So much blood, spreading through the veins of the city like some kind of red pestilence. It had started on the streets... blood in the streets, before moving to the sea via the vast cargo ships transporting this cargo to other points across the globe, letting it spread like a virus.
Now there was blood in the skies.
Marc Spector was no stranger to violence, his years as a marine turned mercenary had prepared him well, as his newest career had offered more than its fair share of death and gore, yet from his vantage point in the sky he felt he could breathe, taking a look at everything around him he felt at ease, less claustrophobic than when he was standing down in the gutters, breaking bones and taking names. Standing on the roof of a warehouse in Brooklyn, Marc could see the metal crafts taking their cargo to buyers all over the world, adding yet more darkness to an already black void.
"It ends tonight." A voice commanded in the vestiges of the man's mind, as he pulled his cowl down over his head and adjusted the metal plate covering his face. This voice, grizzled and powerful, belonged to the one that Marc would call master, the protector of night travelers that had given him the tools to combat evil wherever he found it.
"Of course it does." Spector agreed, throwing out his arms and letting the winds push him from the roof, his white cape flowing outward, slowing his descent and taking form of the ancient satellite which the man was named after. Gliding through the air far above the streets, Marc began to plan his assault, and even started to direct his body in a way which would influence his landing zone.
Through the circuitry in his earpiece, Marc could pick up the chatter of the targets in the apartment building before him, the hideout for the cowards and murderers he would be visiting tonight. Picking up speed, he aimed himself towards one of the building's grime covered windows, making out a vague silhouette that offered up the perfect entrance.
They saw him coming of course, but that was intentional.
"Oh crap!" One of the building's defenders yelled, shrieking like an angry child who'd just dropped his ice cream. "It's M-"
Glass smashed as Marc flew through the window, feet first. Landing at tremendous speeds while also rolling himself into a ball, he crashed perfectly into the body of an unfortunate individual who'd happened to be in the way, resulting in a mishmash of chaotic sounds, ranging from bones shattering beneath skin, to the cries of gunmen getting into position.
"Open fire!" Someone yelled as the vigilante got to his feet and reached into the pouches hidden beneath the white of his cape, gripping the devices he kept hidden within. Bullets began to fly, but the shooters were shocked, they'd miss, probably, and as they began to fire, Marc let fly the metal objects he'd spent a good deal of laundered bloody money on. Several crescent shaped darts flew through the air, impaling the flesh of their targets and forcing them to drop their weapons, while the remainder of the men's bullets tore through Marc's cape, ripping it to shreds as he positioned himself out of the line of fire.
"Goddamn it." He grumbled while tearing the accessory from his neck and casting it aside, where it automatically burst into flames and disappeared into the sparks it created. "Those are expensive." Marc admitted, voice smooth and strong, like he was in his element. Charging towards his foes before they could even begin to think, Spector grabbed the man closest to him with sheer strength, and tossed him into his allies with relative ease, not even slowing down for the maneuver, and scattering the men into an unorganized mess. Grabbing the white truncheon clipped to his left leg and immediately cracking someone in the jaw with the correct end, releasing a spray of blood and teeth, Marc was somewhat surprised by how quickly his quarry began to swarm around him. Before anyone could move, he snapped the arm of the man he'd just injured, and kicked him casually to the ground.
Thrusting his right arm towards a couple of his foes, Marc released a miniature grenade that, upon exploding, temporarily blinded its nearby targets with miniature glares drifting softly through the air. Reaching quickly into his belt, the vigilante grabbed a white, steel boomerang that he immediately tossed towards the sight deprived criminals, knocking them out from under their legs, where they fell to the ground. Raising a hand and capturing the returning device, Marc turned his attention to the rest of his foes, he wasn't sure how many gunmen he had left to batter into oblivion, honestly it didn't matter, he wasn't going anywhere, and he had all night.
Dropping the boomerang and the truncheon, Spector switched to the most powerful weapon in his arsenal, his fists, smashing one man so hard in the face that he was sent flying across the room, suffering not only from the humiliation of an instant defeat, but possibly brain damage.
"Jesus!" Someone gasped as Marc swiped under another man's legs, and bounced off him up into the air, before quickly smashing back down and slamming his boot into the speaker's skull, adding red to the white of his outfit. Quickly reaching into his belt, Spector grabbed an explosive and expertly tossed it onto one of the men trying to make a break for the exit, a concussive mine, non lethal. Mostly. The resulting explosion, while relatively small by most standards, sent people flying across the room, leaving behind charred ash, an empty ringing sensation in Marc's ears, and one man screaming as he went tumbling out of a nearby window.
Bu this point, with only a few minutes having passed, only a couple were left standing in prime condition. Marc, not even shaken, moved towards his chosen target and caught the thrown punch in his left hand, following this quick capture with a quick push from his right, into the man's jaw, making him bite through his tongue with a painful squelch. Grabbing the already defeated individual by the legs, Marc tossed him into the last gunman, pinning the man to the ground with a possibly injured spine.
Breathing heavily and almost passing out due to exhaustion, Marc wiped blood from his crest and took a few seconds to collect himself, before looking down at the still conscious final gunman, eyes lighting up beneath his cowl like a cat trapping a mouse in the corner.
"O...okay." The gunman muttered, nervous and holding up his hands. "I give. I give man."
Kneeling down, Marc watched the man's lips move and realized the ringing in his ears were preventing him from understanding what was being said. Producing one of his moon darts, he chose to respond anyway.
"I'm Moon Knight, @#!$£." He said before stabbing the man in the shoulder, pinning him to the floor with a loud, bloody scream. "Frenchie." Moon Knight said, standing tall over a battalion of bodies, no worse for where than when he had first entered. "I'm done here. Alert the police and make sure they bring a couple of vans." He glanced at the number of people around him. "There was quite a few people this time."
"Oui, oui, Marc." A voice responded through the vigilante's ear piece. "I placed the call once the screaming stopped." Once the man stopped talking, a portion of the roof exploded, revealing a silver, crescent shape hovering upward in the air, piloted by one of the Moon Knight's only allies. "Good night?" A rope ladder fell through the roof's hole, which Marc quickly took a hold of and stepped onto.
"...costly." He admitted, beginning the climb as the jet in the sky began to move. "Even with Steven Grant's countless millions, all these gadgets have made a dent in the account."
Opening up a hatch at the top of the ladder and pulling himself through, Marc clipped himself into one of the Moon Jet's seats, and pulled off his cowl, completely exhausted, evidenced by the loud sigh he let out as Frenchie began to pilot the jet out over the Hudson.
"Maybe Jake Lockley's customers will leave a few tips tonight." Moon Knight muttered as he began to open up a black bag to his left, pulling out a bundle of grimy clothes, befitting that of a street level cab driver.
Silence responded, confusing Marc due to his pilot's normally chatty demeanor being one of the things that kept him awake.
"We've had a call, Marc." The pilot muttered, looking to a screen situated near the front of the cockpit.
"Who is it?" Moon Knight asked. "Not Marlene." He said, cracking half a smile at his attempted joke.
A familiar logo flashed up on screen, catching the normally stalwart Moon Knight off guard.
"It's the Avengers." Frenchie said.
After years of fighting down in the streets, it seemed that the Moon Knight would finally be taking his war up to the skies.