Blood
The voice called out to him from the darkness. He tried to ignore it as he peered through the open door of the attack helicopter. He gazed down as the city whizzed by underneath, and marveled at how beautiful she was when you couldn't really see what was going on in her dark, crime infested alley's. He checked the pouches on his utility belt, making sure that the magazines were fully loaded with his trademark, crescent moon shaped shurikens. As his white cloak billowed in the wind, his hand went to the foot long steel truncheon he kept in a spring loaded compartment on his left boot. It was perhaps his most trusted weapon, and it was multi-faceted, in that it could separate into a set of nunchuks, which he was very proficient at using.
Blood
Blood
The voice called to him again, and again, and he felt a cold chill work its slippery way down his back.
"You'll get it," he replied.
"In spades."
"Pardon me?" he heard a voice ask from inside the helicopter. He recognized it as belonging to Frenchie, his personal pilot, and closest friend.
The man stirred back to life, as if from a dream.
"What? Nothing. Talking to myself."
"We're here," Frenchie stated.
The man looked down and found that they were hovering some one hundred feet above a long three story, brick building in the industrial district. Twenty four hours ago he had received some intel on a terrorist group that had been using the building as a factory to produce chemical weapons. Chemical weapons that they would use on the people of New York City. Something he could not allow.
As he crouched near the door, he pulled his cowl down over his face and took a deep breath. He was no longer Marc Spector, ex-Marine turned mercenary turned millionaire philanthropist. He was Moon Knight, hero, and avatar of the Egyptian god of the moon
and
Vengeance.
The voice screamed at him in his mind and Moon Knight launched himself from the doorway of the helicopter.
Gripping his cape at its corners, it allowed him to glide down, safely, to his desired destination. But he didn't want to glide all the way down. With about fifteen feet to go, he released the ends of his cape and crashed through the glass skyline.
A terrorist standing on the catwalk looked up, stunned, as shards of glass fell like rain all around him. The heels of Moon Knight's pearl white boots slammed into him, chest height, knocking him to the ground, driving all the air from his lungs.
Moon Knight turned to his right, spotted another terrorist, and loosed a trio of crescent shaped shurikens with a flick of his wrist. The tiny weapons whistled through the air before lodging themselves into the man's flesh. The man instinctively dropped his AK-47 and howled in pain.
In that instant, with a burst of impossible speed, Moon Knight had closed the twenty yard distance, and was on him. The terrorist swung desperately with his right arm. Moon Knight effortlessly deflected it, pinning it to the railing with his left, and delivered a vicious blow to the man's throat. The impact of the attack carried the man up and over the railing of the catwalk, sending him plummeting to his death, thirty feet below.
Moon Knight didn't hesitate, and vaulted over the railing, sailing the thirty feet to the factory floor with practiced ease. A startled terrorist stared at him with frightened eyes, as he clutched an AK-47. However, before he could squeeze the trigger, Moon Knight was a blur of brutal movement. He clasped his hands together in an 'A' and brought them down on the man's forearms with tremendous force. As the weapon click-clacked on the cold floor, Moon Knight swung his arms back up, this time connecting harshly with the man's chin. Blood spurted and teeth flew as the man's head snapped back. Moon Knight then sent him sprawling into the corner, with a hard kick to the abdomen.
Turning to his left, Moon Knight saw a muzzle flash from thirty yards away, followed immediately by the distinctive chatter of machine gun fire. He flung himself behind a large platform just as a hailstorm of bullets exploded into the wall behind him.
"Dammit!" he growled. He couldn't afford to be slowed down, he had to find that nerve toxin. He dropped into a half crouch and moved to his left, around the platform, spotting the terrorist. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and cargo pants, standing thirty yards away, slowly moving towards Moon Knight's last known position.
Moon Knight's hand slipped down to his left boot and brought up the steel truncheon. He targeted the man, then launched his weapon. As always, his aim was true, and the business end of the truncheon connected with the side of the man's head with a vicious crack. He fell to the floor, unconscious.
Moon Knight hustled over to retrieve his weapon, when the voice called out to him again.
Pick it up, it commanded.
Moon Knight knew the voice was referring to the AK-47. He shook his head.
"I don't need it."
There was a sudden tingling at the base of his skull, then a shout.
PICK IT UP!!
Moon Knight ignored the voice and continued east towards the center of the building.
Suddenly, two more terrorists came into view. When they saw him coming, they paused in their tracks and opened fire. Running head first into a barrage of steel jacketed rounds, his hands went to a pouch on his belt. As they came back up, each hand clutched a trio of crescent moon shaped shurikens. Bullets whizzed by his head as he hurled the projectiles. The terrorist on the left was struck in the neck and in both hands. The terrorist on the right was struck three times in the throat.
He ran passed their dead bodies without so much as a second glance. Up ahead was another group of men. The largest group yet. Six men lined up in front of one man, probably the leader. There were two Kalashnikov toting bodyguards standing on either side of the leader, as he placed metal canisters into a backpack that each man held.
Moon Knight's eyes locked on those canisters, and he poured on a burst of speed. As the leader continued placing the canisters in the backpacks, the men who had theirs filled up, closed them, and took off in a hurry towards the exit. First one, then another, and another. He had to stop them. There were three left, and the leader prepared to deposit another canister.
Without giving any visible signal, his two bodyguards stepped to the forefront and opened fire. Moon Knight didn't hesitate, launching himself head long into the gunman on the right. As they tumbled on the cold, hard floor of the factory, Moon Knight battered the man into unconsciousness with two savage, blows to the head.
Then, he just barely managed to dive out of the way as a burst of machine gun fire ricocheted off the floor in front of him. Rolling to his feet, he found pleasure in the surprised look of the gunman as Moon Knight held the unconscious man's assault rifle. He smiled underneath his cowl and fired a quick six round burst. The second bodyguard staggered awkwardly as the rounds tore through his chest, then he fell to the ground, dead.
The last three men holding the backpacks started to run. Moon Knight brought the weapon to his shoulder and fired another burst, then another, and another, until all three men had fallen in bloody, viscous, red pools.
Now empty, he dropped the rifle and turned to his right. Staring at the empty doorway, he cursed under his breath. Three canisters had made it out. Who knew how many lives that would cost. And it would be all on his head.
Using the tiny, encrypted, two way communication piece in his ear, he contacted Frenchie in the helicopter.
"Frenchie
"
"Oui, Marc?"
"Tell me you saw three-"
A sudden gunshot interrupted their communication. Marc felt the terrible impact of a steel jacketed nine-millimeter hollow point bullet explode in his back, behind his left shoulder. The pain was intense, but he had been shot before, and he didn't forget his training. As his body turned from the impact, one of the crescent shaped shurikens was already whistling through the air in the direction of the man who fired the shot. The high carbon, steel alloy, silver plated weapon plunged into the gun holding hand of the terrorist. Dropping his weapon, and howling in pain, he furiously charged Moon Knight.
"Marc! Marc!" he heard Frenchie shout through the earpiece, as the terrorist leader came barreling towards him.
"Not now Frenchie." He said, sidestepping the charging terrorist leader.
Lashing out with his right leg, he caught the man behind the knee with a harsh kick, dropping him to his knees. Turning to his right, Moon Knight drove his knee into the center of the kneeling terrorist's back. The man arched in pain, then as Moonknight's fist rushed in to meet his face, he deflected the gloved wrist and deliverd two quick blows to Moon Knight's ribcage.
Wincing, Moon Knight stepped back. The terrorist hopped to his feet. Both men faced each other in a half crouch, and the terrorist watched Moon Knight with wary eyes. At six two, more than two hundred twenty pounds, and garbed all in white; suit, cape, cowl, gloves, and boots, Moon Knight set an imposing figure. But, the terrorist looked more confused than afraid.
"Who are you?" he asked, solid brown eyes locked onto the man across from him.
Moon Knight couldn't place the accent, and glared back at him, blood streaming from the back of his shoulder. Eyeing each other with hatred, the two men circled each other, hands up at the ready.
"Where are those men taking the canisters?" the hero asked.
"Do not burden yourself with such thoughts. In a few moments it won't matter. Because you will not be around to care." He smiled as he spoke the words. It sounded as if he had shards of broken glass in his throat.
Suddenly, the terrorist launched a flurry of lightening quick strikes. But, Moon Knight was up to the task, parrying the majority of them, and countering with a few strikes of his own. Then, he lashed out with a vicious kick, his booted foot striking the terrorist just below the knee. The man dropped, and Moon Knight whirled, his elbow targeting the man's head. He caught the elbow, and his fist shot out, striking Moon Knight in the center of his back.
Liquid fire arced through the hero's nervous system like a bolt of lightening. However, before he could dwell on the pain, the palm of the terrorist's hand crashed into the side of his knee, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the floor. Nearly as soon as he landed, the man was on him, raining down blows with bone breaking intensity.
Fighting through the downpour, Moon Knight delivered another massive blow, the inside edge of his straight hand crushing the man's windpipe. The blow was brutal and sudden, and the terrorist stumbled back and away, falling to the ground, clutching his throat and gagging for air. Moon Knight, climbed to his feet, the back of his once pristine uniform, stained a bloody red. He drew back a fist and drove it down forcefully
again, and again, and again. As crimson blood spurted and splashed everywhere, ghastly wet cracking sounds, obliterated the relative silence of the warehouse. There was one final
CRACK, louder than all the others, and the terrorist leader finally went slack.
Blood now stained the front of his suit as well as the back, and Moon Knight raced to the nearest exit.
"Frenchie, tell me you
"
As he stepped outside he was pleasantly surprised. The parking lot and the adjoining streets looked like a battlefield. Three cars had been torn to shreds by his helicopter's 20mm vulcan cannon. An incredible 6,000 rounds per minute had all three obliterated vehicles belching fire and black smoke. The ground was covered in craters, shattered glass, and fresh blood.
Underneath his cowl, he smiled. Frenchie always was a good shot.
