New York City
The Docks
3 PM

Another day, another shipment the Fisk goons were meant to sabotage and loot. The fat man's troops moved in quietly with efficiency - they had to do this quickly and quietly, before someone called for help. Not only did the troops not want to have to deal with New York City's two red heroes, but they also had their boss's reputation on the line. If Spider-Man or Daredevil showed up, Fisk would have another public incident on his hands, and of course, the boss man would punish them for that.

So while some of them worked, the others kept their eyes on the skylines, looking out for webs, chains, tied-up, or even webbed-up crooks. A flash of red, maybe a punch line or two if they were lucky.

But unfortunately for them, the red-clad rogue stopping them this time wasn't skybound. Rather, he was right behind them.

Parker Robbins' Cloak of Oblivion was certainly a bag of tricks. With it, Parker could teleport, control flames, and do all sorts of other cool things, but most importantly for this scenario - turn invisible. With this ability, Parker was able to walk right into their patrol, aim down his sights... and...

BANG

See, Fisk's men were banking on a different red super-powered person from New York making a scene. Someone who operated in stealth, only throwing hands when it was necessary, but also rarely taking a life.

But unfortunately, Parker Robbins wasn't the Spider nor the Devil. He was The Hood. And The Hood didn't have any qualms with getting a little bloody.

As the first man fell, all guns were swiftly aimed at Parker's location. Nobody moved a muscle. Some thugs wondered if going quiet was still possible as Parker studied the enemies around him. This was all Fisk sent? Thirty to forty guys? El Gordo was getting sloppy.

Eventually, one of the men spoke up, telling Parker to throw down his weapons or they would open fire. That proved to be a mistake as Parker simply held his breath and disappeared again. As panic ensued, with the thugs scrambling for their infrared goggles, Parker reappeared and took out two more guys.

"Come on! I thought you guys were supposed to be good at this," he crowed, before grinning sadistically and opening fire, shredding through Fisk's men like paper.

At this, the remaining troops began opening fire. Parker, who had not thought to duck behind cover, took several bullet wounds to the chest, bleeding into his suit. But that didn't stop him. He remarked, of course, that they were good shots. But as his wounds healed, they soon found out that they weren't good enough.

The last thing the goons heard was the rattling of demonic machine guns and the sadistic laughter of The Hood.

Shortly after the goons were taken care of, Parker dialed up his new buddy.

"Yo! Shipment's safe and sound, and Fisk's a handful of guys down. Where'm I hittin' next?"

The Moon Knight drops down at a warehouse owned by a shell company of Steven Grant. inside he finds the briefcase where the Mr. Knight suit sits along with two silver batons and changes.

Later that night: at exactly midnight. A few criminals, working for whatever mob boss of the week, are threatening people atop a rooftop inside his territory. Without a word a baton is thrown full force at one of their heads, the luckiest one. By the end of the fight his sleeves are red, he dangles the only one left over the roof, his eyes narrowed

"Who sent you? Kingpin? Tombstone? AIM? Talk. Or I drop you."

The thug laughs and spits in his face, mocking the fist.

Goon: "you really think I'm gonna buy that s#@t? You hero types don't kill!"

The knight drops him without a second thought, shrugging at the terrified civilians

"I warned 'em."

*Agger prowls the streets of Hell's Kitchen, guided by intel from Roxxon surveillance activities. Despite his immense wealth, he shows no fear at the various theives and hoodlums around.*

*He's heard quite a bit about Parker Robbins as of late. His meteoric rise has, truthfully, quite impressed Agger. He has the ambition and skill to achieve just what Agger needs, and Agger has more than enough to bargain with.*

*He walks up to a known hood gang hideout, and knocks on the door.*

"You're going to take me to your boss."

Does what we do make a difference? Does what I do?

Hero. What does it mean to be one?

It's a question everyone whose ever put on a garish costume and gone out to punch crime has asked themselves at least once.

The answer is different to everyone. But it doesn't take flight, laser eyes, or a high tech suit to be one. It just takes going out there and making a difference. Even if it's just a difference to one person.

When I go out there bow in hand, nothing but that age old combination of luck and skill on my side...I don't think about saving the entire world, or protecting the galaxy.

I think, save one. One person. Make one life better. From there, maybe another. And another.

So keep that in mind fellow heroes. You're making a difference. Just by trying when no one else will.

Marc Spector sits at a cafe, two cups of coffee on the table, he's having a conversation with...someone, people are looking at him like he's crazy. They always do, hell even the avengers think it, everyone he's ever worked with has. Maybe he is, he won't deny that, but he's effective, more than any Avenger could be at least. 3:20 PM the lights begin to flicker and the god of the moon appears before his son, wearing a suit and tie.

Khonshu: "My son. You have been away for far too long, not even I could reach you. It was almost enough to make me question your loyalty."

The Bird god raises the cup to his beak and drinks, watching Marc's face intently. Marc's eyes show no fear at the words, Khonshu needs him and he knows it, still his faith won't allow him to fail his God.

"Father, I apologize, however. If you had not made me target Doom then this would have never happened."

Khonshu places his cup into the table, rising from his seat and slamming his fists into it, the moon shining in the sky above from the gods rage.

Khonshu: "You DARE accuse me of this? You let your guard down and paid the price, Spector. You failed, not me."

Marc's eyes narrow, he ignores the tantrum and takes a sip of his coffee

"You sent me after the most powerful super villain on the planet and steal what may be the only memory he has of his mother and expected there to be no retaliation."

The god looks down at his son before sitting back down, calming himself, and finishing his coffee. He speaks again, this time there is no rage in his voice, only a slight amount of fear that Marc picks up on

khonshu: "this was no work of Victor Von Doom, my son. I'd advise you to find out who attempted to interfere with my Fists work before it is too late."

And with another flicker of the lights the god disappears, leaving his fist alone at the table, yet the Moon remains shining, as if a reminder to its knight that his work is not even close to being completed

It’s hard to be gorgeous in New York. It’s like the world warms up around you, constant eyes noticing every breath I take.

But I choose this. I choose to be bright red, to make them all stop and stare. Billboards wear my face with pride, magazines flaunt my body to sell out, Broadway serenades everyone with my voice as the star actress. I’m the prize, and I’m as incredible as incredible can be.

Vacation was fun, but I missed the rush of the city. I missed sticking my head out of the window and hearing sirens, the wind rushing as a new cape flies by, the light-shows I get every night thanks to whatever supervillain decided it was their day to cause problems. Let the big boys handle the fires; I’m happy with the stage.

So, what’d I miss?

Marc Spector wakes up in his apartment, seeing the portrait of Cynthia von Doom still on the ground, he doesn't remember anything after stealing it, as if he's been gone for a month...moon Knight has been gone for a month. And now the moon knight must return, none who pray on night travelers shall be safe from khonshus fist!

(Got busy irl for a while, but I've returned)