Moon Knight had just taken Widow and Domino on a mission that resulted in the destruction of a meth lab belonging to the new syndicate. Overseeing it were the Green Dragons.

They weren't wise enough to bail, so they ended up dead for their troubles.

Marc Spector smiled from behind his mask as he looked over at Domino.

Domino: "What? Their luck ran out."

"And apparently, yours just ran out as well."

All three killers turned around and looked over at Razor Fist and MACH-IV, the former Beetle. Accompanying them were fully-armed punks with assault rifles.

MACH: "Well, well...shall we?"

Moon Knight took to the sky, where he went up against MACH. The former Beetle's new suit had wrist lasers, which met with Moon Knight's crescent darts.

A draw.

Abner Jenkins drew a laser-energy sword. Moon Knight, his adamantium staff. The two weapons clashed as Jenkins foolishly backed away, allowing Moon Knight to smash the side of his helmet in with a spiked left hook which knocked it off.

"Goodbye...Beetle."

"I am not the Beetle anymore! I am--"

Moon Knight was able to move behind Jenkins, ripping off his winged jetpack. And suddenly, MACH-IV was screwed as he descended toward earth, plummeting almost faster than an asteroid.

Moon Knight descended slowly, firing a zipline from his club as he touched down on top of Abner Jenkins' crumpled body.

He looked over at Domino and Black Widow, who had made short work of Razor Fist and the hired muscle as well.

Next.

Castle, Americop, Night Thrasher, and Tarantula were leaving the burning remains of a warehouse.

Spade and Jones were in Harlem, hoping to get information on the Super-Syndicate. Hopefully, these bastards had something to tell them. They had one of the local gangsters naked and tied up. By the ankles. On a crane. A Blood.

Spade removed the blindfold. The Slob was trying not to shit himself upon who he was staring at.

"Oh, shit!"

Spade: "Hi. I don't care to know your name, but I would like to introduce myself. My name is Damijin Spade. The Snypa."

Spade pointed over to Jones, who was staring at him.

"This is my new best friend, the Sentencer."

The thug turned his head to the massive man standing before him.

Jones: "I have questions that I'd like for you to answer."

"Man, fuck you! I ain't got shit to say to you niggas! So you can just kill me and be done with it!'

Spade: "That's the thing, punk. We actually are gonna kill you. But not until you answer our questions."

Jones: "And you get to decide how you die."

Jones pulled a combat knife out of a big black bag as well as some nails and a hammer. Spade was wielding a power drill, needles, a blowtorch and a hot glue gun.

"W-what are you gonna do to me?!"

Jones: "As Mr. Spade just said, the rate of your death is up to you. You wish to make it hard, then we have all the time in the world to skin you alive until you tell us what we want to know."

"You won't get away with this shit, Jones! You killed my homeboys, nigga! And they gonna come for yo' ass!"

Spade sighed.

"He's boring me, Luther- may I?"

The Sentencer stepped back.

"As you wish."

Spade picked up the power drill.

"So, first question: who you workin' for beside Jigsaw, nigga?"

"Your mama."

Spade smiled for a bit before powering on the drill and piercing the young 'banger's shoulder, forcing a shrill scream out.

Spade: "Try again."

Jones watched as Spade picked up the glue gun, trying hard not to smile sadistically.

"Sure you don't wanna tell me? How about I help out with family planning."

Suddenly, the young Blood realized that Spade and Jones would actually maim him if he didn't talk.

"I'll talk, I'll talk!"

Jones came back over.

"Speak."

"It's not Jigsaw! No, it's a new player come to town! He killed Jigsaw after he united all the sets!"

Jones: "Who is he?"

"He's the head of the Bloods. Every chapter. Call himself King Blood but we know him as Bloodknight! He promised your killer power!"

Jones: "Sounds like a lie."

Spade: "It isn't, Jones. I've taken on Bloodknight before and that son of a bitch is a bad motherfucker. Keeps surviving each fight. This time, he's dead."

Jones: "Any ideas?"

Spade: "Yeah, but first..."

Spade turned back to the Blood.

"Where's King Blood at?"

"He's in Manhattan! But I don't know where!"

Jones: "Good enough for us. You get a quick death."

Jones, pulling out his .50 AE Eagle, shot the punk once in the head.

The New Crime Central:

Bloodknight sat atop his throne, flanked by his best Blood generals, when a phone rang to report the bad news. Bloodknight threw the phone against the wall as more phones continued to ring.

This only meant one thing. That things under Jigsaw's previous leadership weren't going so well. Bloodknight didn't want to wait for the wedding. He was getting pissed off. That nigga Damijin Spade and his white bitch had to die. And soon.

"Fuck!!"

He got on his phone.

"Call that nigga Barracuda! We need him."

One month later: two weeks before the wedding:

Rose was with Tarantula, Widow, Gora, Scorpion, Elektra and Domino to pick out their dresses. They agreed that the theme for the bridesmaids would be black as well as Rose's wedding gown. However, her wedding gown would have a blood-driplet effect with small red splashes.

Just wait until Dami sees this.

Rose looked in the mirror at her custom wedding dress as her bridesmaids looked at each other.

Gora was playing with Domino's breasts and at how they were practically sticking out of her dress.

"Sexy," Gora said. "I think that the groomsmen will want us."

Widow rolled her eyes a bit.

"Please. Castle wouldn't know a hard-on if one got shoved up his ass."

Domino chuckled.

"I could change that if he let me. There's just something about grim middle-aged men, white skulls, and automatic weapons that make my tight blue pussy just..."

Widow: "Domino."

Domino: "What?"

Widow: "We don't need to know that."

Domino: "Please, like little Miss Black Rose here hasn't seen Frank Castle's hard body."

Rose blushed.

"I'll stick to hard-edged, sword-wielding black men, thank you."

Elektra was looking at her own dress, not bothering to pay attention to the other women and their conversation.

Tarantula: "And speaking of black men, have you ever seen the Sentencer?"

The Dragon Reeper stopped groping Domino.

"Luther Jones? Oh, my God. I have never seen such a big man move so fucking fast."

Widow: "I don't think Fury would want me to say this, but I wonder if Jones has that same speed in the sack."

Carmilla: "I'd love to find out for myself. Have you ever seen a man make mass murdering look so damn sexy?"

Rose was trying not to say anything, but she was secretly a fan of the Sentencer's work. And Elektra walked over to the group of ladies, who were standing at the wall of mirrors and drinking champagne.

"Please. Jones, Castle and Spade are impressive specimens in their own right, but no man compares to Daredevil."

The other six women were silent before bursting out with laughter.

Elektra, pulling out her sai: "And what's so funny? Matt can do everything they can. And he's blind."

Rose: "Wait, is Daredevil able to sense what he's going down on? Or where he's penetrating? I'm sure there's times he's hit the wrong hole."

Elektra, fuming: "That only happened once!"

Widow: "She's right. But Daredevil is the reason why I never let Fury near my ass."

The women, including Elektra, all laughed as they continued to talk about the men they knew and the men they admired.

Spade and his groomsmen had all picked out their suits, which they agreed would be all black. And of course, Spade's plan was to obviously turn his and Rose's wedding into an ambush. And of course, each suit had a good lining of body armor and thanks to Stark Industries, each suit had concealed wrist guns and jetpack. Of course, the suits were also made for comfort as well.

However, Jones had to get a suit custom-made to fit his massive frame.

Of course, this wedding was funded by the mountains of money extracted from the mountains of drug dealer and crime lord corpses.

Maracelli Hangout:

A good group of the Maracellis were all posted up in a private club. A nice little party with booze, bitches, and smokin' that good. A few of the Numbers were hittin' a bong while a couple of strippers entertained them.

Quentin Travis, also going by the number 20, was drinking from a Bacardi bottle while putting his face between the titties of this blonde bitch who had a nice, fat pussy. According to himself, he was the baddest motherfucker out of all the Maracellis. Except for Master Raphiel. And his protége Trevor. They called that dude 18. 18 was a lucky guy to be able to fuck that traitor bitch 16. Quentin always wondered what a redhead was like in the bed. And now, she was running off to marry the fucking Snypa. That punk-ass bitch Damijin Spade. He couldn't wait to be the one who put the Snypa six feet deep and anyone who got in his way...that would be most unfortunate.

He turned to the stripper.

"Shake that ass, girl!'

Quentin smacked the girl on the ass as she shook it in his face.

"Can you suck cock as good as you--HOLY SHIT!"

Quentin looked up as the door exploded into pieces. The strippers ran toward the back as two black men stepped inside, both wielding shotguns. Between them was a middle-aged white man, skull on his chest, also holding a shotgun.

"Oh. Shit."

Castle was the first to get to work as he wielded a USAS-12, firing 12 gauge rounds into a few Maracellis unfortunate enough to be at the bar.

Jones was next, holding a pair of Street Sweepers. He rolled forward as he outstretched his arms on either side, performing brain surgery on a couple of the Italian bangers.

This forced the rest of the Maracellis to get out their own guns as Spade pumped back and pulled the trigger on the MAG-7 he was holding, sending a thug flying back behind the bar, one side of his head gone.

It was on as the three vigilantes took cover from different places, exchanging gunfire with enemies. Spade's shotgun went empty as he pulled out an Automag V, a .50 cal hand cannon rivaling the Desert Eagle, and let loose on the Maracellis. Limbs were being severed and blood was spilled.

Castle drew his Colts and Jones, his Desert Eagles...

Quentin was hiding behind the couch he had been on seconds earlier, holding a S & W Model 625. He knew that the Snypa had come to New York, it didn't take a rocket scientist to know the Punisher was here, but the Sentencer?! He couldn't hope to survive a gunfight against Castle, Spade, and Luther Jones. Quentin was a lot of things, but a bitch he was not.

And so, Quentin popped out of cover and aimed toward Castle, who was taking out one of his boys.

"Castle!!"

Frank Castle turned around toward the voice, only for the source of the voice to go backward, two holes in both shoulders. Spade and Jones stood up. Spade was first, hoisting the punk up by his suit jacket with one hand and the other balled in a fist.

"I don't have time to be subtle, Travis, so I'll ask once," Spade said, his teeth gritting. "Where the fuck's your boss?"

The response from Quentin was bloody spit in Spade's face. Spade casually responded by driving the 'banger against a wall and driving his knee into his chest.

"Where is Raphiel?!"

Spade pointed the Automag V at Quentin's head, almost seething.

"He's with Bloodknight! We're gonna kill you, Spade! You and that backstabbing whor--"

Spade ended that conversation with a quick shot to the head.

"Don't you ever talk about Rose like that."

The Next Morning:

Crawford, Keaton, and Soap were with coroners and their teams. They all sighed.

"They've been here. Just look at this shit."

Keaton sighed.

"We need to do something about this and quick. I have a feeling our boys aren't by themselves."

Soap: "Who do you think's here?"

Keaton: "I wouldn't know. I've only been charged with the task of bringing in Jones."

Soap: "Well, I've seen a lot of things here in New York City. From Skrulls to Galactus. Stranger things can happen in New York."

Keaton: "Well, I have a feeling the shit's gonna hit the fan come the day of the wedding. And we better brace ourselves."

Crawford: "If we're gonna catch these guys, then we're gonna need to stake out the tower this alleged Syndicate are residing in."

Soap: "Then let's bust us some vigilantes."