Harlem ...
The man known as Amos stands behind a folding table on a street corner, flanked by a few of his associates. Spread out on the table is an assortment of merchandise that is likely stolen or fake. "DVDs, iphones, Gucci bags," he calls out to the passers-by, "You want it? We got it. And if we ain't got it, we'll get it. Hey brother, you interested in buying your girl something nice?". A figure walks up to the table, "I'm interested." Amos doesn't look up at the figure at first, "Whatcha need, man?". When he finally looks up, his eyes widen.
"Famous Amos," Luke Cage says with a smirk. He now wears fine clothing: a yellow button down shirt and black vest, "It's been a while."
"Hey Luke, go bother someone else," Amos groans, "The Stokes are gone, man. You know I don't work for them no more."
"Word on the street is you have guns for sale. You sure you don't have some Hammer weapons stashed somewhere? Maybe something from back in the day?"
"People talk. What can I tell ya?"
"I'm gonna need to take a look at your inventory just to make sure."
Some time later, Amos unlocks a storage unit with Luke standing over him. "Everything we have is legal, legit, and best of all, non-lethal," Amos tells him as he opens the door. Inside are several rows filled with illegal products.
"Legit, huh?," Cage walks inside and takes a look, "These bootlegs and Gucci knock offs are very authentic," he turns and notices an expensive sound system on a shelf, "I guess this fell off a truck?"
"What do you care, man? Aren't you the Godfather of Harlem now? You're running Harlem's Paradise now but you still acting like you give a shit."
Cage becomes serious, "I give a shit. The only reason you're a low level criminal now instead of an arms dealer is because I allow it. I'll be checking up on you. Remember..."
"No drugs, no guns, no killin'. We know!"
"Keep it in mind," Cage reaches out and tips the sound system off the shelf, letting it crash to the floor, "Oops."
Amos shakes his head angrily as Cage leaves, "Karma comes back to you, man."
"I don't believe in that Eastern stuff," Cage continues on his way,"You got the wrong person."
Chinatown...
Colleen Wing leaves Bayard Community Center, her sword slung across her back. Misty Knight leans against her car in the parking lot, waiting for her.
"Hey, Colleen."
"Hey, Misty. I hope you're hungry, `cause I'm starving."
"I'm sure you have an appitite. Being a vigilante on top of a community organizer sounds exhausting."
"Danny had it easy. He didn't have to have a day job."
"Have you heard back from him?"
"Not yet. How are things in Harlem?"
"Not great. Luke is still acting as the Godfather of Harlem. To his credit, crime has gone down but..."
"But you know it's only a matter of time?"
"Sooner or later, we're gonna have to take him down. You know that."
"Considering he broke Clare's heart, it's not gonna take much to convince me. Still, I'm already busy enough with the Hatchet Gang. You know Sherry Yang owns this place, right?"
Misty looks over Colleen's shoulder and notices Hatchet Gang members leaving the building and heading to their car, "The leader of the Yangsi Gonshi. I remember."
"We have a bit of a truce at the moment, but I've been keeping an eye on her people. From what I've heard, things are heating up between them and the Carbone Family."
"Both organizations operate in Harlem... and subsequently answer to Luke Cage."
"Things are getting complicated. I'm not sure if we can do this. Not with just the two of us."
"Don't worry, I think we can find someone to help us out if we need to."
Queens...
A middle aged man sets a golf ball on a tee and line sup his shot. It's a sunny day on the golf green as the man takes his shot with a bodyguard and caddy nearby. Jessica Jones walks up to the man, awkwardly holding a golf club.
"Gregory Willard?," she asks, "I'm Jessica Jones."
Gregory looks cautiously at his bodyguard before addressing her, "The private investigator, right?"
"Not anymore. I'm with the New York Bulletin. I'd like to ask you about your company's off shore tax haven."
"No idea what you're talking about. Now why don't you leave before I call security? I'm sure they wouldn't take too kindly to trespassers."
She holds up the golf club, "Actually, I'm a member. I'm not trespassing and as this is a public area, I have just as much of a right to be here as you."
Gregory turns to his bodyguard, "Throw her out of here and I'll triple your pay."
The bodyguard lunges toward Jessica, but there's a blur of motion and some grunting. Gregory goes wide-eyed and when the bodyguard hits the grass, he has a golf club wrapped around his neck. "That wasn't smart," she tells him.
Gregory nervously and he rolls his eyes, "Fine. I'll talk a few questions but don't expect to find any evidence to those unsubstantiated rumors."
"It won't take more than five minutes."
"Geez, if you want to be a superhero, you should be wearing a mask and going after real criminals."
"A mask isn't my style."
Hell's Kitchen...
Matt Murdock runs his fingers along a braille document with Karen Page sitting next to him. Foggy Nelson enters the backroom of his family's deli, carrying boxes, "That's the last of the files," Foggy tells them as he places them on the table, "Luckily for us, I got to keep a lot of my old clients from Chao & Benowitz. It'll help us land on our feet."
"Now we just need to get rid of the meat smell," Matt complains.
"The smell isn't that bad. Not all of us have an overly sensitive nose. Karen doesn't mind. Right, Karen?"
"I don't even have powers and I know it smells like meat," Karen admits.
"C'mon, it's the backroom of a deli. What do you expect? Let's make this work, huh?"
"It beats meeting at a condemned boxing ring," Matt tells him.
"That's the spirit."
"Well, with the last of the boxes in our office and our mood uncharacteristically lightened, I have to take my leave," Matt gets up and reaches for his cane, "I'm afraid I have an appointment to make."
"Like a legit appointment or a 'punch someone in the face' appointment?"
"I'm taking out a loan. That's all," Matt smiles as he begins to leave, "Just because I was dead, it doesn't mean my debt went anywhere."
"Just promise me, if any debt collectors come, you won't punch them in the face."
Matt laughs, "Believe it or not Foggy, there are worse people out there than me."
New Jersey...
It's night now. The open sign in a bar window is flipped around as a single customer drunkenly steps out. "Have a good night," the bartender locks the door behind him and walks through a dimly lit bar and takes a seat at a table alongside a large bouncer. Across the table sit three more men with a large duffel bag. "Let's get down to business," the bouncer says as he reaches behind his seat and lays a briefcase on the table, "Thirty grand as promised." The man sitting across the table opens the briefcase and begins to leaf through stacks of money, "Hope you don't mind if I count it here. My boys will show you the hardware." One of the men opens the bag, revealing several guns and ammo.
"Not bad," the bartender begins to inspect the weapons along with the bouncer.
One of the dealers stands to his feet as the transaction continues, "If everyone's square, I gotta take a leak."
"Down the hall to the right," the bartender tells him as he dismantles the colt 45 in his hands.
The dealer walks down the hall and turns into the restroom. When he is finished at the urinal, he goes to the sink to wash his hands, not noticing the stall behind him slowly opening. He does however, notice the window across the room and sees that it has been opened wide enough that a full-grown man could sneak inside. "Oh shi-," he mutters just before a gloved hand slams his face into the mirror. The dealer is spun around and rammed head first into the wall, shattering some tile before his face is dragged down to the floor, tearing more tiles off in his wake. With the man bloodied and unconscious, a knife comes down at the base of his neck to finish the job. The figure brings the knife chest high and wipes it off, exposing a white skull painted onto a kevlar vest. Frank Castle puts the knife away and quietly leaves the room.
In the bar, the dealers hold the money while the bar employees have the bag of guns resting on a table. "We'll see you boys next time," the dealer tells them before turning toward the restroom, "Hey, Phil. You about done in there?" His answer arrives in the form of a bullet through his forehead. The others leap into action, grabbing what weapons they might have in their jackets just before Castle rounds the corner, unloading a wave of bullets from a semi-automatic. The bouncer and remaining dealers get several bullets through the chest before falling over tables and chairs. The bartender has just enough time to throw himself over the bar just before bullets strike the bottles of liquor behind him. "The Punisher... Shit!," the bartender mutters under his breath as he grabs the sawed-off shotgun under the counter. He cocks it and leaps to his feet, ready to take aim. Castle flips a table over on its side and stoops down for cover just before the bartender unloads a blast the rips the top portion of the table off. He comes around the bar and slowly approaches the busted table, but sees no sign of Castle. A bullet rips through the bartender's ankle, causing him to scream and fall to the floor. There, he notices Castle laying on his side just before another bullet rips through his shoulder, forcing his weapon away from him. Frank makes his way to the bleeding man and aims for his forehead.
"Give me a name," Frank growls.
"Rosalie Carbone."
Frank pulls the trigger.