Cars and Explosions

"Don't be scared, I don't eat people."

John spoke softly in front of the bald man, though this joke was not very funny.

If he were not currently pulling out a bloody pencil at that moment, perhaps it would have made one feel like a spring breeze.

The bald man was so terrified he could only nod, his mind a complete blank, feeling as though he would die in the next second.

Actually, it was not that the pain was unbearable; at that instant, fear was ignited by the pain, generating a hundredfold dread inside his brain.

The bald man could not muster any strength in his limbs now, and even if he wanted to run away, his legs were like jelly.

That pencil looked quite long, but in reality, it was not.

As the tip of the pencil left the palm, a scattering of blood droplets burst against the ground, and the bald man collapsed limply right there.

Casually handing the still-drip-ping pencil to May, John thoughtfully reminded her, "Wash it off and it can still be used."

"Fine." Holding it with two fingers, May gripped the end that wasn't stained with blood with a mix of fear and extreme care.

She made up her mind that this pencil must definitely be thrown away.

Peter was already dumbfounded.

This scene dealt an impact to his young mind no less than the explosion of a nuclear bomb.

It was just like someone suddenly telling him that in the future he would be the kind of person who shot white, sticky substances all over the walls.

John, on the other hand, looked completely accustomed to it, wearing a smile as he gently explained to May, "Actually, I'm not normally like this; I just had a small operation before, which made me a bit out of the ordinary."

May was somewhat skeptical now as to whether John might have escaped from some psychiatric hospital.

It was just difficult to spell it out directly right now, seeing as John had helped her after all.

Giving the bald man a kick, John made him roll away from the side of the car.

The car had just been driven out of old Dad's garage, and turning around it had an extra few holes; John felt the problem wasn't big, estimating that a repair would fix it right up.

No big deal. John opened the car door, preparing to leave, and before he departed, he said to the starry-eyed little friend Peter, "Study hard, and you'll find that knowledge is a very useful thing."

"So cool! How did you do that just now?"

Peter eagerly pressed him about that move from before, and John didn't hide it either. "As long as you have enough speed, even a piece of paper can cut through wood."

"Also, let me ask: is Demiguise bread really that delicious?"

Little Peter asked in puzzlement, "What is a Demiguise?"

John pointed to the bread that had been half-eaten by him. "This guy is a Demiguise."

"That's awesome, especially the jam inside." Peter did not spare his praise.

"I think if the Demiguise knew it was so popular, it would be very happy too."

Waving his hand, John started the sports car.

"Boom!"

Firelight and an explosion instantly swallowed him up.

The blast engulfed the two people on the streetside.

Death did not arrive.

May instinctively pulled Peter into her arms, using her own body to shield him as the flames scorched their skin.

May shrieked, instinctively closing her eyes.

Yet strangely enough, although the flames clearly swept over them, not the slightest pain came from it.

Only some warm sensations.

Like the warm air of a blow dryer, it wouldn't actually scald anyone.

May screamed for a long time, until Peter couldn't take that suffocating love anymore and patted May's arm with his hand.

Coming to her senses, May opened her eyes and saw that there was not a single thing wrong with her body.

The leaked gasoline burned faster, reducing the car to a mere frame.

Yet the people inside had vanished into thin air.

John, who ought to have been in the car, was standing beside the two people at some unknown point, holding a wand with a calm expression.

"Getting used to the magical world-these Muggle attacks really are a bit sudden."

He looked at the car.

Well, it didn't need repairs; it was a total write-off.

They had probably planted a bomb while he was buying bread.

He hoped this wasn't old Dad's favorite car.

The impact and fragments of the explosion were blocked by him using a Shield Charm, and the flames were spared from scorching them by using a Fire-Freezing Charm.

The moment he had been sitting in the car preparing to start it, he sensed something was wrong and used Apparition to get outside.

At the same time, he protected the two people who had been caught up in it.

It was just that the bakery was a bit miserable, with all the glass completely shattered.

The chubby manager ran out, staring dumbfounded at the exploded luxury car.

John walked up in front of the manager and casually pulled out a name card with words appearing on it, handing it to him.

"I'm very sorry, but after you calculate the losses, you can call the number on this. Someone will come to fix all of this for you."

The store owner blankly took the name card, not yet recovering his wits. "Silverhand Fashion Architecture?"

This was a name he had never heard of. He looked up.

John and the other two had vanished.

The chubby store owner scratched his head and looked back at the bakery.

An unprovoked disaster indeed.

May didn't know how she had appeared on another street, and even Peter couldn't figure it out.

Lowering her head, she saw that her hand was being held by John.

She hurriedly let go of his hand.

John said with an apologetic tone, "Sorry for the trouble, dragging you two into this matter."

"Who on earth are you?" May demanded.

"John Wick. Exactly who I am is something you don't need to remember."

Glancing at that sneaky fellow sneaking into the crowd, John said casually, "Normally I should have sent you back, but right now I need to follow someone, so I need you to temporarily come with me."

May hesitated. Because John had saved her, if you wanted her to immediately label this person as a bad guy, it didn't quite hold up.

John had originally wanted to send them back and use Obliviate to erase their memories, but he spotted the person who had planted the bomb on his car.

In order to find out about the Ten Rings who had made a move against his family, John had no choice but to temporarily set aside the thought of wiping the two people's memories.

"We need a disguise."

With a wave of John's wand, the clothes on Aunt May turned into an urban white-collar office lady outfit, and the clothes on Peter were changed into red and blue colors.

He changed himself into a set of black casual wear.

This trick of his had already left the two of them speechless.

"Is this magic?" Peter repeatedly stroked his clothes, wanting to know how this outfit had gotten onto his body.

It was simply like a fairy godmother.

"This is the best kind of magic." John smiled slightly, admitting it without false modesty.

This was genuine, authentic magic after all.

He saw that fellow walking toward another street.

Leading the big and small ones, John followed.

May had been dragged into this; for some reason, she was even a little excited.

"Are you an agent? 007?"

She and Peter, like inquisitive babies, asked questions right by John's ear.

"The one from MI6 you're talking about? What a pity, I'm not."

John followed the bomb-planter guy. He did happen to know people from MI6.

Twisting and turning, they arrived at a fried chicken shop.

That guy had just blown up someone else's car, and turning around, he came to a fried chicken shop to change clothes and sell fried chicken.

With both involving frying, you really don't distinguish between people and chickens, do you?

"Then are you a magician?" John observed the opponent from across the street.

The curious baby Peter asked, "Then you must be very famous in New York."

"I don't mind others thinking that, but actually I'm not, and what's more, I only arrived in this city yesterday." John extended an invitation to May. "Want to eat fried chicken?"

May tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, shrugged just like John did, and said, "I don't mind."

"Then let's get a bucket of fried chicken."

The three people walked across the bustling street, came to the fried chicken shop, and pushed open the door.

"Welcome."

That car-bombing clerk raised his head, seemingly not recognizing these three people.

Perhaps in his subconscious, the three people were already dead, or maybe he simply didn't recognize the target he had blown up.

John glanced at the menu and spoke up, "Give us three fried chicken drumsticks, and another order of chicken nuggets. Oh right, I also need a jumbo-sized order of fries."

"I think our Mr. Peter will like it a lot."

"Don't buy him that," May objected, "that's too much."

"It's fine, growing bodies are just like that."

The two of them spoke just like a married couple discussing a child, even though the female party seemed a bit more mature.

The clerk gave an understanding smile and asked the customers to wait a moment.

John walked over to a seat against the glass and sat down, with May and Parker sitting opposite him.

"There is one million dollars beneath your buttocks." John suddenly spoke up to tell May.

May froze, thinking this was a low-brow joke, and let out a dry laugh. "This joke is a bit corny."

John also smiled. "My guess is that this was his reward for killing three people, but hidden under the chair, it really is quite special."

Seeing that he didn't seem to be joking, May reached out and felt the underside of the chair.

Sure enough, there were some uneven spots that looked like the imprint of stacked paper banknotes.

Beneath this backside, there really was a million dollars?

John's words also made her vigilant. She cast a covert glance at the fried chicken clerk, lowered her voice, leaned close to John, and said, "What do we do? Call the police?"

"The police are very useful, but they aren't omnipotent." Seeing that the clerk had prepared the fried chicken, John said casually, "I'll handle it."

"What are you going to do?" May asked in surprise.

The clerk brought the fried chicken over, and John turned his head to look at him.

Those red-brown eyes turned pitch-black at some unknown moment, and the clerk unpreparedly crashed into the line of sight of those eyes.

"Tell me, who made you blow up that car?"

"What?"

As soon as the clerk heard those words, he immediately became alert.

He reached behind himself, but his hand failed to find the pistol hidden in the back.

Instead, it touched cold scales. He pulled his arm out to look, only to find it coiled by a patterned snake.

In an instant, he seemed to have returned to his childhood, encountering that viper inside a discarded concrete cylinder.

Childhood trauma assaulted him, causing him to emit a terrified scream.

Following closely after, the bodies of the three people in front of him turned into one snake after another, surging toward him.

This Mexican-American clerk slipped and fell, his face filled with an expression of terror.

Scrambling backward on hands and knees, he tried to hide.

He touched a stool, wanting to lift it up to give himself a bit of safety.

Yet after he picked it up, he found something was wrong; the feel of that barstool had become ice-cold and covered in scales.

Looking up, he was gripping a thick and sturdy snake in his hand.

That snake spoke eerie human words, inquiring, "Who made you blow up that car?"

Overwhelming, rolling masses of snakes filled the shop, and the clerk was practically buried.

He screamed, "It's Simon!"

Those snakes stopped surging toward him, and the large snake continued to speak in human language, asking, "Who is he?"

"A boss in Hell's Kitchen. He found me this morning and gave me a sum of money, telling me to go plant a bomb on a car."

The clerk pleaded for mercy, "I only did it because I had to, otherwise he wouldn't let me off."

"But it looked to me like you were enjoying it." The large snake's black eyes seemed to peer through the human heart. "Just like every time you blow someone to death, you carve a mark onto the coat rack in your home."

Hearing these words, the clerk grew more and more terrified.

"Let me count how many you've killed: thirteen. That's not an auspicious number. Add today's, and you must feel quite accomplished."

"No, it's not like that." The clerk wanted to quibble.

Yet those snakes had already completely submerged him.