Chapter 20: The Test of the Continental's Night Doctor
Walking into the Continental Hotel, David received curious looks from everyone.
Because David was a completely new face.
Most assassins knew each other—sometimes even collaborated on contracts.
But regarding David, no one had any recollection of him.
"Civilian? I bet this guy doesn't know what this place actually is."
"Hey, what if he's fresh meat?"
"Fresh meat? Tsk, look at his stance—full of openings."
Accompanied by murmured conversations, David walked up to the front desk.
The concierge, wearing glasses with a shaved head, looked at David's eyes and said politely:
"I'm afraid the Continental operates on a membership basis. You cannot check in without proper credentials."
"So if you're looking for accommodation, please exit left and try the Radisson on Fifth Avenue and 44th."
David remained unmoved. He simply took out two gold coins and placed them on the marble counter:
"I was referred by an associate to apply."
Apply?
Charon scrutinized the young man before him again:
"Who referred you?"
"John Wick."
"And you understand what we do here?"
"I do."
"Then you still wish to apply? With all due respect, someone of your... presentation probably wouldn't survive even the probationary contract."
"Who said I was applying to be an assassin? I'm here to apply as the night shift physician."
Physician?
Charon studied David with renewed intensity before saying:
"Come with me."
Seeing David being led away by Charon, the patrons resumed their discussions.
"No way—since when do we take literal rookies?"
"I think I just heard him say doctor?
Hey, if you cross him, watch out—he might leave a scalpel in your gut so you can't make it through the metal detector!"
"He tries that? If this rookie doctor actually pulls that shit, I'll zero his whole bloodline!"
Led by Charon, David—having pocketed his coins—took the elevator down to the lower level.
After passing through the laundry facility and the maintenance tunnels, he arrived before a reinforced door with an observation slot.
There was a coin receptacle on the door.
Charon gestured for David to insert the coins:
"House rules. Two coins."
David understood he'd be paying for both their entries this time.
He didn't hesitate and inserted both gold coins.
Compared to the coins he might earn in the future and his remaining lifespan, what were two coins?
The observation slot clicked open, and after seeing Charon's face, clicked shut again.
Then with a metallic groan, the heavy reinforced door swung open, revealing the assassins' lounge hidden within.
Charon led him through the crowd, finally stopping before a leather sofa in the corner of the lounge.
Then he inclined his head respectfully to an elderly gentleman wearing spectacles, working on some papers:
"Winston, we have an applicant for the physician position, referred by John."
Hearing it was a referral from John, Winston removed his glasses and smiled at David:
"You're a friend of John's? Please, sit.
I wasn't aware the Baba Yaga maintained normal social connections after his wife's passing.
I thought all he cared about now was that Beagle named Daisy."
David pulled out a chair and sat across from Winston:
"So what do I need to do to become the night physician here?"
Winston chuckled and glanced at Charon:
"Young people are always in such a hurry. Charon, you may attend to other matters."
After dismissing Charon, Winston regarded David again:
"Do you comprehend what joining us entails? Have you given this serious consideration?"
David nodded:
"Of course."
"Very well. Proceed to room 818 immediately. Everything you require is there.
Once you've stabilized her, find Charon. He'll arrange the necessary documentation for you.
If you cannot save her, you'll die with her."
Listening to Winston's casual threat against his life, David smiled without fear.
It's an assassin organization—where could genuine human compassion exist?
Even if it did, it wouldn't be extended to him, a complete stranger.
David stood and quickly left the underground lounge.
He didn't know the patient's current condition, but treatment was always better sooner than later.
Winston replaced his glasses, and after making several calls while reviewing information on his phone, he also smiled.
He'd seen quite a few young people over the years.
Every applicant arrived so confident, completely unbothered even when facing his threats.
But the facts ultimately proved that most young people didn't correctly assess themselves or the dangers of this profession.
Just like David, this intern physician.
That's right—Winston already knew David was merely an intern.
As the flagship establishment for an assassin organization, Winston's intelligence network was undoubtedly world-class.
Just moments ago, he'd obtained most of David's background.
In those cold digital files, David was just a rookie doctor fresh out of medical school who'd been interning at a hospital for only a few days.
And he dares to apply for this?
Winston shook his head ruefully. Competent doctors were hard to find.
Well then, in a short while, he'd probably need to call housekeeping to sanitize the room, wouldn't he?
David, having left the underground lounge, quickly arrived at room 818.
The door to 818 stood slightly ajar.
The moment David entered, he saw a woman covered in blood lying on the king bed.
Blood was seeping from the hastily bandaged wound on her left chest.
The reason for the hemorrhaging was straightforward—she'd been shot, and the bullet had struck the subclavian artery.
However, precisely because the round hit the subclavian artery rather than directly penetrating her heart, this female assassin was still alive.
But with this rate of blood loss, she could code at any moment—he needed to perform arterial repair as quickly as possible.
David's gaze shifted to the area beside the assassin.
A stainless steel surgical tray sat next to her, holding blood-soaked scissors and fabric remnants.
Clearly, someone had already been treating this assassin's wound before David arrived.
They'd just received urgent notice and abandoned the mess for David.
David quickly assessed the surgical instruments available and the blood units stored in ice.
Then he calmly used scissors to cut away the clothing adhered to skin by coagulated blood.
Next, he unceremoniously poured antiseptic solution over the wound area.
Feeling the pain, the assassin's brow furrowed deeply even in her unconscious state.
David didn't concern himself with this—the assassin was already unconscious anyway. Without worsening the injury, he chose the most expedient approach possible.
This is also why many surgeries require anesthesia: one reason is alleviating patient suffering during the procedure, the other is facilitating the surgeon's work.
After sterilization, David first extracted the bullet that was preventing proper wound closure.
Then he used vascular clamps for hemostasis, and after irrigating with heparinized saline, he retrieved surgical suture and began arterial repair.
Finally, he established IV access and started blood transfusion.
This emergency intervention was complete.
David wiped the sweat from his forehead, took necessary safety precautions, and settled into the nearby armchair to await the final outcome.
As the blood continued flowing in, the assassin's pallid complexion—caused by hypovolemia—gradually regained healthy color.
Her lips trembled slightly, her lashes fluttered several times, and she suddenly opened her eyes.
Simultaneously, David received the life extension notification.
[Rescue successful. Lifespan extended by one day. Current lifespan: 5 days, 8 hours.]
The next second, the surgical scissors that had been on the tray appeared in the assassin's hand.
Immediately after, a silver flash occurred, and blood sprayed across the room.
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