Fraternity – Textile Factory
The garbage truck rumbled to a stop outside the factory gates. The rear compartment opened, and John Wick dropped to the pavement, landing in a crouch. The truck pulled away without ceremony, disappearing around the corner.
John straightened, studying the building before him. This was it. He approached the door and knocked.
A viewing slot slid open. Wesley's face appeared in the gap.
"Mr. Wick. Glad you made it."
"I came as agreed," John said roughly.
The door swung inward. Wesley stepped aside to let him pass.
This was John's second visit to the textile factory, but the place had changed. More guards at the entrance, armed, alert. Inside the main floor, dozens of industrial looms clattered away, tended by workers who moved with too much precision, too much awareness.
John filed the observation away and kept following Wesley through the facility. They passed a break room, climbed a set of stairs, and stopped outside a door at the end of a long hallway.
"Go ahead," Wesley said. "Push it open yourself."
John turned the handle. Sunlight flooded through the doorway, warm and brilliant, as though inviting him to step out of the shadows at last.
Smith Doyle sat in a leather armchair, bathed in morning light. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes tracked every detail, John's blood-soaked shirt, the stiffness in his movements, the exhaustion carved into his features.
John crossed the room and dropped to one knee before him.
"Mr. Smith." His voice was hoarse with fatigue and something else. Hope, perhaps. "I'm here."
Smith regarded the kneeling figure. John Wick was at the end of his rope, and they both knew it.
"What do you want?"
John looked up. The rising sun behind Smith turned him into a silhouette of gold and shadow, impossibly regal.
"I've made an enemy of the Continental Hotel. I'm asking for your protection."
Smith withdrew the blood marker from his jacket and turned it over in his fingers, studying the embossed surface.
"John Wick. You've been excommunicated. There's a public bounty of twenty-one million dollars on your head, four million of that for the Dragon Balls alone." He set the marker on the armrest. "You're the highest value target the Continental has ever posted. Every killer in New York is hunting you. If word spreads beyond the city, you'll have the entire underworld at your throat."
Smith leaned forward slightly. "What do I gain by sheltering you?"
John had known this question was coming. He'd made his decision somewhere between the theater and the garbage truck.
He reached into his jacket and withdrew both Dragon Balls, the four-star spheres glowing faintly in the morning light. He placed them on the floor between them.
"I offer you my loyalty. I'll join the Fraternity."
Smith didn't glance at the Dragon Balls. His eyes remained fixed on John.
"What do you know about the Fraternity?"
"Not much," John admitted. "I've heard it's a force that can rival the High Table."
"The Fraternity has existed for over a thousand years," Smith said. "We have roots deeper than any nation currently standing. This country", he gestured vaguely at the window, "is not even three centuries old. We were hunting evil long before the first European ship reached these shores."
John felt the weight of that history settle over him. A thousand years. No wonder they could stand against the High Table as equals.
Smith continued, explaining the Fraternity's purpose, the elimination of corruption, the cleansing of evil that poisoned the world, the surgical removal of humanity's cancers. Not hired killers. Executioners. Judge, jury, and blade rolled into one ancient order.
When he finished, Smith asked: "John Wick. You retired five years ago for love. Even after everything that's happened, you've insisted you haven't truly returned to the life." His expression was unreadable. "Are you ready to come back now?"
John had never imagined the Fraternity operated like this, not as mercenaries, but as something closer to avenging angels. It explained their targets. The killers they'd eliminated. The criminal organizations they'd dismantled.
He met Smith's gaze directly.
"I'm ready. My hands were stained with blood long before I met Helen. She gave me a reason to walk away, to try for redemption. But her death made me understand the truth." His voice hardened. "A man like me doesn't get peace. Not the kind that lasts."
He lowered his head. "I pledge my loyalty to you. I'll join the Fraternity and help cleanse the filth from this world. Maybe then I can atone for what I've done."
Smith nodded slowly. "Then I accept your allegiance, John Wick."
Relief flooded through John. He picked up the Dragon Balls and offered them formally, holding them out like a knight presenting his sword to his lord.
Smith's faint smile suggested approval at the gesture, but he made no move to take them.
"Has your wish changed?"
"No." John's grip tightened on the spheres. "I want my wife back. Nothing else matters."
"Then keep holding them. I'll tell you where to find the next one."
John maintained his position, arms extended, and spoke carefully. "Lord Smith, the High Table is still hunting me. If the bounty stands, I won't survive a day outside these walls."
"You're right." Smith settled back in his chair. "If you want to walk free, there are two paths available. The first is to have the Continental Hotel reinstate you and convince the High Table to cancel the bounty. Only the twelve Elders of the High Table have that authority."
John waited. Smith's tone made it clear that wasn't the path they'd be taking.
"What's the second option?"
Smith's smile widened. "We eliminate the High Table and the Continental Hotel entirely. No Table, no bounty."
John's pupils dilated. For a moment, he couldn't breathe.
Eliminate the High Table. The organization that controlled the entire global underworld, that had existed for centuries, that commanded the loyalty of thousands of killers across every continent. Smith Doyle wanted to destroy it.
Then again... considering the Fraternity's stated mission, this made perfect sense. The High Table was corruption incarnate, a criminal empire disguised as order. Of course the Fraternity would target it eventually.
The underground world was about to be torn apart.
"What do you need me to do, Lord Smith?"
Smith laughed and waved him to his feet. "Nothing yet. Look at yourself, you can barely stand. You need proper medical treatment first. A wax bath should do the trick."