After leaving the brilliance of Flushing Meadows-Corona Park, the World seemed to have been stripped of its ornate sugar coating, revealing a rough, dark, industrial texture.
The black armored Mercedes-Benz sedan arranged by the Osborn Group drove along the expressway frontage road at the border of Queens and Brooklyn.
Soothing classical music flowed inside the cabin, and the soundproof glass filtered the roar of heavy trucks passing by outside into a low-pitched background hum.
"Alice, I still feel like I'm living in a dream."
Sarah held the souvenir gifted at the expo, a miniature DNA model suspended in a magnetic field.
She was still immersed in the previous excitement, her eyes filled with longing for the future.
"Just two months ago, I was almost bankrupt because my car broke down, and I was about to end up on the streets. But now, not only have we survived, but we've also secured a ticket to high society."
"Aunt Sarah."
Alice, who had been leaning against the soft leather seat and appearing to listen intently, suddenly spoke, interrupting Sarah's chatter.
She didn't look at Sarah, but turned her head, her azure eyes staring through the one-way tinted car window at the thick, impenetrable night.
"What's wrong?" Sarah was stunned for a moment.
"Get down!" Alice shouted suddenly.
"What..." Before the words could finish, Alice suddenly reached out, grabbed the back of Sarah's head, and forcefully pressed her into the gap between her legs.
Almost at the same millisecond.
"Bang!" A dull yet highly penetrating gunshot tore through the night sky.
The front windshield of the armored Lincoln sedan instantly shattered into a spiderweb pattern; the Osborn Group driver in the driver's seat didn't even have time to scream before half his skull was blown off, and blood instantly splattered onto the dashboard and rearview mirror.
The out-of-control sedan made a screeching friction sound on the wet, slippery road before crashing heavily into the roadside guardrail.
"Boom!" The immense inertia caused the car body to shake violently, and the airbags deployed instantly.
"Ah—" Sarah let out a terrified scream, but because she was pressed firmly into the gap under the seat by Alice, she didn't suffer any impact injuries, though a few drops of the driver's blood splattered onto her back.
"Don't move, don't make a sound." Alice quickly unbuckled her seatbelt, got low, turned her body, and carefully looked out through the broken window.
At this moment, her heart was beating astonishingly fast—not out of fear, but out of anger.
Just a moment ago, if not for her quick reaction, the bullet wouldn't have pierced the driver's head, but Sarah's heart.
Through the broken window, Alice saw the scene outside.
Two black SUVs without any license plates blocked both ends of the ramp, one in front and one behind.
The doors opened, and six men wearing black tactical suits stepped out.
They were all equipped with HK P30L pistols and tactical rifles with silencers.
This configuration, this positioning. It was impossible for this to be a common gang vendetta; it was a professional execution.
"System, load character card—Chisato Nishikigi."
[Character card: Chisato Nishikigi loaded.]
Hum—In an instant, in Alice's eyes, the originally dark and chaotic night was now sliced by countless red geometric lines.
And among those six assassins, there was a man with medium-length black hair, stubble, and a dark suit who was particularly eye-catching.
Alice's pupils constricted slightly. "Isn't this John Wick, the legendary assassin known as the Boogeyman?"
That idiot Justin Hammer, to kill a female CEO of a biotech company, actually managed to mobilize The High Table of The Continental and brought this god of death here?
"Stay in the car and don't move; count to one hundred, then call the police." Alice whispered in Sarah's ear, then kicked the car door open and rolled into the night like a red cat.
"Target acquired, confirmed for elimination." The lead assassin said coldly, pulling the trigger.
Rat-tat-tat! Three silenced rifles fired simultaneously.
But in Alice's field of vision, the trajectories of these bullets were clearly visible. The red ballistic lines had already pierced every inch of the space she occupied 0.5 seconds in advance.
She didn't need to be faster than the bullets; she only needed to be faster than the fingers pulling the triggers.
Alice turned to the side, and a bullet flew past the tip of her nose, lifting a few strands of blonde hair.
She ducked, and two bullets struck the car door right against her back, sending sparks flying.
She spun, her body moving through the gaps in the dense barrage with a flexibility that defied ergonomics. She looked like she was dancing!
"What?" Several assassins were stunned. They had killed many people in their lives, but this was the first time they had seen someone like in The Matrix, twisting their waist on the street to dodge all the bullets.
"My turn." Alice held a gun in each hand. Bang! Bang! Bang! Three gunshots rang out, and not a single shot missed.
Three assassins let out a scream simultaneously, their rifles falling to the ground. Their right wrists were precisely pierced, with the injury locations being exactly the same.
"Damn it, the intel is wrong!" The remaining assassins, caught off guard, scattered to take cover. But Alice had already rushed up like a gust of wind.
Close quarters, grappling, pistol-whipping. Just as one assassin was about to raise his gun, Alice was already pressed against his chest, tripped him, and pressed the muzzle against his groin. Bang! A non-lethal shot. The assassin fell to his knees in pain.
In just ten seconds, except for John Wick, the other five elite assassins from The Continental were all on the ground.
Alice stood amidst the carnage and gently blew the smoke from the muzzle. Then, she turned and looked at the last remaining man.
Surprise flashed in John Wick's deep, indifferent eyes. But the next second, he raised his gun and fired. The Mozambique Drill. Two shots to the chest, one to the head. Every shot locked down Alice's room for evasion.
But in the face of the absolute rule of "seeing is dodging," physical precision was meaningless.
The instant before Wick's finger applied pressure, Alice took a small step to the left, and two bullets flew past her left sleeve. She then suddenly leaned back, and the third bullet grazed her chin, the hot projectile even singeing a few strands of her hair.
Wick remained expressionless, continuing to pull the trigger, adjusting the trajectory, predicting, and predicting again. However, Alice was like a ghost; no matter how he shot, the bullets always missed by a hair's breadth.
Click. The slide locked back. Wick had emptied the entire magazine. He hadn't even touched a single hair.
This legendary assassin's eyes were full of disbelief. Then, he threw away the empty gun. Because he realized that guns were ineffective against this girl.
Then, he drew a tactical knife from his lower back and assumed a close-quarters combat stance. Since bullets couldn't hit her, he would use the knife to slit her throat and his fists to shatter her bones.
Watching Wick prepare for hand-to-hand combat, Alice smiled. It was a sinister smile born of extreme anger.
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