Chapter 3: Museum Break-in
Life was back to being a soap opera and you found it terribly amusing. Marc and Steven had finally found a place of their own in New York, a tiny studio apartment that miraculously fit all of Steven's books and a small tank for Gus and Finn. Unfortunately this meant the apartment was very much cluttered, which offended Marc to no end. He would curse every time he woke up after a longer time and spend an hour or two just cleaning the flat and organizing stuff. After which Steven would complain because he claimed to have his own organization in the chaos and he hated Marc touching his stuff. On the other hand Steven insisted on puling up boundaries everywhere. Color coded drawers in the fridge. Differently patterned dishware. Two toothbrushes with different strength and color. A big cute calendar with dog pictures where he marked down days belonging to him and days belonging to Marc. And beware his wrath if Marc ever changed anything in the, neatly separated in half, closet!
Steven had found himself a part time job in a small bookstore around the corner, which he enjoyed very much. It belonged to an old Lady called Mrs. Kowalsky, who left Steven to open the shop in the morning and only came in around lunch time to take the later shift herself, after Steven clocked out at 2pm.
Steven was encouraging Marc to find something on his own but Marc was struggling. He'd never really held a job that didn't involve fighting and it was hard for him to go from divine avatar to minimum wage job, no matter how much he'd despised Khonshu. He half-heartily took on some freelance private investigation work but it was obvious to everyone who knew him that he wasn't happy with it.
And then there was the big argument.
Layla had called, reporting that she was almost done clearing the remains of Harrow's cult from Cairo and that she wanted to see Marc again. To talk about everything.
Marc obviously missed her, both as a person as well as a symbol of a happier time that lay past him. Steven had zero problem seeing Layla again but that in itself was a problem because Marc didn't want Steven anywhere near his wife.
"She's my wife!" Marc all but shouted at his reflection. "Don't think I forgot how you kissed her! You had no right!"
Steven threw up his hands. "You were the one who wanted to divorce her!"
Marc went red. "I only did that to protect her and you know it! But now Khonshu's gone and the cult is gone and she's safe again and I..."
"You want to get back together with her", Steven finished for him.
"Fuck, Steven! I love her. Of course I want her in my life. In my life. You are... You are important to me but you're your own person and I don't want to share her. Not her. Everything else but her."
Steven was quiet for a moment, just looking at him. At last, he sighed. "Fine."
"Fine?" Marc echoed, incredulous yet hopeful.
Steven shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant when it was obvious he was anything but. "I mean... I get it. Layla is gorgeous. I... I was kinda jealous that you had her when I... But... It's not like I love her like you do. I, I barely know her. I'm sure I could, if she ever gave me a chance but... I get it. I'll stay away from her."
"...Thank you", Marc made and it sounded like a huge weight was lifted off of him.
"Of course, that's only if that's fine with her", Steven shot back. "Because you know what that means, don't you?"
Marc regarded Steven's reflection warily.
Steven cleared his throat. "Like you said, I'm my own person. And I don't want to be alone forever any more than you do. So, if you insist I stay away from Layla... I'm going to go on my own dates."
"With whom?" Marc asked incredulously.
Steven blushed furiously. "I don't know! But the only reason I never got to have a girlfriend is because you were causing all those stupid blackouts!"
"That is not the only reason", Marc muttered.
"What was that!?"
Marc clawed at his own hair, muttering to himself.
"It's not fair for you to be the only one with a love life and you know it", Steven said. "But if you don't want to share Layla... That means she's got to share us."
"I can't believe I'm having this conversation", Marc muttered.
Steven crossed his arms in front of him. "I want my life back, Marc. I want... I want something normal. Or as normal as can be. And maybe that's not what youwant. If you want to go and be an artifact thief or something with Layla, fine. But I want my share too."
You stuffed another handful of popcorn in your mouth, grinning from ear to ear as you saw the two of them squabble. It was so refreshing to see them have problems like that. No matter what they decided, their life would not depend on it.
"Fine. Fine!" Marc finally exclaimed. "You're right. You're always right."
"So.. you'll call Layla?" Steven asked.
"Ugh. Yes, I'll call her", Marc made, sounding as if he'd rather do anything else.
But he did dial her number, his thumb hovering over the screen of the phone before he pressed it to his ear. The phone rang, each second ticking by like a countdown, until Layla's voice came through.
"Marc?" she asked, her tone warm but cautious, like she could sense something was off. "What's going on? Everything okay?" It was normally her that contacted the boys, not the other way around.
Marc exhaled, rubbing his thumb along the edge of the phone. Steven watched him from the reflection of the fish tank, eager to hear what Marc had to say, eager to get the conversation out of the way.
"Yeah, yeah, it's just... I've got something to tell you. Something important."
Layla's tone shifted, more serious now. "What is it? You're scaring me a little."
"I—uh, okay," Marc said, his words coming out slow, trying to find the best way to phrase it. "So, I've been talking to Steven... and, uh, well, he's... he's kinda been pushing me about something."
There was a beat of silence on the other end, and you could practically feel her curiosity piquing.
"Steven?" she repeated, a note of confusion in her voice. "Marc, what do you mean?"
Marc leaned back in his chair, his panic meter rising slowly. "Right, okay, so here's the thing. I… I really want to try again. With you. I… I know I was an asshole to you and if you don't want to see me again or… Or just remain friends or whatever, I get it. But… I'd really like to have you back in my life. I… I don't want a divorce. It's just… We—me and Steven—share the same body, right?" He rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "It's complicated. And... well, Steven thinks that since he's his own person, he has the right to date other women. While we're... while I'm still with you."
There was a long pause. You lifted another popcorn to your mouth, leaning forward a little.
Finally, Layla spoke, her voice calm but tight. "You're... you're asking me if I'm okay with Steven dating other women. While I'm with you?"
"Yeah," Marc muttered. "I know it sounds weird, but... Steven's not just a part of me. He's him. And... well, he wants a life of his own too. And that's… Fuck, I know it's messed up, I'm messed up, I completely get it if you say that's too much-""
"Marc, stop." Layla sighed deeply, her breath shaky through the phone. "I… I understand, Marc. It's a unique situation. And I... I know what it's like to feel like you need something more than just what you're given. But this is... this is a lot to ask, don't you think? I mean, you're asking me to accept him... sharing your body, your life—and then letting him date someone else?" She paused, as if trying to process the weight of it. "I never thought about this part of it, Marc."
You watched Marc's panic meter closely but while it was fluctuating, it was nowhere near dangerous levels.
"I don't want to share you with him, Layla. I won't. I can't", Marc said tightly
Layla was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, more resigned. "I know. And I want to be with you. I care about you, Marc. I do." She paused. "I know it can't ever be like before. I think I could make it work with both of you, though. I... I like Steven too, you know? He's kind. He's different, but... he's sweet. And if it were just the two of us—if you were okay with it—I'd give it a shot. I would try. But I understand if that's not what you want."
Yeah, that was not going to fly. You found it amusing that both Steven and Layla were willing to try but realistically, yeah, no way. Marc had already given up Moon Knight. He'd already given up the military. He had nothing that was his own left. Steven had swallowed it all and in such a short time too. It was his own fault, his own choice of course. Steven had been first formed as a representation of who Marc wanted to be after all. But he couldn't become Steven. It didn't work like that. Marc would always be Marc.
"No," he said firmly, his voice tight. "That's… I couldn't accept that. Either I'll be with you, or… Or neither of us will. Not… Not in a romantic manner, anyway. I couldn't do that."
Another long pause. You ate another popcorn. Finally, Layla sighed.
"Okay," she said softly. "I... I can't say I like it. But I get it. Steven... he's not... he's not you, Marc. And you're not him. I can't ask for both of you, not like that. I don't think I could love you both the same way anyway." She was quiet for a moment. "So, yeah. I guess... I guess I'm okay with it."
Marc let out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make this all weird, or put you in that position."
She chuckled faintly. "It's not weird, Marc. Just... complicated. And messy. But I get it. You're still you, even if you're sharing yourself with someone else. And that's... that's enough for me."
Marc closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. He should've been relieved but looked frustrated instead. Was that not what he'd wanted? You raised a brow at him, drawing on all your knowledge of Marc. He wasn't honestly disappointed that Layla wasn't more angry, was he? Like it somehow meant she loved him less if she was willing to share?
"Thanks, Layla," he said quietly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Me neither," she replied with a faint laugh, though there was something fragile about it. "Just... don't ever vanish on me again, Marc. I could not take that a second time."
"I won't. I promise."
It was better this way. You hadn't liked the romance arc much the last time around but... Marc had been happy with Layla before. Maybe he could be again. If only he stopped pushing her away for stupid reasons. It was like he wanted her to break up with him or something. Stupid guilt complex. Why couldn't he stop being such a masochist? Marc would be so lost without Steven, Jake and you.
After a long silence, Layla spoke again, her voice softer now, almost wistful. "I'll see you soon, Marc. Take care of yourself—and Steven, too. I think I'm starting to understand him, but... it's a lot, you know? All of you."
Marc smiled faintly. "I'll make sure he doesn't screw it up."
"I'm sure you will," Layla said, the warmth returning to her tone. "Take care, Marc."
"Yeah. You too," he replied before ending the call.
Marc sat there for a moment, staring at the screen, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the air. He closed his eyes and let out a long breath.
"That went well," Steven said with a mix of cheer and wariness.
"Shut up, Steven", Marc said. And for once, Steven did.
XxX
It was the weather that gave you the clue. The day was a sunny one with barely a cloud at the sky. Yet as the boys went about their business, odd gusts of wind would occasionally ruffle their hair, rattle some trash cans, send some loose paper flying. Khonshu was nearby. He was invisible still but you were familiar enough with the god's antics. Even Steven, who had no reason to suspect the god was still around, looked around warily.
You waited till the evening, till the boys got ready for bed. Steven grabbed a book to read, intend on staying up longer. But all you had to do was gently brush over the button by his screen, making him sleepy. When his eyes started to drop, you pinged Jake and once he was logged in, you switched them both smoothly.
"David? Wha-" Jake made, confused as he suddenly found himself in the body without a life or death situation anywhere to see. But he didn't even get to pose a question before a sudden gust of wind caused the window to fly open with a bang.
For you, Khonshu was merely a small avatar picture in the corner of the main screen, a bird skull with a long beak within the crescent of a moon. Jake, as the one currently in control of the body, would be able to see his figure entirely, probably standing in the open window.
"Come, my warrior. You have work to do", the little speech bubble from Khonshu's avatar read.
Jake got up without asking any further questions. He knew the drill by heart. Bandages started to wrap around his torso, pitch black around his legs and arms and white around his chest and tights. A white hood and mask covered his face, glowing white eyes within and a white cape formed at his back.
"Where to?" Jake asked and followed the god out of the window.
You briefly touched the picture of the little Khonshu avatar in the upper corner of the screen. At once the image shifted, instead of looking at Jake you saw out of his eyes and you spotted the mummified god making one effortless leap, more floating than jumping to a nearby roof. Khonshu started leading the way, Jake following behind and you leaned back, your view once again switching to third person.
Khonshu lead Jake to a grand building, sparsely illuminated in the night. It was a museum.
The world outside the museum was dark, the cold of New York's night air biting through the windows. The streetlights painted yellow halos on the wet pavement. Everything was quiet, the kind of silence that made you tense, waiting for something to break it.
And then, Khonshu's avatar spit out another speech bubble:
"There are thieves inside. Teach them a lesson, Jake Lockley."
Jake's fists tightened, and the muscles under the skin looked like they were made of steel. He was ready. Ready for whatever Khonshu had to throw at him. Eager for it even - it had been a long time since he'd last had a mission all for himself. Not just beating up a few noisy civilians that fell for Harrow's bullshit but something more substantial.
A gang of thugs had broken into the museum. You spotted them the same moment Jake did as he stalked through the shadows, the moonlight catching the edge of his cape. His hand slipped behind his back, retrieving two snow white handguns, little golden crescent moons on their handles. He didn't make a sound as he moved, but you knew the kind of chaos that was coming. You could feel it, a fire in the pit of your stomach.
There were six thugs, spread out, looting the Egyptian exhibit. You heard the shattering of glass, the clattering of broken objects. It was a mess. But Jake was already sizing them up, assessing who to take down first.
"David, want to have some fun?" Jake invited you silently. Using the chat function to talk to you, the text appeared in a thin line on the bottom of the screen.
"Hell yeah", you agreed, activated multi-player mode and readied your controller.
This game modus was how the system simulated co-fronting for you. Now you had partial control over the body and could use your controller to jerk Jake away from danger or put some extra strength behind his motions. Having two players concentrate on the same action also sharpened your perception. For you, that meant you could see tiny little screens appear hovering over the targets heads, marking them for takedown and judging their danger level. You never saw this kind of information when you were in the body alone. It was bleeding over from Jake, who as a physical protector had other advantages to his character class than you did.
The first thug didn't even know what hit him. He was bent over an ancient sarcophagus, rummaging through it. Jake was on him in a flash. You pressed the buttons quickly that would aid him move, make him faster, more precise. The aiming though you left to Jake, he was way better at it then you. One shot—bang—and the thug was flung backward, his body slamming into a nearby pillar. He didn't fall dead. He didn't even bleed. But the force of the bullet sent him sprawling, his muscles locked in an instant, like his body had been stunned by some invisible force.
Your lips curled into a smile. Steven with his silly little batons, knocking out people, never getting any blood on his hands. Marc with his crescent moon blades, always so dramatic but also more ruthless. And Jake? He was only one thing: efficient. Just like Marc's and Steven's weapons, his were not ordinary handguns. They were divine weapons and they carried with them Khonshu's judgment. The bullets would not be lethal unless Khonshu wanted them to be. These were just thieves and apparently not evil enough to deserve death.
Another thug went for a gun of his own. But Jake was already there, aided by you quickly turning your joystick. Two shots—bang, bang—and the thug dropped to the floor, his arms going numb. His gun slipped from his hand. His body jerked like he'd been hit with a jolt of electricity, muscles twitching, but he wasn't dead. Just incapacitated. Jake's guns, white as bone, fired with perfect accuracy. Each bullet landed with a thud, never fatal, but enough to take someone down.
The others fell just as fast, one by one, each hit sending them sprawling, their faces contorted in confusion, pain, disbelief. No one had time to react. It was like watching a well-oiled machine in action, cold and precise. Jake was at his best, moving like water, a blur of motion. He barely needed your help but you gave it to him anyway. Jake treasured his solo missions and you were happy that he would let you take part in them. With how rarely Jake logged in to talk to you, these missions were the most time you got to spend with your friend.
Now there was only the leader remaining. He was still standing, frozen in fear, eyes wide. His hand hovered near his own weapon, but he couldn't bring himself to draw it. You could see the panic in his eyes as Jake closed the distance, two white handguns still smoking in his grip.
"Make him talk", Khonshu ordered and Jake obeyed.
The glowing white eyes of Moon Knight were cold, predatory. He grabbed the thug by the throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The thug's feet dangled in the air, his hands scrabbling at Jake's iron grip, but it was useless.
"Why rob this museum?" Jake growled, his voice low, dangerous. "Who do you work for?"
You glanced towards the bag filled with the thug's booty. It was filled with small urns, statuettes and dishware.
The thug gasped, trying to speak, but his throat was constricted, his breath too shallow to get words out. When Jake loosened his grip a bit though, the foolish man spat in his face instead.
"I won't ask again", Jake added, his voice like gravel, ignoring the offending spittle as it sizzled on his bandaged shoulders, evaporating.
The thug's face twisted in pain, his eyes desperate. But it wasn't until Jake started breaking fingers, one by one, that the guy finally broke.
Each snap of bone echoed in your mind. You winced, though you knew the man probably deserved much worse than this.
"Grayson Blackwell," the thug gasped, his voice shaky. "He's the CEO of Blackwell Inc, some big oil company... He paid us to steal those things. The grave goods, the stuff from the tombs... He said it was worth a fortune, wanted to pay us real well! He just told us to take it... take it all."
You glanced around again at the display cases that remained untouched.
"They took none of the jewelry and gold stuff", you commented with a scowl.
"None of it is of value to the humans of this country, to non-believers", Khonshu said. "Whatever their employer was looking for, I do not think they found it here. No matter. For now, the tomb goods must be returned to Egypt. Take them."
Jake didn't hesitate. He moved toward the bag filled with the stolen artifacts, his white handguns tucked back into their holsters, the stilled bodies of the thugs scattered around him like discarded toys. He picked up the statues, the ancient pottery, the priceless relics. He handled them carefully, almost with reverence. Certainly more careful than he was with human lives.
Once that was done, Jake turned away but just as he was about to jump back towards the window he had broken to get in, Khonshu stopped him.
"Him", he said, using his staff to point towards the gang's leader. "Do not leave him alive. His soul is too tainted."
Jake turned back to the thug, who was still struggling for breath, slumped down against a pillar.
"Wait, waitwaitiwait!" the man shouted when Jake drew one is his handguns, pointing it right at his forehead. "I told you, I told you everything I know!"
Bang.
Your eye twitched as you saw the spray of red explode out of the man's head, painting the pillar behind him. Jake gave no reaction other than his fingers curling a bit tighter around the handle of the gun before he put it back in its holster.
Jake thrived at being Khonshu's warrior. He didn't like the executions, you knew, but they were the price he had to pay.
Jake glanced down at the body, his expression cold, indifferent. Without another word, he walked out of the museum, the weight of the stolen history in his hands. The moonlight spilled through the entrance, painting his figure in silver as he disappeared into the night.
Another job completed.
Once you were outside, jumping from roof to roof, Khonshu hovering in the distance, you entered the open chat, using Jake's mouth and voice to talk without completely taking over.
"Should we be concerned about some rich guy looking for Egyptian artifacts?" you asked the god. Moon Knight wasn't normally send to stop robberies. The exception were robberies of ancient Egyptian artifacts or robberies committed by people bad enough to deserve death for other reasons. This job had had both. However, it was unusual for the moon god to demand an interrogation of such small flies.
"Petty thievery is not something you have to concern yourself with unless it covers a greater crime", Khonshu answered. Now that you were looking through Jake's eyes, you could see the bird god in all his mummified glory instead of the cute little avatar he was on your screen.
"I do sense a conspiracy. But for now, I will observe and gather more information. When the opportunity presents itself, you need to meet Blackwell so I can gaze into his soul."
"That could be a bit difficult. Millionaires don't really belong to the circles we move in", you reminded him.
"You will find a way", Khonshu said, his voice allowing no talking back.
"They grabbed a bunch of grave goods", Jake said quietly. "Including ushabti. I don't like that."
Yes, you'd noticed that too.
"Exactly how many gods did the Ennead banish into stone?" you asked aloud.
"The better question", Khonshu replied, "is how many of those are missing from Giza."
With those ominous words, Khonshu vanished, signifying the end of the mission and Jake relaxed. You ended the multi-player mode, leaning back to give Jake full control again.
"I need a new garage", he muttered. "A place to store this stuff."
"You have bigger problems", you reminded him helpfully. "Khonshu wants this stuff returned. You can't exactly borrow a whole weekend to fly to Cairo without the boys finding out."
Jake cursed. "Damn, didn't think of that. Marc always handled that part. What do I do?"
That was a good question. In the past, Layla had been a great help in redistributing any goods Khonshu considered 'stolen'. It wasn't his main concern to return artifacts to the countries of their origin. But the god did still watch over the legacy of his kind more than he watched over banks or jewelry stores or other places that attracted criminals. If bad guys in need of punishment just so happened to walk in there, he'd have Moon Knight right two wrongs with one blade.
"...I guess I can find out if there are any museums doing active exchanges with places in Egypt, then smuggle this stuff on the same ship or something", you mused.
"You'll take care of it?" Jake asked hopefully.
"...Sure, yeah", you agreed after a moment of hesitation. It shouldn't be too hard. You could borrow a few minutes here and there when one of the boys was daydreaming, using their phone to browse the internet. Marc's phone, not Steven's - Steven never deleted his browser history, bless his heart.
"Now let us find a garage for you that you can use in the meantime", you said. "We need to hurry if we want to be back before 1am."
Jake rummaged in the side pockets of the bag he was carrying and hit gold, pulling out two wallets.
"That should carry me over till I can catch a bigger fish" he decided, counting the cash inside. You nodded satisfied. Who ever said it didn't pay to do good deeds?
XxX
Hello my dear readers!
I'm officially opening the discussion for everyone: What do you think David and Jake would call their pet goldfish, if they got one? Because you know they want it. You know they do...
Next up: Spider-Man!