Prague Airport.
Alex's private jet landed.
Three minutes later, the group walked through the VIP channel and into the arrivals hall.
Becky followed tightly at Alex's side, clutching a briefcase, her face tense.
Beside her, Anna kept one hand on her pistol, eyes scanning the crowd.
Not far away, John Wick did the same—though he kept some distance, his gaze swept the people, weighing who didn't look right.
Only Alex remained calm from beginning to end.
The 5-second death warning hadn't triggered outside of combat mode, which meant they were safe… for now.
Of course, even if danger came, he could easily deal with it.
Walking with measured steps, he headed for the exit.
At the gate, three SUVs were already waiting. Becky had remotely rented them online back in New York.
They opened the doors, got in, and the convoy merged into traffic, heading for the Continental Hotel in Prague.
John Wick sat in the passenger seat he was so familiar with, staring out the window. His mood was dark.
They say a little absence rekindles passion—ever since being separated from Helen, his face had been heavy with grief.
"John…"
Alex called from the backseat. He was about to explain why he had brought him to Prague when suddenly—
A vision flashed through his mind!
A speeding car swerved toward their vehicle.
Two MP5Ks extended from its windows, opening fire on his car.
The vision cut off abruptly.
Hiss—!
Alex whipped his head around toward the left rear.
Sure enough, a car was barreling down on them.
"Anna, left rear!" he ordered, eyes narrowing.
Anna instantly understood.
She drew her pistol, leaned out, and locked onto the oncoming car.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Two shots into the driver's seat, one into the front tire.
Blood splattered across the windshield. The dead driver's hands fell limp. With its tire blown, the car swerved out of control—
slamming into another vehicle, flipping, tumbling—
and finally came to rest in the middle of the road, wrecked.
In the front seat, John Wick snapped into combat mode the instant he heard the gunfire.
His hand went to his waist, pulling out the TTI JW4 Pit Viper.
Through the side mirror, he caught sight of a motorcycle weaving closer.
The rider's hand was already on his belt, reaching for a weapon.
No hesitation.
John raised his pistol, waiting.
The moment the rider pulled out a submachine gun and twisted the throttle—
Bang! Bang!
One shot to the chest. One clean shot through the forehead under the helmet.
The rider and bike crashed, skidding across the asphalt.
The car behind failed to brake in time, running over the body with a sickening crunch.
"Mr. Cross, we just landed and already so many killers are after you… what exactly did you come to Prague for?"
John finally spoke, leaning back into the seat, voicing the question weighing on his mind.
Alex only smiled calmly.
"The work of an old fossil. This round was just a test. The real danger in Prague will be far worse."
"Then why not bring more killers with you?" John asked, eyes still scanning the mirrors, pistol raised toward another pursuing vehicle.
Alex patted Becky's shoulder to reassure her, then glanced at Anna—
she too had raised her gun, eyes locked on another approaching car.
Finally, he answered John with a smirk:
"Isn't that why I brought you? With you here, it's like having an army of a hundred."
John said nothing, but inside, he felt the faintest spark of satisfaction.
Even if retirement loomed, that didn't mean he couldn't go out in a blaze of fire first.
For the first time, a strange excitement stirred in him about this trip to Prague.
Bang! Bang!
Bang! Bang!
John Wick and Anna fired nearly in sync, bullets slamming into the pursuers' windshields.
But this time, the enemy drivers were skilled—dodging slightly, glass shattering, but their pursuit unbroken.
Fortunately, the five blue-ranked killers in the last SUV revealed their strength.
Windows dropped on both sides.
Three assassins leaned out, gripping SIG Sauer MPX submachine guns.
Hugging the seats, they avoided the fatal angles, leveled their weapons, and opened fire.
Ratatatatata!
Flames spat from the muzzles, bullets chewing into the enemy cars—tires exploding, metal shredding.
Both pursuers lost control, swerving, colliding with each other, grinding against the asphalt.
Sparks lit the road as metal scraped.
The convoy sped past, leaving destruction in its wake.
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