Marc's eyes opened slowly. He saw the tall but thin man with the pencil mustache. He cleaned blood off his hands and grinned.
"You're finally awake eh!?" He yelled in what seemed to be happiness. The man's face brought the memories of the night before flooded through Marc's mind. Being shot. All of it, though he felt no pain. 'Frenchie'. As Marc had so appropriately nick-named the man must have been a great...'surgeon'....So to speak, Marc sat up slowly as Frenchie began to speak. "Well mate, we got ya all fixed up! ...I've been watchin' yer' stuff on the television lately. And I gotta say, I'm a big big fan. I want to help you." He said.
"How the hell could you possibly help me?" Marc replied coldly. Obviously quite annoyed.
"Well, I'm a mechanic, good with...Medical things and, well, I'm a pilot! And I've been workin' on a design for your method of transportation!" Marc was intrigued. Frenchie seemed like a trustworthy man. He could use him.
"Welcome to the Moon Knight team, I guess. Also, I'll be calling you Frenchie." Marc said.
"I know. You were saying that the whole time while I was fixin you up!" Marc stood. He staggered over to his suit. Already cleaned and re-sewed. Frenchie approached MArc and handed him a slip of paper with a phone number on it. "If you need anything. Call me. I'll contact you when the vehicle is ready."
"...Thank...you..." MArc said awkwardly before taking the slip of paper and tucking his suit away.
Marc walked down the street. Staggering at times. He needed his medication. The people walking around him seemed to morph and the ground seemed to move. He was hallucinating, although it all felt so real. He couldn't decide whether it was truly fake or not. He closed his eyes and rubbed them. As he opened them he stood in a dimly lit room. 3 young arabic soldiers sat on the ground, across from a large desk. A figure sat behind the desk. Though encased in shadows. The young soldiers were crying. Begging for what seemed to be their life. A disgusting, tortured and all to familiar voice echoed from behind the desk.
"You...Have failed me. Owlsley is incarcerated. We needed him. and you were supposed to extract him! YOU FAILED ME! AND I WILL NOT ACCEPT FAILURE!" He screamed. The unsheathing of a blade could be heard from the shadows before the 6 foot tall man walked out. Grinning. His teeth, fake. Silver. Sharped to a point, every single one of them. he licked the sharp teeth and help up a large dagger, speckled on the gleaming silver blade were tiny blood stains. He sticked the blade in one of their mouths and slid the tip under the root of one of his molers. He jerked his wrist as a large pop could be heard, as well as a crack. The soldier screamed as blood filled his mouth like a fountain. The man, who Marc now concluded was the Bushman continued flicking his wrist, creating more pops, more cracks, and more blood. The young soldier began to choke on the thick liquid excreting from his gums. Marc wanted to help him, though he couldn't move. The Bushman pulled the knife from the soldiers mouth while watching him scream.
"Hmmm....This won't do." He said coldly. The Bushman moved his arm, and in one fluent motion, the blade of teh dagger slid across the screaming soldiers throat. Blood began to now pour from his throat. The soldier began to shake while attempting to scream. The other two looked down, crying. Bawling. the now silent but gurgling soldier fell face first on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. The Bushman looked to the other two and said one thing:
Marc's eyes snapped open in horror, sweat covered his body as he lay in his bed. His alarm was ringing....5:30 pm. The sun was retreating. He had no idea how he had gotten home and no idea whether or not any of what he just witnessed was real. It happened in minutes, though it felt like a lifetime. Marc didn't question it. He was glad to be alive. He reacehd over and clicked the 'off' on his alarm before picking up two pills and downing them. He lay back down and closed his eye lids. Covering his blood shot eyeballs. He was injured. Tonight, he would rest. Tomorrow, he would go back out....
TO BE CONTINUED.....