Room 205.
After wiping out the entire law enforcement squad, Caine flicked his cane-sword, shaking off the blood staining its blade.
Stepping over the corpses, he walked out of the bathroom and sat on the bed in the bedroom.
He pulled from his waist the Glock 17 carbine conversion kit submachine pistol, ejected the nearly spent magazine, and slotted in a fresh one.
Just as he chambered a round—
Footsteps echoed at the door.
Caine immediately rose, holstering the submachine pistol back at his waist.
Three quick strides brought him to the bathroom doorway.
He bent down, picked up a shotgun dropped by an enemy, and pressed his back against the wall by the toilet door.
Click.
A shell was chambered.
He aimed at the guest room door.
Moments later—
BANG!
The door was kicked open with a violent crash.
At the same instant, Caine squeezed the trigger.
BOOM!
The shotgun blast hit squarely on the law enforcer still in mid-kick, his leg raised.
The shot struck him directly in the groin—obliteration.
Agony shot straight to his brain, but before he could even scream, the brutal force of the 12-gauge buckshot hurled him into the opposite wall.
Blood frothed from his mouth. His head lolled to the side. Dead.
Caine had no time to gloat.
He tossed aside the shotgun and sprinted forward, his left hand drawing the submachine pistol.
RATATAT!
The burst of gunfire came before the other two law enforcers at the doorway could react.
Two bullets slammed into the right-hand man's shoulder, robbing him of the ability to fight back.
The rest forced the left-hand man to retreat behind the corner of the hallway.
With his right hand, Caine slashed!
The gleaming blade of his cane-sword sheared cleanly through the right-hand enforcer's wrists.
His severed hands, still gripping the assault rifle, spun to the floor.
A blood-curdling scream ripped through the hall.
Caine ignored his suffering prey.
He raised his gun toward the corner.
Sure enough, seconds later, the enforcer hiding there leaned out with his rifle—
RATATAT!
Three bullets, point-blank.
Straight through the man's eyes.
Caine turned and thrust his sword.
The tip pierced the throat of the screaming amputee, ending his misery.
But his fight was far from over.
From Room 204, the remaining two law enforcers rushed out.
And the gunfire and screams from the hallway had already drawn out the teams stationed in Rooms 201, 202, and 203.
They froze when they saw Caine.
Then, guns came up, all aiming at him.
Without hesitation, Caine darted back, slipping into the corner beside Room 205 just as—
RATATAT!
Bullets chewed into the spot where he had stood only seconds before.
Meanwhile—
John Wick fought in his own brutal style.
He stepped out his door, shotgun raised.
BOOM!
One law enforcer at the doorway was blown away instantly.
Wick sidestepped, closing in on the nearest target.
He grabbed the man's rifle, yanked him forward as a living shield.
BOOM!RATATAT!
Bullets tore into the enforcer's body, all meant for Wick.
He shoved the dying body away, chambered a round with a sharp clack, and kicked the corpse into the group crowding the doorway.
He leveled his shotgun—picked out the one enemy with the cleanest shot at him—
BOOM!
Another down.
Switching weapons in a heartbeat, he drew his TTI Combat Master pistol.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three rapid shots. Each precise.
Then he slipped into a shooting blind spot, reloading fluidly.
He flipped the shotgun, slammed a fresh shell in.
Out of the corner of his eye—movement to the right.
He calmly chambered a round, swung the barrel out—
BOOM!
The man was obliterated.
Wick slid two more shells into the tube.
As footsteps rushed up behind him, he spun—
BOOM!
Another enemy down.
His left hand seized the rifle of the dying man.
With his right, he fired the last shotgun round into the man's foot.
Wick dropped the shotgun, seized the assault rifle, and crouched low behind the collapsing body.
RATATAT!
Two bursts. Two more enemies wounded, their shotguns clattering to the ground.
Wick rose, yanking his bullet-riddled suit tighter, and dashed toward the cutlery sterilization cabinet.
RATATAT!RATATAT!
Bullets hammered into the steel, sparks flying as his silhouette vanished behind cover.
Only when silence fell did Wick pause to breathe.
He ejected the magazine, checked the rounds left, slammed it back in—
"Hhh—" He exhaled slowly.
Then, raising his weapon, he prepared for the next wave.
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