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At 6 am every Friday morning Peter Parker had tea and danishes with his elderly aunt May, just as he was that Friday. Peter had been raised by his Aunt and loved her very much as she was his only surviving family. So he kept up the tradition of friday breakfasts for as long as he could to cherish the wonderful woman. They sat serenely in the sun room of his May's villa. Peter had paid for her to move into this new home but nearly had to force her to inhabit it as she still retained the will to be self-sufficient despite her age. May sipped tea and watched as Peter stuffed the last of his 5th danish into his mouth. The morning sun had just begun to peer into the Windows and refract onto the glass of the coffee table. May shifted slightly in her wicker seat. "You know, i saw the strangest thing when i took Posh on a walk before you got here this morning." May announced referring to the small Pomeranian she had recently adopted to keep her company.

"oh yeah?" Peter inquired around the wad of dough in his mouth.

"Yes, dear, i walked around Washington Square and i saw that a bunch of police had shown up for some kind of disturbance." May answered.

"Pretty early in the morning. Did you see what was going on?" Peter asked knowing his aunt had an eye for detail and was known as a nosy Nancy amongst the neighborhood.

"Well, they put two big fellas in a paddy wagon and they had the whole park taped off. I could see a bunch of holes in the ground and the turf was covered with what looked like a bunch of flour. I think some of those yuppies from the college were pulling a prank again!"

"hmmm. That's weird." Peter commented as he thought on the message he left on the machines for the Heroes For Hire. Something strange was going on in New York and now it was getting close to his beloved Aunt's home.

-

From: Dr. Regina Warrows of Heroes For Hire client health agency

To: CEO Misty Knight of Heroes For Hire inc.

Subject: client Marc Spector

Through the extensive interviews i have recently had with the client the fist of Knoshu has appeared again in the form of his alternate identity Steven Grant. This therapist has worked with the identity of Steven Grant on two occasions now. Once while he thought himself to be living as Jake Lockley and in a brief moment where he was able to recall his true identity as Marc Spector and requested my services and he believed himself to still be institutionalized. For some reason his previous institution has restricted all but the most limited information on their care for the patient, making therapy nearly impossible. On top of that there seem to be indications of client mistreatment. After filing injunction for the requested materials for my client i had not heard from the Spector identity until now. As has been recorded and assessed extensively previously, the client admits to having continued  conversations with Knoshu the patron deity of his costumed identity who believed to have resurrected Marc Spector when he was seemingly killed by his former employer Bushman while they both served terms as mercenaries. On issues of religion, this writer does not make judgements on a client's belief up to and including their statements of godhood. This is the world we live in currently, and it seems increasingly difficult to decipher fact from fiction at first blush. Nonetheless the presence of Knoshu remains a disconcerting element in regards to the client's psyche as it repeatedly suggests he engages in dangerous and cruel behavior, and mocks him if he fails or refuses to fulfill those requests. Real or no Knoshu retains an unsettling amount of problematic control over all of Marc's other various identities. However, Knoshu may have to wait given the client's current concerns at this time. As made note of in the client's medical history, the string of multiple identities has taken their toll on the client. Others had diagnosed this as Dissociative identity disorder, but the client be he Spector, Lockley, Moon Knight, or Grant still does not fit the criteria for this exceptionally rare diagnosis. All this duly noted, this seems to be the most difficult time the client has had dissociating his identities from each other. Even worse he seems to be having delusions, placing alter egos into entirely fictional scenarios. Spector as the warrior facing the earth's will against the moon, Jake Lockley as a more tragic hero being set up for the crimes committed by Marc Spector, and not only is he seemingly unable to tell who he is at any given time he also seems to be struggling with his reality testing when it comes to settings and events. In this morning's session Grant, as he insisted i call him, seemed both wired and exhausted si simultaneously would zone out for periods of time and speak rapidly, almost frantically at his other identities. Eye contact was erratic at best and borderline non-existent. He seems desperate for help from both this writer and your corporation as well as resentful. Keeping track of the course of dialogue was impossible. But when faced with reception or in my absence as i accepted a call in the lobby he seemed able to hold on to the moment as Marc Spector and be himself. This writer's hypothesis is, like the child who screams when his parents pick him up from a great day at daycare, Marc is barely able to hold back what is happening to him while in public. He has been given few opportunities to do so and what this writer has witnessed was inner turmoil running free. Given the volatility of the situation it doesn't seem the client will be able to continue at this level of functioning for much longer. That coupled with his violent behaviors and Knoshu's influence could make the client very dangerous to the public without monitoring. At this point sessions will be continued and Spector has remained adamantly oppositional to pharmaceutical products and any form of hospitalization, which given his recent experiences is understandable. In the meantime i will continue to consult my colleagues and attempt to provide the best care possible for our shared client, Marc Spector. I hope you find this report adequate to your means, and thank you for your time.

-

Chicago.

Some time ago.

A young boy in a crisp white t-shirt and boardshorts sat on the sidewalk with his chalk and a kippah on his head. He had dark hair, dark eyes and olive skin. He etched images of spaceships and aliens battling astronauts into the sidewalk with his 32 differently colored chalk sticks. "Hello." the boy heard from behind him.

The boy drawing looked over his shoulder to see another young boy standing behind him, who had been watching him draw. This boy was in a nice polo shirt and silk boardshorts with sandals on his feet. His hair was slicked back in gel. "huh? Oh, hi!" the boy sitting on the ground said.

"What are you doing?" the nicely dressed boy asked.

"just drawin'." the boy answered gesturinf at his pictures.

"Can i draw too?" the other boy asked.

"Um, sure." the first boy answered and handed the other the pink chalk stick. 

As they drew The first boy gestured over his shoulder at the tenements behind him. "My name is Marc Spector. I live there, in that apartment building."

"I know you do." the other boy replied.

"Um, you do?" Marc asked.

"Yeah. I've seen you around and i live there too."

"Oh. What's your name?" Marc asked as he returned to drawing.

"my name is Steven. Steven Grant." the nicely dressed boy said and smiled.

Later the two boys walked up the stairs of the apartment building hauling chalk. "My dad is the rabbi at the synagogue on Park street. What does your dad do?" Mark asked.

"My dad isn't around much." Steven mumbled.

"Oh." Marc sighed and knew not what to say.

"It's ok though, i don't need him. When i get older I'm going to be rich and famous." Steven confided.

"Really? How are you going to do that?" Marc asked curiously.

"I'm going to make movies." Steven answered quickly.

"That's cool." Marc replied.

The two boys reached the top of the stairs and began walking down the hall of hall of apartment doors. "What do you wanna be when you grow up?" Steven asked.

"I don't know." Marc shrugged. "I keep changing my mind."

Eventually they reached the door to the Spector apartment, to which Marc fished a key from his boardshorts pocket and opened it. The two boys walked in. "Are you sure your parents won't mind if i come over, Marc?" Steven asked looking around the apartment.

"Nah. They're pretty cool most of the time." Marc stated as he opened the heavily stickered door to his bedroom.

Inside the room Steven paused and looked around at the NASA posters and Chicago Bears flags hanging on the walls. "Cool room." Steven complimented.

"Thanks."

"Oh man! You have blast-off!" Steven excitedly said as he placed his share of the chalks on the counter and ran over to an action figure on display on Marc's nightstand.

"Yeah!" Marc said, excited to have found another fan of the saturday morning Blast-off cartoon character the action figure was modeled after.

"I've always wanted him. He's so rare to find." Steven said.

"You can borrow him if you want." Marc smiled.

"Really?" Steven Asked surprisedly.

"Sure!" Marc confirmed.

Steven reached out and hugged Marc. Tears began to well up in Marc's eyes.

"Marc?" a voice called out from behind him.

Marc turned and saw his father who had entered the apartment walking through the doorway to his bedroom. He very much seemed a much older version of Marc but the similarity was uncanny. His father wore a bushy beard and the traditional curled sideburns of his position in the synagogue. "Oh. Hi dad." Marc waved.

"Who were you talking to?" Msrc's father asked concernedly.

"I'm just talking to my new friend Steven." Marc smiled up at his father, holding his Blast-off action figure in his hand. Alone in the room besides his father.

Marc's father's countenance drooped into one of great worry and sadness.

A few months later Marc Spector sat in the office of a well-known child psychologist who happened to be a friend of the Spector family. He had been contacted to help Marc with his deteriorating cognitive state. "I'm Marc Spector." Marc reiterated.

The overweight, and bushy bearded doctor stroked his jaw and shifted in his seat behind his desk, looking to Marc's father who was present during sessions. "And Steven isn't here?" The doctor asked.

"Steven? No why would he be here? Him and Jake--" Marc began to explain.

"Jake?" the doctor interrupted.

"Ah, yes….Jake. Jake is a relatively new development. A new one." Marc's father explicated.

"Ah, i see, and how often does Jake Appear?"  the Doctor inquired.

"Similar to Steven. He may go weeks where he's just Marc again, and then out of nowhere it's Steven or Jake and then they go as quickly as they came. There doesnt seem to be any rhyme or reason to it." Marc's father answered.

"Marc, can you do me a favor?" the doctor asked of the young boy. "Can you wait outside for a moment in the lobby while i have a word with your father?"

"Yeah." Marc frustratedly stood up and walked out if the room, slamming the door behind him. Just outside the door, and on his knees with his head compressed to the door he could hardly make out what was being said.

"...ery concerned...worried about…..erious disorder…..dissociative spectrum….istinct identities…." Marc hardly heard the muffled doctor saying through the hardwood of the office door. "...ut he needs treatment immediately...therapy will not be enough...treatment...medication with time...away from home...aggressive methods of treatment…"

"What are you doing, young man?" a familiar voice asked.

Marc looked over his shoulder and saw a strange man in a white suit standing behind him. Instead of a human head the man had the head of a bird's skull.

"Listening to the doctor." Marc answered shifting his knees on what was now sand instead of the carpet of the doctor's lobby.

"Who is he talking to?" The bird-headed man asked.

"My dad." Marc answered.

"That man in there is not your father..." the man immediately stated.

"What?!" Marc turned and looked at the man who now glowed with eery radiance.

"...I am." the bird-skull man said, looming over the young boy who now kneeled in a vast and endless desert. "And soon you will come to me, and you will be complete."

Suddenly, Marc heard the sound of a door swinging open and he was hit from behind with a wooden door. When he blinked he was once again in the lobby of the doctor's office kneeling by the door. His father quickly stepped through the gap in the threshold. "Marc?" he asked.

"I---" Marc tried to explain.

Marc's father knelt down beside him and grabbed his shoulders, looking directly into Marc's eyes. His father had tears in his eyes. "Son, i need you to listen to me. I talked to the doctor and he told me that you are sick. Very sick." Marc's father said evenly.

"I am?" Marc asked, now beginning to tear up as well witnessing his own father so emotionally distressed.

"yes, but it's going to be ok. We are going to get you help. There is a place you can go where they can help you get better."

"A place? But, i don't wanna go anywhere i wanna stay home with you."

Marc's father took him in his arms and they both began to sob. "I know, Marc. I don't want you to go either, but your mom and i can't help you. Not on our own."

Over the shoulder of his father Marc saw the bird-skulled man standing in the exit of the lobby. "I'm waiting…" he said to Marc as he departed.

-

Illinois 

Years later

Marc Spector sat on the bed of his dorm room, with a filled duffel bag behind him. He looked longingly out the Windows as cards sped down the nearby highway and the songs of Pink Floyd filled the room from cheap boombox speakers.

"Marc are you ready to go?" a woman asked, and Marc turned to see his doctor and two of the security export staff of his current psychological health providers.

"Yeah i think so." Marc said patting his duffel before reaching over and turning off his music.

"Is that all your packing? You're sitting shiva, you'll need at least enough clothes for seven days." The doctor said criticising his bag.

"I don't need much." Marc said hefting his bag over his shoulder and walking towards the staff.

"Ok, Hector here will be escorting you to your mom's house." the doctor read from a sheet on her clipboard. "If you need anything you can call or come back early, ok?"

"Ok. Thanks, Doctor Emmet." Marc saluted as he followed Hector through the building to the parking garage, where they got into the center's transport van. They pulled away from the Putnam psychiatric hospital and drove towards Chicago.

Days later on a rainy summer day Marc stood with his family and the friends of his late father who had unfortunately passed away. The funeral was brief, few eulogies and more crying from the attendance in black suits and veils. Marc watched as his father's casket was lowered into the ground and threw the first clod of dirt onto the coffin.

Later that night Marc's mother held a wake in her own home. All the guests of the funeral were there. Idly making conversation amongst each other and munching on the appetizers assorted around the house. Marc was aiding his mother in the kitchen, preparing the dinner. 

"Your father would've been so happy you made it home, Marc." Marc's mother said as she preset the oven.

"Really? I doubt that." Marc retorted.

"Don't say that!" she said briskly under her breath.

"It's true. Dad was embarrassed by me. He was happy to send me away. Keep me out of sight." Marc added.

"Your father loved you! He just wanted you to get better." she whispered angrily at her son. Suddenly, Marc began to stare off and his eyes seemed to glaze over. For a brief moment he seemed completely vacant. "Marc? Marc?!"

"Marc isn't here anymore, Mrs. Spector." marc said in an altered inflection and looking at his mother.

"What? What are you--" His mother asked bewildered.

"It's Jake now. Marc is too upset to handle what comes next." Marc clarified.

Marc's mother angrily slammed her hand down onto the table. "Damn it, Marc. Stop this! Not here! Not now! For God's sake--of all times!"

Marc pinched his nose and stepped away for a moment. "You're right. I--I'm sorry. I need to use the bathroom."

Marc walked away and quickly climbed the stairs. Instead of entering the bathroom he ventured into what was once his own room. The posters and flags were no longer hanging. The furniture had been removed as well. It was barren. Marc walked over to the window and opened it, looking out onto the night illuminated by the full moon. He then began to climb out the window and into the garage where he jumped down to the street and began running away.

-

Iraq

Years later

"Marc? Marc?! Can you hear me?" A voice called out.

Marc blinked up into the moonlight on another full moon. He was in the desert, in nothing but his underwear. Behind him stood a perimeter line of rifles with two fully outfitted Combat soldiers. "Marc?! I said, can your hear me?" the voice repeated.

"Yes." Marc answered.

"The hell you doing out there, Spector?" the U.S. Marine asked.

"I--I was just going for a walk." Marc answered. The songs of Pink floyd carried across the desert from the nearby U.S. military encampment.

"a walk?!" the soldier asked.

"Y-yes." Mark confirmed.

"You're in the minefield!" the soldier pointed at the rifle perimeter with his flashlight.

"I'm telling the Sergeant." one of the two soldiers said and began walking back towards camp.

Days later

Marc was sitting in the command tent of his field commanding major. The man paced around him as he sat in a folding chair. Outside the tent the war continued.

"Private Marc Spector. You joined the Marines three years ago and this is your second tour in Iraq. Mostly peacekeeping but you did see your share of combat in Fallujah last fall. You've seen alot of things, private. We all have. But none of that excuses your recent behavior." the Major scolded.

"I apologize, sir. It won't happen again, sir." Marc apoligized.

"well, son, if this were the first time you had acted out like this i would take you at your word. But, your file is full of frankly bizarre behavior. So, i had my men back in the states do a bit of digging. I know who you really are, Spector."

"Y-you do?" Marc asked concernedly.

The Major turned around and became the man with the bird-skull, still attired in combat fatigues of desert camo. "You are the one who will do anything to be cured. You are the one who will give their soul to me." the bird-skulled man who had replaced the Major said.

"No!" Marc shouted.

Blinking again the Major had returned. "Calm down, Private! I know you were a patient at the Putnam mental health hospital in Illinois. I know you lied to your recruiters. I'm sorry, Spector, but you are being dishonorably discharged as i am deeming you mentally unfit for duty. I'm sending you back to Baghdad where you will get on a plane back to the states. I'm sorry son, but the Marines is no place for a man like you." the Major announced.

Later that night Marc never boarded the plane, instead running off into the city of Baghdad.

-

Present

"Marc!" the voice stirred Marc from his sleep. He rolled over on his cot to see his temporary roommate and prisoner Tommy Kent still sleeping on his own cot on the opposite side of the office. In the doorway, inside of the offices of Heroes For Hire, stood Misty Knight and Marc's psychologist Dr. Regina Warrows.

Marc sat up on his cot in his issued pajamas and wiped the sleep from his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Med time. Misty also wanted to talk to you for a bit." Regina said.

Marc stood from his bed, walked over to the doctor who put his medications into his hand. He threw them into his mouth and dry-swallowed them before Regina could hand him her bottle of water. "Come, get dressed. I wanna get you something better to eat than institution food or pills." Misty said.

After Marc put on some of the clothes that had been donated to him from Heroes For Hire he joined Misty on a walk to a nearby diner, without the presence of his doctor. This was the first time Marc had been alone with anyone other than his doctor in days, as well as with Misty Knight. The waitress took their order of breakfast with sides of pie in a timely manner, and the cook had their food on their table in equally expedient pace. Marc impatiently began scooping forkfuls of pancakes into his mouth, but only after saturating each nite with butter and syrup. Misty poked and prodded at her eggs and sausage with her fork. Both of them drank freely of the shared pot of coffee. "How are you doing, Marc?" Misty asked.

"Ok." marc answered.

"Good. It's been a while."

"Yeah. I was away."

"I know, but you're here now, right?"

"Yeah...i guess so…"

"Regina told me you know who stole the book."

"Yes, i was able to remember where i had seen that darkness before. It was Shroud."

"The Shroud? Who's that?" Misty asked.

"He's a costume. But the darkness is his power." Marc stated.

He went on to explain that The shroud possessed the mystical ability to summon the absolute darkness of the Darkforce Dimension by opening a mystical portal to that dimension and drawing its thick, inky blackness into their own dimension in varying quantities. This darkness was not just the absence of light but the negation of it. No illumination could penetrate it. It was unknown to Marc how much if this darkness the Shroud could summon at once. Marc had witnessed him enveloping an entire auditorium within several seconds however. The darkness did not volume instantaneously; it was possible to see its thick hazy boundary moving in the air. The Shroud could summon and manipulate this darkness for an indeterminate period of time.  The Shroud also possessed a strange mystical sense enabling him to see through even his own mantle of darkness being blind. This mystic vision gave him psychic impressions of his environment within a radius of 100ft, but he could also receive non-visual perceptions through obstacles. Essentially sense things through walls. Marc had met The Shroud while he was Moon Knight. The Shroud led a large LA based crime syndicate, and his own personal group of likewise supernaturally empowered individuals known as The Night Shift. The Shroud and his Night Shift may have been criminals, but Marc attested to the fact that this team had also been responsible for saving New York and maybe even the world from dangerous but relatively unknown supernatural threats.

As Misty divulged more of the case as she had made developments in it Marc filled her in on the roster of The Night Shift who made up for some of the resistance they had encountered since the theft. The strange woman who had attacked Man Mountain Marco beneath the arch was Gypsy Moth. A telekinetic with a preference over manipulating fabric, organic or synthetic. She had pierced her own skin with golden thread to utilize her power to levitate and use them as a weapon. The Scarecrow was a man who had died twice. No one was quite sure on the details of each of his recorded deaths, but he still walked the earth apparently and was able to sustain himself by the fear and pain of others, making him a sadistic psychopath. The other two men Iron Fist and Power Man had fought were the Brothers Grimm, two twins who augmented parlor tricks into lethality. The final member Marc knew of was Black Talon. A true voodoo priest with great talent for the dark arts. Marc had been offered membership of the Night Shift for his valor in combat for their shared causes. He denied as he did not agree with the criminal elements of the enterprise. Marc also could not comprehend what The Night shift intended to do with the stolen book but he could not allow it to happen. They seemed to have been hired or under the employ of this Mister Fear individual who had tried to kill Hammerhead and other gang leaders. Marc supported the idea that the Night Shift had been using the stolen book to summon the monsters into New York and plan to bring something much more dangerous into the streets to eliminate their enemies.

With all of the valuable information Misty was receiving from Marc and his rapport with these villains she knew his assistance would be invaluable.

"I must defend the moon, and stop them before the Shroud masks Knoshu's brilliant luminescence. As ever, i must remain the guiding light in these times." Marc declared.

Misty put her hand on his on the table. "I know, and we're going to help you stop these guys. Let's go and meet with Matt, he's gonna be the one watching over you when you aren't back at the offices of with Dr. Wallows ok?"

"Yeah, That sounds good. I've missed Matt." Marc commented.

"We all did." Misty shared.

-

Matt heard the rapid knocking at his door and when stood up from his bed he quickly pulled a pair of pants on and slid his rose colored shades onto the bridge of his nose. Stumbling, slightly hungover to the door he unhooked the clasp and chain, slid back the deadbolt, and threw open the door. Misty Knight and Marc Spector stood in his doorway, seeing over his shoulder Black Widow who laid nude in his bed.

-

Foggy Nelson sat in a local bar, sipping slowly on his beer and enjoying a mellow buzz as he overheard a broadcast on VNN News on the bar TV:

Armory Robbed read the headline on the screen. The anchorman read from a small sheaf of papers. "late this afternoon, a National Guard armory on the Lower East Side of Manhattan was robbed. Authorities would not state what exactly was stolen. However, it is believed a large number of assault rifles were stolen. The police currently have no suspects and--"

-

Misty, Marx Spector, Matt Murdock, and Natasha had been out that night. Ahead of them stood the Egyptian Obelisk, which they also knew as Cleopatra's Needle. The monument was fashioned from pink granite, and a brief history of ancient Egyptian pharaohs had been etched into the sides in badly weathered hieroglyphics. At the base of the structure stood the familiar form of Johnny Bifrost. Standing menacingly all around him were several young punks wielding knives. With a flick of their wrists, their blades gleamed in the moonlight and they pounced for their kill.

Though it was Misty who recognized Johnny, Marc Spector was the one who leapt into action at Johnny's defense first. He ran and jumped directly between Johnny and his attackers. When one of the gangbangers lunged with his knife Marc grabbed his wrist and snapped it, sending the knife to the floor. He then contirted the man's broken arm behind his back and forced him to the ground. Another gangster attacked on his left flank but was sent cold to the ground after a solid right hook to his temple. The next was flipped over Marc's shoulder and slammed on his back on the cold concrete, and a fourth had his knee cap kicked into splinters. Before he knew it Marc was being pried off the gangsters, as the rest of them had fled and the fight was clearly over. Natasha looked up and down the street to confirm no witnesses had seen what had occurred. Matt restrained Marc and tried to pacify him.

"What the hell was that about Johnny?" Misty asked.

"I quit the gang! You bleed in and bleed out if the flashing blades! You guys saved me again!" Johnny cried. "I was looking for you, actually. I know something. I think that's another reason they wanted me dead."

"What is it?" Misty inquired, with her hands on her hips.

"At 1 am tonight, in a warehouse on the lower east side by pier 44 there's going to be a meeting held and organised by somebody named Mister Fear. I dont know what the meeting is about but i know alot of gang members are going to be there." Johnny confided.

With that Misty began to escort Johnny and Marc back to the Heroes for hire offices. She asked Matt and Natasha to investigate this gang meeting, and the two of them retired to Matt's house to suit upbfor their night of recon.

-