John Wick: A greater Punishment Ch.2 (Patreon)

Chapter 2

The elder watched as the recording continued to play again and again. Velana Chevsky’s car raced down the road when a dog and a boy suddenly jumped into the car’s path, making the driver push the brakes.

He smirked as he saw a shadow move under the car, as the kid, injured and bloodied, distracted the driver and one of the Russian mafia’s most dangerous bosses. And he smiled as the camera focused on the boy’s eyes, and he shook his head as he saw the disregard hidden behind those dark orbs.

Disregard life itself, and it was as if the boy didn’t see people in front of him. No, they were all just pieces of meat to him. He watched it all as Velana Chesky stepped out of the car and diffused the whole situation, and when a minute later, her car blew up, killing her and her men.

“Tell me, what do you think of him, Michael,” spoke the elder as his concierge stood behind him dutifully as always.

“The kid is good, talented, and committed, but I am still blind to why you are fixated on him, Elder. There are men who are exponentially more skilled than the kid, so why him,” the Elder nodded as he stood up from his seat and began walking toward the screen.

He paused the video right as the kid shot his dog without a second of remorse.

“Do you know what separates us from animals, Miakaela?” spoke the Elder, and his ever-loyal aide nodded.

“Rules, Elder,” and the Elder nodded.

“Indeed, rules. But there is one more thing. Beyond the rules, something intangible,” spoke the elder passionately. His eyes glistened as he placed his hand on his chest and took a deep breath.

“Its Heart. It is our permanent companion. It has empowered mankind throughout history to go against the odds. To do the impossible. To do what the brain even fails to fathom,” spoke the elder passionately as he stared at the kid’s face in the video.

“And this heart is also our greatest weakness. It makes us prey to temptations. It was also this very heart that led to Adam’s damnation. It has destroyed civilizations, ruined dynasties, and killed more men than any weapon ever made,” finished the Elder as his eyes narrowed at the kid in the picture.

“Do you know for how long he knew that dog?” suddenly, the Elder questioned his ever-loyal aide. And Michael shook his head.

“I am afraid not, Elder,” spoke the man.

“Five years. For five years, that dog was his only companion. It was there when he nearly starved death at a subway station. It was there with him as his life was torn apart by the hounds that scour our world. It was there when the boy rebuilt himself as he reforged himself in the fires of the hell he had found himself in,” spoke the elder, and Michael frowned from his place as he listened to those words.

“Yet all it took was a second, a second to discard it all,” finished the elder as he finally turned to face his aide.

“The High Table employs rules and uses fear and respect to maintain order in the underground. Yet all it would take is one man,” said the elder as he pointed as he walked towards Michael.

“One man of unbreakable will and conviction to bring disorder to our whole society, and as the one who sits above the table. I cannot let that happen,” spoke the Elder, and Michael gulped as he nodded.

“The Elder before me had also recognized the problem before he met his demise. And had set the plan in motion. A plan to have someone not under the table but instead someone who lurks above it, eyeing the world below to remove even the slightest possibility of chaos blooming in our world,” spoke the elder as he snapped his fingers, and various screens in the room lit up at once.

Michael looked around and found them filled with videos and pictures, and his eyes widened as he noticed how all of them belonged to the kid. Everything was right there, from his birth to the present day itself. It was all there.

“The boy has been chosen since birth and is to be the Elder’s Excalibur. A sword to be wielded by the Elder to nib any hint of anarchy and chaos” said the elder before he snapped his fingers again, and all the screens vanished, and a single word appeared on the main screen.

“He is Project Zulfiqar!”

And Michael understood the implication behind those words. According to Islam, Zulfiqar was the name of the sword said to have been gifted by God to his last prophet. It was said that in the hands of a devout man, the sword could cut a mountain in half.

“The kid has no heart in his chest. He is a shell of the worst of humanity and hence is the perfect weapon to wield against those who drive their prowess from the heart itself,” said the elder as he walked past him to the edge of the room.

“He is to be the antithesis of men like that Baba Yaga and the Caine,” finished the Elder, and Miakela’s eyes widened as it began to make sense. The world of assassins was cruel; many wished for an escape, a chance to slither back to the world above. Yet it was no small ordeal; until now, only two men had accomplished the impossible. These men wielded their fear and respect like weapons.

And the kid was a solution to any future anarchy drummed by them or figures like them.

The Elder glanced back at him and smirked, “it seems you finally understand.”

And Michael nodded his head slowly.

“I apologize for doubting ever doubting your decisions, oh Great Elder,” he said as he dropped down on his knee. The Elder waved away his hand.

“Doubt is a very dangerous thing, Michael. Very dangerous. In a sense, it is like treason,” said the elder, and Michael stilled as soon as he heard those words. His heart thumped in his chest as the realization of his mistake dawned on him. And he already knew the consequences of such a mistake.

“And one can never let treason flourish.”

BANG!

A shot was fired, and the blood spluttered as Michael’s body crashed to the ground, as a bullet went straight through his head.

Three men appeared out of the shadows, all three of them dressed in fashion similar to the one who had just been shot dead.

“Gabriel, Uriel, Raphel, clear this up,” ordered the Elder as if they hadn’t just shot their kin. Yet three of them simply nodded and began to carry away the body. Only when they had vanished did the Elder turn and look straight at the man hiding in the corner of the room.

“Tell me, Lucifer, are the preparations ready?” and the light shifted as a man appeared out of the shadow. He was dressed in an all-black suit, unlike the four from earlier who wore cream-colored suits.

The man nodded.

“I have sent a recruiter, and the boy will either choose to serve or simply vanish,” and the Elder nodded.

“Good. I can feel trouble brewing in our world. The High Table remains blind to the storm heading their way, but I can feel it. The winds of change are blowing, and we cannot be caught unaware,” and Lucifer nodded.

“As you say, Elder, I believe I have an update on our little Baba Yaga problem,” spoke the man, and the Elder nodded as he motioned for him to continue.

“It seems he won’t be able to go back to his retirement. Santino D’Antonio has evoked a marker. He has asked for his sister’s life,” and he saw the Elder’s eyes narrow at that before the man silently whispered.

“I feel a storm brewing.”

0000

Henley limped through the streets of New York, his eyes continuously shifting as he scanned his surroundings. His time on the streets had taught him enough to keep continuous track of his surroundings at all times. Even right now, in full daylight, he could dissect the men littering the streets with a single glance. No, they were not regular men, for they faded away from his vision like background noise.

No, these were the special ones. They were men like him, whose hands were covered in blood and gore, who scoured the hidden underworld and dealt with the more animalistic parts of human society. He stopped in front of a giant building with two rows of short steps that reached a thick mahogany wooden door. On the door, a single word was ornately written.

CONTINENTAL

This building was like a church to the men of his world. He reached into his pocket and took out the card that he had found inside his pocket one morning, with only the date and time mentioned.

A part of Henly wanted to ignore the card and forget about it. Yet, in the end, he couldn’t. Over the last couple of months, he had felt a continuous presence around him, and it was as if someone was always watching him. He had tried to corner the man, to bring him into the open, yet all his attempts had failed except the latest one in which he had been able to catch a glimpse of the man.

He had scoured the streets and used every resource and every contact, yet all he had gleamed out was a single word.

Harbinger. A  fated messenger. A prelude to a disaster.

And Nina Dobrov had given him the last piece of the puzzle. It was a messenger, an observer from the High Table.

But what did the Table want from him? And now this card, he took it out of his pocket and glanced at the name on the card.

WINSTON SCOTT
 Manager

Henly had heard of that name in the circles, yet the reason why such a man would call for him eluded him. As the manager of the Continental, the man had access to infinite resources, yet why had he left a message like this?

Just as he was about to step forward, he was interrupted by someone’s voice.

“I believe it would be better if you stayed away from that establishment,” and Henly’s senses screamed danger as his head snapped back towards the source of the voice.

And standing behind him was a burly man with white hair and a huge scar on his face, with a huge briefcase in his hands. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the man from head to toe, dissecting him, deciphering him as his mind raced.

“You are different from my usual tail?” Henley decided to test the waters, and the smirk on the man’s face told him that his guess had been right. This man was related to the Harbinger from earlier.

And this also meant that the two situations were separate from one another.

“Ahh, it seems my friend needs to work on his stealth. For how long did you know?” questioned the man.

“Months,” Henley answered, trying to be vague, and the man’s brow was raised.

“Impressive,” said the man before he suddenly continued.

“I believe we should continue this conversation with a bit more privacy,” said the man as he motioned for Henley to join him. And Henley found himself at crossroads. Instinctively he could tell that his decision could change his life forever.

He glanced back at Continental as his mind raced to make a decision. In the end, he decided to follow the chronological order. Since the Harbinger issue had started earlier, he decided to deal with it first.

But first, he needed to set some rules.

“I would love to, but why don’t you answer a question of mine first,” he pocketed the card from earlier, and the man nodded with a smile though it vanished as soon as the following words left his mouth.

“Why was Harbinger following me for all this time?” and he noticed how the man’s eyes narrowed before the smile came back on his face as he gave out a small laugh.

“Haha, why am I surprised that you already know what that word means,” said the man as he shook his head. Henley did not move, and the man finally replied.

“My friend who had been watching you for the past months wasn’t just a regular Harbinger. He was a scouter,” and Henley frowned at the new word as he questioned.

“And you are different from him?” Henley reasoned, and the man nodded.

“Indeed, while my friend from earlier was a Scouter. I am a Recruiter, and I am here to recruit you, Mr. Windsor,” and Henley’s mind raced as he thought of the implication of those words. The man then pointed at the alley to the side and motioned for him to join him.

“Please, we can continue this in privacy,” and with a slight nod, Henley began to walk towards the alley, unaware of the watchful eyes of a concierge looking at him from the hotel behind.

And as the two of them vanished into the alley, the concierge took out a phone from his pocket and dialed a number. There was a single ring, after which the phone was picked up.

“Sir, I believe your meeting at three will have to be canceled,” and there was silence from the opposite side as the bald concierge glanced at the small alley as he continued.

“They have already made contact.” And there was silence until a simple sentence came from the opposite side.

“Thanks for informing me about this, Charon!”

0000

The credit for this chapter goes to my crippling insomnia, which made it impossible for me to sleep.

Hurrah to all the sleepless nights!

Enjoy! And do forgive me for any mistakes, for I did write this while half asleep.

PS: I would love to hear your thoughts about this!

KUDOS!