Disclaimer: I do not own Moon Knight, Deathstroke the Terminator or any associated characters or concepts. Both are property of Marvel and DC respectively. No profit is being made from this story.

In the richly-furnished lounge of Grant Mansion on Long Island, Steven Grant and his girlfriend Marlene Alraune were cuddled up together on the settee watching a TV news report covering the upcoming trial of John Preston, a mob boss that Grant had been investigating in his other identity as the crime-fighter Moon Knight.

On the screen a large crowd of people were gathered outside a courthouse as a car pulled up and Preston emerged. The mob boss was impeccably dressed in a stylish business suit and was smiling casually as if the imminent trial was merely a formality and he already knew it would end in his favour.

Marlene felt Steven tense up at the sight. "What's wrong Steven?"

He pointed at the screen. "He's planning something. He wouldn't be that casual if he didn't have an ace up his sleeve."

She suppressed a sigh. "And I suppose you're going to find out what that ace is?"

"I've got to" he replied. "Preston was arrested two years ago but all charges were dismissed when the star witness took a fall from a rooftop. He can't be allowed to get away with murder again."

"I know" she admitted. Marlene didn't like Steven's willingness to put himself in harm's way but she understood why he had to. "Go get him."

He smiled. "That's my girl."

Just a few moments later he had changed from the expensive attire of millionaire Steven Grant into the plain, cheap clothing of cabbie Jake Lockley and applied a fake moustache to his face.

"Watch yourself Steven, sorry Jake" said Marlene as he opened his cab door.

"Don't sweat lady. Easy mistake to make" he replied, now fully settled into his alternate persona. "Although between you and me I think I'm better looking."

She chuckled.

"Hey Gina" Jake called as he strode into the diner.

"Afternoon Jake" she called back from behind the counter. "What'll it be?"

"Just a coffee for today thanks" he replied.

"Big spender huh?"

"You know me, just a humble cabbie" he replied with a grin that she returned. "Seen Crawley?"

"He got a hot tip about a new horse down at the races. He should be here soon."

"Great. I'll wait for him."

He did not need to wait long. Just fifteen minutes later the shabbily dressed hobo entered with a downcast look on his face.

"Let me guess. That tip wasn't so hot after all" Jake said sympathetically as he sat at the counter.

"No indeed my friend. He came in second to last. Never before has one of my tips been so utterly inaccurate."

"Well maybe I can change your luck. You heard anything about the John Preston trial?"

"I may have read something about it in the papers" Crawley replied, his mood lifting. He lowered his voice. "Word on the street is that the disreputable Mr. Preston's accountant has turned himself in and is willing to testify in a court of law against his erstwhile employer. It seems that said accountant, a Mr. Alan Robinson, wanted out of the business and Mr. Preston was unwilling to let him walk away."

"So why's Preston so chipper?"

"Apparently he has hired someone to eliminate the problem. Or rather to terminate it."

Jake nodded. "He's hired a hit-man."

"This is no mere hired thug Jake. Mr. Preston has called upon the services of a professional assassin, a highly unsavoury fellow who goes by the moniker of Deathstroke."

Jake paled. "Deathstroke" he repeated.

"I take it you've heard of him?"

"I have." He took a moment to regain his composure and then said, "do you know anything else?"

"Mr. Robinson, his wife and daughter are currently staying at a police safe house outside of town. Detective Flint is watching over them"

Well that's one good thing at least Jake thought. Detective Flint was one of the few allies Moon Knight had on the police.

"This is the address."

He jotted it down on a napkin and handed it over.

"Thanks Crawley. You've earned this" said Jake. He handed over a fifty dollar bill. "Don't bet it all on the next hot tip."

"I assure you I have no intention of any such thing."

As Jake left the diner Crawley frowned. "I've never seen him so shaken before" he commented.

"Jake will be fine. He's a tough guy" Gina replied.

"True enough but then so is the man he intends to challenge" he mused.

Jake immediately returned to Grant Mansion. Once he'd changed back to his Steven Grant persona he met up with Marlene and Frenchie in the living room and told them what he had learned.

"Are you all right Steven?" Marlene asked. "I've never seen you this rattled before."

"I'm okay" he replied. "I was just thrown by hearing who I'm up against."

"Who is zis man Marc?" Frenchie asked.

"I first heard about him while I was working for the company as Marc Spector. His real name is Slade Wilson. He was a soldier for the US military who volunteered for an experiment meant to create enhanced soldiers. He was the only successful test subject. After that he became a freelance mercenary and assassin. He works for whoever pays him, is loyal to no-one and is wanted for numerous assassinations."

As he spoke he couldn't help looking away. The last part sounded all too much like a description of himself during his days as Marc Spector. Marlene put a hand on his arm and he managed a small smile.

"So what is zee plan?" Frenchie asked.

"We'll head out to the safe house at dusk. Slade will make his move under cover of darkness so we need to be there before him."

"I'm coming with you" said Marlene firmly. "And no arguments! If this guy is that dangerous then you'll need all the help you can get."

Steven started to protest but then realised she was right. "All right. Frenchie and I'll take the chopper. You follow on the ground."

"Okay."

"I will get zee chopper ready" said Frenchie.

Miles away someone else was also making plans. His surroundings were far more utilitarian than the richly decorated mansion, with a wooden floor and walls that were bare save for the racks loaded with deadly weaponry.

A man sat at a simple desk and studied a laptop. On-screen was an address accompanied by a grainy photograph of a house.

"Found you" said Deathstroke.