Marvel: Terror Stream

It was 8 in the morning when Luna Graham groggily opened her eyes.

Sunlight filtered weakly through the cheap blinds of her modest apartment.

She was sprawled across her bed in loose, comfortable clothes - a T-shirt and soft cotton shorts.

Normally, someone who had just publicly executed a man on a hijacked stealth ship the day before would be suffering from cold sweats, panic attacks, or at least a mild existential crisis.

Luna, however, just smiled. It was a remarkably relaxed, deeply peaceful smile.

"Hngghh... hah~" she exhaled, letting out a long, satisfying morning stretch. Her oversized top rode up slightly, revealing her toned abdomen.

She rolled over, swinging her legs off the bed, and let her bare feet hit the cool wooden floor before casually sliding them into a pair of fluffy bathroom slippers.

After a quick, thoroughly normal morning routine - brushing her teeth, washing her face - she shuffled into the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee.

The lighting in the kitchen was incredibly dim, the blinds pulled tightly shut against the morning sun. But the darkness didn’t bother Luna in the slightest. If anything, it felt comforting.

She sipped her warm coffee slowly, savoring the bitterness, and opened the news app on her phone.

The face of J. Jonah Jameson filled her screen, his mustache quivering with barely-contained outrage.

"Yesterday afternoon, the masked menace known as Spider-Woman officially broke loose from whatever small imaginary restraints she claimed to have and ruthlessly attacked the D.C. police!"

Jonah bellowed into the microphone, slamming his fist on his desk.

"But today, the consequences of her actions have finally arrived. While we were still waiting for an official statement from the D.C. Police Department, it seems the government was multiple steps ahead!"

"As of six o’clock this morning, Spider-Woman - along with the deeply evil, undeniably sketchy former S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nicholas Fury - have officially been declared traitors to the country and highly dangerous fugitives!"

He held up a generic-looking manila folder, waving it at the camera as if it contained the nuclear launch codes.

"From this official government report, it has come to light that the terrorist hijacking of the covert government ship yesterday was instigated by none other than Nicholas Fury himself! It was all an elaborate, twisted play to steal critical national security data and sabotage our great nation. And Spider-Woman was obviously in on the plot! She actively helped the terrorists!"

Luna took another quiet sip of coffee, watching the angry man shout.

"With all this proof, I’d say her love affair with the terrorist Veritas is now officially confirmed! The clip that we had dismissed yesterday now fully makes sense!"

The screen split. Jameson’s ranting face shrank to the right, and on the left, the now-infamous clip began to play.

There was Veritas, his cracked white mask tilted shyly, his voice carrying that insufferable, teasing lilt.

"But I have to ask, and please be honest with me... Is it duty that brings you here tonight? Or is it something more... personal? Something... romantic, perhaps?"

He leaned against the wall, the picture of theatrical vulnerability.

"Is it... love?"

And then Spider-Woman replies...

"Oh, definitely, love."

Obviously, they had cut the part where she says "I love punching terrorists in the face.", but everyone got Jonah’s point. If what the government report said was true.

A minute - that was the maximum Luna could listen to this angry man’s shouting.

Instead, she navigated to her saved videos and tapped on a news segment from yesterday morning, before Spider-Woman’s daylight brawl with the police.

"The scale and sheer brutality of the crimes committed by this masked madman have officially grown completely out of hand. From his very first appearance, Veritas has sadistically played with his victims’ deepest fears, traumatizing them forever. But his rap sheet is now growing exponentially by the hour."

A graphic popped up next to the anchor, listing his crimes like a horrifying grocery receipt.

"Psychological harm, domestic terrorism, destruction of public property, international hijacking, first-degree murder, and the solicitation to commit murder... all executed with a manic, painted smile. A scary thing about yesterday’s attack was the fact that he effortlessly hijacked every single digital screen in America, arrogantly broadcasting himself as he relished in his victims’ pain. With that level of technological advantage, we’re no longer as safe as we imagined."

The screen transitioned to a blurry, zoomed-in clip of Veritas cheerfully dusting off his tailored suit right after he had point-blank flash-fried two elite S.H.I.E.L.D. rescue operatives.

"It’s honestly terrifying to think," the anchor continued, shaking her head in disbelief, "that even the combined, heroic efforts of our nation’s greatest soldier, Captain America, and the popular vigilante Spider-Woman... together... could not stop a single super-powered terrorist in a Jester mask."

To Luna, it didn’t matter what this foolish, hair-sprayed anchor had to say about Veritas. Let the world call him a psychopath, masked madman, or a super-powered terrorist.

To Luna, he was something more than that... something greater.

Besides, she hadn’t saved the video for the commentary. What mattered were the clips.

As the anchor droned on about Veritas’s crimes, the screen cycled through footage of him.

And then... There!

Luna’s thumb froze over the screen.

It was a clip of Veritas standing behind her. His gloved hands resting gently on her shoulders. His cracked mask tilted close to her ear. The gun in her trembling hands. His voice, soft as silk, guiding her, steadying her, giving her the strength to do what needed to be done.

Luna set her coffee mug down, stood up from the dining chair, and walked back to her bedroom. Along with her phone, she slipped under the covers, pulling the blanket up to her head.

An hour later, she emerged from the blanket, looking more refreshed than she had when she’d first woken up.

After a quick, thoroughly enjoyable shower, Luna found herself standing in front of her bathroom mirror.

Her bright green eyes stared back at her naked, bare reflection. Her wet, pitch-black hair clung to her pale skin, the heavy strands falling down to cover her chest. A few stray droplets of warm water slowly ran down her neck, tracing the curves of her collarbone and abdomen.

She tilted her head to the side, her eyebrows furrowing slightly.

Something didn’t feel quite right about her appearance.

(Image)

Opening her makeup drawer, she dug past the bright pinks and soft nudes until she found a neglected tube of the darkest, blackest shade of lipstick she owned.

She uncapped it and carefully applied the pitch-black color to her lips.

But she didn’t stop there.

Holding the black lipstick like a sacred paintbrush, she brought it up to her cheekbones. With slow, deliberate strokes, she drew a single, thick black line trailing down from the bottom of her left eye to her jawline.

Then, she mirrored it on the right cheek.

She capped the lipstick and set it down, looking back at her reflection.

Thick, black tear marks now stained her cheeks, perfectly identical to the painted tears on her god’s mask.

Luna smiled.

Yes. She looked much better like this... Like HIM.

Perhaps, in a few days she would go out and do something like him as well...

To aid in her god’s glorious purpose.

But just then, she heard the familiar smooth voice. Her phone, unprompted, had switched to life...

"Greetings, people of Washington DC..."

Luna’s smile widened as she realized what this voice meant.

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