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John kept his head on a swivel as he hiked through the woods. Part of him thought he didn’t have to, he wasn’t on a job. Still, being John Wick came with some danger.
The Bowery King of all people asked for his help. An old rival has surfaced in England, a man who would recognize the Bowery King and the High Table. John had been off the grid for so long the rival thought he was dead. He proved easy to kill.
That was yesterday. Today, though, John was simply going for a hike and enjoying the cold forest air. The trees smelled delicious.
The loud caw of a bird broke him from his stupor. As John shook off the shock, a new smell hit his nose: dried blood. His eyes pinpricked and he drew his pistol.
Another bird call. John followed the sound and wrinkled his nose as the smell of blood became more pungent. He held his gun in a death grip, not sure if he’d simply find a dying animal or something worse.
He broke through the trees into a small clearing. A raven sat on the branch of a tree, chirping loudly as John approached. He followed the bird’s gaze to the lump at the base of the tree.
A man lay against the wood, dark hair flopped in front of his face. Blood coated the bottom of his chin; as John got closer, he made out the edges of a bullet hole. A pistol lay in the man’s right hand, his arm drooped beside him.
This had to be a trap. John took another step forward, tuning out his heartbeat as he focused on the woods around him. The crow remained silent, sensing the tension.
Nothing. No footsteps, no shouting, no gunfire. John kneeled and carefully examined the body in front of him. It was a man around his age, his face scrunched up. A few specks of blood sat on his lip, no doubt having dripped down from the face wound.
He reached for the gun in the man’s hand and the body suddenly jolted. John drew his pistol but did not fire, sensing a reluctance in his find. The man’s eyes flickered open, revealing light green orbs. He tried to open his mouth and winced, clutching with his free hand as cracks began to form around his lips. John holstered his gun, pushed the other one aside, and placed a gentle hand on the other man’s shoulder.
“I’m not going to hurt you. My name is John.” The man’s green eyes traced his face, searching for something. After a moment, he gave the tiniest nod. “Are you in danger?” John realized he shouldn’t be asking questions, this man clearly couldn’t speak. But to his surprise, the man shakily lifted his left hand and began to sign. He struggled to form a couple of letters, but John understood.
TIME - DURATION
“You’re asking how long you’ve been like this?” The man’s eyes lit up. John looked at his wound. “The blood is starting to dry, so I’d say a while.” Even in his frail state, the man looked relieved. “I know of a doctor near here, is that alright?” He got a thankful nod and helped the man to his feet. The crow let out a final call and flew off.
When John pushed open the door to the English Continental, the injured man on his arm, the entire lobby froze. A staff member handling the luggage carts and a woman on a nearby sofa immediately rushed over to help. John fumbled for the coins in his pocket, but in that moment it didn’t seem to matter. He collapsed onto the sofa as the bleeding man got whisked away.
An hour later, John found himself nursing a glass of water when a man in doctor’s scrubs came into the lobby. Glasses dangled off the edge of his nose, his hair askew and expression harried. John quickly got to his feet.
“How is he?”
“He shouldn’t be alive, but he is.” The doctor had a thick Scottish accent. “Who is he?”
“I don’t know,” John admitted. “I found him in the woods.”
“You took a risk to bring him here. We have no idea who he’s working for.”
“Does he have anything on him?”
“Just his sweater and pants.” The doctor softly exhaled. “He’ll need to rest.”
“When can I see him?”
“Tomorrow.” John nodded.
“Do you have a phone I can use?” The doctor gestured to a pay phone in a corner of the lobby. John silently nodded thanks and went to punch in the Bowery King’s number.
The Bowery King was intrigued and immediately sent out feelers. He and John wanted the same thing, to find out the identity of this mystery man. Was he secretly an agent of the High Table sent to take out John? Doubtful, but not completely impossible.
The next morning, John trudged down to the infirmary. The green-eyed man lay on a bed, a pad of paper in his lap. John saw scribbles and gestured.
“May I?” The man silently nodded, his jaw visibly tight. John picked the pad up and examined the words on the page. The handwriting was messy at first, but he was eventually able to decode it.
Lucas Grey
“That’s your name?” He nodded again and reached for the pad. John handed it back to him and watched as Lucas slowly picked up a pen. He added a few words before turning the pad back around.
Get me the hell out of England.
“Why?” Lucas shook his head and grit his teeth. Something burned in his eyes, a pain John was all too familiar with. He slowly nodded. “Okay.”
It took some heavy finagling, but Winston got them a private jet. Lucas wearily boarded behind John, still mute but visibly more alert.
Once they were in the air, John looked across the aisle. Lucas stared out the window, fist pressed against the unscarred part of his jaw. Gears turned in his head, conjuring up memories John couldn't even begin to imagine. For Lucas, though, the Continental was foreign and the memories were familiar. It was all simply a matter of perspective.
When they landed in New York and got off the plane, Lucas’s head swept around. Something glimmered in his eyes, something John took a moment to identify.
“You’re familiar with this city, I see.” Lucas simply shrugged. Not entirely sure what to make of that, John started walking.
They made it to the Continental without issue. Lucas braked to a halt on the steps, staring up at the facade with tiny pupils. Without looking at John, he signed a few words.
This place looks fancy. I don’t like fancy. John saw the double meaning in his word choice.
“I trust the people inside with my life. If they try to kill you, it will be news to me.” Lucas nodded, still visibly unassured. John held the door and gave him some distance inside.
Charon looked up as Lucas approached his desk. His eyes narrowed in brief confusion, but then the expression faded.
“You must be Mr. Grey.” Lucas nodded. “Mr. Wick told me you would be coming. I am Charon, the concierge.” Another nod. John walked up next to Lucas and produced a gold coin from his pocket. He slid it across the desk toward Charon.
“Two rooms, if you would.” Charon nodded, already typing away as John turned to Lucas. “Do you have any preferences?” Lucas cocked his head to the side as he pondered. After a moment, he replied with one sign.
Secure. Charon raised an eyebrow from behind his frames as John simply nodded.
“The rooms are ready.” Charon produced two room keys. Lucas took his with a slow, yet firm gesture, then headed off to the elevator. John started to follow when Charon spoke up again. “Mr. Wick?”
“Yes?” Charon leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“That man… where did you find him?”
“England, why?”
“His gait… it is not of the High Table, but it is practiced. Measured.” John’s eyebrows raised in surprise.
“So you think he’s one of us?”
“I do, sir.” Charon leaned back and straightened his jacket. “Good day, Mr. Wick.” John headed to the elevator even more confused by the man called Lucas Grey.
John awoke the next morning to a wake-up call, despite not having requested one. He picked up the receiver with a heavy hand.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Wick.” Charon sounded harried, perhaps even a little annoyed, but not like he was in distress. “The Bowery King is here, loudly requesting your presence.”
“I know he’s here!” John heard the Bowery Kong shout in the background. He let out a tight sigh.
“Tell him I’ll be right down.”
John didn’t even bother changing out of his sweatpants. He arrived in the lobby to find the Bowery King puffed up, an angry gleam in his eyes. The moment he saw John, he crossed the room to greet him.
“Would you like to explain what the hell you’ve gotten me into?”
“I take it something happened?”
“Did it ever.” The Bowery King attempted to calm himself down with an inhale, but it didn’t work. “I got a call from Edgar, and you know what he told me?” John silently shook his head. “He told me that his team got attacked by one man, a bald albino motherfucker who took everyone out like it was nothing. He almost shot Edgar as well, had the barrel to his head, but didn’t. Asked him to deliver a message.”
“And what was that message?” The Bowery King opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, another voice rang out.
“47.” Everyone in the lobby seemed to turn. Lucas stood there in his bare feet, hair slightly askew, his lips barely open. And yet, despite barely being alive, his voice was clear. The Bowery King narrowed his eyes.
“I take it you are Lucas Grey?” Lucas’s eyes flicked over to John.
“I understand your curiosity, even applaud it. But you have put yourselves on a warpath you do not want to be on.”
“Gentlemen!” The lobby quickly made itself busy as Winston approached. Lucas turned to face him and wrinkled his nose. “Might I suggest we take this conversation somewhere we won’t disturb business?”
“If you wish to kill me,” Lucas snapped, “it won’t matter. 47 already knows where you are.” He glanced at the Bowery King. “That was the message, wasn’t it? To stop looking, to keep me alive. If you do that, we won’t have a problem.”
“Mr. Grey.” Winston’s voice was calm yet firm. “I understand you have questions. We do as well. But shouting at each other in the lobby during business hours will not do anyone any good.” Lucas let out a long sigh, closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded.
“Okay.”
The conference room felt way too big. Lucas pointedly placed himself in a chair where he could reach the door without having his back on it. Winston sat at the head of the table, John to his right. The Bowery King remained standing, leaning against the wall with crossed arms and a glare that would have killed any lesser man. After a moment of awkward silence, Winston finally spoke.
“I understand your distrust, Mr. Grey. You have been taken to a place that is unfamiliar to you, surrounded by people with guns, tense air, and a different way of doing things. While you may not believe it, you must understand that no one in this building wants to hurt you. Right now, we are simply trying to gather information.” Winston clasped his hands together and exhaled. “Now, this man, the one you call 47, is he on his way here?” Lucas glanced up at the Bowery King.
“Did your soldier tell him I’m alive?” The Bowery King silently nodded. “Does he know I am ostensibly here of my own free will?” Another nod. Lucas turned back to Winston. “Then no, he is not on his way here. Assuming Olivia is still alive as well, your systems may experience an unwelcome visitor or two. But as for physical visits?” Lucas shook his head. “47 will call first, though you should not mistake that for being unprepared. He will know every exit, every security camera, every person on your staff before he reaches New York.”
“Who is he?” That question came from John. Lucas’s head swiveled to look at him. “This 47 seems important to you.”
“If you’re trying to threaten him, you should know everyone else who did is in Hell.”
“I’m just trying to gather information, same as you.” Silence. Lucas closed his eyes and took a deep breath, balling his hands into fists. After a slow exhale, he opened his eyes and relaxed.
“My brother. 47 is my younger brother.” A hush fell over the table. Lucas allowed himself to dryly smirk. “He has always been the best, no one ever came close. If he wanted to, he could dismantle your High Table.” Winston’s eyes widened, and his lips parted just slightly. “I may have been mute, Winston, but I wasn’t dumb. I paid attention, and gathered what I could.”
Before the battle of wits could continue, the phone on the table suddenly rang. Lucas stared at it, not even flinching as three pairs of eyes trained themselves on him. With a long sigh, Winston picked up the receiver.
“Is it him, Charon?” Only a brief pause, and then Winston looked up. Lucas got to his feet and slowly walked around the table, keeping his eyes trained on the center of the room. Winston slowly passed the phone over to him.
“Is that you, Lucas?” For a second, he allowed himself to exhale with relief.
“It is, 47.”
The lobby was mostly empty. Lucas stood in the center, staring out at the front door. The Bowery King, John, Winston, and Charon had deposited themselves onto a nearby sofa, neutrally waiting.
The doors swung open. Olivia was in the front, and Lucas’s face softened. He saw her look around, overwhelmed and bordering on tears.
“Olivia.” She froze, her face turning to him. A genuine smile appeared on Lucas’s lips as Olivia began to blink. “You’re awake, everything’s alright.” Olivia’s composure broke. She sprinted across the room and launched herself into Lucas’s arms, holding him in a tight hug. He softly grunted before embracing her.
More footsteps. Lucas slowly looked up, still holding Olivia in his grip.
47, for all of his stoic barriers, looked tired. He stood a few feet away, holding a black piece of fabric in his hands. Lucas let go and slowly approached; as he got closer, he realized 47 was holding his jacket.
“You took my coat?” It came out almost mischievous, positively giddy by Lucas Grey standards. 47 shrugged his shoulders just the tiniest bit.
“I didn’t think I would see you again.” He slowly held out his arms, keeping his eyes locked on his brother. Lucas took the jacket and squeezed it, allowing himself a moment of vulnerability. He suddenly felt overwhelmed.
“Did you get him?” He saw 47 nod in his peripheral.
“Arthur Edwards is dead.” Lucas sharply exhaled.
“Good.” After a moment, he asked, “Diana?”
“Alive,” 47 replied. Olivia let out a soft huff.
“Still a pain in the ass.” Lucas quietly chuckled, finally allowing himself to put his jacket on. It felt familiar, and yet also like something from a lifetime ago. 47 turned to the couch of onlookers, his eyes scanning them before landing on John.
“I hear you are the one who found him.” After John nodded, 47 turned his eyes to the Bowery King. “And you are the one who went looking.” The Bowery King’s lips twitched, but then he swallowed down his pride and simply nodded. Winston stood up and smoothed out his jacket.
“You must be 47.” 47 nodded, then turned his gaze back to Lucas. An entire conversation seemed to play out silently between them. Lucas eventually nodded and turned to Winston.
“With all due respect, we hope never to see any of you again.”
“Likewise.” Lucas looked at John for a moment and nodded. He then glanced up at Charon before turning to Winston.
“You should give your concierge a raise, he is quite good at examining people.” Charon pinched his lips together, clearly trying to hide a shocked smile. Lucas turned on his heels and gestured to the door. “Shall we?” Olivia nodded, 47 already on his way out.
The three strange figures exited the Continental one last time, never to cross paths with the High Table again.