On the other side of the city—
John Wick had just fought his way from the street into a stable, killing every assassin who came after him. Now mounted on a horse, he burst out into the open once again.
No sooner had he galloped onto the highway than two assassins on motorcycles began pursuing him.
Racing under the overpass, one of them got close enough to reach out and try to pull John off the horse, but failed several times.
John timed it just right—he slapped the man's helmet, causing him to lurch forward and exposing the gun strapped to his lower back.
Without hesitation, John leaned down from the saddle, yanked the pistol from the assassin's waist, and fired three shots straight into his neck.
Bang. Bang. Bang!
The assassin died instantly, his bike veering out of control and crashing into a nearby truck.
Another motorcyclist was still closing in.
John slid his body to the side of the horse, hiding along its flank, and from his concealed position, fired several shots at the incoming motorcycle.
The rider lost control, smashing into a parked car ahead.
After dealing with both, John looked back to confirm no one else was tailing him. But he was exhausted—the brutal gauntlet had drained his stamina.
Riding a horse through New York was drawing too much attention anyway.
He quickly realized he wouldn't make it to the Assassins' Guild alive like this. Luckily, the Belarusian Theater wasn't far. It was time to use the tsuukou-shoumei (passage marker) and have them take him there.
Without further hesitation, he galloped toward the Belarusian Theater.
······
At the Continental Hotel, Winston's phone buzzed with a new text. He glanced at the screen.
John Wick's bounty had just increased to $21 million.
"A sizable sum," Winston muttered.
"Where will you go, Jonathan?"
······
At the theater ticket booth, John slammed a hand on the glass.
"We're closed," said the clerk without even looking up.
John pulled the tsuukou-shoumei (passage marker) from his pocket and smacked it against the glass again.
This time, the clerk looked up, saw the item, and opened the doors for him.
Across the street, two groups stood watching. Smith Dole observed John entering and said,
"That's enough observation for today. Let's go."
Fox, unfamiliar with the place, asked,
"Aren't we going in to watch what happens next?"
Smith shook his head.
"No need."
They turned and left, while one of the other assassin groups noted the location and decided to stake it out.
······
Inside the grand lobby of the theater, several members of the Belarusian syndicate had gathered.
One of them spotted John and greeted him,
"Long time no see."
John walked over to a table and placed his tsuukou-shoumei (passage marker) on it, followed by a gold coin and his blood oath medallion.
The man nodded and said,
"Your belt too."
Without protest, John removed his belt and added it to the pile.
"Take him in," the man instructed.
Then he turned to John and said,
"See you soon."
John picked up the tsuukou-shoumei (passage marker) and replied,
"See you soon."
He opened the next door and stepped into the inner theater.
At the center of the room, The Director, a woman and leader of the Belarusian syndicate, watched a ballerina perform. John approached, dropped to one knee, and held out the marker.
The Director looked down at him and asked,
"Jonathan, why have you come home?"
John said nothing—only lifted the tsuukou-shoumei (passage marker) again.
The Director gave a weary smile.
"You present it as though it answers everything."
John rasped,
"I still have a marker."
She narrowed her eyes.
"In these past few weeks, you've caused a great deal of chaos. Do you think that marker still holds any weight?"
"Have you forgotten that we, the Ruska Roma, serve under the Takadai Shou (High Table)?"
"They might kill me just for speaking with you."
"You bring death to my door. Is this your idea of respect?"
"Oh, Jonathan… what happened to you?"
John drew in a deep breath.
"I am Jonathan John Wick. I'm a child of Belarus. An orphan of your tribe…"
"You are duty-bound to help me."
He raised the marker again.
"You are obligated. I have rights."
The Director studied him carefully, then called out to the ballerina dancing Swan Lake,
"Rooney, that's enough!"
She rose and gestured.
"Come with me."
As they walked backstage, The Director continued,
"'You have rights'? You have nothing, Jonathan."
"When my students first come here, all they want is to live without pain."
"I try to convince them to give up such childish dreams. But as you know—art is suffering."
"Life is suffering."
John followed silently through the halls of the rehearsal rooms, watching the dancers.
"You somehow escaped life's suffering. But today you return—to where it all began."
"What's it all for?"
They entered a wrestling room. Men were training hard. She paused.
"Bring back any memories?"
Without waiting for a reply, she led him through a training room and into an office. They sat.
"I wish I could help you, Jonathan. But even if I wanted to, I couldn't."
"The Takadai Shou (High Table) wants your head."
"How do you stand against the wind?"
"How do you crush a mountain?"
"How do you bury the sea?"
"How do you outrun the light?"
"Sure, you can run into the darkness… but they are there too."
"So tell me, Jonathan, what is it you truly seek?"
John looked her in the eyes.
"A way out."
She asked,
"Where do you want to go?"
He answered,
"A textile factory on the outskirts of the city."
She blinked, surprised.
"The suburbs of New York…?"
"Wait—the factory?"
"You managed to contact them?"
"You really are lucky."
John extended the tsuukou-shoumei (passage marker) again.
The Director studied it.
"Then so be it."
"You give me the marker, and I will destroy it."
"If that's truly what you wish."
John nodded and handed it over.
······
(End of Chapter)
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