Chapter One: A Chance Encounter
The sun sank below the Chicago skyline, casting long shadows across the bustling downtown streets. Outside the majestic building of the Harold Washington Library, a young amateur pickpocket named Sam Cole waited in the darkness, his gloved fingers twitching with anticipation. This was the moment Cole had spent days preparing for, meticulously tracking the routines of an unsuspecting businessman who frequented this library every Tuesday evening.
Cole blended seamlessly into the stream of pedestrians hurrying home after a long day's work. His sharp eyes tracked the target, watching as the man paused on the library steps to light a cigarette, an expensive leather wallet peeking out from his coat pocket. Cole's pulse quickened, this was the opening he had been waiting for. With a casual grace honed from many months of practice, Cole slipped through the crowd, his fingers reaching out toward the wallet.
Just as Cole's gloved fingertips brushed the leather edge, a gust of wind swept down the street, ruffling the man's coat. Cole froze as the man shifted, a flicker of suspicion passing across his target's face as the man glanced around. Cursing internally, Cole melted back into the mass of bodies, the wallet still firmly in its owner's grasp.
Slipping into a nearby alley, Cole struggled to slow his breathing, disappointment and frustration welling up as the adrenaline rush faded. The first real score that could have been a stepping stone to bigger targets, and it had slipped right through his fingers.
"Not bad, kid. But you hesitated."
The deep voice seemed to materialize from the shadows itself. Cole spun around, his eyes searching the alley until they settled on a lone figure leaning against the brick wall on his right. Although partly obscured by shadows, the man's dangerous aura was unmistakable. There were only a few souls in Chicago who wouldn't recognize that raspy baritone or the glint of those watchful eyes. John Wick. The boogeyman. A legend among assassins and criminals who haunted the underworld like a vengeful spirit since he had returned to it. What was he doing here?
"I-I'm sorry, I must have the wrong place," Cole stammered, inching slowly backward, ready to bolt from the alley.
"Relax, kid. I'm not here for you." Wick's tone was calm, almost amused. He stepped forward into a shaft of light and Cole realized Wick was smiling faintly. "You've got good instincts and talent to spare. With the right guidance, you could be great."
Cole's eyes widened in surprise and a hint of confusion. Was the infamous Baba Yaga actually praising him? Cole's mind raced, wondering if this was some kind of setup or weird test. But the quiet confidence and approval in Wick's expression seemed genuine. Could this be chance to expand his knowledge and skills? Should he ask him for tips and advice? Or would he set himself up to become a target if he asked Wick for anything? Nothing was for free in his world, and Cole doubted it would be any different in the high stakes world of assassins.
The city rumbled around them, the alley now seeming like a nexus point, a gateway between Cole's world and a thrilling possibility illuminated by the criminal underworld's most elite star. This encounter felt weird, Cole did not believe in coincidences, because what was the chance that an amateur pickpocket would be approached by somebody like John Wick.
Cole was sure that any assassin could spot an amateur pickpocket, but why talk to one unless they wanted something.
Drawing a shaky breath, Cole met the hitman's gaze and said, "Any advice or tips?"
Chapter Two: Drawn into Darkness
Cole stood frozen as John Wick's words seemed to echo through the darkened alley. He had simply asked for a few tips or a bit of advice. Instead John had revealed more about the hidden world of assassins and the intrigues within? It sounded like something out of an action movie, not an offer to improve presented to an amateur pickpocket.
Wick watched Cole closely, his eyes glinting with interest. "Well? Are you in or not, kid?"
A thousand thoughts ricocheted through Cole's mind. He had spent months training and struggling just to survive on the streets. Was this his chance to finally break free from that grind? Or was it just a trap, a bargain with a devil that would end with a knife in his back?
Before Cole could respond, a stern voice cut through the alley's shadows.
"Not so fast, Wick." A tall, broad-shouldered man with a close-cropped beard emerged, arms crossed over his leather jacket. "We have rules for a reason. No outsiders allowed."
Wick's expression remained unimpressed. "Dallas. I should've known you'd show up."
Dallas' gaze fixed on Cole, his eyes narrowing. "Who's the stray? Don't tell me you're recruiting for the Continental now."
"That is Cole," Wick replied. "A promising talent. With the proper mentorship, he could be an asset."
Dallas scowled. "We don't just take in punks off the street. Especially not on your word alone." He stepped closer to Cole, sizing him up. Cole tried not to shrink back from that piercing gaze.
"The Payday Gang runs a tight operation," Dallas continued. "Can't have any loose cannons that might attract unwanted attention. Isn't that right, Wolf?"
From the shadows behind Dallas, a lean, wild-eyed man with a rough beard emerged. His lips curled into a sly grin as he pulled out a butterfly knife. "Too right, boss. Need to make sure this stray's got what it takes before lettin' 'em follow us down the rabbithole."
Cole's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. Maybe he had been wrong and this wasn't the opportunity he had hoped for after all. The tension in the alley was unmistakable, the threat of violence lurking just below the surface.
But Wick remained nonchalant, meeting Dallas' stare without flinching. "The kid's got talent. I'm offering to take him under my wing, train him up proper. Are you going to stand in the way of my personal decision?"
The two men seemed locked in a silent battle of wills. Cole wondered if they would come to blows right then and there. Finally Dallas grunted, and stepped back.
"Fine. We'll give the stray a test run. But if he screws up, it's on your head, Wick. Remember you are with us for now."
Cole released a nervous breath. Whatever he had gotten himself into, it was far bigger than just picking a few pockets. These were hardcore criminals operating on another level entirely. But as Wick gave him an approving nod, Cole felt a spark of excitement cutting through his anxiety. This might be his one chance to become something more, to prove that he had it in him to be more than a pickpocket. He turned to Wick and nodded. "I guess I'm in."
The die was cast. Sam Cole had been drawn into the darkness, with no way back out now. The world of assassins lay before him, thrilling and treacherous at the same time. As Cole followed John Wick, Wolf grinned and twirled his knife eagerly. "Welcome to the gang, kid. Things are gonna get interesting."
Chapter Three: Loyalties Tested
The Payday Gang's safehouse was an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Cole followed John Wick through a side door into the vast, open space within. Sparse furniture and makeshift living quarters were scattered across the concrete floor.
Several gang members looked up from their card game as Wick entered, their eyes widening when they saw Cole behind him. Dallas strode over, his expression stony.
"I told you the kid gets a trial run," he growled. "That doesn't mean he gets to waltz right into our hideout."
Wick met Dallas' glare without flinching. "Relax. I'm just giving him the tour, letting everyone get acquainted."
Dallas crossed his arms. "He doesn't need to get acquainted. Not yet. You vouched for him, so he'll do the job. Then we decide if the newbie can be trusted."
Cole shifted uneasily as Dallas' cold, piercing gaze turned on him. It was clear the gang leader didn't appreciate Wick taking the liberty to bring in someone new.
Across the room, a wild-eyed man with a rough beard sauntered over—Wolf, twirling his butterfly knife idly. "Trouble in paradise again, boss?" he chuckled.
Dallas scowled. "Nothing I can't handle. Wick's just forgetting his place among us again."
Wick tensed, his hands slowly curling into fists. Sensing the mounting tension, Cole spoke up hesitantly. "Look, I'm grateful for this opportunity. To both of you. I'll work hard."
Dallas considered Cole for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Loyalty and trust, that's what matters here. You want to work hard? Fine. But remember to also work smart." He shot a meaningful look at Wick before turning away.
Cole let out a breath. Wolf clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. "Careful, kid. Around here, your loyalties better be clear. Things get messy otherwise." He spun his knife ominously before sauntering off.
Wick placed a hand on Cole's shoulder, leaning in close. "Watch your back in here. Dallas is right—loyalty means everything to them."
Cole met Wick's intense gaze, reading the unspoken message there. The gang may have taken Cole in, but where would his true loyalties lie in the end? With the gang, or with Wick.
The stark warehouse surroundings seemed to blur, overlaid with a web of allegiance and mistrust. Every interaction carried an undercurrent, a test to see what Cole's motivations were. Dangerous currents swirled beneath the surface, leaving behind a veiled threat.
In an isolated corner, Dallas watched Cole like a hawk, arms crossed and brows drawn together. His mind turned with thoughts of how to keep this unpredictable newcomer under control. Dallas wasn't fond of dealing with unknown variables. Not when he was considering a new job for the gang.
Meanwhile, Wick stayed close to Cole, establishing his own subtle claim. His posture was relaxed yet alert, ready to strike if the gang's webs threatened to ensnare his new protégé.
Caught in an invisible tug-of-war, Cole realized the precarious balancing act ahead. He would need to prove himself to the Payday Gang without betraying Wick's trust. His loyalty would be tested. One misstep could bring everything crashing down. Cole knew this was a balance act he would have to get used to, if he wanted to be more than a petty little pickpocket.
Chapter Four: Shadows of the Past
The nightclub's flashing neon lights cast hypnotic patterns across the street as the Payday Gang prepared for their heist. Cole adjusted the skull mask over his face, adrenaline was already pumping through his veins. Nearby, the veteran gang member Jacket pulled on his leather gloves, the hard edges of his face creased with tension.
Cole had heard rumors about Jacket's violent tendencies. They called him the Rooster, though no one dared say why. His unnerving silence and the dystopian chicken mask he wore only added to the mystery. But now, as the heist began, something in the man's demeanor seemed off.
As the gang infiltrated the throbbing nightclub, Jacket moved with purpose. When a bouncer grabbed his arm to check his ID, Jacket exploded in a blur of unrestrained fury. The sharp crack of bone echoed beneath pulsing music as the bouncer fell to the floor.
Cole flinched, shock ripping through the gang. This unhinged brutality went beyond the plan. Dallas attempted to curb the carnage, but Jacket was lost in the blood haze.
Chaos descended, the heist unraveling. The blood, the sounds, and the shift in atmosphere made Cole's mind reel, memories of his own difficult childhood came up to the surface. He saw flashes of hunger and loneliness, but also fleeting moments of joy. Laughter on a sunny day, arms enfolding him in warmth. Joy and laughter that soon turned into a bloody mess.
Shaking his head, Cole tried to focus amidst the turmoil. The gang needed to get out fast before this whole thing went completely sideways. Wolf grabbed Cole's arm, half-dragging him through a rear exit. Sirens wailed in the distance as they escaped into the neon-bathed streets.
Dazed, Cole found himself stumbling along familiar roads toward John Wick's home. He moved on autopilot, his past memories drawing him toward the assassin and the secrets Cole hoped he could keep to himself.
Cole slipped into the dark, empty house, tracing his hands along the walls. He wandered into an upstairs office and froze. There on the desk sat an old photograph of a smiling couple holding a small child. Cole's breath caught—it was him.
Footsteps creaked down the hall. Wick appeared, his gaze unsurprised. "So you figured it out."
Cole's mind reeled. "You—you're my father?"
Wick sighed, the weight of past regrets evident on his face. "No. But, I consider us to be family. I knew your mother a long time ago. Your mother was like a sister to me. She wanted a better life for you, but one night she didn't come back. So child services took you away. I realized that our way of life never left your life completely."
It was staggering, but somehow Cole had always felt something had been off the day Wick had appeared after his attempt to pick the pocket on the steps to the library. Now the hazy memories of his childhood made sense, woven together by this revelation. His subconscious mind must have told him to trust Wick, even though he had been scared of him when they had met in the alley.
Wick placed a hand on Cole's shoulder. "The past is behind us. What matters now is the future, and the choices that shape it. I can help guide you, if you let me."
Cole took a shaky breath, then embraced his... 'uncle', Cole guessed. There were still secrets about his family history, but here in this moment he felt relief and a bit more connected to his mother.
But Jacket's demons had been unleashed again tonight. The man paced up and down the hideout. Anxious and tense. Still stuck in his violent outburst.