Fox was reeling. So many unbelievable things had happened in a single day—cosmic wish-granting objects, a 400-million-dollar bounty, and now, a device that could quantify a person's life force.
"Quick, let me try the combat power detector you mentioned," she urged, her voice edged with scientific curiosity. "Is this thing really so magical? Let's see how strong my fighting ability is first."
Smith turned and focused the device on her. Immediately, the Scouter displayed the reading: 6 points.
Smith wasn't surprised. While Fox was incredibly skilled and arguably better at pure gun-fighting than John Wick, their bio-energy levels were close.
"Six points," Smith stated.
Fox stared at the single digit, confused. "Is that high or low?" she asked uncertainly.
Smith considered his words. "It's a point or two higher than the average, highly trained person. Compare it yourself."
He carefully removed the Combat Power Detector (Scouter) and placed it in Fox's hand.
Fox eagerly clipped the device over her ear and focused it on Smith Doyle. She watched the numbers on the lens jump and then quickly fix on a value.
"Nine points, Smith! Your combat power is 9 points!" she exclaimed. "That's one-and-a-half times mine!"
She then quickly turned her gaze toward the ongoing skirmish inside the chapel, scanning the various figures below. The Scouter's lens identified different figures and their power levels.
"Five points... This one's also five points... Oh my god, there's another one at three points." She then found John Wick, who was currently taking cover.
"John Wick is 6 points. How is that possible? I don't think I'd find it difficult to kill him."
After her brief experiment, Fox removed the Scouter and returned it to Smith.
Smith clipped it back on and explained the mechanics. "This Combat Power Detector primarily measures a person's raw biological energy."
"The higher the bio-energy, the higher the combat power. If your value exceeds about 1.3 times that of your opponent, you're looking at a crushing, overwhelming victory."
"As for why you think defeating John Wick is easy, it's because of the combat skills of our Assassin's League. These skills—precision, strategy, and experience—are not fully reflected in the numbers."
Fox nodded, the technical explanation making sense of her intuition.
Just as Fox was marveling at the technology, John Wick's battle at the church ended. Two women, employees of Viggo, ran out in terror, and soon, thick, burning smoke billowed from the church windows.
"Smith, John seems to have set a fire," Fox observed. "This has caused Viggo considerable financial damage."
Smith nodded, but neither of them cared about the burned cash, antiques, or the collusive evidence Viggo Tarasov used against city officials.
John Wick soon walked out, a figure of smoky determination, but he didn't leave. Instead, he quickly secured an ambush location.
Seeing John Wick's strategic maneuver, Fox remarked, "You know what, I'm starting to admire this guy. His business skills are excellent."
John Wick hid himself inside an abandoned shipping container outside the church. He was completely unaware of Smith and Fox, who were concealed on the nearby rooftop.
Soon, Viggo, having received an emergency call from the survivors, sped over with his men. He stormed into the basement vault to check the damage, emerging moments later in a blind, shaking rage. He immediately shot and killed the terrified priest who had opened the underground vault for John Wick.
"Damn it! It was all burned to ashes!" Viggo cursed, his face contorted with fury. He turned to the consultant and part-time lawyer beside him. "Is there anything we can do to remedy this?"
The consultant nervously shook his head. "Viggo, you know what was in that basement. That money is nothing—the leverage, the dirt on the officials—that's what John Wick truly burned."
John Wick's actions had inflicted a deep, systemic wound on Viggo's operation.
At that moment, John Wick, who was hiding in the dark, burst from the container. He was holding a Coharie Arms CA-415 assault rifle and immediately opened fire on Viggo's men.
"Tap, tap, tap!"
The sound of the assault rifle ripped through the street. Viggo whirled around just as one of his soldiers was shot and crumpled to the ground. Recognizing the shooter instantly, Viggo squatted down and scrambled behind the safety of his car.
"F*ck it! Fight back!" Viggo screamed.
His remaining men frantically pulled out their guns, initiating a chaotic shootout. John Wick fluidly used the surrounding cars as mobile cover, methodically picking off his targets.
Fox, holding her telescope, analyzed the chaos below. "These gang members have terrible marksmanship," she commented with professional disdain.
"They are simply wasting bullets and sending men to their deaths."
Smith nodded in agreement. "John Wick is a retired Marine Corps scout sniper who earned the nickname 'Night Demon' at the Continental. If he didn't possess incredible strength and skill, he wouldn't have survived to this day."
Smith continued, providing context: "Before John Wick retired, he was loyal to the very Russian organization Viggo is now running. He completed an impossible task—the 'impossible task'—to earn his retirement. And Viggo ended up letting his own son cause this mess. Tsk... tsk... tsk..."
While the two spoke, John Wick had killed eight of Viggo's men. But then, he was momentarily unlucky. Viggo's confidant managed to start a car and slam it into John Wick.
"BUMP!"
John Wick was hit by the car and thrown violently into the air. He did not die, but the collision knocked him unconscious.
Fox saw the turn of events and gasped.
"Smith, the subject you selected for observation is about to die!"
Smith smiled calmly. "Don't worry, Fox. He won't die. Not yet."
As the gunfire ceased, Viggo ordered his men to tie up the unconscious John Wick and take him to a warehouse for interrogation and torture. Fox watched in disbelief.
"Viggo is insane! He didn't even kill John!"
Smith looked at Fox, his words a lesson in the lethality of their world.
"When you encounter an enemy, even if they are unconscious, you must shoot them and kill them immediately. Talking too much nonsense will only give the enemy a chance to turn the tables."
'I wonder how Viggo would feel,' Smith thought, watching the scene unfold, if he knew that his moment of unnecessary hubris not only cost him his own life but also his son's.
Smith and Fox expertly shadowed Viggo and his men, quickly securing a hiding spot outside the upper windows of the warehouse. Thanks to Smith's skill and caution, they made no sound.
Inside, Viggo Tarasov's men tied John Wick securely to a chair, removing every weapon from his person. In the pile of collected items—three daggers, four pistols, two grenades—Viggo found the One-Star Dragon Ball that John had worn around his neck.
Viggo, holding the amber sphere, squinted at it in disgust. "What is this, a children's toy?"
He casually tossed the Dragon Ball into the growing pile of John Wick's confiscated weapons, having no idea he was throwing away the key to immortality.
Crucially, Smith did not use the Dragon Ball's function to impart information to Viggo; the crime boss was not worthy of the knowledge.
Seeing John Wick slowly stirring and waking up, Viggo ordered a chair placed opposite the legendary assassin. Viggo walked forward, ready to begin his fatal, long-winded speech.