Spanish Highway – Noon.
Heat wavers above the asphalt like the air itself wants to melt. The convoy stretches ahead—armored carrier trucks rolling tight formation across sun-burned concrete. Through the windshield of Ares, my custom '69 Charger, I watch sunlight scatter over its matte-black hood and the thin red racing stripes that look almost alive in the shimmer.
Katie's voice crackles in my ear. "Traffic cams show something heavy moving up-road, Jay. Too steady for cargo, too wide for a semi."
Sarah's drone feed blinks onto my dash—grainy at first, then clear. A tank, ugly and fast, surging out from the side of a transport truck like some prehistoric beast tearing through steel skin.
Ava exhales a low whistle from the passenger seat. "That's Shaw's signature, all right. Subtle as a sledgehammer."
I slam the gearshift. Ares growls deep, that animal-throated sound that still makes my pulse kick. "Family, we got a tank on the loose," I tell Dom over comms. "We're not letting him flatten half of Spain today."
Dom's voice answers, calm thunder. "Copy that, Jameson. Keep eyes on Letty."
---
The tank roars.
Cars flip like toys. The convoy breaks apart—smoke, glass, screaming metal.
Brian and Roman dart ahead in their cars, engines screaming, trying to box the tank in. I fall in beside them, Ares steady despite the shock waves rolling off the treads.
"Alexis, block traffic up ahead," I say. "Keep civvies clear."
"On it." Her voice is all smooth control. Out the window I glimpse her ride swing sideways across a feeder lane, clearing space as drivers scatter.
Ava pops the passenger window, rests her custom rifle on the frame. "I've got rear tread visual."
"Wait for it," I murmur.
The tank crushes another car—metal screams.
Ava fires once. The bullet ricochets under the chassis, sparks off the track pins. One tread stutters. The beast jerks left.
"Nice touch," I say.
"Don't thank me yet. It's still angry."
---
Through the comms, Roman's panicked yell: "They got a tank! They got a freakin' tank!"
Katie can't help laughing. "Ten-four, Captain Obvious."
Even Dom's chuckle filters through the static.
I grin despite the chaos. That's the sound of family still breathing.
Then the System hums faintly in the back of my head—no words, just the familiar flicker of awareness: trajectories, friction, impact angles. A living diagram overlays my sight.
Predict tank velocity: 54 mph.
Bridge length: 92 meters.
Weak point—south cable joint.
We're heading straight for that bridge.
Dom's charger darts ahead, engine screaming. Letty's still on top of the tank, shouting something to Shaw through the wind and gunfire. I can't hear the words—only see the moment when she realizes the bridge is ending and she's not going to make the jump.
Dom hits the brakes. I already know what he's about to do. The System flares red in my vision—
Trajectory impossible—
He ignores physics. Jumps.
For a heartbeat, time stretches thin as smoke. Dom collides with Letty mid-air, both of them smashing onto the opposite side of the bridge as the tank flips, cable snapping exactly where my System predicted. The armored beast tumbles, explodes in a wave of black flame.
I wrench Ares to a stop, tires screaming, and run toward the edge with the others. Heat washes our faces, smoke curling skyward.
Dom stands amid the wreckage, Letty in his arms. Both alive.
Brian exhales, half-laughing. "Man really caught her."
Sarah's drone feed shows the tank burning below. "All threats neutralized."
The System flickers quietly:
> [SYSTEM NOTICE]
Mission Progress — Canon Path Stable.
I holster my weapon, adrenaline bleeding off into a shaky grin. "One hell of a rescue."
Dom just nods, eyes on Letty. "Told you I'd bring her home."
---
Sirens start up in the distance—police and military response rolling in. Dom waves the crew back to cars. "We move before they lock this down."
As we pull away, the black smoke behind us twists into the blue sky, marking another impossible day in our rearview.
LONDON – NIGHT
Rain slicks the streets, turning every neon reflection into molten light. The safehouse smells of motor oil and tension — a cocktail only the Toretto crew could ever call home.
Dom stands over a table littered with blueprints and weapons. His eyes flick to Letty, who sits off to the side, half-turned, silent. The storm outside mirrors what's between them — heavy, charged, unpredictable.
I stand against the wall, Ares' keys rolling in my palm, my mind mapping a thousand outcomes. The Shikamaru Protocol hums faintly in my subconscious: counter-patterns, escape routes, emotional reads. The System doesn't talk, but I can feel it assessing everything.
Katie and Sarah check the ammo crates, Ava cleans her sniper rifle, and Alexis scrolls through encrypted feeds, hacking into London CCTV grids with calm precision.
Dom breaks the silence. "We hit Shaw hard today. He'll hit back harder."
Brian leans forward. "What about Letty?"
Letty's eyes lift. "I'm not the same person you remember."
"You're still family," Dom says, voice steady as bedrock.
I study her— posture defensive, jaw tight. She wants to believe him but doesn't. That conflict is a fault line waiting to crack.
---
SYSTEM ALERT:
> "Behavioral anomaly detected – Subject: Letty Ortiz. Probability of divided loyalty: 68%."
I blink the alert away. No one else sees it.
Then Hobbs strides in—wet trench coat, grim look, that signature I'm-about-to-drop-something-big face. "We got movement. Interpol chatter says Shaw's prepping something massive."
Roman groans. "When is it ever small with this guy?"
Tej grins. "Bro probably builds bombs in his sleep."
"Focus," Hobbs growls. "We intercepted coordinates. Airfield outside London. Big enough to launch a C-130."
Dom looks up. "That's his escape."
"And we're gonna make sure he doesn't get away," I say, pushing off the wall.
Hobbs' eyes narrow. "You with me this time, Toretto?"
"Always," I answer, and we shake — firm, mutual respect.
For a brief second, I see something in Hobbs' face that wasn't there before the Rio job — trust.
---
AIRFIELD – NIGHTFALL
Wind howls across the tarmac. Floodlights sweep over the massive military plane, its engines already thundering. Shaw's crew move like ghosts, disciplined, deadly.
My wives fan out — Ava on overwatch, Alexis cutting comms, Sarah setting spike traps across the runway, Katie backing Dom's Charger with Ares.
The System pulses warm across my neural link — adrenaline focus heightening, time slowing. Every heartbeat feels measured.
Dom's voice cuts through the comms. "Let's bring them home."
Engines roar. Tires squeal. The chase begins.
---
THE CHAOS – CANON-TRUE ACTION
Cars slam together in a ballet of destruction. The plane begins to move — faster, faster. Dom hooks cables to the landing gear. Hobbs jumps onto the ramp, muscles straining as he tries to hold it down.
Letty, still conflicted, leaps after him, firing. The world is a blur of bullets and burning rubber.
Inside the plane, Shaw moves like death itself — precise, merciless. Riley is beside him, eyes sharp.
Through the smoke, I see her turn toward Letty — the split-second glance of guilt and love colliding. Then I hear Shaw yell her name.
"RILEY!"
Letty fires the harpoon.
It strikes Riley's chest, the pull yanking her toward the open ramp. Shaw's scream cuts through the chaos as she's dragged out, disappearing into the howling night.
For a heartbeat, even the System goes silent.
Then—
> [SYSTEM UPDATE] Hidden Reward Unlocked:
"Canon Path Perfected – Maintaining Narrative Integrity."
Bonus Attributes: Driving Skills +15% / Combat Reflexes +20% / Strategic IQ Integration Complete.
I hit the ramp, leaping onto Ares as it roars parallel to the plane. The Charger's tires shred smoke as the beast matches the aircraft's speed. Dom launches himself across the collapsing fuselage, catching Letty as the plane erupts into a rolling inferno behind them.
We break away, fire chasing our taillights.
The explosion blooms like a dying star.
---
AFTERMATH – EARLY DAWN
We gather near the wreck site as emergency sirens wail in the distance. Shaw's gone — buried in the wreckage or escaped into shadow. Letty stands beside Dom, her memory fragmented but her heart slowly remembering.
Hobbs walks up to us, tired but proud. "London's gonna be cleaning this up for years."
Brian laughs softly. "We just saved the world's worst runway."
Roman grins. "Yeah, but we did it in style."
Ava elbows me. "That's one way to put it."
Hobbs looks at me, voice lower. "Toretto. Heard of a new player—Owen's brother. Word is, he's coming."
Dom's eyes narrow. "You got a name?"
Hobbs nods. "Deckard Shaw."
He turns to leave, but pauses—then looks at me. "And Jameson... there's something else." He slides a folder across the hood of Ares.
Inside: surveillance stills, a woman. Letty Ortiz.
Different location. Different time.
Hobbs frowns. "This was taken before the London op. We thought she was dead. But it means there's a bigger game in motion. You ready for it?"
Dom closes the folder slowly. "Always."
Engines hum softly as Ares idles under the sunrise. Dom and Letty stand together, silent. My wives rest near the cars, bruised but grinning.
I light a cigarette, stare at the horizon, and smirk.
"Let's see what's next"
Part 1 – The Quiet After the Storm
Rain slid down the old cathedral's stone spires, echoing like slow drums. Beneath it, in a vault of oil and dust, the black '69 Charger waited—Ares, silent but alive. Its red underglow pulsed faintly, like a sleeping beast.
Jameson Toretto sat on the hood, leather jacket unzipped, watching candlelight shiver across the chrome. Fast 6 was done; London had burned, Shaw had fallen, and Dom's family was free. For the first time in seven years, there was nothing to chase.
> SYSTEM ONLINE: Mission Status – COMPLETE
Reward Issued – [Enhanced Perception Protocol]
No active contracts.
Silence stretched. Then an antique rotary phone rang—one, sharp, impossible tone that didn't belong in this century.
He picked it up.
Wick's voice: "It's me… John."
A pause thick enough to taste.
Jameson: "How long's it been?"
Wick: "Too long. Helen's gone."
The words carried no tremor, only exhaustion.
Jameson: "Then why call me?"
Wick: "Because you're the only one who still knows what quiet means."
The line clicked dead. No explanations, no coordinates. Only Wick's breathing for half a heartbeat before silence swallowed it.
Jameson exhaled, holstered the ghost of a smile, and opened Ares's trunk. Twin duffel bags—cash, passports, and the matte finish of a .45 ACP—waited where a spare tire should be.
He slid behind the wheel, engine growling awake like an ancient god remembering war.
> SYSTEM ALERT: Hidden Mission – Assist John Wick [Reconnaissance Operation]
Objective: Maintain canon integrity.
Status: Accepted.
The Charger roared through the streets of Rome, neon bleeding across its hood, before disappearing into a cargo plane bound for New York.
Part 2 – The Continental & The Pact
New York was wet that night. Rain always made the city smell like metal and old promises. The Charger rolled slow through the empty streets, tires whispering across slick asphalt. It was two in the morning, the hour when only ghosts and professionals worked.
The Continental Hotel stood quiet, its lamps burning gold through the rain—warm light for cold men. Jameson parked across the street, engine idling low, before stepping out into the storm. He walked in without a word, boots echoing across marble.
Inside, time stopped.
Every guest was too still, too aware, too dangerous. Eyes flicked toward him, then away. They knew his face, or thought they did. A rumor made flesh.
"Mr. Toretto." The voice came smooth as poured bourbon. Charon, all poise and precision, appeared at the front desk with a single golden coin already waiting on the counter. "Mr. Wick has reserved the bar for you."
Jameson took the coin, glanced at it—same make, same weight as always. The underworld's heartbeat.
"Thanks," he said, voice low enough to make the chandeliers hum.
---
The Bar
The Continental bar was a world unto itself—dark wood, red leather, soft jazz murmuring somewhere distant. John Wick sat alone, dressed in black, hair slicked back but not perfect. His glass was half-empty, his expression a calm no one could fake.
Jameson crossed the floor and sat down opposite him.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally, Wick looked up. "You really came."
Jameson shrugged. "You called."
Wick gave the smallest hint of a grin. "Didn't think I still could."
They drank. No toast, no reason. Just two soldiers burning the edge off ghosts.
---
The Conversation
Wick's voice dropped low. "There's a kid… Iosef Tarasov. Son of Viggo. Stupid, reckless. Thinks his father's empire is his birthright. He's been sniffing around my life. I'm out, Jameson. I mean to stay out."
Jameson set his glass down. "So what do you need?"
"Eyes. Nothing more. If he crosses my line, I'll handle it. Until then, I want to know where he moves, what he touches."
Jameson nodded once. "You're asking me to ghost him."
"You're the only one who can." Wick's gaze sharpened. "You still got that… thing?"
Jameson tilted his head, almost smiling. "The system? Yeah. Still whispers when it wants."
---
> SYSTEM SYNC: Emotional recognition matched — John Wick: loyalty level 100%
Reality Bending Protocol engaged.
Outcome: Permanent bond – "Brothers in Blood" established.
---
The Pact
Neither man noticed the world tilt slightly, history rewriting itself around them. Every photo, every whisper, every story would now speak of the Shinigami and the Boogeyman—two myths walking side by side through blood and silence.
Wick leaned forward. "If this goes bad, stay out. Promise me that."
Jameson met his eyes. "If it goes bad, you'll need me in it."
The corner of Wick's mouth twitched—half amusement, half acceptance. They finished their drinks. No handshakes, no words of brotherhood. Just a nod that meant everything.
Charon appeared again, silent as a shadow. "Mr. Wick. Mr. Toretto. Your vehicles are ready."
---
The Streets
The night opened wide outside the Continental. Two cars idled curbside—Wick's Boss 429 Mustang, and Jameson's Charger Ares.
Engines turned. Thunder rolled.
For a moment, the two cars moved side by side down 47th Street, the sound of V8s echoing between skyscrapers like the heartbeats of old gods.
"Keep the peace, John," Jameson said over the comm.
"Never could," came the dry reply.
They split at the next intersection. One toward home. One toward hell.
---
> SYSTEM UPDATE: Mission Part 1 complete.
New Objective: Reconnaissance—Observe Tarasov operations.
Warning: Maintain canonical stability.
Part 3 – The Tarasov Night
The Hudson was black glass under a blood-orange moon. Dock cranes creaked in the wind, their iron arms rising like the skeletons of dead leviathans. Somewhere down the pier, music leaked from a warehouse—bass heavy, young, stupid.
Jameson cut the Charger's engine and listened. Ares ticked quietly as the heat drained out of its hood. The car almost sounded like it wanted to hunt.
> SYSTEM: Reconnaissance mode – passive.
Heart rate: steady.
Objective: Observe, do not alter outcome.
He smiled faintly. We'll see about that.
---
The Docks
Inside, the Tarasov crew was celebrating another small crime like it was a coronation. Iosef Tarasov stood near the center, draped in arrogance and imported leather. His laughter grated—too loud, too sure.
Jameson watched from the catwalk above, pistol drawn but finger clear of the trigger. The whole thing smelled like gasoline and cheap vodka. He'd seen this kind of stupidity before: men born into power, convinced they earned it.
He marked exits, guard positions, weapon types. Every shift of muscle in his field of view turned into geometry, angles, probabilities. His System murmured data like breath against the back of his neck—no words, just instinct sharpened to a knife edge.
When one of Iosef's men pulled a terrified mechanic out from under a car and started beating him for sport, the calculus changed.
> SYSTEM WARNING: Canon deviation risk – 2%.
Sub-routine override: Emotional imperative engaged.
"Two percent," Jameson whispered. "Worth it."
---
Contact
He dropped from the catwalk like a shadow, landing in silence between two guards. By the time they turned, the suppressed pistol spoke twice—two neat coughs, two bodies folding to the floor.
Then came the rhythm he knew best: gun-fu, close quarters, unbroken flow. Every strike economical, every step an answer before the question.
A man lunged with a pipe. Jameson caught his wrist, pivoted, and used the momentum to fire a round through another man's shoulder. The first fell screaming; the second dropped without a sound.
In thirty seconds the room went from music and laughter to breathing and brass hitting concrete.
He dragged the mechanic behind a crate. "Get out. Now." The man didn't wait for a second invitation.
At the far end of the warehouse, Iosef turned, wide-eyed. "Who the hell—"
Jameson was already gone, slipping through a side door as headlights flared outside. He wasn't here to kill. Not yet.
---
The Message
By dawn, Viggo Tarasov's men found what Jameson left behind: ten unconscious guards zip-tied in a circle, guns dismantled, engines wrecked, and a single shell casing balanced upright in the center.
Etched along its brass rim, tiny letters read:
"The Reaper walks among you."
---
The Observation
Later, from a rooftop across the East River, Jameson watched Iosef climb into his car—drunk, angry, unscarred. Wick's storm hadn't hit yet, but the wind was changing.
Jameson lit a cigarette he didn't need and murmured, "You'll regret breathing in his direction, kid."
> SYSTEM ALERT: Mission complete. Canon preserved.
Reward: Assassin's Instinct – weapon handling and perception +30%
Hidden effect unlocked – "Boogeyman's Shadow": synergy with John Wick protocols active.
He smiled without humor, exhaled smoke into the cold air, and turned toward the horizon. Somewhere out there, a man with nothing left was about to become legend.
---
The Farewell
A week later, a message blinked onto an encrypted phone:
> FROM: John Wick
TEXT: "It's done. He killed my dog."
Jameson stared at the words for a long time, jaw tightening. The line between calm and chaos snapped.
He typed back: Make it count, brother.
Then he powered down the phone, walked to Ares, and drove until New York's lights bled into memory.
> SYSTEM NOTICE: Transition complete – John Wick, Chapter 1 commences.
User status: Standby.
The Charger disappeared into the dawn, its engine note fading to a whisper as the legend of John Wick began.