Issue #1
Awakening: Part 2
He was strongest at night. Marc Spector had learned this mere moments ago whilst stumbling across the endless dunes of the ancient world he'd found himself trapped within, walking through miles of sand with barely anything to protect him other than the tatty old cloak that he couldn't remember coming across. When the moon rose, however, a strange, cold purity seemed to wash over him, his body began to ache less, and he knew, deep down in his gut, that his mission of vengeance was a holy one. For once, god was on his side, rather than against him.
The man who'd done this to him would pay, not for Marc's pain, which was well deserved, but for the misery he'd caused to an untold number of innocents that had never asked for anything more than what they were due.
"Raoul Bushman..." The dehydrated mercenary muttered, still walking slowly in his chosen direction, mouth hanging low despite the new power he had obtained, knowing, that if he didn't find shelter before the moon disappeared, he was a dead man.
___________________________________
Present day
"Dead."
Scarlet Fasinera, looked at the odd, strange liquid leaking from the fresh wound in her arm. Dead, that's what she was, she knew it already, her body just hadn't caught up with reality yet, but that probably wouldn't take too long.
"Stained. Glass. Scarlet." The man of shadow, standing across the hall, said, emphasizing his words as light from a passing helicopter shone over his face through the large glass windows to his left. "Why?" He asked, referring to the woman's codename, while he raised his golden machine pistol out from the shadows where it was just about visible. Stained Glass Scarlet, a lesser known New York vigilante, hadn't been prepared for the night's events, she'd broken into the Roxxon building with a simple task of sabotage, and was now facing down a gun barrel, implying just how complicated the night had become.
"It's a name." She said, body shaking slightly as she placed her left hand on the right arm bullet wound. "Supposed to scare people like you." Scarlet spat, having done so many times in the faces of people just like her assailant.
"I'm not one of Roxxon's cronies." The man said, stepping forward, revealing his deformed, armoured body. "And I don't scare easily. Not anymore." For a moment, the gunman's left eye twitched slightly, like he was almost trying to force out some kind of emotion, yet finding himself completely unable to do so. "Firebomb whoever you want, you're dead, regardless."
Gritting her teeth, Scarlet did as instructed, grabbing the firebomb attached to her leg, and chucking it at her assailant, catching a glimpse of it exploding and covering the hallway with flame, as she turned, braced her body and leaped through the window to her right, narrowly dodging a shot fired by her distracted opponent.
Stained Glass Scarlet. Glass windows.
Years of experience had taught Scarlet everything she needed, falling downward towards the smaller, impoverished rooftops below. This was far from the first time she'd found herself being hunted, if she could just get back to her safehouse, the meat packing factory, she'd be able t-
That was when the bullet passed through her waist, mid fall, Scarlet only noticed once the bloody flew past her face, yet surprisingly didn't feel any pain from the new wound, instead, she felt the landing, every broken bone, and demolished organ being another lesson in pain she thought she'd already known, yet, was sadly, mistaken. Lying on a stone roof, somehow still breathing, despite her collapsed lungs, Scarlet began to slowly remember important moments from the past.
Marc Spector, the Moon Knight. Her family, the victims... and all those wasted moments that no longer mattered to anyone.
Boots landed next to Scarlet's face, unsympathetic as they kicked dust into the poor girl's eyes.
"M...m...m..." She started to say, referring to the name of the man who'd gotten her killed.
"Massacre." The gunman said, switching his sniper rifle for his clearly preferred pistol. "As you know."
Looking upward into cold, metal, Scarlet saw her own reflection in the golden plate upon the murderer's skull.
"....w....w...y?" She asked as the gun barrel was placed up against her throat.
"Him." Massacre answered.
_____________________________________
Pulling down his mask and covering it with his cowl, Marc Spector embraced who he truly was, and popped open the cockpit to the Mooncopter while setting the craft on auto pilot.
"Hover mode." He instructed, while letting his cape lock into place in the winds above New York, on a cold, dark winter's evening. Tumbling through the sky, looking like some sort of rip in the black veil, he threw open his cloak, slowing his fall to a gentle glide as he approached the thick, green foliage below. "Enable tracking."
"You know, Marc, I can do all that manually." Frenchie, normally Marc's pilot but tonight safe at home, said via the communicator, thick accent being difficult to understand when added to the howling winds blowing everywhere.
"Drones, Frenchie." Moon Knight said as he fell through the tree branches and found himself in the midst of a Central Park play area, which had been converted into a crime scene. "Besides, I need you looking into those drug lords from yesterday." He explained whilst kneeling down next to dry blood from the earlier incident.
The silence told Spector that his ally was already working on his assignment, and as Moon Knight began to look around the area, searching for any potential evidence to aid his own investigation, he knew that his own assignment would not be an easy one.
"A woman was killed. Several children kidnapped in broad daylight-"
"What?"
"I'm talking to myself." Marc explained whilst pulling up an electronic list of evidence the NYPD had found earlier that day, checking through the information while also checking other documents that had been produced by the relevant precinct. "It helps me think."
"People say you're crazy if you do that." Frenchie muttered as his friend poured over the listing of evidence being provided.
"Nothing new there." Going over the report, Moon Knight matched it with the gathered evidence and noticed something off. "No casing." He realized, clicking his fingers in response. Standing to his feet, draping his cloak around him and thinking quietly under the calming, holy influence of his cowl for a brief moment, he quickly deduced the casing's location. Turning to a nearby bin, Marc landed a quick kick on its side, tipping it over and spilling its contents to the ground.
"Gotcha." He reached through the dirt and filth, pulling out a bronze, bullet shaped treasure piece. "No number." Marc noticed upon investigating the item, in the number's place, were a series of scratches, seemingly done by a nail file. "Somebody filed it off."
An electronic crackle brought the Fist of Khonshu back to the real world, interrupting his momentary concentration.
"Good news, Marc." Frenchie said, sounding proud about his quick discovery. "The men you encountered last night all have one thing in common." Slipping the casing into his belt, Marc tuned into his communicator, intrigued by the developing case. "They've all been seen in the company of Marcus Lyman. Which explains why they gave you so much trouble."
A thick, rope ladder descended from the heavens, of which, Moon Knight quickly clung to as it began to ascend back up to the metal crescent hovering in the sky.
"Massacre." He said, reminding himself of the report from the news that had alerted him to the events. "Isn't he..."
"Also the one responsible for the Central Park kidnapping."
Not saying anything, Marc stepped back into the cockpit and took hold of the controls, moving the copter towards his new destination.
It was time for vengeance.
"Call the Avengers, pull his file, keep me posted."
However, vengeance, sometimes needed more information, and as the Mooncopter hovered over Hell's Kitchen, Marc found himself once again descending to the empty streets below, where he quickly pulled open the door to a less than honest establishment.
Josie's bar was a popular pit stop for many of New York's criminals, from gangsters to even the occasional ninja. The place stank of the deprivation that had seemed to take hold of the city, with the wasted lives found inside being stark reminders of how far this world had fallen. For obvious reasons, Moon Knight hated every second he had to spend in the place. Regardless, he stepped into the dank bar, eyes flashing red beneath his hood as everyone turned towards him, and, even though Marc said nothing, his reputation spoke for him, evidenced by the majority of patrons immediately getting up to leave and making their way towards the exit.
"Josie." Moon Knight said, moving to the barstand once everyone had left. An obese, tattooed woman glared at him as he approached, hands polishing a filthy glass with an even dirtier dish cloth.
"Turk's in the men's." The barkeep sighed, used to such events after years of residence in this particular district. "Do me a favour? Avoid breaking the urinals, they just got fixed."
Moving to the back of the bar, Marc tried his best to ignore the smell. One patron, who clearly hadn't heard the commotion, almost had a heart attack as he emerged from the toilets, hastily pulled up his zipper and squeezed past the merciless vigilante.
"The hell's with all the noise?" Turk Barrett slurred as he stepped out one of the stalls, drunk from celebrating the night's events which had clearly worked to his benefit. "Better not be Daredevil..." He grumbled while reaching for the pistol he kept in the back of his jeans.
Moon Knight stepped out from the shadows, much to the criminal's surprise.
"No." He said, almost smiling beneath his mask upon noticing the look in Turk's eyes. "Not Daredevil."
Turk talked, as Moon Knight knew he would.
Hell's Kitchen's most profitable gangster had a reputation throughout the superhero community for being one of the most useful informants out there. He told Marc about the man with the golden skull, who'd bought the guns, armour and gadgets beyond military level. Turk also mentioned how the guy lived somewhere in Queens, saving his fingers, and resulting in a very happy vigilante.
That was... at least, until he arrived at Massacre's family home in the suburbs, and found it rigged with explosives.
An orange fireball flew upward into the air, sending Moon Knight tumbling violently into the street, outfit ablaze and feeling the mask upon his face begin to suffocate him as he struggled to breathe. Black ash began to fill the sky, reminding Marc of how his evening had turned for the worst.... and it was about to get worse.
Marc looked upward, into some strange, gold, metal object, and somehow saw himself in the reflection.
"Hello." Massacre said as he pulled out his pistol and pointed it downward towards Marc's skull.
Moon Knight let out a long, deep sigh, clearing his lungs... and than he prepared to get back up.
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