"That's enough."
Seeing that John Wick's holy light truly had a restraining effect on the werewolf, Coulson quickly called a halt.
Then he turned to two of his agents. "Head back to HQ for testing. Report what you saw directly to Director Fury."
"Yes, sir."
The two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents knew very well what they might face next—but they also knew that if they passed the tests, the benefits would be substantial.
As they walked away, Coulson's eyes flashed with a strange glint.
Maybe this was what Nick Fury really wanted when he sent me to find this killer? To use the John Wick situation to probe certain people inside the agency? Or maybe to recruit Wick as a bridge between us and William?
Once it was just the two of them in the transport plane again, Coulson's expression returned to normal, and he smiled. "Werewolves may be individually stronger than humans and capable of causing a lot of harm in an ambush—but they should never have messed with Mr. Devonshire."
He walked to an ammo crate and pulled out a silver-nitrate bullet. "A few years ago, Mr. Devonshire developed these—silver nitrate rounds, specifically designed to kill werewolves.
So don't worry too much about them. We already have reliable methods to take them out. They're not as much of a threat as people think.
Let's focus on taking care of Viggo. Then we'll look into your claim that demons are hiding among us. With what we just saw, I suspect this won't be our last time working together."
Silver being effective against werewolves was common lore. John Wick didn't pay it much mind—his real target was the demons. He nodded to Coulson and stepped off the plane.
BANG!
Startled, Wick turned to see Coulson with his gun aimed at the now-collapsed werewolf. Blood oozed from a wound in the creature's forehead—darkened and laced with silver nitrate. In seconds, the werewolf reverted to human form, his veins bulging grotesquely as the poison ran its course. He stopped breathing soon after.
"Your identity might only be Class-4 confidential, but your ability is Class-9," Coulson said calmly as he holstered his weapon. "And S.H.I.E.L.D. clearance only goes up to Level 10, so..."
John Wick's heart tensed. Then he remembered: the only reason he had such high clearance was likely because of William. Which only made him more curious—what exactly had William done in the past?
Soon after, a convoy of a dozen large SUVs drove straight to Viggo's headquarters—his massive nightclub fortress.
Stepping out of the vehicles, they were immediately greeted by over a dozen fully armed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, posted outside the five-story, arena-sized nightclub. The team was on full alert, eyeing the empty street with caution.
Coulson nodded at the tactical team leader. "Did you get Viggo Tarasov?"
"Yes, sir."
"Let's go." The group followed the squad inside.
Once through the front doors, John Wick was hit with the stench of blood and smoke. Dozens of corpses, covered in white sheets, lined the floor. Clearly, a heavy firefight had just taken place.
Judging by the S.H.I.E.L.D. team's pristine uniforms, it had likely been a one-sided slaughter.
Street thugs and contract killers, no matter how ruthless, were no match for elite special ops in close-quarters battle.
They rode the elevator to the fourth floor. In a massive office, they found Viggo, kneeling on the floor at gunpoint.
"John Wick!"
Seeing him, Viggo's face twisted in rage. "You dog of the American government! The Polar Bears of the entire East Coast will carve you up piece by piece, you damned traitor!"
As a fellow Polar Bear, John Wick knew the moment he stepped into that blood-soaked lobby that he'd never escape the label of traitor.
But letting Viggo live? That was even more impossible.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had just slaughtered a chunk of the Polar Bear syndicate. Blood feuds were already written in stone. Killing Viggo now might actually scare the survivors—those who didn't lose friends or family in the attack—into backing off.
Besides, once Viggo was dead, the East Coast branch of the syndicate would fall into chaos. In-fighting, backstabbing, and power struggles would erupt. By the time the dust settled, everyone would've forgotten John Wick was the one who started it all.
"Give up Iosef, and I'll make it quick."
"Spit! Iosef was taken by you last night, you bastard, and now you show up here pretending to ask me?!"
But even as the words left his mouth, Viggo froze.
If Wick had captured Iosef, and now had him, too, there'd be no need for questions—he'd have killed them both on the spot to end all grudges.
"You really didn't take my son?"
Wick shook his head. He exchanged a glance with Coulson—both men suddenly wondering if there wasn't a third player in this game. Someone who wanted them to destroy each other.
They both thought of one name first: Viggo's brother, Abram Tarasov.
But Viggo shook his head almost immediately. Abram had never shown a hint of ambition.
And if he were truly capable of silently extracting Iosef from under Viggo's nose, then why not just kill him and pin the blame on Wick? Everyone would assume it was Wick, anyway.
BANG!
"You're not going to ask more questions?" Coulson asked, raising an eyebrow as he stared at Viggo's lifeless body. "What if he lied to protect his son? Also… your bounty is still active. Aren't you worried about all those assassins who'll do anything for money?"
"At this point," Wick said calmly, "there's no room left to maneuver. If I let Viggo live, his remaining men would've fought even harder to kill me—just to earn his favor.
And I don't want to die. I can't die. Not yet. I still have more important things to do.
As for the people coming for me... let them come. Sending more scum to Hell might just earn me a faster path to Heaven."
He shuddered at the thought of dying now. If he died, there was no doubt where he was going—straight to Hell. And with Mephisto waiting for him?
No. He had to live.
"Let's go to the Continental Hotel," he said. "Let's do what you said—post a bounty for Iosef. Then let's find out if demons really are hiding in plain sight."
He holstered his weapon and left without a glance back. Seated in the car, he waited silently as Coulson handled things inside.
Not long after, the convoy was moving again—headed for the Continental.
Wick walked in alone. Every assassin lounging in the lobby stared. First, their eyes gleamed with greed, then flickered with fear as they noticed the rows of black SUVs parked outside.
This was the crew that had just dismantled one of the biggest gray-market gangs on the East Coast—out in the open. If S.H.I.E.L.D. really wanted to wipe out the Continental Hotel, it wouldn't be hard.
Sure, the agency would face fierce retaliation later, but it wouldn't last. The underworld always operated in the shadows. If they were dragged into the light, it wouldn't mean death—it would mean extinction.
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