Issue 2
Awakening: Part 3
Waking up to nothing, Marc Spector was reminded of the cruel torment he had been forced to endure throughout the mockery that was his life.
"Where..." He gasped, feeling substantially more rejuvenated than he had the other day, when lost in both his mind and the world. Noticing he was lying under cool, silk sheets, Marc found himself deeply confused by his situation, not used to the the soft Egyptian cotton he was lying atop. "Am I dead?"
Light began to flicker into the room, courtesy of a nearby window that had just been opened by a mysterious figure Marc hadn't noticed.
"You're not dead." The voice, female, said while approaching the bed, face hidden under a blank canvas of shadow. "But you will be. Unless you start talking."
More confusion passed through Marc Spector's mind, carefully he sat up in bed, body aching from his wounds, yet being kept in working condition thanks to the bandages placed around his limbs.
"I'm looking for Raoul Bushman. The man who... the man who shot me." Wiping sweat from his forehead, the former mercenary smirked at the dark thoughts of vengeance that passed through his mind. "I'm going to kill him."
Slowly, the room began to become more visible as light started to return, and as a result, Marc's 'savior' began to have her appearance revealed. Long blonde hair, a thin face, and grey piercing eyes.
"That's good." Marlene Alarune said, remembering her encounter with this man a few days ago, with it having ended in tragedy. "Because once his men find us, we're going to be in a lot of trouble."
______________________
Present Day
"Trouble."
Frenchie stared in horror at the screens before him, offering a bird's eye perspective of the battle about to erupt in the Queens suburbs. Marc Spector was in trouble, like usual, deep trouble, yet this may just be the one battle he doesn't walk away from. Glancing at the man's vital signs, provided by the armor he wore, Frenchie could see he'd already been injured by his opponents, before the fight had even started.
"Marc, be careful! You have incoming!" Frenchie yelled into his communicator upon noticing a couple of armored trucks moving on the radar, towards Marc's position. A crackle of static responded through the mic, something rare for such expensive... and illegal, equipment. "Marc?" No response was provided other than static. "Merde!"
Moving to the remote control for the Mooncopter, Frenchie began to input orders and commands, desperately hoping for a response, only to be met by a loud beeping sound, courtesy of the vehicle's warning systems.
The Mooncopter was being locked onto by missiles.
"Oh dear."
_________________________
"Frenchie?"
Marc Spector bit into his lip as his sole chance of escape turned into an exploding fireball up in the sky, sending metal debris crashing down to the ground in a blazing bundle of death and fury. He remembered, bitterly, when he'd first asked Frenchie to construct the vehicle... how his pilot had almost quit when he'd asked him to make it look like a crescent. Smiling, he was thankful that his friend was safe at the mansion.
"Hope you didn't have a pilot up there." Massacre said, pistol aimed right at Moon Knight's forehead as the man knelt on the ground, desperately trying to catch his breath from the smoke he'd swallowed when everything had gone up in flames. "Was it a drone?"
Trucks began to pull in around the villain, with several armed gunmen emerging from the two vehicles that had arrived, pistols and assault rifles pointed at the cape hero lying burned on the ground like a piece of meat at a barbecue.
"Frenchie. Come in!"
The gunmen formed up around their leader, evidently well trained, which resulted in a tight circle that would have been difficult for anyone to break through, let alone a man already wounded and confused.
"If you're calling for help, it won't get here in time."
Grinning down at the ground as he began to feel his muscles come back to life, Marc noticed that the closest gunman, dressed in kevlar like his colleagues, was standing a bit too close to the seemingly defeated vigilante, making his foot an easy first step in an attempted escape plan. Subtly pressing a button on his belt, Marc slid a small crescent dart into his palm and got ready to move.
Ever vigilant, and clearly a step above his minions in terms of intelligence, Massacre began to speak. "He's got someth-" He said, taking note of how Marc's hand braced around the crescent, only to be too late, as an ungodly scream filled the air, courtesy of the man who's foot had just been impaled.
Swinging up to his feet and allowing his cape to brush the faces of the closely packed mercenaries, Moon Knight heard shrieks of pain as the cape's razor edges dashed against several of the men's eyes, blinding them with heavy droplets of blood. Gripping his first target by the throat, Marc swung behind him and pointed the figure towards his colleagues as a fleshy, wriggling, screaming shield.
"Can't see!" One of the gunmen yelled while holding his bleeding eyes with one of his hands, before firing his gun up into the air blindly, shocking his already disturbed allies.
"Don't shoot!" Another gunman instructed, rifle trained on the vigilante. "We need him-"
"Idiots." Massacre sighed, voice as calm and collected as ever. Marc glared at his opponents, taking note of what had just been said.
"You tried to scare me with guns." The Moon Knight pointed out, tossing his human shield to the ground and equipping the knuckle dusters hanging loosely to his belt. "There's your mistake."
Lunging forward before the group could react, Marc landed a crushing blow into the skull of the nearest goon, hearing a satisfying pop as the man got knocked to the ground, unconscious, with a high chance of potential brain damage. Springing to a man on his left, Marc quickly ducked beneath an attempted blow with the man's rifle, and tackled him forward into his friends, cape flowing as fire continued to blaze from the debris all around him.
Feeling a pull on his cape, Marc turned his neck to find one man gripping the flowing robe with his hands, smiling sadistically beneath his tactical helmet.
"What kinda idiot wears a cape to a fight?!" He laughed as his friends all began to close in.
"A dangerous one." Marc responded, headbutting another goon while detaching the cape as he moved, sending the previous gunman stumbling backwards and tripping over his already defeated friends.
Only a couple of gunmen remained, they stood no chance, evidenced when Marc tossed the wrecked dusters to the ground and pulled out his truncheon before pulling a move he'd seen one of his vigilante colleagues perform quite often, bouncing the stick off the ground and into the two men's skulls, before expertly bouncing back into his hand.
Turning to Massacre, triumphant, the villain's gunmen either crying or unconscious, Moon Knight tore off his hood in an attempt to breathe more easily, and let the light of the moon from far above begin to replenish his energy.
"Guns don't scare me." He repeated, grinning once again under his mask. "All they do is kill." Marc pointed to the symbol on his chest, noticing the blood splattered on the silver crescent. "And I. Can't. Die."
Massacre simply stared forward, gold plating reflecting the Moon Knight's image, he was cold and dead, yet still very much alive thanks to the beating heart in his chest. Standing in the darkness like some terrible tyrant, he shook his head like he was disappointed.
"We'll put that to the test." The villain said as two more vans pulled up around him.
Men began to storm out, knives and bats all prepared for the action. Standing calm, Marc noticed people were watching through the windows of their homes, waiting to see how the events unfolded. Behind the underlings, one final man stepped out, wearing nothing but a black vest and combat jeans. He had a blonde buzz cut, like a certain avenging super soldier, and blue, merciless eyes.
"Avengers..." Marc said, pressing the card in his pocket. "Assen-" Then he noticed the scorch marks where the card was located, and knew that no help would be coming his way.
"Come on then..." Moon Knight muttered, grabbing a random gadget from his belt, not caring anymore about any form of strategy. "Come on!"
The men did as requested, charging forward, their leaders watching from far behind, while Moon Knight, seeking glory and vengeance, leaped heroically into the fray, prepared for the most likely outcome of this battle. Kicking one man backward, Marc flung several crescent darts with his free hand, not caring if they hit the target. With the other hand, Marc pulled the trigger to his gadget, firing several tripwires into the horde of gunmen.
A concussive blast shook the world once the wires were triggered, sending bodies flying into the air, undeterred, Marc punched and pummeled until his gloves tore and his hands became drenched in blood from a variety of sources, including himself.
"Come on then!" He repeated, as yet more men came towards him, seemingly endless in number. "Kill me!" Marc screamed as the punches and kicks began to land upon him. "Kill me!"He yelled as the blood began to fly through the air. "Kill me..." Marc begged as he sank to his knees amidst a pile of bodies, exhausted and battered like a bloody steak, yet still very much alive.
The Captain America copycat stepped forward, towering over the vigilante like some kind of immortal god.
"Submit." He commanded in a thick, Kentucky accent. Standing up, tired and broken, Marc spoke through his torn mask as he began to clench his fist.
"No."
The soldier caught Moon Knight's fist in his palm and crushed it with the strength of a thousand men. Screaming with white, hot pain, Marc fell backwards to the floor and wished he could just give up.
"Give up."
Marc slowly placed his still working hand on the floor and prepared to stand up once again.
"N-"
A swift kick to the face knocked Marc back down to the ground, this time, his eyes began to close... and as he began to slip into the nightmares sure to come, he wished that he could finally return to the nothing from he'd come.
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