woken to find Malik and Isis sprawled on the futon surrounded by empty cans some hours later, and he had draped a blanket over them while he cleaned up the mess.

As it was now, however, Isis was hurriedly getting dressed in her room while Malik was fighting off a hangover. Rishid was the only person who was in the position to answer with a lick of dignity. Ever vigilant, Rishid didn't opt to open the door right away and stared into the peephole. There stood three suspicious looking men in black suits and turbans. Rather, at least two of them were wearing turbans. The man in front was so tall, his chest was level above the view and Rishid couldn't see his face.

A hiss escaped through his teeth as he recoiled from the door. They pounded against the wood again, rattling the hinges with the action, and Rishid was immediately wary. He and Malik just arrived in country. Without the presence of the Rod or even the Torque, unexpected company was not welcome nor easily dealt with.

Another worry crossed his mind. Now that they were living with Isis, she was in a position of danger as well. If anyone knew of her connection with them, then that meant there was a target branded on her back. The Ghouls were not wholly disbanded yet, and their enemies were many. He couldn't protect both at the same time if they were in different places, but he could protect them here, right now.

Rishid moved over to the futon. He could barricade the door and buy them some time.

"Rishid, I thought you were getting the door," Malik groaned, rubbing his head with a wince. "All that noise is killing me. What do they want?"

The platinum blonde Egyptian reached for the knob and Rishid gasped.

"Malik, no! Don't–!"

Malik did, and he rubbed his eyes as the entryway flooded with light.

"What's your problem?" Malik murmured through the slits of his eyes. "Did'ja really need to bang so hard? Don't you have any manner— Oh, shit!"

When his eyes had adjusted to the lighting and opened completely, he came face-to-chest with a brick wall of a man who dwarfed even Rishid's build, sharp eyes cut into a broad face, chin framed by a short-boxed beard. The sunlight glinted off the small, hooped gold rings in his ears, a reflection that perfectly aimed for Malik's pupils and made him flinch. He barely registered the other two men alongside him before the behemoth spoke in a voice so deep, Malik and Rishid could feel a vibration in their own diaphragms.

"We are here for Isis Ishtar."

"OVER MY GRAVE!" Malik screamed before he slammed the door shut and made quick work of the locks. "Rishid, why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I tried to–"

"Help me get the futon up! The door isn't gonna hold that huge bastard for long!"

They scrabbled for the only immediate furniture in the apartment and lifted it off the floor with little effort.

"What are you doing?"

Isis stood perplexed by the entryway. She wore yet another simple crème dress that revealed her shoulders, flowing sleeves stopped just below the elbows, golden bands encircling her waist and wrists, her favored jewelry atop her head like a crown. At her feet was a pair of sensible white pumps and at her neck was a small jade pendant dangling from a thin gold chain. A brown leather satchel hung off one shoulder and she gripped the strap tightly in both hands.

Malik scoffed inwardly. Between Rishid wearing a respectable pair of black slacks and a purple shirt and his sister practically glowing in her dress, he felt like a hot mess in his black boxer shorts and wife beater.

But appearances didn't matter right now. Isis' safety was paramount. Their family just got back together, and they weren't going to part without a fight.

"Why are you moving the futon, and why hasn't anyone answered the door?"

"Isis, get away from there!" Malik dropped his end of the futon and sprinted to where she stood, slapping Isis' hand away from the knob as the impatient rapping continued on the other side of the door. He flattened his shoulder against the surface and applied his full weight, face flush with the wood. "Rishid, hurry! I don't know if I can hold him off when he decides to stop messing around!"

"I'm trying, Malik," Rishid said, scooting the futon across while his feet struggled to find traction on the smooth white carpet.

"What has gotten into you two?" Isis asked, and she held out a flat palm to stop Rishid from advancing any further with the furniture.

"There are three shady guys outside in black suits and they want to kidnap you!" Malik screeched. "Isis, I know you don't want to, but you have to take all your books off the shelves so we can move the cases next! We have to stall them!"

"Shady men in suits?" she repeated slowly. "Pray tell, are they wearing turbans?"

"Yeah!"

"And is one of them a rather tall Persian with a short beard and earrings?"

"Yes! Hold on, wait," Malik blinked. "How would you know that guy is Persian?"

"Hathor, help me," Isis muttered as she cradled her face in her hands, taking a deep breath before lifting her head and clasping her fingers together. "Malik, may I please have a look through the door before we build a fort in the hallway?"

The question was rhetorical as Isis brushed her brother's hair away from the peephole and assessed who was on the other side. She knitted her brow and looked her little brother in the eye, placing her hands akimbo.

"Malik, those aren't kidnappers. Those are my bodyguards. They've come to escort me to work."

Malik and Rishid dropped their shoulders along with their lower lips and stared at her.

"You don't recognize them?" Isis asked incredulously.

Her brothers exchanged a glance and shook their heads.

"Don't you remember them at all from that night at the museum?"

She was met with more silence.

"You know, when you both blew out the window looking for Obelisk?" she emphasized. She was still waiting on the finalization of that report to review the budget for the next fiscal year.

Rishid looked to the carpet guiltily while Malik tore himself away from the door. His eyes were wide as saucers as he pointed at the entrance.

"Those are the guys I knocked out with the Rod that night?"

Isis placed her fingertips to her forehead and sighed.

"Yes, Malik, and you also took control of one of them and forced him to retrieve the Winged Dragon of Ra from the Valley of the Kings. Of all of them, he should have been the most familiar to you."

There was a pregnant pause between the siblings before Malik clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He took control of a lot of people back then, but there was no telling whether to not the guards remembered the experience or his face for that matter. Regardless of memory, Malik had just yelled at them and slammed the door in their noses.

Not the greatest re-introduction in the world, he thought.

"... I should probably just let you answer the door, huh?"

"That would the best course of action, yes," Isis droned, and she pointed down the hallway. "Go to the kitchen, both of you."

Malik didn't want to mull over the many implications that order entailed. They hid without argument, but peered around the corner when Isis turned to unlock the door.

When the entrance parted, she leaned her shoulder against the frame and cocked a brow.

"Faruq!" Isis regarded the tall man before her, eyes bright with the tone as she observed the other men. "Ali, Hadar! I take it Khaled stayed with the car? So all four of you have conspired to kidnap me, then? And after everything we've been through? I hope there's at least a snack for me in the car. I haven't had breakfast."

"We have missed you terribly, Chief," Faruq rumbled, eyes shining with a grin.

Rishid raised his brows as Malik furrowed his.

Chief?

"We know it was per your orders, but we still worried about leaving you alone during the tournament. After what you had said, what you were trying to do, we weren't sure if you were going to–"

"It worked out," Isis relayed with a small smile and the wave of her hand. "Do forgive my brothers. Contrary to your previous engagements with them, they do have my best interests in mind."

"It is not our place to judge, Chief," spoke a guard from behind, Hadar, a clean shaven man with a squared face and thick jaw. Malik squinted and tried to remember if that was the one Isis was talking about.

"I wasn't expecting you all so early," Isis said. "What's the occasion? Did traffic get worse in my time away?"

"When we got news you touched ground in country, we wanted to give you a proper welcome back," Ali, a wiry guard with a thin English mustache and pale complexion, replied with a sly smirk. "We're early for a reason. Your favorite cafe on Kasr El Ainy has a special cup of coffee waiting for you."

"It is the first time I've seen you all since I've been back, and the first thing you do is lie to me. It doesn't wait when it's made to order."

If any other person in the world had tapped the guard with their knuckles the way Isis had to the man's chest, Malik was sure their fingers would have been broken before they made contact. However, it seemed Isis had enough familiarity to get away with it intact, and the man hummed good-naturedly. He made a sweeping motion with his arms in a presenting gesture to the path behind him with a bow of his head.

"So are you coming with us or not, Miss Ishtar?"

"'Miss Ishtar,' is it? Well, now I know you're all up to no good if you are the one using formalities with me," Isis teased. "Give me a moment to say goodbye to my brothers."

"Of course, Chief," Faruq bowed with his hand over his heart. The other two followed suit.

Malik and Rishid quickly ducked their heads back into the kitchen as Isis made her way over to them.

"I'm sorry I have to leave so soon," Isis stretched out her arms and hooked her hands behind their torsos, bringing them to her for a hug, "but there is a lot of work that needs to be done. Much has happened here in my absence."

"Don't worry about it, sister," Malik assured, returning the embrace and digging his chin into her shoulder while Rishid moved his jaw to the top of her head. "We'll find something to keep ourselves busy. We promise the kitchen won't be up in flame when you return."

With a chuckle and a kiss to both of their cheeks, Isis waved them goodbye with her exit as the guards moved to flank her. When the door closed behind them, Malik and Rishid took the opportunity to look out of the window at the other end of the living room. They beheld a view of the complex's gated oasis entrance, and there was a prominent black SUV with government plates parked out front. They couldn't hear what was being said, but the body language spoke for itself as they surrounded her in a triangular pattern, two in front and the massive Persian (Faruq, was it?) behind her. The pasty guy with the mustache (Ali?) must have said some sort of joke as he opened the vehicle's door for her, because Isis held her hand over her mouth with a laugh as she lightly pushed the man's shoulder in response.

"Stop it! You're not funny!" they saw her mouth before she hopped into the back seat.

Malik's eyes narrowed with the crossing of his arms at his chest.

She seems awful close to them to just be bodyguards.

Rishid, on the other hand, was quite happy to see that Isis had adequate protection for her commute, and he noticed something interesting about her posture and gait.

The stride she held among the men reminded him, quite vividly, of the swagger Malik exhibited when he had once led a squad of Ghouls.

Author's Notes: Ending Chapter 1 of 3 with Isis rolling hard with her crew. Mmm hmm.

I find it both amusing and aggravating that Isis is characterized as Malik's "mature" big sister, yet somehow fans always want to write her as someone who is naive about "adult" things like alcohol.

For her to become the Secretary General of the SCA, she had to get, at a minimum, a Bachelor's degree. As in: She's the one who attended a major university. I'm not saying she flew off the rails and channeled the spirit of Belushi a la Animal House, but if anyone in the YGO cast is gonna know about fermented liquid, it is going to be Isis. Lest we forget, Egypt is the birthplace of beer, and she is quite proud of her roots.

I did go back and forth about whether or not Isis would quibble about letting her 16 year old brother drink, but y'know what? In order to get into college and also have a job with the SCA, Isis probably lied about her age when she filled out her papers and was probably drinking in university before she was 18. So she probably wouldn't care too much if Malik imbibed along with her.

Also, fun fact: The company that brews Stella, the national beer of Egypt, was originally under the same license in the early 1900s as the brewery that is best known for making Heineken today. Hence the title of this chapter.

So, there, that's a thing you know now.

Finally, there is one detail of which I did not embellish or speculate. Isis is indeed called "Chief" by her guards in the Japanese version and I love it! Respect her authoritah!