Prague itself had not changed all that much. John figured that the city had maintained its identity for a few hundred years before his own time, so another hundred and fifty or so wouldn't really matter to it. The one big change was a complete lack of cars. Instead, the sky overhead sometimes contained flocks of small sleek capsules that sped through the air with faint whirring noises.

The streets were now only filled with foot traffic. And here was the largest change. John was able to keep his face impassive, but inside he was gawking like a tourist. New forms moved through the human throng. There were blue hairless women, there were smaller amphibian forms, and a pair of tall bird-like aliens that looked almost as if they were armor-plated. He surreptitiously kept an eye on the latter while he passed them; he could definitely tell they were military just from their bearing.

John drew a few curious glances as he walked along. From what he could see of the men in the streets, his own suit was very archaic in style. Ties were nowhere to be seen, and had apparently been replaced with Mandarin collars. He figured it was one more thing he could remedy once he was able to get settled and find his bearings.

Fortunately, the street patterns were unchanged enough that he was able to find his destination. The Prague Continental was much smaller than its namesake in in New York, but it was equally as elegant. He regarded its ornate yellow-gold exterior with some relief. It looked almost as it had the last time he'd seen it.

The interior was also more or less the same in terms of decor. It was perhaps a little more streamlined, and had obviously been updated since his last visit. But the layout was still as he remembered. The major change stood behind the reservations desk. One of the blue aliens stood there and gave him a gentle smile as he walked up. She spoke a short stream of liquid-sounding syllables that he couldn't hope to understand.

John gave an embarrassed smile back and indicated his ear. "I'm sorry, I hope you can understand me. My translator unit went bad on me." From what Harold and his alien friend had told him, translators were ubiquitous. Claiming not to have one would be very unusual.

The alien woman nodded. "I...do speak a leetle English. You hear me okay?" She spoke with an odd lilting accent.

John nodded in relief. "Yes, I do. I'd like a room, please. There should be a reservation for me under the name of Winston."

She smiled wider. Now that he was this close to one of them, John could see the differences between her and a human. The most obvious was the skin color and lack of hair. In place of a human's tresses, the alien had instead multiple fleshy tendrils which swept down her scalp and off the back of her neck. Her ears were much more streamlined and almost invisible against her head. And her eyes were an unearthly violet color. There was also a pleasant and subtle floral scent from her, although John couldn't tell if that was her natural odor or some sort of perfume. John also realized that he wasn't entirely sure if she was a she. The alien had the same swell in her chest as with a human female, but that could be from a completely different anatomical feature. He couldn't assume anything, not until he knew more.

The blue woman waved her hand next to her, and an orange display formed in the air. She made a few gestures at it, almost as if she was tapping on keys. "Yes, name is here. How you pay?"

"I was hoping to pay cash," said John as he slid two gold coins across the desk towards her.

The alien's face froze momentarily, then relaxed again. "My apologies, sir." Her accent was now completely gone. "I didn't realize you were a previous guest of the hotel. I didn't recognize you."

"That's quite all right. I haven't been here in quite a while," replied John.

She made a quick motion with one hand, and the coins were now gone. "I see. In that case, may I suggest the Presidential Suite on the top floor? It has the best view."

"That would be excellent."

"And I'll have a bottle sent up, if you like."

"That would be even better. Thank you."

She touched a few more areas on her display. "Do you have any luggage you wish brought up?"

John lifted the case he'd taken from the wardrobe. "No, just this. Thanks again."

The alien gave him a slight bow. "You are very welcome, sir."

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The Presidential Suite lived up to its name. And true to her word, right after John had taken stock of the rooms there had been a knock at the door. He opened it to admit a human pushing a cart. The cart did not contain champagne as he expected; instead there were several whiskey tumblers and a crystal decanter filled to the brim with a dark brown liquid. John made a mental note to tip the concierge extra for this.

When he was alone again, he poured himself a generous shot and walked over to the largest window of the suite. It was indeed a gorgeous view, and he took in the still-familiar panorama of the rooftops of Prague as he sipped. The bourbon was very good; as it burned in his throat he felt himself relax a bit. The second note in his package had emphasized that the old ways still held. He was now on sacred ground, and no one could attack him without triggering dire consequences.

Then John Wick laughed aloud. "Aliens," he said to the empty room. "Fucking aliens. Damn. I didn't see that one coming." He smiled sadly as he thought of Helen, who would have reacted to the news like a little kid. She would have been practically bouncing off of the walls. Between the two of them, she had always been the dreamer and the optimist. She had always been looking up. And now humanity knew there were others up there looking down, others just like them.

"You would have fit right in here, Helen," he said aloud, and toasted the air with his glass. He chuckled. "And Winston, you old goat. What would you have said?"

Winston would have raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow at the news and then kept right on going about his business. The man had been completely unflappable. John looked out the window and remembered the words from the yellowed note he'd been given. He had memorized them after a single glance, and even now they burned in his mind.

John. I hope you never read this, because it means you've been pulled back into the world. For some reason, I find it comforting to think of you sleeping peacefully until the end of time. We both know there are much worse ways to die. I'm now facing one of them. The doctors tell me it's pancreatic cancer, a very aggressive case of it. They didn't catch it in time. I have probably three months at best before I depart. I almost had you reactivated just to tell you in person, but they said that once you were awake it would be too dangerous to put you back under. This note will have to suffice. Just know that you are one of the few people I would call a friend, and that I will miss you. I am not a religious man, but in a way I hope I am wrong about that. It would be good to see you once more, when we both reach the end of time. W.

He finished his drink just as there was a soft knock at the door. John turned to face it. Automatically, he noted the distance to the door as well as the nearest three areas that gave the best concealment. "It's open."

The first man through the door was huge. He probably was at least twice John's own weight, and most of that was muscle. Again automatically, John flicked his eyes over the man and noted weak points. Knees, temple, throat. The man moved fractionally more slowly on his left side, so the left knee would be the most optimal point of attack should it come to that. The big man nodded in a comradely fashion at John and moved to one side. Following him was a much older woman who somehow reminded John of a librarian he'd known in childhood.

She was human, and her complexion was dark and olive-colored. John figured her for an Indian, although she wore no caste mark which he could see. The woman had deep laugh-lines around her eyes and mouth. The most dramatic feature of her face was her left eye, which was silver and clearly artificial. There were several small scars around that side of her face, apparently from the same injury that had robbed her of her eye. The woman's right leg was also apparently injured, judging by the way she favored it. She stumped cheerfully into the room using a slim wooden cane to support herself. Under her left shoulder she carried a paper folder.

"Thank you, Jackson," she said to the large man, who nodded and gently closed the door behind her. He took up position near the door and waited. John had the impression that Jackson would wait until the hotel fell down if he was asked to.

"Mr. Wick," said the woman in obvious pleasure. "I am happy to meet you at last." Her accent was melodic and faintly British. She shifted her cane to her left hand and extended her right. Then she gave John a firm and quick handshake. She looked him up and down, almost like someone appraising a newly bought racehorse. "Yes, very happy," she repeated, then indicated one of the nearby chairs. "You will forgive me if I sit? My joints aren't what they used to be."

"Of course, please do," replied John. He walked over to the cart and poured himself another drink. "Would you care for some?"

The woman eased herself into a chair. "I would love a drink, thank you." She set her folder onto the large table in front of her. Then she placed her cane between her feet and laced her fingers together over its top.

John poured another glass, then looked over at the bodyguard. "And you?"

The huge man smiled. "I'm on duty, sir, so no. But thank you for asking."

John carried both glasses over and handed one to his visitor. He sat in a nearby chair and waited for her to speak.

She looked at him a bit more. "My name is Mrs. Carmichael. I wish there was a more genteel way to say it, but I sort of inherited you. Just as my predecessor inherited you from Winston."

"I received Winston's note," said John. "Thank you for that. Your own note was a little vague."

Mrs. Carmichael nodded. "There have been many times over the years when the Organization wanted to reactivate you. But we always faced the same question; was the particular crisis desperate enough? You were our most valuable ace in the hole, and we had to be sure that playing you was worth it. And now I'm sure. We have just had a new account opened, and you are the only one we trust to execute it."

John sipped a little of his drink. "I'm surprised my reputation is still that high. Quite frankly, given how long it's been I'm sure my skills are well out of date."

She made a dismissive gesture with one brown and wrinkled hand. "Not as much as you'd think. And skills are not only what I'm looking for. If all I wanted was to bust some heads, I can get fifteen ex-military here within twelve hours. All of 'em hard cases who eat lightning and crap thunder. No, what I need is someone with judgement coupled with absolute will and determination. Someone who will do whatever is necessary and who will not hesitate in the slightest." Mrs. Carmichael peered closely at him. "Someone who I know will not scare easily. And someone who, conveniently, has no current file with any law enforcement."

Inwardly, John was relieved. He was afraid that he'd been brought back just to settle some tedious mob war, but it didn't sound like it. "So who opened the account? I'm assuming not the Organization."

Mrs. Carmichael smiled. "No, we didn't. We still mostly act as mediators and information brokers. Although we have grown in size since you went to sleep. The world has become much bigger, as I'm sure you've noticed."

"The new concierge was a hint," said John dryly.

"Persephone is a treasure, and we're lucky to have retained her services. That's not her real name, of course. And don't let her youthful looks fool you. She's older than you by a good hundred years, and that includes the time you spent asleep."

He took another sip to mask his surprise. "Who is the account for?"

"A person in Barcelona." Mrs. Carmichael leaned back. "And it's not a standard account. We have been tasked with retrieval, not retirement. The subject has information that the account holder needs." She indicated the folder on the table. "It's all in there. And this is an open-ended account, so once this task is complete there will be other assignments."

John didn't bother to ask again who had opened the account. He would surely find out in due course. "I'm assuming this person in Barcelona is well guarded?"

"Well enough. I don't think it will pose much of a challenge to you, so consider it a warm-up exercise. Speaking of which, how do you feel?"

He flexed the fingers on his free hand. "Better than expected, considering I was a popsicle less than six hours ago. I'm probably at about seventy percent effectiveness at the moment."

Mrs. Carmichael nodded. "That is good. Besides recuperation, you need re-equipping. You'll need new weapons, clothes, identities, a good omni-tool. Plus a translator module and the standard military physical upgrades. We can have the hotel's doctor come and set you up with the last two items. For the rest, there are several shops I can recommend."

Stolen novel; please report.

"I also need education," replied John. "I can't just go barging in somewhere and act like usual. As you said, the world has changed."

"We have a contact in Barcelona who will help you with any necessary intelligence gathering. There is an element of urgency to the account, but we can certainly afford a few days for you to get your feet back under you." Mrs. Carmichael stood with apparent effort, using her cane to lever herself up. John stood as well, and shook her hand again.

"Welcome back to the world, Mr. Wick," she said.

----------------------------------------

The man stood at a window in a small bedroom. His hands were clasped behind his back, and only the tension in his hands betrayed his inner nervousness. Even though he wore plain civilian clothes, he had a definite military bearing to go with his impassive and craggy countenance. Apart from his white goatee and pale gray eyes, his most obvious facial feature was a large healed scar that wandered over one side of his face.

He turned as Mrs. Carmichael came into the room with her steady and limping gait.

"He seems to be adapting well," he said to her in a pleasant and rasping voice. "I don't think I would be as laid-back as him if I were in his shoes."

"You have a life, Mr. Beckett." That was not his real name, of course. And he knew that she knew exactly who he was. The pseudonym was a polite fiction that they kept out of respect for each other. "You have people who care about you, and vice versa. If you were be uprooted like he was, you would feel their absence." She tapped her cane absently on the floor. "But John Wick did not have a life, not really. Not by the time he agreed to be put under."

"And you trust him." He didn't quite make it a question. "You know who and what we're facing. I hope you know what you're doing. I've made no secret of my desperation."

"I know, my dear. You wouldn't be consorting with an old crook like me if you weren't out of other options."

'Beckett' turned away, his face still troubled. "Still, I was hoping to have more support from your people. Why only one man?"

"One person who is armed with true purpose and standing in the right place can be worth an army. You know that very well. And John needed purpose, not just a job. In a way, I'm grateful to you. You have provided him with something to live for, even if he doesn't know it yet. Besides, it's the best way to keep our...collaboration quiet. If his face gets fed into some image-recognition VI somewhere, they won't be able to match it to anyone in your group or in mine."

'Beckett' nodded. "I will trust your judgement for the moment. I just don't like putting all of my faith in one man." He looked down. "I did that once before, and then he went and got himself killed."

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Persephone visited John's suite soon after Mrs. Carmichael had departed. Following close behind her was one of the amphibian-like aliens. "Mr. Winston, this is Doctor Jelan. He's with the hotel. I was asked to accompany him and aid in translation, at least until your...defective unit is fixed." Her deep violet eyes looked amused, and John figured that his little white lie had been discovered.

Jelan blinked his huge eyes at John and nodded a greeting. He moved an ottoman into the center of the main room and waved toward it with one hand. He began speaking to Persephone in a fast, rolling language that reminded John of Russian.

"He would like to begin with the translator unit," said the blue alien. "Please have a seat." John did so, and felt a gentle prodding behind one ear from Jelan's fingers. The doctor leaned in and made a little surprised hum. He rattled off some words to Persephone, who responded with her own liquid language. John figured he had said something like He's got no translator unit! and that Persephone had responded with something like Just forget it and give him a new one.

"You will feel a little pinch, just behind your ear." Persephone tapped the side of her own head. "The unit itself will anchor below the skin." John heard a slight clink and felt a quick jab. The pain faded quickly, and then he felt a cool gel being applied to the same area.

"The medi-gel will prevent any scarring," said Persephone. Jelan moved in front of John and touched one of his forearms. A glowing orange sleeve of controls appeared, and the alien made several quick gestures. He then nodded in satisfaction and began speaking.

"Sledona aslath hoslena nyrath kulaob three. Repeat, testing one two three. It looks like the unit is interfacing properly with your aural nerves. Can you understand me?"

The effect was amazing and seamless. John nodded and smiled in relief. "Yes, I can understand you just fine."

"Lovely!" said Jelan. He turned and nodded to Persephone. "Thank you, madam. I think we are all set here."

Persephone gave them both a little nod. It could have been John's imagination, but it seemed as if she held his gaze for fractionally longer than she did for Jelan. She turned and sashayed out of the room. John took his time to admire the close-fitting red dress she wore, and then reluctantly turned his attention back to the doctor. Jelan was laying out several vials of clear liquid on the central table.

"You were interested in physical upgrades?" asked the doctor.

John stood and regarded the clear vials with some trepidation. "Perhaps. I at least wanted to know what my options were."

Jelan smiled in an almost human manner. "Options, now that we have! This first one is the standard Alliance military upgrade for humans. It boosts the immune system, aids in healing and reduces the formation of scar tissue and plaque in the joints. It also keeps subcutaneous fat from accumulating. Reflexes are improved, and of course there is also a boost to muscular strength. The average strength increase is usually around fifty to sixty percent more than an unmodified human."

"How do these enhancements...work?"

If Jelan was surprised at the basic question, he made no sign of it. "They're all based on retrovirus DNA therapy, modified to use the CRISPR methodology. Just a few intramuscular injections are needed, no boosters or anything else. It takes a few days for the DNA rewriting to finish, but you'll be fully functional during that time. Some report mild flu-like symptoms, but those fade quickly."

John nodded. He was a little surprised that cybernetic enhancement wasn't more common; based on what he'd seen so far, it appeared that they were only used in case of injury. "Let's see what else is on the menu."

"Certainly. This next one is a modified version of the standard military upgrade. The primary difference is in strength. The boost is around one hundred twenty percent over unmodified, but it also causes a substantial increase in muscle mass in order to provide the increased strength. This one tends to be popular with bodyguards and the like."

John briefly considered it, then dismissed that as an option. One of his strengths in his chosen profession was his ability to blend into a crowd, and he couldn't do that while looking like the Hulk. "And this one?"

"That one's popular with professional athletes. The healing ability is increased significantly over the standard upgrade. Your reflexes can also be 'overclocked' for short intervals which gives you a sense of slowed time. It also strengthens the tendons and ligaments and shifts their anchoring to more optimal locations. The strength increase is marginal, but that's partially compensated by the improved leverage you get from the ligament shifts."

Jelan stepped back. "So, those are the standard modifications available. Do any of these interest you?"

He rubbed the side of his face as he considered. "How obvious are the tendon changes in that last one?"

The doctor shrugged. "You would look normal in clothes. But in a situation with no shirt, say, then the modifications will be apparent."

That nixed that option. Above all, John wanted to keep on looking unobtrusive. "I'm leaning towards the first option. But you also said 'standard'. Do you have some non-standard enhancements available?"

Jelan gave him a sidelong look. "Actually...I do have one other. But it is still experimental." He set the final vial on the table. "This has much the same boosts as with the standard military upgrade, although the improvements in reflexes are better than in the standard. The most significant difference is that this one has nanotechnology elements added which weave carbon nanotube filaments directly into the bone. By the time it's all done, your bones will be nanotube composites with incredible tensile strength. They'll be effectively unbreakable. Your ligaments and joint cartilage will also undergo a similar process. You might still be able to get a sprain or tendon tear, but you would have to really work for it."

"That sounds intriguing." John had broken enough bones in his life to know he would rather not do it again. "Just how experimental is it?"

"It's in Phase Three testing with the Alliance. In the short term, say over a few years, it's perfectly safe. But over decades? They don't know. Your bone marrow should be unaffected, but there could be a risk of anemia later in life. Also longer-term joint issues such as early-onset arthritis may arise."

John thought a little more. Well, he hadn't figured on dying in bed anyways. "Let's go with the experimental one."

Jelan nodded. "Certainly. If you would please take off your shirt?"

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John's suit turned out to be even more of a museum piece that he had originally thought. Upon visiting the tailor and undressing, the man had discreetly asked just how attached John was to his old outfit. The tailor apparently knew of some collectors of antique clothes who would pay top dollar for an old suit in such good condition. John had smiled and told the man to go ahead and keep the proceeds as a tip.

"What sort of a break would you like?" said the tailor from down around John's ankles. John looked up in the multi-sided mirror facing him and pictured his options.

"No break."

"Very good, sir." The tailor stood and ran a tape measure across John's back. He was glad to see that some things were still done manually.

"Have you made a choice of material, sir?"

"Wool. The standard weight cloth, I think. I'll need two complete outfits in black, and one in navy blue."

"Certainly. What sort of lining would you prefer?"

John met the man's eyes in the mirror. "Tactical."

The tailor nodded. "Purely passive or active protection?"

"Active for one of the black and for the navy blue, and passive for the other black." He assumed 'active' was some kind of shielding mechanism, but that in turn implied some kind of power source which could be detected. He wanted to keep his options open.

"Very good, sir. Now as to shoes and shirts..."

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John wore one of his new black suits back to the Prague Continental. Persephone gave him a quick once-over and nodded her approval as he strolled up to her desk. "I was wondering if you could help me," he said. "Do you have some free time when you go off shift?"

She raised one eyebrow. "Sir, I'm afraid that fraternization with guests is not permitted."

He smiled. "I hope you will forgive me, but that's not what I was asking about. As you may have guessed, I'm a little...rusty about certain things. I need help accessing the Extranet. Just to get started, you understand."

John had been able to get through the suit fitting without much trouble. But from the little bits he'd gleaned, weapon technology had changed significantly since his day. He needed to do quite a bit of research before buying any guns.

The alien (whose race was apparently called an asari) inclined her head. "I can help you with that, sir. If you can promise that my virtue is not in jeopardy." Her tone was arch.

"You are quite safe with me, I assure you."

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Persephone admitted to herself that she was very intrigued by 'Mr. Winston'. Her position had brought her into contact with a wide variety of dangerous people, and at first the human had seemed no different than any other similar 'patrons' of the hotel. He had the usual habit of never leaving his eyes to settle in one place; he always seemed to be scanning everywhere. The man also moved with the fluid grace of someone who had honed his body into a weapon. All of that was normal in her world.

The archaic oddities were what caught her eye. He appeared to be well known in the Organization, and was apparently some sort of trusted confidante of Mrs. Carmichael. But his original suit had been very outdated; she was pretty sure that ties hadn't been worn for at least fifty years. And he had never had a translator installed. For someone in his line of work, it would be impossible for him to function without one. And now he needed help with something a child should be able to do.

She mentally shut away her interest as she knocked on the door to the Presidential Suite. Persephone was paid very well to not be interested.

'Winston' answered the door in a black dress shirt and trousers. He waved her in with a small smile. "Thanks for coming. I appreciate the courtesy, it's a little embarrassing..."

Persephone returned his smile. "It's no problem, Mr. Winston. We are well known for our courtesy as well as our discretion." She walked over to an ornate wooden desk along one wall of the main room. "I believe you have a standard terminal here." She turned and saw that 'Winston' was still standing next to the door. She waved him over. "It's better if you do it while I guide you. Don't worry, sir, your virtue is safe with me."

'Winston' laughed and walked over beside her. She indicated the desk surface. "Just place your hand palm out above it. That will activate the terminal."

He did so and was rewarded with an orange glowing rectangle. She spent the next few minutes showing him how to call up a keyboard, how to initiate a connection to the Extranet, and some of the basic search options. He picked up the concepts readily, but physically he fumbled about. It was almost as if he'd never used a holographic display at all.

Of course, the instruction gave her plenty of opportunities to grasp his hand, to lean over his shoulder, to gently correct his actions. 'Winston' smelled of clean soap and nothing else. Persephone also found herself becoming intrigued with the neatly trimmed facial hair he wore. She got a crazy notion that she wanted to run her fingers through it, and also through the thicker black hair that adorned his head.

After a little while, she grudgingly leaned back from him. "That should be enough to get you started." She took a half a step back, but was still in his personal space. He gave her a long look, almost as if weighing something in his mind.

"Will there be anything else, sir?" Now she was really treading on thin ice. It wouldn't be exactly grounds for dismissal if things became physical. But she would be in for a long tongue-lashing from Mrs. Carmichael for her lack of control. Right now, she didn't care.

'Winston' suddenly straightened. "Actually, I just realized something." He walked away with purpose into the bedroom and returned with the black briefcase he'd been carrying when she had first seen him. "I'm an idiot," he continued. "I completely forgot about this." He snapped the case latches open and lifted its lid.

Inside the case lid hung a slim silver bracelet along with a couple of cloth collars. There were metal bangles hanging off of the collars, but Persephone couldn't see exactly what they were. An OSD lay below them in the box, and 'Winston' lifted it out. She froze in amazement when she realized what was under the disc. There were rows upon rows of stacked gold coins, nestled neatly in foam cutouts.

"I completely forgot I had this," he continued, and gave a little chuckle. "It's been a busy day, you know? I need to see what's on here."

That many coins...her head spun. This man was not just a senior member in the Organization. He must be one of its very top operatives. And yet he had no translator? No notion of how to work basic computer interfaces? Just who in the name of the Goddess was this person?

Persephone carefully kept any shock off of her face, and took the OSD from his hands. "Of course!" she said with hopefully sincere-looking smile. "You touch this icon to access the reader..."

A port silently lifted up out of the desk. She gently inserted the OSD into it, then turned towards him. His face was dangerously close to hers. She was suddenly very aware of just how black his eyes were, and could feel his warm breath on her face.

"You've been very kind, Persephone," he said. "Kinder than I deserve."

She gave a ghost of a laugh. "Sir, I assure you that you have been nothing but a perfect gentleman." She paused and decided to go for it. "Although, if you wanted to not be-"

"What are you doing, John?" said an unfamiliar female voice.

They both turned in surprise. The terminal's screen showed a human female. Persephone could tell that she was beautiful, with long flowing brown hair that looked exotic and alien. The woman was turned half away from the camera as if embarrassed.

"I'm looking at you," said the voice of 'Winston' from offscreen.

Now the woman looked directly at the camera, with an exasperated but loving look. It was as if she was looking directly at the two of them. In the suite, 'Winston' looked down and then back up at the screen. His dark eyes were now slightly wet.

Persephone moved a little back from him. The spell of the moment had been broken. Although she wanted nothing more than to give him comfort, she also knew that he was not in a good frame of mind for that right now.

"Goodnight, sir," she said softly, and walked out of the suite. She glanced back once as she left, and saw 'Winston' lift one hand and move it forward as if to touch the image of the woman on the screen.