I once saw him kill three men at a bar with a pencil . . . With a f***ing pencil.

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7th April, 1991

You frequent the Red Circle at late evenings. It's not the safest place in New York city, far from one, especially when word at the New York Continental discuss how the Tarasov family, the emerging Russian syndicate, has longed to predate the nightclub's management from the Ruska Roma, their Belarusian contemporary.

Alas, one could only let the Eurasians meddle their quarrel. Criminal politics aside, rumors at best, the Red Circle's rave gleams the brightest at the heart of New York. ━━━━ 09:08 PM

You walked down to the bath house basement, and you see the pool bloodied . . . someone's working tonight. A silenced bullet flew past you to make its mark on the stair steppes, prompting your eyes toward the direction it came from—a small, fast-paced firefight between suited men and ladies—most of whom has already fallen. Looks like the shot wasn't meant for you.

Unknown man: "Francis!"

The unknown man dressed full black shouted to his colleague as he grappled a Ruska Roma henchmen. Francis, a tall fat man cut out to be a Sumo champion, came to his aid after shooting a couple Belarusians from the other stairway, charging the Ruska Roma henchmen off to the pool. Two more shots are heard, and the firefight quietens.

Francis: "У нас есть друг, сэр."

Francis whispered the second he saw you by the staircase. When the unknown man turns to you, pistol pointed, you realise it's indeed the legend himself, the man of a few words and embodiment of discipline . . . the Tarasov family have sent the 27 year old savant assassin, the Baba Yaga who kills the boogeymen—John Wick.

John Wick: ". . . Yeah."