THE MARVEL KNIGHTS GROUP
PROUDLY PRESENTS...
ISSUE #2 written by Dave Golightly
"Pariah: Part Two"
“So this is where it happened?” The man asking the question was dressed in plain clothes – a gray blazer, jeans, boots, a black undershirt – but the way he carried himself beneath them betrayed his general appearance. Typically Marc Spector was able to blend in with a crowd, a trick he had quickly learned while being a mercenary in the Middle East. Currently his mind was so distracted with recent events that he allowed his military mannerisms to poke through the veil. Simply put, he was unable to relax. “Yeah,” his accomplice replied. “I stepped out of the bar on the other side of this wall and the next thing I know I’m wolfed out and grappling with you somewhere downtown.” Marc stood in the center of the dirty alley with his hands on his hips, balled into fists as he looked over the scene. His friend, a wolf in borrowed human clothing, leaned against the graffiti covered wall and chain smoked through his third cigarette. His name was Jack Russell and he was one of the few people who understood the nightly torment that Marc experienced. The sun was high overhead at the moment, so neither of them had too much cause to worry. When the blazing ball of fire in the sky fell behind the horizon, however, both men underwent certain changes. For Marc, the change was barely noticeable. Empowered by a long forgotten Egyptian god named Khonshu, Marc experienced increased vitality, agility, strength, and fortitude with the waxing and waning of the moon. He had become the god’s avatar, a modern hero called Moon Knight. In some ways it was a gift, in others, a burden. The way Marc saw it he was forever chained to Khonshu, unable to escape the dead god’s grasp even in death. For Jack, the change was a nightmare. Whenever the full moon crept up on him, the inner beast he had locked away broke free and destroyed a little piece of his humanity. Every other evening he could call upon the werewolf in his blood and control it, but when the full moon arose he was in a state of total chaos and madness. The curse had been passed down to him through his father’s bloodline and he had yet to find a cure. Most of his life had been spent running from those that wished to use him, and Marc was one of the few people that he had encountered that only wanted to help. However, barely twelve hours ago Jack’s darker persona had been somehow manipulated into attacking Marc. The same one that had controlled him, a horned man with an aura of pure evil about him, was the same one that had tried to kill Marc for reasons unknown. “Run me through it again,” Marc stated. “Shit, Marc,” Jack responded. “We’ve been through this like three times already. You’re a bigger guy than me, and the clothes you gave me are barely hanging on. It’s cold out here. Chicago sucks. I want to get back home where I don’t have to worry about shit like this. I told you all I remember, and I appreciate the threads and the not killing me, but I really just want—” Marc tossed Jack and glance, a silent expression that held tension in the air for a split second. That short moment was all Jack needed to be reasoned with. The werewolf sighed after taking a long drag off of his latest cigarette. “I came out of Sandusky’s around three and walked down the sidewalk right up there,” Jack explained. He snatched the cigarette from his lips with his left index and middle fingers, angling it to point at the mouth of the alley. “I remember the time because that’s when the asshole kicked me out to close. My place is just a few blocks away so instead of taking the long way around I ducked between the buildings. I was standing right about here when I saw him.” “The horned man.” “Yeah.” Jack pulled in another long drag and slowly exhaled, allowing the smoke to cloud his face. He had crashed in the apartment Marc was renting while he stayed in Chicago, but he was still out of it. “He hit me with something and the next thing I remember is you hitting me with something.” “I didn’t hit you that hard,” Marc said absentmindedly. “Yeah, right.” Jack rubbed his chest, remembering the darts with silver tips that Marc had used to snap him back from the edge. “So what’s your deal with this guy?” “We’re connected somehow. I came here from New York based on a feeling. I can track his movements; I just don’t have any idea who the hell he is.” “You tracked him across a handful of states? So that’s like, what…a moony-sense?” Marc threw another irritated glance at the lycanthrope and sighed. “It’s complicated,” he replied. “This feeling…that got anything to do with the stone statue you got tucked away in the closet?” “Khonshu.” “Yeah, him. The great moon deity that shits on you for giggles. Is that the connection?” “I’m not sure. Maybe. All I know is that Khonshu is pushing me, more than ever before. Something’s very wrong about this whole thing. Last month I picked up on the horned man’s presence. With every passing night the feeling grows stronger, more intense. I can even feel his presence lingering here. That’s how I’ve been getting better at locating him. I’m close but…” “It’s like he wants you to find him,” Jack said. Marc didn’t answer. Instead he turned away and scanned the alley floor for the hundredth time. His experience as a mercenary had taught him to look at things from a different angle, a different perspective. He wasn’t sure what he hoped to find when he told Jack to show him this place, but he didn’t want to stand around and wait for another attack either. “So why are you in Chicago?” Marc finally asked after a long silence. “Huh?” Marc turned back to face his friend again, an eyebrow raised. “Chicago. Why are you here? Last I heard from you, you were skirting around Transylvania looking for the old ancestral home. I figured you would hole up there for the rest of your life.” “Oh.” Jack fumbled with the filter of his cigarette, which was almost burned up. His eyes flitted back and forth for a second before he managed to return Marc’s gaze. “Right. Yeah, I was. I decided that shacking up in a creepy place like that where ghosts literally roam the halls probably wasn’t the healthiest place for me to live. Ya know, psychologically.” Marc crossed the space between them with three quick strides. His movements caught Jack off guard and the cigarette butt dropped out of his mouth. Marc grabbed Jack’s shoulder and pushed him up against the wall he was leaning on, and then Marc slammed his other forearm into Jack’s throat, locking his head in place. “I have been blown up and targeted, dragged away from home, led on a wild goose chase, and you chose now to start lying to me,” Marc muttered loud enough for Jack to hear. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” “Hey! C’mon, man—” “Your shifty attitude isn’t going to cut it this time, Jack. I’ve put myself on the line for you more than once, and you can’t even be straight with me.” “Alright! Alright. Fine. Let up and I’ll tell you. I swear.” Marc reluctantly let his arms drop back down,
allowing Jack to slump back into his horrible posture once more. He
knew that Jack could have broken that hold easily; the wolf inside lent
a fraction of its abilities even during daylight. The fact that Jack
hadn’t freaked out and lashed out meant that Marc could still
trust him. For now. “Spill,” Marc ordered. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.” “Jack.” “I’m hooking back up with the Shift.” Marc wanted to slap his forehead, but refrained. The Night Shift was a ragtag crew of themed criminals that had once tried to recruit him. Early in their friendship, Marc thought that the Night Shift had abducted Jack when in reality he had willfully gone to them. The verdict was still out on their leader, a guy by the name of Shroud, of whether or not he was on the lam. He had claimed in confidence that he was only using the Night Shift to infiltrate the criminal underworld, however that had yet to be proven. As far as Marc knew the Shift had been broken down and separated the previous year. Shroud was gone, possibly dead. Several members had either been arrested or killed. He knew that Jack still considered some of those guys his friends, regardless of the fact that they had nearly destroyed him on more than one occasion. “I know, I know,” Jack said, reading the look on Marc’s face. “And this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you.” “Are you delirious? They’re lunatics, Jack!” Jack fumbled in his pocket for another cigarette. “They’re practically family.” “They’re criminals!” “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not exactly the most pristine member of society.” Jack eagerly stuffed the filtered end of a cigarette into his mouth and lit the other end, sucking in a lungful of smoke. “I got word last month while I was wandering around Europe that someone had knocked off Shroud. Most of the Shift are dead. Gypsy got a hold of me and asked me to regroup with the ones that were still alive.” “And you’re meeting in Chicago.” “Yeah. Tonight, actually.” Marc took a few steps away and half turned around. He shook his head slightly and took in a deep breath, which was mildly tainted with the secondhand smoke that Jack was sputtering out. “This is a setup,” he blurted out. “Come again?” “You think it’s a coincidence that I’m brought to the same major city as you, at the same time, and we just so happen to cross the path of the same bad guy? No way. This stinks of pure shit.” “But what’s the connection?” Jack was already half finished with his smoke and rolling back and forth on the balls of his heels. “The Shift was small time at best. Whoever this guy is, he wants you dead. He’s playing for keeps, and it seems like he’s doing well enough on his own trying to get to you. There ain’t much need to drag me into this shit.” “When are you meeting them?” “Midnight.” “Obviously,” Marc replied. He headed for the street and paused once he stepped onto the sidewalk. He looked back over his shoulder at the nervous lycanthrope and said, “Meet me at my place at eleven. I’m going with you.” “The Shift isn’t going to like that. They’re still pissed at you for—” “I’ll deal with that when I get to it. The way this is playing out I don’t have much choice but to walk into a trap. If I’m lucky I’ll spring it before the horned man knows what’s going on. Eleven o’clock. Don’t be late.” Jack fumbled around in his pockets for another cigarette and swore when he realized he was out. “And where are you going?” he asked. “I’ve got to make a phone call.” “When are you coming home?” Marc sat on the edge of the bed in his rented apartment, cradling the rotary phone in his lap while he held the receiver to his head. He opened his mouth to answer the little girl that had asked him the question, but his throat had become dry. “Soon,” was all he could manage to say. “The house is pretty empty,” her voice said through the phone connection. “How come you had to leave?” “I had some work to take care of here, Amanda. It’s nothing. Just boring business meetings.” “You’re always working.” Marc imagined the little girl pouting on the other end of the line back in New York. “Is Uncle Jean-Paul with you?” she asked. “He was, but I sent him home to see you. He should get there tonight, okay, sweetie? Then maybe the house won’t seem so empty.” “Okay. I’ll let him beat me at checkers. He likes it when he wins.” “It’s getting to be your bedtime. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.” “I won’t. Have fun with your business men. When are you coming home again?” “Soon, sweetie. Soon.” They said their goodbyes and Marc hung up the phone. He sat there, resting on the edge of the mattress, staring at the floor. The sun was already fading down behind the horizon and he could feel the power of the moon rising. It was a part of him, just like the little girl half way across the country was and forever would be. The power of a long forgotten Egyptian god began to flow through him again like it did every night, but for some reason he felt weak. He turned to look sideways at the closed closet across the room and then focused his eyes back on the phone still sitting in his lap. With a burst of speed and emotion he stood up and threw the phone at the closet, smashing it. Bits of plastic from the cheap casing spread across the carpet like shrapnel. The closet door had a dent from where the phone hit, but was otherwise left unscathed. Marc regained his composure and closed his eyes, attempting to calm himself. For as much good as his crusade did, he still felt like the world’s worst father figure. He breathed and after a few moments went to the closet to retrieve his equipment. He would try not to stare the statue on the other side of the closet door in the face, but he knew that his eyes would eventually be pulled up. There was a lot riding on tonight, and not just for him. “This is stupid, Marc.” Now dressed in his work clothes, Moon Knight sat perched atop a gargoyle overhanging the west side of an old, gothic church, listening to the complaints of his sometimes-furry friend. His white cloak hung over his shoulders, bending the light to help conceal him from wandering eyes at street level. The hood and mask covered his face completely, making it appear as if there was nothing beneath the cowl except a pair of burning eyes. “Don’t speak,” the Fist of Khonshu whispered. Even though his kept his voice down, the small, sophisticated microphone embedded in his eyepiece would still be able to pick up every syllable he uttered. “It looks like you’re talking to yourself. Anyone watching you will get suspicious.” “It’s suspicious enough that I’m in this part of the city, by myself, near midnight. The kind of people that are crazy enough to do that are probably crazy enough to talk to themselves.” “Don’t speak,” Moon Knight repeated. He quit talking himself, and watched. The famed Werewolf By Night, otherwise known as Jack Russell, now dressed in his own clothing that fit snugly, noticeably shrugged as he continued to walk up the ramp into the disheveled building. A condemned night club that had been closed down due to a lowering local economy, the former trendy scene called After Hours now looked more like a picturesque place for drug addicts to crash after getting a good fix. Planks of wood covered the windows and the neon sign over the entrance had several letters shattered. Jack nudged open the front door and slipped inside. He was supposed to meet the remnants of the Night Shift here, and even though he was a few minutes early, he expected to find them waiting inside. Moon Knight wasn’t entirely sure of what would happen when the Shift got together, but he suspected that the meeting was exactly what the horned man wanted. From where he sat four stories up and across the street, he would be able to see perfectly whatever happened outside the building. He had been waiting for the last forty-five minutes and so far Jack was the only person who had come anywhere near the building. The moon overhead was nearly full and he could feel its light soaking into him. To the average person the celestial sphere may have appeared complete, but he knew, he felt, that it was still a sliver away from being totally full. Tomorrow night he would be at full strength, empowered by Khonshu himself. Until then he would make due with his abilities in case the horned man made himself known. “Oh, there you are,” he heard Jack say through the earpiece. “Nice place.” Someone mumbled something in the background that Jack’s earpiece wasn’t able to pick up. Moon Knight silently swore, wishing he had the time to outfit Jack with a body microphone. He would have to play out the scene in his head, guessing as to who was saying what based on Jack’s reactions. “Same to you, big man,” Jack continued. “Still lugging the shovel around, huh? Nice. Must cramp your time with the ladies, though.” The shovel indicated a specific member of the Night Shift, a serial killer named Digger. It was his trademark and he was rarely seen without it. Apparently the relatively unintelligent Digger had survived the recent mauling of the Shift and made his way to Chicago to be with the others. He looked more like a zombie than a man, with darkened blue skin and a penchant for telling stories in a droll manner. He possessed augmented strength that might rival Moon Knight’s if they encountered. With luck, that wouldn’t come to pass. Another, lighter voice mumbled something to Jack, catching Moon Knight’s attention. It was softer than what he assumed had been Digger’s, which meant a third party was in the room now. “Well, I would write if I had an address. Or money for postage.” Another statement was said out of earshot, causing Jack to reply, “You, too, Gypsy. Better even. I would say you’ve only gotten younger since I last saw you.” Gypsy Moth. Sybil Dvorak had a mental control over most fabrics and materials, and even though it sounded slightly silly, it made her one of the deadliest members of the Night Shift. She always had a bit of an influence over Jack, which now added another factor the equation. If anyone in that room could manipulate Jack it would have to be Gypsy. He was a sucker for a killer body, even if it belonged to an actual killer. “So this it? Just the five of us?” Another pause while someone else talked. “Can’t say I’ll miss the Needle. Nasty way to go, though. Any of you got a light?” There were two unaccounted for people in the room with Jack, Digger, and Gypsy Moth. Hopefully Jack would be able to nonchalantly give more detail about who they were and paint a better picture of the scene for him. He was already blind as it is, and Jack had willingly walked into what was surely a hot zone. His reputation with the Night Shift was less than sterling, so if they somehow discovered that he was hiding nearby with Jack’s support things could get ugly. For both of them. They liked Jack, but they hated Moon Knight more. “So what do we do now?” Jack said. “Form a circle and sing ‘Koombiyah’? Well…yeah, I get that we’re regrouping, smartass. I’m just saying…” A couple of new voices that he could barely make out started raising their voices. “Easy, boys,” Jack said. “No need to get your panties in a bunch. I just meant that if Shroud is dead… Okay, so if he’s dead then we’re without a daddy. Even our little dysfunctional family needs someone to sit at the head of the table.” Moon Knight suddenly sat upright, straightening his back. His senses sharpened and he felt the strange presence grow stronger. It was the same feeling that had led him to Chicago, the same subtle pressure on his senses that he had felt back in the alley earlier that day. The horned man. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Jack blurted out in the earpiece. “If you think that—holy shit. It’s…it’s you…” The somewhat dull feeling suddenly exploded into a raging torrent of raw emotion that filled his psyche. It nearly upset his position on top of the gargoyle. “Marc,” he heard Jack say. “Get the fuck out of here. I’ll be fine. Just go!” Moon Knight stood up and grabbed the spring-loaded grappler from the pouch resting in the small of his back. He thumbed the trigger and the claw on the front end burst forward, roaring through the air with a thin cable line attached to it. It sunk into the top of the After Hours building and secured itself. He quickly pulled back to make sure the line was taut and ten leapt off the gargoyle, swinging through the air. “You guys are fucking nuts,” Jack said. “Stay back. I’m serious.” Marc crashed into a second floor window, kicking through it with his feet. He rolled onto the floor once through the opening and immediately sprung into a dead run. He released the grappler in one hand as the other fished for his golden truncheon. The room he had burst into looked to be the club office. He ran straight for the only door in the room, which hopefully led to the main downstairs room where everybody was. “Grrr…” Jack had started the change, meaning the shit was already hitting the fan. Moon Knight knew that Jack hated forcing the change when he didn’t have to make it, and the simple fact that he was wolfing out meant that things were out of hand. He had to hurry. With his truncheon in hand, Moon Knight kicked down the office door and stepped out onto the landing. A set of stairs led down into a huge dance floor where six people looked up at him. Spider webs, refuse, piss stains, and old tables littered the walls. The werewolf that Jack had changed into was standing in the center of the group. Behind him dressed in what may have been a coat made of human skin was Digger, holding his shovel in both hands and looking ready to start swinging. Gypsy Moth, wearing barely anything at all, stood between them. In front of Jack with their backs to Moon Knight were a twin pair of men who he instantly recognized as the Brothers Grimm. And on the far side of the room, standing in the center of the stage where bands used to play nightly for the club’s guests, was a thin man garbed in a white costume staring up at Moon Knight. A pair of horns protruded from his forehead, easily a foot in length and curved at ninety-degree angles. The feeling that Moon Knight felt was pinpointed directly at the stage and the only man on it. “Good evening, Marc,” the horned man said. “I’ve been expecting you. Welcome to your death.” The horned man turned to face the gathered members of the Night Shift. His face was completely covered in the white, silky material of his costume. There were no eye holes to see through, or even an opening for his mouth. The Shift looked back at him eagerly, except for Jack, who was dividing his attention between Moon Knight and the horned man. The man on the stage tilted his head to one side in an almost childish manner. “Kill him,” the horned man commanded, and just like that, the Night Shift attacked. |
To Be Continued…