John Wick - Chapter 92: The Jackal’s Bad Day (Patreon)

“The Jackal?”

Nate’s tone changed instantly.

Gianna noticed it too.

“What’s wrong, Mr. Lin? Do you know him?”

“Uh... yeah. He’s a friend of mine.”

“Have your men surround him, but tell them not to engage. Where is he? I’m coming over right now.”

“All right. I’ve already passed the order along.”

“He’s inside the men’s restroom at the Roosevelt Avenue subway station in New York. My men have him trapped inside.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Do your men know what I look like?”

“Just give them your name,” Gianna said.

Nate took the ornate 1911 from the drawer, then went around collecting the guns from the bodies.

After giving John a few instructions, he hurried to the car and drove toward the Jackal’s location.

“Where’s John?” Elena asked from the back seat.

“All the guards inside are dead. It wouldn’t be safe to leave Gianna’s mother there alone, so he has to stay until the replacement security team arrives.”

“Why does John specifically have to stay?”

“Mostly because I’m worried Gianna’s mother might try to kill herself. She looked like she was heading that way.”

“So what are we doing now?” Elena asked.

“Collecting Pokémon!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Elena stared at him blankly.

Nate kept driving as his thoughts turned to the Jackal.

The Jackal was the real deal.

This was a man capable of hitting a moving target from four thousand meters away.

Four thousand meters.

At that distance, a bullet could spend six or seven seconds in the air before reaching its target.

When it came to sniping, probably only Henry could seriously compete with him. But Henry was getting old and wasn’t suited for field work anymore.

The Jackal, on the other hand, was still young.

If Nate could recruit him, that would be one hell of an addition.

He just didn’t know what point in the Jackal’s life this was.

Had he started a family yet?

Wait a second.

He’d been surrounded, which meant his mission had failed.

Didn’t that mean he was going to miss out on his final payment again?

Even after ending up in the John Wick world, this poor bastard still couldn’t collect the rest of his money.

The thought made Nate laugh out loud.

“What are you laughing at? Since when does driving make you this happy?”

“No... this curve just feels amazing!”

“You’re insane.”

Elena rolled her eyes at him.

...

Forty minutes later, Nate and Elena arrived at the Roosevelt Avenue subway station.

All ordinary passengers had already been cleared out.

The only people remaining were Gianna’s men. There had to be thirty or forty of them, all dressed in light gray suits.

“No entry.”

The man leading the group at the subway entrance raised a hand to stop them.

“I’m Nate Lin.”

The moment he heard the name, the man immediately lowered his hand and spoke into his earpiece.

“Mr. Lin has arrived. Young man, black suit, blue eyes, around six feet tall.”

“Let him through. Everyone show him respect.”

The man stepped aside with a polite smile.

“Right this way, Mr. Lin.”

“Thanks.”

As Nate and Elena made their way through the station, every one of Gianna’s men they passed nodded respectfully to him.

Inside the men’s restroom, two men in light gray suits lay near the entrance, both with gunshot wounds to the head.

Further inside, a British man wearing a black turtleneck sat against the wall.

Fine freckles dotted his face.

He held a pistol in his right hand, his eyes fixed on the entrance with the wary intensity of a lone wolf.

He instinctively tried to brace himself against the wall with his left hand and stand.

A burst of agony from his left shoulder stopped him immediately.

His entire left arm had lost its strength, and he slumped back against the wall.

He had taken a bullet through the shoulder.

Blood had soaked through his sleeve, and the location made the wound difficult to bandage properly.

At this rate, he would go into shock within another hour.

After that, death would be almost certain.

Strangely, no one had entered the restroom for nearly an hour.

Were they afraid he would fight like a cornered animal?

Were they simply waiting for him to bleed out?

What really caught him off guard were their suits.

They were bulletproof.

His pistol could barely hurt them unless he aimed for the head.

That was why everyone he had killed during his attempted breakout had taken a headshot.

Earlier, he had been forced into close combat and fired twice into someone’s torso, only to discover that the rounds couldn’t penetrate.

That mistake had cost him badly.

He’d taken a bullet in return.

His disguise materials were gone.

His ammunition was almost gone.

And this restroom had no second exit.

He was trapped.

This time, he was truly screwed.

What terrible luck.

Was his first job in New York really supposed to be this difficult?

He had never run into enemies this troublesome even in Afghanistan.

Then he heard footsteps approaching the restroom.

He was already growing weak.

The Jackal bit down hard on his tongue, using the pain to force himself alert.

Cold sweat soaked his light-blond hair, plastering strands of it against his forehead.

The footsteps came closer.

The air inside the restroom seemed to freeze.

The Jackal pressed his lips tightly together, his entire body tense like a bow drawn to its limit.

He made no sound.

But after gripping the pistol for so long, even his fingers were beginning to stiffen.

A dark figure suddenly appeared at the entrance.

Someone came in.

The Jackal reacted on instinct.

He fired at the man’s head.

One shot.

Two.

Three.

The man dodged all of them.

The Jackal shifted his aim and fired at the man’s neck.

Dodged again.

Only two rounds remained.

He had no choice.

He needed to predict the dodge.

The Jackal fired once at the man’s head.

Then, anticipating where the man’s head would move afterward, he fired his final bullet.

“Not bad.”

The Jackal’s eyes widened in disbelief.

What the hell had he just seen?

The young man was less than four meters away.

At some point, a short black blade had appeared in his hand.

And with a single swing, he had split the bullet apart.

“You... cut the bullet?”

The Jackal remained frozen for several seconds.

Then, as though finally accepting his fate, he lowered the empty pistol.

“Not bad, but still a little behind Henry.”

Nate studied him.

“Could just be your condition, though. Those shots were way too easy to read.”

So I predicted that he’d predict my prediction.

Looks like Henry’s training really did come in handy.

“Fine. You’re better than me. I’ve got nothing else to say.”

The Jackal spread his hands, still holding the empty pistol.

“Get it over with.”

All the strength seemed to drain from his body at once.

“I came here to...”

Nate reached down, intending to help him up.

The Jackal suddenly hurled the empty pistol straight at Nate’s face.

His expression hardened.

He forced himself off the floor, drew a dagger from inside his clothes, and lunged.

Nate’s blade flashed.

Clang.

The Jackal’s dagger snapped in half.

Nate immediately followed with a side kick.

The Jackal hit the floor even faster than he had gotten up.

“Good idea, but you’re still too slow.”

Nate crouched in front of him.

“Anything else?”

The Jackal sat there for quite a while before finally catching his breath.

He glared at Nate resentfully.

“Are you screwing with me? If you’re going to kill me, then just do it.”

“No, Mr. Duggan.”

Nate reached behind his waist and produced a Military-Grade Stimulant.

The Jackal’s eyes widened in alarm as Nate plunged the injector into him.

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“I came here to invite you to join us.”

“What?”

[Military-Grade Stimulant: 100 Resource Points / 3 injectors]

[Effect: Reduces pain perception by 80% for 30 seconds, causes a surge in adrenaline, and increases wound healing speed by 200% for a period of time.]

[After the effect ends, the user enters a Weakened State for 2 hours.]