The Church

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The ringing of the phone shattered the silence of the room.

"Ring, ring, ring—"

John walked to the bedside table and picked up the retro rotary phone.

A polite voice from the front desk came through the receiver: "Mr. John Wick, I apologize for disturbing you at this hour. However, we have received multiple complaints from guests about unusual noises coming from your room. May I ask if you require any assistance?"

John's gaze swept over Perkins, who was sprawled on the floor, and he replied with a poker face, "No trouble, I'll be mindful of the volume."

"Thank you for your cooperation. Good night, Mr. Wick."

After hanging up the phone, only Perkins' faint breathing remained in the room.

Beta stood before the sink, water washing away the bloodstains between his fingers. He shook the water droplets from his hands, "I'll go to Little Russia to find that church. You stay at the hotel."

He glanced at Perkins on the floor, "And have Winston come deal with this mess."

John rubbed the bandage on his abdomen, "Two people moving together is more secure."

"Is that so? Wasn't the unlucky guy who got stabbed with a wine bottle you?"

Beta slowly parked his Honda sedan on the street corner opposite the church.

He rolled down the window, letting the cold wind blow in, and scanned the Orthodox church. Its gray-white dome gleamed faintly in the twilight. A few believers ascended the steps, and everything appeared ordinary.

He reached out to adjust the rearview mirror. A strange face appeared in the mirror: a dark brown wig, a meticulously trimmed beard, and a pair of plain glasses obscuring his eyes.

After confirming his disguise was in place, he opened the car door and crossed the street, hands in his pockets, just like any ordinary Slav coming to pray.

The stone steps in front of the church were a bit slippery. Beta deliberately slowed his pace, making his posture appear more natural. As he stepped across the oak door inlaid with copper studs, solemn hymns echoed within the church, the sound of the pipe organ swirling beneath the dome.

Beta knew nothing about religious music and could only vaguely identify it as some kind of gospel song. His gaze subtly swept over the believers in the long wooden pews: hunched-over elderly people, old women in black headscarves, and several burly Slavic men.

Beta chose to sit in the middle row. While adjusting his posture, he noticed a Slavic man in black standing on the second-floor platform, a position that overlooked the entire church.

Just then, the Priest noticed the stranger and slowly walked over.

"Do you need assistance, my child?" the Priest's voice was gentle and weathered.

Beta replied in fluent Russian, "I just felt I should come here, even though I've never believed in the Lord." His tone carried a hint of confusion, perfectly calibrated.

The Priest smiled and nodded, "Every lost soul will be guided. May I know your name, child?"

"Paul Ostrovsky," Beta said without changing his expression, uttering a fabricated name with a distinctly literary flair.

The Priest didn't detect anything unusual. "Let me guide you onto the right path. Would you like to go to the confessional to talk about your story?"

Beta feigned hesitation, "I think so. Perhaps I should prepare some gifts for the Lord first. Is it appropriate to offer a donation on my first visit?"

"It is always appropriate to express piety to the Lord," the Priest said kindly.

Beta slowly stood up, "Thank you, Father. I'll go get them from my car."

He bowed slightly and turned towards the door.

The Priest stood in place, watching the young man's retreating back, a hint of mockery appearing on his lips. What a pious fool, he thought to himself. Eager to offer a donation on his first visit to church, such foolish people are rare nowadays.

Less than five minutes later, the figure reappeared at the church entrance.

The Priest squinted and saw the young man carrying a bulging black backpack on his shoulder, striding towards him. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, casting dappled shadows on him, making him look like he was cut into several pieces.

"Child, what have you brought for the Lord?" the Priest maintained his benevolent expression and gestured towards the side hall, "Let's go to the back and offer your tribute to the Lord."

The young man before him suddenly smiled, a smile that sent a chill down the Priest's spine.

"I've brought some Slavic specialties for the Lord," Beta's voice was light, "And a few damned souls."

The moment the Priest froze, Beta abruptly opened the backpack and pulled out a modernized AK-Alfa rifle modified by CAA. The metal parts gleamed with a cold, matte finish in the candlelight of the church.

The gunshot exploded under the church dome.

The first bullet accurately hit the Priest's knee. The 7.62 round instantly shattered his bone. The Priest let out a heart-wrenching scream and collapsed to the ground.

Beta's muzzle barely paused. The instant the Priest fell, he shifted to the right.

A burly Slavic man lunged from a pew, his right hand already reaching inside his coat.

Beta calmly pulled the trigger, firing two short bursts into the man's chest. Blood bloomed on his white shirt, and the figure slammed heavily onto the wooden pew, knocking over an entire row.

Hurried footsteps echoed from the second-floor platform.

Beta, relying on his memory of the location, raised his hand and fired three rapid shots. The bullets pierced the railing, and with a muffled thud, the gangster on guard duty's chest exploded in a spray of blood. He leaned forward, tumbling over the railing due to inertia, and crashed onto the floor below like a sack of cement, with the sound of breaking bones.

The entire church instantly descended into chaos.

Beta, like a precise killing machine, continuously adjusted the angle of his rifle, picking off several gangster members who tried to hide behind the pillars.

Bullets pierced wooden pews, shattered candleholders, and sparked off the stone columns. Each short burst was accompanied by a scream, and blood soon snaked into a river on the sacred marble floor.

The echoes of gunfire gradually faded beneath the church's dome, plunging the space into an eerie silence. In the front pews, a hard-of-hearing old woman continued her devoted prayers, oblivious to the bloody massacre unfolding behind her.

Besides her, only the Priest's pained moans and the suppressed sobs of a few innocent parishioners remained.

Beta stepped through the blood, approaching the Priest, and paid no mind to the Russian curses spat from the old man's mouth. He swung his rifle stock, smashing it hard into the Priest's right cheek. The sound of cracking bone was accompanied by a few flying teeth.

"Take me to Viggo's vault," his voice was calm.

The Priest glared at Beta with bloodshot eyes, spitting out a mouthful of blood, "Do you know who you're messing with?"

"Very clearly," Beta's gun barrel didn't waver. "Take me to Viggo's vault."

"Viggo will skin me alive," the Priest's voice began to tremble.

Beta pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bullet pierced the Priest's left palm, splashing a bloom of blood onto the stone floor. The Priest's screams were particularly piercing in the empty church.

"Now what?" Beta asked.

The Priest trembled and surrendered.

Beta grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and lifted him. Dragging his shattered knees, the Priest limped, leading the devil towards the passage to the basement.