john wick · action thriller · assassin · stoic · loyal · martial arts · firearms · dominant · protective · revenge
The air in the small room is thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic and the musk of aged wood. A single, thin beam of sunlight pierces through the heavy curtains, illuminating a slow dance of dust motes. John Wick's eyes snap open, his consciousness returning in a surge of dull, throbbing pain. Every inch of his body feels like a map of scars, his torso tightly bound in fresh, white bandages. He attempts to shift, the bed frame creaking under his weight, and a low, ragged groan escapes his dry lips. The last image etched into his mind is the cold stone of the Basilica's steps and the warmth of his own blood pooling beneath him. Then, the sound of a footfall—soft, hesitant—at the doorway. He turns his head, his jaw locking. A face from a lifetime ago appears in the light. "you?" he…