It was him, two dead bodies, and a beggar in the alley. Going by the beggar’s words, there would be an organization after him the moment they discovered the bodies. He needed a place to lay low and get his bearings — a base of operations.
[I said I would be your guide, didn’t I? Seek out the city’s theater.]
The theater — it brought back arduous memories of his time in his former world’s theater. They trained them as assassins, and he was the best among them. This may have been a different world, but it looked like he’s coming home.
He turned to the beggar. “Where’s the theater?”
The beggar’s mouth opened and closed for a moment before he leaned forwards. “The Theater? Lady smite me, couldn’t you actually be” —
“Where is it?”
“I-if you exit the alley and go five streets that-a-way, you’ll see a big ol’ building full of holes and smashed windows. That’s the place.”
Jon started walking to the alley exit. “There’s more of ’em that way! Stick to the alleys!” the beggar shouted. Jon stopped, considered his current inventory of zero weapons and intel, and turned around, taking the beggar’s advice.
The alleys between the avenues felt familiar to him as he traversed it. Clotheslines were strung up among neighbors’ windows between five-story apartments. The pants and shirts hanging from them casted shadows below, good for hiding.
He stopped at a corner and peeked. There was nothing. He followed the narrow alley to another junction, where he stopped at a corner and peeked. Thankfully, still no enemies.
This stopped being true at the fourth junction. When he peeked, his vision opened into a wider alley. 30 meters away, there was a caged wagon surrounded by rough guards: armed with swords and short spears, and armored with padded coats.
A door opened from the side of a nearby building, and a line of prisoners came out, shepherded by another set of guards. They were chained together, and their chains rattled as some of them stumbled, and one of them struggled. A light whack with the butt of a guard’s spear kept that one in line, however.
The fact that the prisoners were all women set off alarms in Jon’s mind. This was, by all accounts, a human trafficking operation.
As it stood, however, it wasn’t his job to deal with it, or at least, not right now. He had a strong inkling that this operation was connected to one of the Three Houses that Ravena had mentioned, but until he could ascertain who his enemies were — not to mention how this world even worked, considering the shadow voodoo shit that showed up whenever he looked at the back of his hand — there was nothing he could feasibly do.
The wagon’s cage was covered in canvas, and soon it left the alley, along with the guards. Unfortunately, a handful remained to guard the entrance to their base.
Jon just had to cross to the next alley now, but with one of the guards looking his way, he couldn’t make the crossing. He’d have to double back and go around.
Voices echoed from the maze of alleys behind him. “Search this area! He couldn’t have gone far!”
Well, that course of action flew right out the window. There was only one thing he could do, now…
He picked up a nearby bottle and staggered across the junction.
“Oi, I see something,” the guard looking that way said.
“Looks wasted. Ignore him,” another guard remarked.
“Looks rich, too, though. He shouldn’t be here.”
“Happens sometimes. The alley gangs’ll just toss him in a bin by tomorrow morning.”
As soon as Jon was across, he made a run for it, empty bottle in hand.
The search party out for him happened upon the junction, and when they looked down the alley, they saw some familiar guards. “Hey!” one of the searchers shouted, “It’s me! Kaven! You see someone come down here?”
“Some drunk!” the armored guard replied.
“What! That was Johann Wick!” The man turned and shouted for the rest of the search party. “He went this way! Come on!”
The armored guard was confused at this. “Hah? Didn’t he get off’d just a while ago! Oi! Answer me!”
The search party had already disappeared into the alleys.
Jon didn’t know left from right around here, but he kept the sun over his shoulder no matter what. He should’ve been going parallel to the avenue that the beggar had referred to, and he should eventually find the city’s theater.
He ran into a narrowing alley, but to his surprise, two men seemingly walked out of solid walls, blocking his way with bloodthirsty grins. Looking back, there was another man behind him.
The men in front of him wielded knives, brandishing it, ready to finish the job.
“You’re supposed to be dead, Johann,” the man at the back said. He eyed his lackeys. “Kill him.”
The two men charged at Jon. One tried to grab at him, but Jon pulled his arm and tossed him aside with his own momentum. The second tried to stab him overhead with a hammer grip, but he stepped inside the attack and turned his body, letting the man’s arm pass him. In such close quarters, he struck the man with an elbow strike in the jaw, stunning him.
He stepped aside, preemptively dodging a knife which came up from behind him. It was the first man whom he’d thrown to the ground. He caught the man’s arm, broke it, and took his knife for himself. He stabbed the man twice up the armpit, on the side of his heart, before flinging him to the ground once more. With the man’s heart punctured, he would be unconscious in 15 seconds, and dead in 5 minutes.
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The two’s lieutenant ought to stop watching while his men were slaughtered. While Jon was busy with his remaining subordinate, he drew an arming sword and dashed forwards with a diagonal slash. To his surprise, Jon managed to step behind his subordinate and use him as a human shield — making him slash Carl with his own blade!
“Bastard!” the man shouted. Jon tossed Carl aside. The thug wasn’t quite dead — slashes across the chest never really killed anyone outright — but certain muscles which gave strength to the upper arms had been severed. The man’s arms were limp, and he was in excruciating pain on the ground.
The lieutenant was fast with his sword. He slashed left and right, but only with narrow, foot-wide uncommitted attacks that allowed him to keep Jon at a distance.
Jon felt the wall against his back. The lieutenant grinned and committed to a thrust, one which Jon parried with the knife, batting it away just enough to send the sword into the wall beside him, breaking its point. He stepped aside, taking the lieutenant by the collar and slamming him against the wall before plunging the knife up his armpit. He deftly pulled out the knife and, using its pommel, struck the lieutenant at the base of his neck, cutting off his brain from the rest of his body.
Jon salvaged whatever weapons he could in the short time that he had — a knife and a broken sword — before he finally took off in the direction of the theater.
***
Name: Jon Fuze
Level: 1
Kills: 2 → 4
Kills to Next Level: 2 / 5 → 4 / 5
***
As he weaved through the alleys, more and more pursuers joined the chase. He feared having an encounter just like the one a while ago, but that fear never materialized. People walking out of solid walls might be a rare occurrence, after all — though, the fact that the chance was non-zero bothered him to a great degree.
What bothered him greatest was what the man had called him: “Johann,” and he should’ve been dead. The beggar had said so, and the first men he’d killed had also said so. Did Ravena put him in a new body? Did this ‘Johann’ person die so that he might live?
All interesting questions, but he was reaching the exit of the alley.
He emerged to a busy but loose crowd occupying the plaza of an ancient structure of sculpted pillars and marble cladding. Just as the beggar had said, though, it was a place full of holes and broken windows — patched up with rough planks in places.
For some reason, although its doors were wide open, no one was going in or out of it. The doors were at the top of a long and tall set of steps, which was also devoid of anyone going up or down. He would stand out if he climbed them.
First, he mingled with the crowd. His pursuers emerged not soon after, but they, too, found themselves mingling with the crowd just to find him. The townspeople were avoiding the thugs, but they weren’t avoiding Jon, even if they were looking at him with weird faces, making things a lot easier for him.
He skirted around the edges of the building, eventually finding a side entrance: a set of steps behind an iron fence, leading down to what might be the basement. He made sure no one was looking before he made a turn and disappeared down the steps.
Unfortunately, one of the thugs had spotted him, and he was bringing his friends to the opera.
***
Jon expected darkness, but past the first 10 steps, the floor was pristine, and the place, well-lit. There were fluorescent tubes — or what passed as them — affixed to the walls at equal intervals. They weren’t humming, however, and upon touching them, he couldn’t feel any heat coming from them.
This sort of technology was out of place here, where ladies and gentlemen wore laced dresses and dapper coats.
The echoes of footsteps came from behind him. Once again, his counter-tailing abilities had proven useless.
He hurried down the corridor, rounding a corner as a gunshot rang and the corner erupted into flaming chunks and debris, something which made no sense to Jon’s modern knowledge. Running past a junction, another set of enemies rounded the corner in front of him, and he doubled back to the junction and took the other way as more shots rang out after him.
He ran up a set of stairs. On either side of him now were thick velvet curtains. The hardwood floor made too much noise against his shoes. They’d find him at this rate.
He pushed the curtains away, and he found himself standing in the middle of a stage. Two men emerged behind him, and another two from the front. (4/4)
They holstered their spent weapons, and pulled out knives and clubs. He pulled out a knife and a broken sword in reply.
The four charged at him all at once. He spun on his heel, slashing as far as he could with the broken blade, fending off the four. One man with a club tried to get a hit in, but Jon recovered from his spin fast enough to face him and parry the club with the strong of his sword, closest to the crossguard.
He thrust the sword into the man’s throat, crushing it with the flat of the broken point (3/4), avoiding another club in the same breath. As the first man fell backwards, he used the sword to bind the second man’s club while he slid behind him, avoiding a knife slash from behind.
Jon put the knife in his other hand up against the man’s throat, putting him between himself and the remaining two men. For a moment, the two men didn’t know what to do, but then another man emerged from the curtains and pointed what seemed to be a flintlock pistol at Jon. (4/5)
A gunshot. The round hit Jon’s hostage square in the chest in a bright flare, opening up a huge cavity and cauterizing it all at once, sealing in the pain (3/5). Jon rushed forwards and threw the body against one man, parrying the slashes of the other with a knife and finally bringing the sword in his other hand to bear, driving it into the opponent (2/5).
He threw his knife towards the reloading gunman, getting him in the eye (1/5), then rushed the last man, avoiding a knife slash and striking him in the jaw, taking his hand and wrist and twisting them to turn his own knife against him. Jon used his ankle to hook the man’s foot, and he swept the man from his stance, driving the knife into the man’s chest as he landed on his back. (0/5)
***
[+1 Skill Proof acquired.]
Name: Jon Fuze
Level: 1 → 2
Kills: 4 → 8
Kills to Next Level: 4 / 5 → 3 / 10
Skill Proofs: 0 → 1
***
He wrested the falling man’s knife from his hand. There were more footsteps coming from the backstage, however, and five men appeared from the curtains to surround him — some armed with pistols, and others, with rifles.
There was a woman’s laugh from the audience. The limelights came on, spotlighting Jon and all his attackers. The thugs pointed their guns between Jon and the limelights, confused which one was the bigger threat.
The shooting started. Muzzle flashes from the upper boxes shot down the intruders. Some of the thugs shot at Jon, one round hitting him in the chest, and he went down.
The shooting died down, and Jon squirmed and coughed as he got up. He checked his chest, noting a slight burn on his fire-retardant suit, but otherwise, the titanium mesh between the layers had stopped the projectile…if it was a projectile.
There weren’t any lead mushrooms stuck to his suit or on the floor when he looked. He checked the corpses around him, their various body parts smoking with gaping pits of char where there should have been bloodied viscera instead.
He shook his head. He’d taken a hit. His head wasn’t still quite in the game, and that was a problem. His suit’s versatility stopped at blades and low-caliber weapons; something like, oh, a 50-caliber round couldn’t be stopped, and lacking any padding, even a simple hammer to his arm would break something. He shouldn’t rely on it.
The lights went on, and walking down the aisle was a young woman in a white dress, clapping as she came closer. She spoke in a youthful voice, “Lady Ravena was right! Oh, you were really good there!”