September 28. Raccoon City. 3:15 P.M.
The city was dying. In broad daylight. John emerged from the sewer, the stench of death and decay clinging to his clothes like a shroud. He paused for a moment, not to admire the scene, but to process it. Raccoon City, his home and his prison, had become a hell. Overturned and wrecked cars blocked the streets. The thick, black, bitter smoke rose to a sky that seemed to be drowning in ashes. The distant screams were a chorus of desperation.
The question that tormented him, one he had tried to bury since coming out of retirement, was inevitable: How had it come to this? His mind, a cold data processor, gave him the answer: Umbrella's corruption, greed, the negligence of the powerful... a poison that had infected the heart of this city. The anger, a feeling he knew as well as his own shadow, intensified. But it was a cold rage, that of a man who realizes that the life he had dreamed of was a lie, an illusion.
He shook his head, pushing those thoughts away. It was not the time for introspection. His gaze fell on the alley where he had left the Colt Commando assault rifle. His steps were measured, a silent shadow dodging debris and fallen bodies. The weapon was there, under a dumpster. He took it firmly, the familiar weight on his shoulder, an anchor in the middle of the chaos.
From his position, John observed the scene. The crashed cars formed makeshift barriers. In the distance, the sound of gunfire was a constant reminder of the violence. The infected wandered, their bodies deformed, eyes bloodshot. John didn't use the rifle. He took out his silenced pistol, eliminating the infected who got too close. A precise shot to the head, without noise, without attracting attention. A ghost in the slaughter.
He walked a little further, his senses on high alert. The sound of gunfire guided him towards his objective. That's when he saw them: a makeshift barricade, a group of civilians and police struggling to hold back the horde.
The barricade, made of overturned cars and shopping carts, was the last point of resistance on that street. Alex, a policeman with a thick mustache and a tired look, held a shotgun. He was covered in dust and his uniform was torn, but his stance was one of iron determination. Beside him, his partner, Ben, a young officer no more than twenty-five years old, trembled uncontrollably, his pistol in hand.
"Don't let them get any closer!" Alex shouted. His voice was hoarse with tension. "Keep shooting! We can't let them break the barricade!"
Behind them, a woman in her thirties, named Sofia, hugged her son, Leo, a six-year-old boy. Leo was crying inconsolably, his face buried in his mother's shoulder. Sofia's eyes were red and shiny, but her voice was a thread of tension, unable to keep it from breaking. "Don't cry, my love! I promise you everything will be okay! We're going to get out of this, I swear!" The woman, despite her words, knew that her promise was a lie.
Next to the family, a man in his fifties, named Carlos, swayed in place, his hands shaking. He had been an accountant downtown, a man of numbers and routines, and now he was here, his entire life crumbling before his eyes. He carried a pistol, but his hands trembled so much that he could barely hold it. "Hold on, please! We can't give up now!" he begged. His voice, a mixture of desperation and terror.
The silence, a tense calm that lasted a second, was broken by a guttural growl. An infected, faster and more grotesque than the others, slipped through a gap in the barricade, a breach they hadn't seen. Its bloated body, like a balloon about to explode, pounced on them, its jaws open. Its gaze was fixed on the most vulnerable prey: Sofia and Leo.
Sofia let out a panicked scream. Instinctively, she used her body as a shield, protecting her son. "No, please! Get away from him!" she cried, her eyes full of terror. Leo clung to her, his small body trembling uncontrollably.
Ben, the young policeman, saw the panic in Carlos's eyes and the desperation on Sofia's face. His heart sank. He had trembled with fear, but at that moment, a police officer's instinct, an instinct he didn't know he had, activated. With a war cry, he ran towards the infected, firing his pistol in the hope that one of the shots would hit its head. His first bullet missed, but the second one hit it squarely in the forehead. The infected, with one last growl, collapsed to the ground like a sack of bones.
A collective sigh of relief ran through the barricade. Ben collapsed against an overturned car, his hands trembling with exhaustion. "I... I did it," he whispered, his voice broken with emotion.
"Good job, Ben!" Alex shouted, the relief palpable in his voice. "We've finished it! We're safe!"
But the feeling of safety was fleeting. In the distance, a chorus of growls became audible. It wasn't a solitary growl, or two, but dozens, a growing and terrifying chorus. Carlos, the accountant, raised his head to look at the street, his eyes fixed in the direction of the sound. But a flash of light and a shriek made him turn. A solitary infected, a wanderer who had hidden behind a pile of rubble, lunged at him.
"Carlos, watch out!" Sofia yelled, her voice an echo of terror.
The man had no time to react. The infected, with its jaws open, bit his shoulder hard. The accountant let out a scream of pain, his face a mask of terror. The infected was quickly shot down by the others, but the damage was done.
Sofia and Alex ran towards him. Carlos grabbed his shoulder, his hands shaking with pain and fear. "It was... it was just a scratch," he sobbed. "It's nothing, I'm fine... I'm fine..."
The wound was superficial, but an infected bite was a death sentence. Fear took hold of everyone. Ben knelt down, his face pale. Sofia clung to her son, her gaze full of terror. Carlos, the accountant, was already starting to show some symptoms of infection: his eyes were bloodshot, his face pale, and his hands trembled uncontrollably.
The silence was deafening, broken only by Carlos's sobs and Leo's crying. No one dared to say a word. They all had the same idea, but no one dared to pronounce it. Morality, common sense, mercy. Everything had vanished.
In the middle of the silence, a figure calmly approached the accountant. It was Doña Carmen, the old woman who had accompanied them. In her hands, she did not carry a weapon, but an old, worn wooden umbrella. Her eyes, full of a terrifying calm, rested on Carlos. The accountant looked at her, his eyes full of fear.
Doña Carmen knelt down. "May the Lord bless you, my dear son," she whispered, her voice a soft melody in the middle of the chaos. "May the Heavenly Father take you in his arms, and may your soul rest in peace." With the tip of the umbrella in her hand, she pointed it directly at Carlos's head.
But a strong arm stopped her. Alex, the policeman, looked at her, his eyes full of anguish. "No!" he told her. "It's not the right thing to do! He hasn't transformed yet... we have to wait!"
Doña Carmen looked at him with a coldness that chilled Alex's blood. "And if he becomes one of those monsters?" she asked him, her voice a whisper loaded with poison. "Will you be responsible if he bites someone else? Will you sacrifice this child's life?" she said, pointing to Leo. "For the righteousness of your morals?"
Alex tried to reply, but fell silent. He looked around. Sofia looked away in fear, and Ben, his young partner, stood still, paralyzed with fear. No one looked at him. He understood. In this new world, there was no place for morality, no place for feelings. He let go of Doña Carmen's umbrella, his hands trembling. "I'll do it," he said, his voice a murmur of resignation.
He took his pistol and pointed it at Carlos's head. The accountant, with eyes full of tears, begged: "No, please, Alex... it's just a scratch. Nothing is happening to me, I swear..."
"It's inefficient to waste ammunition on this!" Doña Carmen shouted at him, her voice like a whip. "It's better to do it with something that doesn't use ammunition." She handed the umbrella to Alex, her gaze fixed on his eyes.
Alex, with some nervousness and reluctantly, took the umbrella. He approached Carlos, who was already showing symptoms of the infection: his skin was pale, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hands trembled uncontrollably. The policeman closed his eyes and, with a scream of desperation, forcefully embedded the tip of the umbrella into Carlos's head, killing him in less than a second.
All of this was seen by John in the distance, who was hidden behind a car. He saw the horror on Alex's face, and the resignation on Sofia's face. He saw how morality had vanished, how good people had been forced to do monstrous things to survive. The logic of the situation hit him hard. And seeing it, John Wick understood. In this new world, there was no room for doubt. There was only room for survival.
But before he could continue having those thoughts, the situation at the barricade got worse. Alex's scream and the smell of Carlos's blood alerted the approaching infected. The chorus of growls became much louder, closer. They could see their silhouettes in the distance, a tide of monsters approaching mercilessly. Fear took hold of everyone. Sofia hugged her son, crying uncontrollably.
Ben, the young policeman, pulled out his baton, his hands trembled, but his gaze was firm. Alex, with his eyes closed, let out a sigh, took his baton, and joined Ben. The ammunition was gone, but their admirable determination was their weapon. Doña Carmen, with a peaceful face, began to recite a prayer in a low voice, asking for God's mercy.
"They're here!" Sofia yelled, her voice a thread of hysteria. "We're all going to die!"
"Shut up, Sofia!" Ben hissed at her, his voice tense. "We're not going to die if we fight!"
"Fight with what, Ben!" Alex yelled, his face a torment of anger and desperation. "We don't have any bullets! Look how many there are! There are thousands! There's nothing we can do. There's nothing!"
Doña Carmen approached Alex, her voice serene. "Son, don't you believe in the mercy of God?"
Alex turned to her, his eyes full of tears. "Please, Doña Carmen, don't come to me with that! God has abandoned us! Can't you see? Can't you see what's happening? God wouldn't do this!"
"And you," Ben approached Alex, the baton in his hand trembling with every step. "Are you scared? Are you going to abandon your people, your friends? After everything we've been through, are you going to stop fighting?"
"No... I can't do this," Alex whispered, his voice broken. "I can't face them. I can't..."
Ben, upon hearing Alex, hit him with the baton in the face. The blow made Alex fall to the ground, with blood coming out of his nose. Alex's face filled with surprise, and his gaze fixed on Ben's.
"Listen to me, Alex," Ben said, his voice a silent thunder. "We're not heroes, we're not warriors, we're just human. And we can't escape this situation, but... but we can face it. We'll die here, if necessary, but fighting. We'll die fighting for those who can't, for those who aren't here to defend themselves. Because that's what a man does. What a family does. And we are all a family here, right?"
Ben's words resonated in the air, a war cry in the middle of the disaster. Sofia, her face still full of tears, stood up, her hand trembling, and took the baton that Ben had given her. "He's right!" she yelled. "We won't give up! We'll fight to the end!"
Doña Carmen, with a smile on her face, approached Alex, and held out her hand to him. "Son, don't be afraid. You are not alone. God has given us a second chance. A second chance to redeem ourselves."
Alex stood up, his hand still trembling, but his eyes were now full of renewed determination. He took the baton and joined Ben and Sofia. Doña Carmen, with her serene face, joined them, her hand on Alex's shoulder, a reminder that they were not alone.
"For Raccoon City!" Ben yelled. "For us!"
And the chorus of growls got louder, closer. The tide of monsters was only a few feet away. The fear was still there, but now it was mixed with a dose of hope and determination. And the survivors, with their makeshift weapons and their sweat-filled faces, prepared for their last battle.
John watched in silence, his mind divided. Logic, the same one that had dictated his every move since he entered this world, screamed at him to get away. It was a cold, sensible voice, the voice of a man who had lost too much to afford the luxury of compassion.
But then, something else, something he couldn't ignore, came to mind: the image of Melissa, the girl he had tried to save, who was now probably just a memory. Regret, a feeling that rarely visited him, settled at the bottom of his stomach. A subtle but persistent pain. What if he hadn't helped her? Would that tragedy have happened? He asked himself that question over and over again, knowing it was a question without an answer.
And as rage and regret fought within him, his eyes fell on the child crying in his mother's arms. The image of Sarah came to mind. The same terror, the same pain. And at that moment, revenge, which had been his only motivator, vanished. He wasn't fighting just for Sarah. He was fighting for those who couldn't. He was fighting for those children, for those men and women, who refused to give up.
His gaze hardened. John had decided that revenge was the only path he had left in life, but now he realized that that path was no longer his only guide. He could choose. The High Table and Umbrella had dictated his movements for too long, and the result had been death and loss. Not anymore. Now, he decided. He was a man with a purpose, who would choose when and who to help.
"They don't decide. Not the High Table. Not Umbrella. I decide," he whispered, his voice a promise of death for everyone.
With determination, John moved away and looked for a high and safe place. He found a rooftop, from where he could observe the barricade without being seen. He positioned himself quickly, the Colt Commando rifle ready in his hands. The strap crossed over his chest. His breathing was controlled.
From there, he began to fire with lethal precision. Each bullet was a promise, a whisper of death. The shots were fast, silent.
"Where are those shots coming from?" a policeman asked, looking up.
"It doesn't matter, they're helping us. Hold the line!" another one yelled, with renewed hope.
"Hold on! Don't let them pass!" the woman exclaimed, her voice a mixture of terror and determination.
John watched as the resistance gained time, as hope was ignited in the middle of the chaos. For the first time in a long time, he felt that his presence had a purpose beyond revenge. The war against Umbrella was not just his. It belonged to all who were still fighting to survive.
"Where are those shots coming from?" Alex asked, looking up, confusion on his face.
"Look!" Ben shouted in amazement. "They're falling! They're falling like flies!"
John's ammunition was limited, but each shot was a fatal blow. An infected who was lunging at Sofia and her son fell with a clean hole in its head. Another, who was approaching stealthily, collapsed to the ground before it could touch Ben.
Doña Carmen knelt, her hands clasped in prayer, a peaceful smile on her face. "God has heard us! It's a miracle! An answer to our prayers!"
Alex, upon seeing how the infected were falling, joined their battle cry. "Hold on! Don't let them pass!"
"Hold on! They're helping us!" Ben yelled, his voice full of renewed enthusiasm. "We have to hold the line!"
"We have to hold on! We'll fight to the end!" Sofia yelled, her voice a mixture of terror and determination.
Hope was ignited in the middle of the chaos, a beacon in the darkness. And the survivors, with their makeshift weapons and their sweat-filled faces, prepared for their last battle. And this time, they were not alone.
John watched in silence, his eyes fixed on the barricade. He saw the faith in Doña Carmen's eyes, the relief in Sofia's eyes, and the renewed hope in Alex and Ben's eyes. For the first time in a long time, he felt that his presence had a purpose beyond revenge. The war against Umbrella was not just his. It belonged to all who were still fighting to survive.
While John continued to kill every approaching infected, far from his position, a group of soldiers dressed entirely in black, with gas masks on their faces, approached with a convoy. From one of the convoy's cabins, a harsh, authoritative voice resonated through the walkie-talkies.
"This is Alpha One. Listen. Remember the orders: Eliminate all evidence that could connect the Umbrella Corporation with the outbreak of the T-virus in Raccoon City. Neutralize any witnesses."
"Understood, Alpha One," a voice replied. "Orders received."