The boat was not the safest he had ever been on, far from the most comfortable. It was only slightly larger than an eight-wheel moving van, liable to fail a safety test for sea-worthiness. Metal pieces of its frame stuck out from the walls. The few chairs that were present were barren of any padding.

The chairs bothered him the most.

But he was not to disturb any commander of the ship, no matter the circumstance. No matter their wrongs, he could not risk them bringing attention to him, or anyone's attention around him. It would risk too much for too little.

So he settled with sitting against the outer wall of the boat, metal cabin of the ship at his back and the railings of the boat just out of reach from his feet. His hand was cupped around the rag on his head, hiding him from anyone with even a curious eye.

The rag, dirty as it was, was at least comparable to the rest of his garments. The remains of clothing that may, at one time, may have been a nice suit, but now looked as if they were forgotten remains of a sewer worked. They were coats in grime, in sweat, tears and holes, and blood. The blood was not his own.

"Ghh!" He suddenly let out, gritting his teeth painfully.

His hands flew to his side, cupping a wound beneath his soiled shirt. It was a stab wound, minor one, but untreated and likely carrying a festering infection. He hadn't had the time or means to treat it.

Another pressure met him then, more comfortable though likely just as familiar. His jaw relaxed slowly, enough to allow him to turn his head. He saw what he expected to see.

"Easy boy," he spoke to the dog at his side, his companion pushing against his arm. His voice was soft, hardly a whisper, just enough for the dog to acknowledge. "Relax."

His other hand reached up and stroked the fur between the dogs to ears, scratching at his scalp. It calmed the boy quickly, the dog lowering itself to the boat deck, its head leaning on the man's leg.

He let go of his wound , not stopping to scratch the dog's head. His fingers ran through the stubble of his light beard, flicking away the grim that had gotten caught in his coarse hairs.

It had been sometime since he was able to shower, sleep in a bed, or sleep at all. They were all far off wishes of his, but not so far off he did not pursue them.

After all, he was on this decrepit boat to find those things.

His eyes looked off the boats port, watching the horizon to steady his equilibrium. It was a tactic used to calm the mind, even one's temperament. It was instructed to him in what feels like a lifetime ago, when he fought with men who would celebrate in the day and fight at night.

He had to focus on that now, remember what he had and what he needed. He had to remember so he could do what had to be done.

He had clothes, though hardly fit to be called proper or worth wearing. He had his dog, who would not leave his side even if asked. He had his health, though that was a debate he did not wish to have.

But he needed food. He needed new clothes. He needed a bed. But most of all, likely more importantly than all, he needed a gun.

He recognized what he needed as a land mass began to trail by the boat.

It had likely been visible for a few hours now, but he was not looking off the bow. The bow was too exposed for him to be near. He was on the portside, and as such, he was able to watch the stone monuments of port drift by.

And monuments they were, because there was little else one could call the statue of Buddha.

It was hardly a masterpiece of a design, not even cared for well. Portions of the great statue had fallen away in chunks, some as large as his own body. Any dignity or divinity that was once upon the statue of the holy man was lost, be it to time, the sea, or whatever else passed it by.

He watched the tall statue crawl by, the Buddha of Peace and Balance turning its back on him. The martyr of inner peace paying no heed to the town behind him.

He sighed as he heard the horn for the boat sound. It was time to leave. His dog got up quickly , shaking his head and eagerly looking around. He must know they were leaving.

"It's okay, boy," he comforted the dog, petting him once more. He pushed off of the boat's cabin, reaching his feet on unsteady legs. He didn't mind boats, but he was trained on solid ground. He preferred it.

Standing up, he could at least see the city ahead.

The city of Roanapur.

It looked well-kept from the boat and at a fair distance, surprisingly. Last time he was here, the city was war-torn with the rise of the Russian Mafia. Viggo had requested him to take out one of the high-ranked members of the Triads. He had left shortly after.

Now, it looked as if the city were proper, one well-managed by time. But he was a man who fell for no illusions. And the city across the water, growing with every second that passed, was an illusion of peace.

The city of Roanapur was well-known through all of the Continentals. The city of assassins and thieves, the town of hired men and forgotten women, the den of the black market. It was not a place the assassins of the Continental would freely travel.

Because it was the one city the Continental had failed to form.

That made it perfect.

No den of assassins seeking his head, no trade of information to share his name, he would be a ghost in a town of criminals and thieves. He'd be unobvious, hidden, just another man in a crowd of criminals.

But it was only temporary, it had to be.

It would take only a whisper for word of who he was to reach the many of assassin's and head-hunters on the streets of the bloody city. No matter how clean it looked from a distance, he knew well the bodies that were thrown into the alleys daily. Because he knew the rulers of the city.

Roanapur of Thailand, ruled by gangs across the world. The Russian Mob, the Hong Kong Triad, Italian Mafia, and the Columbian Cartel. They were all rulers of the city, four kings over the same plot of land.

He sighed, rolling his stiff shoulders. He was putting too much thought into this. He had to focus. He came here for supplies, for objects, and then he would leave. He could not stay in a city were even the innocent were not safe.

He had to keep moving, or everyone would know his name.

The boat's horn blew again, his dog barking at the sudden noise. His hand fell on the dog's neck, calming his companion with gentle pats. He didn't like loud noises. Neither of them did.

But it at least meant they were close to port, something his eyes could tell. Once they were there, he knew where to go. He could only hope it was in the same spot as before.

But it had been a long time since he came here last. Years before he retired and years of retirement. The powers may not have changed, but the people could. There was no schedule to the underworld, there was no place to learn of its happenings.

The only place that could have possibly allowed that never been allowed to form.

He sighed. He was thinking too much.

"C'mon boy," he spoke to the dog at his side. The boy stood quickly, shaking his body as if he were wet. He took pace along the boat's bow, approaching the undocking station. There were already others lined up to leave.

"Welcome! Welcome all!" A voice on the dock was yelling. He saw the man, arms raised outward and a broad smile on his face. He was not a man to be trusted. "I pray to the Buddha your trip was peaceful, and your stay in our city is eventful!"

He looked over the others on the boat with him. None of them looked to be here for relaxation. Grizzled faces, unkempt shirts, lack of luggage, hands to close to their hips. They were not here for vacation, but neither was he.

He ignored the man as he made his way down the plank, his dog trailing just behind him. The rag on his head made it hard to see, but he was not blind. His feet on the concrete of the port was a blessed feeling, but one he hardly had time to enjoy.

The bay was busy with activity, ships of sizes big and small docking and departing, exchanging cargo in crates he couldn't see. They were marked with flags from a dozen different countries, each carrying the hidden but obvious cargo native to their homelands.

Workers hurried to load or unload the appropriate merchandise, foremen yelling out orders and cranes moved the heavier bins to the ships' cargo holds. It was clear, even without a visit in years, that business had not suffered here.

But he was not here for a cargo ship. He was not here for a pleasure cruise.

But he did need a ship, and there was one ship he needed.

"Let's go, boy," he spoke to his dog, beginning his walk into the city. His dog kept pace with him easily, making a hole in the crowd of people ahead. They didn't want to touch a man covered in rags

That was fine. He didn't want to be seen.

It was another day in the Lagoon Company, another day in the city of the Thieves.

Rokuro "Rock" Okajima was in the office, sitting on a moderate sofa with a newspaper in hand. He had been there since they had opened, promptly at nine a.m. He had prepared a pot of coffee, cleaned the office space of excess materials, and made it perfectly presentable for anyone who walked in.

It was his job, after all. Document the work being done and bring in the work that knocked at the door. As a former-salaryman, he was excellent at keeping a straight and respectful persona even when faced with those who would kill him without regrets or worries.

One such person was lying down on a couch opposite of him.

He folded the newspaper just enough to see his partner, Revy "Two-Hands". A pirate through and through, expert marksman, and professional drinker, or so she would preferred to be called. She was currently doing maintenance on her guns, or at least checking on their ability to operate. Rock was not sure of the difference.

All he was sure of was that it was a system for her, a habit she was dedicated to, and it was not one any man who wished to live would interrupt. He was one such man. He knew what to expect from her as well as he did the newspaper he was holding.

A paper documenting the events of Roanapur from day to day, but never once mentioning the most important things in the city. No mention of the gangs that operated there, no mention of the assassins and foreign agents, no mention of a thing that would make national headlines anywhere else.

Instead, he saw news that the police chief was staying on for another year and a new building was to be constructed following the demolition of a run-down factory. Such was the norm of Roanapur. It was something he had come to accept.

"Hey Dutch!" Revy suddenly shouted, nearly making Rock jump. He only crinkled the paper he read. "We got anything coming in yet? I'm getting bored outta my fucking skull over here." It was difficult for her to stay for long.

"Calm down, Revy. You're gonna put us all on edge." Dutch responded. Rock looked at him, the head of the Lagoon Company. Leaning back in his chair with muscular arms at his chest, he did not appear as someone to test. Experience told Rock that was a truth.

A Vietnam veteran, or so he told, that commanded respect throughout Roanapur. It took Rock a long time to realize he had respect because he never took sides, only did favors and jobs for those that paid, and nothing more. His dark skin did a lot to show he belonged to no ruling mob.

"A light day of work means the bosses around town are getting ready for something big. Work like ours doesn't come steadily, so we gotta be cool when the days are long." And his wisdom was sage like. It only hurt that they were referring to criminal enterprises.

"There's gotta be something that Big Sis needs us for. Not like she trusts anyone else to move her guns." Revy retorted. That was also true, and further testament to their abilities. But those were not jobs he enjoyed.

"We did a shipment for them last week. They don't that many guns in Roanapur, Revy. Cause too much friction with the Triads." Rock nodded at the logic. It was a truth. If the Triads new the Russians were bringing in more weapons, they'd do the same in kind.

They were in a balance of power right now, and any side over playing their hand would tip it into a war. A war that everyone had been waiting for since the Russians first showed up, or so Rock had been told.

"Look Revy, I get it," Dutch went on. "The heat's intense, the work ain't comin', and your waiting to blow some poor soul's brains out for looking at you the wrong way." Rock couldn't say he was wrong. "But we gotta keep to our bases and not alter the status quo. We move with it, we sure as hell don't change it."

"Bunch of BS," Revy grumbled back, spinning her handguns around her fingers. Rock prayed to all deities of the Shinto religion that the guns were unloaded. In this city though, he knew they weren't listening. "How do they expect ta stay on our good side if they don't give us the work."

"We work for them, not the other way round," Dutch smoothly replied again. "Ain't their job to worry how happy we are, just that we can do what they pay." Rock could tell that wasn't what Revy wanted to hear.

A grit jaw, palm against her head, and a pair of guns likely locked and loaded. Her angry was more terrifying that most things Rock had seen in his life. Thankfully, he knew how to defuse the ticking bomb.

"We can go to Yellow Flag later." He supplied smoothly, doing his best to keep his eyes on the paper. She hated it when he pampered her. "We can cool off with shots. I'll probably need more than you though." She loved it when he challenged her.

"HA! This again?" Revy shot back across the table separating them. "Last time you tried that Rock you were puking out your liver like a fuckin firestorm." Rock hid his sigh of relief at her banter. "Your on though, long as that bitch Eda doesn't show up, might be just what I need ta calm me down."

Knock Knock

Rock turned towards the entrance, already knowing Dutch and Revy were doing the same. No, they were doing more.

Revy had gone from relaxing on the sofa to armed and focus in the span of a breath of air. Both of her guns were aimed at the wooden surface, moving away from the doorway. Dutch had straightened behind his desk, likely to reach for the shotgun tapped to the underside of his seat

Rock knew why though. People didn't knock on doors in Roanapur, least not at Lagoon company. People came in when they wanted a job or called when they needed their service. You knocked on doors when you wanted attention.

And, as Mr. Chang had showed once, ambushes started with knowing where the enemy was.

"I'll… get it," Rock stated as he stood slowly, placing the newspaper on the coffee table. Revy made a look at him that threatened bodily harm, but she didn't stop him. It made sense for him to open the door. He was the only one who didn't carry a gun.

"Careful Rock," Dutch spoke behind him. He only nodded as he approached the door, his footsteps echoing as he reached it. Gunfire didn't sound and the door wasn't kicked open. Good signs so far.

He opened the door with a twist of the handle, stepping back to allow Revy a clear shot to his side. He knew how she moved. But it turned out to be unnecessary.

A man was standing behind the door, a likely homeless man with little to his name. A rag was settled over his head and falling low enough to cover his upper chest. Suit clothes that were likely found in the ocean clung to his body, and the stench of uncleanliness pervaded him.

He still could have been a threat.

"Woof!" Rock looked down at the sound, seeing the dog standing beside the man. Tongue lolled out and tail wagging, it was very different from the attack dogs used by Hotel Moscow or the Triads. It was domesticated, in a sense.

But the man's hand was on the dogs head, scratching his scalp. The other was hanging from his side, open and showing it was far from concealing any dangerous weapon. He wasn't a proper customer, as far as Rock could judge, but he wasn't a threat.

"May I come in?" the man asked in a stoic voice. Rock blinked away his confusion at the question. The man was a customer of some sort at least. It would be abhorrent to not give him the respect he needed.

"Of course, please forgive my delay," Rock answered with a quick bow, stepping out of the way soon after. The man walked in with a strong posture, something that reminded Rock of the many soldiers around Roanapur.

As he entered, his eyes crossed with Revy, she watching the man as well. Her guns were drawn, but not aimed at the man. He either didn't notice or didn't mind. Given the city, it was likely the latter.

But Rock did see Revy stare at him for a few moments longer, getting him to look at her. Slowly, to show her confusion, her lips moved without a sound. He made out the words easily.

'What the fuck?'

He shrugged in response, having less of an idea of what was going on than the infamous Revy "Two-Hands". He was just an ex-salaryman in the city of Thieves.

"Hey, you lost?" Dutch asked as the man approached his desk. Rock couldn't tell if his superior was or wasn't reaching for his shotgun still, not from across the room. "Cause this ain't a church and sure as hell ain't a charity."

The man didn't say anything for a moment, just staring down at Dutch with his hand petting his dog's head. Revy was aiming her guns at the man again, likely ready for a worst case scenario. That meant Rock should do the opposite.

"Would you care for some coffee, sir?" He asked from behind the man. He felt more than saw Revy give him another look of disbelief, but he was used to such expressions from her.

"No, thank you," the man's stoic voice replied again. His head, covered by a rag, turned back to Dutch. "I'm looking for a boat."

"We got one," Dutch responded easily. "Need us to deliver somethin' for you? Or you looking for a pick-up?"

"To take, actually." The man spoke in response. It was the same stoic voice as before. Then again, Dutch had much the same.

"You can try the harbor, got dozens of them down there," Rock's superior returned easily. Rock understood. They were a service, not sales. It was not their job to give any information on clients, even for purchase.

"Do you know anyone selling then?" Rock as starting to feel the tension ease from the room as the questions went on. The man was odd, even in a city like Roanapur, but he didn't appear to be a threat.

"We ain't a fucking kiosk here," Revy grumbled next to Rock. He saw putting her Cutlasses away, crossing her arms to lean back against the wall. She likely judged the same as him. That was good. "Try asking someone else for help."

"Revy's blunt, but she ain't wrong," Dutch responded, looking around the man to give Revy. Rock heard her blow air out of her face in a huff. "Best I can tell ya is to check out Hotel Moscow or the Triads. Could get lucky with the Cartel, but that's about it."

"Would you be able to help me… arrange a meeting?" The man's voice hadn't changed inflection once. He wasn't nervous, disappointed, or anything else Rock could pick up.

As a salaryman, he was taught to listen for such things so better deals could be made. This man, talking to Dutch and with Revy at his back, didn't appear any different than when he was knocking on their door.

"That's more than we usually do," Dutch dismissed. "We're offer services, not secretaries or goods. You wanna go somewhere, we can take ya, but that's all you can get from us."

"I understand," the man responded without a moment of pause. Odd, because usually people had to think when situations did not turn out as expected. "I am hoping for a favor from an old friend."

Rock didn't have much time to think on what the man meant. He was reaching up with his hand, grabbing at the rag on his head. He crumpled the material with a hard grip of his fist, pulling it off and out of the way.

Rock could only see the back of his head, matted dark and unkempt hair, but he could also see Dutch. And he saw his superior's eyes widen when the man exposed himself.

"Well shit," Dutch spoke simply. "Of all the men in the world, never thought I'd see you be seein' you walking through my door again." Rock watched, carefully, as Dutch leaned back in his chair.

He was relaxed, no longer consulting with the man. They clearly knew one another.

"Guess retirement didn't work out for a ya, huh Wick?"

ClickClick

Rock whipped his head to see Revy aiming her pistols at the man again, hammers drawn and triggers ready. Only experience told him not to reach for her arms to stop her. But as worrying as her trigger-happy nature was, the way she looked was far more concerning.

Revy appeared afraid, terrified even. It was an expression he'd only seen on her once, when Balalaika was threatening his life in Japan. She charged into every situation grinning and screaming with joy. But now, because of this man's name, she looked ready to kill not out of joy, but fright.

But what made it worse, was Dutch not stopping her. She was the one who always calmed her down when things got hot. But right now… he wasn't doing anything. Rock felt his stomach plummet at the idea.

"Things happened," The man, Wick, replied to Dutch. His voice still had not changed. Perhaps he did not realize Revy had guns on him. Possible, but very unlikely. "But I do need a boat."

"Shit John," Dutch cursed again, but using another name for the man. It was difficult for Rock to tell the order of the names, but John was likely his given name. It sounded like a common American name. "You must've kicked one hell of a hound to be lookin' like that and asking for handouts."

"A lot happened." He spoke again in a monotone voice. The dog at his side was still sitting, wagging his tail in wait. Rock wasn't sure what to do, not until he was called. This was an unknown situation. "Do you know of a-"

"You're not hearing me John," Dutch interrupted the man, shaking his head with the words. "You bein' in this kinda situation means something really bad must've happened." Rock didn't have enough information to know what was going on.

Who was this John Wick? Why was Revy so on edge? Why was Dutch being evasive? It wasn't adding up.

He watched as the man, John, reached into his suit pocket. Rock saw Revy jerk her hand, but no bullets went flying. That was good, but something told him it was only a matter of time. But when his fist came out of his pocket, there was no weapon.

Instead, he placed two golden coins on Dutch's desk.

They were gold, likely. Perhaps colored gold, but he could think of only a few places that used gold colored coins for currency, yet still be enough to reasonably afford the Lagoon company's price.

They had to be real gold, if not only for Dutch's stern expression.

A glare hit his sunglasses, hiding the likely contemplative look of his superior. He was weighing the situation, but with what factors Rock didn't know. He didn't know enough about the man and it was starting to upset him. Everyone had a tool in Roanapur, and information was his.

And he didn't have enough of it.

"That ain't a cheap price, 'specially for just wanting to know where to get a boat," Dutch began. "But I still can't help ya John." The thumbs of his crossed hands held his head, staring down at the coins.

The room was silent after the declaration. Rock could hear his heartbeat, the heavy breathing of Revy, and the dog panting by John's side. But that was it. It was a stalemate of the worst kind. It all depended on someone that wasn't a part of Lagoon company.

But then, slowly, John picked his pieces of gold back, placing them in his suit pocket. His pulled back the rag that he had worn, collecting it in the crux of his arm. His dog made an odd sound, maybe because John wasn't scratching his head.

"Thank you," the man, John, spoke simply before nodding his head towards Dutch. Rock's superior did the same.

Then John turned towards Rock and Revy. It gave him his first solid look at the man.

A dark stubble beard grew around his angular face, matched by the circle's that hunger under his eyes. A scar, small and noticeable, was beneath his eyes, above the line of his beard. It was obvious his lips were set in a flat frown, but far from a scowl.

But most obvious of all were his eyes. They were eyes that looked at him, at Revy, and the guns on him without blinking or straying. He did not flinch nor even twitch at the sight. It meant simply one thing.

He was used to it.

Just as Rock was used to assisting customers old or new. And one such customer was heading towards the door.

"Please, allow me," Rock spoke with a quick bow, ingrained from his time as a Salaryman. With a quick twist, he opened the door back to Roanapur.

The dog was quick to jog out the door, twisting in place before facing John again. Rock watched the man walk by, without a nod or even breath of annoyance. Everything was so set, stoic, immovable. It was unnerving.

"Stay safe John," Dutch called from across the room. The man stopped, but that was all. "It's too bad I can't help ya, but ya might have better luck if ya say a few prayers." Prayers? That was odd for Dutch to say. It had to be a message of some sorts.

John must have understood, because now the man nodded over his shoulder, as stiffly as he had done everything so far. Then, without another moment wasted, he left. Rock shut the door behind him.

When John was gone, Rock released a breath of air he hadn't realized he was holding. Revy dropped her guns with a far more audible groan, just shy of a scream. It was a good thing that the tension had left, but it was not time to act like it had never been there.

Rock looked from Revy to Dutch, both of his co-workers who knew apparently all about John Wick, yet feared him as he was sure the average criminals did the Triads.

"Who… was that?" Rock asked carefully, moving his gaze from Revy to Dutch, both acting in ways that usually followed a battle of gangs or bad deal.

"That, Rock, was the one and only John Wick." He did not know the name, at least not before this meeting. It had as much significance to him as one of the tourists down the road.

"Babayaga," Revy followed. Rock turned to her, raising a brow. He didn't miss Revy massaging her skull with the ends of her guns, barrels pointed towards the ceiling.

She spoke Russian. But more importantly, Revy was still keeping the side of the loaded guns up against her head.

"He's like the fucking boogeyman for the Russians, like the worst fucking nightmare you're ever gone have." That was even odder, mostly because it was Revy who it.

"That sounds… extreme," Rock spoke simply. He didn't doubt Dutch or Revy. This was their world. The man just… didn't look terrifying.

"No, Rock, you're not getting' it," Revy stalked over to him quickly, faster than he could normally react. He tripped over his feet as he fell against the wall, Revy staring down at him, guns still in hand. "That guy used to be like the biggest reason people don't fuck with the Russians, anywhere."

"She's ain't wrong." Dutch spoke up. "John Wick was a career hitman, more capable than anyone you're gonna find in this pit stain of the world."

Rock faintly heard a cigar being lit, no doubt Dutch. He was just focused on Revy, standing over him with an expression that looked ready to explode. He hated that.

"But he didn't look-"

BAM

He stopped as Revy slammed her fists again the wall above him. It was a blessing her guns didn't go off with the force. It was the least of his worries right now.

Her eyes were boring into his, the same look she gave him almost three years ago. Any words he might have had fell and died in his throat. This wasn't the Revy that was looking out for him. This wasn't his gun.

This was a Revy staring at a target she didn't know if she could hit. That made him a useless bullet.

"Wick is like the deadliest thing you're ever gonna met, Rock." She spat out the words. "Big Sis told me about him when I started doing big jobs for her. She joked that maybe I could get at his level one day. That was the fucking joke!"

"Then what did he-"

"She told me how he took out the Columbians, Mexs, and fucking Pakistanis in New York all in one night." She hissed the words now. Rock almost wished she were screaming instead. "By himself, he took out at least a two or three hundred fucking perras and God knows how many dune coons."

It took Rock now to realize just why Revy wasn't letting go of her guns.

She was afraid he was coming back.

"Last I heard of him, he retired after that," Dutch spoke up from across the room. "Last I saw of him, was somethin' like eight or nine years ago. Balalaika was having trouble with a rouge Spetsnaz officer that wouldn't join the Hotel."

He took a break from his breathing, presumably, to let out a puff of smoke. Rock didn't look to check. If he looked away from Revy, she'd cuss him out or punch him.

"Balalaika put in a request for him, wanting to keep the rouge member of her team quiet or something." Balalaika hired an American? Something about that was impossible.

"No, Balalaika would not trust an American for a job like that," Rock argued with the logic. He knew there was no way the head of Hotel Moscow would do such a thing. She'd risk war with the Triads just for the thrill of hunting Americans. There was no way she'd invite one to help her. "That's just… there's no way she would-"

"Maybe she did it cause she wanted to keep the situation quiet," Dutch interrupted him. Revy was looking away now, but Rock didn't dare move an anger her further. "Maybe she wanted ta given example to any other new bloods in her Hotel."

He heard his superior take in another long drag, likely trying to choke himself on the cigar. It released endorphins that stimulated pleasure sensors, similar to the burn of alcohol.

"Or maybe, Rock, she got John to do it cause she wanted to see what he could do." Dutch was surely reminiscing now. "Boogeymen like John Wick don't come here often, but they're like names on the wall when you start digging deep. An opportunity came along for her to see what John could do, so she took it."

Seeing as John was alive, and not at war with the Hotel, Rock could guess the outcome of the ordeal. But Revy was sure to provide the details.

"The fucker took out a Spetsnaz agent that was giving Sis problems like it was nothing. He fucking tracked, killed, and got out of there before Sis got the word." Experience told rock the weight behind such an act. "You don't fuck with the Russians, but John Wick fucked, shat, and spat on the dude without a care."

"Not that bad, but it was probably like that for the cold soldier's honor." Dutch corrected from his desk. "All I know is he took a Russian down with his own fighting style, then capped him twice for insurance."

For an American to beat a Russian officer like that… he must have been extremely well-trained.

"Point is Rock, Sis decided pissing him off would be a worst case scenario for the Hotel and the rest of the Mob. She just told me back then to get so good that people would be shitting themselves just talking 'bout me…" She grit her teeth harder with the words, pushing off the wall.

Rock stood slowly, waiting for something to break. The tension was too thick for him to make a move without a mistake.

"John Wick is a man of focus. Always has been," Dutch spoke again. Now Rock could see the smoke billowing above him. "Babayaga, the Boogeyman, the one guy you don't want to give a reason to kill you. If he's runnin' from something, I don't want it tearin' into the Lagoon Company."

And there was the spark of wisdom Rock had almost missed. John Wick was running from something, and Dutch was smart enough not to get involved. They were friends, but business was always superior to friends or family.

It tended to last longer, as history had told.

"Kay, Rock, you," Revy spoke up again, waving her guns at him like they were a pointed. He didn't move for fear she'd accidentally fire. "You and I are going to get so shit-faced tonight that I'm gonna wake up tomorrow feeling like a took the bad end of a gang-bang, got it?"

He did not get it, nor did he want to.

"You two do that," Dutch spoke up. Rock spun to see him, but his superior was not facing him. His chair was positioned at the window, staring out into the bay down the road, hardly a view worth paying for.

He twisted his head to look at the pair, pointing at them before he spoke on.

"Try and keep your lips shut about this though. Don't need any more bad luck this month, got it?"

"We got it."

"Yes, sir." Rock and Revy responded side-by-side. He sighed shortly afterwards. Now there was no avoiding going to Yellowflag with Revy tonight. It was a wonder how quickly a good idea could sound like a bad one.

Still, he could only pray the trail of the Boogeyman went cold before it reached their doorstep.

Author's Note:

Well, here comes a slower story with more characters. Thought I'd try my hand at "mature" shows/movies, and a cross-over that makes more sense the more I think about it. At least the only question is where in time these take place.

Anyways, please fav and follow if you can. I read every review and appreciate every view!