Location: Suburban New York | Early Morning | Rain Tapering Off
The rain had stopped, leaving a faint mist in the chilled morning air. John Wick moved like a man possessed.
He stepped into the basement of his quiet suburban home — a sanctuary buried beneath floorboards, where tools of his former life lay hidden.
With measured efficiency, John took up a heavy sledgehammer and shattered the concrete floor.Chunks of debris gave way to a wooden chest beneath.The past stared back at him as the lid creaked open.
Gleaming gold coins.Stark black cases containing pistols, rifles, spare clips.Stacks of European cash.
He felt the weight of years lost, of promises broken.And he embraced it all without hesitation.
He pulled out a perfectly tailored black suit — one as sharp and deadly as the steel that lined its pockets.Pressed fabric and Kevlar stitching.He donned the shirt, slid on the jacket, knotted the tie with ritualistic precision.
Then, with hands practiced and cold, he loaded an assortment of compact pistols and extra mags into his case.A shotgun, carefully assembled, folded into a sport-bag.A combat knife.A wristwatch — face dark, hands ticking like the quiet breath before a storm.
Finally, a photo of Helen.He held it a moment too long — then tucked it into his inner pocket.
The house was silent as John Wick climbed back up the stairs, each step heavy with inevitability.
🎬 Meanwhile — Manhattan Alleyways
The city was waking up. Delivery vans. Pedestrians.And Agent 47 was watching it all unfold from the gloom of an alley.He was seated on a wooden crate, his Silverballers resting across his knees, gloved hands methodical as they clicked rounds into place.
He'd been idle long enough — waiting for his system to give him something concrete.And then it did.
SYSTEM ALERT — NEW CONTRACT:
TARGET NAME: BABA YAGA
INTEL: NONE
LOCATION: UNKNOWN
REWARD: ???
PENALTY: DEATH
47's brow furrowed imperceptibly.
"Baba Yaga." An alias. Known as a boogeyman in Russian folklore. Suggestive of a feared figure — someone lethal.No face. No identity. No trail.
He raised his gaze to the neon haze bleeding into the mist.He had hunted shadows before.He would do so again.
🎬 Elsewhere — The Continental Hotel, Downtown Manhattan
John Wick stepped inside the Continental with the weight of purpose in his stride.The lobby was hushed. Rich carpeting. Polished marble.Chandelier light glinted off the concierge desk.
"Welcome back, Mr. Wick," Charon greeted, bowing his head."You look like you're preparing for something significant."
John inclined his chin, his gaze as sharp as the bullets in his pockets."I am," he replied.And that was all.
He moved past immaculate halls toward a room that had been prepared for him — the gunsmith already waiting with tools laid out.
In that same city, elsewhere, 47 was also making his way through the tangled streets — feeling the gravity of this unknown hunt.
Baba Yaga. A ghost story? Or simply someone careful enough to stay hidden?A ghost is just a target that hasn't been found yet.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt something more than simple resolve.Intrigue.
The night was far from over.And the most dangerous man in New York was about to collide with the world's most dangerous assassin.
TO BE CONTINUED…