Khonshu
The El Faouly family go as far back as Alexander the Great’s reign. Rami the Reckless stood against the “fake” Pharaoh and it caused him nothing but pain and misery. Since then, the El Faouly family vowed never to rebel or stand up to anyone ever again.
That is, until the Italian army invaded Egypt during World War II. Ahmed El Faouly was part of the resistance against the Italians. After the Italians left and the war ended, Ahmed and his wife celebrated by creating a son. That son grew up and had a son, Abdullah El Faouly.
Abdullah graduated top of his class from Cairo University where he met and fell in love with Amara Karim. After ten years of marriage and trying to have a child, their first and only daughter Layla Abdallah was born October 28, 1994. Abdullah would take little Layla to his dig sites with him.
When Layla was only eight years old, Amara died of advanced breast cancer. Abdullah took his wife’s death hard. His old friend Lagaro flew in from London to help raise Layla until Abdullah came to terms with Amara’s death.
Layla was still in secondary school when the Egyptian Crisis started in 2011. She followed news about the crisis religiously on social media and even participated in some of the protests. By the time the crisis ended, Layla had just finished her sophomore year at Cairo University studying to become an archeologist like her father.
Layla and her father lived in a small family home near the university. Abdullah goes off on “missions” to excavate buried archeological sites. Almost a year and a half after the Egyptian Crisis ended, Abdullah came across news of a temple just barely poking out of the sand outside of Luxor. He assembled his team and started packing.
“This could be big, Layla. If we find something, it could be the start of a whole new life for us!” Abdullah exclaimed as he zipped up his suitcase.
“Sounds exciting.” Layla smiled. “I wish I could go with you.”
“Aw, I do too. But you have midterms coming up you need to prepare for.” Abdullah cupped his daughter’s face in his hands and kissed her forehead.
“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Layla groaned. Abdullah chuckled. “Oh! Don’t forget the scarf I made for you for good luck.”
Abdullah nodded and put on the fuchsia scarf with scarab details. “Now I know we’ll dig up something.”
They hugged. “Good luck, Father.”
They heard a car horn honking. Abdullah looked up and picked up his suitcase. “Oh- they’re here! Well, sweetheart, I’m off!”
Layla walked with her father to the door and waved him off. “Good-bye, Father!”
“Good-bye, Layla. Take care while I’m gone. No wild parties, you hear?” Abdullah chuckled as he climbed into the car.
Layla rolled her eyes, smiled, and waved as the car sped off.
XXX
Bushman’s mercenary gang consisted of six men including himself and Marc. He charted a private plane piloted by a former pilot of the French Air Force to Luxor. They drove a truck to Khonshu’s temple. Their client was mysterious but told them to raid Khonshu’s temple by any means necessary. They pulled up in front of a sand dune and climbed over.
“Oh, shit. Looks like someone beat us to it.” Bushman grumbled. They could see a group of five archeologists sitting around a campfire. The tomb had already been dug up.
“Well, at least we don’t have to dig it up.” One mercenary commented. “So, what, do we just wait until they’re asleep or when they leave, or…?”
“No.” Bushman pulled out his gun. “We capture them and raid the tomb now. No witnesses.”
Marc was shocked and horrified. “Wait, what?! No! Bushman, this wasn’t the plan-“
“I’m changing the plan. Pray I don’t change it any further.” Bushman said. “You’re either with us or against us, Spector. Do you want to get paid, or not?”
Marc sighed in defeat. “Okay. Fine.”
“Good. Now, let’s move.” Bushman pulled out his gun and gestured for the group to follow him.
XX
“I’m so proud of Layla. Straight As, no parking violations…”
The archeologists were sitting around their campfire. The man to Abdullah’s right, called Omar, who wears a turban and a long tunic rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, we know. You know, sometimes you act like you’re the only person in the world who has a daughter.”
The other men laughed. The man on the other side of Abdullah, Ahmed, who wears a Gutra sighed. “I wish I was as close to my daughter as you are yours.”
“Gee, you think subjecting her to Female Genital Mutilation has something to do with why you’re not close to her?” Hamid, who wears a Keffyeh rolled his eyes.
Ahmed glared at him, and the other men chuckled. The fifth man, Mahmoud shook his head. “I don’t understand why you follow that tradition. Don’t you want grandkids?”
“There’s this thing called adoption. I assume you’ve heard of it?” Ahmed quipped.
“Fine, you have a point there.” Mahmoud said begrudgingly.
They heard footsteps and saw shadows approaching and turned to face them.
“Hello, gentlemen. I hope we’re not intruding.” Bushman said politely.
The archeologists stood up, surprised. Ahmed stepped forward. “Who are you?”
“We were hired to raid this tomb. So, thank you for saving us the trouble of digging it up.” Bushman said.
“You’re mercenaries!” Hamid exclaimed.
The mercenaries all aimed their guns at the archeologists, who raised their hands. Bushman grinned evilly. “You catch on quick. All right, all of you on your knees. Now!”
The archeologists complied and the mercenaries zip-tied their hands behind their backs.
“Please, I have a daughter. I’m all she has!” Abdullah pleaded.
“Aww, that’s sweet.” Bushman said sarcastically. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of your daughter.”
Marc watched the scene silently plotting a way out of this. He was pulled out of his thoughts by Bushman.
“Spector, guard the prisoners while we raid the tomb.” Bushman said. “The rest of you, with me.”
Mahmoud started sweating. He turned to Abdullah and started speaking Arabic. “What do we do? We can’t let these thugs do this to us!”
“I say we make a break for it.” Hamid said.
“With our hands tied behind our backs?” Omar asked, raising an eyebrow.
Hamid sighed. “Good point.”
“Ooh! I could fake a heart attack.” Mahmoud suggested.
“They’ll just shoot you dead to put you out of your misery.” Omar said bitterly.
“Oh.” Mahmoud’s shoulders sagged. “Well, I’m out of ideas.”
Meanwhile, Marc quickly thought through his plan, waited until he was sure the other mercs weren’t coming back, took a deep breath, pulled out a knife, and started cutting them free.
“Listen to me very carefully. Do exactly as I say, and I can get you out of here.” Marc said.
“Wait, what?” Omar asked in surprise. “You’re helping us?”
“Yeah. This is not what I signed up for.” Marc had cut them all free by that point. “Now, where’s your truck? We can escape in that.”
They ran for the archeologists’ truck and quickly climbed in. Marc got behind the wheel and started driving.
“HEY!” Marc could hear Bushman yell. He slammed on the gas just as he heard gunshots. Bushman managed to shoot the tires just as Marc turned, which caused the van to crash and fall to its’ side. The archeologists scrambled out of the van and tried to run from the mercenaries, but were each killed, one by one much to Marc’s horror. He stumbled out of the van and came face to face with Bushman.
“I had such high hopes for you, Spector.” Bushman shook his head and shot Marc in the stomach. “You can die knowing you failed to save innocent lives.” He turned away. “All right, let’s move out!”
“What about Spector?” Someone asked.
“He’s as good as dead out here anyway.” Bushman said.
Marc lay against the truck, bleeding and his eyes closed. He heard the mercenary van drive off, then complete silence. He looked over at the dead bodies of the archeologists scattered around the campsite. He suppressed a sob and picked up a gun.
No…he didn’t want to be found near the archeologists. He groaned in pain as he stood up and staggered towards the temple. On the way, he stopped at Dr. El-Faouly’s body. He searched his pockets for a picture and found a picture of him and a young woman with long brown curly hair. His daughter, most likely. He continued on to the temple and collapsed to the ground about twelve feet away and sighed.
Steven, you there? He asked silently. For the first time in a decade, he felt scared and alone. He crawled the rest of the way. By the time he reached the steps leading up to Khonshu’s statue, he had lost a lot of blood. Breathing heavily, he smoothed down his scarf and aimed his gun under his chin.
No. Don’t do it. A voice inside him begged.
I’m dying, anyway. Marc thought.
“What a waste.” Marc heard a deep voice say.
“Huh?” Marc said, confused. Where did that voice come from?
“I feel the pain inside you.” The voice continued. “Ah. Hmm.”
“What the hell are you?” Marc asked.
“I am the God Khonshu in search of a warrior.” Khonshu replied.
Marc scoffed. “A warrior? Well, good luck with that.”
“I find your mind fractured, most interesting.” Khonshu continued. “You are a worthy candidate to serve me during this time. To be my hands, my eyes, my vengeance. Do you want death or do you want life? In exchange for your life do you swear to protect the travelers of the night, and bring my wrath upon those who would do them harm?”
Marc was silent for a minute. On the one hand, he has nothing to live for, but on the other hand, he could make up for everything he’s done by serving this… god. Khonshu repeated his request.
‘I hope I don’t regret this, but…’ Marc thought. Aloud he said “Yes.”
Khonshu smiled. “Then rise. Rise and live again as my fist of vengeance. As my… Moon Knight.”
Marc felt his wounds heal as he was wrapped in white cloth. He looked down at his suit, felt his mask and his cape. He then turned around to see a giant bird skeleton wearing mummy wrappings. He stepped back in shock. “Whoa!”
“Did I startle you?” Khonshu asked, slightly amused.
Marc exhaled sharply. “No, not at all. So, how does this Moon Knight-ing thing work?”
“You’ll learn as you go along.” Khonshu said. “Now, I’m assuming your mercenary gang abandoned you, left you for dead, and you have no way of getting out of here.”
“That’s correct.” Marc said.
“No matter. You have the ability to fly now with my help.” Khonshu explained. “Grab your cape and extend your arms.”
Marc complied and jumped off the ground. He shot into the sky like a rocket. “Whoa! This thing really moves!”
“Now level out.” Khonshu instructed. Marc complied. “Good. Now head to Luxor. Someone needs to be punished.”
Marc nodded and flew over Luxor. Sure enough, he could hear someone scream. He flew down to the source and landed a few feet away from someone trying to steal a woman’s purse.
“Hold it right there!” Marc demanded. The mugger and woman turned to him in surprise. “Sir, I suggest you release the purse, or you will be punished.”
The mugger released the purse and scoffed. “What are you- the Punisher?”
“No. But fuck you for comparing me to that psychopath.” Marc said simply. The woman hit the mugger with her purse and ran off. Marc snickered. “See? Told you you’d be punished.”
“Okay, come on!” The mugger snapped and stormed towards Marc. “You want a piece of me?”
Marc punched him so hard, he fell unconscious before he hit the ground.
“Great, Marc! Now kill him.” Khonshu said.
Marc looked at him in surprise. “What?”
“This is part of punishing the worst of the worst and repaying your debt to me.” Khonshu reminded him.
Marc sighed quietly, pulled out one of his crescent darts, and stabbed the mugger in the heart. He stood up and sent away his suit. He had a feeling this was only the beginning.
XXX
The next morning, Khonshu checked on Marc…but there was something different about him. He carried himself differently and his facial expression was different.
“Hola, Jefe.” Marc greeted.
“Who are you? You’re definitely not Marc.” Khonshu noticed.
“Correct. I am Jake Lockley, one of Marc’s alters.” Jake replied, standing up. “I know about the arrangement you made with Marc.”
“Yes. Well, apologies, Alter, but he is bound to me until he pays off his debt.” Khonshu said.
“No apology necessary. In fact, I want to thank you.” Jake replied.
“Thank me?”
“Si. You know how beyond sick and tired I am of Marc trying to kill himself every five minutes?” Jake asked, his voice dripping with disdain. “At least now I won’t be killed.”
“You do realize Marc will be killing a lot of other people?” Khonshu pointed out. “No qualms against that?”
“Absolutely not. I’ve got some issues I need to work out, anyway. So in the event that I take control of the body, I’ll be glad to inflict some Punisher-like pain on evildoers.” Jake replied.
“Good. I think we’ll get along just fine, then.” Khonshu said, satisfied.
“Also, Marc is not aware of me, and our third alter, Steven isn’t aware of either of us. I’d like to keep it that way.” Jake said.
“Of course.”