The car sped further and further away, quickly leaving the area. Once Benjamin saw that the FBI wasn't pursuing them, he eased the car down to a normal speed.
In the passenger seat, John Wick picked up a pack of Marlboros, examining it. "You started smoking?"
"No, not mine. This car's stolen. I still remember what you said—cigarettes lower our physical performance."
Wick nodded. Benjamin smiled, ruffling his short hair before pulling a Snickers bar from his jacket and handing it to Wick. "Want one?"
Wick accepted it, and Benjamin unwrapped another, wolfing it down in big bites.
"I prefer this to cigarettes—boosts my energy and keeps me sharp."
Eating Snickers bars had always been Benjamin's thing, and sometimes Wick had accompanied him back in their "Night Demon" days.
Back then, Wick had been the top assassin of the Italian mafia, while Benjamin was just a rookie constantly bullied by others.
But for some reason, Wick had felt a connection with the kid. He personally trained Benjamin, teaching him how to shoot, how to fight, how to kill.
Benjamin learned fast—he seemed born for this life. With Wick's protection, he grew even faster, quickly completing his training.
After Benjamin's graduation, Wick left the arrogant Italian mafia, knowing their family-based trust system would never truly accept outsiders like him.
He turned to a rising Russian gang in Los Angeles and helped carve out their territory. It was then that the name "Night Demon" echoed through the L.A. underworld.
At the peak of his fame, Wick fell in love. Love dulled his deadly edge, and he decided to retire.
But the Russians didn't want to lose their sharpest sword. They proposed an impossible condition: wipe out the Italian mafia, and he could leave.
Everyone thought it was a death sentence—but Wick pulled it off, slaughtering all the key members in a single night.
During that massacre, Benjamin, though once part of the Italian mafia, didn't fight against him—instead, he helped Wick take down many targets.
Their names thundered through the Los Angeles underworld.
But Wick chose love and retirement, while Benjamin left the city for New York.
Since then, they hadn't contacted each other—until fate threw them together again tonight.
"You still working as a hitman in New York?" Wick asked after a long silence.
"No. I work for the CIA now, doing things they can't be seen doing..."
"A glove," Wick muttered.
"Yeah," Benjamin said.
Wick fell silent again, finally saying, "CIA's not a long-term plan. Find a good woman. Live an honest life. That's what life is about."
Benjamin shrugged. "I know. But that kind of life… it's not for me."
Wick understood. He, too, had once thought his bloodstained past doomed him to a life without light. Until Katie came along.
Her love had given him hope, a brief, beautiful light that ended too soon. Katie's death had left him broken, convinced that even a blind god had chosen to punish her for his sins.
"Enough about me. How about you? What were you doing there? And how did you get mixed up with White Mask?" Benjamin changed the subject, sensing the heavy mood.
"White Mask?" Wick frowned.
"You don't know? That man and woman were White Mask operatives. They're behind a lot of recent chaos."
Benjamin gave him a brief rundown of White Mask's origins and activities.
Wick shook his head. "I wasn't after White Mask. I was after the Wolf Pack. They killed my dog."
Benjamin shrugged, understanding.
When he returned to L.A., he had heard how Wick, after his beloved dog was killed by his former employers' brat, had wiped out the entire Russian gang.
"You came here because of White Mask?" Wick asked.
"Yeah. They're my current target. But there'll be more chances..."
As they spoke, Benjamin drove Wick back to his villa. He glanced at his watch before saying, "You've got about ten minutes. These days, the FBI, CTU, and the cops show up faster than ever."
...
Stark Industries Building.
The FBI found two empty RPG launchers and some blood on the sixth floor of the building across the street—evidence that their ambusher had been wounded.
Owen, leading the search, quickly pinned down Eddie Carter's location. Under heavy fire, Carter had no choice but to flee.
No one realized that Carter's RPG shots had been intended to kill, not rescue. The poorly aimed rockets had ended up resembling a desperate cover fire instead.
The FBI was furious.
They had lost agents, White Mask's top members had escaped, John Wick had slipped away, and Carter—the ambusher—was gone too.
All they had to show for it was a pile of corpses and a few low-level thugs.
Benjamin ordered a citywide lockdown and sent teams to raid John Wick's villa—only to find it deserted.
Combining the raid report with interrogations of the surviving thugs, the FBI finally understood why Wick had gone on his killing spree.
Everyone in L.A.'s underworld knew: you could mess with John Wick himself and maybe live. But touch his dog, and you were as good as dead.
Apparently, the Nevada thugs hadn't gotten the memo.
It wasn't until the middle of the night that Owen finally dragged his exhausted body home, only to return to CTU early the next morning.
That night, CTU had already issued an alert for Avril and Zheng Anshun. But they had vanished without a trace.
Given their training and counter-surveillance skills, it wasn't surprising—they could easily have escaped California in a few hours.
The next morning, as Owen arrived at CTU, he heard a piece of news.
The day before, a Chinese man had single-handedly taken down three armed robbers during a bank heist.
It had been all over the afternoon news—but Owen had been too busy to notice.
Now, he found out: the martial artist hero was none other than Chen Mike, the man who had received half of their $500,000 reward—and whose dream had been to open a chain of martial arts gyms.
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