Marc was kicking a mangled broken thing on the ground.
Technically speaking the mangled broken thing was a man. The man's name was not important, the information this man had was the important thing.
Frank had initially approached the man alone, "Hey."
"Hey," the obviously nervous man tried to keep walking.
Frank backed him into a wall, "Word on the street says you know where that gang is planning to strike next."
The man shook his head, "You've got the wrong guy."
"Y'see," Frank said, "I don't really believe you."
"I don't know anything!"
"My sources say that you are quite close to a certain somebody."
"That doesn't mean anything!"
"Sure it does," Frank tilted his head, "I know you're lying."
The man couldn't look Frank in the eye, "What are you gonna do about it?"
Frank smirked, "Oh I'm not gonna do anything. I'll give you one more chance to tell me what you know."
"Then you'll let me go?" the man asked hopeful.
"No, then my friend here," Frank jerked his head back a bit, "will step in."
Marc used that as his que to step out of the shadows. His presence didn't seem to affect the man all that much.
"I ain't gonna tell you nothin'. Do your worst," the man spat.
Frank stepped back, "You hear that Moony?"
Marc nodded as he strolled towards the man, "Yeah."
Marc shoved the man on the ground and started his work. He kicked him all over with plenty of cracks and snaps over. Frank could hear something smash before the man vomited all over the floor, but that didn't deter Marc. Marc kept going.
Now there was a lot of talk about Marc Spector. Frank had heard all of the gossip. People threw around words like lunatic, psycho, and schitzo more often than they said his name.
They all sounded hypocritical to Frank. Who didn't have issues in this community? It didn't matter to him if Marc heard voices or if Marc was more than one person inside like they said. Marc was useful. That's what mattered to Frank.
Marc's shoes were covered in blood and in that moment Frank first realized just how beautiful he really was.
When Marc finally stopped it was abrupt and almost unnatural. The universe was begging him to keep going.
A few moments after Marc said, "I think he's dead."
The 'sorry about that' went unsaid.
Frank put his arm around Marc, "There are other people that know just as much as, probably more than, this guy. We'll get our information elsewhere."
Frank leaned in and discovered that Marc's lips tasted of copper with a twinge of that artificial flavoring they put in medicine. It was so fitting.