Outside the Red Circle Nightclub
Smith and Fox sat in their car, parked in the shadows across the street. They'd watched the entire thing unfold. John Wick entering the club alone. The chaos that followed. The bodies piling up inside.
"Thirty-one kills," Smith said, his tone almost conversational. "Four with a knife. The rest with bullets. What do you think?"
Fox leaned back in her seat, her eyes still on the nightclub entrance. "Mozambique drill. Two to the chest, one to the head. Every single target. No survivors." She paused. "He's efficient. Brutal. Knows exactly what he's doing."
She glanced at the street where Iosef Tarasov's car had sped away minutes earlier. "But his real target got away. This was just clearing a path."
Smith nodded. "Let's head back to the Continental. We've seen enough for now."
Fox fired up the engine and pulled into traffic just as John emerged from the nightclub, blood on his suit, moving stiffly from his injuries. Behind him, the building was a tomb.
Continental Hotel - Smith's Room
Fox poured herself a glass of bourbon and settled into one of the chairs. "You're not planning to recruit him, are you? Into the Fraternity?"
Smith raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"
"His skills. He's qualified, obviously. With proper training in our methods, he could be one of us." Fox swirled her drink. "But can he accept our philosophy? Killing only the guilty? Or is he just another gun for hire?"
She took a sip. "Hell, given what we know about his history, he might even end up being one of our targets someday."
Smith considered this. "I'm not planning to recruit him. Not right now, anyway."
"But you're thinking about it," Fox said.
"Your suggestion has merit. I'll consider it."
Fox shook her head, exasperated. "I hope whatever you're planning, it's worth all this mystery."
Several Hours Later
John Wick returned to the Continental exhausted, his body aching from the fight at the Red Circle. The hotel doctor patched him up efficiently, asking no questions. That was the Continental way.
John made it back to room 818 and collapsed onto the bed, still dressed, his gun on the nightstand.
In the next room, Smith heard John's door open and close. The man was back.
Minutes later, the sound of fighting erupted from room 818. Furniture crashing. Grunts of pain. The distinctive thud of bodies hitting walls.
Fox sat up in bed, instantly alert. She pulled on her clothes quickly. "Someone broke the Continental's rules. That's John's room, isn't it?"
Smith smiled, already knowing how this would play out. Marcus had fired that warning shot outside. John would survive. "Rules are meant to be broken. As long as you can afford the consequences."
"Whoever attacked him in here is going to pay dearly," Fox said. "The Continental doesn't forgive violations. Other guests have definitely reported this by now."
The fighting stopped abruptly. John had won.
Smith opened his door and stepped into the hallway. A woman was crawling toward the elevator, injured and desperate. Perkins, the assassin from the lobby.
"Looks like someone overestimated their abilities," Smith said as Fox joined him.
John emerged from his room, grabbed Perkins from behind, and pressed his gun to her head. After a brief interrogation, he pistol-whipped her unconscious.
He looked up at Smith. "Can you help me watch her? Just until dawn, then I'll hand her over to the Continental. I'm willing to pay a gold coin."
Smith chuckled. The irony of John caring about Continental rules after Perkins broke them wasn't lost on him. "Bring her inside. I have some things to discuss with you anyway."
John nodded and returned to his room. He came back with handcuffs and a gold coin, securing Perkins to a chair in Smith's room before placing the coin on the table.
"Fox, pour John a drink," Smith said.
Fox walked to the bar cart and poured a generous glass of bourbon, then handed it to John before taking up a position against the wall, curious about what would happen next.
John downed the bourbon in one swallow. "Good stuff. Charon recommended this brand."
Smith nodded. "John Wick, your personal business isn't finished yet. But before you continue, I need to know something. What is your wish? If you could make the Dragon Balls grant you anything, what would you ask for?"
John set down his glass, his expression becoming deadly serious. He met Smith's eyes without flinching.
"I want to resurrect my wife."
The words hung in the air. Smith studied John's face for several seconds, reading the desperation, the grief, the absolute conviction in his eyes.
"I believe you," Smith finally said.
Fox kept her expression neutral, though internally she was reeling. Resurrection? Dragon Balls? What the hell was happening? But Smith had warned her to stay composed, so she did.
Smith leaned forward. "The Fraternity has existed for over a thousand years. In that time, we've guarded many secrets. The Dragon Balls are one of our most sacred treasures."
"You have one of seven Dragon Balls. When all seven are gathered, they can summon a dragon named Shenron. The dragon will grant one wish to whoever summons it. Any wish."
John nodded slowly. "When I first touched the Dragon Ball, I received some of that information. It sounds almost like Aladdin's lamp from the old stories."
Smith's smile was enigmatic. "Those stories? They were created by bards who heard rumors about the Dragon Balls and changed the details. The lamp, the genie, all of it was just a corrupted version of the truth."
John's eyes widened slightly. "You're saying the Dragon Balls are the original? The real thing?"
"Yes."
John processed this, then asked the obvious question. "If the Dragon Balls are your sacred objects, why was one in my house? How did it end up in my possession?"
Smith stood and walked to the window, looking out over the city. "After the dragon grants a wish, the seven Dragon Balls scatter. They fly to different corners of the world, turn to stone, and hide themselves. After a period of time, they activate again and return to their original form."
He turned back to face John. "The Fraternity doesn't hoard the Dragon Balls. We don't lock them away. Instead, we wait. When someone is chosen, when someone destined touches one of the Dragon Balls, we observe that person. We learn their heart. We understand their wish."
"And if that person passes our test, if their desire isn't rooted in selfishness or destruction, the Fraternity will guide them. Help them find the remaining Dragon Balls. Help them make their wish."
John absorbed this information. It made a strange kind of sense, though he couldn't be completely sure it was true. "And what if someone's wish is evil? What if they want to use the Dragon Balls for something terrible?"
Smith's expression became cold. Dangerous. "Tell me, John. What does the assassin community think of the Fraternity?"
John thought about what he knew. The Fraternity never accepted contracts. Never killed for money. But people still died by their hands. Crime lords. Traffickers. Monsters wearing human faces. They died mysteriously, with the Fraternity's signature efficiency.
And now he understood why there were no legends of the Dragon Balls in the outside world. Why no stories had survived.
Because everyone who'd failed the Fraternity's test had been eliminated.
"You kill them," John said quietly. "Anyone who wants to misuse the Dragon Balls. You hunt them down and remove them."
"Precisely," Smith confirmed. "The Dragon Balls are tools of incredible power. We can't allow them to fall into the wrong hands. So we test those who find them. And we judge them."
John met Smith's gaze steadily. "And you're testing me right now."
"We've been testing you since you touched that Dragon Ball," Smith said. "Watching how you respond to loss. How you handle your rage. Whether you're driven purely by vengeance or if there's something more."
Fox finally spoke up, her voice cutting through the tension. "And what's the verdict?"
Smith looked at John for a long moment. "The test isn't over yet. But so far, John Wick, you haven't failed."
No wonder there is no legend of Dragon Ball in the outside world. All the people who knew about it have been killed.