dust me off and show me all truth
TW: racist microagressions, trauma & dissociative episodes related to dissociative identity disorder (DID)
Sersi smiled and half listened as Elizabeth Worthington, the Great British Museum Director, prattled on about how they finally finished the remodeling of the West African exhibit. The two of them had been walking around the museum as Elizabeth introduced Sersi to what the museum had to offer and what exhibits Sersi was in charge of organizing.
Sersi had to hide the grimace at Elizabeth’s deep pride in how much the Great British Museum had to offer. Particularly in regards to the artifacts from Greece, India, Asia and Africa. Even after all these millennias of living among humanity, Sersi still wondered on why humans were so keen on laying claim to artifacts of history and diversity. . . even if they had to plunder, pillage and colonize different civilizations in order to do so. Her mind drifted to the increasing controversy over the Parthenon/Elgin Marbles as stolen artifacts and the movement to get them repatriated.1 Her mind then, flashed to the Spanish Conquistadors who ravaged North America in search of gold, resources and slaves. The splitting of her Eternal family after the Spanish conquistadors worked to burn down Tenochtitlan. What was the cost of “progress” for humanity? Did it truly have to be Charlie’s “survival of the fittest”?
“We are so glad to have you here on loan from the Natural History Museum. With the recent remodeling, it would be so nice to have such a highly experienced and educated curator-,” Elizabeth’s fawning cut off as she stopped at the entrance of the West African Exhibit. Her eyes riveted on a black teenage girl as she circled around the artifacts and the room. Sersi took note of the increased number of museum security personnel and the flash of distaste and disdain on the director’s face. Sersi had to tamp down on the urge to as her students say “throw hands” with the director.
The girl was dressed in a black turtleneck and baggy black trousers. A long sleeve beige winter coat covered her ensemble as she circled around in black and white sport sneakers. Her hair was up in a high ponytail with multiple strands in box braids and a few braided strands wrapped around the top before the apex of her ponytail.2
Before Sersi could redirect the director, Elizabeth strode towards the girl with a polite if not patronizing tone, “Good morning! How can I help you?”
The girl turned her head and gave a distant and polite smile. “I don’t need any assistance. I am just soaking in all the information and history in this room,” the girl replied with a slight African accent. Her eyes looked around the room with an appreciative look but Sersi felt felt as if there was something false to her expression.
“Are you here with your class? Family?” Elizabeth questioned with a saccharine tone.
“No, I am home schooled but for one of my assignments, I’m supposed to check out some museums and I chose this one.”
Elizabeth gave an awkward chuckle as she proclaimed, “Well, there’s no better museum than the Great British Museum to learn.”
Seeing Elizabeth’s remark as the end of the conversation, the girl turns back to the glass cases and eyes a mining tool with great interest but not before sending a curious yet cautious look Sersi’s way. A look of annoyance overcomes Elizabeth’s face at being ignored as she turns back to Sersi but before she can utter a word, her phone dings.
Taking out her phone, Elizabeth sends a furious text back before apologetically turning towards her.
“I apologize, a situation has arrived with the museums newest Egyptian exhibition. I have to take care of this right away. We will have to continue this tour at a later time.”
Before Sersi can nod, Elizabeth strides away towards the exit of the exhibit.
Shuri relaxed as the condescending colonizer left the West African exhibit. Sometimes she forgot how different the world was outside Wakanda. Where people that looked like her and her people, were treated less than because of the color of the skin. It was jarring to step outside of Wakanda and have to deal with the looks of disdain, condescension and fear. Her stomach burned with righteous anger as she thought of her cousin and Riri. Of the kids in Oakland who lived in impoverished and turbulent neighborhoods. Of her cousins rage at how the lost tribe was being oppressed and imprisoned despite their physical chains being broken centuries before.
Thoughts of her cousin led her back to the room she was in. So . . . this is where Ulysses Klaue, Kilmonger and others slaughtered the museum staff and stole the hidden vibranium. According to the museum directory the mining tool was stolen from the Benin in the 7th century.
“What is your assignment?” a gentle lilting British voice spoke besides her.
Shuri kept her body relaxed as she turned her head slightly to greet the Asian woman that seemed to work at the museum.
“I’m supposed to be writing a report on how museums acquire artifacts and what the effects of colonization and imperialization has on the acquisition of museum items. More specifically, I want to look into and argue for the repatriation of artifacts that were stolen, looted and pillaged throughout history.” Shuri explained confidently. Shuri had seen the audio and video footage of her cousin’s debate with Elizabeth. Erik wasn’t wrong about where the artifacts had come from and neither was he wrong about the injustices of the past and present. His methods though left much to be desired.
“That’s such a great topic to explore and research. My students are currently learning about evolution and Charles Darwins theory along with the battle of creation science versus religion in the UK. In addition, we are comparing it to similar movements around the world.” the woman replied.
Shuri raised an eyebrow at her. Wasn’t she a museum employee?
At the girl’s raised eyebrow, Sersi explained, “I’m a curator and teacher at the Natural Science Museum in South Kensington. I’m currently on loan to this museum in order to help with the new exhibits. I’m Sersi, by the way.”
She raised out her hand to shake.
Shuri grasped Sersi’s hand and gave a firm handshake as well as introducing herself as Shuri. As the two women’s hands met, a jolt of energy went between them.
What was with London having supernatural beings? Sersi was definitely not human despite her kind and friendly demeanor. Her instincts blared in warning as the hair on the back of her neck stood up. If she had been in her panther form, she was sure her ears would have turned in opposite directions and she would have hissed at Sersi. The charge of energy between the two of them reminded Shuri of two different currents of electricity. Similar yet different.
Sersi’s left hand twitched. Hmmm, strange. That jolt of energy reminded her of Arishem and of the cosmic energy her and her fellow Eternals used but it tasted different.
The two of them chatted for a few more minutes before going their separate ways. Sersi couldn’t help but get the feeling that Shuri was at the museum for more than just homework or a visit. Shuri reminded her of Makkari and Druig. Those two were always fascinated with the different artifacts of history but were not content with just watching from afar. Those two always had a more “hands on” approach to history. Sersi had a feeling that Shuri was the same.
If some items disappeared and reappeared in their country of origin well . . . Sersi was willing to turn a blind eye. Besides, Ajak couldn’t be mad at Sersi because the Eternals weren't supposed to interfere with human affairs.
***
Steven Grant was ever so grateful that Donna wasn’t hovering near him this afternoon. It was turning out to be a great day so far.
He had gotten a good’s night rest and hadn’t woken up feeling like he got hit by a bus. There was no sign of his usual sleep walking. Gus took to his food with great enthusiasm and he received a gorgeous post card from his mum from Nigeria. The brush and broom guy was actually a few spots over from his front door and he made it on time for his shift.
It had been a pretty light day so far with few museum goers and only two classes coming in all day from the nearby academies. From his coworkers murmurs it had seemed that the Great British Museum was getting more foot traffic after its remodeling.
He only had about 30 minutes left in his shift and currently had only one customer perusing his gift shop. A black teenage girl was currently making a face at one of the larger Bast figurines.
Taking a quick looksie and not seeing Donna around, he approached the girl and said excitedly, “Did you know that Bast was often depicted with the head of a cat with the rest of it being a female body?”
“She was also known as Lady of the East, Goddess of the Rising Sun, and the Sacred and All Seeing Eye. Even thought she was often seen as the eye of Ra she was also known as Goddess of the Moon. Some believe that Bast now watches over modern day cats,” the girl replied with an amused glint in her eye. If Steven was right, her accent seemed to be from south western or south eastern Africa. Gods, he always wanted to visit all the countries that Ancient Egypt was a part of. To go down the Nile river.
“I see you know your African and Egyptian mythology.” Steven said eagerly.
“I’m not much for history but it’s important to know what came before you. My brother wa--is more interested in history than I am. I prefer the math and sciences.” the girl responded as her eyes roamed over his gift shop.
“Not one for religion are you?” Steven asked.
At this a shadow flitted over the girl’s face before umber eyes met his. Steven got a feeling that religion was a touchy subject for the girl. He hadn’t missed the change in verb tense in regards to her brother.
“If we’re going to have a philosophical talk about religion and deities, I would love to know who I’m talking to. I’m Shuri.” the girl offered.
“I’m Steven.” Shuri gave an amused smile his way as he rambled, “but I guess you knew that from my name tag. I’m ethnically and culturally Jewish but also Guatemalan and Cuban. Also British if you couldn’t tell from the accent.”
“You’re a British Latino Jewish dude with a love for Egyptian mythology?” Shuri looked at him skeptically.
“Growing up, I loved Indiana Jones and Tomb Buster. Me and Ra--my mum would watch the movies. It inspired my love for ancient civilizations, artifacts and decoding dead languages. Egyptian mythology was my absolute favorite.” Steven shared.
Shuri noticed Steven’s stumble but pretended not to. Who was he about to say? And his eye twitched when mentioning who he watched the movies with.
“Oh. I know those movies. Tomb Buster has a catch phrase. It was. . . it was. . .” Shuri snapped her fingers trying to find the catch phrase in her memory when it struck her like lightning.
“When danger is near, Steven Grant has no fear!” Shuri recited.
At that recitation, Steven felt a throbbing pain in his head and his eyes flickered toward one of the small gift shop mirror near the necklaces. His reflection seemed to be glaring at Shuri. For a second, he thinks he sees a mummy with a bird skull and a crescent moon staff. Before he can linger too much on the image, a voice cuts through his thoughts.
“Steven, you ok?” Shuri asked as Steven almost startles at how much closer she was to him.
“Y-Y-Yeah. I thought I saw my boss. She’s not a fan of me chatting with the customers.” Steven stammered out.
Shuri’s face twisted in to a mischievous smile as she promised, “Then it’ll be our secret. It’s such a coincidence that you share a name with the adventurer. Your mum must have really loved those movies. Me and my Baba would watch those old American movies. We loved Wizard of Oz, Back to the Future and Monty Python is the best! Sometimes my brother would join us and my mother would roll her eyes but I know she loved The Sound of Music and Star Wars.” Her face had softened and had brightened at their shared joy of movies. It shocked him how much it made her look younger and more like the kid she was.
“So. . .if you’re not much for mythology or religion, why come to the National Art Gallery?” Steven inquired.
“I’m supposed to be writing an essay on the goddess, Bast, and the interactions between Gods and humans in Egypt.” Shuri sighed and rolled her eyes at having to write the essay.
“Before the kings of Egypt were called Pharaohs, the kings were thought of as living gods. They were both heads of state and religious leaders. Actually, the word ‘pharaoh’ means ‘Great House’. They were worshipped and ruled absolutely.”
“Were the pharaohs basically seen as gods?”
“They were intermediaries and messengers between the Gods and the Egyptians. Some texts thought the pharaoh was a blend of a mortal and the God Horus or Ra. Often times, to be the ‘Eye’ of the God was to host them.
“Interesting.” Shuri pondered. “What’s the Egyptian afterlife like?”
Joy lit up Steven. Finally! Someone wanted to hear about his knowledge about Egyptian culture and mythology.
“The Egyptian underworld is called the Duat. It is the realm of the dead. When pharohs were buried . . .”
“They would get their organs scooped out to preserve them. The Egyptians were one of the first people to preserve their dead by embalming.”
“Exactly!” Steven pointed excitedly. “Except they left the heart in because they believed you needed your heart to be judged in the Underworld and only the worthiest would be allowed to pass through the Field of Reeds.”
A bitter expression came over Shuri as her eyes darkened.
“That sounds arbitrary and unfair. Who deems who is worthy? Would you spend an eternity in limbo if you weren’t buried with your heart? The Greek’s had Charon’s Obol where a coin was put in the mouth of the dead for safe passage. Similarly, the Mayan put maize as food for the dead on their journey to the afterlife or jade or stone as currency. In my culture, we have a homegoing ceremony in nature to petition, celebrate and mourn. During the ceremony we pour a drink or water on the ground to acknowledge that a loved has joined the ancestors. To show honor and recognize that a dead one is still with us.”3
Steven hesitated, as the mood had turned dark and heavy, before asking, “And what do you believe?”
“I think the dead are gone. That there’s no substitute for the actual person. I . . . lost my Baba recently, and I’m working through what I believe. How to move forward when such a huge piece of me is gone. I’m not really one for the spiritual. I find science to be more reliable explanation about the inner workings of the universe. . . Besides, the Gods or God always seemed too fickle and monstrous towards humanity. We’re either their creation, their children or their playthings. Even in death, I don’t believe that they care.”
The two stood there for a moment staring mini figurines and statues of Bast, sarcophaguses, pharaohs and different Egyptians Gods.
Beep. Beep. Beepppp.
Steven fumbled to turn off his watch alarm before shooting Shuri an apologetic smile.
“Ehh. My shift is over in five minutes. It was nice talking to you.” Steven answered.
“It was nice talking to you too, Steven.” Shuri exclaimed with a slight smile.
***
As Steven left the museum, he saw Shuri with a black pack walking through the streets of London. It struck him that he didn’t know if she was a tourist, an exchange student or if she was a resident of London. He hoped she got back to her hotel, family or school ok.
Looking down at a store front window, he see’s his reflection riveted on Shuri’s retreating figure. Before he can head to his bus stop, his reflection stares deeply into his eyes and in less than a second, Steven Grant is no more.
***
Shuri was confused at the situation with Steven Grant. The man had seem honest and genuine. Scans from Kimoyo beads showed that his pulse, respiration and skins signs showed no signs of lying when talking about his life. What was going on?
Walking back towards one of the War Dogs safe houses in London, Shuri noticed someone following her. Going through her mental map of London, Shuri kept her pace the same but cut through some alleys and away from populated areas. Discreetly, she left a kimoyo bead camera bug to keep an eye on her tail while Griot told her how far away her tail was. Soon enough, she hit a dead end.
Footsteps come to the stop and Shuri swivels around to see Steven Grant except something is off. She decides to play dumb.
“Steven? Why are you following me?” Shuri scrunched her face in a confused yet innocent expression.
Steven’s face was all hard lines and he sported a grim expression. “Cut the crap. Why is Khonshu telling me that he can sense Bast? Who are you and what do you want?”
“Are you Marc Spector?” Shuri step forward, curiosity etched on her face. Was Steven just a front?
“Yes. Now what do you want?” Marc glowered at her.
“Is Steven just an act? An alias? What about Jake Lockley?” Shuri probed. Her eyes tracking Marc with a calculating and wary look. It reminded him of a cat. How they tracked the movement of their prey.
“No. Steven’s real.” Marc scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration. Why was there a kid poking around in his life. “It’s complicated.” The rest of her words sunk in. “Who’s Jake Lockley?”
Her eyebrows raised up in surprise before she could answer, the light dimly lighting the alley flickered. Khonshu appeared before him and hissed, “Ask her about Bast.”
What!!??? Marc thought.
Impatiently, Shuri glanced at her kimoyo beads for the time. She still had things to do tonight before heading back to Wakanda. The last thing she needed was to be caught by any of the War Dogs, Dora or even worse. . . her umama.
“Are you not Marc Spector? Born on March 9, 1987 to Wendy and Elias Spector in Chicago. Older brother of Randall Spector. A dishonorably discharged United States Marine turned mercenary under Raul Bushman. Husband to one Layla El-Faouly?”
As Shuri laid out each fact, Marc turned rigid. Each word was a blow to his heart and mind. Without meaning to, he edged closer and closer to the teenager.
“I’m not going to ask again. Who are you and how do you know all that?” Marc growled trying to intimidate the kid who probably got in over her head.
For a moment, Shuri sees Namor threateningly inching closer to her. On instinct, she dashed to the side to escape before an arm clamps down on her wrist. Without a second thought, Shuri twists her wrist and breaks his hold while bringing Marc closer before kicking him in the solar plexus.
Marc startles at the fact that Shuri had managed to break out of his hold and grunts from the force of her blow. His pulse thudded and he’s tempted to restrain the teenager and found out if his identity and life is compromised. His eyes dart back to Shuri but shock spears through him.
Shuri was no longer the same person as before. The teenager before him shot up a few inches and her hair was no longer in long box braids but cropped close in curls with a fade and undercut. Her clothes were the same but a thin golden opened circular band with prongs hangs down her neck. Most alarming was the golden emerald cat eyes, fangs and clawed hands. Her body had shifted into a fighting stance and shame guts him as he realized that he was about to attack a teenage girl. What looked like an enhanced teenage girl but a teenage girl all the same.
“Who I am is Shuri. Why I want to talk to you is because there’s been reports of a man dressed like a whacked out mummy and the name Khonshu thrown around. Because I need to know what it means to be an avatar?” Shuri throws out cautiously.
At the word “avatar” despairs churns in his stomach. What did the one of the Gods promise her? Before he can open his mouth, Khonshu’s shadow drapes over him and he addresses Shuri.
“Ahh. So you have heard of my Moon Knight. Has Bast decided to get an avatar of her own?” Khonshu announced amusedly.
“Of course half brother. Can’t let you have all the fun,” Bast proclaims appearing out of the shadows as a car sized panther. Her golden eyes too human to appear like a regular panther.
Shuri and Marc both exchange looks and for a brief moment commiserating over the fact that they were stuck in between Godly family drama.
“You can see both of them, right?” Marc asks, hating how there’s a tremble in his voice.
“Yes.” Shuri replies. Her eyes wide and body tense.
The two Gods stare at each other for a moment before flashing enigmatic smiles at their chosens. Bast proclaims, “Let’s let the humans talk, brother. We have much to catch up.”
With a nod of assent and flicker of lights, both deities flickered out of existence as if they were never there.
“What did Bast promise you in exchange for being her Avatar?” Marc frantically asked Shuri. “What could be worth servitude to a God? You seem young. It’s not too late to back out.”
At his question, Shuri’s panther ear’s flicked nervously but her eyes were resolute, grief stricken and sorrowful. “It’s not really a choice. Bast answered my prayer. A second chance. . . A way to save my brother. Hopefully, my mother.”
Marc flinched at the word “brother” and he staggered back at the word “mother”.
“I was dying. Khonshu offered me a second chance of life in exchange for servitude and purpose. Now, he’s threatening to make my wife his avatar in exchange for my compliance. I--I wouldn’t recommend this life to anyone. If you accept Bast’s offer, be careful of the terms. Gods need a link to the mortal realm however, they can not directly interfere in mortal affairs. That’s why they have avatars to spy, fight and carry out their will. I-I’m sorry that I can not offer more.” Marc explained. He couldn’t hold Shuri’s gaze as shame and guilt weighed heavy on his chest.
A slender hand gently placed themselves on their shoulder and his head came up to meet the understanding gaze of Shuri’s. Her eyes were back to umber. She held out a card to him with a number.
“If you ever need someone to talk to or if Steven wants to chat, give me a call. I don’t know exactly why Khonshu and Bast are intervening in our lives but I know that there is no shame in loving and protecting our loved ones as best as we can.” Shuri explained.
He took the card and placed it in his pocket. Grabbing a scrap of paper, he quickly wrote down the number for one of his main burner phones.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. I-I’ve never met another Avatar but if you ever need help or information, give me a call. I might not always pick up as Marc but I’ll help as much as I can.”
With a sad smile and a gaze that spoke of a child who had to grow too soon, Shuri quickly left the alley.
With a heavy heart, Marc crouched down low staring at his reflection in a puddle. He didn’t want to be here. Letting the pain pull him like a current, Marc Spector, faded back, leaving a confused Steven Grant in an alleyway.
***
Shuri’s took in deep breaths from the rafters of the Great British Museum, trying to focus on the task before her. Her talk with Steven had dredged up feelings of bitterness, helplessness and anger but also a feeling of commiseration and amusement. Steven was friendly if not awkward and despite her confusion about what she assumed was Marc’s alias, she enjoyed talking with him. Marc on the other hand was volatile but a caring man. She recognized the grief and pain in his eyes and the unseen wounds that life left on him. Seeing Bast and what she presumed was Khonshu, shook her usual calm. She was wayyy out of her depth.
Using her kimoyo beads, she looked at the footage of her holographic double in her lab back in Wakanda. Wakanda was 2 hours ahead of London which meant it was 9 pm back in Wakanda. It would take her about thirty minutes to swap out the vibranium with a replica and then a two hour flight back home. Her umama had instituted a rule that unless she was informed ahead of time, Shuri wasn’t allowed to be working past 12 am.
For the past week or so, she had been upgrading the new prototype royal talon fighter with a stealth mode that was even untraceable from their current radars. She had left her personal kimoyo beads in her lab and had informed her mother of her plans to design and test the new EMP beads by herself in her lab. With promises to not forget to eat, she informed her retinue of her plans and locked herself in her lab with only Griot for company and her guards in the hallway.
After training and breakfast, Shuri had slipped into her lab, set up her holographic double and replaced the video footage that she filmed earlier on this week testing the beads for the whole day. She escaped to the experimental aircraft hanger and left Wakanda undetected by creating a 30 second opening through Wakanda’s force field through Border Tribe territory.
Focusing back on the museum security, she used her kimoyo beads to hack into the video feed of the museum and looped the feed. Throwing another bead, disabled the alarm as she shifted into panther mode. With a thought, her black panther habit activated and covered her body. This was too easy. Child’s play. Worse than that. A toddler could break through their security.
Her night vision made it easy to spot the vibranium mining tool as her ears tuned to the room to hear any footsteps or murmurs. Dropping down from the rafters, she quickly pried open the glass case and swapped out the tool with the replica.
After securing the vibranium tool, Shuri made quick work to clean up her presence.
Before she left, she left a little gift for Elizabeth Worthington’s office.
For the next few weeks, Elizabeth’s, phone and smart tablet would blast Toto’s Africa every time she got a call. Every time, she opened her computer, videos about repatriation efforts in regards to British museums would play. To her chagrin, no IT personnel could stop it from occurring.
Every time Sersi heard the beginning strains and sounds of “Africa” and the frustrated huff of Elizabeth, she couldn’t help but hide her smile.