May 23, 2014, 17:07
Dresden Industrial Zone. The setting sun slanted through the broken glass curtain wall into the corridor, staining the blood-splattered marble floor a rusty red.
The air was filled with a mixture of plaster dust and gunpowder residue; each breath felt like inhaling shattered glass.
The shredder in the third-floor printing room was still operating, its hum masking the metallic scraping sound from the distant elevator shaft—the pursuers were climbing the emergency ladder.
John Wick stood in the third-floor corridor, his shadow stretching into a bloody crack.
His glock 19 had five bullets left, and he had a knife wound on his left rib, blood seeping through his shirt, oozing dark red with every breath.
His suit had long lost its original color; only the brass casing at his collar, pressed against Helen's ring, remained.
"There should be two people in the elevator shaft, at least three in the fire escape, and the shredded paper... can create visual interference..."
John observed silently.
Just yesterday, a bounty order had made assassins across Europe, from Berlin to Dresden, scent blood like a pack of wolves, and John's every step was on the edge of death.
["KH Alliance Bounty: John Wick, $15 million, dead or alive."]
In the office building's corridor, the shredder hummed, like a countdown to death.
A cleaner, dragging a steam mop, slowly approached, the mist glowing with an eerie iridescence in the setting sun.
His uniform was stained with blood, but no one would care; in this building, blood was just another decoration.
"You need to mop the floor, Mr. Wick."
He grinned, revealing uneven yellow teeth.
The next second, he suddenly twisted open the valve.
160℃ high-pressure steam roared, cutting through the air like a venomous snake lunging at John's face.
John rolled to the side, drawing his Pistol simultaneously.
A 9mm bullet precisely pierced the opponent's knee, the sound of bone shattering clearly audible.
The second bullet passed through a gap in the steam, hitting his right eye, and as the skull was blown open, brain matter splattered onto the fire hydrant glass.
As John's back hit the office door frame, a programmer at a workstation inside the office looked at him, his pupils suddenly contracting.
The index finger tapping the keyboard suddenly bulged with veins—"Click," the spring under the keyboard exploded, and a 6-centimeter-long barrel gleamed with a phosphated matte finish.
John's glock 19 spat fire almost the instant the opponent's shoulder twitched. A 9mm hollow-point bullet slammed into the sternum. Without hesitation, he grabbed his hand and shoved it into the shredder, mincing his fingers.
Crunch!
Crunch—Grind—
The sound of bone and metal being crushed together.
"Ah ah ah!!"
The alloy blades first cut off the fingernails, then gnawed into the finger bones like a meat grinder.
As the third phalanx shattered, the programmer's twitching scream was forced back down his throat by John's knee.
The shredder also stopped, jammed by the bone.
He then used alcohol found in the office to make a makeshift Molotov cocktail, lit it, and threw it directly towards the corner of the hallway.
The Molotov cocktail shattered in the corridor, glass shards flying everywhere. John saw the flames climb up the assassin's polyester trousers, and the man frantically slapped at them.
The last bullet passed through the flames, spraying a fan-shaped mist of blood on the glass.
John also left immediately, heading towards the safety exit. The moment the safety exit door was kicked open, a "pregnant woman" walked up from below. The silicone prosthetic belly burst the instant she saw John, and the cold glint of ceramic blades reflected in John's constricted pupils.
Dodging the opponent's blade, he gave her an elbow strike, then wrapped the projector cable he had grabbed earlier around her neck, using her forward momentum to spin 180 degrees.
Crack!
The sound of a neck bone breaking.
There were still two people left to deal with, but his Pistol was out of bullets.
However, John did not panic. Instead, he used the terrain to retreat. Two more people were gradually approaching, and the elevator door also chimed.
Listening to the footsteps, there should be four people.
Several assassins also saw each other, but they did not attack each other. Their objective was consistent: to eliminate John.
Two of them were positioned further forward, each holding a Pistol and cautiously surveying their surroundings.
John, on the other hand, returned to the office door and hid behind it, listening to the footsteps gradually approaching. He breathed slowly, keeping his sound to a minimum to avoid revealing his position.
As the footsteps drew closer, the two assassins had split up. He had already noticed the assassin's approach from their shadows on the ground, only one door away from him.
But John still did not act; he continued to wait. Finally, in his line of sight, a black glock 19 appeared.
John's body was slightly hunched, poised to strike.
Suddenly!
The assassin found the left office door suddenly slammed into his face. In his panic, he fired a shot at the ground.
Immediately after, an elbow fiercely struck his throat. The fragile throat instantly emitted an unbearable pain, but he could no longer scream.
John, seizing the opportunity, snatched the Pistol from his hand, fired two shots into his abdomen, then extended the Pistol to his jaw and fired another shot.
The brainstem instantly exploded, creating an irregular hole in his skull.
Having obtained the Pistol, John immediately crouched down, aiming the barrel directly out of the office door. Sure enough, the assassin turned back. As soon as he showed his leg, John shot him in the thigh.
The assassin cried out in pain and fell to the ground. John then followed up with two more shots.
One shot to the chest, one to the head!
The commotion was too great; the other two assassins would surely rush over. So John immediately began to search the bodies, finding three magazines on the two assassins.
He stuffed the magazines into his pocket, then checked the Pistol in his hand—13 bullets remaining!
Footsteps of assassins running from another direction also reached his ears. Without thinking, John slid out, landing on his shoulder.
Lying on the ground, he fired four shots in the direction of the footsteps.
"Fuck!"
Two screams of agony almost immediately escaped their lips as the gunshots rang out. Looking at the two assassins struggling on the ground, John showed no mercy, sending them to meet their maker with two more shots.
As of now, no other footsteps were heard, but John knew this was just the beginning; the pursuit by these greedy assassins would not end here.
Not far below, three cars were parked. The KH Alliance's 12-person tactical team was in position. Two snipers occupied high ground, and the assault team's MP7A1s were silenced, like silent ghosts.
The door to the rooftop where the sniper "Lone Wolf" was located was kicked open. The sniper suddenly turned around, ready to draw his Pistol.
But he was still a step too slow.
Puff!
Puff!
Puff!
Three shots hit the sniper, who was half-crouching by the wall, from behind. His Pistol was still in his hand when he was hit once in the arm and once in the chest. Before he could cry out in pain, the last bullet had already pierced his eye socket.
Leaving a crimson stain on the wall, a pair of gloved hands then picked up the CDX, full name Cadex Defence CDX-50 Tremor, which had fallen to the ground.
A 12.7mm (.50 BMG) large-caliber bolt-action sniper rifle, designed for ultra-long-range anti-material, with military-grade precision.
Static-filled instructions came over the radio:
"Team A suppress, Team B flank, don't let him—"
Before he could finish, the deputy leader's head, standing by a car in the distance, directly exploded!
Bang!
Blood splattered on the adjacent car, looking somewhat gruesome.
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