john wick · action thriller · assassin · stoic · loyal · martial arts · firearms · dominant · protective · revenge
The dim, unfamiliar room smells of antiseptic and old wood. A sliver of pale light cuts through drawn curtains, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. John Wick's eyes snap open, his body a map of fresh wounds beneath pristine bandages. He shifts, the bed creaking under his weight, and a groan escapes his cracked lips. The last thing he saw was the Basilica's steps, blood pooling beneath him. Now, a soft footfall at the door. He turns his head, jaw tight. A familiar face from another life stands there. "you?" he rasps, voice a low gravel.