[center][img]https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/marveldatabase/images/9/99/MoonKnight.png/revision/latest?cb=20150218201439[/img][/center] Marc Spector. His name was Marc Spector. He was a former marine. He fought like he was born to it, and any weapon he used was like a natural extension of his body. Marc sat in a hospital bed surrounded by white sheets and looked at the drip connected to the back of his hand in disgust. He was here for precautionary measures. That wasn’t what the doctor or nursing staff said, but it was how Marc read it. Any kind of competent field doctor would have him written up as such. But this wasn’t a field hospital. These were civilians. So he sat in bed, kept watch on his surroundings, and ran what he knew about himself through his head. Marc Spector. Marine. Born fighter. In Egypt for questionable reasons. DuChamp hadn’t wanted to say too much in front of Marlene Alraune. Why? Were his reasons for being there alongside someone like Raoul Bushman more nefarious than they originally let on? Marlene was asleep in the corner of his room. Head slumped over one shoulder in what couldn’t have been a comfortable chair. Jean-Paul DuChamp was nowhere to be seen. Was that right? The man who claimed to be his oldest friend had just disappeared after things turned bad, meanwhile a woman he just met, who must know he bears SOME semblance of responsibility over the murder of her father stuck it out by his side by a hospital bed. Where was the Frenchman? Was he really his friend? Maybe he was calling Bushman after things turned sour at the dig site? He had told him his name though. And Marlene was convinced that he had opened fire upon her persuers. [color=ed1c24]“Hi…”[/color] She had woken up. He could remember she was a beautiful young woman the night he first saw her, but now with her hair unkempt from the night on the chair and the goofy grin of someone just waking up she looked almost comical. He creased his lips into a tight smile, it was the least he could do considering the discomfort she must be experiencing. He returned a [b]“Hi.”[/b] himself. [b]“Are you alright there? That chair can’t be comfortable.”[/b] She sighed a yawn, [color=ed1c24]“I’m ok.”[/color] Her yawn told him otherwise though. [color=0072bc]“’Allo.”[/color] DuChamp was standing in the doorway with a cardboard cupholder with four cups in it. [color=0072bc]“Good to see you have awoken, Marc. I brought coffee. The cafeteria downstairs… it is not fit for human consumption. It is, as we say, les ordures. Swill.” [/color] [color=ed1c24]“Thank you, Jean-Paul.” [/color]Marlene said, reaching out to the Frenchman for a cup. [color=ed1c24]“Which one’s mine?” [/color] [color=0072bc]“That depends, you didn’t say how you have your coffee. I have regular cappuccino, dark espresso, macchiato and a mocha, in case you were after something different.”[/color] Tapping each cup as he rolled off the options. [color=ed1c24]“Thank you, macchiato, yes?”[/color] [color=0072bc]“Oui.”[/color] The stylish Frenchman looked happy with her selection as he pulled the mocha out for himself, resting it on a table, before pulling out a cup and putting it in front of the patient. [color=0072bc]“There, Marc.”[/color] He said. [color=0072bc]“Don’t look so miserable, it’s your favourite.”[/color] [b]“Is it?”[/b] Marc picked up the cup. [b]“What is it? Or do I have to guess, when other people tell me what my favourite things are these days?” [/b] DuChamp eyeballed Spector as he lay in the hospital bed. [color=0072bc]“Marlene, these came from a nice little shop just across the street. Maybe you might like to have lunch there. I think it’s time I start my shift here.”[/color] He reached into his pocket and pulled out a money clip, passing her two sizable bills. [color=0072bc]“It’s alright. Marc and I have some things we need to discuss.” [/color] The Frenchman had his omnipresent smile pressed upon his face, but Marlene could see that much of the warmth and humour it generally carried was gone. This smile was going to drop soon, and it seemed a warning that she wouldn’t want to be around when that happened. [color=ed1c24]“Thank you, Jean-Paul.”[/color] She took the money and left, waving at Marc, a look of genuine concern on her face. [color=0072bc]“Such a nice girl. A nice, sweet girl… and a miserable SALAUD!”[/color] He slammed down the cupholder on the small table across Spector’s lap. Coffee splashed up through the lid, going everywhere. [b]“Whoa… Settle down, you crazy French—“[/b] [color=0072bc]“No! Right now this stops. No more feeling sorry for yourself. Inacceptable!”[/color] [b]“Feeling sorry for myself?! I don’t even know who ‘MYSELF’ IS!” [/b] [color=0072bc]“You are Marc fucking Spector. My friend and one of the most willful people I have ever known. You had the audacity to go private after—“[/color] The Frenchman pulled up. [b]“What?”[/b] DuChamp looked around the room. He got out of the plain chair, walked across and closed the door to the room. He gently walked back to his chair all with the pensive face of a man who is not sure how to say what he knows he must. [color=0072bc]“You were a field operative in one of your country’s intelligence agencies. If I were to guess, I would say you were CIA, but I must admit that is me, how you say, filling in the gaps and making assumptions. These people we work for are often not so forthcoming with information, despite having the gall to call themselves intelligence agencies.”[/color] [color=0072bc]“I would say, most likely, you were CIA. Myself, I was on loan to the DGSE from the French Foreign Legion. We were working a collaborative international effort in—“[/color] Once again he looked at the door. [color=0072bc]“You know, the details of our mission are not necessary to pass along at the moment, and this place is not the kind of secure location where this matter should be discussed. Suffice to say, we had a mission that went very bad. The team as a whole was disbanded. This was where you and I met. And in a place filled with shadowy figures fighting dirty wars, we both found it refreshing to actually find a fellow soldier who was relatively clean and straight forward.”[/color] He rocked back in his chair. [color=0072bc]“So there you have it. We are friends, although I admittedly don’t know that much about your home life. That said, I don’t think either of us have had much of what we would call a homelife for quite some time. This mission… it’s also where we met Raoul. He was called a “consultant”.”[/color] [b]“A consultant?”[/b] [color=0072bc]“Oui. But in the circles of these people we were affiliating with “consultant” was a term for any person of questionable past that our employers were trying to keep dealings with off the books.”[/color] [b]“So we knew he was a scumbag?”[/b] Jean-Paul shrugged, then facepalmed and rubbed his hand through his hair in frustration. [color=0072bc]“Well, we had reason to believe he was unsavoury, yes. The extent that we knew him was not great. And considering our choices at the time.”[/color] He sighed. [color=0072bc]“They were extremely limited. We could not exactly just go out and get a new job like most people. The work we’d been doing for our nations severed us both from our networks. We knew each other, and this guy said he had work opportunities.”[/color] [b]“What did we think he probably was?”[/b] [color=0072bc]“We didn’t know. Best case scenario though… He was leading some kind of rebellion or coup against some African tin-pot dictator or another.”[/color] He laughed without warmth. [color=0072bc]“…and probably becoming a new tin-pot dictator in his place.”[/color] [color=0072bc]“There’s blood on both of our hands, Marc. But the truth of the matter is, before we ever met, before we even knew of the other’s existence there was blood on both of our hands.”[/color] Suddenly a light shone from the blankets them, followed by a heavy vibration. Marc picked up his phone and looked at the screen. [b]“Samuels.”[/b] He showed the phone to DuChamp. [b]“Do we know a Samuels?”[/b] [color=0072bc]“I do not. But like I said, Marc. I know nothing of your homelife.”[/color] He cursed to himself softly before putting the phone to his ear and answering the phone. [b]“Hello..?”[/b] [color=6ecff6]“Good evening, sir…”[/color] An awkward pregnant pause filled the air. [b]“…yes…?”[/b] [color=6ecff6]“Ah..!”[/color] An air of recognition seemed to come through the man on the other end of the phone. [color=6ecff6]“I’m calling on behalf of my employer, a Mr Steven Grant.”[/color] The door opened and Marlene walked through carrying three silver logs of something wrapped in aluminium foil. [color=ed1c24]"Shawarma!"[/color] She announced. She was hushed by the two men. [b]“Yes, and what does he want?”[/b] [color=6ecff6]“Well… Mr Grant has some business he was hoping you may be able to assist him with. He’s presently away due to taking care of some other business in New York City, but he has offered to put you up here in the estate until he returns…”[/color] [b]“Uh-huh, uh-huh…”[/b] Marc said, whilst waving to DuChamp for a pen and some kind of paper. [b]“And where exactly is this place.”[/b] [color=6ecff6]“Oh! Of course, sir… It’s located at…”[/color] [b]“Uh-huh…”[/b] Marc scrawled rapidly, [b]“So repeating this back to you, that was Grant Mansion located by 2401 North Lake Shore Drive, North of Gold Coast, Chicago, Illinois…”[/b] [color=ed1c24]“I’m from Chicago!”[/color] Marlene called excitedly, before covering her mouth. [b]“Just a moment, would you hold?”[/b] [color=6ecff6]“Absolutely, sir.”[/color] Marc pressed the screen on the hold button. [b]“So what are we all doing? Are we all doing this?”[/b] Marc asked. [color=ed1c24]“A mansion. Wow. My Dad used to lecture Egyptology at University of Chicago so I know it pretty well, and he had a place there.”[/color] [color=0072bc]“I don’t know. We don’t know anything about this Steven Grant.”[/color] [b]“We didn’t know anything about Raoul Bushman either.”[/b] [color=0072bc]“Exactly… and how did that work out?”[/color] [b]“Well, we could try this place, and if it all falls through… do you have any connections in Chicago, Marlene?”[/b] [color=ed1c24]“My brother still lives there. And my father’s house is still there too. If you don’t mind slumming it.”[/color] Marc took the phone off of hold. [b]“Ah, Mr Samuels, I have two…”[/b] he looked to the other for a term, both shrugged [b]“…work associates, I’m… entertaining… at the moment. Would there be any way that I would be able to— I mean… would there be any way that you could..?”[/b] [color=6ecff6]“Accommodate them, sir?”[/color] Samuels finished. He turned and looked around the spacious palatial estate of Grant Mansion. [color=6ecff6]“Yes sir, I think we could find a way to cram them in somewhere.” [/color] The phone call concluded, Samuels hung up and walked to the kitchen. [color=6ecff6]“Nedda. I believe we have a Scenario Five. With two stragglers. Preparations are in order.” [/color]