Hi, everyone, MarcellusMiro66 here! This is the seventh installment of the Titans Alliance series. Taking a page from the 2004 film adaptation of the Punisher (which pays homage to the action films of the 1960s and the 1970s, such as the Dirty Harry series, The Getaway, The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, The Godfather, Bonnie and Clyde, and Mad Max), I'm paying homage to the action films of the 1970s to the mid 2010s.

The story sees Corey Riffin as the Punisher as he avenges the rape of his friend. As he does so, he delves into the backstories of his deceased parents. The title is a play on The Raid: Redemption.

The first chapter in its majority is a major 'What If?' on GROJBANDIAN180's Just Wanna Scream; the entire story is a Potential Crossover between Grojband and Phineas and Ferb.

Enjoy! If you can...

(Tuesday, October 7th 2014)

(12N)

Corey Riffin was a 18-year-old high school student with black eyes and hair (it was formerly blue). He wore a blue denim jacket above a black long sleeve shirt, a pair of black and white high top sneakers, and a brown beanie. His preferred lunch was a plain slice of pepperoni with loaded fries and a Coke bottle. He sat outside on the bleachers after the table he usually sat by himself was crowded with unwelcome students. At the end were the Newmans, spying on him and not exactly incognito. Their intention was to get their hands on Corey's diary, which supposedly harbored his serious secrets and ludicrous lyrics, revealed through this cursory chatter:

"Question: Why are we stalking Riffin? I thought we were done with him when Grojband was done..."

"It's that notebook of his; I need to know what's inside it. Probably his diary or something."

"I don't think so, Carrie. Back in the day, Riffin didn't have a diary – "

"Okay, fine. Still, that doesn't mean I should stop... Hey, where's Lens?"

"He's talking to his brother Zach, telling him that Riffin is gonna beat him up."

Zach was ticked off to say the least and, extending his throwing arm, hurled a football at Corey, who glanced up to find a football collide with his face.

BAM!

Corey tumbled down the bleachers and landed face first into the ground; his diary didn't flew toward the Newmans like it should have. His vision consisted of darkness until he was flipped over by Principal Jackson and her assistant. As he attempted to open his eyes, he only listened through his ears; what he heard was the enitre football team, the Newmans, and many of the students in range cackling and chortling all the same. The faculty and staff arrived and began to break up the crowd, unaware of the real madness about to break out.

Corey, as he stood up, felt an unfamiliar feeling boil in his stomach: it was one of pure anger.

BAM!

It was because of this that Corey unleashed his fury onto the one who threw the fucking football in the fucking first place: Zach Sill. Balling his hands into fists, he threw a punch of his own, stunning and disorienting him. As he tackled him to the ground, laughs reverted to cheers as the black-haired senior deliver a beating to the hot-headed jock while the adults attempted to break up the fight. The students' cheers abruptly ceased when they realized that this particular student meant business; blood splattered in every direction as Corey deliver blow after blow of bombastic bloodiness –

"Corey, please! He said he's sorry!"

It was because of this that Corey finally ceased his beatdown. His eyes blinked and they laid on the picture he had painted. Unknowingly horrified by the way that this scuffle escalated quickly (just as the rest of the students and staff were), he feigned ignorance and frowned, slowly stand up and looking down upon a mumbling and muttering mess of a former badass turned pussy. He turned tail and walked away from Zach and the rest of the school, taking up his backpack and placing down his notebook as he did so.

From the outside city limits of Peaceville to the inside city limits of Chicago, Corey found the Hawthorne Grill just like that. It was a delicious throwback to diners with a 70s vibe; it was precariously similar to the Jack Rabbit Slim's from Pulp Fiction, a suspicion confirmed when he entered inside. When he did, he was escorted to a table built in a car and ordered a bacon cheeseburger with a side of steak fries and a vanilla milkshake. He made no mistake of not leaving his wallet at home and pulled it out for a $20.

"Excuse me, is somebody else sitting with you?"

Corey noticed the subtly in the voice and glanced up to find himself looking at the most beautiful girl since Laney. She had black hair (in a ponytail), blue eyes, and an outfit consisting of a pink 3/4 sleeve shirt with a similar belt, white pants, and pink sneakers. She clutched a tray holding the mirror equivalent of his entrée, sincerely smiling as she did so.

"No...not at all," Corey cocked his head and allowed the girl to sit down, "Corey Riffin."

Corey stuck out his hand for her to shake, which she did, "Isabella. Isabella Garcia-Shapiro."

For a few hours, the two of them conversed with each other and even shared a dance on the dance floor. When the clock struck seven, the couple emerged from the diner a laughing stock of a mess. Their laughter had died down and a somehow solemn silence followed,

"Listen, Corey...about what happened to you...I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I may have deserved that."

"You deserved to have your ass handed to you by your former friends?"

"...Okay, you may have a point. Still, it's my fault for almost burning down the neighborhood."

"Maybe, but there's a thing called redemption, Corey. It's not too late to redeem yourself."

With that, Isabella delivered a light peck on Corey's cheek, smiling sincerely before turning tail and leaving him standing dumbfoundedly in the middle of the sidewalk. He brought a hand up to his cheek, caressing it softly and began to smile as well.

That had been nine months ago.

(Thursday, July 16th 2015)

(12N)

Nine months later, Corey had remained in Peaceville and got past the last year of high school. However, even after those nine months, he could not forget Isabella and that one wonderful night. In fact, how could he not remember? She was the one reason why he was still alive to this day. She breathed new life into him and that kiss was the cherry on top of his rejuvenation. To him, it had a bittersweet taste to the sensation; he wouldn't see her again because of it.

That is, until he turned on the TV.

"This just in: Four young men armed with a multitude of weapons arrived at the Mid-Summer's Festival in Danville at exactly 12:00PM and opened fire on attendants. The terror lasted for approximately 111 minutes before they escaped with a victim by the name of Isabella Garcia-Shapiro."

Corey, who had just finished taking a shower, could look on the news report in convenient bewilderment. He instantly reached for the remote and turned up the volume to its max. He watched in shock as a picture of Isabella was displayed on the small screen; his shock turned into horror as he listened to the full details of the report. His horror eventually turned into determination as his hands balled up into fists, an action repeated not long ago.

Corey packed up the remnants of his clothes in his suitcase before dressing up in all black: a leather coat, a long-sleeve collared shirt, a pair of black jeans, and a pair of flat-bottomed boots, with the exception of a white undershirt. He took up his suitcase and headed out to his 1970 Dodge Charger. Turning over the engine, he drove off and prepared for a three day drive from Peaceville to Danville, the path of which he placed on his GPS.

Corey needed to see Isabella again. He just had to.

(6:00PM)

"Please! Please don't kill me!"

"Oh, darling...I'm not gonna kill ya," the masked man feigned reassurance before maliciously smirking and brandishing a camera in one hand, a razor in the other; three other men looked on in the background in gratuitous glee,

"I'm just gonna hurt ya – really, really bad."