The Continental Hotel
Winston approached Smith as the last of the witnesses filed out of the dining area. His expression was carefully controlled, but Smith could read the calculation behind his eyes.
"Mr. Doyle, do you truly believe Jonathan will reach your headquarters alive?"
The question carried weight. Winston knew the Fraternity had the resources to protect John Wick, but he needed to understand how committed they were to this particular investment. The wrong answer could reignite a conflict between two organizations that had carefully avoided direct confrontation for years.
This incident could escalate quickly depending on how the Elders of the High Table chose to interpret the violation. Was killing on Continental grounds a personal offense against Winston's authority, or an attack on the entire High Table system?
Smith's smile was enigmatic. "If John doesn't have the ability to reach us alive, then there's no point in keeping him alive at all."
Winston understood immediately. John had to prove his worth through survival. The Fraternity wouldn't rescue him, they'd evaluate him.
"Then I thank you on Jonathan's behalf," Winston said quietly. "For giving him a chance."
John Wick's House
Rain hammered against the windows as John returned home, soaked to the bone. He stood in his living room, water dripping onto the hardwood floor, and stared at the framed photograph of Helen smiling at the camera.
He pulled out his phone with numb fingers and played her video again. Her voice filled the empty house.
Two down. Five to go.
"Wait for me, Helen," John whispered to the screen. "I'm coming for you."
The doorbell rang.
John answered to find Charon standing on his doorstep, rain streaming off his umbrella.
"If you're willing," Charon said formally, "you should come with me."
John nodded once and grabbed his coat.
The Park - Dawn
Charon drove Winston's Rolls-Royce through the pre-dawn streets. John sat in the back seat, watching the city pass by, mentally preparing himself for what came next.
The sequence was clear in his mind: meet with Winston, receive formal excommunication, then fight his way to the Fraternity headquarters before every killer in New York descended on him. If he made it there alive, the Fraternity would intervene. If he died trying, his problems would be over.
The car pulled up to a park entrance just as the sun began painting the sky pink and gold. Charon got out and opened John's door, then extended his hand.
"It's been a pleasure knowing you, Mr. Wick," Charon said, shaking John's hand with genuine warmth.
He pointed toward the park's interior. "That way."
John walked into the park, crossing over a pedestrian bridge, and spotted Winston sitting on the steps in the center of a public square. Early morning joggers and dog-walkers moved around him, oblivious to what was about to unfold.
"Jonathan," Winston greeted him.
John didn't waste time with pleasantries. "What's my punishment?"
Winston remained seated, looking up at John with an expression that mixed regret with something harder. "The Camorra has raised the bounty to twenty million dollars. Or They specifically want the two Orange Balls in your possession."
He paused. "You're now under a global contract. Every assassin, everywhere."
"The Camorra?" John's voice carried confusion. "But I killed Santino."
"And he was their seated member at the High Table," Winston explained. "They want revenge."
"What about the Continental?"
Winston's expression darkened. He stood slowly, his voice taking on an edge of anger, whether real or performed, John couldn't tell.
"You killed someone on Continental grounds, Jonathan. You gave me no choice." He walked closer. "I'm forced to declare you excommunicatus. Everything connected to the Continental Hotel is now closed to you. No services, no sanctuary, no resources."
His voice softened slightly. "I'm sorry, but you've essentially lost your life."
John's throat felt tight. "Then why aren't I dead yet?"
Winston met his eyes. "Because I deemed it wasn't time. Yet."
He nodded to a man in a black windbreaker standing nearby. The man pulled out his phone and tapped the screen once.
Instantly, every person in the park froze. Joggers stopped mid-stride. Dog-walkers became statues. A child throwing a ball to his father hung suspended in the act. The entire scene looked like someone had pressed pause on reality.
John turned slowly, taking in the dozens of assassins disguised as ordinary citizens. Every single one of them was part of the Continental network, waiting for the order to move.
Winston nodded again. Everyone resumed motion as if nothing had happened.
"You have one hour," Winston said, checking his watch. "After that, I can't delay any longer. The system has protocols."
He reached into his jacket and withdrew a blood oath marker, the one John had accumulated in his past, given to Winston when he'd retired. Winston had kept it safe all this time.
"You might need this."
John took the marker, recognizing it immediately. His last bargaining chip, returned to him at the moment he needed it most.
"Winston," John said, his voice low and dangerous. "Tell them. Tell everyone. No matter what happens, no matter what methods they use, I will kill every assassin who comes for me. Every single one."
Winston's expression shifted to something that might have been pride. "Of course you will."
As John turned to leave, Winston called out one more time.
"You have two paths to survival, Jonathan. Only two."
John stopped, listening.
"The Fraternity can protect you. Or the High Table Elders can cancel the contract." Winston's voice was measured, deliberate. "The former offers sanctuary. The latter offers absolution."
John understood immediately. The High Table option would require him to bow, to beg, to surrender every shred of dignity and autonomy. The Elders would own him completely.
The Fraternity was his only real choice.
"Thank you, Winston," John said without turning around.
Then he walked out of the park, disappearing into the awakening city.
Winston watched him go, then pulled out his phone and dialed. "Open an account. One-one-one-one-one. In one hour: John Wick, excommunicatus."
The hunt would begin at exactly 7:00 AM.
Rooftop Overlooking the Park
What neither Winston nor John knew was that Smith Doyle and Fox were watching from a building adjacent to the park, binoculars trained on the scene below.
Fox's phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and whistled softly. "Bounty's up to twenty million now. Plus the Dragon Ball bonus. John Wick just became the most valuable target in the Continental's history."
She lowered her binoculars. "The Camorra is interested in the Dragon Balls now too. That's going to complicate things."
Smith deactivated his Scouter, none of the power levels below were particularly interesting. "The secret of the Dragon Balls wouldn't be a secret if it were easy to discover. But yes, we've attracted attention. Every assassin who sees that bounty is going to start investigating what makes those orange ball worth two million dollars."
"John obsession with it will raise questions," Fox agreed. "When powerful people desperately want something, everyone else wants to know why."
She looked at Smith. "Do you think John will actually make it to the textile factory alive? Twenty million is a lot of motivation for the competition."
Smith watched John Wick disappear into the streets below. "Let's find out. Come on, we're going to watch the show."