"Let's get him!"
As soon as those words greeted John's ears, he surged into action. He lunged forward at the nearest inmate, slicing his chest open from armpit to armpit with a single backhanded slash. He next turned to block a wide haymaker of another crook with the back of his forearm, twisting his arm around and grasping the crook by his wrist. John brought the sword back and delved it into his stomach, the man moaning and collapsing onto John as he shot his foot backward, catching a charging, dual-knife-wielding maniac in the groin; the crook behind him collapsed to his knees and clutched his excruciating testicles in his free hand. John spun himself and the incapacitated crook around before releasing him as if he were John's dance partner. The crook pirouetted into the crowd like a lawnmower blade, the sword sticking out his back chopping through the stomachs of three men in his path, sending them all to the ground as they clutched their intestine-spilling wounds. John turned on his heel while this transpired and faced the kneeling criminal, bringing his leg back and unleashing a soccer kick that snapped his head upward, breaking his nose and shattering his front teeth. "What are you waiting for, shoot him?" one of the inmates shouted, aiming his rifle at John.
John grabbed the the barely-conscious crook by the scruff of his orange prison jumpsuit and braced him ahead of himself, the other inmate leading, "Hold your fire!"
"The hell with that!" the first one rebuffed, squeezing the trigger as John barreled ahead with his human shield.
A hail of lead flew into the inmate's chest and stomach, making him convulse with every bullet's impact. John shoved the body ahead, sending it crashing shoulder-first into the shooting criminal's gut and tackling him to the ground under its dead weight. John kept steaming straight for the other inmate as he leveled the rifle at him, lowering his shoulder and spearing the goon. John lifted the man up as he drove on ahead, plowing him into the ground and feeling his ribs crack against his own. Unceasing in his forward momentum, John rolled over the man's body and up to his feet with his arm back, swinging it forward with all his might in a clothesline. He caught a crook rushing at him with a pipe right in the chin, making him flip back over himself and crash back down onto his chest, the pipe spinning in mid air above him. John snatched the pipe out of the air and pivoted around with a backhanded swipe, catching another inmate in the side of the jaw. He was sent spiraling to the earth as he squealed in pain, holding his cheek as John had dislocated his jaw off its right hinge. John then held the pipe before him as if it were a putter, spinning around and raising it over his head with a mighty war cry. He brought the pipe down over the crown of another goon of Joker's that was creeping up behind him, the man standing there with a zombified expression and the pipe resting perfectly within a crater it had formed in his skull.
John had to duck another attempted knockout blow and rose up in a boxing stance. He juked his head around another hook before landing his own jab to the throat, making the man sputter and cough, clutching his throat as he stumbled back. John turned back to the still standing body behind him, grabbing the pipe and sending the man's corpse sprawling with a front kick to the chest. John instantly whipped his head to the side to face the sound of a cocking rifle, the other rifleman aiming his gun from a seated position as his dead buddy lie bleeding in his lap. John brought the pipe back and whipped it like a tomahawk at the man, send it revolving through the air and smashing right into the bridge of his nose. One of his hands flew up to hold his face and his other arms swung wildly out to the side, accidentally squeezing the trigger and unleashing a burst of rounds. One bullet found its way into the neck of another inmate, passing out the other side as the man stood there, dual fountains of blood pumping from his carotids before he collapsed.
John took a step towards the man and brought his other leg back, swinging it up and field goal kicking the man under his chin. The man's head jolted back and bounced loudly and violently off the cold hard ground. John lunged for the gun still in his grasp and pried it loose, turning to his seat and opening fire on all who approached. In all, John brought down eight men before dumping the rest of the magazine into crook with a knife in each hand, lunging through the air at him like a lion and just sailing over his head. Another inmate rushed at John and attempted to stomp his head into the ground. John blocked the attack aside by bracing his forearm against the man's shin. No sooner did his foot hit the ground than did John uppercut him in the groin, doubling the man over in agony. John immediately plucked a knife off the ground and drove it into the man's foot, pinning him to the ground as he reared back and shrieked. John responded by shooting his elbow up into his groin, the man once more bending over and holding himself. John brought the empty rifle back over his shoulder like an axe and swung it down on the man's knee, bending it backwards. The crook fell onto his knee and screamed as he hovered his hands over his hyperextended knee. John ripped the knife from the man's foot and hammer fisted it into his throat, silencing him.
John shoved the body away and chucked the knife like a spear, soaring right into the forehead of another assaulting inmate. The assassin then brought the empty rifle behind his head like a bat and swung it out, revolving into the knees of another crook and sending him sprawling. John's hand shot out to his side and he grabbed the handle of the sword still stuck in its corpse scabbard, using it to push himself back up to his feet before freeing it. He brought the sword before him as the crooks around him began to regather themselves in a pause to their assault. They worked themselves to encircle him, closing in ever so slowly. John stood, anticipating their first moves. One crook lashed out with a lunging jab, John grabbing his wrist and slashing his stomach with his other hand. The crook clutched his stomach as John twisted his wrist around and wrenched it upward, driving a yelp out of the man. Another man came after him with a sprinting straight kick, John inverting the grip on his sword as he worked it around in his fingers like a pencil. John caught the man's leg in his other arm, the momentum carrying him forward and forcibly parting his genitals in half as they contacted the razor-sharp blade.
John yanked hard on the wrist of the man holding his gut, driving him face-first into the ground. John misdirected another swing from another storming inmate's fist away from his head with his forearm, responding with a lightning-quick backhanded chop to his throat before booting him back with a foot to the chest. John swept out the other foot of the inmate still in his grasp with a standing forward foot sweep, raising the sword over his head in both hands as the man collapsed back. He was driven to the earth even faster as John impaled his chest with the sword, going into the back of the other inmate's skull beneath him and out the bridge of his nose into the dirt. John was not given the time to retrieve the blade as he jumped back from an upward kick from another inmate. John grabbed him by the ankle and drug him in for a right hook that sent him spinning past John. The assassin reached back and grabbed the man by his face, forcing him forward and causing the back of his skull to crash into the face of his slack-jawed comrade approaching John. John was driven back by the other remaining inmate charging him and taking him back in a tackle. John dug his heels in and flung himself and the man backwards, the crook soaring over John and tumbling up against the wreckage of the tower. The henchman pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, gasping as he found a jagged piece of rebar mere fractions of an inch from his eye.
His eye and brain matter beyond were acquainted to the rusted steel as he was driven into it with a stomp to the back of his head. John was tipped off to another surprise attack as the inmate with a dislocated jaw sprinted at him with the sword, the other one following close behind with a knife. John charged ahead and ducked under a decapitating swing of the sword, spinning around the arm of the other as he attempted to stab John. He continued to run on as one of the other inmates spied the other machine gun a path, calling out, "Oh, no, you don't!"
The man tossed the knife up before his face and got it after a partial revolution by the tip of the blade, bringing it back and heaving it at John. The knife revolved through the air like a wheel, piercing through the back of John's hand and out his palm as he reached for the gun. John brought his hand before his face and grasped his wrist, sucking air through his bared teeth and fingers radiated, twitching in pain. John had to force himself to ignore the pain as the inmate drew ever nearer, another knife in his hand that he had freed from the skull of his fallen comrade. He once more attempted to skewer John with his arm jolting out, the assassin catching his arm under his armpit and, with his arm pushing up and shoulder down, hyperextended his elbow to a series of cracks and shouts from the man. John slapped the man against the neck with his impaled hand, shock overtaking his visage as the blade sunk into his neck. John ripped his hand back to his side and open the man's neck like a crimson dam. John grabbed and then struggled to free the knife from his hand as the final inmate came tearing after him, sword raised over his head.
The assassin juked back from two horizontal swings and sidestepped an overhead hack, his shoulders perpendicular to the inmate. John stepped back at him with a cross to the chin, the inmates hands shooting up to wrap his agonized chin in his hands. The sword was swung up into the air as it flew from his careless clutches and it began to to spin up into its apex before descending. John, watching all of this transpire, looked back at the inmate and stomped on his foot. The inmate's arms slapped to his sides and went rigid as he screamed in pain. The blade found its mark and sunk down into his gullet and abdomen through his wide-open maw. John took possession of the sword once more and ripped it upward from the body that continued to stand and gurgle. Unsatisfied, John took the sword back and beheaded the obnoxious corpse with a single back-handed stroke. John watched the body crumble to the ground as Joker's voice once more filled the air with its metallic cry from the speaker system, commenting, "Meh, I've seen better. Your age is catching up with you, Johnathan. And your hand," Joke worried, clicking his tongue to mock him, "That is going to need some stitches for certain!"
John went about ignoring the clown and collected his shotgun in his other free hand, the rifle tucked into the crook of his sword arm. As John was holstering his pistol, Joker moaned in frustration, "UGH, John! Can you at least show a little bit of gratitude for me allowing you to make it this far? At least interact with your superiors, child!"
John lumbered on towards the mansion as Joker continued, "You can't ignore me forever, Johnathan! I will get a word out of you yet!"
Finally fed up, John froze in place on the stairs and turned to look back over his shoulder and yelled, "Shut the fuck up!"
His voice echoed on over the island, Joker falling into a stunned silence at the control room as he watched John ascend the rest of stairs and into the manor. He was so shocked that he didn't notice the rubble moving in the corner of the screen. A smile slowly crept over his face as it dawned on him. He finally spoke to me. Joker thought.
John found himself looking into the front foyer of the massive manor, little more than a wide hallway. A wave of electricity separated him from the rest of the entryway from the foyer, just before the electric wall lie a dead guard. A pair of inmates were propped up and waiting, the first to notice him greeting him with, "Well, I'll be damned, it's John Wick!"
"No way," the other awed, quickly remasking his fear as he said, "Whatever. He won't be gettin' in here! Go ahead, try and walk to us, I dare ya!"
Running low on patience, John growled, "Open the gate. Now."
The men looked at each other and laughed, the first saying, "Or what?"
"Yeah, what are you gonna do about it? Come do something." the other mocked, turning and slapping his rear at John.
John dropped everything in his hands and drew his pistol, demanding once more, "Open the gate. Now!"
The inmate slapping his butt at John turned to look at his friend, still bent over, as he asked, "Wait, can he shoot through that?"
His answer came in the form of a bullet to the back of the head, the other inmate's eyes going wide as John called out, "I won't ask again, open the gate, now!"
The man wasted no time and ran for the security gate, typing into the computer that ran the electric wall and turned it off with a few key strokes. "Look, I got it, please, don't hurt me!" the inmate cried out, walking out with his hands raised and head lowered.
"Get out of my sight." John ordered, not taking the man out of his sights.
"You got it!" the man obliged, sprinting and barging his way out of the building, John lining his sights up on him the entire way.
John recollected his weapons after he reholstered his pistol, making his way to the stairs. As he was charging his way up, the tip of his shoe caught the stairs and he collapsed onto the stairs, chest-first and arms spread wide. He groaned and rolled onto his back, lying there as he face contorted in pain. He set the weapons on the individual steps all around him and caught his breath. In the midst of his deep panting, John began to assess his situation, his hair billowing out over the step he used as a rest. He brought his left palm above him, able to see glimpses of light poking through certain parts of the half-inch wound. He unbuttoned his jacket and looked down at his side, revealing the stitching of his old stab wound from Viggo had busted open, staining his dress shirt with blood. John began to run his fingers over his face, feeling the various bumps and scabs from coagulated cuts he'd received thus far.
The stairs he lie on were parted by a central hand rail and a lantern-handing statue of death upon the bottom of it. Further beyond the next large landing was a statue of the institution's late founder, centered up against a balcony. Another pair of the death statues stood on opposite sides of the large statue, a pair of staircases curving up the stairs from them and forming the balcony above Arkham's statue. A pair of tv's jutted out from a pair of floor-to-ceiling columns next to the stairs, each held the dead-air Arkham logo upon them. Papers and manila folders littered much of the maroon floor, which matched the walls that had several tall, thin sets of windows breaking them up. The moon peaked out from behind the dark storm clouds, illuminating the room further as the sound of the entry door shutting brought John back to life. His hand shot out and grabbed his shotgun, bracing it to his shoulder and aiming as he sat up. "Easy, John. I'm here to help." a woman's voice called out.
John refused to lower his aim, voicing his distrust, "Give me one reason I should trust you, Ivy."
Ivy stood there just past the scarab-adorned door, arms raised in an attempt to show her harmlessness. John held the shotgun in one hand as his other unclasped his necklace again, opening it before wrapping it around his hand and pinning it between is ring and middle fingers. Ivy shook her head and cracked a smirk, chuckling, "John, look around, there are no plants in here. You don't think you can trust me?"
John put his necklace-wrapped hand back under the gun's handguard, commanding her, "Turn around."
"What?" she asked, incredulous.
"I said turn around."
"Do I look like I'm hiding something, John," she scoffed, presenting herself with a downward motion of her hands, "In all this?"
John slipped his finger over the trigger, Ivy huffing as she raising her hands one more and turned around, pausing as she had her back to him. "Like what you see?" she teased.
"Why are you here?"
"Why do you care?" Ivy responded, turning to face him with her arms at her sides.
"I could ask you the same thing. Why are you here?"
Ivy rolled her eyes and shook her head, huffing, "Can't I help you without my intentions being questioned?"
John refused to say a word or lower his gun, Ivy sighing as she said, "I have an offer to make you."
"What could you possibly have that I want?"
"How about we start with the fact you're hand and stomach are split open? Or that Joker is running around with mutant freaks that exist because of a plant he had me synthesize?"
"You helped him create those things?"
"Who else but?" Ivy bragged.
"Where are they?"
"I'll tell you where they are. We need to destroy them before Joker gets his hands on them any further. I destroyed all the ones he knows about in the botanical gardens. Will you help me, please? Get rid of the rest and help me..."
"Destroy them yourself. I'm out of favors on the moment."
"Oh, is that why you're here?"
John readjusted his grip on the gun as he inquired, "What is it you're asking for?"
"As soon as you're done with whatever it is that brought you here, you get me out of here."
"How do I know I can trust you? You tried to kill me."
"And you could have but you didn't. Why? Consider this a professional courtesy of mutual benefit."
John continued to stare at her for a time. Without speaking, set the shotgun aside before drawing his pistol. His free, necklaced hand began to tug up on his dress shirt, revealing the bleeding wound on his abdomen. "Let's see you handle this."
The smile returned to Ivy's face, assuring him, "Allow me."
Ivy strutted over to John, the assassin holding the pistol just before his face and barrel pointing at hers. She rested onto her knees and rose her arm, slowly, as if to raise John's anxiety even higher. She gently touched his abdominal wound with her index finger and a green moss began to sprout over John's wound. The coolness of the flora soothed John's pain in that area. She next touched the back of his hand that was holding up his shirt, the moss once more blanketing the back of his hand. She took his hand in both of hers, rubbing his palm, each stroke creating more and more moss to fill his pierce wound. She relinquished his hand as John momentarily aimed his gun off to the side, turning his hand over to look at it and his stomach. Ivy continued to smirk back up at him, hands rested in her lap. John looked at her with distrust before ripping his gaze to his ring and locket, Ivy laughing, "Don't worry, John, I'm not wasting my time with pheromones on you. You're a taken man. And a very dedicated one at that."
John continued to glare at her as she said, "Well, that should do it."
Ivy grabbed his the moss on his stomach and tore the moss off of him as if it were a wax job. John grit his teeth and stared in amazement, his skin smooth and scarless, as if the wound were never there. She took the assassin's hand once more, staring into his eyes, as she peeled the moss from the back of his hand and then his palm. They, too, were without any external injury. John hurriedly began to tuck his dress shirt back into his pants with his free hand, Ivy staring him in the eyes as she knelt there, palms flat on her lap. John rebuttoned his jacket as Ivy extended her hand out. John clasped it and hoisted himself up with her assistance, staring at her with a softer expression as he complimented, "Thanks."
"Any time."
"Adorable." a gruff voice called out.
Ivy turned around and was met with a gunshot ringing out, cupping her stomach as she crumpled to the floor. John's instantly assumed a firing pose, greeting, "Slade."
"It's always a pleasure, John." Deathstroke replied, stepping fully into the hallway with his pistol drawn, revealing his white hair and eyepatch covering a portion of his grizzled face.