Entering the Continental Hotel, John Wick gave a faint smile and said to the front desk manager, Charon, "Post a job: one million dollars for information on Iosef Tarasov's whereabouts. If someone brings him to me, double the fee."
He pulled a gold coin from his pocket and handed it to a momentarily stunned Charon.
"Understood, Mr. Wick."
"Thanks." Without waiting for Charon to finish logging the request, John turned to leave.
But upon noticing a dozen assassins still lounging in the lobby at this late hour, he turned back and handed Charon another coin. "Send out a message for me."
"Of course, Mr. Wick." Charon accepted the coin, already guessing what the message would be.
"Tell everyone: Viggo Tarasov is dead. Those of you thinking of collecting that one-million-dollar bounty… you might want to rethink whether it's really worth it."
He glanced sternly at the assassins, all of whom had been eavesdropping.
"That bounty isn't as easy to collect as you think. Thanks."
"You're very welcome, Mr. Wick," Charon said with a smile. "That message will go out to the job center immediately. Given that Viggo bypassed official channels to place a hit on a Continental member, I'm sure the taskmasters will be more than happy to help you."
John blinked, then chuckled. "First time I've ever been grateful to be a Continental member. Goodbye, Charon."
"Farewell, Mr. Wick. It's always an honor to serve."
Their conversation, unsurprisingly, carried through the lobby, right into the ears of the gathered assassins.
Most of them had already been hesitant due to the convoy of black SUVs parked outside. Now, hearing that the client was dead and payment uncertain, they quietly withdrew their attention and sank back into the shadows.
Once outside, the group quickly evacuated the area to avoid any rogue attempts on Wick's life.
Several kilometers away, once they were clear of immediate danger, Coulson finally asked, "Where exactly do we find these demons you mentioned?"
"Well…" John Wick didn't know either. After thinking for a moment, he guessed, "Maybe a nightclub?"
His eyes lit up with the idea, and he checked his watch. "It's past midnight. The kind of people who are still out at this hour are either thrill-seekers or those with problems—lost souls, desperate, or indulgent. Perfect prey for demons."
Coulson agreed with that logic immediately and slapped the back of the passenger seat. "Pull up any nightclubs in New York with a reputation for secrecy, or that show up in missing persons reports."
"Yes, sir."
It didn't take long before an agent reported back, "According to our records, the most mysterious is a place called Midnight Hour. As for those linked to disappearances..."
The agent hesitated. "There are at least seventeen nightclubs that match."
Wick wasn't surprised. Given the chaos and crime in New York's nightlife scene, disappearances weren't exactly rare.
"Then we start with Midnight Hour."
"Sir," the agent added, "entry to the Midnight Hour bar requires passing a card-guessing test from the doorman. If you fail, they won't let you in."
Coulson's hesitation vanished the moment he heard that. "Perfect. That's exactly where we're going."
The convoy made its way to Manhattan's commercial district, pulling up outside the bar.
The empty, eerily quiet street only confirmed Coulson's suspicions.
No real business would open a bar where foot traffic was this low—and no sane establishment would turn customers away on purpose.
The convoy parked at the corner, and they observed the place for nearly an hour. Not a single person went in. Not a single person came out.
Realizing that sitting around wouldn't get them anywhere, Coulson turned to John. "Let's go. You and I will check it out. If anything goes wrong, the others are to breach immediately."
"Understood, sir."
John stepped out of the car and walked straight to the bar with Coulson in tow.
At the entrance, they found a burly bald man in a leather jacket holding up a single card, silent and unmoving.
Apparently, to enter, you had to guess the image on the card.
Before John could think, his holy glyphs flared automatically in his eyes—courtesy of the magic circle on his chest. Through the divine symbols, he saw the card's image easily. "Squirrel."
The man flipped the card over. Sure enough: a squirrel.
He nodded and gestured for John to enter.
Coulson tried to follow—but before he could take two steps, he was blocked. The doorman raised the card again in front of him.
"Squirrel?"
The doorman grinned and turned it over: poison dart frog.
"Son of a—" Coulson, who rarely cursed, couldn't help himself. He instantly realized this had to be magic. Before he could say more, the doorman shoved him back and closed the door.
Unwilling to risk a firefight without more information, Coulson returned to the car.
"Assign Level 6 surveillance to that bar," he ordered.
As agents complied, Coulson pulled out his phone to report to Nick Fury.
Meanwhile, inside the bar, John Wick had barely stepped through the door when his anti-demon magic circle lit up automatically.
In an instant, every eye in the room locked onto him.
Those closest stumbled back violently, scorched by the holy light. Their faces blistered and charred wherever the light touched.
John's glowing glyphs revealed their true forms: vampires, werewolves, demons—and even a skeleton sipping from a martini glass.
He didn't need to be told—he'd walked straight into a nest of monsters.
"Seize him!"
A thunderous voice shook the bar like a bomb going off, making John's ears ring and his head spin.
He didn't hesitate. He shoved a wave of holy light outward, blinding half the room, then turned and ran.
Staggering down half a block, he threw open the car door and shouted, "Go! GO!"
The driver didn't need to be told twice. He floored the gas and whipped the vehicle into motion.
The rest of the convoy, seeing Coulson's car take off, followed without needing orders.
They hadn't made it far when the radio crackled with a tense voice.
"Sir! We're being followed!"
Faced with a supernatural threat, Coulson dropped all pretense of protocol and grabbed the mic. "Call for backup. Prepare for combat. Anyone attacking us is to be treated as hostile. You read me?"
"Copy that, sir."
______
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