Bad Habits

-Cue Song- Bad Habits, by Ed Sheeran-

Nights were usually dark and quiet but not this night. The quiet was perforated by yells and suddenly cut off screams and sobs, while the dark was lit up by both the full of the moon and the brilliant flash of gun muzzles. No, his nights weren’t dark and quiet, but then, they never were, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He threw one of his targets into another one hard enough to break both their necks and picked up one of their dropped guns to shoot another man and eventually tossed it over his shoulder when he ran out of bullets as he made his way through the construction site like he was on an afternoon stroll through a park. A mask that looked like black bandages was wrapped haphazardly around his head. His white glowing eyes looked like two grinning upside down crescent moons, and a black fedora sat crookedly on his head. The rest of his suit consisted of a black leather trench coat cut into worn uneven ribbon-like strips that drifted around him and moved with purposeful snakelike movements. The final touch was the back of the coat, which had a golden half-moon emblem embedded on it.(1)

The twelve men still left alive from his raid managed to finally find their collective cajones(2) and began to surround and corner him against a brick wall. Jake Lockley chuckled happily underneath the mask. It always makes it easier when the prey comes and serves itself up to you on a silver platter. He could no longer dodge the mass of bullets firing at him, so he shrugged his shoulders and just tanked them. The repeated painful bursts of burning stings followed by instantaneous healing made him feel more alive than ever.

“End them my Knight, choke the life from them!” Khonshu demanded from beside him, his pale beak mere inches from his head. Jake obliged, gladly. His coat’s trailing black bandages rapidly stretched out in all directions in front of him picking up each and every attacker by their neck. The suit then began to start strangling them…slowly, according to his will. Some kept shooting at him; the perdedoresidiotas(3), others panicked, dropping everything to try to claw helplessly at the leather strips wrung around them, petético(4). One enterprising fellow actually drew a knife and tried to saw it off him. Yet it was all to no avail. All of the enemies but one died, the rings leader.

The last one was drawn towards Jake, the cloth magically retracting as the large struggling man’s boots dragged ruts in the gravel, until he was brought right before him. Jake leaned in close to him, savoring the fear filling his bulging bloodshot eyes. He then reached out with his bandaged hands, wrapped them around the man’s head almost lovingly and snapped his neck. The night was once more silent and still as he took a deep and refreshing breath. Khonshu hummed happily from behind him. “You have done well Jake.”

“No es nada(5).” He replied with a friendly shrug. His coat flapped around him in the breeze as he climbed up to the rooftops and began heading towards Steven’s apartment. He had to get them home before the parasites noticed anything amiss. “We’re done for the night, si?” He asked. Khonshu nodded while sitting on a nearby ledge and looking off into the distant cityscape.

“For tonight, yes.” An abrupt scream shattered the sleepless night once again. “Or…Not?” Khonshu trailed off thoughtfully as his head cocked to the side.

Lockley followed the echoing sound and peered down into a secluded alleyway to see two men accosting a clearly unwilling woman behind a dumpster. She managed to scratch one of the attackers and kick the other where he’d feel it in the morning and likely the day after judging by her sharp heels. Jake smiled, liking her immensely. He dropped down, landing on top of one man with a crunching sound and punching the other in the face five or fifty times, he certainly wasn’t going to count. But the man was a crumpled bloody heap on the pavement by the time he was done. He looked up, surprised to see the woman was still there and hadn’t run away or started screaming again, or at least called the coppers or bobbies or whatever they called them round here.

He tipped his hat to her. She was breathing hard and fast and kept looking between the dead men and himself with his glowing smiling eyes. She clutched her purse to her chest protectively as she huddled against the wall. “Wha-who are you?” The young and very pretty lady asked in a trembling but sweet voice. Jake put a hand to his chest.

“Me, bella dama? Mi nombre es Señor Noche.(6)” He said softly. She looked even more scared and confused than before. He was going to speak to her more when he heard a local church bell ringing, striking the hour. He cursed softly. “Mierda. Chao bella.(7)” Jake wanted to at least kiss her hand if she’d let him, and maybe take her for a spin in his limo, but didn’t have time to spare. He quickly used his bandages to pull himself back onto the roof and left. If he didn’t get at least a modicum of rest those plagas(8) would get suspicious. And he couldn’t have that.

><>(<><

The radio alarm clock hit 7am and a song started playing in the cluttered little flat. ‘Just the two of us, we can make it if we try, just the two of us, you and I…’ A man opened his teary dark eyes on the bed and groaned. “Ow.” Mark said succinctly. Steven reached over and turned the alarm off. He shuffled off the bed and clutched his back while bending over painfully.

“We must have slept wrong. Everything bleedin’ hurts!” Mark narrowed his eyes while looking back at their pillow-strewn comfy bed.

“Hm, if you say so.” Mark said. Steven straightened up and stumbled over to the fish tank and checked on their goldfish.

“It does though.” Steven added defensively. Marc reluctantly agreed.

“Yeah…It does.” Steven gave a little wave to his fish.

“Morning my little lovelies, sleep well?” He asked with a smile. The goldfish wiggled a little faster after they saw him. He fed them happily and then went over to their small kitchenette. “So what’s the plan today?” Steven asked as he poured them a bland cereal with oat milk. Marc grimaced slightly and sighed while trying to abandon his own taste buds.

Steven placed a small mirror in front of himself on the table. “Well Layla isn’t supposed to check in till next week. You haven’t got a job, and we aren’t superheroes anymore, so I guess…uh…nothing… Maybe we should go back to bed, I for one am dead tired.” Marc said as he rubbed his dark circled eyes. Steven nodded and thought for a moment.

“Yea me too, um…” Marc put his hands down and stared at the mirror, as he noticed Steven’s hesitant voice.

“What is it buddy?” Marc asked softly. Steven plucked up his courage and asked.

“Do, do you miss it? Him? Oh never mind, forget I said-” Steven shook his head ruefully. Marc interrupted.

“What? Him!? No Steven, no, never. I’m not a masochist.” He stated firmly.

“Righ’.” Steven lowered his eyes, not feeling brave enough to look their reflection in the eyes on that one. He looked back up a moment later. “But the powers though?”

“Well…yeah, of course, I mean who wouldn’t miss that, I just didn’t want the body count that came with it.” Marc said. Steven nodded. Mark asked, curious. “What about you?” Steven smiled and pretend dusted his shoulder off.

“I did love that suit, looked righ’ flash yea, real posh! But no, we can’t have that puerile pigeon dictatin’ our lives and drenching you-us with blood.” Steven autocorrected. Marc sighed.

“Yeah.” Steven looked at his reflection seriously once more.

“So, what now? One of us at least is going to have to get a job, and I don’t know about you but my bank account is scrapping rock bottom and all, and I still have to pay back the museum for mucking up the loos thanks to a certain someone...” He trailed off with a pointed glance at Marc.

“I’ve already paid them.” Marc said nonchalantly.

“You…did?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Steven quietly deflated, embarrassed, but he swiftly picked himself back up. “But we still need to get a job unless you happen to have some more of that illegal cash stashed under the mattress or summat?” He asked jokingly. Marc smirked at him.

“Now that you mention it.” Steven’s widened eyes looked over towards the bed expectantly as Marc instead pulled over a laptop and opened up the browser. Steven peeked at the screen.

The screen showed a large account belonging to Mark Spector. “What!? How many zeros is that?” Steven asked his eyes popping comically.

“Nine.” Marc replied calmly, his face filled with repressed laughter.

“And that’s like a few billion pounds yea…? Is that really your account?”

“Yep.” Marc responded coolly.

“Marc, are you…rich?” Steven slowly asked.

“Yes, Steven, we’re rich.” He snorted in disbelief as he cocked his head.

“Why are we rich?” Marc shrugged.

“It’s not like an avatar of Khonshu pays well, and I needed to trapeze around the world as part of all that, so I took the money I made as a mercenary and a couple of the spare stolen antiques that Layla and I liberated and invested it.”

“Hmm, invested, in like what?” He asked wonderingly.

“I was one of the early stakeholders in Bitcoin, I also have a ton of stock in Stark Industries as well, among others. You should always diversify.” Marc explained. For once, Steven seemed struck mute, a billion thoughts whizzing through his mind until he got stuck on one. After a prolonged minute he said.

“So this flat... It wasn’t…? It didn’t belong to…?“ He didn’t want to mention Mum in front of Marc, not now, not yet. That wound was far too tender, for both of them. He didn’t even like skirting around it. Marc had understood what he meant though and shook his head quickly as he frowned, trying not to wince.

“Her? No.”

“So you bought it for me.”

“Hm.” Marc grunted. Steven looked down at his hands for a long time as they twiddled on his chest awkwardly.

“…All this time…I’ve just been your Gus, haven’t I?” He asked out of the blue, his shoulders curling in a bit. Marc raised an eyebrow.

“My…Gus?” He asked carefully. Steven gestured sadly around the disorderly apartment.

“Yea I mean this flat, the…postcards, my work even, it’s like I was your pet and this was the tank you designed for me innit?” Steven asked.

“It wasn’t like that.” Marc said sternly.

“Wasn’t it tho?”

“No I just wanted you to be happy.” Marc insisted coldly. Steven’s jaw tightened as he glared towards his reflection.

“Your happy lil’ stress ball, yea? You controlled so many aspects of my life, manipulated me, keeping secrets even now that I didn’t even know anything about-” Marc had had enough; he slammed a hand down on the table.

“What do you want me to say Steven?! We already talked about this!” He shouted, his mouth a thin line. “Do you want me to say sorry!? Fine. Sorry you had a happy normal fuckin’ life! My fuckin’ bad!” He snapped. Steven flinched back at the outburst.

“Marc! I didn’t mean-“ Steven suddenly felt him retreat from his body and mind. “Marc, come back!” Steven felt the emptiness within himself and his surroundings more than ever, as he looked at only his own eyes mournfully staring back at him in the mirror. “Bugger.”

-Cue Song- One is the Loneliest Number, by Three Dog Night-

(1) Señor Noche’s costume design was influenced by the character Darkman, if anyone was wondering. And if anyone actually knows who Darkman is, good on ya mates cheers! Total classic!
(2) Balls cajones
(3) Idiotic losers perdedoresidiotas
(4) Pathetic petético
(5) It is nothing. No es nada
(6) Me, pretty lady? My name is Mister Night. Me, bella dama? Mi nombre es Señor Noche.
(7) Shit. Bye Beautiful. Mierda. Chao bella.
(8) Pests plagas

Fun Fact:
In the comics Moon Knight is actually one of the top 10 richest people in Marvel.