My name is Marc Spector, and I was a very bad man.

Life was always rough where I grew up, a beaten down neighborhood overflowing with crime and poor folks barely scraping by. My old man was a Rabbi, all about 'trusting god' but it never sat right with me. If we were 'the chosen people' and all that malarkey why were we barely getting enough to feed ourselves, why was God letting his 'chosen ones' getting crapped all over by the gentiles? Didn't make sense to me, and so I didn't have much patience for religion.

Like a lot of kids in my neighborhood I got in with the 'rough crowd' at an early age. Started as a messenger, running errands and the like, but as I got older I worked my way up the food chain. I made a pretty decent triggerman, pulling heists, breaking legs, anything that would make me a buck and get me noticed by the bosses.

I joined the crew of a fella named Bushman, or at least that's what they called him. Bushman had a nasty reputation as a cruel kinda guy, but I didn't care much. He also had a skull tattooed over his face, called it 'a deathshead' and said it gave him "protection", I thought it was weird but didn't really care much about that either.

One night the crew was pulling a museum heist, a job given to us by one of the bigger bosses. The building was supposed to be empty 'cept for the night guard, but there was some old professor and his daughter working late on some kinda egyptian exhibit. Now I've hurt a lot of people, both their bodies and their wallets but I wasn't down for wasting a dame and some harmless old man. I said as much to Bushman, and he just drew his piece and shot me right through the heart. I remember staring up at this statue of some stern looking guy as I felt the life leave my body thinking "I did one good thing in my life, and it got me killed."


I found myself floating in some kinda weird darkness with a light off in the distance as I lay there wondering what was about to happen, I heard a deep booming voice. "You have done much evil in your life Marcus Spector, evil born of desperation, but evil nonetheless." The light solidified and suddenly I saw it for what it was, the statue I died under, or should I say, the fella the statue was made to look like.

"But with your last act you have attempted to protect innocents while not enough to redeem your soul both that and your great strength of will has attracted the eye of Khonsu, God of Vengeance and the Moon. I offer you another chance, a second life as my avatar. A life of punishing the wicked, and saving the innocent. Do you accept this offer?"

I didn't even need to think about it, it may seem like a quick change of heart to you, but dying changes a man's perspective on things, makes him see the wrong in what he's done. "I do" I told the voice, and then I woke up.

I woke on the floor of the museum my own blood pooling on the floor, but without a scratch on me. I stood up and when I did I heard a whispering in my ear, like someone was standing right behind me. "Take the vestements" It sounded just like the voice I heard in my dream. I looked around, my eyes falling on a hooded cloak. "Yes that" I grabbed the cloak and started heading out the door. I found the old man, already dead, but Bushman and the Dame were nowhere to be seen.

I booked it out of there, finding a place off the grid to hole up, Khonsu still whispering in my ear. In fact he hasn't stopped, and the real weird part, besides the dying and the voices and such? I can do things now, not like that Captain America guy, but I know how to do things I never learned before.

I've always been handy with a gun or my fists but now I know all sorts of fancy moves, real chop-socky type stuff. I can leap around like an acrobat and move as quiet as a cat. I can use all sorts of old weapons, swords and staffs and throwing blades. It don't make sense but it works for what I'm about to do.  I plan on taking a page out of Bushmans book, make a 'symbol' out of myself, something larger than life. I'm gonna hold up my side of the bargain and become Khonsu's Moon's Knight, punish the guilty and protect the innocent. Starting with Bushman and that broad he took.