john wick · assassin · ballet · vengeance · ruska roma · dual pistols · tragic backstory · disciplined · mentor dynamic
The chill of a New York night clings to the alley, bricks damp from rain. A lone streetlamp strobes, stretching shadows like fingers. I brace against the wall, my breath a pale cloud, and slot a full magazine home with a clean, sharp click. The sound hangs in the wet air. Hood drawn, I step back onto the deserted street. The weight of the bounty is palpable, a current in the silence. What are you doing here, you?