Louise drifted through the haze of her dream, the edges of the world around her blurring in a soft, pink-tinted fog. The air felt warm and gentle, like an early summer morning in a place she hadn't seen in years. Somewhere far away, birds were chirping, though their songs felt distant, muted. She walked forward, though the ground beneath her feet felt insubstantial as if she was treading on air. Everything felt familiar, yet just out of reach, like a forgotten memory slipping between her fingers.
Ahead, she could see the outline of towering stone walls, ivy clinging to their surfaces, giving the place an ancient, worn feel. The silhouette of spires reached into the sky, their forms indistinct yet somehow comforting. A school… no, not just a school. An academy.
Her academy.
She stopped in her tracks, looking around, her heart quickening with a sudden, unshakable recognition. This was where it all began. The place where she had once stood with her chin up filled with determination. She had been a student here once, hadn't she? Yes… a student, but of what? Magic? That word tugged at something deep within her, though it felt distant now, almost absurd. Magic. She couldn't recall the last time she had even thought about it, much less used it.
Louise walked further, her pace slow and deliberate. As she moved, faint, distorted voices reached her ears. They seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once, their tones teasing at memories she couldn't quite grasp: laughter, conversations, and her own voice, younger and more innocent.
"I'll prove them wrong… I'm not a failure."
The words echoed through her, reverberating in her chest like a heartbeat. She had been determined back then. Desperate to prove herself. Desperate to show everyone that she wasn't just "Louise the Zero." That was what they had called her, right? The name hung in the air like an accusation, like something she had tried to escape from but couldn't.
"I'll summon the strongest familiar ever. Just wait. You'll all see!"
The voice was hers again, but this time, it carried more weight. A moment flashed before her, vivid yet fragmented—a circle drawn on the ground, symbols scrawled hastily, her hands trembling as she held a wand. Her heart had pounded with anticipation back then. This was it. Her chance.
But something was wrong.
The dream shifted violently, the ground beneath her trembling, and she stumbled forward her vision swimming. She saw herself again, standing at the center of that circle, her wand held high, the incantation slipping from her lips. But instead of the brilliant light she had been expecting, there was only chaos. The wind whipped around her, pulling at her clothes and her hair. The sky above her darkened, twisting into something unnatural, something impossible.
She remembered screaming, the world around her collapsing in on itself. The magic had gone wrong—terribly wrong. The light she had summoned was blinding, but not in the way it should have been. It was consuming, swallowing her whole, pulling her away from everything she knew.
"This isn't right! This isn't…!"
Her voice cut out as the dream fragmented again, pieces of her memory breaking apart like shattered glass. The familiar shapes of the academy were gone now, replaced by an overwhelming sensation of falling. She could still feel it, even now, as she dreamed—her stomach dropping, her body weightless as the ground disappeared beneath her feet.
Where was she going?
The world around her warped, spinning and bending until she was no longer in the academy, no longer anywhere that felt familiar. The light was gone, replaced by darkness and cold. A different kind of fear gripped her now, something deeper, more primal. She was alone—completely, utterly alone.
And then—suddenly—she wasn't. The darkness gave way to a new landscape. A city. Tall, steel buildings loomed over her, their sharp edges cutting into the gray sky above. The air here was different, harsh, and filled with the unfamiliar smells of gasoline and metal. Cars zipped by on streets that stretched endlessly into the distance, their headlights cutting through the smog. The sounds of this world were jarring—honking, distant sirens, footsteps echoing off the concrete.
Louise blinked, disoriented. This isn't the academy. This wasn't anywhere near the academy. She had never seen a place like this. Where were the stone walls? The towers? The rolling hills? The sky felt too close, too oppressive, and the buildings around her felt too tall, too suffocating. Her chest tightened with a mix of confusion and fear. Where am I?
She turned around, expecting to see her familiar world, the one she had known all her life. But there was nothing. Only this strange, foreign place that stretched on and on, endless and unyielding. It felt wrong. Everything about it felt wrong.
"No witnesses."
The voice came out of nowhere, slicing through the murky haze of her dream like a knife. It was deep, calm, and cold. It was a voice she knew, though she couldn't place it at that moment. Her heart raced as she spun around, searching for its source, but there was no one—only the echo of the words ringing in her ears.
"You saw something you weren't supposed to."
Another flash of memory—sharper this time. A figure standing above her, his face obscured, but the outline of him was unmistakable. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. A killer. The memory sent a chill down her spine.
"But I'll give you a choice."
Suddenly, the pieces snapped together, but they were still blurred, incomplete. Louise was standing in an alley, her heart pounding in her chest as she faced this figure. She had seen him—seen him do something she wasn't supposed to, something terrible.
She had stumbled into this world, frightened, disoriented, and alone. But he had been there, waiting for her. Waiting to make a choice that would change everything.
"Train under me. Learn to survive."
The words echoed, and her breath caught in her throat. That was how it had all started. She hadn't just been transported to another world. She had been pulled into a new life. A life that was nothing like the one she had once known. A life filled with violence, with blood, with death.
"Or die."
Her stomach twisted, and suddenly, the dream shifted again, the familiar sensation of falling pulling at her insides. The city blurred around her, and the memory of that moment—of that choice—receded like the tide, leaving her gasping in the emptiness.
Her body tumbled through the darkness, her hands reaching out, desperate for something to hold on to, something familiar. But there was nothing—nothing at all. The girl she had been and the life she had known were all slipping away, fading.
She was no longer Louise, the student, no longer the girl who had once dreamed of summoning a powerful familiar. That girl felt like a distant memory now, a fading echo of a life that didn't belong to her anymore.
The wind whipped around her as she fell further and further, her heart pounding in her ears, louder and louder, until—
Louise jerked awake, her body snapping upright, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. The cold, sterile room around her was a far cry from the academy, from the city, from any world that felt familiar. She blinked, disoriented, her heart still racing as the remnants of the dream clung to her.
Her chest rose and fell as she tried to steady herself, her hands gripping the edge of the bed. She was here. In this world. The one she had been pulled into all those years ago.
Her old life… her old world… it was gone now. And so was the girl she had once been.
Louise sat in her bed for a long moment, the cool air of the room brushing against her skin. The remnants of the dream still lingered in her mind, a blur of half-forgotten images and feelings that she couldn't quite shake. The shadows of her old life crept at the edges of her thoughts, but they were just shadows—nothing tangible, nothing she could hold onto.
She exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. The steady hum of the city outside filtered through her open window, distant but constant. A reminder of where she was now. New York. The world she had been pulled into years ago. A world that had taken its time to become familiar, and even now, it didn't always feel like hers.
Her apartment was a modest one, high up in a towering building that overlooked the never-sleeping city. It wasn't large—just a few rooms sparsely furnished, with minimalist decor that left the space feeling almost empty. The walls were bare, save for a few framed black-and-white photographs she had picked up over time. No clutter, no distractions. Just the basics. The bed she sat on, a small couch by the window, a simple table in the corner, and a kitchen that she barely used. Everything in the apartment was functional, clean, and quiet.
That was how she liked it.
The city lights outside cast a faint glow into the room, their reflections bouncing off the smooth surfaces of the furniture. Louise's eyes flicked toward the window, watching the flicker of headlights far below and the occasional honk of a car drifting up. The world below her felt distant, removed. She often felt like that—floating above everything, looking down at a life she wasn't sure was hers.
Her heart still thudded faintly in her chest, the remnants of the nightmare not yet fully gone. She needed something to calm herself down. The tension coiling in her muscles had to be released somehow, and she already knew what would do the trick. She reached over to the small table by her bed, opening the drawer with practiced ease.
Her fingers brushed against the familiar, cool metal of the Zippo lighter. It felt solid and grounding. She pulled it out, its weight comforting in her hand. Then, from the same drawer, she grabbed a cigarette from the pack she kept there.
It was a habit she'd picked up over the years that calmed her nerves in ways she couldn't quite explain. In her old life—her life before this world—she hadn't even known what a cigarette was. Back then, the very idea of smoking would've seemed strange and foreign. But here, in this place, it had become almost a ritual.
Standing up from the bed, Louise crossed the room to the window, sliding it open just enough to let the cool night air rush in. She leaned against the sill, the cigarette dangling between her lips as she flicked the zippo open with a soft metallic click. The flame danced in the dim light of her apartment, casting flickering shadows across her face.
She brought the flame to the cigarette, taking a slow drag as the tip lit up with a faint orange glow. The smoke curled around her as she exhaled, the tension in her body beginning to ease. The familiar burn of the tobacco calmed her, grounding her in the present, pulling her out of the strange and distant dream world that had rattled her so much.
Louise stood there momentarily, her eyes fixed on the city below as she took another drag. Her mind wandered, not to the dream, but to the faint memories of her life before this—before the cigarette, before the high-rise apartment, before New York. It had been different. So different. Back then, she had lived in a place where magic existed, where people didn't rely on machines or strange gadgets to get by.
It had taken her time to get used to it all. The modern amenities—the running water, the electricity, the things that seemed so normal to everyone here—had once baffled her. She remembered, vaguely, the first time she had tried to use a faucet, staring at it in confusion, unsure of how to make it work. Even something as simple as turning on a light switch had seemed like magic to her in its own strange way.
There's no magic here, she thought to herself, taking another slow drag. But in time, she had learned. She had adapted. The technology, the gadgets, the lifestyle—it had become part of her new life, as much a part of her as the killing had. Just another set of tools to navigate a world she hadn't chosen.
The cigarette burned steadily in her hand, the smoke swirling around her in thin wisps as she watched the city below. She had grown used to the constant hum of traffic, the endless lights, the never-ending noise. It was nothing like the quiet, idyllic landscapes of her old world—the one with castles, courtyards, and a sky that felt open and endless. Here, everything was compressed. Close. The air always tasted faintly of metal and smog.
She flicked the ash from the cigarette out the window, watching it disappear into the night. Another drag. The smoke filled her lungs, calming her nerves and pushing the lingering fragments of the dream further into the back of her mind.
But even as she stood there, the memory of that other world tugged at her just slightly. The dream had been a reminder—a reminder of who she had once been. A student eager to prove herself. Desperate to show everyone that she wasn't a failure. She had wanted to summon the strongest familiar, to be recognized for something great.
Instead, she had been pulled into this world. This cold, mechanical, unforgiving world where survival meant something entirely different. Where summoning a creature for protection and glory had turned into learning how to take lives with precision and efficiency. Where the academy, the magic, and the girl she had once been were nothing but distant memories.
Louise exhaled again, letting the last of the smoke curl from her lips as she stubbed the cigarette out on the windowsill. She flicked the butt into the night, watching as it tumbled away into the darkness below. Her hand closed the window softly, sealing the cold air out and leaving her alone in the quiet of her apartment once more.
She tossed the zippo onto the table with a soft clink and sank back onto the edge of her bed, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the blank wall ahead. The remnants of the nightmare had faded, but its weight still clung to her. No matter how many years passed, it seemed she could never fully escape the past.
But it didn't matter. She had a job to do in this world. That's what John had taught her. Stay focused, stay sharp, and don't let the past cloud the present.
Louise leaned back against the headboard, her fingers brushing the cool metal of the lighter again. The city outside hummed on, unbothered by her thoughts, unbothered by anything. And in that quiet moment, the tension in her chest finally began to ease.
She let out a slow breath, her eyes drifting to the minimalist decor of her apartment once more, her thoughts wandering as they often did after her dreams. The past and present had a habit of colliding in the quiet moments like this, tangling together in ways that left her feeling restless.
The sudden, sharp ring of her phone cut through the silence, jolting her from her thoughts. She blinked, her body stiffening slightly at the sound, before reaching over to the small table beside her bed. The phone's screen glowed in the dim light, an unknown number flashing across it. But she already knew who it was.
With a quick swipe, she answered. "Yeah," she said, her voice steady.
There was a brief pause, and then the handler's familiar, cold voice filled her ear. "There's a job for you," he said, his tone professional and clipped. It's simple. It's a high-profile target. You'll be sent the details shortly. We need it done clean."
Louise's grip on the phone tightened slightly, though her voice remained calm. "Understood."
"The deadline is tight. You'll need to move tonight."
She nodded to herself, her mind already shifting into the mode she knew so well. Focused, efficient. "It'll be done," she replied.
There was another pause, and then the voice added, "Check your messages. Instructions will follow."
The call ended with a soft click, leaving her once again in the silence of her apartment. Louise let the phone rest in her palm for a moment, her mind racing with the shift from calm to action. The weight of the upcoming task settled over her like a familiar cloak.
She rose from the bed, walking to the window again and glancing out at the city. It was always like this—waiting, then moving. The world around her never seemed to stop, and neither did the jobs. Tonight, it seemed, would be no different.
With a sigh, Louise turned away from the window and made her way to the bathroom. The adrenaline was starting to creep into her system now, slow but steady. She needed to focus, and the best way to do that was to start with a clean slate.
The bathroom was as minimalistic as the rest of her apartment—clean lines and neutral colors. She stripped off her clothes and stepped into the shower, the cool tile under her feet grounding her for a moment before she turned on the water. The stream cascaded over her, hot and steady, the warmth immediately soothing the tension that had begun to coil in her muscles.
As the water flowed over her, she glanced down at her own body, the countless scars marking her skin. Each one was a reminder—a story etched into her flesh of the life she now lived. Some were thin and faint, barely noticeable. Others were jagged and deep, resulting from past jobs, near misses, and the grueling training she had endured. They ran across her arms, her torso, her legs, each one a testament to the violence that had become her existence.
Her fingers brushed against one of the larger scars that traced a path down her side, a dull ache in her chest as the memory of it resurfaced. She had gotten that one during her training with John—one of the many brutal sessions that had pushed her to the very edge of her limits.
She closed her eyes, letting the water wash over her as the memories came flooding back. John had been relentless from the start. There had been no mercy, no softness in his approach. He had trained her like he trained anyone else—pushing her to fight harder, faster, and with more precision than she had ever thought possible.
In the beginning, she had thought she couldn't do it. The weight of the guns in her hands had felt wrong, the strikes she had to deliver felt foreign. She had barely known how to defend herself, let alone kill someone. But John hadn't let up. He had pushed her through pain, exhaustion, and fear until she had no choice but to learn.
Louise shuddered, feeling the phantom burn of her muscles as she remembered the long hours of grueling combat drills, the bruises, the cuts, the broken bones. And the weight of the organization that hovered over her throughout it all. There had been no choice for her. The moment she had been pulled into John's world, she had known. It was kill or be killed. If she hadn't learned to fight, if she hadn't learned to become like them, the organization would have eliminated her without a second thought.
Her first kill had been the hardest.
It had been during one of John's "tests," though she hadn't realized it at the time. She had been led to a secluded area, given a target—someone small-time, someone who didn't matter to the larger picture. It had been a test of her resolve, of her willingness to do what needed to be done. She could still see the man's face in her mind, the way his eyes had widened when she pulled the trigger, the way his body had crumpled to the ground. The recoil of the gun had almost knocked her over, her hands trembling afterward. She had stared at the body for what felt like an eternity, trying to reconcile what she had done with the girl she had once been.
After that, the killing had gotten easier. The hesitation faded with each job, each mission. The people she killed became targets, nothing more. She had stopped asking questions long ago. Stopped caring.
Louise opened her eyes again, the steam from the shower swirling around her, mingling with the water droplets on her skin. Her fingers traced the scars on her arm—another reminder of the life she had chosen, or perhaps, the life that had chosen her. She had fought tooth and nail to survive in this world, and in doing so, she had become something different. Someone different.
The girl she had been before—back in the academy, with dreams of proving herself, of summoning a familiar—felt like a distant memory. Someone fragile and far away. She barely recognized that girl now. The woman standing under the stream of water was someone else. Someone stronger. Someone who had been forged in fire and blood.
The shower continued to wash over her, the heat loosening the tightness in her muscles, but her mind was already preparing for the job ahead. The details would come soon, and with them, the focus she needed. There was no room for doubt, no room for hesitation.
When the water finally shut off, Louise stepped out of the shower, reaching for a towel. She moved with efficiency; her actions practiced and deliberate as she dried herself off and began to get dressed. The scars, once again hidden beneath the fabric of her clothing, were still there, just beneath the surface, reminders of everything that had brought her to this moment.
She dressed in silence, her mind already mapping out what needed to be done. The job was just like any other—another task to complete, another name to cross off the list. She pulled on her clothes with the same precision she always did, her movements smooth and unhurried, even as the anticipation for the job began to build.
The city outside her window continued to hum, unaware of the killer within its midst, unaware of the countless lives that her hands had taken. And now, there would be another.
Louise strapped on her holster, feeling the familiar weight of the pistol as she slid it into place beneath her jacket. She paused momentarily, looking at herself in the mirror, her expression calm and focused. The girl from the academy was long gone.
This was who she was now.
Her phone buzzed again, and she glanced at it. The message from the handler popped up on the screen. The details of the job were clear and concise. It was time.
She slipped the phone into her pocket, took a deep breath, and headed toward the door. The job was waiting, and Louise had never failed a job before.
She wouldn't start now.
Louise stepped out of her apartment building, the cool night air of New York hitting her like a wave of reality. The city buzzed with life around her, though it felt distant, as it always did. Cars honked, people moved in hurried streams along the sidewalks, and the ever-present hum of traffic filled the air, but Louise barely registered it. Her mind was already focused on the task ahead.
The walk to the Continental Hotel wasn't far. She had made this journey countless times, each step familiar, each corner a part of the routine. Her black jacket blended into the night, and the pedestrians around her paid her no mind. She liked it that way—anonymous, unseen, just another face in the crowd.
The hotel loomed ahead, its sleek, understated exterior betraying none of the secrets it held within. To the casual passerby, it was just another high-end establishment catering to New York's wealthiest. But to Louise and those like her, it was something much more. It was a sanctuary, a place where killers could rest, regroup, and prepare for the work that lay ahead. It was a part of the underworld, offering a semblance of order in the chaos.
As she approached the entrance, the uniformed doorman gave her a small, respectful nod, recognizing her immediately. She returned the gesture, stepping through the large glass doors and into the quiet, opulent lobby.
The contrast was striking, as it always was. The bustling noise of the city outside was immediately silenced, replaced by the soft sounds of classical music playing gently in the background. The marble floors gleamed under the soft lighting, and the scent of leather and polished wood filled the air. It was a place that exuded calm and sophistication—yet, underneath it all, there was an edge—a tension that only those who truly knew Continental's purpose could feel.
Louise's heels clicked softly against the marble as she made her way to the reception desk, her eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. Everything was just as it always was, and there was a kind of safety in the familiarity of it all.
At the desk stood Charon, the ever-composed and impeccably dressed concierge. His sharp, tailored suit was as immaculate as always, and he greeted her with a polite smile as she approached.
"Miss Françoise," he said, his tone warm and professional, using the alias she had adopted in this world. "A pleasure, as always. How may I assist you this evening?"
Louise returned the smile, though hers was a bit more subdued, the weight of the upcoming job already resting on her shoulders. "I need to collect some gear. Standard issue. You know what I like."
Charon nodded, already anticipating her needs. "Of course," he replied smoothly. "Would you like to retrieve it now, or shall I deliver it to your room?"
"I'll take it now," she said, glancing around the lobby. "I need to head out shortly."
Charon gave a slight bow of his head and stepped away from the desk, disappearing into the back rooms to fetch her requested items. Louise leaned against the polished counter, her eyes wandering the opulent space. She hadn't been at the Continental much in the past few months—most of her jobs had taken her out of town, and she preferred the solitude of her own apartment when she was in the city. But being here now, with its familiar luxury, brought a strange sense of calm.
As she waited, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind her. She didn't have to turn to know who it was. There was a distinct air about him that was unmistakable, a presence that commanded attention even in a place like this.
"Louise," came the deep, measured voice of Winston Scott. She turned to face him, her expression softening slightly.
Winston was the proprietor of the Continental, and though he often kept his distance from the direct dealings of the assassins who frequented the hotel, there was no denying that he knew every detail of what went on within its walls. He was a man of control, of order, and beneath his calm demeanor lay a calculating mind that kept the delicate balance of power in the underworld from tipping into chaos.
"Winston," Louise greeted him with a small nod. "It's been a while."
He smiled faintly, his sharp eyes studying her as if he were piecing together a puzzle. "Indeed it has. I hear you've been keeping busy."
"I manage," she replied with a hint of humor in her tone, though her mind was already preparing for the job at hand.
Winston took a step closer, his hands casually clasped behind his back as he looked her over. "I assume you're not here for a social call," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement.
Louise shook her head. "No. Just picking up some gear. There's work to be done tonight."
Winston's expression remained unreadable, but his eyes gleamed with interest. "Another job, I see. You've been making quite a name for yourself. John would be proud."
At the mention of John's name, Louise felt a flicker of something—nostalgia, maybe, or perhaps something closer to melancholy. It was difficult to tell. She had been under John Wick's shadow for so long that hearing his name still carried a certain weight, even now that she was working independently.
"I do what I can," she said quietly, her gaze dropping momentarily.
Winston nodded, his expression softening slightly. "You've come a long way, Louise. More than you realize."
Before she could respond, Charon returned from the back room, carrying a sleek black case. He placed it on the counter with his usual precision and efficiency.
"Everything you requested, Miss Françoise," Charon said, stepping aside so that she could inspect the contents.
Louise opened the case, her fingers grazing over the sleek, disassembled sniper rifle laid out inside. The matte black finish of the barrel gleamed faintly under the soft lighting, and the long-range scope sat nestled beside it. Extra ammunition clips were neatly packed alongside the suppressor, which would ensure her shots were as silent as death itself. A few discreet tools for assembly were used to complete the kit. She gave a satisfied nod, her fingers briefly tracing the rifle's precision components before she closed the case with a soft click.
"Thank you, Charon," she said, lifting the case off the counter easily.
"Always a pleasure," he replied with a slight bow of his head.
As she turned to leave, Winston spoke again, his tone quieter, more serious. "Be careful out there, Louise. This world is changing, and not always for the better."
Louise paused momentarily, her grip tightening on the case as she considered his words. She knew better than most that the underworld was constantly shifting, alliances breaking, and new threats emerging. But she had been trained for this. She had survived this long for a reason.
"I'll be fine," she said, glancing over her shoulder at Winston. "I always am."
Winston gave her one last approving nod before turning away and disappearing into the quiet depths of the hotel. Louise took a deep breath, letting the tension in her shoulders relax slightly as she approached the entrance.
The weight of the gear in her hand felt familiar, comforting even. She had a job to do, and no matter how much the world around her changed, that part of her life remained the same.
She pushed through the Continental's glass doors, stepping out into the cool night air once more. The city stretched out before her, vast and sprawling, its lights flickering like living things.
The hum of New York wrapped around her as she walked down the sidewalk, the case in hand, her mind sharpening into focus. The job was waiting, and now, so was she.
So far, we've seen Louise go from being that determined student trying to prove herself at the academy to becoming this cool, collected assassin who can handle almost anything thrown at her. She's definitely not the same person who once worried about summoning a familiar—now she's assembling sniper rifles like it's nothing! But with all that's happened, you have to wonder—will she ever get back to her old world? And if she does, could she even fit in again? Or is she too far gone? Guess we'll have to wait and see!