[center][img]https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/marveldatabase/images/9/99/MoonKnight.png/revision/latest?cb=20150218201439[/img][/center] Marc sat in the back of the Bentley in all of his armoured accoutrement. Marlene looked at him as he seemed to fill the backseat by himself. [color=0054a6][b]“What do you call this?!”[/b][/color] Jean Paul yelled from the front. [b]“The Way.”[/b] Was all he responded. In a voice that almost sounded… other. [color=ed1c24][b]“But why, Marc? Why did you do this?”[/b][/color] [b]“Because of the 8. And all of those that would have followed them.”[/b] [color=39b54e]“The pair of you! Stop asking him questions until we can get out of here! There’s cops everywhere! Mr Spector, lie face down across the floor! Ms Alraune, try to keep his cape down!”[/color] As if on cue, a black and white hit its siren and activated its lights in pursuit. Samuels hit the steering wheel in frustration, his cool almost completely whittled away. He took a sharp corner and upshifted out of it, pushing the Bentley to the limit. After another corner, Samuels saw the police blockade ahead and burst through, with the police car tailing. [color=39b54e]“If I have to burn this car, so help me I’m getting a new one out of operational expenses… I love this car.”[/color] Samuels muttered to himself. [color=39b54e]“And I [b]MEAN[/b] a new one. A Saab is not a Bentley.”[/color] Another two cars joined in pursuit, Samuels turned west, needing to lose the tail before returning home. His timing between gear changes was impeccable. He slid down a back-alley and punched out the other side, making bystanders swerve. Two of the three cars maintained pursuit. And then… the sirens stopped, and lights turned off inexplicably. [color=39b54e]“Well, I’m not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.”[/color] Samuels said, turning off South he’d circle around the block and then approach Grant Mansion from the Gold Coast. [center][h1][b]🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑[/b][/h1][/center] Flint kicked the door open on the roof with his sidearm drawn. He’d ordered the people congregating by the stairwell to return to their apartments. He was now looking to secure the rooftop where the vigilante/werewolf skirmish took place as a crime scene, whilst Dixon looked to secure the rooftop where the man’s hang glider had crashed for the same reason. It was clear. It was quiet. Steam billowed out of vents into the late Chicago night. Fifteen minutes later the CSIs stepped out onto the rooftop. Flint watched them work. One CSI hunched over a pool of blood with a pipe between his teeth. He swabbed blood and bagged it. Before turning a second bag inside out and using it to pick up one of the man in white’s ninja stars. Turning it to the light to examine it as he bagged it up. [color=00aeef]“I’m surprised they let you lot smoke on the job… Magnus, isn’t it?”[/color] [color=598527]“Hnn?”[/color] Dr Will Magnus said whilst lost in thought, not understanding what Flint was referring to, before he regained his composure and pulled the pipe out of his mouth to answer the detective. [color=598527]“Empty pipe, Flint. It’s just a habit of mine. No contamination.”[/color] [color=00aeef]“Oral fixation, huh?”[/color] Flint smirked. [color=598527]“Didn’t take you for a profiler or shrink, Flint. Or have you got more qualifications since I saw you last?”[/color] That was always the way with the tech guys. Waving their diplomas around like big swinging— [color=598527]“Silver. Treated, but… still protected silver. Huh.”[/color] [color=00aeef]“So I take it he had inside knowledge of the werewolf. Came prepared to fight it.”[/color] Flint asserted. [color=598527]“I don’t know that that’s the logical conclusion to make…”[/color] [color=00aeef]“Really, Magus? Werewolf stomps around the city and then suddenly a guy swoops in who just happens to be packing anti-werewolf arsenal. I don’t believe in coincidences.”[/color] [color=598527]“Well, don’t let anyone hear you say that in court, Flint. Any halfway competent defence attorney will have their client out on an investigatory “tunnel vision” defence within an hour…”[/color] [color=00aeef]“Alright. What other possible theory could anyone possibly come up with that suggests this silver slinger and his mangy mutt pal are in any way a coincidence?”[/color] [color=598527]“I’ll give you one right now. Symbolism and distraction.”[/color] [color=00aeef]“Symbolism and distraction?”[/color] Dr Will Magnus sighed. [color=598527]“Silver exhibits the highest electric and thermal conductivity and reflectivity of any metal. Did you notice these things he’s throwing? They’re all crescents. Moons. Unless you’ve got a bunch of hearts, stars, clovers and horseshoes you’ve been hiding from me?”[/color] [color=00aeef]“So what does all that mean?”[/color] Flint grumbled, frustrated and still not getting the point. Dr Magnus held up the bag with the throwing moon dart so that the moonlight reflected brightly into Flint’s eyes. [color=598527]“Reflectivity. It means he wants you to see them. And he wants them to catch light, flash, temporarily blind and distract those who oppose him. Disrupted by the purity of the moonlight.”[/color] [color=598527]“I don’t think we’ll pull any prints off these. He’s clearly wearing gloves. I couldn’t imagine anyone handling anything this sharp without gloves. Plus most costumed vigilantes, or self-named superheroes, are wearing gloves and are mindful of leaving prints. The bloodwork though… now I’d wager that will yield most interesting results.”[/color] [color=00aeef]“Your theory doesn’t conflict with or rule out mine. Just because he’s using them for ‘Symbolism and distraction’ doesn’t rule out a connection with this werewolf.”[/color] Flint said, walking to the door to leave. [color=598527]“They’re crescents.”[/color] [color=00aeef]“What?”[/color] He turned. [color=598527]“He’s throwing crescents, Detective Sargent. If he considered himself as anyway intertwined with the werewolf - the symbolism - he’d be throwing full moon discs. Practically speaking they’d be easier to produce with consistent balance as well. He’s not doing that, Flint.”[/color] Flint’s moustache bristled as he went down the stairs, considering the new take on the evidence. [center][h1][b]🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑[/b][/h1][/center] The Bentley pulled into the long driveway at Grant Mansion. [color=39b54e]“Rest up. You’re all going to need it.”[/color] Samuels said to the others in the back. Marc opened the door and swung his armoured self out, lending hand to help Marlene out of the car. Just as Jean Paul went to open his door, he found Samuels grabbing his shoulder. [color=39b54e]“Mr Duchamp, for the next 12 or so hours do make sure you keep track of where Mr Spector goes. If you want my advice, I wouldn’t let him leave the property. He’s—not in the best shape for making decisions right now.”[/color] Jean Paul looked down, considering the butler’s words, before he joined the other two inside. Samuels parked the car. An hour later Jean Paul and Marlene were in their bedrooms and they heard floorboards creak. The Frenchman cracked open his bedroom door and peered down the hallway. A large silhouette was carrying a bag and armfuls of things down the hallway and into another room. [color=0054a6][b]“Hey! What are you doing?”[/b][/color] he hissed. Marc answered. [b]“I’m just moving my things to my room. That guest bedroom Samuels put me in is too sterile.”[/b] [color=0054a6][b]“Ok… just… go to sleep. It’s so late. The sun’s about to come up.”[/b][/color] Duchamp didn’t wait for a response. He closed the door and went to bed. Marc carried his things into the bedroom and very gently closed the door behind him. He started opening drawers and put his few things away. Most of the adrenaline had left his system but he still felt charged. The night felt good. Productive. Even if he hadn’t ended the threat of the beast, he’d still got his licks in. He dropped to the floor and performed twenty pushups. Followed by twenty crunches. He cleaned his teeth in the adjunct bathroom and then, having finished his nightly regimen he went to bed. Only to find a blonde in a sheer full length slip already in there. [color=ed1c24][b]“You were right before. It’s a big creepy house and I don’t want to be alone in it.”[/b][/color] Marlene spoke softly. A wide grin creased across Spector’s face. [color=ed1c24][b]“You’ve been very busy, and it’s very late now, and I heard you exercising... I hope you’re not TOO tired.”[/b][/color] She walked her hand down his bare chest and caught her finger in the waistband of his boxers, snapping them. Marc’s grin turned to a full leer. Overcome with desire he swept her up onto the bed powerfully, much to Marlene’s delight. Jean Paul DuChamp didn’t have to watch him for twelve hours afterall. He spent a good hour and a half releasing what energy he had left and then slept well for a full ten hours, with Marlene resting on his chest. [center][h1][b]🌑 🌒 🌓 🌔 🌕 🌖 🌗 🌘 🌑[/b][/h1][/center] Jack Russell came to with his whole body screaming. A few seconds later he found that he himself was emitting a long muffled moan. He was in shock from the trauma of the previous night. Looking himself over he had a number of open wounds, and a large chunk of silver embedded in his left shoulder. He pulled it out with a gasp and it clattered to the cement floor. Now with his body in a lesser state of dire emergency, he looked around and found his locale familiar. Familiar? He’d never been to Chicago before. [color=a36209]“Oh no… The wolf took me back to the damn factory…”[/color] It was true. In the stress of the previous night the wolf had met with its fight or flight reflex. The wolf had been reduced to “flight” and had sought refuge in the last place he’d viewed as “safe”. The same factory he’d spent the last day in. He’d wasted a whole day. No closer to Canada. No closer to freedom. Jack Russell hunched over the faucet and wept in frustration. He kicked the metal crescent dart that was coated in his own mystically transformative blood. A silver moon. He smiled at the poetic coincidence. Silver lining was, at least there was only one more night to go. Then the wolf would leave him for another cycle. The dangerous part, the greatest window of capture, was now down to something measurable in mere hours. 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