Steven Grant would only remember two things: Waking up that morning. And falling asleep to the moonlight. But to his recollection, between that lied nothing but blanks. What did he do to get to that point? Why couldn't he remember it? And why was the moon beginning to become a constant image in his subconcious? These were questions that taunted him as he got out of bed, and dressed, preparing for the day ahead. Taunted him like a demon ripping at his soul. But nevertheless, He could only move forward.
Afterall, He felt great. Better than usual. Almost as if he had died.
Walking downstairs into the massive living room of what Steven considered to be the home of the most pointless amount of space built by man, He turned, seeing Marlene in the kitchen.
"There you are.", He stated, walking into the kitchen as Marlene turned, somewhat startled by him.
"I was wondering where you went this morning. Missed seeing that pretty face.", He continued, with a smile.
Marlene simply, stared for a moment, before eventually forcing a smile. Steven raised an eyebrow, curious of this.
"Marlene? What's wrong?"
Marlene quickly looked up.
"Huh? Nothing. N-Nothing's wrong, Steve.", She said, eventually smiling and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
"Just... um... a little tired. That's all."
Steven looked at her for a moment, questionable.
"...Okay, then.", He finally said, dismissing it. Marlene would never lie to him. If nothing was wrong, nothing was wrong. She'd never betray him. ...Would she?
"I'm going to head off to the office. We're close to closing a deal with Osborn Industries... Can't be late for that.", Steven continued, grabbing his briefcase on the kitchen shelf.
Looking up, Steven smiles at Marlene again.
"Maybe afterward, we could even dine out. By candlelight, maybe?"
Marlene smirked.
"Your treat?"
"My treat.", Steven responded, as they kissed, before Steven left the room, and eventually the home itself.
Watching Steven leave, Marlene's smile faded into a look of torment and hurt. She knew very well that Steven wouldn't be able to keep that promise. And it wouldn't even be within his control to change that.
"Sure, Marc...", Marlene said to herself, bitterly.
"Add insult to injury. That's just what I need."
A few hours later, and Marlene wasn't the only one suffering.
Jake Lockley had tried his absolute best to avoid the afternoon traffic. Done everything he could to take the appropriate routes, the right amount of shortcuts, and the roadways he had familiarised himself with in order to beat it out. But fate, as usual, had it out for him.
"Goddamn it.", He said to himself.
"Like we need another f@%#ing disaster in this stinkin' town..."
The traffic jam was due to some crisis on the bridge. Something to do with a fire, or an explosion. He had heard over the radio that Iron Man was handling it, but even that did little to calm Jake's frustration.
He knew that he should quit this job. But he didn't have the spine to do it. He had bills to pay, after all. What sense would there be in turning down a way to earn money? Even if it meant trying to endure
this every day for the rest of his life...
"Beautiful.", Jake sarcastically muttered to himself, before switching off the engine of his car, lying back in his chair, and closing his eyes. Which was about the only thing he could think to do in this situation. And, hell, when he thought about it... sleep was the only place that fate didn't have it out for him.
Sleep, however, was something that John Paul-Du Champ had no time for. As was evidenced by the weapon that layed infront of him. He had finally found the time to build it from his original design... A sort of 'Moon Launcher'. A customised rocket launcher designed to shoot out a powerful sleep inducer. Very effective. But very time consuming, as the man known mainly as "Frenchie" discovered (Even though he was, in truth, a quarter french), rubbing his eyes out of exhaustion.
"Reload the belt?"
Frenchie jumped in his seat, turning, seeing Marc Spector standing behind him. He was dressed in his full attire, aside from the mask and of course, the belt.
He sighed, regaining his composure, as Marc continued his line of thought on the evening ahead.
"Jesus, You scared the crap out of me.", Frenchie said, handing him the belt.
"Of course, you always do that. So, shame on me."
Marc payed no attention to that, as he clicked his belt in place. Frenchie looked up, wondering what he was thinking. But only one thought remained on the mind of Marc Spector, on this night: Vengeance.
"We gonna try and stake out those drug dealers again?", Frenchie asked.
"No.", Marc replied, reaching back and pulling the haunting mask of Moon Knight over his face, completing his final transformation of the evening.
"Tonight... We hunt."
