He dreamed of twilight stars and red sands. It gave him comfort. But there was an odd phenomina present among his drifting subconcious reality. Vivid images passing his grand, comforting utopia. That of pain. Suffering. A soul being tortured by seemingly unfathomable odds. And there was something else. A mask. A cloak. Some sort of disguise that this tortured soul donned in order to torture others. And all that was left when these images ceased... was the Moon. Yes, he dreamed of twilight stars and red sands. But the moon would always be there, for some reason. It plagued him... haunted him to the very moment he re-entered conciousness.
And then, Steven Grant awoke. In a cold sweat, the millionaire's eyes jolted open the minute he sat up from his velvet sheets. There was no moon anymore. No torture... no pain, no cloak. No mask. Just his bedroom. And the beautiful woman to his side, sound asleep in her own little dreamland. Her name was Marlene, and she was the one he wanted to be dreaming about. But for some reason... there was something else taking her place, as of late. He didn't know why. But it was over, and that was all that mattered. He breathed a sigh of relief, laying back down. Just a dream, he told himself. Nothing more than a harmless little dream...
Assuring himself of this, he drifted back to sleep... regardless of finding difficulty doing so. Many hours later, he again awoke, only this time it was to something a bit more pleasant. He awoke to Marlene's face beside him. He waited for a moment as she slowly awoke aswell, smiling upon seeing him.
"I didn't put you to sleep, did I?", He asked, with a smile as they shared a small, tender kiss.
"You? Never.", She replied. "If anything, I seemed to put you to sleep. Hope I didn't tire you out.", She continued, with a sly smile.
Steven chuckled a little, at that.
"Well, I'm not gonna lie... You are pretty hard to keep up with.", He said. "Infact, I feel kinda sore."
Steven smirked, after that comment. But oddly, the smirk began to fade, as he realised something. He really was sore. On his chest, his back, and his arms. They all felt bruised, strangely. Removing the blanket from his torso, Steven looked down to discover that his suspicions were true: Faint bruises covered his chest and biceps. Marlene immediatley sat up, in shock, upon seeing them.
"Steve?", She asked. "H-How did you get those?", She continued to ask, a bit startled at the amount of them.
Steven could only stare down at them. He tried to recollect any injury that would've occured to make the bruises... But he remembered nothing of them. He honestly didn't know how or why they were there at all.
"I... Marlene, I...", Steve mumbled, confused. "...I honestly have no idea."
Marlene looked at him, for a moment.
"No idea? What do you mean you have... I mean, Steve, look at those. Those are injuries that are pretty hard to forget.", She continued, skeptical.
Steven stared, blankly. He wished he had a clear answer for her... but the injuries were a mystery, even to himself. All he knew was that they hurt. Badly.
"I... I think I'm gonna be sick...", Steve said, clutching them.
"I'll call a doctor...", Marlene responded, getting up from the bed and immediatley throwing a robe on, before running to the doorway of the bedroom. She stopped, turning to him. "You're sure you don't know?"
Steven tried his best to re-think everything he had done in the previous night. But as far as he knew... He had done nothing. At least, nothing to warrant this type of injury.
"Yeah.", Steven finally said, looking up at her. "Believe me, I'd tell you. But I really just don't know."
As Steven Grant dwelled upon unaccountable injuries to his person, A being watched from within. It knew fully well how he had aqquired them, and how disturbingly accurate Grant's nightmares were. It felt that same pain... that same torture that Steven could only witness. And it knew, tonight... Both he and Grant would feel even more of it.
But that was another life. A completely different set of circumstances... Ones that didn't concern or bring attention from anyone anyone. Definatley not to one guy, in particular. A guy who had his own troubles.
Jesus, this traffic is gonna cost me...
Jake Lockley was a nobody. A poor schmuck that nobody gave a damn about. Just another guy trying to make a living in New York City. While wiseguys like Tony Stark and Steven Grant made their living selling stocks and partying with pretty girls, He sat at home, hoping he'd make rent. And now? Well, now he had really sunk to the bottom. Lost his job as a janitor, only after losing his job as a bag boy at a Supermarket. His latest and more than likely doomed occupation?
*BEEP* *BEEP*
Cabbie. In New York City. Probably the worst possible place in the world to drive. Never more did Jake want to hang himself for even considering taking a job like this. But did anyone care about his complaints? No. Hell, he barely cared himself. He just wanted to make a living, after all. Finally being able to move in the slowly advancing line, Jake was automatically cut off by an oncoming car, who pulled in infront of him. Annoyed, Jake honked the horn, once. But the driver of the car only responded with something Jake seemed to see often: A middle finger.
There was nothing he could do. And even if there was, he'd be too timid to do it. Bad enough he was having unusual chest pains this morning... He didn't need to make his day worse. Jake sighed to himself, as his cost meter went up when he accidentally pressed the sales button to his left.
Jake Lockley. New York City Cabbie. Nobody.
But something was watching this nobody. Something from within. It knew why Jake was having chest pains. Not because of a heart attack. Oh no, that'd be too easy of a way out for a man in debt to something even he didn't know anything about. Both it and Jake were going to be feeling pain all day. And it knew, tonight... both he and Lockley would feel even more of it.
These were two, completely and utterly unrelated lives being lived by two people who couldn't be more different. One was a careless billionaire, one who had everything he ever wanted. Money. Respect. Love, in Marlene. His life was perfect. And then there was the cab driver, who had none of that. No money. No respect. No love at all, even for himself. Just a guy trying to make the best out of one hell of a pathetic existance. One would think in between a person that lived perfection, and a person that was the eptimome of inperfection, there had to be a balance.
There was a balance. And right now, He sat alone, waiting for the call. His eyes hidden behind a pair of silver tinted sunglasses, his hair slicked back, his physique covered by black clothing, He sat infront of a computer monitor in a dimly lit but highly electronic headquarters that lied underground, in a location noone would ever deciepher. The monitor displayed information on many things: Convicted mob bosses. Burglary reports. Newspaper headlines. Supernatural attackings. Werewolf sightings.
His name? He didn't care to disclose it to many. But many knew it all the same. Marc Spector. The werewolf expert. He had become notorious for hunting and studying the mythic creatures for some time now, even though he was still considered somewhat of an amatuer in comparison to most in his field.
But tonight, he wasn't hunting werewolves. He was after a far more criminal... but far more idiotic prey. Drug dealers, plauging New York for the past few months. He had kept tabs on them... studying... waiting for them to make a wrong move, like they always did. He had only seized the opprotunity the previous night, when he intercepted one of their attempted distributions... But it wasn't enough. He still had no idea who had payed them off, thanks to the cowardice leader he had captured. But he remained patient. He, unlike his enemy, was more than willing to give it time and precision. For it was the key to victory. Whether fighting drug dealers... or keeping alive in battle against a werewolf.
Steven Grant? Jake Lockley? He knew who they were. He knew very well. Even why they both suffered from gashes on their body. Because he had made a mistake. And tonight, he'd do it again. And again. Until those mistakes finally payed off, and he was free of the guilt that overwhelmed him. But for now... there was work to be done. No sooner did Spector come back to these passing thoughts of intrigue did the alert for an incoming catch his attention from the monitor. Pressing a key, He sat back, and waited for the voice of his contact.
"They've relocated. Just as you said. One group moved east, the other north. It'll take a hell of a long time to take out both, but... I'm sure you're up to the challenge."
He thought, for a moment, before answering.
"Alright. Come back and position on the landing pad. I'll be there shortly."
"Pfft. Not even a thank you. I could really learn to hate that, you know."
Spector stood, getting out of his computer. He narrowed his eyes, a bit.
"Just be there, Frenchie."
Marc heard a sigh, on the other end.
"Very well. The night awaits, I suppose. Or however you put it."
Cutting off the line, Spector turned, walking over to the metallic wall behind him. Pressing his hand on a specific section, Marc watched as the wall split, revealing a compartment that hid the last thing that those drug dealers were going to see tonight: A white, cloaked agent of the moon. The knight of the moon. Spector took the costume, and walked into another room, preparing himself for the night ahead.
Jake Lockley didn't know what was coming. Steven Grant didn't know how it was going to effect him. Even Marc Spector found himself a bit unsure. But Moon Knight knew fully well. And that was something that would both comfort and haunt him until the day he died.
It just wasn't going to be tonight.
