Continued from: http://www.comicvine.com/forums/fan-fic-8/marvel-nexus-moon-devil-chapter-1-1522164/
**
Moon Devil crouched on the building ledge looking down. His long dead eyes saw nothing but his other senses more than made up for his lack of actual sight. Like a bat combined with radar he could echolocate in three dimensions via sound, smell, taste and touch. It was possibly better than normal sight though he lacked colour. Colour was a memory.
Below him were five men unloading a truck that didn’t belong to them. He could smell gunpowder on at least two meaning they were armed. He simply “watched”. No point in rushing things. Let them get tired.
-Kill them!-
How about no!
-You are my avatar, you will sacrifice them to me!-
As I said, no!
-Your power is at my discretion!-
You’re just a voice in my head.
-KILL THEM!-
“No!” muttered Moon Devil as he leapt off the building. With flick of the wrist he flung his billy club line out which wrapped around a gargoyle and he swung down gently onto the top of the truck. He inhaled and caught a whiff of a familiar scent; sandlewood.
“Fisk!” he whispered. These were Fisk’s men.
-They should all die!-
Could you just stop for a second? Please!
-You do not speak to me like this!-
Moon Devil unclipped two crescents from his belt as he moved to the edge of the van. The five men were oblivious to his presence. His radar and his senses had them all targeted, it was just a matter of when. He exhaled then tossed a crescent up to the street light taking it out, he didn’t need the light and it would certainly give them a scare.
“What was that?”
“Hey! Where’d the lights go?”
“You afraid of the dark,” laughed a guy as he sparked his lighter. His friend went white and stammered as the Moon Devil’s piercing eyes hovered behind the smoker.
“No,” growled Moon Devil into his ear. “But you will be!”
**
Franklin DuChamp looked at the delivery man “I am not signing for it!”
The delivery man shrugged “Don’t have to. It’s all been paid for and I got told to deliver it here.”
Franklin scratched his head as the guy pulled his trolley out from the man-sized box and went about his day. Franklin looked at the wooden crate addressed to Marc Murdock and pulled out his phone.
“Voice mail,” groaned Franklin. “Marc, why is there a crate in our office?”
“I don’t know Frenchy, why is there a crate in our office?” asked Marc as he strolled in, newspaper under his arm, behind his legal partner.
“It’s for you.”
“I can see that,” replied Matt as he ran his hand over it and paused “Sandalwood?”
“You’re blind, you can’t see anything!” DuChamp stomped off “I’m going to get a crowbar!”
Marc inhaled and a rich tapestry of smells wafted into his nostrils and created pictures in his brain. Franklin returned with a crowbar. Marc smiled at him. “Frenchy, I need you to call 911.”
“Why?”
“Because I believe this is a bomb.”
To be continued...
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