The sun had set, and the silhouette of the church that Robert Kendo had mentioned loomed in the darkness, with an ominous quiet. John Wick didn't believe in the supernatural; ghosts didn't exist, only souls with unfinished business.
And his instinct, as sharp as a scalpel, told him that the unfinished business in this place was of another kind.
He pushed the heavy wooden door and entered. The interior was not what he expected. Instead of the warmth of faith, there was a tense silence, a cold that stuck to the bones. The air, instead of smelling of incense, had a slight metallic aftertaste, of disinfectant. In the antechamber, a young blonde woman, about twenty years old, with a Bible in her hand, looked at him briefly and smiled with a forced kindness.
"Good evening," she said, her voice soft and full of hope. "It's a very good church. Father Ben is a man of faith." "Good evening," John replied, his voice flat. He nodded, but his eyes remained impassive. He looked at her, analyzed her. She wasn't a victim, not yet. Just a parishioner. "Are you seeking redemption?" the girl asked. "Father Ben has a very big heart. He will guide you." "No. Just a little information," John replied, in his usual voice.
"Good evening," John replied, his voice flat. He nodded, but his eyes remained impassive. He looked at her, analyzed her. She wasn't a victim, not yet. Just a parishioner.
"Are you seeking redemption?" the girl asked. "Father Ben has a very big heart. He will guide you."
"No. Just a little information," John replied, in his usual voice.
Suddenly, the young blonde took him by the arm and led him to a middle-aged man who was finishing talking to a parishioner.
They approached the priest, a man in his fifties, with gray hair and a smile that seemed genuine, but didn't reach his eyes.
"Father, I have found a new parishioner. You can tell he is looking for redemption and faith in God," the girl said, with a radiant smile.
"My name is Sarah, and it's a pleasure for me to introduce him to you." The priest looked at John with a little surprise, then with a smile.
"A pleasure, I am Father Ben. It is a pleasure to meet a new sheep in my flock. It's a special day for me, as after so much time, our sister Sarah will finally receive God's blessing."
"It's a pleasure, Father Ben. My name is John. It's an honor to meet you," John replied. "I realize you have come to the right place," the priest said to him in a gentle voice.
"What has brought you to our little church in Raccoon City?"John paused, feigning reflection. "I've been on a journey. Looking for peace. The tranquility of this place... is different."
"True peace is found in repentance, in total surrender,"Father Ben murmured, with an intense look.
"You seem like a man who has seen a lot, who has lived in the shadows. Within these walls, you can find the light. The grace of God will give you a purpose, a new beginning." John nodded, his face inscrutable.
"I've been thinking about it. The weight of my sins... is heavy." The priest smiled. "Don't worry. Our sister Sarah will receive a special blessing today. It is the first step on a road of no return. A path to redemption." John turned to Sarah.
"And what time will that be?" John asked, with a touch of genuine forced curiosity in his voice. "In fifteen minutes," the girl replied, with an even brighter smile. "I have to go now. God bless you."
John nodded, watching her walk toward the main altar. For a moment, he stood in silence, observing Father Ben, who patted Sarah on the shoulder and then hugged her. John, in his internal thoughts, analyzed every gesture, every facial expression.
The priest seemed to be a man of faith, but in his eyes there was something dark and manipulative. "He's a wolf in sheep's clothing," he said to himself.
After John feigned a little more interest in religion, he said goodbye to Father Ben and casually left the church. Once outside, his movements became methodical, almost invisible. He crossed the street, his eyes moving quickly to scan every corner.
He stopped in a narrow alley between two buildings, a dark and trash-filled place. It was perfect. From there, he could see the main church door, the side alley, and the movement of people in the street without being seen. It was an ideal place for a man who didn't want to be seen.
With his breathing controlled and his heart beating at a constant rhythm, John stood there. He watched as Sarah and the priest walked toward the wall where a cross was. The priest pushed a candle, and the cross turned, revealing a door that opened into the basement.
John watched as the girl and the priest went down.
John's instinct, the same one that had saved his life countless times, screamed at him that something was wrong. He moved from his position, a shadow that blended with the night, and crossed the street.
His feet made no sound as they stepped on the asphalt. He slid along the outer wall of the church, looking for a way to enter undetected. Every step was a calculation, every shadow a potential hiding place.
Don't act recklessly, he told himself mentally. Just facts. No prejudice.
He approached a side window, hidden by a vine. It was high enough to be inaccessible to most, but not to him. With an agile and silent movement, he climbed up.
Once on the roof, he slid along the tiles, looking for an entrance. His eyes, accustomed to the dark, scanned every crack, every opening, until he found a skylight at the top. It was covered in dust and grime, but through it, he could see a flash of light.
John slid a small knife along the skylight's frame, carefully lifting it. The sound of a slight creak was the only thing that gave away his presence. He slid through the opening, falling gently onto a ledge inside. The air was dense and stagnant.
He was in the upper part of the main nave, hidden among the wooden beams. His gaze turned to the cross on the altar. The cross was no longer on the wall, but had been turned, revealing a door that had closed.
His mind, trained not to act on prejudice, looked for a pattern. A pattern that did not fit with redemption and faith. John was not a man of faith, but he knew a deception when he saw one. And this was a well-staged deception.
He slid along the beams to the altar, moving with the grace of a ghost. He stopped at the stone wall. He saw a small indentation in the wall, which revealed a mechanism. His eyes went to the candelabra.
He carefully pushed it, mimicking the priest's gesture. The cross turned, but instead of opening like a door, it flipped down, revealing a spiral staircase that descended into the darkness.
So this is the gate to paradise, John thought, in a rare moment of dark humor. A cross that turns upside down to reveal a stairway to hell. Very biblical, Father.
Without losing a second, John began to descend the spiral staircase. His movements were a symphony of speed and silence. The stone steps were cold and covered in dust, but his bare feet, with his special footwear, adhered to them without making the slightest noise.
With each step, his mind became more and more focused on the environment. The air became denser, and a smell of chemicals grew stronger. The voices of Father Ben and Sarah, which became clearer with each step down, became more unsettling. The priest's voice was soft and mellow. Sarah's, full of hope.
What do you think you're doing, Father? John said to himself.
The girl's voice, which had been full of hope, now sounded anxious and scared. "Father, what is that? You promised me a blessing, not this!" she complained. "The process is painful, but the reward is eternal," the priest said, his voice now harsh and cold.
"Don't worry. Soon you will be a very valuable asset to the company." John heard a moan and the girl exclaimed: "Ahhh! What have you put in me? I feel dizzy!" "I told you it would be a small prick," the priest replied with a cruel smile. "Don't worry. This is just the beginning."
John knew that the conversation didn't give him all the details of the situation. His mind, cold and clear, remained focused on the facts. He listened to the audio, but his mind did not let itself be carried away by panic or emotion.
His training had taught him to trust only what his eyes saw. The sound of a groan, of an exclamation, of a priest who spoke of "valuable assets" and "company," was not enough for him to act. He was a man of facts, not assumptions.
He moved in silence, descending the last steps. With his hand in his pocket, ready to draw his weapon, he approached the basement door. He opened it carefully, just enough for his eye to see what was happening.
The scene was even darker than he had imagined. The basement was a nightmarish place, with metal cells and gurneys. Sarah was on one of them, unconscious. The priest, his face stripped of its kindness, was surrounded by a group of scientists.
But that wasn't all. John mentally counted the people in the room: four scientists in white coats, the father, and five guards with advanced military equipment. John recognized the logo on the uniforms. The Umbrella company. A pharmaceutical corporation that, for some reason, was doing dirty business in a church.
John Wick's mind worked with the coldness of a computer. There was no time for shock. His training and instincts told him he had to act. Slowly, he took out his pistol with the extended magazine, checked it, and attached a silencer.
His mind was already calculating the order of elimination. The armed guards were the first threat. Then the scientists, who could be a secondary threat. The priest, the origin of all this, would be kept alive.
Without a second of doubt or warning, John opened the door completely. The first shot went straight to the head of the closest guard. The muffled sound of the shot was barely a whisper. John moved like lightning, shooting with millimeter precision. The first four guards fell immediately, with a bullet in the head and without a single groan.
The fifth guard, who was farther away, felt the gust of air from a companion who fell to the ground for no reason. A survival instinct made him turn, and just in time he saw the barrel of John Wick's gun pointing at him. He fired his assault rifle in John's direction, who quickly raised his suit jacket to cover himself; the bullets pierced the fabric and the Kevlar vest he wore underneath, causing some bullets to ricochet.
The sound of the assault rifle shots broke the silence of the room. John, taking advantage of the moment of confusion, took cover behind one of the metal gurneys. The guard, thinking he had a moment's respite, desperately sought cover. But it was a fatal mistake. John didn't give him a second. He came out of his cover with inhuman speed. The guard reacted too late. He raised his rifle, but his skull was pierced by a bullet.
With the five guards eliminated, the priest and the scientists were in a state of complete shock. John stood, his gun smoking and his gaze cold.
John Wick did not hesitate. There was no warning, no negotiation. Simply the execution of the plan. The scientists, seeing the massacre, fell to their knees.
"Please, no!" one cried. "I have a family!" "We don't know anything! We just do what we're told!" another begged.
John didn't listen. His ears were trained to ignore pleas. He reloaded his gun with an eerie coldness. With the priest still in shock, John approached the four scientists and shot them without mercy, one by one. The silence of the room, broken only by the whispers of the silenced pistol, was a reminder of what John Wick was capable of.
As the bodies of the guards and scientists lay on the floor, John Wick examined them with a meticulous gaze. He noticed a couple of convulsive movements, the last gasps of life. With the same calm with which he had arrived, he raised his pistol and, without a single hesitation, fired two more times.
The bullets, precise and silent, impacted directly on the skulls of those who were still moving. His breathing remained constant, his pulse undisturbed. It was a routine, a habit of a man who left nothing to chance.
Father Ben, who had been on his knees, with trembling hands, mumbling an incomprehensible prayer, fell silent at the sight of John's coldness. The priest's eyes opened wide, and the voice that used to be soft and mellow was gone. Now, there was only a deafening silence.
John approached Father Ben, who was still kneeling, with a lost look and trembling hands. John said nothing. He crouched down, took a new magazine from his pocket, and inserted it into his pistol. The metallic "click" echoed in the silent room.
"What is Umbrella?" John asked, in his same flat, cold voice.
The priest shook his head, whispering: "I don't know... I don't know what you're talking about." John, with the patience of a machine, aimed at the priest's knee. The silenced bullet hit with a dull thud. Father Ben's scream was cut short by an indescribable groan of pain. The knee dislocated, the kneecap fractured, and the bone broke completely.
Blood splattered across the floor. "Lord Spencer... grant us strength..." Father Ben mumbled. John moved to the other side, aiming at his elbow. The priest, with his eyes full of tears, closed his eyes tightly. Another shot. The elbow shattered, and the arm bent at an unnatural angle, dripping blood onto the priest's clothes. Father Ben fell to the floor, his body writhing in agony.
"I'm not asking. I'm telling you to tell me," John's voice was a deadly whisper.
The priest shook his head, his mouth full of blood. John became frustrated. He knelt, took the priest's collar, and lifted him up. Father Ben's face was swollen from the pain, but his eyes, despite the terror, showed a strange determination. John was about to end his life.
"The... The great John Wick," the priest said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "The feared Baba Yaga... I didn't expect a ghost hunted by the High Table to end my life."
John stopped. His eyes, which were always cold and empty, widened a little. The priest knew him. How was that possible? The priest smiled, a macabre, blood-filled smile.
"Don't worry," the priest continued, whispering with a coldness that rivaled John's. "Umbrella won't stand by idly. They'll come looking for you. They'll take care of you. And they won't care about the High Table."
John responded without fear, his voice a silent thunder: "They should try. I'll come for everyone who comes. I'll kill everyone who comes near me. I'll kill them all."
The priest started to laugh, a dry, terrifying sound.
"Do you think Umbrella will send assassins to kill the legendary Baba Yaga? You're wrong. It will be much worse than that."
Without saying anything else, John Wick shot him in the head. Father Ben's skull shattered, scattering blood and brains across the floor. The lifeless body fell to the ground, no longer groaning, no longer whispering, no longer laughing. There was only silence.